Pretty Ugly: A Novel

by Kirker Butler

  That was just the beginning of her list. The furniture and carpeting, relics of the Eisenhower era, “totally needed to be totally replaced,” and the whole house inside and out was at least two decades overdue for new paint. The plumbing leaked under the house, sparks shot from the sockets whenever anything was plugged in, and there was no Wi-Fi.

  “How do you expect to get all that work done if you’re off living somewhere else?” she asked one night as he came weakly.

  Courtney had never asked Ray to leave Miranda, but he could tell it was coming. She’d been asking questions, many of them starting with, “Hey, here’s a hypothetical question…” and followed by a question that was in no way hypothetical.

  “Hey, here’s a hypothetical question: If you were going to leave your wife, when do you think you might do that?” Or, “Hey, here’s a hypothetical question: Would you have to pay alimony if you quit your jobs and just lived off my inheritance?”

  Plans were being made about his life without his permission, and that needed to stop.

  “Hey, here’s a hypothetical question: Do you want to have more than one child?” she asked on the way to the cabin.

  “I already have three. Or five, depending on how you look at it.”

  “I mean with me.”

  “Why would you ask me that?” he asked, genuinely baffled.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I was an only child and I always wanted a brother or sister. I think we should think about having another one right away so they’re close to the same age and can play together.”

  Absolutely not. Ray was going to fill Courtney’s Dr Pepper with enough Ceaseocor to kill every fetus within a ten-mile radius. Only then would he be free to go back to the overworked, pill-addled life he had once so foolishly taken for granted, and Courtney would go back to doing whatever it was she did before they met. It was win-win.

  Ray was exhausted when they returned to Château de Crap after a day of shopping, minigolf, and a fifteen-dollar (per person) chair lift that gave them the same view of the mountains they had from their grimy cabin window. But the night was young. There was work yet to do. Ray made a fire and Courtney curled up on the couch with an US Weekly she picked up at the only non-Christian bookstore they could find. Studying the pages as if they were sacred texts, she asked Ray in a tone that indicated she didn’t really care about his answer, “How do you feel about the name Gosling? For a girl. Or a boy, too, I guess. It could go either way. I like it.”

  She tore the page from the magazine and stuffed it in her pocket.

  As the sun set over the mountains, the room started to take on a stunningly different character. The golden-hour glow accented the flicker of the fire and transformed their vile little cabin into the romantic sex retreat Ray had fantasized about. The only difference between pornography and art is the lighting, Ray thought.

  Glancing up from her literature, Courtney did a double take.

  “Holy shit balls, what did you do? This place looks awesome!”

  Ray shrugged, trying to be cool. “What can I say? I’m just good.”

  “You sure are.” She giggled and pulled herself up from the couch. “How about you start dinner and I’ll be right back.”

  She scurried off to the bedroom, where she put on one of Ray’s button-down shirts and slipped into a pair of cute little panties she got at cutelittlepanties.com.

  As she did this, Ray went to the kitchen and put his plan into action. He took Courtney’s mocha vanilla swirl ice cream cake from the freezer and unpacked the rest of the birthday dinner she had requested: a DiGiorno pizza, a two-liter bottle of Diet Dr Pepper, a bag of York Peppermint Patties (“the little ones like they have at Halloween”), and a cantaloupe.

  The blister pack of Ceaseocor had been in Ray’s pocket all day. He pushed six pink-and-blue tablets from their womblike bubble and with the back of a spoon crushed them into powder. Sweeping his freedom into a glass, Ray noticed a warning on the back of the package: “Caution! Take with food. Ingesting this product on an empty stomach may result in abdominal discomfort, heartburn, and/or gas.”

  Ray shook his head. He was very familiar with side effects. And he was very familiar with drug companies. The makers of Ceaseocor didn’t care if a woman farted through her chemical abortion. They just didn’t want to be sued if she did. The warning was absurd and Ray knew it, but he decided to wait until after they had cake to give Courtney the pills. It was, after all, her eighteenth birthday. Why make it worse than it had to be?

  “Ray, could you come in here for a minute?” Courtney called from the living room.

  “Can it wait? I’m starting dinner!”

  “Please? It’s important.”

  Ray sighed. “All right, just a sec.” He stashed the abortion powder in the cupboard behind an ancient box of Bisquick and went to the living room. “What is it?” he asked curtly, then froze when he saw her. “Holy shit.”

  Courtney was standing in the middle of the room illuminated perfectly by the roaring fire, the setting sun, and a few candles she’d picked up at Ye Olde Candle and Tobacco Emporium. His shirt was unbuttoned to her navel, which she had gotten pierced earlier in the week, and her cute little panties were bunched up at her knees.

  “You know, we haven’t had sex since I’ve been legal.”

  “Tha—” He cleared his throat. “That’s true. We haven’t.”

  “So then why don’t you come over here and fuck me?”

  In one fluid motion, Courtney undid the last button of his shirt and let it fall open while subtly shifting her weight, causing the panties to fall to her ankles. “I’m a big girl now,” she said, and bit her bottom lip.

  Having been raised primarily by a conservative, elderly man, Courtney learned everything she knew about female sexuality from popular culture. Reality TV taught her that pretty was more important than smart, pop singers taught her that nothing demonstrated ownership of your sexuality more than pigtails and kneesocks, and the Internet taught her that pubic hair was a bizarre fetish enjoyed only by gross middle-aged perverts.

  “Sit down,” she ordered.

  Without hesitation, Ray crossed to the antediluvian sofa upholstered in a rough burlap-type material patterned with classic symbols of Americana: eagles, eagles holding arrows, the Liberty Bell, the Mayflower, and butter churns. Courtney didn’t know it, but there would be no better time for her to ask Ray to leave his wife. In spite of her preternatural sexuality and manipulative character, she was still too naï

  ve to realize that if she used these two qualities in tandem, she would be invincible. Ray was just her third boyfriend (and only the second person she’d slept with). Sex to her was still something to be enjoyed instead of something to be bargained.

  Kneeling on a faded blue throw pillow, she unbuckled Ray’s pants and smiled at him.

  “Thank you for my birthday trip.”

  “Well, you’re … very welcome. Eighteen is a big one.”

  She giggled, thinking that was innuendo, and looked at his average-in-every-way penis. “Mmm, it sure is.”

  Just as her lips made contact, her phone rang. “Ugh. Sorry.” With one hand she continued stroking him and grabbed her phone with the other. “Hello?”

  Ray whispered, “Just let it go to voice mail.”

  She shot him a look and put his penis up to her lips like an engorged index finger, “Shhh.” She mouthed, “I’m on the phone,” and winked at him. Ray put his head back and tried to pretend that this distracted hand job was the sexual smorgasbord he’d dreamed of.

  “This is Courtney. Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” Her voice started to break. “Oh, my God.” She stood up and turned away.

  Ray leaned forward. “What’s wrong?”

  She waved him off and started to cry. “When did he … go?”

  Fuck, he thought. Marvin.

  Courtney plopped down on the sofa next to a quickly softening Ray and sobbed into the phone. “But it’s my birthday!”

  Genuinely sad for her, R
ay put his hand on her shoulder, but she brushed it off with an exaggerated sense of drama.

  “Can I do anythi—?”

  “Shhhhh!” she snapped.

  Still naked from the waist down and uncertain of his role, Ray started to pull up his pants, but Courtney snapped her fingers and waved at him to stop.

  “Why?” he whispered, but she didn’t respond, so he sat quietly, naked and listened as Courtney made some spectacularly uninformed decisions.

  She requested an autopsy even though Marvin’s body looked like a half-eaten apple on a hot sidewalk.

  “He liked medical shows,” she told the presumably baffled person on the other end of the phone. “I think he would’ve enjoyed being autopsied. And can we do both an open and closed casket? Like, open for a while, and then closed if people get uncomfortable or something?”

  That was followed by the even more staggering: “Is death covered by insurance?”

  Thankfully, Ray heard his own phone ring from across the room and raised an eyebrow to Courtney, asking permission to answer it. To his great relief, she nodded.

  Zipping up his pants, Ray pulled his phone from his pocket and saw it was Miranda.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Where are you?” She sounded panicked.

  Ray’s pulse quickened. He had told so many lies to make this weekend happen, he wasn’t sure how to answer. “Oh, well, I’m … uh … I’m … just working, you know. Working. Same old. Not much. How’s the pageant?”

  Miranda hadn’t yet told Ray about the fight the week before. He just assumed she and Bailey were off somewhere competing.

  “Oh, well, we didn’t make it to the pageant. I’m at the hospital. My water broke about half an hour ago.”

  Ray gasped so hard he almost inhaled the phone. Of all the scenarios he had anticipated, his eight-months-pregnant wife going into early labor somehow never entered his mind.

  Miranda was doing her breathing. “Ray? Are you still there? Ray?!”

  “Yeah!” He was suddenly unable to access the vast majority of his vocabulary. “Yes. Yes, I’m here. Yes. I’m right here. I really thought you were at a pageant this weekend. You’re not due for another four weeks!”

  “Tell that to Brixton!”

  Her chuckle was cut short by a sharp, intense pain similar to the one forming behind Ray’s left eye.

  “Look, I really need you here, like right now. The doctor thinks this could be a quick one. I know you’re working, but how soon do you think you can get to the hospital?”

  His watch read eight twenty-four. If he walked out the door with only the clothes on his back, leaving his luggage and bypassing checkout, and there was no traffic, and he didn’t stop for gas or food or to go to the bathroom, and he drove eighty-five miles an hour, he could possibly, maybe, if he was lucky, be there in five and a half hours.

  He emptied his lungs with a lead-heavy sigh. “Here’s the thing … Marvin just died.”

  “Oh, my goodness!”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “It is. It really is.”

  “One life ending and a new one about to begin. It’s the circle of life.”

  Ray closed his eyes and tightly pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. That’s—that’s one way to look at it.”

  “How’s his granddaughter? That poor thing, she must be devastated. What’s her name?”

  Ray looked at Courtney, who was off the phone and still naked. She pretended she wasn’t eavesdropping by lazily picking at a tiny scab on her belly button piercing. Her eyes were red from crying and her face was puffy. “Her name is Courtney. She’s pretty torn up.”

  “I’m sure. How long will it take for the coroner to get there?”

  “Hard to say. He said he’s pretty backed up. There was a … fire and an accident, car accident, I think. Separate incidents. Lots of people dead. Burned. Hard to identify.”

  He lowered the phone and whisper-yelled at Courtney, “Get your stuff packed up! We have to go, like, right now!” To his amazement, she actually got up with acceptable speed, snatched her cute little panties, and ran out of the room. Ray went back to his laboring wife.

  “I’ve got some paperwork I need to fill out, and I should probably stick around until the body is taken and whatnot, make sure Courtney is okay. She’s all alone now.”

  Another contraction hit Miranda, “Ohhhh, that’s so sad!”

  “Yeah. So … I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just keep breathing and don’t have her until I get there, okay? Don’t push! I want to be there.”

  “Well, you’d better hurry up, because I want to have her tonight. I cannot have her tomorrow. I’m serious, okay? Not tomorrow. It can’t be tomorrow.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Be careful. And tell that little girl I’m praying for her.”

  He paused. “I will.”

  He heard his wife smile. “We’re going to have another little girl, Ray!”

  “Yes, we are,” he said, unable to hold back a smile of his own.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. I’ll be there as soon as I possibly can.”

  Still smiling, he hung up the phone and turned to see Courtney, now fully dressed staring at him, new tears filling her eyes.

  “How come you never tell me you love me?”

  Are you fucking kidding me? He sighed. “Come here.” He took his girlfriend’s hand and wrapped her in a genuinely sincere hug. “Marvin loved you very much. Are you okay?”

  “I think so. Even though I knew it was going to happen, it still hurts. He was the last of my family.”

  Reflexively, Ray went into the “grieving family” spiel he’d perfected over the years.

  “You know, no matter how much we try, we can never prepare ourselves enough for when death finally comes. But what I’ve learned from helping so many people cross over is that while his life down here, with us, has come to an end, I truly believe that it’s a new beginning for him. And as long as you talk about him and remember him and honor his memory, he’ll live forever.”

  “Do you believe in heaven, Ray?”

  “I do,” he answered without hesitation. But it was a lie. After witnessing hundreds of people suffer through unendurable pain as their bodies turned against them, Ray had given up on the concept of a benevolent God. What kind of compassionate creator would take the time to craft something as complex and awe-inspiring as the human body and then riddle it with cancer, AIDS, diabetes, Alzheimer’s, heart disease, Parkinson’s, etc., etc., etc., etc.? It was the equivalent of Leonardo spending a decade completing the Mona Lisa, then hastily finger-painting a mustache and devil horns on her. Why would anyone choose to worship a deity that had such obvious contempt for him?

  Losing his faith was difficult for Ray both personally and professionally. It had been a useful tool in consoling his patients’ families. They wanted to know that their loved ones were in heaven, with Jesus, but Ray knew they weren’t. They were just gone. Dust to dust. But he couldn’t say that. Eventually, he contacted an old choir tour friend who had become a successful preacher.

  “What’s heaven like? I mean, what do you tell people heaven is like?”

  “Well, I think heaven is like the best birthday party you ever had,” his old friend said, “but for eternity. Whatever you like to do the most, whether it’s riding horses or playing chess or square dancing or flying kites or whatever—Jesus likes it just as much as you do and He can’t wait to do it with you! He’s the best at everything!”

  “Then why would I want to do anything with Him?” Ray asked. “I mean, wouldn’t He just be better than me at everything and make me feel bad about myself?”

  “Oh, I’m sure He’d probably let you win every now and then,” his old friend answered with a wink in his voice.

  “How would that be any fun?”

  “You’d be with Jesus,” he said matter-of-factly, then turned serious. “You think the devil’s goin
g to let you win, Ray? Because he’s not. The devil doesn’t even play fair. He cheats. That’s why we call him the devil.”

  How could he argue with that?

  As Courtney continued to cry, Ray pulled her closer and checked the time: eight thirty-six.

  “You know,” he told her, then paused just long enough to feel the self-loathing seep into every pore of his being. “I think heaven is like the best birthday party you ever had, but for eternity. Whatever you like to do the most, ride horses or square-dance or fly kites or whatever—Jesus likes it just as much as you do and can’t wait to do it with you.”

  He deserved hell.

  “That’s so beautiful,” Courtney said before wiping her nose on his shirt, then snorting what was left back up into her nose. “You’re very smart, Ray.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  She pretended to know what he meant and smiled. “The nurse said Granddaddy left a note for you. He probably just wanted to say thank you.”

  There were undoubtedly many things Marvin wanted to say to Ray, but “thank you” definitely was not one of them. “Yeah. I’m sure that’s probably it.”

  One problem at a time, he thought, and tossed the dead man’s note on the mental pile of other shit he would have to deal with later. For a moment they were both silent. It was eight forty.

  “We need to go.”

  “Okay.” She wiped her nose again, this time with her bare hand, and wiped it on her jeans. “Sorry about not finishing your.”—she whispered—“BJ. Can we do it another time? Granddaddy’s probably looking down to make sure I get home okay, and I’d be embarrassed if he watched me do that from heaven.”

  He’s seen you do a lot worse, Ray thought. “I think that’s very … respectful.”

  “Well, he deserves it.”

  Ray nodded. Eight forty-one. “We really need to go.”

  “Uch, okay. Jesus! My grandfather just died! Let me fucking be sad about it for a minute!” Snatching her bags, Courtney stomped out of the cabin and climbed into the Jeep. Ray rolled his eyes, grabbed his suitcase, and slammed the door behind him.