Flies on the Butter

by Denise Hildreth Jones

  Rosey’s daddy shooed the yellow jacket away with a wave of his hand. Then he surveyed their damage. “Well, girls, I would say we were hungry. We ate a big ol’ hunk, nearly half !”

  “It was so good, Daddy,” Rosey said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, despite the napkin that was beside her paper plate.

  “How about you two go rinse off,” her daddy said, sliding his legs out from underneath the picnic table.

  “Aw, Daddy, I don’t want to take a bath. The sun’s still shining outside,” Rosey said, slapping her head into her hands.

  He stood up beside her, his tall and handsome frame towering over her. “Oh, my sweet girls, Daddy has a better idea than that.” They watched him carefully as he walked over to the side of the house and retrieved the new green lawn sprinkler.

  Rosey couldn’t believe their luck. Getting chased out of the house was just about the best thing to happen to them. She and Jenny jumped up from the picnic table and ran for the sprinkler, dropping clothes as they went. By the time her daddy actually got the water flowing, they were dancing in their matching Minnie Mouse Underoos, squealing at the top of their lungs. Before long, the rest of the Disney cast had joined them—Charlotte, Bobby Dean, and Christopher. They ran through that sprinkler the rest of the afternoon. Lucky those yellow jackets were more fond of watermelon than wet Underoos.

  The sound of a beeping horn caused Rose to realize she was still sitting at a stoplight. The phone rang. The screen told her it was Helen again.

  “Oh my word.” She felt her pulse race as she accelerated. “I still haven’t looked at her e-mail. She’ll think I’ve gone certifiable. Well, I just won’t answer it.”

  The phone rang again.

  “But if I don’t answer it, she’ll be certain I’ve lost my mind, not answering two calls in a row.” She stared at the screen.

  The phone rang again.

  She pushed the receive call button on the steering wheel. “Helen.”

  “What’s that new secretary’s name? You know, the one who works for that man up the hall . . . you know. My word, I can’t even remember his name either.”

  Rose exhaled.

  “I tell you, my memory is going south as quick as my boobs. I’ve been thinking about getting them lifted, actually. What do you think?”

  Rose laughed. “I think that sounds like a great idea.”

  “So you think I have saggy boobs?”

  “Oh no, I thought you were talking about your memory.” Rose snickered.

  “Okay, smarty, so what do I need to do with that memo? And if you tell me you haven’t read it, I’m putting out an APB or calling Jack or something. Because you are not well, and neither is anyone else with you on the roads.”

  “Have you called Jack already?”

  Helen paused.

  “Helen.” Rose’s tone changed to scolding.

  Helen’s tone changed too. To one that sounded just like that of a mother. “No, Rose, I haven’t called Jack. But he needs to be called. Because I’m sure whatever this is, he needs to know about it. And you know what I mean.”

  Rose bristled. “My life is my life, Helen. No calling Jack, and I don’t need to be judged.”

  “I’m not calling Jack, and I’m not judging; I’m informing. And despite the fact that I’m your secretary, I care about you two, you ornery little thing.”

  Rose softened. “I’m sorry. This has just been a day like few I’ve had in awhile, and every time I stop to actually sit down and read through my e-mails, something else happens.” Rose was defending herself. Rose never defended herself.

  “Are you all right? Because honestly, in the seven years we’ve worked together, I have never heard you like this or seen you do things like this.” Helen’s tone softened too.

  “Yeah, it’s just all that’s going on right now. But don’t worry, I’ll get it done and get you the information as soon as I can.”

  “Well, I won’t bother you anymore.”

  She sensed Helen’s frustration. “You don’t bother me, Helen. I promise. I’ll call you as soon as I stop.”

  “Well, don’t rush. I’m going to go get a pickle anyway.”

  “A pickle?”

  “Yeah. What? You think there’s something wrong with a fifty-year-old woman wanting to eat a pickle? They’re not just for pregnant women. Plus, I could be pregnant, you know . . . stranger things have happened.”

  Helen never said good-bye.

  Rose pushed the button on the dashboard that held Richard’s number in memory. It was number 9. Jack was number 1.

  “Where are you?” came his rich voice over the line.

  “Somewhere in the backwoods of North Carolina.”

  “How’s the trip going?”

  “Long.” She didn’t feel like talking. The trip was getting to her. “Listen, I just wanted you to know that I’ve gotten some information that we’re about to lose some of our support. We can’t afford for them to collapse under the weight of the health-care initiative. I mean, the bill they’ve put on the docket now isn’t even going to pass the Senate anyway.” Rose’s volume was escalating, but she couldn’t stop it. “So why should they let a perfectly good education bill be sent to Neverland because they want to win friends that aren’t friends in the first place?”

  “Are you all right, Rose?”

  “Yes, Richard, I’m fine,” she snapped, not so finely. “This is very important. I’ve worked very hard for children and teachers, and we can’t let this fail now because we lose sight of the ball.”

  “No one’s losing sight of the ball,” he said, his voice perfectly calm. “I know who’s wavering, and I know what is needed to get them back in focus. What I’m not sure is what in the world is going on with you. You seem so irritable.”

  That was it. “Don’t call me irritable! I am not irritable! Why in the world does everyone on God’s green earth think I’m irritable? I’m a professional, Richard. A professional who gets paid a lot of money to perform for her clients, and that is what our relationship is about. This education bill.”

  “Oh, it is. Our relationship is about a bill. Well, that’s news to me. That’s not what it’s been about this past year. Or the impression your phone call left me with just a few hours ago. And I’m trying to do everything I can to get her out of the picture. I know that’s frustrating to you now that your husband is out of your picture. But things don’t always happen like we want them to.”

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anything truer come from your lips,” she quipped, staring at the blurring dotted yellow line on the pavement.

  “Well, you just need to get back home. And get this trip behind you. Apparently there’s more going on than you mentioned. But I’ll still be here for a couple of days. And I’m perfectly happy with us, Rose, so I’m not going anywhere. Whether she’s in the picture or not, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Of course he wasn’t going anywhere whether his wife was or not. Richard had it all. The perfect hostess wife and the perfectly beautiful and powerful lover. What more could he want? Loathing rose up inside her. “This isn’t about your wife, Richard,” she spat into the phone. “And this isn’t about us. This phone call was about children and teachers. A bill that we need to get passed. A bill that I’ve worked on tirelessly. And a bill that I expect to get passed, whether you help me or not. I’ll be back Monday morning, and it won’t be to vacation; it will be to do my job. I’ll call you first thing, and I’ll look forward to hearing what your weekend has accomplished.”

  She pushed the end call button on her steering wheel and tried to release the tension that had wrapped itself around her neck. She never would have spoken to any other senator that way if her life depended on it. Richard was no longer “any other” senator. But for some reason she felt as though her life did depend on it. And looking at these tiny, peaceful houses that passed her with their expansive yards and brown wooden fences, she wondered how her life had gotten so far away from where she had thought she
would end up. So far that she was certain she could never find her way back home.

  And there was something in her that despised Richard. Despised the fact that she felt she needed him. Needed his understanding, his companionship, his respect. And then, staring at the blacktop in front of her, she realized that she didn’t actually possess one of those things from him. Not one of the things she needed from him did he actually offer. And if she had been truly listening during that very first encounter, she would have known.

  When they reached the end of the hallway, Richard opened the ornate wooden door marked with the brass-plated number 528. Their drinks and dinner had led them to his place. The dark paneled wallpaper and dimly lit sconces that spanned the halls at predetermined increments created an ambiance of warmth. Rose shivered.

  “You cold?” he asked, placing his hand on the small of her back.

  She wrapped her hands around her shoulders. “Just a little chilled, I guess.”

  His condo was in one of the prime sections of George-town. A lot of senators and their families lived permanently in their home states but kept secondary residences here. Children or husbands or wives would come up on weekends, and senators would go back to their states during recesses. No doubt that carried a significant influence on the adultery and divorce rate in DC. Rose stamped out the thought as quickly as it had come.

  She stared at the opened door for a moment. She looked down and studied the threshold. She had a passing memory of the day Jack carried her across the threshold after their wedding. For a moment it seemed as if his arms were wrapped around her even now. Tightly. Tugging her. But she knew his discovery this morning and the battle that had ensued had changed the playing field. They could never go back there again.

  She looked up into the deep blue eyes of Richard, and he smiled gently, showing he was mindful of her struggle. A struggle he had obviously already defeated. She could only hope it had been defeated because of her. Yet somewhere she wondered if he defeated his struggle whenever any Roses came around. She felt his hand still supporting her. No, she was certain this was just about the two of them. Two desperate people in need of something desperately. Or something they had convinced themselves they needed.

  She stepped across.

  The door closed behind her. “Can I take your coat, Rose?” he asked. “I’ll get a fire going, and you can warm up.”

  She removed her brown cashmere coat and gave it to him. He walked ahead of her into the living room, where he laid it gently across the back of one of the olive green leather chairs that sat across from the fireplace. He took his own coat off and placed it on top of hers. She remained in the foyer and watched as he walked across the room to the stone mantel and removed a silver lighter from it. He stooped down and leaned into the fireplace.

  In a few moments the fireplace came ablaze. Richard stood, put the lighter back on top of the mantel, and turned his attention to Rose.

  For a long moment they stood there, two strangers, simply staring at each other. Rose wished she felt warmer. “Come over here and sit down,” he said, walking around the leather chairs and taking her by the hand.

  His hand felt so gentle. He grabbed a large throw from the end of the rich green and taupe striped chenille sofa and took it with them. He spread out the throw in front of the fireplace and helped Rose sit down. She rested her back against the ottoman coffee table that sat in the center of the room. He was so polished. So smooth. “Red or white wine?” he asked, kissing the top of her hand as she looked up at him. The warmth of that kiss caused her to shiver once again.

  “Red, please.” She smiled softly.

  His absence seemed forever. She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. She stared at the fire crackling softly, yet artificially, in front of her. That was how all this felt, somehow. Artificial. Not the realness and genuineness that she had felt with Jack. She knew Jack loved her. She just knew he couldn’t forgive her. Even though every touch and emotion and word had said he could. She knew from experience that betrayal wasn’t forgiven. So why torture herself ? She wasn’t going to be like her father and let Jack win. No, she would remain in charge of her life in every way.

  A crystal glass holding red wine appeared suddenly in the air in front of her face. She took it from Richard’s hand. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” he said. Richard had removed his suit jacket while he was in the kitchen and his tie sometime during their hours of work at the Capitol. “Don’t you want to take your jacket off ?” he asked, placing his glass of wine on the tray atop the ottoman.

  “Sure,” she said, letting him help her take off her jacket. He placed it carefully beside her coat, making sure not to wrinkle it. He ran his fingers over the orange flower on the lapel. She wondered what he was thinking.

  Finally, he joined her in front of the fire, but before he picked up his glass of wine, he smoothly slipped off Rose’s shoes. “Prada. Nice.” He smiled.

  She looked at them. Staring at them now, she wasn’t sure why she had paid so much for a pair of shoes. “Thank you. They kill my feet.”

  He laughed. “Well then, let me make your feet feel better.” He took one foot in his hands and rubbed it gently. She resisted the urge to relax, but the wine, the fire, the touch, all of it lessened her anxiety. She leaned into the ottoman. Then she closed her eyes, hoping maybe that would remove the events of the morning from her mind.

  When Richard kissed her, she wasn’t even sure where she was. She wasn’t even sure who he was. In her mind sometimes she saw Jack. Yet when she woke up with the sun coming through the cracks in the drawn curtains, when she caught sight of Richard’s face next to her by the still-smoldering fire, she knew that the previous night had not been with Jack. And that what happened had changed her and Jack in an even greater way than her earlier deception.

  She crawled out of Richard’s arms as quietly as she could. She took another blanket, which was draped over the opposite end of the sofa, and wrapped it around her exposed body, then went through the living room and down the hall into the kitchen. A large window spanned the wall of an adjoining breakfast room. The table, the chairs, the drapes—every detail screamed of the woman who belonged here. And her name wasn’t Rose.

  Framed photographs on the mantel of the fireplace in the kitchen showed faces of Richard and his wife and their children. Rose’s face wasn’t in any of the pictures. That was because Rose’s face was in her own pictures. Her pictures with Jack. She peered out the window at the row of town houses across the quiet street, wondering if any women like herself were staring at her. Hating themselves. Hating their lives. Hating the fact that no one in the rest of the world would believe they hated anything. Because that’s how in control they were.

  Rose let her forehead fall against the cold windowpane and clutched the blanket tighter. The freezing temperatures outside maintained the piled snow on the grassy places between the sidewalk and street. She felt tears well up and wanted to catch them, but how do you catch what can’t be caught? They dropped on her hand, on the blanket. Something in Richard’s touch had felt practiced. Something in the way he knew exactly what to say and do made her feel he had done this before. Had he been as new at this as she, surely his touch would have been more awkward. More hesitant. But he had made everything perfect. As perfect as adultery can be, anyway.

  She crept back into the living room, where he continued to sleep. Silently she dressed and let herself out. Each step was a reason why she would never do this again. Rose Fletcher wasn’t a woman who sneaked around. She and Jack might be over, but this wasn’t how she wanted to spend her life. And she held true to all her reasons. That is, until she saw Richard the next weekend, when they had to have another meeting with her boss, Max, to finish up lingering details. Each time, she convinced herself it would never happen again. And each time, she wished that Jack would come rescue her.

  16

  Richard’s name lit up on Rose’s dashboard twice. She didn’t answer. Helen’s once. She di
dn’t answer that one either. What was the use? She focused on her environment, the small towns, red lights, and stop signs, as she meandered toward Mullins. The small downtown street in the current North Carolina town was similar to those in the area where she was headed. The storefronts lining the main street of White Lake were adorned with hand-painted lettering offering gifts and crafts, antiques, and ice cream. The fluorescent red Coca-Cola sign with the little glass bottle in the corner reminded her of the two Cokes Daisy had forced down her. This required another stop.

  She parked in front of a neon sign declaring Fletcher’s Drugstore with a burned-out D.

  “Who would believe that?” She stared at the hanging sign reflecting her own last name back to her. She’d pay with cash to avoid questions. She didn’t know whether any of Jack’s family lived in this area, but she didn’t feel like engaging in any more conversations with strangers.

  She tried to scurry inside but was met at the door by a lady about her age with a little boy whose arm was in a sling. Rose opened the door for them and hurried in behind.

  “Mama, I’m going to check out the candy,” said the little fella, who reminded Rose of a younger Christopher as he bolted from his mother’s arm.

  “We’re checking your pockets before you get out of here,” she hollered back. “Hey, Clint,” the lady said to the young man sitting behind the wood and glass counter. He was restocking the playing cards.

  “Hey, Sherry. Don’t worry about him. I made him work so hard to pay back what he stole last time, he wouldn’t even let it cross his mind now,” he said, sliding the wooden door on the back of the counter closed.

  “Well, he’s an ornery one,” she assured him, heading to the back of the store.

  He looked up from behind the counter and caught Rose’s eye. “Need a bathroom?” he asked.

  Her eyes widened in embarrassment. “That obvious?”

  “Well, you’re not from around here, because I know everybody around here. So I figure you’re lost or gotta go to the bathroom.”