by BJ Knapp
Some days, I wonder what the point is, when I’m working to improve the reputation of some faceless corporation. In the grand scheme of things, does it really matter? Will I look back on my career and think that I’ve wasted my time on media campaigns to help corporations sell more crap that nobody really needs? Helping Keith with his lyrics, and even with his personal life, made me feel like I had a purpose. I wish I could have found a way, but apparently it is impossible to be one man’s muse and another man’s wife.
When I get home, I pay close attention to Tim, and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t heard the interview. He normally listens to the comedy stations on satellite radio, while I’m the news junkie—it’s an occupational hazard of mine. The last thing our marriage needs is a rock song written about how another man wants to be my lover. I need to put it behind me and focus on the present.
Tim is setting the dining room table; we’ve been making more of an effort to eat at the table and not in front of the TV, as part of Operation Reclaim Marriage. We always start off asking each other about something good that happened during the day. Today is no different. “So,” he says, over dinner, “anything interesting happened during your day?”
“Oh, just the usual,” I answer, but I can see by the look on his face that he can tell I’m distracted. Putting the radio interview behind me is clearly not working.
“You seem a bit out of it,” he says, prompting me while he pokes his salad with his fork.
“Just tired, I guess.” I push my dinner around. I am in a complete funk after hearing the interview, no matter how hard I try not to think about it. I should have just turned it off. I don’t know how I’m going to shake this mood. How could I possibly tell Tim how I feel about hearing the interview? I imagine saying, “Honey, I heard Keith on the radio, and I miss the band, and I miss being a part of that.” There is no way in hell he’d be okay with that. And there is no way in hell that I should even be thinking it, as the mere mention of it could destroy the fragile ecosystem of our marriage. Annie was right: Tim is way more important to me than Hydra.
“Okay,” he says, setting his fork down. “But listen to me. If we’re going to make this work, then we need to be completely honest with each other. If something is bothering you, you’ve got to tell me, okay?”
“Yes, I will,” I say, putting on a fake smile and forcing down the rest of my dinner—even though “She Thinks” still has my stomach lurching. Tim watches me from his side of the table, and I can tell he’s concerned. I try to smile wider, hoping that I’ll be more convincing, but I know I’m really only kidding myself.
Chapter 31
“UGH.” I’M PAWING MY WAY through my closet. It’s the night before Halloween; Tim’s fundraiser is tonight. What the hell do I wear to this one? It’s being held at a funky club in downtown Providence. He’s going to have bands playing, a tequila tasting, and a few other fun activities, like cigar rolling. He’s trying to appeal to younger voters with the bands, but older ones, too, with the cigar rolling. I think it’ll be a great night, if only I can get dressed and get there. I don’t want to look like a dowdy candidate’s wife, but I also don’t want to dress in slutty club clothes, either.
I pull out my standby club outfit: a black tank top and the dark skinny jeans that I know Tim won’t be able to keep his eyes off of. I pull on my black knee-high stiletto boots and snake on a few chunky silver bangle bracelets. After I throw on a bit of eyeliner and maroon lipstick, I’m ready to rock. Of course, I have to take off the boots once I get into my car, because I’ve never mastered the art of driving a stick shift in high heels.
The valet waits while I pull on my boots and hand him the keys. When I walk in, I see Portia standing with two other women I don’t recall having seen at any of her endless Chanel-suit fundraiser brunches. She looks me up and down, and I do the same to her. I’ve never seen her wear jeans. She’s still wearing a suit jacket and her three strands of pearls, but the dark-wash jeans are surprisingly up to date, belted just below her waist with a silver chain belt. I approach her, and she air kisses both of my cheeks. Also a first. I peer into her glass and wonder how many tequilas she’s tasted.
“Brenda, I want to introduce you to my new friends, Marianne and Paula.” I turn to shake their hands. “I met them at the Newport chapter of Widows with Style.”
What? She’s going to a widow support group? Now I’m starting to wonder if she’s taken to tequila-tasting at home, as well.
Aria ushers us in. “Tim’s speech is about to start. Brenda, you need to get backstage so you can make an entrance with Tim.” As she leads me through the club, I notice that Tim has an excellent turnout. The front of the stage is thick with people dancing to a Pearl Jam cover band. We go through a door just to the right of the stage, and I see Tim poring over his index cards. He looks up and smiles at me, then glances at his watch. Is he—ever the cool cucumber—actually nervous?
“You ready?” I ask him and squeeze his arm. Just as I turn my attention away from him for a second, I see a familiar face duck into a doorway down the hall. “If I didn’t know better,” I say, “I’d swear I just saw Ben Taylor.” Tim shrugs and smiles. His eyes shine bright in an “I just got you the single best Christmas present ever” expression. “Are you serious? They’re here? Why? Are you okay?”
“Bren, we have to go on soon. I’ll explain everything tonight after the show, okay?”
It’s not okay. I want to know what the hell Hydra is doing here. How on earth are they in the same room as Tim? I’ve thought for sure that Tim would never, ever want to associate with them again. And why is he so calm about it?
We’re ushered onto the stage, and the roar of applause is deafening. I stand beside Tim as he thanks everyone for coming, and then I step off to the side a bit while the spotlight focuses on him. He talks about his bid for state Senate and why he’s the right man for the job.
As he’s speaking about job creation and incentives for small businesses, I scan the crowd while trying to keep my eyes mostly on Tim. I spot Portia and her friends; she waves to me and flashes a thumbs up. I nod back. Now I am starting to wonder whether someone slipped a roofie into her drink.
The crowd cheers at something Tim said. Shit, I really need to be paying more attention. Is it obvious that I am not completely listening? I flick my eyes back to the crowd again and spot Annie off to the left, near the edge of the stage. Tim must have invited her, too. I can’t help but beam when she jumps up and down and waves at me.
Tim finishes speaking, and he turns to me and kisses me as the cameras flash. We raise our clasped hands and wave at the crowd, exiting the stage just as the crew is setting up for another band. I spot Toni in the wings with a headset on and her clipboard in her arms.
“Always the rock-and-roll cruise director, eh?” I ask, laughing.
“Brenda!” She throws her arms around me for a hug. “I’d love to chat, but the boys are about to go on.”
“I understand.” I smile back at her. “Congrats on the promotion! You so deserve it!”
She smiles back at me and listens to her headset. She shrugs apologetically, and I wave her off. “Go! You have rock stars to control.”
I decide to get out of the way of all the frantic pre-show stage setting, so I make my way back out to the crowd at the front of the stage. Annie throws her arms around me when I get over to where she’s standing. It’s so noisy in the club that it’s hard to talk.
At last, I can hear Jeff’s bass drum begin to pound over the noise of the crowd, and I know they’re opening with “Battleground Zero.” The crowd goes wild with applause and cheers.
Portia and her friends materialize to the left of me, and she hands me a drink. “It’s a tequila spritzer, darling,” she gushes. “It’s divine.”
I take a sip. She’s not kidding—it’s delicious. I need to pace myself with these, or I’ll end up bombed at Tim’s big fundraiser. Portia clinks her glass to mine and smiles at me. She and her friends bob their heads to the
music. Who the hell is this woman, and what has she done with my mother-in-law?
Chapter 32
“OH, BY THE WAY, I’m totally crashing at your house tonight,” Annie informs me, while she and I lounge backstage. “I’m doing a story on Hydra, and I want to get some background on how they came to stay at your house.”
“The exclusive is all yours.” I really don’t care to talk about it much. I’ll tell Annie so that she can get her story, but I don’t want to hold a press conference or anything.
I am still reeling from the whole evening. Tim. Hydra. And—holy crap—Portia. She and her friends hung out for a little while backstage with us, and I got a bit more information from her about her transformation. Apparently, one night, while I was working late on the Baxter campaign, she and Tim had dinner together.
“I was so angry with you after I met you at your office,” she said. “Nobody had ever spoken to me that way before. But then Timothy laid out some very harsh truths to me at dinner that night. Showing up at your workplace like that was unforgivable, Brenda. I understand if you are angry with me for doing that. I behaved horribly.” That’s possibly the closest I will get to an apology from her. And that’s okay.
“He was right, though,” she continued. “I haven’t had any fun since Charles passed. I had heard about Widows with Style but never thought I’d actually go to an event.” She paused to sip her drink. “All of us there understand each other.” She nodded at Marianne and Paula.
“Portia knows how to have a good time,” Paula chimed in. Really? Portia? With her microfiber car cloths and snooty furniture?
Now that she knows how to have fun, I wonder if this means that I can finally redecorate my house the way I like it. Maybe now I can find out what those Louis XIV chaises will fetch on Craigslist.
I am walking to the bar when Keith corners me. “Now will you please stop calling me an asshole?”
“Maybe so, maybe not,” I throw back at him. “It was a great show, but I still want to know what the hell you’re doing here.”
“When Tim calls, we deliver,” he says. He takes a sip from his drink. I raise my eyebrows at his glass, and he holds it up for me to inspect. “Seltzer with lime,” he says. “I am trying to clean up my act a bit. I am working to get supervised visits with Damien, and I need to pass the random drug tests.”
“Wow, Keith, that’s huge!” I take a sip of my tequila spritzer and suddenly feel self-conscious, drinking in front of him. The pause between us is awkward.
“Brenda,” he begins, “I owe you an apology. I behaved terribly while in your home. I nearly ended your marriage, and that was inexcusable.”
I’m not going to say it’s okay. He’s still got some explaining to do. Why on earth is he even here?
I swear he’s reading my mind. “It was Tim who called, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“After the Moira Black interview. Tim called me. He was not happy that I asked you to call me in front of the entire world, and he let me have it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. That man called and defended your honor in a way I’d never seen. He ripped me apart on the phone for about ten minutes.”
“Wow, Keith, I’m...” Am I seriously going to apologize? I need to shut my mouth. Thankfully, Keith keeps talking.
“Every word of what he said was true. It was Tim who told me that I need to make things right with you. I have learned so much from you both about getting over myself and being a good person. But I didn’t know how to start. You probably would not have accepted a phone call from me. I needed to do something bigger to show you that I can be a good man.”
“And here you are, at Tim’s fundraiser.”
“Yes, here I am. I arranged the whole thing with Tim as a surprise for you. I am sure it helps support his Bars to Cars foundation.” Tim’s starting a foundation that will help ex-cons get jobs as mechanics. “I have also agreed to an exclusive interview with your friend Annie, as well.”
She must be psyched about that. She’ll probably get a serious promotion at MTV News, with all these exclusives she’s racking up tonight.
I don’t even know what to say. I suppose I should start out polite. “Keith, thanks for doing this tonight. I am sure it means the world to Tim that you guys supported him on his campaign.”
“Brenda, I was a terrible houseguest. But I hope that we can be friends.” He shrugs and bows his head slightly.
“I have to think about it, Keith.” And, really, that’s the most I can promise him right now.
“I have to get back,” he says and tips his head toward the stage. “Apparently we’re doing a cigar-rolling-with-Hydra thing over there.”
I gesture to him to go, but my mouth is left hanging open. Did Keith seriously arrange to play a show for free, for Tim’s foundation and for me? I have to admit, that’s pretty un-asshole-like behavior. I watch him pose for a picture with one of Portia’s new friends. I always thought that it takes so much longer to fix problems than to create them, but now I am not so sure. Portia and her friends clink their glasses and laugh, and I can’t help but smile.
***
After we get home, Annie’s already taking notes when I walk with her into the guest room. “Which one slept in here?” she asks, running her hand across the duvet.
“Keith.” I sit down on the bed beside her. She gapes when I tell her the truth about Jeff and Gill. “But you seriously cannot use that. I don’t think they want to be out to the media.” I want to sit up all night with her to gossip and giggle, but I still need answers from Tim. I cut the girl-talk short, tell Annie goodnight, and head to our bedroom.
We’re totally having a long and leisurely brunch tomorrow morning.
“So, Hydra was there,” I say. “What was that all about?”
“Remember that night you came home and I could tell you were bummed out?” He pauses. “I knew you’d heard the interview on The Edge, because I’d heard it, too. You looked so sad, and you tried so hard not to show it. I knew I had to do something.”
My heart is racing. He heard the song, he heard Keith ask me to call him. “Tim, you gotta believe me, I didn’t call him. I swear.”
“I know you didn’t. And I knew you wouldn’t.” Tim pauses. “So I did. I was pretty pissed at the nerve of that guy, asking you on the air to call him. I told him so, too, and called him a few choice names.”
“Keith actually told me that tonight. I cannot believe you called him. He said you pretty much read him the riot act.”
“I didn’t really let him talk in that phone call. I slammed the phone down on him. Then the next day he shows up at the shop with a six-pack. I threw him out at first. But he asked me to hear him out.” That’s Tim: always at the ready with the second chance. “He’s actually pretty easy to talk to when he isn’t focusing all the attention on himself.”
I am sure that Keith was probably the last person Tim wanted to discuss our marriage with. But then, Keith is the reason why his own marriage failed. Despite his “detached rock star in an ivory tower” persona, surely he’s done his share of soul searching, with everything that has happened to him in his lifetime.
“He was pretty insightful, you know.” He pauses a moment to collect his thoughts. “Brenda, I know that things have been a bit hard for you. Keith helped me to see that. My mom showing up at your job was probably pretty awful for you, too. I’m sorry that happened. But what he said to me that night made a lot of sense.” What? Keith is giving someone else sensible life advice? “Bren, he really laid it out for me and stripped away all of the bullshit. Nobody’s ever presented my life in that way before. Ultimately, it’s you and me that matters. Not the band, not the election, not my mom. It’s us and our future as a family that matters here. I’d forgotten that, and I am so sorry.”
“You’re not the only one who forgot,” I whisper.
“I know that having Hydra here really messed things up. But, in a way, it shook us up in just the righ
t way. If it weren’t for Keith, I wouldn’t have had that reminder of what’s really important. It’s you.” He kisses the back of my hand and holds it to his chest. “It was Keith who got me to talk to my mom about her behavior toward you.”
“You mean, after I told her to get a fucking life?” I laugh.
“Oh my God. I said that, too. I literally said to her to get a fucking life or else.”
“You didn’t!”
“I did. And then she actually listened. She’s not going to change, but at least she’ll chill out a bit. Tonight she had a good time with her new friends. And she knows that I am going to put you before her from now on.”
“Thank you.” I kiss him. “It was fun to watch her actually having fun,” I say, laughing. I also liked that she didn’t scowl at me the whole night.
“You know what else he said that was pretty interesting?” he asks. I shrug. “He wanted to wait before he and Tamsen had a baby. He wanted to wait until their first big tour was over. Then he wanted to wait until they went platinum or whatever. He always had some reason to wait. Then they had a mishap with their birth control, and Tamsen got pregnant.”
“I wonder if the ‘mishap’ was her not taking her pills,” I joke.
“Well, he said that when she got pregnant, it suddenly became the right time. Nothing else mattered—only Tamsen and their child.”
“I am sure it was hard, though. He was touring, she was left on her own with a baby...” I trail off.
“I’m sure it was, too. But somehow it worked. He said that there is no right time. There’s just a time, and it’s as good as any other mythical right time we could ever come up with. And he’s right. I don’t want to wait anymore. If we’re together, and if we’re going to stay that way, then it’s the right time.”
