by KT Morrison
“Did you get your train, Dad?”
“No, Petey. I didn’t.”
“Aw, that’s too bad.” He came to Pete and stood looking up at him while he worked away. “There’ll be other trains.”
“You’re right, kid. Come on, sit up here.”
Pete was on his stool at the command centre of the 1957 Calumet Bay Rail Road. A twenty-one foot by thirty-two foot exacting recreation of the old steam line that went through Calumet Bay. Done in O Scale, started by his Dad, finished by Pete. Although he’d never really be finished. There was always something left to tweak, something to be fixed or to be made better. He would never be done.
Fifty-seven was the last year Calumet Bay ran steam. His dad loved the steam trains. Calumet Bay Rail Road chartered in 1835 and his dad could have told you everything about every train they ever ran. His dad grew up in Calumet Bay and so did Pete. Maybe someday Petey Jr would take this over, make it his own. He’d have to show him where he grew up sometime, show him how it’s all changed. Tell him how it used to be. All the trains out there these days were boring old commuters now.
Petey climbed up into his lap. Kid was getting heavier every day. He put his hands around his waist to keep him in place.
Pete was dressed and ready to go to the party. Showered and shaved, clean khakis and a button up--he was just waiting on Jess. So he brought the boys down to the basement where it was cooler, and they could spend some time with the trains while they waited.
Petey said, “Can I do...” and his open hand stretched out and hovered over the flat aluminum knob that would operate the drive of one of the trains.
“What’s the rules down here?”
“I know,” Petey said. Andy climbed up on to his footstool next to the table so he could be tall enough to see the trains.
“We don’t operate the trains until we’re old enough. We don’t mess around down here, these aren’t toys though they really look like it, I know. Some of this stuff is probably pretty valuable. But soon Petey, soon. Real soon.” He hugged him, felt his disappointment. He felt stupid being hard on them over a train set but it was the same way that his father had taught him to respect the work he’d done. To be respectful in general.
“Okay.”
“Someday, Pete—someday this whole darn thing will be your responsibility,” he said looking over the enormous table that took up almost the entire main room of the unfinished basement.
“I know, Dad.”
The table spread wall to wall against one far side, partially blocked off the door to the furnace room—you had to turn sideways and squeeze past every time you needed in there. It was a man-made miniature landscape of rolling hills, trees, a little village with a general store and old pickup trucks from the forties and fifties. The train and its yard were the focus. Tracks went in and out of the switchyard and Pete and Andy loved to watch him switch tracks and back the trains up so a faster one could pass through.
“Can we make some more foliage, Dad?” Andy asked him, blowing him away that he remembered the word and was able to say it so well.
“Sure, Andy, we can do that tomorrow. That’s a great idea. Your mom and I are going out soon, but we can definitely do that tomorrow.” He’d taught the boys how to make realistic looking trees, twisting out eighteen-gauge wire into tree shapes, spackling them, then arranging pre-made foliage around the wires to make a natural looking tree. The boys, he discovered had a real talent for it.
“You guys have another party?” Petey asked, looking a little forlorn.
“Yeah, Petey, just across town, we won’t be late. Some of your mom’s friends from work getting together before it’s time to go back. You looking forward to going back to school too?”
“Mm, yeah, I guess so. I can’t wait until next year when I’ll be in mom’s class,” he said.
The doorbell rang out upstairs followed by Sargent scrambling from his dog bed, nails scratching on linoleum as he barked his way into the front hall out of a sound sleep. “That’ll be the sitter,” he said and he lifted Petey down to the floor. “Come on, boys. Let’s go let her in.”
They went up and Petey took Sargent out to the backyard. Pete could see a girl through the lace curtains over the window of the front door. He opened the door, surprised to see a young girl there, very heavy set, pleasant enough but not who he was expecting.
“Hi, Mr Mapplethorpe,” she said, beaming. Somewhere in the back of his brain he remembered something about Nicole, their usual babysitter, going off to college.
“You’re here for the kids?” he asked her.
“Yeah, sorry, Mr Mapplethorpe. I’m the babysitter.”
“Oh, come on in,” he said, “you look familiar—”
“I just live across the street.”
“Ah,” he said, escorting her through to the kitchen. Great—now he got to go over all the rules, phone numbers, bed times, asthma...
“Wow, Mom, you look so beautiful,” Pete Junior told her.
“Aw, thanks, Pete.”
“Really, you look like you should be on TV.”
Jess paused a moment, her face breaking into a smile, lipstick poised on a powdered lip that was starting to stretch itself out. This kid. Her hands went down for a moment and she turned to him.
“Pete, thank you. I really wanted to hear that.”
Petey was standing one foot over the other while she sat on the stool in front of the mirror. He had one hand in his back pocket, the other was toying with the pasta bowl, tilting it and rolling it on the round edge of its base.
“Careful with that, Petey,” she said. And don’t you dare ask me why it’s in the bathroom.
“I’m not gonna break it, Mom.”
She held his warm soft cheeks in her palms and looked at him. Then she put her big soft, red painted lips right on the flat of his forehead and pressed a kiss on him.
“Aw, Mom, for crying out loud.” He recoiled, pushed her away from him while she laughed at him.
“You look ridiculous,” she said. He had an almost perfect, cartoonish, red kiss mark dead centre on his forehead between the bangs of his parted hair.
“I can’t believe you did that.”
“Come here,” she said and pulled him to her side so he could see himself in the mirror. She squeezed him into her and couldn’t help laughing again.
He looked at his reflection, said, “Oh, no, Mom, the babysitter’s here...”
“Uh-oh—Petey, is she pretty, you worried she’s not going to like your make-up?”
“Mom, clean it off.”
“There’s the Kleenex, Petey. Now you’ve got something to do besides rolling that bowl around like I told you not to.”
He stuck his tongue out at her and she did the same.
“All right, come here,” she said and she dabbed a wet facecloth on her lip marks. “There, you dry yourself off. I’ve got to do my lips all over again. Look what you did to them.”
He rubbed a tissue on his forehead and shook his head at her, a wry smirk on his face.
The trick to pulling off these big red lips in the summertime, she had read, was keeping all the other make up completely neutral. Her face was fresh and youthful enough she thought that she could get away without eyeliner and blush. She just put some black on her lashes and moisturized the hell out of herself until she shone.
She put down a purple-red base over her lips and then went over that with a liquid lipstick that was a fiery orange-red. She knew she’d spent too much on that brush-on lipstick but looking back at her reflection—how it made her feel to see herself look like this—it was worth the money.
“So, Petey, is she cute? The babysitter? Do you have a crush on her?”
“Gross, Mom.”
“You want me to give you another big kiss?”
Tyler had shown up around 10 P.M. Pete could tell his wife had been so anxious. He could sense a despair from her, desperate for her fling to show up. Imaginary fling? Either way his pretty wife was getting off on
another man. It drove a stake through his black heart but somewhere deep in his belly there was a pleasurable ache. It radiated out from there, warm but dreadful, clutched his heart and made his breaths come short. Why the fuck did he like that feeling?
Pete and Jess got there, on time, at about seven when dinner was served. Like normal adults. Like everyone else that was there that night. It had been a fun evening, just under twenty people, hardly any of them looking forward to being back at school in two weeks. They were more honest about it as the night wore on and the drinks took their toll. Not his Jess. She loved her job and she loved those kids of hers. She got so sad as every school year closed and she wouldn’t be seeing the little faces she’d grown attached to. Jess had a great heart. Open, honest, giving. Those kids would never grind on her. She would never get bitter or broken by them.
The party had dwindled, some of the gang had said their farewells, some of the tiki torches had snuffed—then he heard the motorcycle.
Knew right away—10 P.M., loud bike, quiet residential street—Ah, Tyler must be here. Riding in on some fancy high-speed ninja bike.
Jess’ face lit up right in front of him. He could see the fucking excitement in her. She was wide eyed and bubbling. Like it was 1965 and the fucking Beatles just got here. Frankly, Jess wasn’t the only one. A lot of female faces looking around, looking knowingly to one another, funny, dirty looks on their faces. Yes, ladies, your stud had arrived. He wondered if they’d all heard the rumour he was also packing a real salami too. If that was true. If it wasn’t something his wife had made up to tease him with. Three possibilities there. One, it was made up; two, it was really a rumour she heard; three, it was a rumour proven true to Jess when that asshole fucked his wife with it in the back of their minivan.
Funny dynamic here if number three was true. These ladies all looking at each other aroused by his arrival didn’t realize that one amongst their coven had actually fucked this kid. Oh, man, would they fucking hate her if they found out. They would wring every detail out of her then rip her to shreds behind her back.
Then, in the panther strode. T-shirt with dumb calligraphy on it struggling to stay on top of his bulging pecs and bis. Tight jeans sitting low on his hips, sneakers. A twenty-five year old dressing like a teenager. Whatever. It worked for him. He had these ladies slippery between their legs. Pete’s beautiful Jess included.
He watched intently for their first contact. Let’s see these two together. Tyler came in, said his hellos, winking, high-fiving, clasping backs, kissing ladies’ cheeks. Knowing he was giving them the thrill of their month.
Jess stood to the side, he could see her waiting for Tyler to find her. She wasn’t going to him. She was waiting to be found. She was breathtaking in her tight black dress, her bright red lips. How on earth did he get so lucky? And how the fuck was she thirty-five? She, without a doubt, was hotter now than when he met her.
Tyler found her all right. A brief spark between them when their eyes met and it floated in the breeze and lit up Pete’s dry tinder soul. It set him ablaze and consumed him. He was racked with one heavy sob, caught himself. His eyes teared. His breath caught in his throat. It was true wasn’t it? His legs trembled. He sat in a lawn chair behind him, carefully lowered himself. He was dizzy. His hands shook on the beer bottle he clutched to himself.
There was a spark. He saw it. The two of them shared something across the party, an intimate moment between them. They stood a dozen feet apart. Tyler stopped when he saw her and a devilish smile crept across his face. His eyes narrowed. And his wife—she went bashful and demure under Tyler’s masculinity. She sucked a lip under her teeth and smiled for him, bowed her head to him, looking up under her lashes. Then the two of them came together like magnets. Standing too close.
Don’t give it away, Jess. Not to these people. Don’t give it away if it’s true. God, it was true wasn’t it? She’d really done it this time.
Dread turned to inexplicable joy. His wife, his fucking best friend in all his life, was happy right now. Natural, healthy girl energy. She was beaming. And that happiness radiated to her life partner. Shouldn’t it? Pete’s heart swelled in his chest. Look at her out there. She was a woman. A happy goddamn woman. Was her heart pounding, her pulse racing? Pete’s was. Hilarious—her husband’s was.
Did she have a tingle in her sex? Butterflies in her soft, warm tum-tum. He knew she did. Knew it. And it delighted him. She deserved that, deserved the pleasures of life. If anyone on this shitty planet deserves happiness it was that five-foot-five blonde-haired angel.
He watched them together. What a good-looking duo. They were careful now not to make a scene, not to attract attention. Tyler leaned on the fence, Jess stood under him. She’d backed off a bit, their shapely shadows cast on the pressure-treated fence by a fading Tiki torch. Jess looked good lit from below by warm torchlight. He could see her sweet face flushed. Red blotches spreading down her neck and across her chest. This kid really lit her up.
Pete’s cock was like steel in his briefs. It ached. Why was he like this? He wanted to get home her home and talk to her. He wanted to make love to her. He wanted to hear her story all over again. Goddamnit, it was true. She had done it this time.
He was on top right now but he felt something dark under it all. Something ugly and jealous. But he didn’t want to even open that door a crack. Something so dangerous was likely to kick that door open and barge through once it was given a little light. He didn’t want to face that right now sitting in this lawn chair with a hard-on. He did not want to lose his shit here in front of all his wife’s friends.
Jess could tell Pete had something to say in the car on their way home from the party. He was bristling with energy. He was nervous and twitchy, he would start to speak, open his mouth, then stop. He’d shake his head and she could hear him grumbling. Or maybe she imagined he was grumbling. He had that demeanour. Oh, she knew what it was. One hundred percent knew what it was. But if he didn’t want to broach it in the car then she wouldn’t push. In fact she would make it easier for him. She closed her eyes and put her head back on the rest and pretended to sleep. Now he had less temptation. She did nod off a bit somewhere along the way, feeling pretty good after five white wines.
Now they were pulling into the driveway and she came awake. Pete’s lips were still pursed. She knew they would send the babysitter off, check on the kids, then they were going to have a talk. And she had something big to tell him too.
Mad and distracted, that’s how he was, she thought, following behind him up the walk to the front door.
“You’ll have to cut the lawn tomorrow,” she said, looking out over their patch of grass lit up by the porch light.
He said, “Yeah,” picking through his key ring looking for the right one, jingling as he went.
It made her laugh. Why would she torment him when she knew he was upset? Why did she like needling him? There was something in him that enjoyed it. Gosh, if he liked it and she started to really like doing it, how far would this go? Given the right circumstances, she could drive him to want to strangle her. Poor Petey wouldn’t do that, it wasn’t in his eyes. All he had was love for her.
“Hey, Mr. Mapplethorpe,” the babysitter was in the hall, shoes on and bag over her shoulder.
“How were my boys?” Jess asked her.
“They were fantastic—they were only up for an hour before it was their bedtime, but we drew for a little while, then they made me watch some of their shows, then Andy,” she motioned with her two hands next to her cheek, sleeping. “So I put them both to bed and I haven’t heard a peep from—”
“Do you want me to drive you home?” Pete asked her.
She was taken aback slightly by his briskness. She said, “I...I live across the street, Mr. Mapplethorpe.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, leafing through his wallet.
Jess touched her arm, said, “Thank you, Ashley.”
“You look so beautiful, Miss Mapplethorpe.”
“
Mrs.,” Peter said, giving her a few folded up bills.
“Huh?” she said, taking the money from him and counting it.
“Mrs.,” he said again.
“What did I say?”
“Never mind.”
“Hey, Mr. Mapplethorpe? This is twenty-four dollars.”
“Yeah?”
“No tip?”
“Pete,” Jess said, she couldn’t help laughing.
Pete regarded her for a second, blank face, “Sorry,” he said and gave her another five.
“They watched her walk down their steps and she rubbed Pete’s arm, “Pete, you’re terrible.” She kicked her shoes off and left them in the hall.
“Can’t believe that fatso called me on it.”
“Pete,” she said walking up the stairs, still getting a chuckle out of her cheap husband, “if our boys are still alive up here we are going to want to call her again.”
Then she said down to him, still standing in the dark hall, “Don’t scare this one yet.”
“Make sure there’s two of them up there first. And that they’re both breathing.”
Jess opened the boys’ room door, quietly, peered in on them. Both asleep, little angel faces turned to the side, open mouths. Her cherubs. She snuck in and kissed each of them on their messy hair. She stood a moment, enjoyed it. Their little boy smell, their quiet breathing, their nightlight projector casting dim cartoon fish that drifted, swam across the bedroom walls.
The light from the hall shining through the sliver of the open door went dark as Pete filled it up, looking in and smiling at his wife standing with his boys. She gave him a thumbs up.
Pete went softly across the hall and she followed after him into their bedroom. She knew it was time. She knew this was going to come.
She closed the door behind her, and came to him, stood face-to-face with him a few feet apart in their tiny bedroom.
