Dead to Her

by Sarah Pinborough

  There was a long pause and then Keisha laughed, deep, throaty, and coarse. Marcie stiffened. “Are you laughing at me?” She sounded prissy and felt stupid. Of course Keisha was laughing at her. She was constantly laughing at her behind this faux-friendly exterior.

  “No, no. Fuck no.” Keisha held one hand up and shook her head as she got herself under control. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just it’s so funny.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “All of it. Them. Billy tells everyone that I worked in a travel agency. Apparently I was helping to plan the next leg of his European trip for him.”

  It was Marcie’s turn to peer above her oversized, overpriced sunglasses. “That’s what he told us. Said he hadn’t wanted to interrupt Elizabeth’s visit with her mother so he took care of it himself.”

  “Yeah, right. Like Billy would think like that. He’s used to everything being done by someone else. Of course Elizabeth took care of it.”

  “How did you meet then?” Maybe this afternoon would turn out to be worthwhile after all.

  Keisha pushed her glasses onto her head and sat up, taking a long swallow of her drink and then a deep breath before she started to speak.

  “You can’t tell anyone.” Her eyes gleamed, mischievous. The tequila had hit her too.

  “Of course I won’t,” Marcie said. An age-old lie. The first rule of big secrets, Marcie had learned, was that you kept them to yourself. The second rule of big secrets, she’d also learned, was that most people found it impossible not to break the first rule. She was not most people, but it appeared Keisha was.

  “I was a waitress too. I worked in a club. Not like your country club. This was the kind with sticky carpets and cheap champagne and where girls dance for lonely old men or brash city boys out for the night. Billy came in one evening and we got talking. He came back the next day and the day after that, and one thing led to another and here we are.”

  “You worked in a strip club? Did you dance?” Marcie couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. Why on earth would Keisha be so stupid as to share something like that? With her? The whole day had brightened. William Radford IV, king of the hill, had gone off and married a waitress from a strip club, maybe even a stripper.

  “No! No, I couldn’t do that. Not that I judge my friends who do it, but it wasn’t for me. Anyway, it wasn’t a strip place but table dancing. Close enough, though. Didn’t bother him at the time either.”

  “Wow.” Marcie snorted out a giggle and found she couldn’t stop. Keisha was right. It was funny. These two preening men so concerned with what everyone else thought. Slaves to it despite their success and wealth. And what would everyone think if they found out? Eleanor would die all over again. Jacquie had been enraged at being replaced by a “trashy waitress,” but this was something else. And she only had Keisha’s word that she’d been a cocktail server. For all Marcie knew the English girl had actually been a stripper.

  “I didn’t know he had it in him to go to a place like that,” she said, and laughed some more, and then Keisha was laughing too and within minutes their eyes were streaming and they were clutching their sides and they weren’t even sure what was so funny anymore. It felt good, though, to properly belly laugh. She hadn’t in such a long time. Why was that? When had she and Jason stopped laughing like this? Maybe Keisha made him laugh like this too, she thought, and her giggles dried up. Perhaps that’s what she had.

  The sun was melting into the blue of the afternoon, slipping like oil streaks down the sky. She should probably text Jason in case he finished work early and wondered where she was. Drinking tequila with the stripper you’re hot for. How would that go down?

  “Anyway, now you know my big secret, maybe you’ll take that stick out of your arse and start to relax a bit,” Keisha said once they’d both got their breath back. “Please don’t tell the others, though. I see how they look at me already. Like Billy not only went crazy and married some young girl, but chose a young black girl on top of it.”

  Marcie started to protest, but Keisha hushed her. “I may be ignorant on a lot of this, but I know when people are looking down on me. Everyone does here. Even Billy.”

  Keisha sounded so forlorn, Marcie didn’t know quite what to say, but then Keisha whispered, “You want to get high?”

  “What?”

  “Weed. I found some. In Saint Eleanor’s room.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Come on. It’ll be fun. I already had a Valium this morning, so if it’s not going to kill me, it won’t kill you.”

  “Oh, I really shouldn’t . . .” Booze and drugs. This was turning out to be quite the afternoon. A treasure trove of information.

  “We’ve got a couple of hours before Billy gets back. Let’s be young. Play some music. Have a laugh. Please, Marcie?”

  What was it with this woman? She didn’t need Marcie’s help. Keisha was hell-bent on wrecking her new life all by herself.

  “Put some clothes on. I’ll see you inside.” Keisha grabbed the jug and glasses. “Let’s get mashed.”

  She couldn’t be serious. “What will Zelda think? And what will she tell William?”

  “I’m tired of caring what people think. And she won’t tell him anything, because she’s about to get the rest of the day off.”

  Marcie stared after Keisha as she turned and headed for the terrace. Get high? No she was not going to get high. She was done with this weird day of game playing. She’d get dressed, go inside, call a cab, and go home. There was no way she was staying. No way.

  18.

  By six, Marcie was truly baked. Her ears buzzed and the R & B playing in the background, some English artist she’d never heard of, was now in time with the slow thump of her heart.

  “This is really trippy weed,” Keisha murmured and then coughed out a small laugh.

  She was right. Marcie was at once floating on air and at the same time her limbs were heavy against the soft cushions. Everything was amusing and she cared about nothing. Where had Eleanor gotten this shit? Had she used it as pain relief when she was dying? Probably. But still, kudos to the old girl. Whoever her dealer had been they were good. But then Eleanor always did have the best of everything. At least her leftover grass wasn’t going to waste.

  They were out on the deck, sprawled on the double lounger, watching the sun sinking languidly toward the horizon, the doughnuts eaten, passing a joint between them. At some point Marcie had texted Jason to tell him where she was and that he’d have to pick her up, but she hadn’t looked to see if he’d answered. Screw him, with his lies and his moodiness and his making her feel like shit. All that belonged in a world outside this bubble. She deserved to have some fun.

  How strange that she was having fun with this woman though. The snake in their grass. She lay on her side and watched Keisha as she exhaled smoke from her perfect cupid’s bow mouth. The knot in Marcie’s guts, ropes of jealousy, insecurity, and paranoia tangling together tight, had gone. It was the smoke, she knew that, but she felt completely relaxed, observing her own life from the outside, fascinated by this creature who was possibly flirting with, or even screwing, her husband while pretending to be her friend.

  “What?” Keisha said. “Why are you staring at me?”

  Marcie shrugged. “I’m trying to figure you out.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Nothing I think you’d tell me.” She let out a half-laugh. She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t funny and yet it was. She was being played at her own game. In fact, she was being outplayed at her own game.

  “Try me.” Keisha shrugged, childlike in her openness. Underneath the veneer of confidence she wore, Marcie was starting to see how young Keisha really was.

  Marcie took a careful toke on the joint, without the hint of a cough this time. This was not how she’d seen this lunch date panning out. She’d planned to keep her cool and draw information from Keisha without giving away any of her own. Now she was about to blurt out exact
ly what she thought.

  Keisha rolled onto her side, so that they lay facing each other. “Go on, what is it? I won’t be offended.”

  That made Marcie want to laugh again. Her, offended? Wow, she was good. She sighed the laugh away. “There’s only one thing I want to know.”

  “God, you’re stoned. Spit it out.”

  “Okay.” Screw it. She was too high and too tired of worrying to care about games anymore. She looked Keisha in the eye and rose up on one elbow. “Why are you pretending to be my friend when you obviously want to sleep with my husband?”

  She spat the words out hard like poison darts, and Keisha looked stung.

  “You think I want to fuck Jason?”

  “Oh, come on! You’re always wanting to be near him. Trying to get between us. Flirting and laughing. Asking questions. Jason this and Jason that. I’m not stupid.”

  There was a long pause before Keisha burst into a fit of giggles, waving one perfectly manicured hand in front of her face. “Oh, that’s too funny,” she gasped between bouts of snorting laughter.

  It was Marcie’s turn to feel stung. How dare she? How dare she laugh? Why did what this woman think of her hurt so much? “Yeah, I guess it must be.” She got unsteadily to her feet, trying to stay dignified. “How stupid of me to try to talk about it like adults.” She wanted to get away. Everything was a mess and she’d made it worse. Getting drunk and stoned like a teenager. Speaking her mind. Making herself look like an idiot. The world spun slightly as she stumbled toward the patio doors, hoping the freezing AC inside might straighten her up.

  “Marcie, wait!” Keisha, following her, grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Oh, for God’s sake. I don’t want to sleep with Jason.” She stared at her. “Don’t you get it? Of course I don’t want Jason. I want you.” Her grip softened and she let go, slightly embarrassed. “You. It’s all you,” Keisha continued.

  Marcie’s world suddenly stilled. It didn’t make any sense. “No, but I saw . . .” What had she seen? The way Keisha had looked up at Jason from the creek when they were on the boat? Marcie had been standing next to him and Keisha had been squinting. It wasn’t Jason she’d been calling to come into the water at all. It was Marcie. She hadn’t stayed in long after because the wrong person had joined her. Another memory flashed vividly. Marcie going to surprise Jason at lunch, and Keisha’s greeting—Ah, there she is. The wife. She’d been waiting for her. And all the questions about their relationship. They hadn’t been about whether Jason was unhappy, but about whether Marcie was. Could Marcie have been reading the whole thing wrong? It was crazy.

  “But what about the phone call in the middle of the night?”

  Keisha paused—was that a flash of something?—and then frowned. “Not me.”

  “So, you don’t want to screw Jason?” Marcie was still struggling to absorb this new information. Hazy as she was on weed and tequila, it was like a fever dream.

  Keisha shook her head. “I already have one husband and that’s enough for anyone. It was supposed to be enough for me. I was going to be a good wife. But when I saw you that first time it was like lightning. I couldn’t—can’t—stop thinking about you.”

  “Me?” Marcie’s face flushed. Could that be true? Had she gotten it so badly wrong? But she was here getting drunk and stoned, not Jason. And why would Keisha lie about something like this?

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want you to feel weird around me. You’re the only good thing in this place.”

  Marcie almost laughed. The thought of Jason preening, all male arrogance, launching himself at Keisha whenever he could, not knowing what a fool he was making of himself. Oh God, it was glorious. There was something so comically brilliant about it. For once, it wasn’t all about Jason Maddox.

  “And I know you’re married,” Keisha said. “I get it. So am I, after all.”

  “I love Jason,” Marcie said, softly. Did she mean it? If the middle-of-the-night phone call hadn’t been Keisha, it was still somebody. He’d still lied. He’d still been distant for months, so much so that she’d immediately thought he’d been trying to screw Keisha from a few looks. But what else was she supposed to think when he only wanted to fuck when he was drunk. She still felt she was walking on shifting sand in her marriage. Like she should be grateful for any crumb of affection. “He was flirting with you though, wasn’t he? I didn’t imagine that.”

  Keisha shrugged again, that helpless charming gesture. “Probably harmless.”

  The music was still playing and as the tune drifted through the patio doors, Marcie wanted to let it take her. “When did life get so complicated? I want to be nineteen, dancing in a field somewhere, in cutoff denims and a crop top,” Marcie said, raising her hands above her head, finding the rhythm. It was a slow groove with a steady beat and it made her uninhibited in her movement. The sun had lost its midday rage, but the air was thick and warm, and a slight breeze caressed her as she moved; a tentative lover’s touch. She let her hips tilt side to side as her head rolled, her hair falling into her face. What was happening here? Why did she feel so good? So free?

  She pushed all thoughts aside. She was tired of thinking. Of worrying. She was just going to be for once, a reed in a river, carried on a current. She spun around, smiling. She liked the way Keisha was looking at her. As if she was everything. It was decadent, illicit, wrong. It made her feel alive. It was turning her on.

  “You want a blow back?” Keisha asked.

  Marcie nodded. It was good to be high. It felt so dangerous. All of it. A loose thread that could unravel a carefully wrought tapestry. This was not what Marcie Maddox did. Screw Marcie Maddox. Tonight, she was someone else. Keisha carefully relit the joint, barely a stub left. “Don’t put it in backward,” Marcie murmured. “You’ll burn your mouth.”

  “It’s the last draw I think,” Keisha said, coming close until they were face-to-face. “You ready?”

  Keisha sucked in hard, the paper crackling as seeds inside popped. Her nose furrowed, cute, making Marcie smile as she opened her mouth. Keisha slowly blew, and the secondhand smoke was sweet and cool as Marcie breathed the stream in, her lips barely an inch from Keisha’s. I’m breathing her in, she thought, randomly. Air from her lungs. She shivered and closed her eyes momentarily, before quietly sighing the smoke from her own body. She stood, still, as the tingle ran from her toes to her scalp.

  “You are so beautiful,” Keisha whispered, eyes wide with awe. Keisha looked up to her. Respected her. It made Marcie tremble with delight.

  “No,” Marcie said. “You are beautiful.” She reached up and cupped the other woman’s face, pulling her gently closer until there were soft lips brushing hers and they were kissing. She should stop, she knew she should, but she couldn’t. Her whole body was suddenly on fire. She traced her fingers down Keisha’s sleek, elegant neck, and the other woman sighed into her mouth, her tongue darting forward, delicate and sweet. Electricity coursed through Marcie’s veins. She was drunk. She was high. And she was kissing a woman. She was kissing Keisha.

  “Honey? You and Marcie here?”

  The voice was barely audible over the music, but it cut like frozen steel through the moment and even as Marcie startled, Keisha had pulled away. They both gasped, kids nearly caught out, and Keisha turned the music down as she called, “Out here!” Looking around as she quickly smoothed her hair, Marcie expected to see evidence of their debauchery laid bare in an afternoon’s worth of food and drink debris, but the solitary margarita jug—even empty as it was—two glasses and bag of chips that were on the table looked almost respectable. The dancing, the weed, the confessions, and the kiss all felt as if they belonged to a dream Marcie had been suddenly woken from.

  William and Jason appeared in the doorway, both in polo shirts and pressed pants, straight from the golf course. The party was over. The men were back.

  19.

  Marcie had managed to appear passably sober until they left, but as soon as Jason started dr
iving the motion of the car sent her head spinning and stomach lurching. She turned the AC up high and took deep breaths as she focused on keeping the contents of her guts where they were supposed to be. She hadn’t felt this bad since . . . when? She could barely remember. A different life.

  “Not so fast on the corners,” she muttered as her throat constricted with nausea. A cold sweat broke out across her chest. This was not going to end well.

  “How much did you drink? You’re a mess.”

  She looked over at him, at the irritated frown furrowing his forehead. She shrugged and pointed at herself. “This much?” Her giggle turned into a groan. “I’m going to puke.”

  “Jesus, Marcie. Can you wait till we get home?”

  As it turned out, she couldn’t, and even as, hanging out of the open car door, she retched up chunks of doughnut and the acid tang of tequila and lime, she could feel his disapproval coming from the driver’s seat. Finally, when she was getting her breath back and the world had settled slightly back onto an even keel, he dug a tissue out of the glove compartment for her to wipe her mouth.

  “Better?”

  “A bit.” She flopped back against the leather seat. “I just want to lie down.”

  “You normally handle your liquor better than this.” Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Were you smoking?”

  The tone of his voice was really starting to irritate her. How many times had she looked after him when he’d rolled home drunk after a boys’ night out? Okay, not so many times in the past couple of years, but she had.

  “Don’t be so uptight. It wasn’t cigarettes.” No, he’d made sure she quit those as part of her transformation from hot waitress to high society wife. “Just a bit of weed.”