"I have two kids, a girl and a boy. Their names are Jessie and Sammie. I miss them dearly." It was true. I did miss them. I missed them and my wife more than anything.
"I bet you do," she said.
Just then, Jason made his entrance and plopped down at the table. He was ready for work, all clean and closely shaven and freshly dressed. He smelled like Old Spice, just like his dad did. Jason worked for the Civil Service down at the Air Force base. I wasn't quite sure what it was that he did but I did know that he enjoyed his work. He never, ever complained to me about it.
"How's it going partner? Sleep well?" he asked, slapping me on the back. He was ready to chow down. I could tell.
"Yes, sure did."
"And I see you met the wife and the kids ..."
"Yes, dear. We introduced ourselves," Betty said, placing two full plates of eggs and the works in front of us. Jason immediately started shoveling his breakfast down his throat. He must've been in a goddamn hurry, the way he was eating. I wasn't in a hurry so I ate my breakfast like a civilized human being. I told you Jason was a goddamn pig. It's true. Betty was a sweet young lady. Jason was pretty lucky to have someone who would put up with his shit. He was a goddamn lucky bastard.
"What do you think of the Mustang? I heard you take it out last night." He was talking with his mouth full of food. He was acting like a real pig, spitting and chewing and swallowing and picking his teeth. He was a sight to behold.
"It's an amazing car," I said.
"Sure is. What did you do last night? Go to Cinammon's Big Boobie Bonanza?" he asked, laughing all over the place like a goddamn idiot.
"No," I replied. I told you we thought alike. It was pretty fucking scary how we thought alike. He got a real kick out of asking me that, too, in front of his wife and all. He kept cackling all over the place, just like his demon kid. "I just went for a drive," I said.
"Right. Here's the deal, Simon. I couldn't get the day off but we have plans for tonight. You can hang around here and do what you like, relax and all. Tonight, we're going down to Mitchell's to hook up with Stanford. Do you remember Stanford?"
"Of course I remember Stanford. What's he doing these days?" Man, did that name bring back memories. Stanford was this black kid who hung out with us after school. His family lived downtown in the projects but he would stay with us after school and play. We used to hike all up and down the woods out behind the school and our neighborhood. We used to find Playboys and shit in the ditch and stashed them in our makeshift fort. We found all kinds of crazy stuff. He also witnessed my first kiss with Beth Myers, the bastard. He was one of the kids egging me on to do it. He'd take the bus home every day before it got dark so his parents wouldn't get mad. Our neighborhood was pretty far from the projects.
"He's a professor down at the community college. He teaches literature."
"Stanford? A professor?" I couldn't believe it. He was a great kid but he was dumb as a rock back then. He must have gotten his act together. His parents were both drug addicts and criminals and repeat offenders. I was certain that he would go down that same path as well. I guess he didn't, the lucky bastard.
"Yep. After you moved away, he got really smart all of a sudden. He made straight A's, aced the S.A.T., and got accepted to Harvard with an NAACP scholarship. He came back here after he graduated. He wanted to do something for the community. He's really sharp, you know."
"Sounds like it." I was really amazed. It's true. It's almost impossible to turn a kid who was dumb as a rock into a professor, especially with all the cards he had stacked against him.
"Anyway, we're meeting him at six o'clock. I'll pick you up after I get off work."
"Sounds good to me."
"Betty will keep you company. She usually does housework during the day. You know, cleaning and all. But I'm sure she'll find some time to keep you company."
"I'll probably do some writing today. I haven't had a chance to get some ideas out of my head."
"Oh, right. You're the famous writer. I forgot." He was kind of sarcastic about it. I could tell. But I didn't let it get to me. I was fortunate and I knew it. I didn't take my career for granted at all. Jason shoveled the last of his breakfast down his throat and jumped up to kiss Betty goodbye. "I will see you two later."
"Bye honey," Betty said, blowing Jason a kiss goodbye. And soon after, he was gone, slamming the door behind him. I could hear the turd-on-wheels screaming and wailing out front. It screeched off into the distance, disturbing the entire neighborhood no doubt, what, with its clanging and cloud of black smoke. Betty set the last of the dishes in the kitchen sink and wiped her hands.
"Well, I'm going to shower and get ready for my day," she said. "Make yourself at home."
"Thanks." I finished my breakfast in peace, looking out at the empty pool, soaking in the morning rays of light. It definitely felt like it was going to be a good day. It's true. With the exception of getting jabbed in the crotch by Jason's demon seed, it really did start off to be a good day. It really did.
13.
Just like Ernie the nose-picker from the airport bar back in Austin, Jason was missing the stink-covering gene in his DNA. It's true. Jason was a goddamn pig. And staying at his pig sty was kind of a no-brainer for me, as far as trying to stay clean and respectable. I mean, I kind of figured I would be in the shower constantly if the house was as messy as it was when he was a kid. And he didn't let me down in that department. He hadn't changed a goddamn bit. And I was positive that Betty was about fed up with his goddamn messiness by now. I mean, you usually gravitate towards people that are similar in nature to yourself. Take me and my wife Jessica, for example. We are both neat freaks to the point of obsessive behavior. We're perfect for each other. And I'm sure that Betty was prepared to deal with Jason's lifestyle being that they dated for a while before they got married. But you can only do so much to try to change someone like Jason. Being a pig is in his genes. I'm sure she got to a point where she stopped trying to fight it and just said fuck it, I'm married to a pig. I bet it's true.
After I finished my breakfast, I could just smell the stench from the goddamn couch on my arms and hands and knew I was covered with a film of filthiness. I just had to get in the shower to get it off. So I took a nice, long, hot shower and scorched the filth right off my skin. And I could hear Betty getting ready to do the female, hour-long primp session that every woman does. Every woman takes at least an hour to take a leak, take a bath, condition their hair, exfoliate their skin, wash their face, scrub their calluses, shave their legs and their pits, pluck their eyebrows, blow-dry their hair, and put on their make-up. And that's if it's a quick day. If a woman is in the throes of depression or deep contemplation, it could take up to two goddamn hours (what else could they be doing?). With this in mind, I didn't want the hot water to run out so I showered as fast as I could under the scalding water. When I was finished, I dried my hair, put on deodorant, splashed on my favorite cologne, plucked a few nose hairs and a few stray hairs on my right shoulder, popped a zit on my forehead, brushed my teeth and gargled with Listerine, trimmed my sideburns, and dashed on some talcum powder. I saved my wounded palm for last. It seemed like it wasn't healing at all and the scrape looked more like a shallow hole than a surface wound. It hurt like hell and was oozy and tender and pink. I sprayed the sore with some antiseptic and covered it with the largest band-aid I could find. Then I wrapped my towel around my waist and gathered my toiletries. I was ready to get dressed.
I figured Betty was still in her bath because I didn't hear a sound when I came out of the bathroom. I went into the living room as quick as I could and opened my suitcase on the couch. I didn't have to do too much thinking for the outfit because my wife packed my bag. And you know how that was. I pulled out a fresh pair of khakis and an Izod shirt, similar to the outfit I wore yesterday, and laid them neatly on the couch next to my suitcase. I found a pair of boxers and an undershirt at the bottom of my bag and when I dropped my wet towel on the floor so I could put
them on, Betty came barging into the living room, dressed and primped and all. There I was, butt-naked and wet with a pair of boxer shorts in my hand, wearing nothing but my humility. And she just stood there, motionless except for her eyes, which (of course), beamed down right at my goddamn bare crotch. It was as if all time had stood still for an eternity and I was standing outside of myself, watching the two of us awkwardly look at each other. I was so goddamn embarrassed (it was cold, you know). As soon as I snapped out of my trance, I covered myself and my shame with my boxers.
"Oh, Simon, I'm so sorry. I had no idea that you were in here getting ready. I thought you were still in the bathroom." She seemed genuinely embarrassed, at least as far as I could tell. But she wasn't in a hurry to leave either. She just stood there, almost like she had never seen a naked man before. Her eyes continued to look in the direction of my crotch. I made sure that the boxers were at least covering all the vital parts that I didn't want her to see anymore. I didn't want my nuts and bolts hanging out all over the goddamn place.
"It's OK," I said. "I thought you were still in the bathroom too." She finally headed to the kitchen, without saying another word, which was my queue to get dressed as fast as possible. Man, was I embarrassed. It's not every day that a strange woman sees you naked, at least not me anyway. It's not like I'm proud of my body and want to show it to the whole goddamn world. I'm kind of pudgy, you know. I need to work on that. I put my khakis and Izod on and closed my bag and went into the kitchen to save face. I really had to. It was imperative.
Betty was standing at the counter making coffee. She didn't turn around to look at me. I guess she was embarrassed too. Probably wasn't too often that she saw a pudgy, naked guy in her living room, except for maybe Jason. I mean, he was leaner now than when I knew him as a kid but he was still kind of pudgy. I must have really caught her off guard. I had to make it right, though. I didn't want to spend the entire day in that messy house in awkward silence. That would have just driven me crazy.
"Do you feel as stupid as I do?" I asked.
"Probably more so," she said. She was putting the coffee grounds in the filter. She didn't turn her head at all.
"That was the first time someone has seen me naked besides my wife since before I got married. I hope it wasn't too traumatizing for you." I kind of chuckled after I said that and she giggled a bit too. The day wasn't a complete disaster yet. It's true. At least we could laugh about the whole goddamn thing.
"To be honest, I wasn't traumatized at all. Not one bit, not at all," she said, kind of flirtatious. And I wondered what she meant by that. I mean, I'm her husband's friend and all, not a goddamn stripper. "I'm sorry that I unexpectedly walked in on you. I'll announce myself next time."
"I'm sorry too. Let's start over. How's that?"
"OK."
I sat at the kitchen table and she brought me some fresh coffee. She made herself a cup and joined me at the table. We sat there for a bit, basking in the morning light, without saying a word. I felt kind of weird and all that my friend's wife had just witnessed me in all my naked glory. And she didn't seem at all embarrassed about it. In fact, it seemed like it brightened her morning or something. She sat there with a big, mischievous grin on her face. Anyway, it seemed like thirty minutes went silently by but I was OK with that. It's true. And it was a goddamn good cup of coffee. Jason was a lucky bastard, I tell you. Then she broke the silence.
"Do you have any plans for today?" she asked.
"Oh, I have to call my accountant about my per diem and then I was hoping to do a little writing. It's been a few days since I've put any thoughts to paper."
"That must be interesting work. Being a writer, that is. I bet you've met some pretty interesting people," she said. It was apparent that she was impressed with me. I could tell. People always seem to be impressed with my career choice. It's true. People are always envious of what other people are doing, especially if what they're doing sucks compared to what other people are doing. And I have to admit, being a writer does not suck. My job at TechForce, now that job sucked.
"Oh yes, I've met all kinds of interesting and famous people. Singers, actors, politicians, reporters, disc jockeys, athletes, you name it. I'm pretty fortunate."
"Name someone famous you've met recently," she asked, leaning in towards me. She was really looking at me too, what, with her big, green eyes and all. They were a pretty shade of green too.
"Hmmm, let me think." That was a tough question. My life had been so hectic up to that point that no one came to mind. Really, I was drawing a blank. "To be honest, my life has been so crazy the last six months that a name doesn't come to mind right now. I'll tell you as soon as I think of someone."
"That's OK. I'm sure you're really busy writing and signing books and doing interviews and going to movie premieres and all that. It must be so glamorous. I bet you travel quite a bit," she said. Her eyes kind of glazed over and I could see that she was looking into another world, one quite different than hers, one that was glamorous as hell. Then a look of disappointment appeared on her face. "Do you get to go to exotic places like Paris?"
"Paris is beautiful," I said. "It is especially beautiful in the fall, when the trees are turning and the lovers are strolling. You'd love it there."
"I imagine it would be beautiful. We don't travel much. We have a modest life." She truly looked disappointed like she was forced to be in the life that she chose. I started to feel kind of sorry for her and I wasn't sure why. I mean, she did live in a rundown house with rundown things. But I'm sure she knew that before marrying Jason. Besides, he was a great guy, no doubt about it. It's true. He may have been pudgy and kind of a pig but he was genuinely good. As long as I knew him, he never hurt a fly. And he never would. I knew that for sure. But her eyes began to water up and she looked away, putting her hands over her mouth as if to hold back something she shouldn't say.
"Are you all right?" I asked. She looked like she was about to start crying or something. I wasn't quite sure why but she did look that way. I wished I could blame it on my naked, pudgy body but I was sure that wasn't it. I felt like something was really wrong. I can sense that in people. It's true. Even in people that I don't know very well. I'm very perceptive that way.
"Me? Oh yes, I'm... fine."
"Are you and Jason fine? You know? Your marriage and all?" She hesitated for quite a bit, not saying a thing. I could see that she was trying to think of a diplomatic and selective way of saying the things that were rolling around in her mind. I'm also pretty sure that she knew that I might tell Jason anything that she might tell me. That was probably a big concern for her, I'm sure. That's always a concern when people are about to complain about their spouses. It's true. "Whenever Jason would write me, he always made it sound like things were great between you guys. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't try to fool me about something like that. He's pretty straightforward and all. But I guess you know that."
"Oh yes, he's quite the straightforward type. There's no doubt about that."
"OK then. I'm glad to hear that you two are OK. For a minute, I thought you were going to tell me something pretty personal. I mean, you looked like you needed to tell me something. But I guess it was nothing." She placed her hands on the table and started twiddling her thumbs around. And that goddamn disappointed look reappeared on her face. It was right there, like a mask. Or even better, it was like a fucking neon sign (that's it). Have you ever seen anybody look like that? You know, like they really want to tell you something but they just sit there not saying a goddamn word. That's how she looked, verbally constipated. It was driving me crazy. I wanted to reach across the table and strangle her, she was making me so nuts. But I didn't do a thing. I just sipped my coffee. I tried to change the subject. "This is good coffee. Is it fresh ground?"
And then the levee broke.
"I don't know how to say this because I don't really have anyone to talk to anymore. I mean, all my best girlfriends moved away a long time ago and I haven't made any new frie
nds. What I'm trying to say is, I'm having a hard time finding the words to say ..." That was for goddamn sure. She was talking in circles. But I knew she really wanted to tell me something and since Jason was an old friend, I figured I'd try to help her along.
"Is everything OK?"
"Are you happily married?" she asked. The question hit me like a sledgehammer in the face. It really stunned me. I don't know why. It just did.
"Oh yes, I am happily married. I love my wife more than anything."
"Because, I'm not. I'm not happily married. Jason always promised me that our financial situation would get better and it never has. I think he's content to live this way. But I'm not," she said, covering her face with her hands. She was really crying up a storm too. I didn't know what to do. I placed my hand on her shoulder to try to console her.
"Jason has always told me everything was OK. He has never said a negative word about you or your marriage. I believe he truly loves you."
"I believe that too. I never said he didn't love me. I said that I'm not happily married." She wiped the tears from her face and started twiddling her thumbs again. She twiddled them faster and faster the more she talked to me. I thought they were going to spin right off her hands, she was twiddling them so goddamn fast. It was distracting me. "Jason is a good person. But I've realized over the last year that we weren't meant for each other. We haven't had sex in over two years and ..."
"Have you talked to him about it?"
"No, because I know it won't do any good. I know all the answers to my questions. I know what I have to do. I just haven't done it yet."
"And what is it that you want to do?" I asked. I was really afraid to ask that question. It's true. But I asked it anyway because we had already gotten that far. I had to know even though something in me also wanted her to stop telling me these things. She was getting on a level that I didn't need to be involved with. But there I was, sipping good coffee and listening to my old friend's wife tell me that she wasn't fucking happily married. On one hand, I felt privileged that she wanted to talk to me about these things, these very personal things. But on the other hand, I felt like I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I felt conflicted about giving any advice to her because I will always have loyalty towards my friend. I felt really torn and trapped.
The Meteoric Rise of Simon Burchwood Page 11
