by Lauren Rowe
“They think a better idea might be a movie-homage to someone a little more mysterious and not as well known.”
Gosh, who might this “more mysterious” and “not as well known” someone be? Bastard. Before this very moment, I couldn’t have imagined Kurtis saying or doing anything to make me want him dead any more than I already do. But, damn, the man has gone and done the impossible.
Kurtis looks anxious.
“Have you done your best?” I ask.
Kurtis nods, wary.
“Then that’s all I could ever ask of you.”
Kurtis’ face is the picture of pure astonishment.
I smile broadly. “We’ve got each other, and that’s all we’ll ever need.”
Kurtis throws his arms around me and covers my face with kisses. “Oh my God, I don’t deserve you, baby.”
“That’s a fact, Jack.”
Kurtis laughs. He pulls back and looks into my eyes, his face awash in relief. “I was afraid you’d leave me when I told you.”
“Well, then, I reckon you don’t know me very well—I’m not going anywhere.”
Kurtis pulls me into him and clutches me fiercely. “Never leave me, Buttercup,” he begs. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my whole, fucking, pathetic life.” I’m surprised to realize he’s suddenly choking back tears. “I can’t live without you, baby.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I repeat evenly.
“You promise?” He squeezes me tighter.
“May I be kicked to death by grasshoppers if it ain’t the truth.”
Kurtis lets out a chortle, sort of a chuckle and cry mixed together, and then he presses his body even more fervently into mine. “I can’t live without you,” he whispers urgently.
“I promise you this, Kurtis Jackman: You won’t ever live a day without me. Not a single day.”
He kisses the top of my head and holds me close.
Good lord, I can’t wait for tomorrow. I suddenly envision Daddy wandering through my house right this very minute, oohing and aahing at the splendor of it all, finding the butcher knives I laid out on the counter for him, and getting himself good and ready for Kurtis’ grand entrance tomorrow morning. The very thought makes me tremble with excitement.
Kurtis squeezes me even tighter.
Motherfucking-fuckity-fuck-fuck, I’ve got to make sure Kurtis goes straight home from the hotel tomorrow morning to meet Daddy, exactly as planned. I’m gonna blow a gasket if Kurtis gets distracted and messes this up for me like he’s messed up everything else I’ve ever wanted him to do.
“Now, listen here, honey. When I get home after the spa tomorrow, I’m gonna let you feel how nice those spa-ladies buffed and polished my body for you.” Yes, I’ve got to make double-damn ironclad sure that Kurtis beelines his ass straight to our house tomorrow and doesn’t make a detour to the office or the club or God knows where else. “And Kurtis, I’ve got a little present planned for you tomorrow.” He’s holding me right up against him so I tilt my face up to his. “You know that naughty thing you’ve been begging me to do?”
Kurtis’ face lights up like dynamite.
“Well, tomorrow, that’s exactly what I’m gonna let you do to me, right when I come home. How does noon sound, honey?”
Kurtis makes a lecherous sound.
“But if you make me wait on you, I might change my mind about letting you do it to me.”
“Why wait ’til tomorrow when we’re here tonight?” Kurtis presses into me and swoops in for a kiss.
I put my hand up to halt him. “Because I’m gonna be so relaxed from going to the spa, it’s the only way I’m gonna be able to go through with it, that’s why. Do you wanna do the naughty thing or not?”
Kurtis smiles wolfishly. “I wanna do the naughty thing.”
“Well, then you best get your ass into our bed and wait for me tomorrow by noon.”
“Sure thing,” he agrees.
Well, that was easy. Bastard. “What do I always say about the virtue of waiting for something you want, darlin’?”
“‘The best things in life are always worth waiting for,’” Kurtis says, mimicking my speech pattern.
“It’s the truth, honey. If you’re good and patient today, then I promise at this time tomorrow you’ll feel like you’ve died and gone straight to the place where the naughty little boys go.”
Kurtis laughs. “You promise?”
“Oh, honey, yes, I do. I swear to God.”
Chapter 41
20 Years 2 Weeks 1 Day Old
Killing Kurtis Day
I stop outside the front door of my house and catch my breath. This is it. I’ve waited a whole year to wish myself Happy Killing Kurtis Day and it’s finally here. It feels like a dream. I turn the key in the door and step inside. The house is so quiet you could hear a mouse pissing on a ball of cotton.
I’m not exactly sure what to do. Should I holler for Kurtis and act immediately alarmed when he doesn’t reply? Or should I call out to Daddy like a wise-ass, in case he stayed to say hello before having to duck out? No, this is no time to be a wise-ass. I’ve got to stay in character and use my method acting skills. Even when I’m all alone with my dead husband upstairs, I’m going to play every minute of this scene according to the script: I’ve just come home from spending hours in a luxurious spa (which multiple witnesses can confirm) and now I’m relaxed and happy as a gopher in soft dirt and looking forward to some red-hot lovin’ with my darling husband.
I take a deep breath. It’s show time. This will be my greatest performance to date. I slowly climb the grand staircase toward the second floor, inching closer and closer to freedom, my pulse pounding in my ears. With each step I take, my heart knocks harder and harder against my chest. Soon, this house will be all mine. And Daddy and Wesley will live here with me. And I’ll have more money than God. If I want to make a movie, then I will. If I want to star in a real director’s movie, then I will. If I want to roll around in my bed with Wesley, then I will. If I wanna buy my daddy a jetpack and let him fly around my house, then that’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ll do whatever I want to do, every single day of my life, and no one will be able to tell me what I can and can’t do.
I’m at the top of the stairs. I tiptoe slowly toward the closed master bedroom door. There’s not a sound in the house. My breathing is shallow. My head is spinning.
I open the master bedroom door. It creaks, breaking the deadly silence.
I peek my head into the room. Kurtis’ body is lying on the bed. He’s on his side, turned away from me and covered with a blanket except for his head. Daddy did such a neat and tidy job of things, it almost looks like Kurtis is just fast asleep and dreaming of me. I lick my lips in anticipation. I can’t believe this is finally happening. I’m shaking like a hound dog trying to shit out a peach pit.
The fireplace in our bedroom is blazing with a roaring fire. That’s strange. Why would Daddy turn on the fire?
I creep toward the bed, preparing to let out a bloodcurdling scream. So much adrenaline is coursing through my body, I can barely control myself from twitching.
I come to a halt right in front of Kurtis. His mouth is hanging open.
Adrenaline floods me, along with a healthy dose of elation—and, if I’m being honest, the tiniest sliver of regret, too. As much as I came to hate Kurtis at the bitter end, and understandably so, we actually did have some good times along the way. It was Kurtis who suggested I go to acting classes, after all, and I’ll be forever grateful to him for that. Really, it’s too bad things had to come to this. If I could have resolved things any differently, I swear to God I would have—
Wait just a goddamned minute—Kurtis’ lip just twitched.
This fucker is breathing. This fucker’s alive!
Oh Sweet Jesus, this can’t be happening.
I peek beneath the covers and I’m assaulted with the sight of Kurtis’ naked body and flopping man-parts—and all of it with nary a scratch. With tremb
ling hands, I replace the covers over Kurtis’ body. Motherfucker! Why is Kurtis alive right now? Good lord, I’ve got to get out of here. Is Daddy hiding somewhere in the house with a butcher knife? I look at my watch. 1:30. The plan was for Daddy to kill Kurtis before noon. Why did Daddy wait? Should I leave and come back later?
Shit, shit, shit. I thought Kurtis would be buzzard bait by now. I was counting on it. I exhale loudly in my despair. Holy fucking shit on a stick.
Kurtis stirs and opens his eyes. “Buttercup,” he mumbles, sounding particularly relaxed. “I fell asleep waiting for you.” He smiles at me. “I’m all ready for you, baby.” He lifts up the blanket to reveal that, yes, indeed, all his baby-making parts are instantly functioning exactly as God intended, and then some—contrary to what I told Wesley a month ago. “I was dreaming about getting that thank-you-present you promised me.” He groans. “You know I’m not good at waiting, baby. Come on.”
This can’t be happening. I’m about to wretch.
“Come on,” he repeats. “You promised. Get those pesky clothes off and get your ass into this bed. You’re about to make Kurtis Jackman a very happy boy—a very happy, naughty boy.”
Oh dear God. I’d put all my faith in Daddy. I’d thought if I did everything according to plan, Kurtis was as good as dead. It never occurred to me that Daddy would let me down. Panic rises in my chest. Is Daddy on his way right now? Did he get the date mixed up? Did he forget my address, no matter how many times I made him repeat it? Did he board the wrong bus? There are a thousand different ways Daddy could have gotten lost or fucked things up. My mind is racing. I’ve got to figure out what happened and set things back on course. Damn! I was counting on Kurtis dying today. Holy baby Jesus, I physically need Kurtis to curl up and die!
Get your mind right, Charlene, I say to myself. Calm down.
There’s probably a very simple explanation for what went wrong—and no matter what it is, I’ll figure it out lickety-split and make a Plan B. But in the meantime... I look down at Kurtis. He’s grinning at me like a possum eating the shit out of a wire brush.
It’s decision time. Fish or cut bait?
“Come on, baby,” Kurtis says. “A promise is a promise.”
I exhale. And then, even though it makes my stomach churn to do it, I peel off my clothes and slip into the goddamned bed.
Chapter 42
20 Years 2 Weeks 2 Days Old
Killing Kurtis Day + 1 Day
“What the fuck happened, Daddy?” I whisper urgently into the phone receiver. This time, the guards didn’t allow me to visit Daddy in the Visitor’s Center, but instead told me we’d have to chat through telephone receivers on either side of a thick Plexiglas barrier.
“Aw, Buttercup, I’m sorry about that, honey. I was really looking forward to teaching your husband some manners.”
A quick call yesterday to the Department of Corrections confirmed that Daddy is, indeed, still housed in this Godforsaken place, but nobody would tell me why. So this morning, the minute Kurtis went off to one of his porno sets, or to the club, or to perform some other urgent porno-king business, I hopped into my fancy sports car and drove all the way out here to No Man’s Land on a dime to find out what the hell happened yesterday.
“Why are you still in here, Daddy?” I whisper. “You were supposed to get out a few days ago and come visit me.”
“Well, yeah, I was. But, funny thing about that, honey—my time in here got extended for a spell—”
“What do you mean your time in here got extended? They can’t keep you in prison past your sentence. You’ve done your time.”
“Well, yeah, I’ve done my time for teaching Mr. Moneybags a lesson, that’s for sure. But, a couple months ago, I slashed a fucker in here with a shiv I made out of a glass shard—and he deserved every inch of it, believe me—and the Napoleon-types in here got their rocks off lording over me about it—so you know how that goes.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I sure gave that disrespecting bastard what he deserved, though.” He flashes a toothy grin. “He didn’t know whether to shit or go blind, so he just closed one eye and farted.” He laughs.
For the first time in my whole life, I have this distinct thought: My daddy’s a dumbass. “Damn it, Daddy,” I whine. “What the hell?”
I can’t believe this is happening. Thanks to Daddy’s utter lack of impulse control, I’ve wasted an entire year of my life waiting for Killing Kurtis Day. And not only that, I wasted years and years before that, waiting for Daddy to come get me. Waiting for a second letter from him. Waiting to find him here in Hollywood. And this is how he repays me? By leaving me stranded and married to a good-for-nothing porno-king? My daddy’s as useful to me as a goddamned ashtray on a motorcycle. I take a deep breath and exhale loudly. Well, now I know for certain—if a girl wants something done, she’s got to do it herself. I’m done looking to any man to take care of my business. I’m gonna take care of things myself.
I feel overcome with a sudden urge to cry, but I swallow my tears. I don’t have time for bellyaching and boohooing. It’s time for me to pick my butt off my shoulders and come up with a new plan. And fast. I’ve just got to use the brains the Lord gave me. All the pieces of the puzzle are already in front of me; I know they are. I just have to reorder them. There’s gotta be more than one way to break a bad dog from sucking eggs here. “Okay, Daddy, now you listen here,” I say evenly. “You just remember the name Kurtis Jackman, okay?”
Daddy nods.
“Kurtis Jackman. You got that?”
Daddy nods again.
“If you can’t pay a visit to Mr. Kurtis Jackman, I reckon he’s just gonna have to pay a visit to you.”
Chapter 43
20 Years 2 Weeks 4 Days Old
Killing Kurtis Day + 3 Days
When Kurtis comes home and sees my suitcases by the front door, his face contorts into instant alarm. Damn straight, Kurtis Jackman. You should be alarmed.
I summon big, soggy tears. It’s not hard to do. All I have to do is think about how I’m supposed to be living in this big ol’ house with Wesley by now, and how my daddy couldn’t control his goddamned impulses for a few short months in order to help his sweet daughter out of a jam, and how I waited an entire year to kill my husband when I could have been using that precious time to come up with a foolproof plan that didn’t involve relying on my flaming dumbass of a daddy.
“Kurtis Jackman!” I shriek maniacally. I make a big show of pulling off my rings and throwing them at him. “Kiss my go-to-hell, you son of a bitch!”
Kurtis’ eyes are as wide as doorknobs.
“You can keep your diamonds, Kurtis. You can keep your fancy house and sports car and all your money, too. And you know what else you can do? You can go fuck yourself.”
I don’t often use the f-word around Kurtis, since I’ve primed him all this time to think I’m sweet as peaches, and I don’t like to cheapen the word by overusing it. But in this situation, no other word will do. I know I’m waving a slab of raw meat in front of a hungry lion right now, but I think I’m safe. As far as I know, Kurtis hasn’t been drinking today, so that’s the first good thing. And ever since Kurtis and I finally did that naughty thing he’d been begging me to do for quite some time (and which I swear gave me a mild case of post traumatic stress disorder after doing it), Kurtis has been happier than ol’ Blue lying on the porch chewing on a catfish head. That’s the second good thing. I reckon both of these good things have bought me a little leeway with my hungry lion today.
“What the... ?” Kurtis is thoroughly blindsided.
I make a dramatic turn and bound across the living room, finally crumpling onto the couch with my hands over my face, my shoulders racking with sobs. “How could you do this to me, Kurtis Jackman? After how much I’ve loved you? You’re the only man I’ve ever loved—the only man who’s ever been inside my sacred places—and now, you betray me like this?”
“What happened?” The intensity of Kurtis’ voice matches my own.
The man is rapidly coming undone with dread and anticipation. He bounds across the room and sits next to me on the couch, his face drenched in worry.
“Bettie from the club came to the house today,” I seethe. “To the house!” Of course, it’s not true. Bettie’s never once called the house or come over or done any of the things I’ve repeatedly pinned on her, bless her heart.
Kurtis looks aghast. “She came here?”
“She said you love her, Kurtis. She said you’ve been sleeping with her the whole time we’ve been married—and in our bed.” I choke on a sob. “She said I might as well move out now, because it’s only a matter of time before this house is hers. She told me to get the fuck out of her house.” I’m absolutely hysterical—or so it seems. “And, Kurtis, she said you’re not making our Marilyn movie because you’re making a ‘Bettie Page True Story’ movie, instead, starring her!”
The ironic thing about my little speech is that, lately, Kurtis has been more devoted toward me than ever before. In addition to me doing that dirty-naughty thing he’d been fantasizing about for so long—which drove him crazier than I’ve ever seen him, by the way—I’ve also learned a helpful thing or two about how to please my husband through my recent love-making sessions with Wesley. All the hot sex I’ve been having with Wesley has made me realize what true sexual satisfaction feels like—and looks like—and I’ve lately been using my newfound discoveries to give Oscar-worthy performances in the sack. And, holy hell, Kurtis has been eating me up like a dog with kibble.
And so, even if Kurtis’ interest in me had started waning just a touch in the months before Wesley showed up, his zeal-bordering-on-obsession for me is in full waxing-mode nowadays. The way things have been going lately, I can’t imagine the man’s had an ounce of desire leftover for Bettie Big Boobs or anyone else. And, anyway, regardless of all that, I also happen to know Kurtis couldn’t get the “Bettie Page True Story” off the ground any more than our Marilyn movie, even if he tried, because my husband’s not just a liar and a cheater, he’s also a dumbass of epic proportions.
