The Pajama Affair

by Vanessa Gray Bartal

  Marion pulled up next to her car and Liza darted inside. Her new number one priority was home. She wouldn’t leave again until she somehow fixed her hair, even if she ran out of food. Not for the first time she wished for a garage as she sprinted from her car to her front porch. One neighbor in particular felt it her duty to watch her comings and goings with keen interest. Liza had no doubt she would get an earful about her hair next time she ran into the old woman.

  Her key stuck in the lock and she froze. Her key had never stuck before, but it was more than that. She felt an odd, prickling sensation like something was wrong, but she couldn’t tell what. The mat was crooked, but the mailman sometimes did that. She straightened it with her foot and looked around again. Everything seemed fine. She shrugged off the strange feeling and retried her key. It worked fine, and she let herself in.

  And then she stopped short and sniffed. Maybe she was crazy, but something smelled odd. She caught a scent she didn’t recognize, almost like a hint of cologne.

  “Dirk?” she called, but knew it wasn’t him. He had worn the same intoxicating scent since college, and this wasn’t it.

  When she turned her head she caught sight of her crispy, tangerine hair and grimaced. Of course her nose was off. She was wearing a gallon of chemicals on her head. Just in case, she stood still in the entryway and looked around. Everything looked just as she had left it, and she didn’t hear any sounds.

  “Man up, Liza. You’re getting paranoid,” she told herself. She tossed her purse onto the counter and made herself a cup of tea. The weather is so up and down this time of year, she thought. The last few days of school had been sweltering, but tonight it was dropping to fifty degrees. The house already felt cool.

  As she sipped her tea she wondered what Dirk was doing tonight and who he was doing it with. They had never said the words “exclusive,” but as far as she knew he didn’t see anyone else. But on nights like this she wondered. Where did he go? Who was he with? He never gave a reason for canceling their dates. She supposed she should have demanded from the beginning that he give her a reason, but she had been afraid of appearing clingy. She still was. She pretended to be an independent, secure woman. Most of the time that’s what she actually was, but on some days it would be so nice to have someone to lean on, someone to take care of, and someone who would also take care of her.

  She picked up the remote for her sound system and turned it on. Instead of the delicious meal she had intended to cook for herself and Dirk she opened a can of pasta--the kind with a cartoon chef on the label--and ate mango sorbet at her breakfast bar, straight from the container. Her sadness from that morning returned with a vengeance. Was this how her summer would go? Would she spend every night alone eating junk food?

  She was almost twenty seven years old, and what did she have to show for it? A house she liked, a job she loved, a best friend she adored, and a boyfriend she…what? Chased?

  In the beginning she had been so in awe of Dirk that she felt lucky to be with him. He had been the quarterback of their college football team after all. It was a small college, but, still, he was the quarterback. He had been famous then, and his star hadn’t dimmed since. Locally he was considered a desirable catch. Unlike her. She had always averaged somewhere in the middle of the popularity totem pole. If she had said to any of her college friends that she and Dirk would end up together, they would have laughed her silly.

  But then there was that fateful wedding right after graduation, the one where she had sat with Dirk and Scarlet at the reception. He was Scarlet’s then, and so he was safe. For that reason, Liza let down her guard with him that night and allowed her true personality to shine. Usually she was so reserved people found her dull. Only those who really knew her understood that her shyness was only a front for her real personality. That night the three of them laughed through the reception together, and he had even asked her to dance once.

  And then a week later Scarlet dumped him. Liza wasn’t fooled into thinking it had been some sort of irresistible attraction on her part that made him call and ask her out. She understood it was desperation and proximity that drove him to it. After all, hadn’t they talked about how everyone moved out of town after graduation, about how they were the only two to remain in their college town full of old people and figurative tumbleweeds? Who else could he have asked out?

  After a couple more shovelfuls of sorbet she put the lid on and returned it to the freezer, just in time to hear a knock at the door. She wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and opened the door without thinking. Dirk stood on the other side. He opened his mouth to say hello and left it gaping as his eyes traveled to her hair and froze wide open.

  Her deep thoughts had temporarily caused her to forget her hair, and she had no reply for his astonishment. “I thought you canceled,” she said instead.

  “I did, but it’s cold out and I left my jacket here.” He blinked, but kept his focus on her hair. “Um.”

  “Come in before the sun bounces off it and blinds the neighbors,” she said. She moved aside to grant him entrance.

  “It’s very interesting,” he said. It was a wonder he didn’t trip because he didn’t remove his eyes from her hair while he walked.

  “It wasn’t on purpose,” she informed him. “It’s not like I walked into a salon and told them to make me look like a yellow chrysanthemum.”

  “Good, because that’s not what you look like at all,” he lied. A laugh escaped, but he tried hard to reel it in.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.

  He wrapped is arms around her and kissed her. Her irritation with him dissolved until he spoke. “You taste like mangoes. Are you going for a taste and hair color theme?”

  She tried to wrench away from him, but he pinned her to him.

  “I’m teasing you. I’m sure it will work out fine.” He frowned. “Hopefully before dinner with my parents in a couple of weeks?” He said it as a question and she nodded, uncrossed her arms, and slid them around his neck.

  “Want me to cook something?” she offered.

  “No,” he said. “I really can’t stay.”

  “Where are you going?”

  He froze. Did she read guilt in his eyes or just surprise? “You’ve never asked before.”

  “I’m asking now,” she said. He pressed his lips to her neck and she was momentarily distracted. Physical chemistry had never been their problem, she thought. She wondered if he was trying to distract her because he still hadn’t answered. “Dirk,” she pressed.

  He eased back slightly. “Some guys from the team are in town and we’re getting together.”

  “Oh.” She tried to keep the hurt out of her tone. He had never introduced her to his friends. The only possible explanation was because he was ashamed of her. It probably would be embarrassing to go from Scarlet the superstar to a mousy teacher with hair the color of a school bus.

  Either she did a good job of hiding her hurt feelings or he didn’t care. “Later, Babe.” He gave her another toe curling kiss, grabbed his jacket from the closet, and let himself out.

  She stood staring at the door feeling empty, sad, and alone If she remembered anything about Dirk’s friends from college, it was how much they liked to party. He would no doubt have fun doing things she didn’t approve of while she stayed home, watching television or reading a book. Her life stretched out before her, an endless array of nights like this. Sometimes she wondered why she fought so hard to keep him. Was she really so desperate?

  Sadly, the answer was yes. There was no one else. Wasn’t it better to be in a lackluster relationship than no relationship at all?

  She sat on the couch and turned on the television. “Why do I have cable? Forty channels and nothing is on Saturday nights.” After sifting through the channels a few times she finally decided on the women’s movie network and watched a depressing movie about an abused wife who eventually killed her husband and went to prison.

  When she went to bed the hollow feeling
was still there. What was she doing with her life? Things didn’t feel like they were on the right track. Were they? She would never sleep if she allowed her anxiety to take over, so she forced it away. She put on her favorite flannel pajamas. It was chilly enough to warrant them, but in reality she wanted the comfort they brought her. Dirk had bought them for her last Christmas. Now she wanted to snuggle down in them and remember the good times between them. Maybe he wasn’t desperately in love with her, but they were comfortable together. To him she was probably like the pajamas she was wearing--dull, but good to cuddle up to on a cold, lonely night.

  Her back itched. She scratched at it absently before rolling over and falling asleep. When she woke sometime later she blinked in confusion at the hazy light filtering in through the window. The clock read five and at first she had no idea what woke her, and then her back itched again. When she scratched it, the area felt raw and tender, as if she had been scratching for hours. She pulled off her pajama top and scratched furiously at her back until the itching subsided. It was too dark to see, so she ran her hand over the back of the shirt, not really expecting to feel anything. And when she did she froze. There was something there, something strange and unfamiliar.

  The lamp on the nightstand cast a faint glow, but it was enough to see the piece of tape pressed to the pajamas. It was masking tape with writing on it. At first her heart turned over in her chest with the impossible thought that Dirk had taped a message inside her pajamas. Maybe “I love you,” or “Merry Christmas,” since that was when he had bought them. Her heart thudded painfully. What if it was, “Will you marry me?” As she squinted she realized it was just a jumble of numbers, letters, and dashes. Was it code? If so, what for?

  She turned off the light and lay back down, the shirt still clutched in her hand. These were her favorite pajamas. She had worn them almost weekly since Dirk gave them to her. She had washed them weekly, too. How had she missed that piece of tape through all those washes?

  She frowned. It wasn’t likely that she could have missed it when it made her itch so much. And the tape hadn’t looked worn or cracked as if it had been run through the wash. It had looked new, as did the ink. But how could that be?

  She was definitely wide awake now and puzzling over the strange occurrence. Had Dirk taped a message in her pajamas, just to see if she noticed? She checked the clock again and bit her lip. It was Sunday, his day off. He had been partying with his friends, was there a chance he was still awake? Before she could talk herself out of it she grabbed her phone from the nightstand and hit her speed dial.

  “Liza?” He sounded half asleep and half alarmed. She was surprised he recognized her ringtone. “What’s wrong?”

  “Did you tape a message inside my pajamas?”

  He paused. “Is this a dream?” He sounded truly uncertain.

  She started over and told him about waking up itching and then finding the piece of masking tape in your pajama top. There was another pause on his end.

  “So you took your shirt off. Are you wearing it now?” He sounded suddenly and intensely interested.

  Her cheeks pinked. “Uh, no.”

  “Do you need me to come over?” There was a shuffling sound as if he was getting out of bed.

  “That wasn’t really why I was calling. Besides, you sound tired.”

  “I was asleep,” he reminded her. “I only got in about an hour ago.”

  She frowned. What was he doing until four in the morning? “Oh. Did you have fun?”

  Another pause. “Yes.” He sounded unconvinced. She wondered why. “To answer your earlier question no, I did not tape a message in your pajamas. Not my style.”

  What a strange comment, she thought. “What is your style?”

  “What?” He was getting sleepy again.

  “If you wanted to slip me a secret message, what would your style be?”

  “If it’s a secret, why would I tell you?” He yawned.

  Why, indeed, she thought. He never told her his secrets. Why start now? After a moment of thoughtful silence she realized he was asleep. She listened to his deep, heavy breathing for a while, and then she closed the phone. Would he have fallen asleep if Scarlet had been the one to call him? That was always the question that tormented her. How different would he act if he was crazy in love with her? If it was Scarlet, would he have immediately immersed himself in the mystery of where the tape came from? Would he have rushed over to check the house in order to make sure there was nothing amiss? Or, as with her, would he have immediately chalked the whole thing up to one of her personality quirks and quickly forgotten it? If she knew him, he would never mention it again.

  Chapter 3

  Liza lay awake and thought about the piece of tape for a long time. When it was finally time to get up for church she felt sleepy again, but she forced herself to get out of bed. There was nothing for forcing away anxiety like a morning spent at church.

  Then she stole into the bathroom, caught sight of her hair, and stopped short with a gasp. Somehow she had forgotten the trauma of her hair. If anything, it was worse this morning. Now it stood out in spikes all over her head, the exact color and shape of a dandelion. She hoped a shower might wash away some of the chemicals, but it was a vain hope. At least it lay down after she blow-dried it, although as she stood in the tiny bathroom she felt like all the light in the room was being absorbed by her hair. She watched closely to see if it would pulsate like a living thing, but it remained stiff, dry, and unmoving.

  Faced with yet another bowl of tasteless cereal she groaned and forlornly opened her cupboard. She wanted something different, but she couldn’t go out now, not with hair the color of the sun. She took out the box of cereal, and then she perked up. There was one place she could go where no one would care about her hair. She quickly wolfed down a piece of whole wheat toast, sipped her coffee, picked up her phone, and dialed.

  “Hello,” Marion said. She didn’t answer until the sixth ring, but Liza was used to that. Marion was forever losing her phone and dashing around madly in search of it when it rang.

  “Mar, want to hang out today?”

  “Puck and I are having a day in.”

  “Oh.” Liza tried and failed to keep the disappointment out of her tone.

  “Come for lunch. Puck’s cooking,” Marion hastened to add. Unlike Liza, Marion was a horrible cook. Puck had spent two years as a culinary arts major before moving on to something else.

  “I don’t want to intrude,” Liza said, although she did want to intrude. Very much. She was lonely.

  Marion snorted an indelicate laugh. “Right. Puck and I have planned a perfectly romantic day of reading the paper and doing the crossword together.”

  That did sound romantic to Liza. She and Dirk rarely did mundane things together, unless eating supper together counted. If there was one thing Dirk truly appreciated about her, it was her cooking skills, and he made no secret of the fact. She usually cooked supper for them a couple of times a week and while they ate they talked about their lives like a real couple. To her those meals together were the foundation of their relationship. What were they to him? A chance to get a home cooked meal for free?

  “Hello, are you there?” Marion asked.

  “Hmm.” Liza shook her head and snapped to attention. “I’m here. Lunch sounds great. What time?”

  “It’s brunch, actually. Come over now.”

  “But I just ate breakfast.”

  “So?”

  “I’m going to be too big for my pants by the end of summer.”

  “I’ll loan you some of mine,” Marion said dryly.

  Liza smiled affectionately at the phone as they disconnected. Marion was a few inches shorter than her, and what they liked to call, “pleasantly plump.” She had made peace with her weight, though, because she liked to eat and hated to exercise.

  “I would rather be unhappy with my body and happy with my food than starving and able to fit in a size six,” Marion often said. Occasionally Liza wonder
ed if this was a snipe at her. She was a size six, after all. But then she would erase the thought. Marion wasn’t catty, and besides, she knew Liza liked to eat as much as she did. The fact that she was better at stopping and more disciplined about exercise was the only thing that kept her in her size sixes.

  Speaking of exercise, she would need to do that today. It was more difficult to maintain her disciplined schedule of running in the summertime without the daily grind of school to keep her on track.

  She shoved a baseball hat over her head and stared at the mirror with a frown. She wasn’t one of those girls who could pull off wearing a baseball hat. She looked more at home in a skirt and sweater set than casual wear. The only reason she owned a hat was because Dirk gave it to her. It bore the promotional logo of his car dealership, and he said it would be good advertisement for him if she wore it occasionally.

  “I’ll let you paint a billboard on my back, but it’s going to cost you,” she had replied.

  He had smiled at her in a way that sent her heart thrumming, even after five years together. “How much?”

  “I charge by the letter,” she had said, a little breathlessly.

  “Maybe we can work out a payment plan,” he had said, and then he kissed her.

  She came to with a start. Was it sleep deprivation that was causing her to daydream today, or something else? She started to leave the house but remembered the piece of tape, so she left her car running while she jogged to her bedroom. She stuffed the tape in her pocket and set off for the short drive to Marion’s house.

  Marion lived in the old historic part of town. To say her neighbors hated her would be an understatement. Initially when she bought the house she had good intentions of keeping up on it. But with Marion intentions never panned out. Soon her house fell into mild disrepair and her yard was perpetually overgrown and oozing lawn ornaments. It was a stark contrast to the other homes in the neighborhood who proudly displayed their historical heritage with crisply painted gingerbread trim and immaculate, barren lawns. To his credit, Puck occasionally did something to help the struggling house, but only when he felt like it and had nothing better to do.