Dead to Her

by Sarah Pinborough

  Jason looked at her, surprised. “I ordered you a salad. You always have a salad.”

  “Not today.” How ridiculous it was. All these women, nibbling on air, when they could afford the finest mouth-watering dishes. They weren’t staying thin for themselves, that was for sure. They were starving their bodies and plumping their faces to fend off the secretaries and the second wives. Marcie used to look at the larger women dotted around the lounges and bars with disdain, but maybe she’d gotten it all wrong. Maybe they were the happy ones. Their marriages weren’t based on image or a financial power imbalance. Those were the kinds of women the rest of them—herself included—probably should aspire to be.

  “So I guess you’d better change the order,” she finished. She was in a fiery mood, ready to spit and crackle at anyone, Jason included. Great sex did that to her. And Keisha might be a little crazy, but she was great sex. And suddenly there she was again and Marcie’s heart tripped.

  “I’ll have a steak too.” Keisha slid in beside William after kissing the top of his balding head, her lips barely touching his liver-spotted skin. “Looking at all those canapé options this morning has left me starving.” She grinned. “But then, I’m always starving. I have a large appetite.”

  “Marcie says you’re doing a great job with the party,” William said, and Marcie saw one fat hand slide under the table, where it was probably squeezing Keisha’s knee. Poor Keisha. No wonder she was so desperate to get out.

  “It’s not going to be like any other around here, that’s for sure,” Keisha said proudly, but Marcie noticed William’s face darkening slightly. Worry? Not wanting anything too different? Too young or too wild? Nothing that might embarrass him with its gaudiness? “When we get home I’ll talk you through our ideas. Then we can change anything you don’t like.”

  William relaxed. The king was appeased.

  “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” Jason said. “You’re a lucky man, William.”

  Marcie looked at her husband. His eyes glittered, wolflike, as he looked at Keisha for a moment too long before turning his smile to William. It still rankled Marcie, this obvious lust he had for the second Mrs. Radford IV. It also annoyed her that he was so stupid as to let it show to William, when they were so close to getting everything he wanted.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. This light came on in my car on my way here.” Keisha pulled out her phone. “I took a picture of it so you men can tell me what it means.” She clicked through to the image and held it out.

  “Oh, that’s the coolant,” William said, getting up. “Excuse me while I go to the restroom.”

  “Coolant?” Keisha barely noticed as her husband waddled away.

  “I think they call it antifreeze in England,” Jason said. “Don’t worry about it. I can top that up for you. Check that it’s not leaking. Can you pick some up at the store, Marcie, if we don’t have any?”

  “Since when are you a mechanic?” Marcie said.

  “I’m pretty good with cars, actually.” Jason flashed her a disgruntled look before smiling once again at Keisha. “Don’t worry, I’ll get under your hood, Keisha, and get it running again. Can’t have you overheating.”

  “I think we’re out,” Marcie muttered, staring down at the menu as her husband overplayed his crude innuendos. Her fingers felt sticky and her stomach turned. Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry anymore.

  32.

  The skin on Marcie’s thighs prickled and itched with sweat under her skirt from where she’d been sitting, so bored, for the best part of an hour, and it was a relief when the sermon was finally over. It was the hottest day of the year so far, and the pastor had been embarrassed and apologetic about the broken AC, which apparently engineers were working on, but Marcie had seen no sign of them as she’d sat and politely perspired alongside the great and the good of Savannah society. Sunday before the Fourth of July; everyone went to church, she’d noticed over the years—even Jason insisted they show up. As if God were one of them and Jesus wore a cap that said Make America Great Again instead of a crown of thorns.

  The doors had been left open, but the air was so stagnant they would have been better closed. Keisha had gone outside, looking slightly off-color, ten minutes before the end, and as they all rose to file out, Marcie noted William didn’t look at all pleased about that. Virginia, tanned and glowing from her trip away, happy to be back in the bosom of her church, had whispered, “Maybe she’s pregnant,” into Marcie’s ear, and half-asleep as she’d been in the stifling heat while the pastor droned on, Marcie hadn’t missed the snickering tone. She knew why too. William Radford was a blue blood of society. He may have married a black woman, but would he want his only surviving child and heir to be mixed race? She doubted it. Old prejudices ran deep in the subconscious.

  She pulled her sunglasses out of her bag and followed Virginia into the bright light, where she murmured her thank-you to the pastor and then scanned the parking lot and sprinklered lawns for Jason. Virginia droned on about how much she’d relaxed in Grand Cayman, how attentive the staff at each of the resorts had been, and how Marcie would absolutely love it there and should persuade Jason to take her. It was so smug. The sticky heat was irritating Marcie’s mood as much as her skin, and it didn’t help that her sleep had been punctured over and over by anxiety dreams of the past. How wonderful life must be for someone like Virginia. All that money of her own. Never having to ask permission to do anything. No nightmares. No memories crammed into small locked boxes.

  Perhaps it was simply the heat, but Virginia seemed to be the only one in their group in good spirits, Marcie mused, as her eyes drifted across to where William had found Keisha, leaning against a tree over in the leafy grove that disguised the busy road beyond. Whatever he was saying to her, it didn’t look too comforting, even though Keisha did look a little unwell. Maybe he’d rather she’d passed out or puked in the pews instead of embarrassing him by leaving before the collection plate had even come around. Keisha, Keisha. Marcie’s nerves twitched in irrepressible sexual excitement. It was dangerous, she knew it, but that was a turn-on in itself.

  She half-expected to see Jason over with Keisha too—offering comfort or water or a good hard fuck—but instead he was by the far wall, beyond the cars, talking to Emmett. It was rare for Emmett to even show up at church, despite his wife’s passion for it, and Marcie was pretty sure he’d dozed off at one point, but if he’d been sleeping then, he was wide awake now as Jason leaned in close, gesticulating while they talked in the shimmering air. Marcie frowned, unable to make out any words from this distance. Jason looked very intense, even as Emmett shrugged and smiled with all his natural ease and foppish charm.

  “How about brunch at mine?”

  Marcie jumped slightly, startled, as William’s question broke her musing. “Sure,” she murmured. She glanced back at her husband. Whatever he and Emmett had been talking about, it was done now and they were strolling back to their wives as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Jason’s going to top up Keisha’s coolant,” William continued. “I told him Elizabeth would take it into the shop, but he says he can do it.”

  “Oh yes!” Virginia piped up. “He used to have a little old racing car, didn’t he? Put it together himself. Back when he was first with Jacquie. My.” She sighed. “Where does the time go?”

  Virginia, ever the bitch, all misty-eyed for Jason’s first marriage.

  “Jacquie’s back in town,” Marcie said. “If you hadn’t heard already.” It was always better to own information that could be used against you, that was Marcie’s policy.

  Virginia’s eyes widened and there was a hint of glee in the sparkle. Her mouth opened, no doubt to say something spiteful couched in concern, but Marcie didn’t give her the chance, turning and heading to the car.

  Only William Radford would have air-conditioning in his garage, but thank God for it, Marcie thought, as she leaned back against the passenger door of their own car while Jason pulled th
e Prestone from the trunk.

  “You should go inside with the others, honey,” Jason said. “No point in all of us being out here. Can’t exactly see you as the type who likes to get covered in motor grease.”

  Marcie hadn’t been entirely sure why she’d stayed in the garage. Her heart was thrumming in her chest despite her outward calm and she felt slightly sick, but now that Jason was trying to get rid of her, she was damned sure she wasn’t moving.

  “I may learn something, honey.” She emphasized the last word with a sweet smile, and saw his jaw tighten at her barb. Did she sound jealous, knowing he wanted some alone time with Keisha? Did she even care what he thought?

  “Okay then.” He opened the hood on the Corvette, propping it open and peering inside. “Yeah, you’re definitely low on coolant.”

  “I think the light on the dash already told her that,” Marcie said, and Jason glared at her.

  “No one likes a smart-ass.” Jason ran his hands along the hoses. “This one’s a bit loose.” He held his damp fingers up. “It’s been leaking out of here.” He leaned in and twisted something, almost grunting as he did it. Marcie wanted to laugh. How macho was he trying to be?

  “But that should take care of it. Now to refill her.” He picked up the coolant and took it over to the sink. “Just need to mix it in something. I hope you’re watching, ladies.”

  “I’m all eyes,” Keisha said, dropping him a wink. She flirted like breathing, Marcie decided, she couldn’t help herself, and Marcie watched Jason puffing up under Keisha’s gaze as he looked around the vast space. She’d never thought Jason to be a fool before, but maybe all men were when it came to women. There was something slightly hysterical about it. An hour ago Keisha had been near fainting in the church and now she was flirting, all coquettish smiles and thrusting hips, almost a parody of herself. Was she trying to make Marcie jealous? Did she even know what she was doing? For all she laughed about Jason with Marcie, Keisha was flirting back. Something was definitely off with her today.

  Jason found a funnel high up on a shelf and an old empty water drum under a workbench, which he half-filled with water. He wrenched the cap off the coolant and Marcie’s stomach twisted as he spilled a great glug of brightly colored liquid onto his shirt and over his hands.

  “Shit.”

  “So much for watch and learn,” Keisha said, folding her arms across her chest, amused. “Maybe you’d better take that shirt off. That’s how real mechanics work, isn’t it? Sweaty chests naked in the heat? Or is that just in porn films?”

  Jason laughed, shocked, even as his eyes reappraised Keisha. Evaluated this new snippet of information. A woman who watched porn. Why had Keisha said that? Did she like Jason too? Maybe she was screwing them both. Some great sick fantasy. Marcie squashed the thought—it was stupid. Keisha was simply playing with him, but still, this whole situation was setting her nerves on edge.

  “Wash your hands,” Marcie muttered as Jason stripped to the waist. “Don’t get any in your mouth. That stuff is poisonous.”

  “Yes, Mom,” Jason said, and she fought the urge to punch him in his stupid, smug, handsome face. Laughing at her to impress Keisha. She wanted to take the coolant and pour it down his lying throat. Even Keisha giggled, tinged with some strange energy that Jason didn’t seem to notice but added to Marcie’s claustrophobic unsettled feeling. The coolant wasn’t the only toxic thing in the garage. They were all poison one way or another, and maybe she was the only one honest enough to see it.

  Marcie felt better once they were back in the main house filled with bright, natural light, and no stink of chemicals or gasoline, even if it did mean more dull conversation with Virginia and Emmett, who were still talking William through how divine and much-needed their vacation had been, as if their lives here were full of woe. Keisha became the doting wife, reassuring everyone that she’d only felt faint for a moment at church and it was nothing serious, and Zelda took Jason’s shirt to wash it while he went upstairs to clean up and borrow a polo shirt of William’s before they ate. He must have taken a shower, because by the time he came downstairs, tucking the comically too big shirt into his pants under his sports jacket, Marcie was on her second glass of wine, and when he came over and kissed her, asking if he smelled better, she could almost forgive him his pathetic show of flirting earlier.

  It was strange how they all fell back into their roles. Sitting next to Jason as they ate, his arm draped casually over the back of her chair, it was hard to remember the passion of screwing Keisha in her car. The freedom of that animalistic desire. It was like a dream now that the status quo was restored. The only pieces not locked into place were Iris and Noah, and they’d be back in the next few days. There was a safety in this boring life, she knew that, and even as she sipped her wine and then coffee, and let Jason take her hand as they left to head home, in that moment, she wanted to cling to it for a while.

  She looked back at the open garage door as they drove away, the little red Corvette sitting proudly in the gloom beyond and her skin trembled and her mouth tasted sour.

  Later, that night, when the city was asleep and for once Jason wasn’t creeping around the house taking phone calls, Marcie locked her dressing room door and stared into the contents of the box. A rare twist of guilt curled like burning paper in her guts.

  Whatever secrets Jason was keeping from her, she had the feeling that the ones she was keeping from him were worse.

  33.

  Nothing good. Nothing good will ever come of you, KeKe, not if you don’t change, don’t behave, don’t stop talking about boys who were never here. You’re cursed, baby girl, you know it and I feel it. You got to work harder at being good. At closing your eyes.

  Keisha had never forgotten about the boy. She couldn’t forget about the boy, no matter how much she’d tried, even when she’d stopped entirely believing he was real, and now she knew Auntie Ayo had been right, she was cursed and she couldn’t run from that. Nothing was good. Everything was rotten, and she was the black core of it. She’d been stupid to think she could be happy, to think she could have everything, to have believed in the joy she’d felt dancing in the field with Marcie. Dansé Calinda!

  Yesterday it had all come back to haunt her. It was Sunday morning before church and she’d felt good. Looking back, she’d felt too good, even with William breathing down her neck. She’d gone outside into the glorious heat. Gardeners were working hard, pickups coming in and out as they pruned and watered and weeded the already perfect lawns and flower beds. The pool was also being cleaned. There was a delightful joy in the hubbub of others while she had nothing to do. It appeared that maybe here Sunday was only a day of rest for the rich, that’s what she remembered thinking as she strolled barefoot on the grass while William showered.

  She found it under the big oak tree toward the back of the gardens. A tin plate of rice, peas, and beans, flies buzzing lazily across the congealed surface laying their slick white eggs. Coins glittered in a circle around it, grabbing her attention. She knew immediately what it was, similar but different, like so much in this country compared to home. An offering. A sacrifice. A curse. A warning. It was magic, and no good could come of it.

  No good will come of you, KeKe.

  She’d run inside, her legs shaking beneath her, calling for Billy, her words a jumble of fear until he came with her outside to see what all the fuss was about.

  “It’s bad juju,” she said breathlessly, as he stared at her discovery.

  “It’s just someone horsing around,” William said. “Maybe Zelda’s grandkids made it during the weekend.”

  He bent over and picked up the plate, nose curling with revulsion, before calling over one of the gardeners. “Throw that in the trash, will you?” The man took it and disappeared as Billy reached forward for the coins, those six silver teardrops among the flowers.

  “Don’t touch them!” Keisha’s voice had been almost a shriek, as she clawed at his arm, trying to pull him away.

  “Fo
r God’s sake, woman!” he’d snapped. “It’s only a few dollars! What is wrong with you?” His voice dropped and Keisha was suddenly aware that all eyes in the gardens were on them. “You’re embarrassing me,” Billy muttered under his breath, his eyes narrow.

  Chastised, Keisha had dropped her hand and simply stood and watched as he picked up the coins that glinted in the sunshine, winking their wickedness at her. “Waste not, want not,” William had said as he pocketed them, before striding inside again, smiling at his staff and leaving her to her silent fear.

  She’d felt sick all the way to church and the air had been so hot and the waist of her skirt so tight from days and days of rich food, she’d been sure she was going to puke right there in her seat. When William whispered he was going to put the dollars in the collection plate, she’d retched with the wrongness of it all and fled outside. It was then that she’d seen her. As if she’d been waiting.

  The old woman had been standing under a tree, her body almost as thick and tall as the trunk itself, chuckling to herself in the shade, her dry, frizzy orange hair ready to burst into flames in the heat. While one hand leaned her formidable weight on her walking stick, the other flipped a silver coin, a dollar no doubt, catching it between her fat fingers without even looking.

  She winked at Keisha. “I see you,” she said, nodding as the coin danced in the air once more. “Light and dark and dark and light, I see all to come. The dead don’t stay sleeping, not when Mama Laveau and her daughters come to call. Ghosts got them own needs.” She smiled at Keisha, the fat in her face squashing outward. “We all got our own needs. We all got our wishes. Ain’t that the truth?”