Chapter 2
As soon as the band was gone, Steele opened a fireproof safe bolted to the floor and retrieved a black laptop from within. He flipped the laptop open, navigated his way to an encrypted website, and typed in a password. Multiple live video images appeared on his screen. He quickly located Paige Knight in the image in the top left frame. She was in her sanctuary. He double clicked the image.
Paige sat on the ledge of the peach, semi-sunken bathtub enveloped by peach tiled walls and a white, vinyl shower curtain dotted with little green-stemmed peaches. The bathroom was clearly her private place, the place where she went to get her emotions under control, to regain her strength, to think. Steele thought maybe she should rethink all the peach.
Water rained down in fat drops on her head, and she tilted her head back, welcoming them. She shut her eyes, ran her fingers through her hair. The water pulled the toxins of the world from her body as it rushed down her smooth skin and swirled into the drain.
She rotated her head in slow circles, trying to shrug off her life’s afflictions. Steele imagined every muscle in her body stiff with tension, aching for release. She was worn out. Anyone could see it. And why wouldn’t she be? She worked sixty, seventy, even eighty hours a week selling real estate. It was finally getting to her. It would get to any woman.
She had no business selling real estate. She had no business working at all. What good did working do her if it left her feeling worn out? Used. She needed to fill the role she was born to. The role all women were born to. To serve.
Crinkles of worry marred her beautiful face. Money worries: The electric bill, the gas bill, the water bill, car payments, student loans. If only her husband Eddie would be a man, would make her quit her job and care for her as he should. At the current rate, he figured she’d be dead before she turned thirty. Just like his mother.
And Eddie would let it happen, just as his father had let it happen.
Paige lifted her foot and pushed down on a lever. The water from the showerhead stopped, was forced out the faucet. The tub quickly began to fill, and she slid down the wall into the water.
This was Steele’s favorite part of her morning routine.
Paige reached for the bar soap and rubbed at the muscles in her arms, first one and then the other, rubbed at the muscles in her legs, rubbed at her breasts and hands and neck and covered the whole of her exposed body in a thick lather of soap.
He imagined he could smell the honeysuckle scent of it wafting up through the screen.
He noted she preferred the honeysuckle scent to the lilac. He imagined her ritualistic coating of her body with soap as some sort of lame attempt to cleanse herself from the horrors of her life, to be reborn. But transformation does not come at such a low price.
A hint of steam rose, obscuring his vision for a moment. When he caught his next glimpse of her she was cupping water to her face, washing the soap from it. The wrinkles on her brow had diminished but not vanished. He could see her muscles relaxing, her thoughts drifting. He knew what she needed. He knew what she wanted, even if she couldn’t see it for herself. She needed direction.
She climbed from the water and Steele quickly switched cameras to watch as she wrapped a large peach towel around her head. She then took another towel and patted the water from her body starting with her face and slowly working her way down. What a waste of beautiful flesh, Steele thought. But not for much longer.
When she reached her toes, she took another towel and wrapped it around her chest. Then she stepped out of the bathroom and into the darkness of the bedroom.
Steele clicked on another camera.
Bright stars and a haloed silver moon shone through a large window brightening the bedroom. The home was built atop a small hill and Steele could see the orbs of city lights glowing in the distance.
In a king-sized sleigh bed beneath the window, surrounded by pillows, Paige’s poor excuse for a husband slept. He reminded Steele of a lazy dog. His mouth hung open. He snored. And every now and then one of his legs would twitch as if he were dreaming about an itch.
Paige dropped the towel from her body. Her skin glistened brighter than the moon.
She pulled the covers back, climbed on top of Eddie, ran her fingers through his messy hair.
Eddie opened his weak, slow eyes, gazed at Paige with a look of stupidity that made Steele want to reach through the camera and pluck them from his skull.
Paige arched her back, letting her breasts dangle above his chest. Eddie reached up and took the back of her head in his hand, pulled her down into him, kissed her on the neck. “Morning,” he said.
Paige pulled back away from him, ran her fingers across his abdomen. “I love you,” she said. “You are my One. I will never leave you.”
Just words.
Eddie’s hands wandered over Paige’s shoulders, down her arms, made their way onto her breasts. She moaned.
He kissed each of her fingers, thrust into her.
Steele hated the way Paige curled her toes in anticipation of each thrust. He would not thrust at her like some wild animal. He would worship every inch of her, not just her vagina.
Eddie cupped her face, pulled it down until Paige’s lips met his, and then rolled over on top of her.
“I love you,” he said. “You are my One. I will never leave you.”
More words.
Paige gripped his waist and kissed him. Eddie wrapped his arms around her waist, flopped around on top of her. Again. And again. And again.
“Oh... Eddie...”
The sights and sounds of their pathetic display sickened Steele. The dishonesty of it. The dishonesty in it. Eddie did not love her. She was nothing more to him than a bottomless hole in which he could pour his empty seed.
Eddie left her as soon as he was finished, and a little while later, Paige rose and sauntered across the room. She stopped in front of an easel with an unfinished painting on it. It had been months since Steele had seen her do more than glance at it as anything more than a piece of clutter. She raised her hand to the canvas, traced the line of a half finished mountain range. Steele raised his hand, traced the line of her body on his screen. Then she pulled on some pajamas, walked out of the bedroom, and into the living room.
Steele switched camera views.
Eddie sat on the couch staring at the blank screen of their TV. His hands rested in his lap. He had a look of mock seriousness on his face, as if he’d spent the last half hour thinking about something important rather than having sex.
“What’s wrong?” Paige asked.
“I was thinking I need to get the tires on your car rotated.”
Steele shook his head. What kind of man thinks of tires when a beauty like Paige waits to be molded by his hand? Men like that, men like his father, were a waste of flesh and blood. Eddie was their poster child.
Eddie rubbed at his eyes and adjusted his boxers, looked as if he needed to go back to bed, to sleep for half an eternity. Steele doubted it would help. Eddie would be weak even at death’s door.
Paige sat down beside Eddie, and he slumped further into the cushions. He picked up the remote and tapped a button. The glow of the TV cast faint shadows around the room. A stiff looking news anchor began spewing out every piece of garbage news that had made its way across his desk in the last twelve hours.
“I know we’ve had a great morning,” Paige said, “And it’s too early to be starting a fight, but I really think we need to talk.”
Steele pulled the computer closer, wondered if this would be the moment. Would she hit him with a nuclear attack and run? She wanted direction, and she knew, deep inside, that Eddie could never provide her with that direction.
Paige scooted closer to Eddie.
“I love your aftershave,” she said. “It reminds me of our first date. Do you remember?”
Eddie turned his face to hers. “How could I forget? I took you to Shakespeare
in the Park. We sat in the grass and watched Much Ado About Nothing. After the play, you painted the Indian Blanket wildflower watercolor, the one hanging in our hallway.”
“Then the bees came.”
“And I rushed us into the Starbucks across the street. You had a Latte. I had two Cappuccinos. For a couple of hours, we talked about Hero and Claudio and the impulsiveness of Shakespearian marriage.”
She reached out and patted Eddie’s bed head hair down, touched his cheek. “Eddie, I’ve been thinking. I don’t want to sell real estate for the rest of my life.”
“What?”
“It’s just not what I want to do,” she said. “I want to follow my dreams. I want to paint.”
This could be it. This could be the moment, Steele thought. Did she finally see?
Eddie’s eyebrows pinched together. “Are you serious? You can’t up and quit your job. How would we survive?”
“I’m not saying I should up and quit my job, but surely we can figure something out if we put our heads together. We’re educated and intelligent people.”
Eddie folded his arms across his chest. “How?”
Her so-called husband was actually fighting against her needs. He wasn’t listening. Typical.
“I’m not sure how,” she said. “I only know I don’t want to give up on my dreams. I want to go back to being an artist, to painting. Don’t you want to write again?”
“Of course I do,” he said, looking at her in a way that had to make her feel stupid. “But I want to do it with a roof over my head. Where would we live?”
Paige turned her face away, refused to look at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to listen. I want you to really think about this.”
Paige got up, crossed the hardwood floor, strode past bookshelves stacked with the fiction of Richard Matheson, Tami Hoag, Thomas Harris, and Stephen the King. Mixed in with the books were several of Eddie’s unfinished novel manuscripts as well as two fat three-ring binders worth of short stories he’d written, probably while he was in college. It was all self-absorbed crap in Steele’s opinion.
Eddie stood up and followed Paige into the kitchen. Steele clicked on another camera.
“I’m trying to listen,” Eddie said. “But you’re not making a lot of sense. If you quit, that will cut our income in half. We’re not in a position to make it on my salary alone.”
Steele shook his head at Eddie’s feeble argument, at his complete lack of understanding. It was his responsibility to provide for her, to guide her. She was begging for him to take control. But he couldn’t even see that she hated selling real estate. That she’d traded her soul for business cards and a real estate license, just as his mother had traded hers for a corner office.
Eddie walked up close to her, his mouth inches from her neck.
Paige closed her eyes and Steele could see the desire in her face. She wanted Eddie to wrap her hair up in his hands, to slap her pouting lips, to show her how to live her life. But he was weak. He wasn’t capable. He would never be capable.
“You want us to plan our way into poverty,” Eddie said.
Paige drilled a finger into his chest, pushing him back a step. “Is that what you think?”
The crooked grin on Eddie’s face told Steele that Eddie liked the way she was standing there in front of him, her finger jutting out at him, her mouth twisted up in a scowl. He was making a mistake. This wasn’t a game. This was her life.
“I’m just saying maybe we should take some time and think this through,” Eddie said. “You’re talking about completely changing the way we live. You’re talking about giving up everything we’ve worked so hard for.”
Paige waved her hands at everything around them. “Is this all you care about? This, stuff?”
“No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying I know what it’s like to live worrying about when and where the next meal might come from. You know that. You know how I grew up. So, I think I can speak with some authority on the subject. I just don’t think you realize what you’re suggesting. We’re used to living this way.”
“Maybe we could start by cutting back our hours at work.”
Eddie scoffed. “Cut back our hours? How are we going to cut back hours? The agency wants you to take on more clients and listings. They’ve already dumped half a dozen new ones on you this week, and you know my bosses have been riding me at work. I can’t cut back hours. If I even asked, they’d fire me on the spot.”
“Then maybe we should find other jobs. I’m sure some agency would take me on a part-time basis, and you can’t tell me there isn’t some company out there that works their graphic designers less than sixty hours a week.”
Eddie dug around in a kitchen drawer, pulled out a bottle of white aspirin, popped a couple on his tongue, and swallowed. He shook his head.
“This is crazy. We have responsibilities. Where are we even going to find jobs like that? What if one of those jobs doesn’t work out? Then what do we do? Within a couple of weeks we could be living on the streets. I won’t take that chance.”
Paige pushed past him, her bare feet slapping on the tile floor, and marched into the laundry room between the garage and the kitchen. Yanking open the dryer door, she began removing and folding clothes, chopping at them like a kung-fu fighter breaking boards.
Steele was reminded of his mother folding laundry. Working. Working. Working. If only his father had stopped her. If only he would have taken control. If only he could have seen that women’s hearts were too fragile to work and live. Instead he condemned her to death, just as Eddie was condemning Paige to death.
“Don’t be like that,” she said. “I know we have responsibilities. I know there’s risk.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just need time to think about all of this.”
Paige stopped folding the pants, looked at him. “You know I’m happy with you, don’t you? I love you.”
Eddie stood there, his eyes locked on hers.
“I didn’t go to college with the dream of becoming a real estate agent,” she said. “That isn’t who I am. That isn’t who you fell in love with. I want to be an artist. Since I was a little girl that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Paige turned her back to him, bent over, and fished a pair of socks held together by a wooden clothespin out of the dryer. Eddie’s eyes stayed on her, drifted down to her ass.
“I don’t know why I even started this conversation,” she said. “Why didn’t I leave things be?”
“I love you very much,” Eddie said. “I know you love your art. I know you don’t want to give it up. But we have to be responsible. Can’t you work and paint? What would be wrong with that?”
“What I want is to erase this whole conversation, to go back to bed so we can pick up where we started.”
“I do love you,” Eddie said. “Maybe I just need some time to think this through. You can understand that can’t you?”
She nodded feebly. Yes, she finally understood. Eddie didn’t get it, and he never would. But Steele saw it. He saw it in her eyes. She was ready to change.
A Perfect Canvas Page 2
