by Heather Gean
“Okay, I need to begin by saying that I love and trust both of you, and if you don’t agree to my terms then you can back out and I won’t feel any differently about you, but you are the only people I could trust to handle this.”
“Are you dying?” Liz asked.
“God, Liz, let her finish,” Sasha snapped. That sharp sentence threw the entire balance of the mood off again. We dismissed the weirdness, and I continued.
“There was a lot of extra money left over from the chunk Ashley gave me for – well – I dunno why he gave it to me. Hush money, I guess.” I stopped fidgeting and regained focus. “Anyway, I donated most of it to the children’s hospital downtown, but I want to use the rest of it to start a support group, an interest group, if you will.” The two of them stared expectantly at me, so I continued without feedback. “I want to start a marriage rights group. We could organize events; create a community where these people don’t feel like society’s rejects. It’s just… it’s been really hard for me, and according to the statistics there are hundreds of thousands of other people in the same situation I’m in – or worse.”
We all stopped talking while the waiter served us our drinks and garlic breadsticks. I thanked him, waited for him to get out of earshot, and looked expectantly at my friends.
“Wow! Rainy, that sounds great!” Liz said.
“The main problem is that my appeal hasn’t gone through yet, and if I am a registered member of an activist group the media will rip what progress Ashley and I have made with them apart. I can head the group under a fake name, but, if you can, I will need you two to help me facilitate things. There is nothing legally wrong with it. You won’t get into any trouble. I will do most of the work, but you two would oversee the process. I have some plans already made out--”
“Excuse me,” Sasha said abruptly. She slid out of the booth and jetted across the restaurant in seconds. She flung the bathroom door open, and it closed firmly behind her.
“Is she okay?” I asked Liz.
She shrugged. “She has been short with me since I picked her up. You can go check on her if you want, but I might lose a hand if I try.”
It was worth a shot. When I reached the bathroom door it was locked. I knocked. “Sasha? Are you okay?” No response. I knocked again. The lock clicked, and I tried the knob again, this time entering the single-person restroom. I locked the door behind me when I saw the desperation on Sasha’s face. It was pale and her cheeks were flushed. She propped herself against the sink with one hand and tore paper towels from the dispenser to wipe her face with the other. “Are you all right?” I asked again.
Sasha’s face contorted into an expression of pain from fighting back sobs. “I’m just a little sick.” As soon as the words left her mouth her bearing broke and she sank down over the sink. With a deep breath she pulled herself up again. I tried to think of the last time that Sasha was sick. She was typically so healthy that her immune system was like a radioactive force field around her body that kept out viruses and the like. I put a hand on her back.
“Do you need some medicine?” I asked. “We could go get you some. It’s no big deal. We can have lunch when you’re feeling better. We haven’t even ordered yet.”
“I don’t think they have medicine for what’s wrong with me.” Another sob jolted through her body. She crumpled into the floor with her back against the wall and her knees pulled into her chest. Worst case scenarios raced through my head: AIDS, cancer, some sort of rare incurable monkey disease she contracted from the zoo.
“What do you mean?” I knelt down beside her in an attempt to calm her down. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m pregnant,” she said hoarsely. That hit me so hard that I too collapsed to a sitting position in the floor beside her. I had no idea that Sasha was even seeing anyone. I also had no idea what to say.
“Are you sure?”
“Judging from the ultrasound picture it is either that or a tumor with its own heartbeat.” Her chest heaved with another sob. “I would rather have a tumor.” I put one of my arms securely around her shoulders, hoping to give her some sort of strength.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s fine. You’re fine,” I coaxed. I brushed some of the hair off of her forehead. This was a strange role reversal for us, since usually it was Sasha caring for me when I was a mess. I didn’t mind returning the favor. “This is way better than having a tumor. You don’t have to have any surgeries or lose your hair.”
Sasha twisted her face into an angry pout. “But I have to push out a bunch of goo and guts.”
“And a baby…” I added gently. She wasn’t really listening, though; she was in the middle of a red-faced rant.
“And I’m going to get huge. Huge! But by December I will only be four months so I won’t look pregnant so much as fat. The camera adds ten pounds, too. I will look like a chartreuse-colored mini whale on national television.” Disgust overwhelmed her, but at least she was phasing out of being hysterical.
“I’m not getting married so don’t worry about it. Besides, you’ll be beautiful. You’ll have that pregnant glow.”
“I am pregnant, and I am not glowing. I’m puking every thirty minutes. I’m peeing every fifteen. I’m like a walking fountain of bodily secretions.” I stifled a smile. “I can’t be a mom, Rainy.”
“You take care of monkeys all day at the zoo. I’m sure a baby can’t be much different.” She finally slipped into the calm phase of a breakdown.
“So who… when…” I couldn’t formulate the right words to ask the question on my mind.
“It’s Samson.” Her forehead fell to her knees, which she had pulled up into her chest. “Your idea is great, Rainy, but it just reminds me that my situation is hopeless. I can’t be covered on Samson’s insurance. Mine doesn’t cover much. I’m going to be in serious debt and have a baby by myself! I can’t have a real family or a real anything. It’s just…”
“Have you told him?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know how. How the hell do you tell someone something that you know will completely crush them?”
I didn’t have the best track record with breaking news to people lately so I couldn’t be of much assistance.
“I didn’t know you two were… I mean, I always suspected it. He’s a great guy.” Sasha nodded and wiped her face.
“He is a really great guy.” A smile broke through her distress, but it quickly faded. “He doesn’t seem like a dad, though.”
“He loves you, Sasha. He’s always loved you. It’s been obvious since freshman year of college. I doubt he will stop thinking that you are an absolute goddess just because you’re having his kid. And if he does then we’ll sic Liz on him.” She finally laughed.
I helped Sasha to her feet and we prepared to exit the bathroom. Once her breakdown subsided, my mind went back into business mode. Sasha’s plight gave me motivation for another dimension for my support group. If I teamed up with an insurance company that was sympathetic to the cause, maybe I could convince them to offer “married” insurance to couples who weren’t government-issued. It was a long shot, but since I was the fiancée of a socially elite anything was possible.
When I got back to the museum, a delivery man was waiting at my desk. I apologized for delaying him and then curiously glanced at the huge boxes he had carted in. I passed him the sign-in form. As he scribbled signatures on the page, I tilted my head to read the writing down the side of the biggest box. Excitement raced through me as I recognized Van’s handwriting: Trophy Wife – Van Sherman. The delivery man disappeared down the hall after returning the papers to me, and before filing them I further inspected the box. I carefully put it on its side and opened it up. A large, bronze statue peeked at me through packing peanuts.
“Rainy! That’s not your job!” Wes said as he came around the corner. He had been struggling with an inferiority complex lately. “Stop doing my job!”
“Sorry, Wes,” I said absently. I brushed aside a few of the Styrofoam bits and was met with the
pretty, golden face of a smiling woman. Her smile was eerily large.
“I’ll be right back with a mover. Don’t mess with it!” he warned. I ignored him and uncovered it until I realized that the entirely golden woman had her hands stiffly positioned near her hips and her elbows angled out like a cheerleader. On her left ring finger was a shiny, sparkly wedding ring of silver material with an excessively large fake diamond in it. Before I could uncover enough to see the whole thing Wes had returned. He made a noise at me like one might make to a dog to discourage it from chewing your shoes.
“Fine,” I said as I got to my feet. “Just let me know when you get it set up?”
My nerves were dancing somewhere between relief in knowing that Van would not make a personal appearance to deliver his sculpture as well as anxiousness because he wouldn’t. I didn’t have time to worry about my emotions, though. Another delivery was already coming in, and I had to put on my business face and get back to work. It would be a long week, and unfortunately Halloween was smashed right in the middle of it.
~*~
I wasn’t sure why I had shown up to work that day. Nothing was getting accomplished. Half of the staff was dressed in ridiculous costumes so it was hard for them to take themselves seriously. Usually, I loved Halloween. Last year I had even bought one of those doggie costumes for Ringo. At that point I had still been in college so I spent the night in a club downtown dressed as a sorority girl, complete with a Greek-lettered t-shirt, a blonde wig, and a red plastic cup; it was a hit both hated and loved by the crowd when I entered the costume contest in the “scariest costume” category. This year, though, my busy schedule and sour mood wouldn’t allow for sugary candy and binge drinking. The stress from work paired with the red tape involved in getting my support group up and running was enough to put prancing around in a cute little costume at the bottom of my must-do list. Besides the bowl of candy corn on my desk, I was boycotting Halloween altogether.
Everyone at the museum planned to get off early even though a lot still needed to be done before opening day. Most cubicles in my area had already emptied. By four, I figured it was time to call it a day, but I decided to traipse through the exhibit before I left. I hadn’t really had the time to see what progress had been made on it. The exhibit rooms contained many interesting pieces, ranging from sculpture to painting to photography to the abstract. One of my favorites included a pair of handcuffs with a man’s wedding band for one cuff and a woman’s engagement ring for the other. Another entitled Wedding Hells was composed of a set of decorative wedding bells that included a small mallet, but when struck produced a sour, flat sound.
But of all of them, I kept coming back to Van’s sculpture, which stood in front of a placard that read Trophy Wife. The way the light reflected off the golden-bronze finish drew attention directly to it. It resembled a giant trophy topped with a woman in a pretty dress and heels. I folded my arms over my chest with a sigh as I studied it. I could’ve read a million meanings into it, but so many other must-dos filled my mind until no room remained for interpretations.
“You know, I’ll have to kill you now that you’ve seen it,” a voice said from behind me. My body shivered reflexively as I spun around from the shock of realizing I wasn’t alone. Van stood near the back of the room nonchalantly. Words escaped me. “Surprise,” he said with a hopeful grin. A smile spread across my face.
“Well, I’m definitely surprised! What brought you down here? When your sculpture was delivered I figured you were too busy to make it.”
“Buying the sculpture a plane ticket seemed a bit much so I sent it ahead.” He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shifted the weight on his gray Vans. I marveled at how sexy he could make jeans and a t-shirt look. His hair was almost shoulder-length now, and in the front where it needed a trim he continually tossed away from his eyes. “I guess my first question for you should be why are you still here working? It’s Halloween!” He put a deep, theatrical inflection on the word Halloween and paired it with deep, villainous laughter. He pulled a Phantom of the Opera mask from the messenger bag resting across the back of his hips and innocently slid it onto his face. I broke into an amused laugh.
“I’ve been too busy to even think about Halloween this year. Or think about anything, really.”
Van removed his mask, and his tone grew slightly more serious. “I assumed since I haven’t heard from you much in the past month. You stopped coming to New York.”
“The therapy sessions ended.”
“I would like to think that wasn’t the only reason you were coming up there,” he said with another hopeful smile.
“When airfare isn’t free anymore it’s less reasonable.” I mirrored the semi-optimistic expression on his face. Trying to break some of the tension, I checked the time on my phone. “They’re closing up soon. I need to get out of here.”
Van uncertainly fell into step with me as I passed him. I ducked into my cubicle to grab my jacket and keys, but before I could gather my things my emotions got the better of me. “Why did you come all the way down here if your sculpture had already been delivered?”
Van looked as if he had been caught, and some of his smoothness disappeared. “I wanted to see you,” he admitted. Then added more brightly, “And I brought you something.”
“Another surprise?”
“If you can handle two in one day.”
I smiled at him and led the way out the building. Van paused by the front desk to pick up a large, thin, rectangular package that was propped against it. It was covered in plain, brown paper wrapping. Van smiled at me when I expectantly glanced at him. His wrapping job hadn’t done much to conceal the nature of the gift. It was obviously a painting of some sort, but that added excitement. He didn’t present it to me right then, though, so I followed him outside. The security guard waved to us as we went through the revolving doors. When we arrived at my car in the parking lot I immediately reached for the package. “Can I open it?”
“You probably won’t enjoy it as much if you don’t,” Van said teasingly. He was right. I enjoyed the beautiful colors on the canvas far more than the brown paper wrapping. Tiny, raindrop shaped tiles of all shades of blue had been positioned into a mosaic. When I held it further away from me, I realized that the tiny little tiles formed a beautiful silhouette of a thin, graceful woman. Her hair fell into the same long waves as mine, and the tiles used for it reflected yellow and a dull red when the light hit them. Two red raindrops formed her lips, and a chocolate brown one was used for her visible eye. There was no doubt that the woman was supposed to be me. I was amazed how much like a goddess I looked on canvas.
“It’s amazing,” I said finally. It was so breathtaking to look at that it had taken me a long while to respond. I gave Van a big smile. “Thank you.”
“It’s a one of a kind,” he said just like a salesman. “The title is on the back.” He turned it around for me. In his handwriting, neatly positioned in the top right corner, it read Rainy Days. His nearly unrecognizable signature was scrawled down below. My whole body could have melted into a pile of mushy goo at that point. The only thing I was sure of was my heart pounding in my chest. The way our eyes met said much more than I could’ve about the gift. After a few awkward smiles I gingerly leaned forward and kissed his face just beside his mouth. The stubble tickled my lips, and when I pulled away I touched my fingers to them to curb the sensation.
“I don’t have any plans tonight, but if you want to come to my apartment we can hang out,” I offered softly.
“I have DVDs.” He tugged at the strap of the messenger bag slung around to the back of him. “Classic horror movies. If you can supply the candy we will have something of celebration going on.”
I smiled at him, letting the whimsical spirit of Halloween that I had always enjoyed wriggle into the gaps of my evening. “I have candy,” I affirmed. We spent a moment laughing about how inappropriate that had sounded, like I was trying to kidnap a child. I motioned for him to get
into the car after I had carefully slid the painting into the backseat. He paused with his hands on the top of the car, and his eyes met mine playfully.
“There is one more thing regarding tonight that you have to agree with,” he said. I prompted him with a curious raise of my eyebrows. He slid on his Phantom of the Opera mask again before he rummaged through his bag and pulled out the red wig. He tossed it over the car to me. “You have to agree to be my Christine and forget about that Raul guy.”
I put the red wig atop my head. A piece of it hung across my nose, and I blew it off of my face. “All right, but be gentle with me when you drag me down into your lair.” I winked at him before sliding behind the wheel of the car.
~*~
“Trick or treat!” a group of kids screamed in unison when I opened the door to my apartment. Van and I had paused The Rocky Horror Picture Show when we heard the doorbell. Luckily, I had bought a few pounds more candy than Van and I could eat, and I handed it out liberally to the trick-or-treaters. After complimenting their costumes and filling their plastic pumpkin heads with candy, I returned the bowl of candy to the coffee table. I bypassed the couch to head for the fridge before we pressed play again. I grabbed him another drink when I got mine and returned to the couch.
“Trick or treat?” he asked me as I sat down.
“Trick.” Van beckoned me forward like he was going to whisper something in my ear but stole a quick kiss instead. I licked my lips with a sly smile, not even able to pretend that he hadn’t made my heart jump. “That felt a lot like a treat.” He winked at me as he picked up his soda.
“What was your favorite Halloween costume as a kid?” Van asked. I popped the top on my soda as I thought.
“I was a black cat when I was nine. It was great because my costume had the coolest, fluffy cat’s tail. I wore vampire teeth for added effect,” I said. I smiled nostalgically. “What was yours?”
“I went as Kurt Cobain. I thought it was awesome but no one got it.”
“You must have been a strange kid,” I commented with another laugh.
