by Lux Zakari
“Hold on,” James said. “I never said that sex—”
“Back in 2004, you told Howard Stern that it was no big deal,” E.Y. said.
“No, no.” James had been defending the same statement for years. “I didn’t say I thought sex was no big deal. I said that I didn’t understand why everyone had to make such a big deal about it.”
E.Y. inclined her chin and shook her head. “I’m not hearing a difference.”
“You hump your keyboard like you do and you think sex is no big deal?” Wade asked.
“I do not…do that.” Heat rose to James’ cheeks. “I just play. And maybe I get sort of into it but—”
“No way, you get way more than ‘sort of into it,’” E.Y. said. “You like, grind against it like it’s a chick.”
“Obviously not like it was a chick,” Wade said. “If it was, he would be like, ‘No big deal.’”
“And then you moan all your lyrics,” E.Y. continued. “You deliver all your ‘yeahs’ and ‘whoas’ like you’re coming because the piano is so tight and wet or something.”
James cringed, his face burning. “Can we please talk about something else?”
“I am stunned.” E.Y. turned to Wade. “Your brother is one hard-up puritan.”
“Surprising, right? Considering he doesn’t drink, smoke, or do drugs, you’d think at least he’d support getting laid. Guess not.”
James polished off his soda with a loud slurp and crunched the aluminum in his hand before sending it into the trash can. “I don’t know why I bother talking to you guys.”
“You do so,” E.Y. said. “You turn to us because you secretly love that we don’t cater to your bullshit.”
“You’re right,” James all but snarled as he made his way to the back door. “I’m relieved I have no one to turn to when I need it most. Thanks for not putting up with my ‘bullshit,’ guys.”
“Anytime!” Wade called, and the sound of his and E.Y.’s laughter clung to James long after he left.
Fifteen minutes after his excruciating visit with E.Y. and Wade, James returned to his house in Albany, Georgia. It was a five-bedroom, modern affair concealed by neatly maintained foliage and possessed high vaulted ceilings, plenty of natural light, and, as of recently, no other occupants but him.
He flung his jacket in the direction of a bench in the front hall only to watch it slip to the floor. Still, no one was around to tell him to pick it up and hang it on the rack. No one was around, period. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d come home and everything was so quiet. But this was his life now. This would become the norm.
All he could think about was this morning—primarily Greer. She just had to go and do this during the first time he’d been home in a month. Apparently, she hadn’t wanted to upset him while he was in the process of recording his fifth solo album in New York, which he had to admit he was grateful for. It was no secret how jittery and on edge he became when he was in the studio.
Still—why did Greer have to do any of this at all? Her unhappiness didn’t make any sense to him. He wasn’t abusive or vindictive. He gave her and the kids everything they needed. But now she claimed they’d grown apart because he was unavailable and too busy. Well, yes—busy supporting them all so they were never left wanting. Even that suddenly wasn’t enough, despite that it had been the name of the game since he and Greer met ten years ago. He hadn’t changed, but she had, and her changes had it so everything was his fault.
Anger escalated inside him. What a waste. What a waste of time all this had been.
“Thanks for that.” His voice echoed in the empty house. “Thanks for letting me know everything I’ve ever done in the past decade was for nothing.”
The thought stung as he made his way to the back deck and sat on the wooden steps. Overhead, the sky turned white and pale cream as the sun dropped for the night. For one crazy moment, he wished Greer would walk outside and sit behind him, her legs on either side of him as she rested a cheek against his spine and told him to just relax. He reached in his pocket for his phone and wrestled with the sudden urge to call her, but no. This was what she wanted—to be away from him. She’d made that clear. He wasn’t going to beg when he already knew she’d deny him. What was he doing, wanting to call the one person who made him so unbelievably miserable in the first place, anyway?
James groaned, resting his elbows on his knees and tangling his fingers in his hair. So this was really happening. Wonderful. He wondered what his mother would say when she found out. She loved Greer, adored the kids. She’d ask him just what the hell he did to have it come to this, he’d insist he’d done nothing, and she wouldn’t believe him. He knew this for a fact, knew his mom, and in imagining that unpleasant conversation, felt it was as good—or bad—as actually having it and decided not to call her. She and everyone else would find out soon enough.
Divorce. That wasn’t a thing that happened in his family. Once you married someone, that was that. That hadn’t been so much a problem in the past; his parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents all seemed to like who they wound up with. Most of them even still went on dates. His younger brother, Wade, was the exception, but only because he wasn’t married and didn’t seem to care about romantic relationships or flings in any capacity. Wade was an amoeba when it came to love and sex and that suited him fine, but he’d always been the black sheep. Now it was James’ turn to wear dark wool, and he could already say he hated it.
When the sky turned purple, he trekked across the lawn toward the remodeled pool house that he called his studio. Once inside, he paused before his piano, plunking the keys like he didn’t remember what more he could do with them. Then he picked up his acoustic guitar—his beloved Ibanez AEL with the sunburst, high-gloss finish—and forced his attention back to the song he’d been working on before Greer had dropped the bombshell on him. He craved only the need to do something more than sit and worry about things he couldn’t control, and he hadn’t really expected it to help, but it did. With every note, Greer’s departure melted away, as did Noah’s tears and Amie’s questions of why everything had to be the way it was. Before he knew it, the entire melody was nearly complete.
It was nothing short of a miracle how creating music made him feel—so productive and smart and capable of accomplishing anything. Was it too late to add this one to the new album? Maybe he could toss it up on iTunes as a freebie.
Shame hit him then like a fist in the gut. Was he seriously thinking about his career at a time like this? His entire family had just abandoned him, yet there he sat on an amp with a guitar in his lap, feeling pleased with himself. What was wrong with him? This wasn’t normal.
Worse than the guilt of not thinking more of his family was the guilt of realizing that it was so easy not to think of them. It felt like any other night he was home. He could almost imagine the kids in bed and Greer doodling on the couch, waiting for him to come inside. He wondered where they were now and was stunned he’d never thought to ask.
But wherever they were, he had to imagine they were all right, and he was all right, too, and that was the most heartbreaking realization of all.
Blame James (blame_james) wrote,
@ 2012-06-24 16:49:06
James Venora Can’t…
E.Y.: Do you ever wonder if maybe one day we’ll just take things too far and James Venora will sue us for dragging his name through the mud?
CLAUDIA: Yes, absolutely. He’ll have us hauled into night court before Judge Harry Anderson, where his lawyer, John Larroquette, will read excerpts from this blog and have to keep pausing to wipe tears of laughter from his eyes. In fact, the whole room will be cracking up and slapping their knees except for ol’ James. Seriously, though. What is James gonna do? He knows we’re right, and it’s not libel if you’re right.
E.Y.: And when we’re not being right, we’re speculating, which is totally harmless. Speaking of speculation, which Venora brother do you think would be a better lay?
CLAUDIA: Ho
w is this even up for debate? Wade, obviously. Just look at the guy. You can tell his cock is not a force to be reckoned with.
E.Y.: All two-point-five inches of it? I bet Wade completely sucks in the sack. He hit his fineness peak during 2003 to 2007 but has since become lazy and arrogant. His hair used to be all golden blond, like the gods had spun it themselves, but now it’s just long and lifeless and tree-bark brown; he hasn’t kept up with his highlights like James has. Plus, there is no way Wade would be kinky or fun in any nonstandard way. Meanwhile, I bet James takes his time and hits all the hot spots without rushing, and when the lady tries to please him back, he pins her to the mattress, puts a finger to her lips, and murmurs, “This is about you,” then gets right back to it. Ahh! This is just my loins talking.
CLAUDIA: Can you tell your loins to shut up then?
E.Y.: However, I have to admit that it’s weird now to picture James being with someone who isn’t Greer. I mean, can you even imagine James trying to have a real date with someone? Not only has being quasi-famous made him awkward, I bet he has zero experience with women aside from Greer, considering his Dudley Do Right upbringing and how young they were when they met. Thus, I can’t picture him driving a car over to a chick’s house to pick her up. I can’t picture him asking the waiter for the check or picking a seat in the movie theater. I can’t picture him taking her to the Pizza Hut buffet and using the tiny tongs to choose the choicest breadsticks. He is of another planet.
CLAUDIA: For me, it’s easy to imagine James doing stuff, although I take into account that he will inevitably look bizarre attempting anything, including waiting for clothes to dry at the Laundromat to camping.
E.Y.: Camping! He so cannot do that. Hiking? Hunting? Bird watching? Roasting marshmallows? Are you kidding me? He’d attempt to make a fire and burn down the KOA. But whatever, he can still screw me in a sleeping bag.
CLAUDIA: Focus. Back to more things he can’t do:
• Unwrap a preprocessed slice of cheese and fix a grilled cheese sandwich
• Make his kid a costume for the school play
• Ride on a dog sled in Alaska
• Buy heroin in the ghetto
• Laugh bashfully as his leashed Dalmatian runs circles around him and some chick in a public park, tangling them together
E.Y.: What about collecting stamps or doing taxes?
CLAUDIA: I think it’s safe to say no, he can’t do any of that. And I’m positive Greer handles all the taxes while James disappears for days in the studio, hiding from the fact he has no idea what math even is.
E.Y.: Does he even have a checkbook? Did he and Greer ever have to apply for a home equity loan through the bank? I’m imagining them sitting across from the bank representative, Greer looking like a preacher’s wife and James looking like himself. Just the two of them together is so weird and sitcom-y in my head: She’s dressed like an Amish schoolteacher while James is walking funny because his jeans are too tight, and they’re both trying to raise a family.
CLAUDIA: I’d be down for a James-and-Greer sitcom, with its canned laughter and unnamed time period although it looks like ‘70s TV. And in the series finale, James prances out of the closet and Greer makes macaroni crosses for them all, the end.
E.Y.: Brilliant, as usual. I don’t understand why we haven’t come into our fortunes yet. We have a million-dollar idea every day.
CLAUDIA: I blame this blog.
Chapter Two
James negotiated his embarrassing, family-safe station wagon through an endless, aggravating series of one-way streets. Again his GPS recalculated in its Australian accent, somehow sounding more and more exasperated every time he made a wrong turn. Where the hell was Greer’s new place? He figured it was his fault; he was expecting to find an apartment complex with plenty of parking spaces. Instead, there were just rows of identical townhouses lining cramped roads.
Of course, Greer had never told him she lived in a complex. That had been his assumption. She’d left him no choice but to assume though; she’d been vague about her new residence on the phone. He’d chalked her curt, cryptic answers up to their situation, but as he finally found the address she’d given him, he got the strange feeling that maybe something else was afoot.
He crossed the small but well-kept yard to front door and rang the bell. The sound bonged through the red-brick house and was followed by children’s shrieks. Through the rippled glass of the door, he saw Amie and Noah run toward him and fling themselves against the wood, laughing. He couldn’t help but smile. It was good to see them looking far happier than they’d been when they were walking out the door at Greer’s decree.
But his grin faded when he noted the person that trailed them: a man in his early thirties with short dark hair wearing wireframe glasses, khaki shorts, and a polo shirt. Definitely not Greer. Definitely not anyone he knew—or knew of Greer knowing. What was going on?
The stranger opened the door with an easy smile. “Hey, James.” He thrust forward his hand, and James shook it with reluctance and suspicion. “Good to meet you at last.”
“Yeah, you too.” Who was this guy? He didn’t seem that much older, yet everything about him screamed he was, on all accounts, a grownup. James felt thirteen standing beside him in his white V-neck tee and close-fitting jeans with a studded belt. What was this man’s role in all this?
“Dad!” Amie crashed into his legs and lifted her heart-shaped face toward his, her green-brown eyes wide. “I missed you.”
“I missed you more,” said Noah, tangling himself around James’ other leg.
James turned his attention to his children as he crouched before them, smoothing some of Amie’s dark waist-length curls out of her face and ruffling Noah’s feathery blond hair. “Well, I missed you both the most, so there.” He flicked a glance to the man, still standing behind them, and then back to his children. “Where’s your mom?”
As if summoned, Greer materialized from the living room. She looked the same, but there was something different about her. She appeared relaxed, happy, and comfortable in cutoff denim shorts and a striped tank top and with her long, wavy auburn hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She gave him a smile, one that was so warm it threw him off guard. It was a far cry from how she’d been when she left. “Hi,” she said.
Her pleasant demeanor irritated him, as did the strange man still hovering by the open door. “Hey.” James’ gaze darted pointedly to the man, urging her to set the story straight.
Was it his imagination or did her smile waver as she gestured to her companion? “James, this is Pierce. Pierce, James.”
“We just met.” Pierce gave James a friendly clap on the back and turned to Greer. “Well! You two probably have a lot to talk about, so I’ll help the kids get ready to go.”
“Thanks, that’d be great.” Greer’s grin looked more and more like a grimace as Pierce ushered the kids up the stairs. James didn’t like the familiar way he had with his children.
Then they were alone, and there seemed to be nothing and everything to say. A painful silence hung between them, and it was one that Greer didn’t seem to be in a hurry to break. Finally, he buried his hands his jacket pockets and shrugged. “Well?”
Although it was July and they were in the middle of a heat wave, she hugged herself, rubbing her upper arms as if she were cold. “‘Well’ what?”
“Well, what’s up with the guy?” He nodded to the stairs. “Who is he?”
“I just told you. That’s Pierce.”
“You told me his name, not who he is.” Something not unlike panic unfurled in his stomach. “So?”
She sighed, looking impatient and at everything but him. “We met when I went back to school. He was in one of my classes, and when he graduated in May, he started his own design business and—”
“And one thing led to another?”
Greer gave him a dark look. “And he offered me a part-time job.”
“And then one thing led to another?”
“Wi
ll you keep your voice down? Stop asking that.”
“What? I just want to know when one thing led to another, that’s all. I think I deserve to know. I’m only your husband, after all.”
“Not for long,” she snapped, livid at last. “All you have to do is sign the papers, and you don’t have to worry about anything I do anymore. Not that you ever did.”
A whole lot of what she’d just said felt like a wrecking ball to the ribs, but no way would he show it. “You’ll get your signature, don’t worry. In the meantime, I’m just making conversation. So.” James crossed his arms. “Were you ever planning on telling me you’re living with some guy?”
“Yes.” Some of her anger seemed to ebb as her brow creased. “I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”
“How about the same time you said you wanted a divorce? That would’ve been nice, having all the information up front. And so much less stress for you.”
“Enough with the sarcasm, James.”
“I don’t think I can do that.” The tenuous control he tried to cling to threatened to snap. “And I even think I’m entitled to be a little sarcastic, don’t you? See, it’s not that I mind you sleeping with some guy who isn’t me—”
“It isn’t like that.”
“I mean, yeah, you two were probably messing around while I was off supporting our family and thinking we had a happy marriage and that I had a loyal wife—”
“A happy marriage?” Greer let out a nasty, incredulous snort. “Are you kidding?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind.” He ignored her, his fury climbing with his every word. “It’s just that I don’t know if our children should be exposed to all this sex you’re having with strange guys. I’m sure it’ll only confuse them.”
Her hands went to her hips. “Are you about done?”
“I think I’ve made my point.”
“Great. Here’s mine. You’re being a jerk.”
“There’s that warmth of yours I’ve missed so much.”
“You’re not listening to me. I’m not having sex with strange guys. I’m not having sex with anyone. Pierce is just a friend. We work together, he’s teaching me how to start my own graphic design business, and now he’s helping me out, letting us stay with him for a bit while I get my life together.”
