Heather, the Totality

by Matthew Weiner

  Mark remained filled with longing and grew to hate intercourse after the first time with any of them so he entered the workplace celibate, hoping that either his salary or what age did to his face would attract another kind of woman. He only agreed to be set up as a bonding experience with the leering former jocks in his office. He would, as demanded, announce his successes with these increasingly desperate women but then back away, having never revealed himself to anyone and finding the ultimate prize of sex alienating when won with false intimacy. He was well aware of how much Karen had changed his life so many years ago. In fact, he reminded himself of this often ever since the new Trainee, an Asian girl of 26, had started asking for his coffee order.

  There were so few women in Mark’s office that any female presence became the object of fantasy, plus the Trainee was an MBA and one of those new kind of girls who mistakenly thought that talking crudely and explicitly was a feminist imperative. Her mouth did not give her any power but instead made her a kind of dog toy for the managers, who sent her for coffee while they critiqued her outfits with graphic instant messages. Mark of course did not participate but he was equally intrigued, aroused at times to the point of imagining the Trainee when he and Karen would eventually make love.

  The path to Mark and Karen’s bedroom had become increasingly filled with obstacles despite their vow to spend more time in each other’s arms after Orlando. They had started with a designated date night although both eventually had conflicts, Mark with work and Karen with Heather, now 12 years old, needing her attention with her academic and social life at their tony all-girls prep school.

  Despite the fact that Heather continued to be popular and an excellent student, Mark agreed with Karen that she should have supplementary tutors in all subjects in addition to her other assorted lessons. This schedule was exhausting for Karen but allowed her to monitor Heather’s friendships which required real attention since Heather was not critical of people and was frequently taken advantage of by clingy and maladjusted girls who used her to advance socially or as a sounding board for their self-centered dramas. So as date night faded away in a series of mutual cancellations, Karen was apologetic and Mark pretended to be spurned but understanding, although he was relieved, burdened by the fact that when he didn’t think about the Trainee, he was unable to perform.

  When the Trainee closed the door to Mark’s office one day, she was quickly in tears, wondering what she was doing wrong and why no one took her seriously. He felt a wave of heat in his head that became sweat and he stammered until she composed herself and, wiping her eyes, whispered that he was the only good thing about the stupid place and left. Mark knew his response to her statements had been honorable but he also knew what had really transpired and that he might capitalize on her feelings sometime in the near future with little fear of rejection.

  Mark went home early and sat in the kitchen until Heather and Karen finally came home. They had grabbed dinner after playing an impromptu game of tennis following Heather’s lesson and he could not control the volume of his voice as he told Karen that he had eaten nothing and would no longer tolerate being the last thing on her mind and that this was a family and he was part of it and why the hell couldn’t he eat dinner or play tennis with Heather?

  Heather watched teary-eyed from the living room even though she had been ordered to leave and Karen, having never thought about any of this, was stricken with remorse and promised things would change. She offered the solution that Saturday morning would be father-daughter time and that she had been thoughtless. That night Mark had a dream that the Trainee and Heather were eating lunch with him in his speeding car and that Heather had suddenly opened the door and jumped out.

  The next morning Mark realized that age had not improved his looks at all. His hair was there but he had gained weight and when he had finally figured out Karen’s body-fat calculating scale, he saw that he was 22 pounds heavier than he was in high school and most of it was in his cheeks and jowls. He decided to start running again, the benefits being that his thoughts about the Trainee disappeared and with the exception of the first few days of spring, when Central Park was littered with pale half-dressed girls, he had no sexual feelings at all and would finish each day exhausted and calm.

  His greatest satisfaction became his one weekend day alone with Heather. Their trips to the movies or the museum or shopping were always memorable because funny things happened to Mark, like getting his foot stepped on by a horse near the Plaza Hotel, and Heather, with her natural smile and tomboy energy, always managed to create a stir with strangers and the two of them rarely left anyplace without someone giving her something for free.

  Within days of arriving at the New Jersey State Prison, Bobby was administered mandatory psychological tests and recruited by the white supremacist gang upon the discovery of his Polish surname. He was then given a close haircut and a thorough beating in a room just off the showers as his initiation. He didn’t understand at first that he was merely to receive the punches, kicks and head butts of the assembled six skinheads and he fought back, his strength surging in a flurried frenzy of strikes that stunned them. He finally lost consciousness as one sat on his chest, but the rain of blows and the entire engagement had made him feel his body as if for the first time, and the sight of his involuntary erection as he passed out earned him some wary distance and the nickname “Hard On” for the rest of his stay.

  Bobby had no patience for the gang, especially since their major topic of conversation was not racial supremacy but the law. None of them thought they belonged there, at least for the thing that had actually gotten them incarcerated, and they used words like “incarcerated” and were more predictable even than the people on the outside. He did overhear some information that made him sure that if he had killed Chi-Chi, he wouldn’t have done any time at all, since she was the only witness and he’d never actually left sperm behind, and he had no record except truancy and loitering and a shoplifting thing when he was a minor. He knew now that he should have killed her and then stolen a few things to make it look like robbery and make sure to get rid of the stuff in the garbage, not fence it, no matter how valuable it was. All their other conversation was unchanging complaints, pathetic to Bobby, who liked the food and his job in the laundry where he could sometimes roll around in the warm linens.

  Bobby didn’t exactly like prison but it was organized and he learned a lot. Due to a lapse in bureaucratic momentum and the inaccurate assumption that he would insist on a white doctor due to his gang affiliation, it took months to process his tests and realize he should be examined by a psychiatrist. It was in a room with blue carpet, which excited Bobby after all the linoleum and cinder block. He planned to approach it as he had with lady social workers, by telling his true story and trying to make them cry. But the Doctor was handsome like a TV star and not too old and matter-of-fact and Bobby could tell he was afraid.

  He asked Bobby about his life, how he felt about himself and what made him happy and Bobby told the saddest version he could, looking down at the end of sentences and mentioning his walks by the filthy Passaic River. Most of the Doctor’s questions were about how Bobby felt about other people. Bobby wanted to say the truth, that the outside world reminded him of a zoo where the animals are standing in their own shit and he just watches them with pity and curiosity as they squawk at each other, but instead he said he didn’t think about it.

  The Doctor then got blunt and tough and sort of suggested some things that Bobby, seeking more information, pretended not to understand. The Doctor said that Bobby was smart and knew he was smart and was a good-looking kid who liked to lie because it was easier. The Doctor was probably trying to make Bobby violent, especially when he stood up and said the game was over and Bobby should stop thinking that he was above any social dynamic and that Bobby understood how people behaved but it didn’t factor into his life because he didn’t think he had to follow the same set of rules. The Doctor finally sat down for emphasis and said, “If
you can’t change, control yourself. You can do anything.”

  Bobby left the session happy and filled with the anticipation of something, his idea of himself finally joining with what he actually was. Whether it was someone else’s dessert, a nice car he saw in a magazine or the girl in the bikini next to it, he was aroused constantly now just thinking about the things he could have. What the Doctor said was all true to Bobby; he was so damn smart that people bored him and he was a bright light among them with all the power in heaven, and he could rape them and kill them anytime he wanted because that’s why they were on earth.

  During his Mother’s only visit, after he had convinced her that he had no money, he asked her if she always knew what he was. He tried to explain as clearly as possible, that he was smart and powerful, etc., but he cut his explanation short, seeing she was confused, and they sat there a moment in the visiting room. She stared at him before saying, “Who the hell do you think you are?” Bobby greeted her question the way he had her thousand slaps to his face, smiling in answer since there was no point.

  Three

  AT 55 YEARS OLD, Mark’s maximum disinterest in his wife coincided with his daughter entering puberty. Karen later pointed out all of Heather’s physical changes, but Mark didn’t really notice much other than her gaining in height on her mother. What he did notice was that there was a discord between Karen and Heather, heated at first and then icy cold, and Mark felt a tension so strong that it eclipsed his discomfort with his wife. Mark could see that Karen felt useless as their daughter became more private and her secrecy more aggressive, but for Mark, who spent less time with her in general, it was happily not that different.

  Father-daughter weekend time was canceled more than once but if Mark didn’t react Heather would assure him that it would continue or even make up for it with a diner breakfast during the week. And Heather was not as hostile towards him even though she didn’t share as much once he refused to join in conversations critical of Karen. Mark felt participating in such a discussion was worse than cheating and he knew instinctively that his daughter was best served by having him be her father and not her chum or confidant. So they would talk about the movies they’d seen or how much the city had changed or most importantly what vacation they’d take next because Mark wanted to lock Heather into any future plans with some kind of emotional investment since he couldn’t imagine a trip without her.

  One morning Mark discovered that Heather was no longer a child when she asked for a cup of coffee. Karen hated coffee and assumed her daughter merely wanted to appear mature, but Mark worried it was something else. He remembered that his Sister had started her terminal dieting with coffee, eventually graduating to mugs of hot water, which made her feel full and helped her equation of thinness, which was calories consumed measured against time so that every moment she wasn’t eating she was gaining by losing more of her awful self.

  He finally agreed to the coffee if there was a muffin or something as well and he totally gave up on the comparison when he watched his daughter eat, knowing that she greeted her plate with an enthusiasm that no one with an eating disorder could fake. She did remind him of his Sister in other ways, especially her lanky walk, but she never regarded her body with disgust and Mark knew that unlike his Sister, who had starved to avoid breasts and menstruation and men, Heather would be a normal teenage girl, and that was no comfort either.

  Soon there would be boyfriends. He’d seen them on the way to school, some with loosened neckties, the rest in hooded sweatshirts, stinking of spicy deodorant with condoms in their wallets and he knew they would try to climb on Heather and then scramble when they heard him come in and call him “sir.” Mark knew that he wanted to be a grandfather and of course see her happily married, but she would eventually be out of his life one way or another and he became so preoccupied with the near future that he feared he was wasting their special weekend days together by taking too many pictures and reminiscing about moments even as they were happening.

  Heather learned to make great coffee, fine-tuning the grinder and rinsing the carafe beforehand with extra hot water, and Karen would get up early and buy baked things for them but sensed she was not welcome and started going to the gym instead. Mark and Heather’s sleepy sipping and nibbling was routine and wordless but they were at peace together and this seemed to bring out an energetic pettiness in Karen.

  For Christmas, Karen bought Mark a 1,200-dollar handmade Italian espresso machine that came with video instructions because it never worked the same way twice. Mark was excited and touched before Karen warned that it was too dangerous for Heather to use and too complicated for Mark and since she was the only one who had seen the demonstration, she could and would make their coffee from now on. To which Heather said, “Jesus, that’s pathetic.” And for the first time Mark silently agreed.

  After three and a half years Bobby found himself outside the prison walls but forced to return home. New Jersey had a release policy that provided no “gate money” or new clothes or job training or travel, instead offering enrollment for welfare and food stamps, a discount on a bus or train ticket and an opportunity to register to vote. Bobby’s Mother picked him up in a Jeep Cherokee belonging to her new Boyfriend, a handsome drunk ex-greaser. Bobby arrived home to find no TV or computer, the kitchen appliances gone, the carpet pulled up and one of the bathrooms completely devoid of fixtures. They were methodically dismantling the house, trading each piece for pills which they parlayed into heroin.

  His Mother and her Boyfriend spent most of their time in the dark because all of the lamps were in the bedroom where they were trying to grow marijuana. Bobby’s old room was just as he left it except now it was their bedroom and they let him have it back for a bit rent-free until his assistance came in. The blood-flecked sheets and red Solo cups turned his stomach as he curled up to sleep that first night, too exhausted to plan beyond finishing the bottle of vodka they’d left on the phone books that acted as a nightstand. He hadn’t had a real drink for years and as the warmth spread through his chest into his face he was overcome with the peace of not being in prison and listened with tears in his eyes to the trees rustling right outside his window in the late winter wind.

  Bobby’s Parole Officer gave long encouraging speeches about seizing opportunity and was always good for 50 dollars and a Big Mac. The Officer was young, black, and truly helpful when he realized that Bobby was a skinhead only in appearance. He had even intervened at the lumber supply to get Bobby his old job back, verifying that the crime was aggravated assault and not theft and that Bobby’s release was on positive terms.

  One day Bobby had to break up a fight between his Mother and her Boyfriend and showed up with a black eye and eventually revealed to the Officer that, although sharing heroin had begun their romance, their habits had grown and forced them to ruthlessly compete over every score. The Officer said Bobby was a survivor and urged him to get away from the house as soon as possible.

  Bobby had told him too much but this man really cared about him and after the police became involved weeks later, another nightly party ending badly, the Officer was adamant about Bobby saving up and moving on. How could he be expected to “rise like a phoenix out of the ashes,” the Officer asked, if he was “living in such a depraved environment?” Bobby knew this was true and limited his expenses to three pairs of coveralls, good boots, his third of the rent and a couple of handles of vodka a week.

  The lumber supply store hadn’t changed and his contact with the women customers was limited to long stares as they searched the aisles for lightbulbs or caulk. From his perch on the forklift he watched them wandering, clearly searching for men and not finding anything they deserved, like rope, or gloves, or him. He behaved himself, never even following one beyond the parking lot and was satisfied with roaming the old neighborhood, ducking behind cars or lying by the river to take them cruelly in his mind.

  In Harrison, teachers and artists had moved in so now Bobby only had to worry about being r
obbed by the junkies at home and kept 2,300 dollars hidden in the lining of his coat. He wore the jacket all the time and even locked it in the bathroom with him when he showered. Sometimes he got undressed and ran the water as he counted the bills and imagined moving somewhere there were girls, not just gay boys and old Polacks, and in that new place maybe he would buy a car and rent a room with a little refrigerator where he could keep his drinks cold as he watched TV.

  In mid-July a storm came with extreme heat and wilting humidity and his need to wear his coat aroused such suspicion that his Mother’s Boyfriend crept into his room at night and punched Bobby in the head until his slumber became unconsciousness. He woke a day later drenched in sweat and dizzy, having missed work, and wandered into the kitchen to find his Mother spaced out with a black eye and two days’ worth of dope clutched in her hand which was all that was left of her Boyfriend. She was so disoriented that despite his headache, Bobby was able to shoot it all into her and wait for her to convulse and pass out before putting her in a full bath and setting the house on fire by dragging the lit barbecue into the living room.

  From an emergency room bed, Bobby told the Police how he had awakened in the smoke-filled house after being badly beaten and robbed by his Mother’s Boyfriend. Having investigated both parties on numerous occasions, the Police concluded that this was an inevitable outcome. Bobby decided not to press charges and this helped his Parole Officer relocate him for his safety, and now wiser, Bobby knew not to tell him how he longed for a chance to kill his Mother’s Boyfriend or to brag to him about the way he had actually risen from a fire.