by Lauren Rowe
He tells me.
“All right. Exactly one year from today, Daddy, exactly one year to the very day, why don’t you come over to my house and pay my husband a little visit, hmm? It’d be so nice for you two to get acquainted.”
“That sounds mighty fine.”
“Do you think you can remember the address of my house in Hollywood?”
“Does a fat dog fart?”
I slowly tell him my address and make him repeat it back to me twice.
“That’s good, Daddy,” I say. “Now, I should warn you, the day before you actually meet my husband, exactly a year from today minus one day, we won’t be home. I’ll make sure of it. But you come right into the house, anyway, through the unlocked back door, and you make yourself at home, okay? And the very next day, exactly a year from today, my dear husband will come back home without me, sometime before noon. I haven’t decided why or how he’ll come back home without me, but he will. And while the two of you are all alone together in the house, you just go right ahead and teach my husband a thing or two while I’m not there.” I look around. “Teach him some much-needed manners.”
Daddy nods, his eyes narrowed to slits.
“And when you’re done, why don’t you leave the house for a while? Hmm? After you’ve left, I’ll come home in the afternoon. I’ll call all the right people and tell everyone all the right things. And when the dust settles after a few days, we’ll live together, just you and me, happily ever after in our fancy mansion, forevermore. We’ll swim in our pool and watch movies in our home theater and lounge around by our fountain with the naked ladies and cherubs and the little cupid with wings.”
Daddy’s been listening intently as I speak. He nods slowly. “Sounds good.”
I ask him to repeat my address again, and he does, slowly. I ask him to say the date he’ll be coming to my empty house through the back door, and he complies. I exhale sharply, trying to control my racing heart. “I have full faith in you, Daddy.”
“Nothing but the best for Charlie Wilber’s daughter,” he says, his voice steely.
I fist-pump the air, and Daddy and I smile at each other. After all this time, I’m still right on cue. “And for the next year, while you’re biding your time in here, I’ll be setting everything up on the outside so that a certain lady-friend of Kurtis’ takes all the credit for teaching my husband some manners, instead of you. Oh, Daddy, this particular gal reminds me of Mother like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, then, she must be a real peach.”
“Oh, yes. This woman and my husband, they’re just two peas in a pod.” I lower my voice to the softest of whispers and add, “Two peas in a pod, a bed, a shower, and God knows where else when I’m not around.” My lip snarls involuntarily for just a moment. “Just like I took such good care of Mother while you were away, I’m gonna take equally good care of this lady-friend of my husband’s, too, bless her heart.”
“Well, that’s awfully sweet of you.”
“Aw, Daddy, I’m so sweet, sugar don’t even melt in my mouth.”
Daddy grins at me.
“And another thing, since this nice lady’s gonna take all the credit for teaching my husband some manners, I think it would be best if you taught him some table manners specifically? Because, honestly, bless his heart, my husband’s just as crass as a big, fat pig.”
Daddy looks confused.
“What I mean is that you should show my husband the proper way to use his fork and knife—because my husband’s table manners are just deplorable, and I think it would be easiest to give this fine lady all the credit if you teach him table manners with a fork and knife.”
Daddy’s eyes light up with understanding. “You betcha. I’ll be sure to use all appropriate utensils when I talk to your husband. It’d be a crying shame for your sweet friend not to get all the recognition she deserves here.”
“You’re so right, Daddy. Thank you kindly.”
“It’ll be my pleasure. I’d do anything for you, Buttercup, you know that.”
“I should warn you, though, Daddy—my husband’s a pretty big man. And, sometimes he can be dumber than hammered owl shit. So you’ll wanna use a really big utensil with him, just to be sure he totally gets the full extent of what you’re teaching him. Otherwise, he might not get your point.”
Daddy smiles. “I’ll use a nice, big utensil and make sure he gets my point and then some.”
“I reckon you’ll find everything you need in our kitchen, Daddy—I’ll make sure everything’s there for you. Just help yourself.”
“Sounds good.”
“You sure you understand everything?”
“Does a big black bear shit in the woods?” He grins broadly.
I reach out and throw my arms around Daddy’s neck. “It’s so nice to finally have my daddy back.”
Daddy tries to hug me back, but his shackles get in the way.
“When you get out of here, promise you’ll never leave me again,” I whisper, holding back tears.
“Shh, I promise. Once I get out of here, we’ll be together forever.”
“Two minutes,” a guard yells.
I begin to stand and say my goodbyes.
“Buttercup, wait a second.”
I sit back down and look at Daddy expectantly.
“Now that we’ve settled on a time for me to come visit you and your husband, it makes no sense for you to keep coming here to the Visitor’s Center, chatting up a storm for everyone and their mother’s uncle to see...” He looks pointedly at the guard at the far side of the room and then up at that security camera mounted just below the ceiling. “While I bide my time here for the next year, how ’bout you do the same out there? An unforgettable girl like you shouldn’t be hanging around a place like this, talking to a guy like me, anyhow.”
My heart physically hurts to hear Daddy say these words, but my head knows he’s right. As much as I want to visit Daddy every single week for the next twelve months, it’s just too risky now that we’re planning to send Kurtis over the Big Ridge. And now that I know Johnny the Dingleberry could be on my tail on any given day, I’m gonna have to be doubly careful about where I go and whom I see. Even this morning at the bus station, I looked high and low for Johnny for a good ten minutes before I felt sure I could safely board the bus for the prison.
“Okay, Daddy,” I say. “I reckon you’re right.”
“Time!” the guard in the corner barks out.
Daddy rises up out of his seat.
“I love you, Daddy,” I whisper, giving him one final hug. “Bigger than a sky full of stars.”
“I love you, too, Buttercup,” he replies, nuzzling into my hair. He puts his mouth right on my ear and mutters, “Nobody fucks with Charlie Wilber’s Daughter. Nobody.”
Chapter 32
19 Years 3 Weeks Old
349 Days Before Killing Kurtis
“Well, hello, honey,” I say to Kurtis when he strides through the front door. He hands me a big bouquet of flowers—red roses surrounded by buttercups—what a surprise. “Oh, how sweet,” I say. “Thank you, sugar.” Ever since Kurtis revealed the monster inside him, he’s played Perfect Husband to a tee. And I’ve played Perfect Wife. Aren’t we sweet?
Kurtis sits on the couch and I sit on his lap, just like I always do.
“Baby,” Kurtis groans, clearly enjoying the feel of my body pressed against his lap, “what’d you do today?”
“You mean Johnny didn’t tell you?”
Kurtis chuckles. “Johnny didn’t check up on you today. He’s got plenty to do at the club.”
“Oh, well, if he had checked up on me, though, then you’d have known I got my hair done all pretty for you, and then I went to buy me the latest Nora Roberts book—I just love her.” I smile at him. “Another exciting day in Hollywood.”
Kurtis leans in to kiss me.
“Oh, by the way, someone called the house for you thi
s afternoon.” This is a lie. “A woman.”
Kurtis looks suddenly anxious.
“She wouldn’t give her name,” I add.
“Oh yeah? What’d she say?”
“I could barely make out a thing she was saying on account of there being loud music in the background. The only thing I could make out for sure was she said she needed to see you right quick.” This is all a big, fat lie, of course. No one called. But I’m enjoying the look of anxiety on Kurtis’ face too much not to keep going. “Do you know what that’s all about?”
Kurtis shakes his head. “Nope. I’ve got no idea what that’s all about. You say she called the house?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“Well, no. Hmm. I have no idea.”
“That’s strange. Must have been a crank call, then.”
“Sure sounds like it.”
“Hmmph.” I wait a beat. “Did you get a chance to call that director of mine like you said you would?”
Kurtis exhales loudly. “Yeah, I did. He’s not going to work out. I’m still lining up investors for our movie, anyway.”
“Well, gosh, maybe if you got a real director like him on board, investors would fall in line.”
“He’s not gonna work out, Buttercup,” he says, his voice edged with annoyance. “Just trust me.”
So we’re back to me having to trust him, huh? “Why won’t the director work out? He’s a real director, you know—he went to film school and everything.”
“So you’ve told me. But I don’t need him.” He grins like he’s got a secret. “I’ve decided to direct the movie myself.”
My mouth hangs open.
“And I’m gonna write the screenplay, too.”
Well, shut the front door.
“I’ve decided I don’t need anyone else to make you a star. I’m gonna do it all by myself.”
I can’t think of a damned thing to say. Kurtis doesn’t even write or direct his stupid pornos—and he thinks he can write and direct a legitimate, mainstream movie all by himself? Kurtis has explained to me a thousand times that he “produces” his pornos, which means he’s the big man in charge, but everyone else—from the director to the actors to the costume lady (whatever that means for a porno)—works for him and does what he tells them to do. Does Kurtis even know how to do anything besides order other people around? My stomach’s turning over like a tumbleweed in the desert. “Oh my,” is all I finally manage to say.
“I’m not gonna let some guy direct my wife in my own movie,” Kurtis says. “If anyone’s gonna direct my wife, it’s gonna be me.” His eyes are blazing. “And, anyway, I’ll get a better performance out of you than some hot-shot ‘director’ because I know you better than anyone, baby.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at that last part. “Well, bless your heart” is all I choke out.
I slide off Kurtis’ lap onto the couch, trying to figure out how to manage this situation. Is it time to accept defeat? Is my Marilyn movie a lost cause? Should I stop trying to squeeze blood out of a turnip? Maybe I should just forget about Happy Killing Kurtis Day and walk away right now. Maybe I should just be happy to be the Dream Girl and let bygones be bygones with Kurtis—no harm, no foul. But would Kurtis even let me walk away—or would he come after me?
“I’ve got it covered,” Kurtis says, patting my thigh. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing.”
“But, Kurtis, have you directed a movie before?”
“I might as well have.”
“Have you ever written a script before?”
“Practically.” He shrugs his shoulders.
I take a deep breath. “Kurtis, please just tell me the truth. Are you still planning to make our Marilyn movie?”
“Of course, I am. It’s been my dream my whole life.”
“But, I mean. You’re still planning on making it, starring me?”
He looks earnest. “Of course, I am.” He touches the diamond star at the top of my cross. “You’re my star, baby—my wife. Who else would I want to star in the movie of my dreams?” He flashes me his most charming smile—and, for a moment, believe it or not, even after all the walloping and cheating and lying, I actually feel my heart go pitter-pat.
“Really, Kurtis?”
“Of course.”
“And you think it’s gonna happen soon?”
“Yup. I should have everything in place any day now, and then we’ll start pre-production like gangbusters.”
“Really?”
“You bet.”
My face bursts into a giddy smile. “Well, this is mighty exciting news,” I say, elation flooding me. “Thank you so much, baby.”
“Of course.” He kisses my nose.
Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Maybe I was a bit hasty when I arranged Killing Kurtis Day so quickly after he whacked me upside the head. Did I go off half-cocked? I reckon anyone could do a bad thing now and again—I most certainly have myself when circumstances have forced me—but does doing a bad thing necessarily make a person bad? I don’t think so. Maybe Kurtis feels so bad about what he did to me, he’s decided to recommit to our movie with renewed purpose. And maybe he’s feeling so awful about hurting me, he’s decided to be gentle and sweet toward me forevermore, just like he used to be before everything went to hell in a handbasket.
“So,” Kurtis says emphatically, like he’s making a point to change the subject, “have you been going to your acting classes like you’re supposed to, baby?”
“Yes, sir,” I say. In fact, I’ve been going to acting classes almost every day for the past three months and I’ve never adored anything so much in my entire life.
“Good. Stay nice and busy like a good girl so you don’t get yourself into any trouble.”
Well, here we go again. What kind of trouble is Kurtis worried I might get into? Drinking cappuccinos with a real-life Hollywood director who’s been to film school and everything? Landing a starring role in a legitimate movie that’s already got investors lined up? “I go to classes and workshops every single day, getting myself ready for our movie,” I say proudly. “I’m taking my craft seriously because I’m gonna be a respected actress one day.”
Kurtis bites his lip, clearly stifling a smile. “That’s great, honey.” He pats my knee. “You keep going to your classes and looking gorgeous and leave the rest to me.”
I exhale in exasperation. “Well, I’m trying, Kurtis. But it sure seems to be taking a helluva long time to get our movie off the ground.”
Kurtis lets out a sudden roar that makes me flinch. “Do you have any fucking idea how many things I’m juggling, all at once—how many mountains I move on a daily basis, how many projects I’ve got going, how much product I successfully deliver every single month through multiple channels? And now I’ve decided out of the generosity of my heart to write and direct and produce a movie for my wife who’s never been in a movie in her entire life, along with everything else I’ve got going on, and all you can say is ‘It’s taking a helluva long time?’ Give me a fucking break.”
Without warning, he pushes me off him and storms out of the room, leaving me gaping like a wide-mouth bass on a hook.
Chapter 33
19 Years 1 Month Old
347 Days Before Killing Kurtis
The entire drive over to the bus station, and then as I walk from my parked car to the station entrance, I glance behind me, over and over again, searching for any sign that Johnny the Biscuit-Eating Bulldog is trailing me. It seems Johnny’s nowhere to be seen, thankfully, but just to be on the safe side—because that man can be harder to get rid of than eczema—I take a slow loop around the block, twice, before taking off my wedding rings and walking into the station.
Three hundred and ninety-five days ago, Wesley and I swore we’d meet here today, two days after his eighteenth birthday, exactly at noon, and I’d never dream of leaving that poor boy hanging out to dry. I find a bench with a good view of the entire station and take a seat. I look a
t my watch. It’s 11:45. My knees are jiggling with nerves.
I know I shouldn’t be here. It’s too big a risk to take, and I’m a dumbass for taking it. There’s still eleven more months before it’s time to send Kurtis to his last roundup in the sky, and I shouldn’t be doing anything that even remotely suggests I’m not hopelessly devoted to my husband. But I can’t help it. How would I ever find Wesley again after Kurtis is dead if I didn’t show up today? And how would he ever find me, either, what with my new hair and boobs and name? I have no choice—I had to come, even if it’s a horrifically bad idea.
And, anyway, there’s no harm in me just sitting and talking with Wesley today, and that’s all I’m going to do. I’m just going to say hello to him and tell him, “We can’t be together any time soon, Wesley, and maybe not ever.”
I can’t imagine poor Wesley’s going to take that news very well, but it can’t be helped. My husband isn’t the sort of man to share me, least of all with the only other man who’s ever had the pleasure of kissing my lips, even if that “man” just happens to be a dopey, puppy-faced boy. After Kurtis takes his dirt nap, well, things might be different then, who knows? But there’s no way to know about that right now. We’ll just have to let fate take the wheel when the timing is right.
I look at my watch again. Noon. What’s taking that boy so long to get here? I figured he’d be here early, chomping at the bit, to tell you the truth.
Gosh, it’s gonna be nice to see that dopey boy again, I must admit. Truth be told, I’ve missed him something awful. Life out here in Los Angeles can make a girl feel as lonely as a pine tree in a parking lot. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m used to being alone. That’s all I’ve ever been my whole life. But there’s a difference between being alone and feeling lonely, and most of the time, Hollywood makes me feel like the last pea at pea-time. First off, there’s no good place to get books; all anyone ever cares about is watching movies around here. Also, nobody in Los Angeles ever stops to chat about how it’s so gosh darned hot the hens are laying boiled eggs. Of course, I used to hate how people went on and on about the heat back home, but now, I kind of miss it.
