by Joy Fielding
“You don’t understand a goddamn thing,” Tom snapped.
“Fine,” Lainey said.
“Fine,” he repeated. “You think you know everything, don’t you? You think you’re in the driver’s seat. That you can just order me around. That you can say, ‘Jump,’ and I’m gonna say, ‘How high?’”
“I think we haven’t been happy in a very long time.”
“Who hasn’t been happy? I’ve been happy.”
“Well, then, I guess that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”
“You’re telling me you haven’t been happy?”
Lainey looked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted a second head. “Where have you been the last couple of years, Tom?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’ve been telling you I’m not happy till I’m blue in the face. It’s like talking to a brick wall.”
“All you ever fucking do is talk,” Tom said. “That, and complain. Nothing’s ever right. Nothing I do is ever good enough.”
“That’s because you never do anything!” Lainey shot back.
“And you’re so fucking perfect?”
“I never said I was perfect.”
“Oh, you’re a long way from perfect, sweetheart. I can tell you that. Take a look in the mirror if you want to see exactly how far from perfect you are.” He grabbed her elbow, spun her around, forced her face toward the wall of mirrors across from the sinks. “You think you’re some sort of prize catch? You think once you dump me, they’re gonna start lining up for you? In case you haven’t noticed, you look like shit. You still haven’t lost the baby weight, and Cody’s two fucking years old. And I’m supposed to want to come home? I’m supposed to want to spend time with you or take you out, show you off to my friends? Lose a few pounds, get your nose fixed and your boobs done, and maybe I’ll feel like spending more time at home.”
Tears filled Lainey’s eyes. Her cheeks reddened, as if she’d been slapped. “You know, I think I always knew you didn’t love me,” she said quietly.
“You got that right,” Tom said.
“But I don’t think I realized until right now how much you actually hate me.”
“Right again, sweetheart.”
Lainey took a deep breath, her shoulders slumping with the effort as she turned away from her reflection. “Then what are you doing here, Tom?”
“I want you and the kids to come home,” he said, as if this was the logical explanation.
“I’m sorry. We can’t do that.”
“So I don’t get any say at all?”
“I think you’ve said more than enough.”
“Oh, I’m just getting started.”
“I’d say you’re pretty much finished,” Donatello announced, returning to the back of the salon, although he maintained a comfortable distance between himself and Tom.
“Get lost, jerk-off.”
“I’ve notified the police. They’ll be here momentarily.”
Tom groaned. “Shit. You gotta be kidding me.”
“I recommend you leave before they get here.”
Tom spun toward Lainey. “I’m warning you, bitch. You’re not kicking me out of my own house. You’re not taking my kids away.”
Lainey said nothing.
“This isn’t over,” he said. Then he pushed past Donatello, knocking him against the curved wall as he fled the salon.
THEY’D BEEN LOCKED in each other’s arms for the better part of an hour, talking, giggling, exchanging soft kisses and tentative caresses, like nervous teenagers afraid to proceed too quickly, when they heard footsteps running along the outside corridor. The footsteps came to an abrupt halt in front of their door. A loud banging followed immediately.
“Oh, no,” Suzy whispered, pulling out of Will’s arms and staring at the door in horror.
“Open up in there,” a voice demanded, followed by more banging.
“Tom?” Will said, jumping to his feet.
“Open the goddamn door!” More pounding. “Will, is that you? For shit’s sake, open the fucking door!”
Goddamn it, Will thought, signaling Suzy to hide in the bedroom. “I’ll get rid of him as fast as I can,” he said quietly, grabbing her as she was about to leave and kissing her again.
“Could you just kiss me for a while?” she’d asked, and he’d been happy to oblige. Hell, I could spend all day kissing her, he thought now, watching her disappear around the corner. What the hell was Tom doing here?
“Do you always come busting in here?” he asked, opening the door.
Tom’s arms were flailing about wildly in all directions at once. “Where’s Jeff?”
“He’s at the gym.”
“Shit. Of course he’s at the gym. Where else would he be? Shit,” he said again.
“Is there a problem?” Will asked reluctantly.
“Is Kristin home?” Tom looked toward the bedroom.
“She had some errands to run,” Will said quickly, prepared to throw himself between Tom and the bedroom should Tom take even one step in that direction.
“So, it’s just you. That’s what you’re trying to tell me.”
“I’m not trying to tell you anything.”
“Oh, man. Not you, too,” Tom said, groaning audibly. “I had enough of that bullshit today from Lainey.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Lainey went to see a lawyer this morning.”
“I’m sorry,” Will said, although he couldn’t have cared less. He just wanted Tom out of the apartment so he could go back to kissing Suzy.
Tom plopped into the leather chair across from the sofa, stretched his long legs out in front of him as if he wasn’t going anywhere. He pointed toward the glass on the floor. “What are you drinking?”
“Water.”
“You got something stronger?”
“It’s a little early, isn’t it?”
“Who are you—my mother?”
“I think there’s some beer in the fridge.”
“Sounds good,” Tom said, without moving.
Will walked into the kitchen, thinking of Suzy in the bedroom. How long would she wait? How long before she lost her nerve and ran home to Dr. Dave? He opened the fridge door, found a bottle of Miller Light, opened it, and carried it back to the living room.
“What? No glass?” Tom said.
“Help yourself.”
Tom raised the bottle to his lips. “This’ll do.” He threw his head back, took a long sip. “That’s better. It’s been quite the morning.”
“Look, I’ve got things to do.”
“So who’s stopping you?”
Will sank down on the sofa, said nothing. Just finish your beer and get the hell out, his eyes told Tom’s.
“You know what that bitch said to me?” Tom asked. “She said I have to pay child support. She gets the kids, but I gotta pay to support them.”
“They’re your kids,” Will reminded him.
“I’ll rot in jail for the rest of my life before I pay her one fucking dime.”
You do that, Will said silently. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” he asked out loud.
“I’m quitting that motherfucking job. If Lainey thinks she’s gonna take half my paycheck, she’s got another think coming.”
“That’s kind of like cutting off your nose to spite your face, isn’t it?” Will said, then immediately wished he hadn’t.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What are you talking about—cutting off my nose to . . . what?”
“Cutting off your nose to spite your face,” Will repeated. “It’s something my mother used to say.”
“Yeah? Sounds like the Wicked Witch all right. That’s what Jeff and I used to call her, you know. The Wicked Witch of West Buffalo.”
“I know she was never your biggest fan.”
Tom shrugged, took another sip of beer. “Like I care. When are you going back anyway? I’m sure the Wicked Witch mis
ses her golden boy.”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Shouldn’t overstay your welcome, little brother. You know what they say about houseguests, don’t you?” When Will failed to respond, Tom continued. “They’re like fish. After three days, they go bad.”
Again Will said nothing. He wondered what Suzy was doing, if she was listening to the conversation. He thought of the softness of her skin, the clean, fruity scent of her hair, the vaguely peppermint taste of her lips.
“You should have seen her, man,” Tom said, laughing now. “There she was, her head in the sink, her hair dripping wet. . . .”
“What are you talking about?” Will asked impatiently.
“I’m talking about Lainey. At the hairdresser’s. This morning,” Tom answered in exasperation, as if Will should know this already.
“I thought she was at the lawyer’s.”
“First she was at the lawyer’s, then she was at the hairdresser’s.” Tom bristled visibly. “She didn’t like me showing up there, I tell you. She got all nervous, warned me not to cause a scene, like it’s my fault this is all happening, like she’s not the one who took the kids and left. So we got into it a bit, and suddenly Donny Osmond’s there, telling me I’ve got to leave.”
“Donny Osmond?”
“Yeah, dickhead. Like Donny Osmond goes to Lainey’s hairdresser. What are you, retarded? It was a figure of speech.”
A figure of speech, Will thought, straining to make sense of the conversation. “Okay, so it didn’t go well.”
“Stupid faggot called the cops.”
“And you naturally came here,” Will said.
“I drove around for a while first, trying to calm down. Miami, man. Might as well be in downtown Havana. I’m telling you, the foreigners are taking over. I mean, I grant you the Cuban women wear miniskirts instead of burkas, and paella sure beats the hell out of whatever the crap it is they eat in Afghanistan, but it all amounts to the same thing. Pretty soon this country’s going to be nothing but a sea of brown faces. Lainey once told me she’d read how by the end of the next decade, white people are gonna be in the minority. Shit,” he said, finishing the rest of his beer. “I should have just shot her, man. I should have popped her one right between her beady little eyes. Blown her stupid brains all over those ugly blue sinks and reclining leather chairs.” He was laughing as he drew his gun out from underneath his shirt.
“What the hell?” Will exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
“You think old Donny boy is doing her?”
“Put that damn thing away.”
“Should have plugged him, too. Just in case.”
“Put the gun away, Tom.”
“You gonna make me?”
“Put the gun away, Tom,” a voice said from several feet away.
Tom spun toward the sound as Will held his breath.
Suzy advanced into the center of the room. “Put the gun away,” she said.
FOURTEEN
TOM TOOK A STEP back. “What are you doing here?” He glanced from Will to Suzy, then back to Will, his voice an accusation. “Shit, man. You scored?”
“Looks like you’re out a hundred bucks,” Suzy said.
“Shit. I should shoot you just for that.”
“Relax,” Will told him. “Your money’s safe.”
“You didn’t score?”
“He did,” Suzy said.
“I didn’t,” Will countered.
Tom lowered his gun to his side, although he made no move to put it away. “Don’t tell me I interrupted something.”
“Your timing is as impeccable as ever.”
“Actually I was just leaving,” Suzy said.
“No,” Will said quickly. “Stay awhile. Tom’s the one who’s leaving. Aren’t you, Tom?”
Tom immediately assumed his former position in the beige leather chair. “Doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere.”
“I really should get going,” Suzy said.
“She has a husband, remember?” Tom asked.
Suzy walked toward the door.
“Your husband do that to your face?”
“What?” Suzy’s hand shot to her cheek, hovered above the bruise at her chin. “No, of course not. He’s a doctor. He’d never . . . I tripped. . . .”
“Uh-huh. You buying that shit, little brother?”
“Please don’t go,” Will whispered as Suzy reached for the doorknob.
“Don’t beg,” Tom said. “It’s pathetic.”
“Go to hell.”
“Why don’t we all go?” Tom raised the gun, aimed it directly at Suzy.
“For Christ’s sake, Tom . . .”
“I can shoot her in the foot, if you’d like. That’ll stop her.”
Will took a step toward Tom, wondering if he was strong enough—brave enough, foolhardy enough—to try wresting the gun from Tom’s hands, when the sound of Suzy’s voice stopped him.
“Or you could shoot my husband instead,” she said.
“What?” Will spun back toward Suzy.
Suzy’s eyes filled with panic. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “I can’t believe I said that. I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t mean it.”
“I know,” Will said.
“It sounded like you meant it to me,” Tom argued.
“It was a stupid thing to say.”
“I don’t know about that,” Tom said, chuckling. “I mean, if that’s what you really want, I’m sure we could work out some sort of deal. . . .”
“Please, just forget I said anything.” Suzy opened the door, stepped into the hall, Will close on her heels.
Tom waved. “Say hi to the good doctor.”
Suzy stopped. “Please tell me you know I didn’t mean it,” she whispered to Will.
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“I know you do.” She leaned forward to kiss Will on the side of his mouth as her eyes locked on his. Don’t let me leave, they said. “Don’t follow me,” was what emerged. And then, in the next second, she was running along the outside corridor and down the stairs.
“You blew it, buddy,” Tom said as Will reentered the apartment, closing the door behind him.
“You’re a real piece of work,” Will muttered.
“A real piece of work with a gun,” Tom reminded him, waving it back and forth as if it were a small flag. “A real gun. With real bullets.” He pointed the gun at Will’s chest.
“You want to shoot me?” Will took two giant steps into the center of the room. His heart was pounding. His head was spinning. “Go ahead. Shoot me.”
Tom was smiling as he tucked the gun into his belt, although it remained clearly visible. “I just might take you up on that one day,” he said.
SUZY HEARD FOOTSTEPS behind her as she neared the visitors’ parking area. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, saw no one. But seconds later, the footsteps resumed, falling in step with her own, mimicking her gait, getting closer. Was it possible Dave had followed her to the gym, watched her having coffee with Jeff, then followed the two of them here? Had he been puzzled to see Jeff and Kristin emerge without her soon after? And had he been patiently waiting ever since, his eyes trained on their apartment, eagerly anticipating her next move?
Had he witnessed Tom’s sudden appearance, followed by her hasty exit? Had his hands formed murderous fists at his sides as he watched her lean in to plant a delicate kiss on the side of Will’s mouth? Were those fists waiting for her now?
Suzy reached into her purse and grabbed her car keys, holding them in front of her as she continued briskly toward her car, her breathing ragged, her eyes darting nervously from side to side, on the lookout for Dave’s red Corvette. She didn’t see it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Damn it, why had she parked so far away?
She heard the footsteps behind her suddenly picking up speed. Suzy’s shoulders stiffened, automatically bracing themselves for the impact of Dave’s angry blows against her back. Would he be so bold as to attack he
r here, in the middle of the day, in such a public place? Or would he simply grab her arm, smile, and mutter, “Hello, darling,” as he pushed her toward her car, then wait until they were safely back inside their home before beating her to a bloody pulp?
She almost laughed. When had her home ever been safe? she wondered, feeling a slight breeze at her back, a faint tremor in the surrounding air, as if it were being brushed aside, and then the weight of a hand on her shoulder.
“No, please,” she cried, her eyes already filling with tears as she turned around.
“I’m sorry,” a woman quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I think you dropped this.”
“What?” Suzy had to blink several times before she could dislodge Dave’s features from the face of the short, elderly woman standing in front of her.
“You wouldn’t want to lose this,” the woman said, pushing something into Suzy’s palm. “Not with all this identity theft going on. It is yours, isn’t it? I’m sure I saw it fall out of your purse.”
Suzy found herself staring at the small photograph of herself on her Florida driver’s license. The license must have tumbled from her purse when she was getting her keys. “It’s me,” she acknowledged, although she barely recognized the bruise-free, confident-looking woman in the picture. “Thank you.”
“Have a nice day,” the woman said, walking toward a black Accord parked several spaces away and climbing awkwardly inside it.
“You too,” Suzy said quietly, returning her license to her purse. Her eyes skipped across the concrete floor of the parking lot, in search of any more of herself she might have lost along the way.
“Who are you anyway?” she asked her reflection in the car’s rearview mirror moments later. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” She started the car, checking in all directions as she backed out of the narrow space, looking for any sign of Dave, seeing none.
Which meant nothing, she understood as she turned onto the street. She would only see Dave if and when he wanted her to see him. Unlike Tom, Suzy knew that if Dave were following her, she wouldn’t know it until it was too late.
She checked her watch. Almost two o’clock. What was Dave up to that he wouldn’t be home until seven? Was he planning a surprise? Something to make up for the ferocity of his more recent attacks, something to reassure her of his love? Back when they first got married, when she was still naive enough to think that his apologies meant something, when he was still making an effort to disguise the enjoyment his tormenting her brought, he would often bring home little gifts—a piece of antique jewelry she’d admired in a store window; a chocolate Easter egg, the kind with the rich vanilla cream filling and the sticky lemon cream center that she loved; the latest Nora Roberts novel. “I’m so sorry,” he used to say, promising it would never happen again. “You know I never meant to hurt you.”
