Valley of Ashes

by Cornelia Read

  “Too late,” I said. “Too fucking late.”

  “That’s not true. That’s not how I feel about you.”

  “You’ve told me exactly how you feel about me: I’m kind and courageous and admirable. I’m the mother of your children. I’m the fucking Statue of Liberty, and you’re the goddamn huddled masses, yearning to breathe free.”

  “You’re more than that.”

  “More than what, Dean?”

  “Bunny… the way I feel about you.”

  “I know what you don’t feel about me. Shall I tot that up for you?”

  He swallowed.

  “You consider me neither young nor beautiful,” I said, ticking down two fingers in turn. “You do not spend afternoons in bed drifting along… oh, gee… how did you put it? Something about opiate wings, ‘thinking of nothing but how beautiful and sweet and perfect you are’? And you certainly don’t yearn to ‘kiss every inch of my silken belly.’ Does that about sum it up?”

  “Don’t do this,” he said.

  “Do what, Dean? Let you know that I’m perfectly cognizant of how little you care for me?”

  “Bunny—”

  “Do you remember the last time you told me I looked pretty, Dean?”

  He hung his head.

  “Because I do,” I said. “It was two years ago.”

  “Jesus, Bunny—”

  “Want me to tell you the exact day, and where we were? Because I remember that, too.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you’re pretty, you shouldn’t need me to tell you—”

  “Go to your office,” I said. “You’re not doing either of us a lick of good here.”

  He got on his knees. “Bunny, what can I do?”

  “Christ, Dean. You could start with making a goddamn effort. A little lip service, at the very least.”

  “I don’t understand. I don’t know what you want.”

  “What if the roles were reversed, here, Dean?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Really? You need me to fucking explain it to you?”

  “Please,” he said. “Help me out. Tell me what I can do.”

  “What would you want to hear if you found out I’d been fucking some hot younger guy?”

  His mouth got tight.

  “Sneaking around behind your back,” I said. “Exchanging filthy secret emails and phone calls. Meeting up with him whenever you’re out of town. Plotting how to get away from you, pull the wool over your eyes, steal time for the pair of us to lavish on balling each other raw… What would you want me to say, right now, if you’d had to read my emails about what he did to me, what I’d done to him?”

  He didn’t say a word.

  “Let’s say he’s better at it—better than you ever were, even when you did bother. And he loves knowing that he’s fucking your wife, behind your back. Making a fool of you gets him off. Gets us both off.”

  Dean’s face went cold and he turned his head away from me.

  “And let’s say I spend all day, every day, thinking about how I’m going to get more of that. Where he’s going to take me next… how. What I’m going to do to him. How much better it’s going to be than when I have to throw you a mercy fuck, back home.”

  Lick it up, you piece of shit. Every word.

  “I’m thinking about him when I cook you dinner, Dean, and when I ask you how your day was, and when I straighten your tie. But you have no goddamn idea, because you’re so goddamn stupid and trusting. You can’t imagine me doing that, any of it. And then you find out. Everything. Every last detail.”

  His jaw was clenched.

  “You think that can’t happen, Dean? You think it hasn’t, already?”

  “Bunny, I don’t—”

  “You don’t know. And you never would, not unless I wanted you to. Because I’m better at secrets than you are, Dean. Trust me, I kick your sorry ass in that department. Always have.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m telling you what you just told me you wanted to know, Dean. What you should be doing, right now, to make this up to me. Think about everything I’ve said, you fucking asshole.”

  Now I was pissing him off.

  “Then think about what you’d want me to say to you,” I said, “once you’d found out. After I’d ripped away everything you thought you could trust in this marriage. After I’d made you feel like nothing. Like shit. After I told you I’d broken it off with him for the sake of the children, dragging them along when we met in public so I wouldn’t be tempted to fuck him again, right on the spot. Only I would be tempted. Damn right I would. Wet for it. Hungry and aching.”

  He flared his nostrils.

  “What would you want me to tell you, Dean, to make it go down easier. What lies would cushion the blow? Fake you out so I could keep on fucking him every chance I got—because I wouldn’t give it up. Wouldn’t be able to settle for you, afterward.”

  “I’d want you to tell me you love me. I love you, Bunny.”

  “You’re full of shit, Dean. You want to make it up to me? Go steal those papers Cary was looking at, the ones that probably got him killed. Make yourself goddamn useful for a change.”

  “You can’t be serious,” he said. “Of course I love you. You have to believe that.”

  “No I don’t, actually. I am not required to believe another shabby, lukewarm word that comes out of your thin-lipped, self-satisfied, and parsimonious little mouth. Not now, not ever.”

  “It’s true. I love you.”

  “Fuck you, Dean. And fuck the candy-ass low-rent betrayal of a wagon train you rode in on.”

  I started walking out of the kitchen.

  “Bunny!”

  “Up the ass,” I said, loud enough so he’d be sure to hear me without my having to turn back and look at him. “Up the ass with a goddamn chain saw.”

  The only answer to that was the back door, slamming.

  Good.

  47

  I got the girls out of their seats and put them in the playpen.

  It was eight in the morning, seven in California. I sat down in the kitchen doorway and called my mother.

  I didn’t even wait for her to say hello, just said, “Mom?” and started weeping.

  “Madeline, what’s happened?”

  I gulped down a raggedy breath. “Um, Dean’s been fucking his secretary? Since we moved to Boulder?”

  I heard her breath catch. “That asshole.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m so sorry. Oh, you poor thing.”

  I couldn’t really speak. It was all I could do not to get snot on the phone. I swiped my shirtsleeve across my nose. Then I got all hiccupy, trying to breathe.

  “Oh, Madeline…”

  “I just… I don’t…”

  “Shhhh,” she said. “Just take a breath. It’s okay.”

  And then I mewled, “Mummie? This… is so… awful…”

  “Do you want me to come there?”

  Yes. Instantly. Put me to bed and bring me soup and toast.

  “I don’t…, ” I said. “Not right now. But maybe in a little bit? I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “You let me know. I can come. Anytime.”

  “Thank you.”

  And we were quiet for a minute. Just breathing together.

  Well, okay, she breathed, I was all weepy and shit.

  Finally I said, “Mom?”

  “What?”

  “Is it ever going to feel okay again?”

  “Jesus,” she said. “I just want to kick him.”

  “I love you. And I would love to have you kick him. And I should go. At least grab some toilet paper and blow my nose.”

  “Call me again whenever you want.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  And we hung up.

  I tried lying down in the playpen with the girls but I just kept crying and I worried my utter self-loathing would somehow leach into the air and taint them or something, so I checked their diape
rs and called Ellis.

  “Hey,” I said when she picked up, “are you sitting down?”

  “I can if you want me to. What’s up?”

  “Dean’s having an affair.”

  “That loathsome, ungrateful, unworthy, uncouth, hideously repulsive piece of shit,” she said. “Who’s he fucking? Want me to shoot him? Want me to shoot her?”

  “Exactly. His secretary. Yes, and yes,” I said. “Not necessarily in that order.”

  “What the fuck is wrong with him?”

  “What’s wrong with me?” I said, and started crying again.

  “Oh, sweetie, no no no no no. You are not allowed to think anything about this at all except that your husband deserves to die a lingering death. Preferably of something venereal and incredibly painful, involving weeping abscesses and the pissing of acridly painful blood. Except not something he could possibly infect you with, of course, and then the bitch he’s fucking should have her twat fall out in front of lots and lots of people before it crawls away into a storm drain and gets swept out to sea. That asshole.”

  I sniffed, loading my other cuff up with snot. “That’s just what Mom said.”

  “Deserves to die a lingering death or the thing about the storm drain?”

  “Actually, she just said, ‘that asshole.’ She wants to kick him. And fly here.”

  “Excellent. You should let her do both.”

  “Not today,” I said. “Today I just want to feel sorry for myself and loll around and get snot on everything.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” she said. “Free babysitting. Naptime. Someone to glare at your repugnant shit-for-brains husband so you don’t have to.”

  “Tempting,” I said.

  “I repeat: Don’t be an idiot. Call her back, tell her to get on a plane.”

  “I’d have to clean.”

  “Make Dean do it. That asshole.”

  “I just… I feel like I don’t have any skin left. And I feel so ugly.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” she said. “You’re gorgeous. Like I-hate-you-for-being-so-fucking-gorgeous gorgeous.”

  “Ellis?”

  “What?”

  “She’s, like, twenty… and Japanese and shit. And a neat freak. And I let her babysit.”

  “Oh, ewwww. What was he, taken over by some giant alien pod creature? Fucking a twenty-year-old neat freak? That’s just embarrassing. For him. I’m disappointed in our friend Dean. I thought he’d picked up some taste from you, at the very least. That asshole.”

  “And she probably gives way… better… head than me,” I said, suddenly all sobby again.

  “Dude, no fucking way. Categorically.”

  “Yeah, right, like you’d have any idea.”

  “Actually, I’ve heard reports. And even the, um, French judge gave you a ten.”

  “No shit?”

  “None,” she said. “You were the talk of campus.”

  “You have just really, really cheered me up.”

  “Hey, what are friends for?”

  “Telling you you give decent head, apparently.”

  “Oh, shit,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Perry just ran over the neighbor’s cat with his Big Wheel.”

  “Harsh,” I said.

  I heard a wincing intake of breath, then an “Oooo…”

  “Don’t tell me,” I said. “He backed over it, just to make sure?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’ll let you go. You totally rock.”

  “Not as much as you. I’ll call you later…”

  And with that, she was gone.

  I picked myself up off the floor, looked in the bathroom mirror, and decided to put ice cubes on my eyes.

  My husband still sucked, but my women had made me feel better.

  Much better.

  The phone rang.

  It was Ellis.

  “Listen,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with you a shot of bourbon and a smoking hot seventeen-year-old lifeguard named Bruno can’t fix.”

  “Sven,” I said.

  “I keep forgetting you like ’em blond…”

  “Damn straight. Surfer boys, from way back. Dumber the better.”

  “I think stupid’s pretty much the only flavor they come in, Madeline.”

  “You’d be surprised. Those boys come all kinds of ways.”

  “Atta girl,” she said.

  I was about to ask her if the neighbor’s cat had survived, but she’d hung up on me.

  Time for Parrish and India to have a little nap.

  They actually went to sleep, which surprised me, considering how little we’d actually done that morning.

  I thought about going to sleep myself, then put on makeup instead.

  And then I called Mimi at work.

  “My husband is fucking his secretary,” I said, the minute she picked up.

  No preamble, no salutation.

  “How can I help?” she asked.

  “Give me something to do. Something that matters.”

  At which point I was tempted to fucking cry again. Which just pissed me off.

  “Goddamn it,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I am so sick of crying.”

  “You’re going to survive this,” she said. “I promise you.”

  “Whether I want to or not.”

  She laughed at that. “I’m going to call you back in about an hour. I have to think a few things over—about what I could use your help with.”

  “And we’re still pretending not to know each other?”

  “Yes,” she said. “That part holds a hundred percent.”

  “So this is going to be remote, then. Clandestine.”

  “Goddamn right,” she said. “I’m going to make you survive, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “Awesome. I always wanted to be a spy chick when I grew up.”

  “Go drink some bourbon, Harriet,” she said. “First step to getting your mojo back.”

  I’d just replaced the phone in its cradle when the front doorbell rang.

  I glanced out the living room windows. There was a florist’s van, parked out front—FTD’s Hermes logo danced across its side panel.

  I stepped into the hallway and opened the front door.

  “Delivery for Madeline Dare?”

  Young guy. Blond. Delicious.

  I considered asking whether he’d join me for a glass of bourbon. Upstairs.

  When he’d left I stuck my face into the bouquet and inhaled. Not much fragrance, but of course I read the card.

  You are beautiful. You matter more to me than anything, or anyone, ever could. I love you.

  —Intrepid Spouse

  A start.

  I dialed the main number at his office.

  Setsuko answered, of course. “Ionix. Good morning, how may I help you?”

  “Good morning to you, Setsuko.”

  Sharp little intake of breath, on her end of the line.

  “I’d like to speak to my husband, please,” I said. “To thank him for the beautiful, beautiful roses he just had delivered.”

  Silence, on her end.

  “So thoughtful, don’t you think?” I asked. “He knows the red ones have always been my favorite—and three dozen of them, isn’t that sweet? I’m hoping he’ll come home for lunch, so I can thank him properly. I think he’d enjoy that, don’t you, Setsuko?”

  Silence.

  I listened to her breathe.

  Shallow little puffs, like she was trying not to cry.

  I waited, twining the phone cord around the base of my fingers—tighter and tighter until they turned white and felt all sparkly, wishing I had the cord wrapped around her swan-like fucking neck instead.

  “Are you all right, Setsuko? You sound a little… upset. I certainly hope you’re being treated well at work?”

  “Please hold,” she said.

  And, oh… that little catch in her voice was gorgeous. So very, very sweet.

  “This is Dean Ba
uer.”

  “They’re beautiful,” I said. “And what you wrote is lovely.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “Come home for lunch?”

  Just the briefest hesitation. “Of course, Bunny. I’d love to.”

  I still had time to take the girls to the child care center and get back before Mimi was due to call, if I hauled serious ass.

  I didn’t particularly want to try seducing their father while Parrish and India looked on from the playpen.

  48

  The phone was ringing as I was hauling ass back up onto the porch, breathless from racing the wagon uphill and running back down again without it.

  I slammed the front door wide open and sprinted inside, diving for the phone, snatching up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Madeline, I was about to give up,” said Mimi.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I just ran the girls up to this babysitting place. Dean’s coming home for lunch.”

  “Good for you,” she laughed.

  “What’s the good word, chère Mimi? I take it you’ve thought of a task for me?”

  “Yes, grasshopper.”

  “Do tell… pretend to let Bittler stalk me, until he steps onto the mat of native grasses I’ve craftily woven to camouflage a pit full of punji sticks?”

  “I wouldn’t recommend that,” she said.

  “Oh, come on, I bet I’d be excellent at getting stalked. And weaving grass mats.”

  “I need to see that paperwork. The stuff your friend Cary was looking into.”

  “What a coincidence,” I said. “I asked Dean to make Xeroxes only this morning. With any luck he’ll bring them home for lunch as a peace offering.”

  “Tell him to be careful. Maybe he should do it after hours.”

  “I will, if he hasn’t managed it already. But I thought you were planning on a warrant, official channels and everything?”

  “It’s tricky. We don’t want to tip anyone off just yet. This would be unofficial, just help me to dial things in a little.”

  “How am I going to get them to you? Meet under the old clock at midnight, I’ll be the man smoking two cigarettes?”

  “We’ll figure something out. Give me a call this afternoon, let me know what’s what, all right?”

  “Bet your sweet ass,” I said, hanging up.

  I raced upstairs and brushed my teeth, then primped a little. Lipstick, a little perfume, different earrings.