“You shouldn’t call at this hour.”
She giggled. “Did I wake the kids?” “You—”
“You looked cute in the baseball uniform today,” she said.
“So you were there.”
“You know I was.”
“You didn’t stick around.”
“A bit awkward if I did. And you were losing.”
“Yeah.”
“Badly.”
“Don’t rub it in,” I said. “What were you doing there?”
“It’s a public place,” she said. “Do I not have a right, as a member of the public?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Did you think I followed you? How vain. Maybe I was there for a completely different reason.”
“What reason?”
She giggled some more. “I followed you there. I saw you leave your house in that cute uniform and I decided to follow you. It seems fair—you’ve been watching me, now I am watching you.”
Bryan was closer to the truth than he understood.
“Then again,” she said, “maybe I was there to watch someone else.”
I said, “I wanted to hit a home run for you.”
“Isn’t that sweet.” She blew a kiss over the phone.
I said, “I want to come over.”
“Twenty minutes ago,” she said, “I was in the mood. The moment has passed. I’m going to bed. You’ll have to wait.”
“Wait? When?”
“Monday night. Same time.”
“Why not tomorrow night?” I asked.
“I’m busy all day tomorrow. I doubt,” she said, “I shall feel amorous.”
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“That’s my business, and my business alone.”
“And what if I just came over right now? If I just marched over there and took you in my arms?”
“Don’t,” she said and she hung up.
Maybe she was playing a game; maybe she wanted to see if I was aggressive and would take control of the situation. I thought better of it. She was a woman who enjoyed control. And I didn’t want to risk experiencing her rejection.
13
She wasn’t home all Sunday. She left early, came home late. I imagined she was with another man—perhaps this Boyd Urick character from Las Vegas. I was jealous and knew it was an absurd thing to feel. If anything, I should’ve been ashamed of myself—
And I was. It may not seem like it, but I was. I was good at bottling it in. I knew that what I was doing was wrong, foolish, dangerous, and just plain stupid. I knew my actions would hurt Tina, would hurt my kids, would injure my entire family. I knew that something wasn’t right with Cassandra Payne that she could launch into such a sexual tryst right after her husband’s murder. Still, I coveted her; still, I didn’t want our encounters to stop. I was thinking with my prick, which is the worst thing any man in history can allow to think for him—it leads to an ugly road, and in my case, an ugly road in the middle of the night deep in the desert.
I counted every minute until the appointed hour that Monday night. I had a fresh bottle of Wild Turkey that I was going to bring, to share; and I knew that I would—finally—fuck her.
I looked into the window.
She was playing the music, she had on the robe, she had an empty glass in hand, she was dancing about the bedroom.
“What light on yonder window breaks,” I whispered into the screen.
“Romeo? Romeo?” she said. “Is it truly you, Mr. Romeo?”
“It is I,” said I, “bearing gifts.”
She told me to come inside, the door was unlocked. I did. Again, the candle. I held out the bottle. She got a glass for me, from the kitchen, and we poured bourbon and drank. We kissed. I caressed her breasts, I rubbed my hand between her legs, but she kept eluding any attempts I made to entice her into the bedroom, on the couch, on the goddamn floor! “Silly goose,” she said, holding her glass out for more to drink.
She turned the volume up on the soft jazz, told me she wanted to dance. “I’ll watch you dance any time,” I said, but she told me she wanted me to dance with her. I wasn’t a good dancer, I informed her of this, but I was too drunk to care, and she certainly didn’t care. We danced. Our bodies close to one another, we moved to the music, to the night, and to the alcohol in our bloodstream. She took my shirt off and sucked on my nipples, gently biting them and causing me to jump. She laughed. I bit her nipples in turn, and she liked this.
We didn’t fuck. There was kissing, there was touching, there was mutual oral sex, but still she would not allow me to fuck her. When I asked her why, she said it wasn’t time, and when it was time, she would let me know. I was past the point of caring, naked with her, dancing still, most of the bottle of Wild Turkey gone, and my brain was again spinning with lust and booze.
Then it was time to go. “Jesus Christ,” I said, when I noticed it was four in the morning.
“Time does fly, yes?” she said.
I kissed her good-bye, and said, “Until next time, Juliet.”
“Next time, Romeo,” she said, but didn’t say when that would be.
Tina was awake when I got into bed. “Where were you?”
I didn’t know what to say. Had she heard me come in through the back? I’d been very careful; maybe I was clumsy. I’d taken it for granted that she’d be deep asleep as she always was.
“Philip?”
“Yeah?”
“Where were you?”
“What do you mean, where was I?” I was so nervous, I should’ve given up right then and there.
She said, “I woke up and you weren’t here and I looked all over the house and you were nowhere. Your car was outside. I was worried.”
“Did you think the boogeyman took me?” Always make jokes when you get caught.
“Where were you?” she said. She was very serious.
“I was in my office,” I lied.
“I looked in your office. It was dark and empty.”
“I was also in the backyard.”
“I knew you were outside. I heard you coming in.”
“I was looking for meteors,” I said.
“What?”
“I heard on the news there’d be a meteor shower between two and four.” I thought it sounded convincing; I liked stargazing and she knew it.
“Bullshit,” she said. She moved near me, and sniffed. “You’ve been drinking. I can smell it on you.”
Could she smell Cassandra Payne on me? I could. I should’ve taken a shower.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Were you outside drinking with Bryan and watching for meteors?”
“Bryan is asleep.”
“Did you see a meteor?”
“No,” I said, waiting for a fight.
She sighed. “You’ve been drinking too much lately.”
“Yeah.”
“So have I,” she said. “Philip, I think we’re turning into alcoholics.”
“Not us.”
“I think so.”
“We’re okay.”
“It’s strange that I couldn’t find you. I even looked out back.”
“Did you go out back?”
“No.”
“I was there.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“It’s dark.” I was being the lawyer again, twisting the scenario in my favor.
“I don’t like this,” she said.
“Go to sleep, now,” I said, gently.
I didn’t expect her to stop asking me questions, but she said, “Okay,” and went back to sleep.
I had a hard time sleeping. I wondered if Tina believed me or not, and if it mattered. I had taken a shower before going back to bed, to get any telltale smells off my body—perfume and sex.
If Tina suspected anything, she didn’t let on; she acted as if our life was normal and usual. I kissed her good-bye and and sent her off to work and then I took my son to school and came back home and played dinosaurs with my daughter.
I waited all day for Cassandra Payne to call, to give me a signal, about when we would meet next—tonight perhaps, although I realized that would be outrageous, to do such a thing the night after my wife almost caught me.
There was something also exciting about it …
The widow Mrs. Payne didn’t leave all day. Bryan and I drank beers and watched the house out of the corner of our eyes. We were being too obvious, I thought. This is how she knows.
Bryan was antsy—standing, sitting, looking nervous. He kept cracking his knuckles.
Where was David? He’d been scarce lately. I asked Bryan about him.
“I’m not his fucking keeper,” he snapped at me, “how should I know?”
“Relax,” I told him.
“I told Roger,” he said.
This I didn’t want to hear. “What did he say?”
“Not much.”
“What was the expression on his face?”
“Goddamn lawyer,” he smiled, and sat down. “I don’t know. I told him over the phone.”
“He didn’t say anything?”
“He said something to the effect that I had an interesting theory and he would look into it.”
I felt relieved. “He doesn’t buy it.”
“He thinks I’m full of shit.”
“We could be full of shit,” I said.
He frowned, looking away. “We could.”
I want us to be.
Past midnight. I watched her house and drank vodka. There was no signal. There was no light on, no soft music seeping out and reaching my ears.
I slept next to my wife.
Wednesday yielded no contact from her as well. I almost called her—I had her number. Instinctively, I knew she would be angry if I phoned. I decided that if I didn’t hear from her today, I would call her tomorrow.
Early in the evening, an Oldsmobile pulled up in front of her house. A man in a cheap suit, with a strong build, got out. I recognized him as one of the Homicide cops that had been there before: Bryan’s connection in the department, Roger. I didn’t know if Roger was his last or first name. I was frightened, aghast. I was afraid for her—what would happen to her? Would they give her life, the death sentence, if she was guilty? I wanted to run across the street and tell the cop that everything Bryan said to him was a ruse. This was why he was here, wasn’t he? Following up on Bryan’s information, to check if she’d been lying about not leaving her house the night in question, to see if there was some motive for wanting her husband dead.
Tina knew something was wrong. It must’ve been pulsating off my body. At dinner, she said, “What is it?”
“What is what?” I said.
“Something heavy is on your mind.”
I couldn’t deny it. “Things have changed.”
“I know.”
“I mean, they need to,” I said. “I should go back to work.”
She looked at her food and said, “Maybe that’s a good idea.”
The unmarked police car didn’t leave all night. What the hell was going on in there? With another bottle of vodka, I sat in my office and watched the house. The lights were on, occasionally I saw a body—his, hers—walk about. What were they talking about? This was torture. At eleven-fifty, the living room light went off. At last, he was going to leave. He didn’t. The bedroom light to the side was on. I drank. It was twelve-twenty. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know what was going on. I snuck out back and went across the street. Going there, I knew what I would see, I knew what had transpired, I knew why this detective had been there for hours, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when I looked into the window and saw the two of them naked. I was angry—and it wasn’t just for the reason that she’d lured this man into bed (and who could blame him, with the prospect of a beautiful woman?), but that he was fucking her; he was on top of her, her legs were on his muscular, defined shoulders, and he was slamming his pelvis hard into hers, so hard I could hear their flesh slapping together, and she was crying out, “Oh yes, baby, yes,” and he was grunting and all I wanted to know was why did the bitch let this man behold the pleasure she’d deprived me of?
The detective left early in the morning. I started drinking after my few hours of restless, Cassandra-filled sleep. In my dreams, she was letting every man I’d ever known fuck her, and she made me watch while I was tied to a chair.
I was testy with Jessica, telling her to leave me alone, telling her to shut up as I paced around the house. She looked at me with her sad, large eyes and I felt just horrible. There was no reason for my child to suffer any recriminations for my own lack of fidelity. Still, I obsessed over the woman across the street, allowing my desires—my cock—to guide me. I had no interest in sitting around with either Bryan or David today. Bryan said, “We need to talk,” and I said, “We’ll talk tomorrow,” and he said, “I think we should talk today,” and I said, “We’ll talk tomorrow.” I was a menace to society, driving around, almost causing two accidents, picking up Matthew from school. He seemed to know that there was something wrong—he kept glaring at me and wouldn’t say a word. He glared at me at the dinner table. Dinner was also a mess, hastily slopped together macaroni and cheese. Tina wasn’t there, it was Thursday, bar night for the girls. Jessica played with her dinosaurs. A sitcom was on TV. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. When the kids settled into sleep, I was thankful. I sat outside with a bottle of something and watched, waiting for my signal. Nothing came, and I was too drunk to do anything even if she called me over, having binged all day, feeling like I was going to vomit. I went to bed; I don’t know what time it was, I simply fell on the mattress and closed my eyes and when I woke up—the bedroom light came on—Tina was standing there, staring down at me. She was a bit drunk herself, and disheveled—hair messy, lipstick smeared, blouse torn. Focusing my eyes, I noticed scratches on her face and chest, a small cut on her lower lip. It was past four in the morning.
“Didn’t even wait up for me this time?” she said. “Didn’t wonder and worry where I was?”
“Tina?”
“That’s me.” She made a silly pose, and giggled.
“What happened to you?”
She turned and looked in the mirror. “Oh God.” She touched her face. “Oh God, I got carried away.” She giggled again, then started to cry. It was very abrupt.
I sat up. “Tina—”
She turned, pointing. “Don’t come near me, you! You! Don’t you even come near me!”
I stood, swaying, feeling sick again.
She said, “You wanna know where I was? You wanna know what I was doing? I’ll tell you. I was getting laid!”
I could feel it coming up from my stomach, the goddamn macaroni and cheese.
“That’s right!” my wife said. “I got screwed! I got fucked! And by a younger man! He was twenty-five, I think, a construction worker, all tan and muscle and delicious! He flirted with me at the bar! Yes he did! Other men have too! But this was the first time I left with anyone. This is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this! I went to his apartment with him—”
“He raped you?”
“He didn’t rape me, you idiot! You stupid asshole! I attacked him! Oh yeah I guess I look like I’ve been through a storm but I’ll tell you that it was rough sex and it was great! We broke his lamp! I think we broke his bed! I like it rough, Philip! I bet you never knew that about me! Before we met, I liked it rough! Real rough! Rougher than this! I thought rough sex had no place in a marriage but I was wrong!” She picked up a shoe and threw it at me. It missed. “Tell me,” she said, “does that Limey bitch like it rough?”
I saw my reflection in the mirror. I was ghost pale white.
“Don’t stand there all shocked and ‘who me?’ you jackasshole,” she went on. “You don’t think I know? You think I didn’t know all this time? I knew from the start! I knew the day of our little barbecue, when she walked in, the way you looked at her, the way you swooned, the way you fucked her with your eyes! Optical intercourse!”
she yelled. “Eyeball fuckorama!” She threw her other shoe at me. I dodged that one, barely. I knew I was going to throw up any minute now. “I knew you were across the street the other night! I knew you were with that Limey bitch! That—that—London whore! How long has it been going on, Philip? How long? Tell me! Before or after her husband died?”
I felt like I was going to faint.
“What she sees in you, I don’t know. Lazy, beer-gut booze hound you do nothing all day but mope around about your sorry sad lost career! A good career you fucked up! A disgraced lawyer! A disbarred shyster! A cheating husband! So my husband is fucking my neighbor, well I’ll show him! I’ll go out and fuck someone too! And that’s what I did, Philip! And you know what, I don’t even know the kid’s name! And you know what? The whole time I was doing it, when he was fucking me and I was fucking him, the whole time, and after, and when I was driving home, I told myself, ‘I’m going to tell him what I did and let’s see how that makes him feel!’ And I’m telling. I’m telling you, Philip. Not half an hour ago I was fucking and sucking and licking and rolling and poking and squirting and everything else you can imagine with another man.”
“I never fucked her,” I blurted, and ran to the bathroom, and puked in the sink.
I slept on the couch. It was easy to sleep, pretend that none of this ever happened. I felt like I wasn’t in my body. I was watching myself move about, pouring a bowl of cereal for Matthew, making coffee for Tina and myself. She’d covered the scratches on her face with makeup, and there was a scab on her lip now. We didn’t say anything to each other for a while. It didn’t take too long for her to break the silence.
“You have nothing to say?”
“No,” I replied.
Then she went at it again, yelling and screaming, throwing her coffee cup against the wall, cracking it in two, brown fluid seeping down the flower-print wallpaper. What Tina said was pretty much the same thing—in different order and more cussing—that she had said at four in the morning. My head was pounding. I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed her by the arms and pleaded for her to shut up. I shook her like a rag doll, her head bobbing back and forth. She started kicking at and me and calling me names.
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