Seeking Mr. Wrong

by Natalie Charles

  “Hello?”

  “Lettie? It’s Faye. Are you busy? I need you to come over.”

  “Sure.” I hesitated. “Am I in trouble?”

  “No, I just . . . I need to talk.”

  There was something in her voice that concerned me. I picked up a book featuring a woman in fluffy black handcuffs and slipped it under my arm, only because I liked the black lace teddy she was wearing. “Yeah, sure. Of course. Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine, but you know how it is. The kids are wild. Win’s heading to work. I need another adult.”

  Faye worked as a nurse at a local hospital, but her hours could be unpredictable. It wasn’t unusual for her to call me to make last-minute plans. “I can be over in about half an hour.”

  “That’s great. See you then.”

  I grabbed a sampling of books and styles, stacked them into a neat pile, and pressed them against my chest. Then I hurried up the stairs, holding my breath as I thought about facing the nice old lady with the glasses. Sure enough, she was still behind the counter. She looked up and gave me a big smile. “All set?”

  “Yes. Just these.”

  I looked downward as I stacked my books on the counter. Bondage and the Beast. Deep Inside of Me. A Back-Door Neighbor. I swallowed, my cheeks burning as she flipped through each title and added it up on the register. Then she turned to me, still smiling sunshine, and said, “Anything else?”

  I pulled a few bills out of my purse and set them on the counter. “Just a paper bag, please.”

  I BROUGHT my purchase home before heading to my sister’s house. It would be just my luck that Portia would find the books and ask questions that I couldn’t answer. Faye was standing at the front door, waiting for me to arrive. “Thanks for coming,” she said. Her eyes were rimmed with red and slightly bloodshot, and she was holding a glass of rosé. “I’ve started drinking. You want a glass?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Auntie Lettie!” Portia threw her arms around my legs like I’d been lost at sea. Not to be outdone, Blaise soon followed suit.

  “Hey, sweethearts.” I patted their heads while they strangled my thighs. “How are you?”

  “They’re feral.” Faye nodded at the twins. “Why don’t you two go play for a little while?”

  We watched as the twins scampered off, and then she said, “Come on in.”

  I followed her into the marzipan-hued kitchen and pulled up a seat at the white-and-gray granite breakfast bar. While Faye uncorked a new bottle of wine, I reached into the fruit bowl and picked off a few plump green grapes. Faye was obsessive about fruit washing, so I knew they were safe to eat. “They’re busy today, huh? The kids.”

  She spun around, one hand on her hip. “Blaise was in hysterics about an hour ago. Complete meltdown. Why, you ask? Because last week, someone at summer camp told him there was no Santa Claus.”

  “Aw, poor Blaise.”

  “That’s not even all.” Faye blew a blond tendril out of her face. “So he’s telling me that this one child said Santa didn’t exist. And you know what I said? I said, ‘How do you think that makes Santa feel?’ ”

  I snickered. “Hilarious.”

  “Ridiculous, is what it is. I read these articles about teaching children empathy, and I end up telling my kid to consider a fat elf’s feelings. But on the bright side, it confused him enough that he stopped crying.” She finished off her glass of wine.

  “You’re a good mom, Faye.” I meant it.

  She shook her head as the twins came barreling through the kitchen. She watched them, resigned. “Don’t ever have children. Or a husband.”

  “Well. No problem there.”

  Faye winced and rubbed at her forehead. “I’m sorry, that was thoughtless—”

  “No, really. It’s fine. I’m fully committed to the single life.”

  I wasn’t the little girl who dreamed about her wedding day, anyway. Maybe because my first marital memory is of my parents’ divorce, and specifically of my dad standing at the front door with a suitcase and patting me and Faye on the head. “Me and your mom. We gave it a shot,” he said with an aw-shucks grin. Notice he didn’t say they gave it their best shot. Even he knew that would have been a lie. They merely gave a single shot of indeterminate effort. But this is my lasting impression of that moment when I saw my family torn apart, which was only cemented by the James Incident: that marriage is generally risky and ill-advised, like steering a car with your feet or getting a Pap smear while sober. Sure, it’s “exhilarating” at first. Then comes the pain.

  Lately I imagine there will come a time in the future when I’ll decide I’ve had a good run at normalcy, and to hell with it. From that point on, I’ll wear men’s trousers and a moth-eaten straw hat and ride around town on my bicycle, a capuchin monkey stowed away in the basket. I’ll smoke stogies and wear galoshes to the local pharmacy to pick up random items, like sewing thread, glycerin tablets, and Starlight mints. I’ll smell like a musty basement and children will fear me, and I think I’d be good at this—better than I would be at marriage or parenting.

  I helped myself to a few more grapes, and Win walked into the kitchen while I was midchew. “Lettie. Good to see you.” He flung a black leather briefcase onto the counter and leaned over to give me a kiss on the cheek.

  The first time Faye brought Winston home, I disliked him. He’s a natural politician and everyone’s best friend, so he claps you on the shoulder and winks and laughs like you’ve said something hilarious, even if you’ve only suggested that it’s been raining too much lately. I can’t know this for sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he walks through the halls of his law firm pointing to people and telling them to stay classy. But Faye seems to like him and they’re married, so there we are.

  “Hey, Win,” I said coolly. I wasn’t quite over the inaccurate but hurtful cuckold comments.

  “You ready for your big day?” Win gave the flab on my upper arm a good squeeze. “Sweet Pea Goes Back to School. That’s your next book right there.” He chuckled.

  “That’s a great idea for a title. I’ll have to make a note.”

  He pointed a finger at me and cocked his head. “Just remember it was my idea, right? Sixty-forty split.”

  “Sure, that sounds fair.” I took a deep breath and smiled.

  “Well, I gotta run.” He grabbed his briefcase and gave a little wave as he headed out of the kitchen. “I’ll be late, Faye. Don’t wait up.”

  “All right. I never do,” she muttered.

  After Win left the house, Faye slid a glass of rosé my way and sat on the stool beside me. “The twins enjoyed their visit with you on Wednesday.”

  “Ah.”

  I avoided her eyes and stared at my wineglass, wondering how much she already knew about the events of that afternoon. When I’d driven the twins home, I’d confiscated their lollipop sticks and said, “Let’s agree to never discuss this again.” But they were children, so who knew. “I always love my time with Portia and Blaise,” I gushed. “They’re so energetic. We had lots of fun.” I took a sip of the wine. It was cold and sweet.

  “Hmm.” Faye held the stem of her glass and stared at the stainless steel refrigerator. “Do you think Portia is normal?”

  The question caught me off guard. A little wine sputtered out of my mouth. “Normal? In what way?” I wiped my chin.

  “Do you think she’s different from the other kids in your kindergarten class?”

  “Why, because she talks to her vagina?” I sniffed and laughed a little at the same time, and it sounded like a snort. “She’s precocious, but she’s like the other kids in my class. She’s normal.”

  “I worry about her, taking off her clothes and running around. She needs all my attention all the time—”

  I set my hand gently on her arm. “Faye. She’s five years old. Trust me, sh
e’s normal. She’s going to do great in school. You’ll see. She’s a leader.”

  My sister smiled weakly and nodded. “You’re the expert. Oh, and I can’t believe I forgot to ask: Did the twins like your new book?”

  “They loved it. Asked me to read it twice.”

  “And your editor? You had lunch with her yesterday, right?”

  I nodded while taking a generous sip of wine. “She wants a few changes. I may take it in a slightly different direction, but . . .” I gave her the thumbs-up. “It’s all good.”

  “How exciting.”

  She sounded like it was anything but. I eyed her as she toyed with the stem of her wineglass. Finally she spoke. “You’re probably wondering what’s wrong.” She took a breath. “Win and I have been having some challenges.”

  “Ah.” I folded my hands in front of me. “You don’t need to tell me any—”

  “It’s just . . . I think it’s what happens. Eight years of marriage, and things get stale, and it’s all only natural.” She smiled bravely. “At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.”

  “Oh, Faye.” I pulled her into a big hug. She’d lost weight, and she didn’t have much to spare to begin with. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks. I know you understand how even the best things can unravel.”

  Boy, did I ever. I tightened my arms. Her hair smelled like fruit. “But not us.”

  She squeezed me back. “Not us.”

  That was all she offered on the subject, and I didn’t ask any questions. But I vowed that if Win was cheating on my sister, I would have no choice but to take up mystery-novel writing and bring him to a violent, fictitious end.

  CHAPTER 5

  ON THE FIRST DAY of school, I consulted with the dress code taped to the closet door and tried to select appropriate attire. Most of my dresses showed too much armpit, and I thought even a cap sleeve might be pushing the envelope. I settled on a long floral-print skirt and a short-sleeve twinset. From a distance, I looked to be about thirty years older than twenty-eight. Brunhilda would approve.

  I thought about Portia and Blaise and what they must be thinking and feeling as they headed to their first day of kindergarten. I’d been teaching for six years, and I still got butterflies in my stomach and sparks on my fingertips. I always loved teaching, Oprah. That was never a question. I especially loved kindergarten. It’s a special year, filled with songs and coloring and friendship. And hugs. Hugs aren’t supposed to be allowed in school, but sometimes I’d still sneak them in in kindergarten. Sometimes those kids need a hug.

  My heart inevitably melts when I meet my class. I feel an instant protectiveness for them, like I want to wrap my arms around them and keep them safe and happy. Maybe that’s a teacher thing, I don’t know. In the months that follow that first surge of love, I know I will feel frustration and despair. There will be days that I will go home and cry into a bowl of canned soup and think about how short I fall from my ideals. But there will also be days that they will show me some random sign of love: a spontaneous hug or outburst, maybe a picture or a pretty rock they found on the playground. Those are the moments I feel like maybe we’ve connected after all. They are moments I live for.

  I greeted my students and showed them to their seats. I hugged a few who were crying and handed them tissues. We sang a few songs and reviewed classroom rules about sitting in our seats and standing in line, and then we had a snack. While they were eating, I read them a story about a mouse that goes to kindergarten. They laughed at the right parts, and so did I. The morning was going so well that I lost track of the time. I jumped when I heard the knock on the door and saw Max Anderson poke his head inside. “Good morning, Ms. Osbourne!”

  Max Anderson was the physical education and health teacher, which meant the dress code didn’t apply to him. That day, he was wearing gray sweatpants and a shirt that read “Who’s Gym?” A gentle reminder to all of us that we were supposed to take him seriously.

  Max and I had started at Noah Webster together, so we’d gotten to know each other pretty well. He’d been a jock in high school but not in college, and his body had taken on a puffy appearance where I imagine his muscles used to be. Last year at the holiday party Max had kissed me near the coat closet, no mistletoe in sight. His mouth tasted like shrimp cocktail and beer. It was all a little bit awkward for both of us, considering I was engaged at the time. I’d told James about it because I’d felt guilty, and he’d seemed appropriately jealous. But James knew that Max wasn’t a real threat. Max had this tough-guy way about him, so every time he opened his mouth to speak, I half expected him to say, “So listen: the other night, I was bangin’ this broad. . . .” Put plainly, he wasn’t really my type.

  “Hello, Mr. Anderson,” I said with a smile. I smiled so much during those first few days of school that my cheeks ached by noon, but I wanted the class to see their new world as a friendly place. “Are you ready for them?”

  “I’m ready.”

  His eyes darted up and down my figure quickly as he stepped into the classroom. I tugged my twinset closed up to my neck, but there was really no cleavage to cover. Then I turned back to my students and said brightly, “All right. Snack time is over. It’s time to line up for physical education.”

  Max and I helped them to clean up their spaces and line up. After the last student had left the room, I glanced at the clock. I had twenty-five minutes to myself. Heaven.

  I shut the door and slipped quietly into my desk chair. My lessons were planned and the first day was all introduction anyway, so I’d brought one of my new books to study. It was called Lord Sterling’s Secret. I’d hoped for a mystery, but I learned on page three that the “secret” was a ten-inch cock that gave women powerful orgasms. Maybe it was magic, then? That wasn’t clear. I resigned myself to seeing whether the author explored that element in greater detail.

  As far as entertainment value went, Lord Sterling’s Secret ranked highly. The sex started in the first paragraph, with Lord Sterling pounding away at a young maiden of some sort while she tried to fix a ham sandwich in the kitchen. I don’t know why it was ham, but that detail was mentioned, so it must have been important. Then she had an orgasm that went on for pages, sending her off a cliff and to hell and back up to heaven again. Possibly it cured someone’s cancer in the next town over. I skimmed that part. All I could think was that the poor girl was hungry, and maybe Lord Sterling could have just kept his secret to himself for fifteen minutes so she could have lunch first.

  If I were being critical, the title bothered me, too. Something’s really not much of a secret if everyone knows about it. The scullery maid, the duchess, the high-end prostitute who apparently fell out of the damn sky—they all had heard the tale of this magic cock, and they all wanted to ride it themselves. It should have been called Lord Sterling’s Big, Wondrous, Magical Prick. Though I guess that sounds like a children’s book. Anyway, I sat at my desk and continued reading, taking notes.

  Lord Sterling had stumbled across the duchess bathing in a stream when I heard the classroom door open. “Hey! Lose your class?”

  I slammed the book shut and tossed it under my desk. “Nothing!” I cried, and turned to see Mindy standing in the doorway with a ream of colored paper.

  “Lettie? What are you doing?” She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “You look guilty.”

  “What?” I chuckled and patted my foot around, trying to find my book. “I was reading and you startled me, that’s all.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Not even Odin would have bought my performance. Mindy walked over to the desk. She was wearing sandals and a sleeveless red dress with a loose-fitting cardigan. Armpits and toes: two dress code no-no’s.

  “How’s your first day going?” I asked.

  “Fine, yours?”

  Before I realized what was happening, she’d snatched my reading notes. “Hey!” I ro
se to take them back, but she stepped out of my reach. It was too late anyway. She’d seen enough.

  “Throbbing scepter. Silken pocket. Button of pleasure.” Her eyes widened and she clicked her tongue. “Ms. Osbourne. You’ve been a very naughty girl! I’m going to have to send you to Mr. Clayman’s office.”

  I took the notes back and folded the pages into thirds. “I’m doing research.”

  “Please. How about the truth?” Mindy reached under my desk and found the book. “Lord Sterling’s Secret. I haven’t read this one. Is it any good?” She turned it over to look at the back cover.

  “Not really. Everyone is constantly having sex.”

  “Well, I’d hope so. It’s an erotic novel.” Mindy handed it back to me and swept her dark ringlets off her shoulders. “You should get an e-reader. That way no one can see the cover.”

  I tucked the book back into my tote bag, my cheeks burning. “Noted. But I really am doing research. I write erotica now.”

  Mindy studied me for a moment. Then she turned so she could sit on the corner of my desk. “I wish I’d been drinking something just then, because that would’ve been a great time to do a spit take. You”—she lowered her chin—“writing erotica.”

  “Yes. I have to, to fulfill my book contract.” I sat back in my desk chair and folded my hands primly across my lap. “I’m glad you stopped by, because I was meaning to ask you for some advice.”

  “Of course you were. I’m your sluttiest friend.”

  She was right. Mindy manifested more sex than anyone I knew, and she didn’t give two hoots what anyone thought about it. But I feigned shock. “Oh my gosh, no! That never even crossed my mind!”