Dorothea Benton Frank - Lowcountry Tales 05 - Pawley's Island

by Pawley's Island (lit). lit

  “Gallery Valentine!” I sang out in as chipper a voice as I had heard myself use in weeks.

  “Becca?”

  “Nat?”

  “I want to talk to you!”

  He was screaming so loud that I had to hold the phone away from my head.

  “How did you find me?”

  “What’s the difference, Becca? And just who the hell is this bitch, Abigail Thurmond? I mean, who do you think you are? You know, my lawyer calls me and tells me you have a new lawyer, this old retired hack, Thurmond.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, hack. Goddamn it, Becca, you’re so pathetically stupid it’s almost criminal! You hired a washed-up loser and you don’t even know it!”

  “Stop it! She’s not a washed-up anything, Nat, and I wish you would stop screaming!”

  He laughed and said Whoo yeah! I could just see him shaking his head the way he always did when he was telling me how wrong I was about anything and everything. I looked at Huey, whose eyes were wide in surprise as he hung on every word. My face got hot and my whole body broke out in a cold sweat, making me shiver.

  “You listen to me, Becca. What the hell is this? I mean, You will please take notice that you are hereby required to answer in writing the following interrogatories, pursuant to Rule 33(b) of the South Carolina Rules of Civil Procedure and Rule 25 of the South Carolina Rules of Family Court ...You know what, Becca? I had been sitting here thinking maybe you and I could work things out—you know, go to a marriage counselor or something and try to get back together. But with this bullshit staring me in the face? I don’t think so, Becca. No, I don’t think I want to be with you anymore because of what you have done. It’s obvious you don’t trust me and...”

  Huey was scribbling madly and pushed his note across the desk for me to see.

  Tell him to tell his lawyer to call Abigail! Don’t let him harass you!

  I looked at it and nodded my head. Nat was still raging like a lunatic.

  “She wants my income tax returns for the last seven years! She wants all my bank statements! My credit card statements! I don’t even know where they are! Do you know how much time it would take to get all this shit together?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Well, let me assure you, it’s time I don’t have! Just listen to this question! Have you ever smoked marijuana or used any kind of illegal drugs? What kind of bullshit is this? Me smoke pot? You must be out of your fucking mind, Becca! And this! Have you ever been arrested for driving under the influence of alcohol? Tell your stupid lawyer, Becca, just tell her that if I had, it would be matter of public record and she can go get off her fat ass, go down to the courthouse and look it up!”

  At this point, Huey was gesturing wildly for my attention and mouthing, Hang up! Just hang up! I shook my head at him. I couldn’t hang up because I wanted to hear what he would say next. You see, at the Nat Simms’s School of Abusive Behavior, I had mastered the skill of standing still while the firing squad did its job.

  “Wait! Listen to this, Becca! Have you ever viewed or purchased pornography on the Internet or shopped at an adult bookstore? I mean, what the fuck is the matter with you? Are you completely fucking crazy now? Is that what’s happened to you? You run off to Pawleys Island, and what? Get some job selling clown paintings with big sad eyes? God! You’re such a loser!”

  “No,” I said. “That’s not what I’m doing, and I am not a loser, Nat.”

  “Then what do you want me to think?”

  The gallery door opened and Huey left to see who had come in. Huey was thoroughly offended by the language he heard Nat use and by his aggressive tone.

  “Nat? You’re going to think what you want to think. All I want you to do is answer the questions honestly. That’s all. And Nat?”

  “What?”

  “Please don’t call me at work.”

  “Call you at work? You’re goddamn lucky I didn’t drive up there and beat the crap out of you...”

  That was when I put the phone back in its cradle. I just hung up. I was so light-headed that I knew if I didn’t sit down I would faint. He had said he was thinking about us getting back together? Did he break up with Charlene? Did he mean it? Was he finally sorry? Was I crazy? I put my head in my hands and considered having a good cry, and then I felt Huey’s hand on my shoulder.

  “Thoo all ight, honey?”

  Well, at least his Novocaine was wearing off. Somewhat. “How could I be?” I looked up at him and I could see that he was worried.

  “Nuh, of course thoo aren’t.” Huey turned his desk chair around and sat opposite me. “Wan to talk abou it?”

  “What is there to say?” This was when my eyes started to tear. “He got the interrogatory Abigail sent to his lawyer.” I stopped to take a tissue and wipe my eyes. “Huey? He’s as mad as he can possibly be. He said I was lucky that he didn’t, quote, come up here and beat the crap out of me.”

  “He threatened you like that? He actually used those words?”

  Suddenly, Huey was perfectly articulate.

  “Oh, big whoop. He says things like that every five minutes.”

  “It’s not right.”

  “He doesn’t mean it. He’s too lazy to do it. Guess what else? He said that Abigail was a washed-up hack. That’s not true, is it?”

  “Certainly not. She simply doesn’t practice law because she doesn’t need the money.” I looked into his eyes and he added, “She was the finest divorce attorney in South Carolina for years!”

  I was quiet for a moment. Maybe Huey was right or maybe he was wrong, but I didn’t care about Abigail right then. My stomach was killing me from what Nat had said. The war had begun again, and I wasn’t sure I was up for the fight.

  Eleven

  REBECCA: BOTHERED BY GNATS

  s

  SEVERAL days passed, and during that time Huey hovered all around me like Nat might jump out from behind the curtains and stab me to death with his Swiss Army knife. He answered the phone on the first ring and kept an eye on the front door. No one would get to me without passing through Huey.

  And Abigail? Every time Abigail had a thought she called me. She questioned me relentlessly about everything that had to do with the children. When she got tired of asking me about them, she questioned me over and over about Nat and every aspect of our relationship. By the time Friday arrived, she knew more about me and my poorly behaved brood than anyone could possibly want to know.

  And on Friday, Nat called again. At work, but on my cell phone.

  “Look, Becca, I want to apologize about the other day.”

  His words were surprising and, believe it or not, sweet.

  I found myself remembering how much just the sound of Nat’s voice had made me blush at one time in my life.

  “For what?” I said with as much nonchalance as I could muster.

  “For yelling. Look, you have every right to hire another attorney. And my attorney tells that this thing I’m supposed to answer is normal. So, please accept my apology, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  An apology was unprecedented. Nat could knock over a waiter and his tray in a restaurant—which I had seen him do—and say that the waiter was totally at fault. The water or food could go all over everyone, and Nat would throw his hands in the air and say, Don’t look at me! I had never heard him apologize for anything in his entire life.

  “Maybe if you and I could just get together and discuss this document, it would be good. Anyway, I have some mail from the kids and you might like to read it. Have you had any communication with them?”

  I dodged the question, wanting to hear what the letters from the children said.

  “Not really,” I said. “I sent Evan some water guns and I expect that I’ll hear from Sami anytime now.”

  “Well, tomorrow’s supposed to be a nice day, so why don’t I drive up there and we can have lunch or something?”

  “I have to work tomorrow...”

  “Yeah, but you have
to eat, right?”

  “I’ll call you back. Okay?”

  There was silence for a moment and then he said, “Okay.”

  Huey was already on his cell with Abigail, and when he saw that I had hung up with Nat, he passed his phone to me.

  “Rebecca?”

  “Yep. Hey, Abigail.”

  “Nat called? What did he say?”

  “He said he wants to have lunch tomorrow to talk about the interrogatory.”

  “Ha! No way.” Abigail laughed and added, “But, this is typical. He just wants you to remove any questions that might make him look like the skunk he is, that’s all. He doesn’t want to be convicted of perjury either! Round one, our favor!”

  “I’m a little nervous to see him, Abigail.”

  “You’re not going to see him,” she said.

  “He has mail from the kids. I want to see it.”

  “He does? Hmm. I want to see it too. It could be very interesting for the family court judge. But I don’t want you in harm’s way. I mean, Rebecca, Nat has a handgun. So, let’s be serious about this. And he’s volatile. Who knows what he might do?”

  “I’m going to call him back and tell him that I’ll have lunch with him at Louis’s Fish Camp. I’ll be fine. Nat’s not gonna shoot me. Are you kidding? That would ruin his whole plan!”

  Huey, who was standing by, could contain himself no longer.

  “I’ll be at the next table,” he said. “Just let him try to make a scene. I can handle him. I have a black belt, you know.”

  This was the comic relief we needed. The vision of Huey in an all-white kung fu outfit was pretty funny.

  “Well, it’s been a while, I’ll admit.”

  “What’s he saying?” Abigail said.

  Huey took back his phone. If there was one truism about cell phones, it was that everyone seemed to think it was necessary to scream into them. If you were within ten feet of the thing, you could hear everything on both sides of the conversation. Stupid.

  “I said, I have a black belt, that I will be at the next table and that if Nat so much as raises his voice above a normal tone for one second, I will stop him.”

  I could hear Abigail clearly say, What are you gonna do, Huey? Karate chop his salad?

  Before the day was out, we had a plan. Abigail and Huey would be in the restaurant. I was to say nothing about my knowledge of Charlene, nothing about the private investigator, and nothing about the pictures. I was to listen to Nat, hear him out and tell him that I would talk it over with my attorney and let him know.

  “If you don’t think you can handle it, Rebecca,” Huey said, “I mean, that if you think you’re going to be shaky from nerves or something, I can give you a little something.”

  “Like what?”

  “An Ativan.”

  “Ativan? Oh, Lord! Listen, I took a half of one of those things one time and I slept for twenty-two hours. I’m not good with drugs,” I said. “And y’all? I feel a lot better knowing you’ll be there. I’ll be okay, really. He’s not going to get to me. Don’t worry.”

  “I worry about everything,” Abigail said.

  “So do I,” Huey said.

  Me too, I thought.

  I went back to Claudia’s condo, thinking I would spend Friday night with take-out food, just painting. Huey wanted Abigail and me, to come for dinner to make a war plan, to role-play it, and go over it until it seemed like nothing to go through a lunch date with the man who had betrayed me and caused me the most unspeakable pain I had ever felt. I thanked Huey and declined.

  I called Nat; he didn’t pick up his cell, and I left a message to meet me at Louis’s at one. I was glad he didn’t pick up. The anticipation of seeing him tomorrow had not done a single thing for my appetite or my artistic ambitions.

  I decided to continue being miserable by going online and looking at the Web sites of my children’s camps. Every day they posted new pictures so parents could follow their children’s camping experience. Sure enough, there were pictures of Evan in a canoe with another boy, smiling and waving their paddles and another of him helping a fellow camper blow out the candles on his cake. At Sami’s camp, there were pictures of them in some kind of dramatic production and another of her on a tennis court. I sent them both emails, knowing they would go unanswered.

  I couldn’t make myself feel better, so I decided a hot shower might do the trick. Sometimes it was best to end the day earlier rather than later. I looked in the bathroom mirror and saw someone I barely recognized. I was pale and gaunt, as though I had been in bed for a month, suffering high fever and flu. There were purple splotches under my eyes, the kind I got from lack of sleep. My stringy hair needed to be shaped. It was the middle of the summer and I had no tan. I looked just like the submissive, weak, washed-up housewife he thought I was. I could hear his voice.

  There’s nothing, do you hear me, nothing you do that I can’t hire someone else to do! Your services are no longer required!

  I had cried a river when he said that to me and I thought those words would ring in my ears forever. Worse, when he had said them, I had believed him. I was a housekeeper, a driver, a cook, a nag.

  That was then. I was not that woman any longer.

  I thought more about my appearance while I examined my teeth and gums. I could have called Abigail and asked her to borrow some power clothes, something black that would indicate my new strength. I decided, no, let him think whatever he wants to think. He would find out soon enough that he had taken advantage of me for the last time.

  On the other hand, why was I worried about how Nat thought I looked? Was there still some part of me that wanted to be attractive to him? Of course there was. It was only normal. How many songs were written about how the one who fell out of love would regret the good thing they had lost? Hundreds. Did I really want Nat to see me looking this bad? Yes, I did. The other side of me, the victim side, wanted him to see the ravages of his inhumanity. I wanted him to suffer like I had, to doubt himself and to feel guilt and shame and for once in his miserable double dealing existence on this earth, I wanted him to see what a horrible person he was. Would he? Probably not.

  Abigail was right. I would be well advised to tell him nothing and just listen to what he had to say. Play the mouse that he thought I was.

  I never got into the shower. Instead, I walked out onto Claudia’s balcony and listened to the night sounds of the ocean roaring in and pulling away. I wondered if I would have the well of strength I needed when I saw him. I would have to exercise serious self-control. Would I want to throw something at him or slap him and call him a conniving bastard for taking my home and children away from me? For telling me I was a bad mother and making the children believe it? And me! I had believed it too! Or would I want to break down, weep like a pathetic fool and beg him to tell me why he had done these terrible things to me? God knows, another woman was no reason to behave the way he had.

  My hair was wet from the spray of the ocean. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to paint anymore that night. Or eat. I decided to open a bottle of wine and just drink the entire thing myself. Or not.

  What was it I wanted besides money? I knew then, right then on Claudia Kelly’s balcony, that what I wanted was revenge. It wasn’t necessarily custody or the house. It was revenge.

  I wanted to humiliate Charlene. I wanted to slap her as hard as I could. I wanted to bankrupt Nat. I wanted to see him on the corner washing windshields for tips. I wanted my children to hate Nat’s guts and love me completely. And I wanted my nice children to replace the aliens who had taken over their minds. How all these things would come to be remained a mystery, but there was no doubt that the thought of them made me hugely satisfied.

  I thought I would have had trouble sleeping, but I guess the long drink of salt air had worked its charms. I slept more soundly than I had in weeks. Maybe, I told myself as I brushed my teeth in the morning, it was because a mission had materialized in addition to a plan. Revenge. Instead of dreading lunch, I co
uldn’t wait to get there.

  I dressed, wearing a pair of tan cotton pants and a lightweight blue sweater set and brown sandals. The weather report said it was going to be hot and steamy, and I thought, this is news? I blew out my hair and pulled it back in a clamp. I looked all business and not like someone trying to regain the affection of their estranged husband. No cologne. No makeup, except for lip gloss.

  I went into the gallery, where Abigail and Huey were drinking Cokes. They were in Huey’s office but with his door opened wide, and even from where I was, I knew they were talking about me. Huey was gesturing like a traffic cop at rush hour.

  “Morning!” I said. “What are y’all talking about?”

  Abigail turned to see me and said, “You, Rebecca! What else? Please tell Huey to relax.”

  “Now, Abigail, don’t get me started,” Huey said, adding, “Good morning, sweetheart. How did you sleep? Probably not at all. Heaven knows, I didn’t.”

  God love Huey. Ever since he had taken me in, his nicknames for me became more familial with each day that passed. At this point I was practically his little sister.

  “Actually,” I said, “I slept like a bag of stones. I feel like a million dollars today.”

  “Well, our precious Baby Huey is a Nervous Nellie,” Abigail said, smiling. “I think he needs an Ativan worse than he thought you might.”

  “Nellie indeed,” Huey said to Abigail. “Pejorative remarks from you, missy, don’t help a thing!” He turned back to me. “Are you really all right? My God, it’s like David and Goliath! Have you got your slingshot?”

  I went up to Huey, who was literally wringing his hands, got up on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

  “Know what? When I first met you, I thought how wonderful it would have been to have someone like you be my uncle or brother. But I think best friend of my entire life is accurate and true. You really are, Huey. Honest.”

  Abigail narrowed her eyes at me. “And? What am I? Chopped li-vah?”

  “No! You’re a hundred pounds of caviar!”

  “Beluga?” Huey said. “God, I crave it! On little hot blinis with crème fraîche... what?”