Inside Madeleine

by Paula Bomer

  Her plans for the money changed. She thought of moving to California or New York. She thought of buying a gun or a car or a house. She knew whatever she spent it on, it would just be on her, not Mark. And she wasn’t saving for a baby. Sometimes he’d ask, what are you doing working all the time? He’d ask, what are you doing with all that money? Once he even said sweetly, let’s go on a vacation, on our honeymoon baby, we both have the money to do it. She ignored him.

  And then the fights began.

  12

  Mark came home from work and put his bag down and kicked off his shoes. He walked into the living room and Maddy was sitting on the couch with her arms folded over her chest. He knew she was angry. She almost always was.

  I’m not doing those dishes, she said.

  Fine, I’ll do them, he said, his voice remaining calm, despite the anxiety mounting in his head.

  She stood up and said, why didn’t you do them a week ago? Why’d you have to let them sit there for a week and stink up our kitchen and let the food get hard on them so that now when you do do them the shit will be impossible to get off? Huh? You were waiting for me to do them, right?

  You are on the rag, he said and walked into the bedroom and threw himself down on the bed. He couldn’t take it. Her constant bitching. Maddy followed him and stood at the end of the bed, looking down at him.

  Fuck you. You’re an unappreciative pig and I’m sick of wiping up after you. Grow the fuck up.

  Get out of my face.

  You should apologize to me and ask me how you can help me. You should ask me what you can do around here.

  You’re being a bitch, Maddy, do you know that?

  I’m pissed.

  Calm down.

  You fucking calm down. You don’t do shit in this house. I do everything.

  He said, I’ve asked you before what can I do around here and you always say, oh nothing sweetie. And now for whatever reason you want to yell at me. So fucking yell at me.

  He got up and tried to walk out of the room but she stood in the doorway, blocking him. The skin on her face drooped strangely. He said, I’m going out until you calm down.

  She said, you’re not leaving here until you do those goddamn dishes.

  Get out of my way, he said and pushed her out of the way. She followed him into the kitchen and watched him put his shoes back on. Fuck you and your dishes, he said.

  You’re not going anywhere, Mark, she seethed, standing in front of the door.

  Get out of my way, Maddy, I’m serious.

  What are you going to do, hit me?

  Is that what you want? That’s probably what you want, you sick bitch. I’ll do it, Maddy. I’m not scared of you.

  You touch me and I’ll beat the living shit out of you.

  Mark grabbed her arms, saying, you’re not that tough anymore, Maddy. Look at you. You’ve lost so much weight you can’t even lift a bag of groceries.

  She shook free of him. It’s not that I can’t lift a bag of groceries, Mark, it’s that I won’t lift a bag of groceries. I’m sick of doing everything here.

  Get out of my way, I’m leaving, he said and pushed her out of his way again. She stumbled and caught herself on the kitchen counter.

  Where are you going?

  None of your fucking business, he said as he walked out the door and down the stairs.

  Mark, damn you. Mark, wait, come back. I’m sorry. Come back. I’m sorry, Mark. I’ll cook dinner.

  13

  If she didn’t yell at him about the dishes then she yelled at him about the floors. If she didn’t yell at him about that, she yelled at him for not paying attention to her, for never buying her flowers or chocolates or taking her out to dinner. He’d say, Maddy, you’d throw the chocolates out, you’d sniff them for a day and then throw them out. It’s the thought that counts, she’d say. If I took you out to dinner you’d order a salad and then not eat it. You’d move it around on your plate. Then take me out and let’s get drunk, she’d say. He’d say, you’d get drunk after two beers because you’re so goddamn skinny and then you’d start yelling and crying at me. She’d say, what’s your excuse for not buying me flowers? He’d say, last time I bought you flowers, you threw them at me. I can’t remember why. But you were angry at me. Fuck you, Mark, she’d cry. You just don’t love me anymore. That’s not true, Maddy, he’d say. I love you like crazy, you’re being impossible.

  Or if he tried cleaning—and their place was too clean, she was always cleaning—but if he tried to help out then she’d be behind him in a second, grabbing the sponge from his hand, saying, you’re not doing it right, you stupid fuck. So he’d try and do things when she was at work, which wasn’t difficult because she was always at work. It didn’t mattter. When she came home she’d clean the entire apartment, banging everything around, swearing under her breath and Mark would just leave the apartment. What was he supposed to do? He’d buy her a pair of lacy panties. And she’d thank him. But that was it. Nothing else. No wild fucking. No panting and grabbing. Not even a kiss. Thanks, Mark, and a brief, forced smile. Did she wear them ever? He would never find out. She changed in the bathroom or in the dark and walked around with a thick terrycloth robe pulled defensively over her body. I’m so tired from work, she’d say and pull the blankets over her. It felt useless, every effort made. Is this because of the abortion, he’d ask, again. No, Mark, things were weird before that. Don’t you think so? And he’d have to agree. She was right. But what should we do, how do we get over this, how do we get back to being crazy about each other? I don’t know, she’d mumble, annoyed. Just don’t worry about it so much. Things will get better. Maybe it’s the stress of moving in together, she’d offer. We’ve been living together for almost a year, he’d say. Oh, Mark, drop it, I’m tired.

  She pushed him away and then screamed at him for not being close. And then he just had to get away. So he went over to Nathan’s house more and more. Sometimes he’d go there straight after work.

  Nathan lived in a seedy neighborhood a few blocks from downtown. His apartment was on the ground floor, and there were big windows facing the street so Mark could drive by and see if the lights were on, see if Nathan was home. Which he almost always was. He sold pot out of his apartment and he did this mostly at night. He was in his thirties, had long, stringy hair and a goatee and there was something very greasy about him. He didn’t wash often. He had no girlfriend or wife. He constantly made fun of Mark for being married. Nathan frequented whores and watched pornography nonstop. He had a library of movies and stacks and stacks of magazines. Stoned, drinking cheap beer out of a can, they’d sit around with some of his other friends and watch pornos. He had gang bangs. He had girls getting fucking by Great Danes. He had it all. All the new glossy ones and all the twisted underground and amateur ones.

  Mark drove over and saw Nathan’s lights on. He saw Larry’s car parked out front. He went in, carrying a six pack, and sat down with the two of them. They passed around a bong. Mark bought a bag of weed from him. They smoked some more.

  Your little woman drive you out of the house again? Nathan asked.

  It’s like she’s on the rag all month long.

  I’m telling you, you should get the fuck out of there. Fuck living with women. Just have them over to suck your dick once in a while, he said, coughing out a big bong hit. He said, whores are where it’s at. There’s a reason why it’s the oldest profession.

  I married a whore. I don’t have to pay for one. But she’s changed. She’s not as fun as she used to be.

  Larry said, that’s cause once you marry her, she can’t be your whore anymore. Now she’s your wife. That shit’s different.

  Mark said, she’s still a whore. She’ll always be one. That’s why I love her.

  Larry said, man, I can’t understand how you can call your wife a whore. That’s fucked up. No wonder you have problems.

  You guys don’t get it, Mark said. They all looked quietly at the TV. A woman was getting fucked by three guys. One
in her mouth, one in her ass, and one in her pussy.

  Your wife do that shit? Nathan laughed, pointing to the TV.

  My wife does anything.

  Larry said, see you can’t talk about your wife that way. He shook his head.

  What rule book is that from? Mark asked sarcastically.

  No really, it’s common knowledge, Larry said. You can’t think of your wife that way. You got to have respect.

  We’re special, Mark said, cracking open another beer, settling in for a long evening at Nathan’s. We’re not a boring, old fart couple. Ours is special. We’re just having some problems.

  But he went over to Nathan’s more and more. Sometimes Nathan would have a whore or two there. And he’d always ask Mark if he wanted to. Big women, little women. Hispanic, white, black. No, thanks, Mark would say. Even though he wasn’t getting any at home. But he just wanted Maddy, or so he thought. He was heartbroken.

  14

  He came in and saw his wife standing at the sink in the kitchen, her back toward him. And as if seeing her for the first time in weeks, he noticed that her shoulder blades protruded almost grotesquely. Of course, he just saw her this morning and the morning before and the morning before and on and on and he wondered why he did not notice her shoulders until this moment.

  The door closed behind him and she did not turn around to say hello. He remembered a time when she would run from whatever it was that she was doing and kiss him wetly. Squeal for joy. Say, I missed you, Mark, and bury her face in his neck. Stick her hand down his pants and get on her knees. Of course, those emotions never last. But aren’t they supposed to be taken over by a deeper, more mature kind of love? Where was that?

  He decided to say hello and be affectionate. It was a conscious, deliberate decision. It was not how he normally greeted her anymore. Something in the angles of her shoulder blades prompted it. It was not his normal way of approaching her when he came home. He walked toward her, approaching her boney back and slipped his hands around her waist. She turned her head around and looked at him with a grim curiosity. He had wanted her to turn around and kiss him or smile sweetly and the suspicious glance she gave him, the raised eyebrow, disheartened him. He slowly unwrapped his hands and sighed loudly. He pulled a beer from the fridge and went into the living room and watched TV.

  What’s wrong with you, she said, standing in the doorway to the living room with her arms crossed.

  I just tried to be nice and you didn’t care.

  This is my only night off work this week. I’ve been working too hard.

  Is that an apology?

  I guess so.

  Will you bring me another beer?

  Yeah.

  She came back with two beers and sat next to him on the couch.

  You look really thin.

  I’ve lost some weight.

  Every time I set foot in this house you’re in the kitchen cooking.

  She smiled widely at him—a strange grin, one he found unsettling. I like to cook, she said. She filled up a bowl with pot and smoked. Mark smoked. They stared at the TV.

  Madeleine went into the bathroom and shut the door. He heard the water run in the tub. He walked quietly up to the door and ever so softly, leaned his head against it. He heard her pee. He heard her brush her teeth. He heard the mirror cabinet open. He thought he could hear her clothes drop to the floor, the wisp of cloth against tile. She shut the water off in the tub and Mark tensed against the door, fearing she could hear him listening in on her. He slid down and crouched.

  He heard her toe break the water and she said oh and then made a hissing noise. Then she said ah aha. Her body dropped in, bit by bit and she moaned when she was all the way in. The water sloshed. Was he imagining he could feel the steam come out of the crack at the bottom of the door? He put his hand out to see if he really could. It felt warm and damp. He put his hand to his face and it felt wet.

  He heard her move around, heard the water moving around. He heard her breathe deeply, exhaling loudly. He stood up and decided to knock.

  Hey, Maddy, can I come in?

  What for?

  Brush my teeth. Take a piss.

  The door’s locked.

  Why the fuck is the door locked, he said and turned the knob and indeed, the door was locked. What the fuck is your problem, he said. I’ve got to take a piss.

  He heard her get up out of the tub, the water making a sucking noise and seconds later she stood there, a large pink towel wrapped around her dripping body. Her face was bright red and her hair lay in wet strands around her face.

  Come in.

  Why’d you lock the door?

  I wanted to take a long, peaceful bath and not be disturbed. That’s it, she said. She dropped the towel and stepped gingerly back in the tub and Mark noticed her skinniness acutely now. Her hipbones jutted out. Her chest bone was pronounced. Her breasts lay against her body like pancakes. With one forceful move, she pulled the shower curtain shut.

  Mark sat down on the toilet and said, baby, you look really skinny.

  Maddy sighed but said nothing.

  Can I open the shower curtain? he asked.

  She put her head outside of the curtain. One hand grasped the pink plastic material and she was angry now and he could tell by her jaw hanging stiffly. I just want to take a goddamn bath in peace, she said, something I like to do. Something I do with regularity and you aren’t letting me.

  Maddy, pull the curtain and let me look at you.

  She yanked the curtain open, the water sloshing forward and then she sat back heavily, her arms covering her breasts. A light film of bubbles covered the surface of the faintly blue water. It smelled of jasmine. Her mouth was open, her face covered with sweat and she said, here I am. Now you can look at me.

  What’s wrong, baby. Why aren’t you eating?

  Mark pulled his T-shirt over his head and dropped it to the ground. He was sweating.

  I’m going to have to pick up that T-shirt you know.

  Well what should I do with it?

  You should put it in the hamper. That’s where I’m going to put it later.

  It’s not dirty.

  Then I’ll have to put it in your drawer, instead.

  Madeleine abruptly dropped her head under the water. When she came back up her cheeks were swollen and she spit out a stream of water like a fountain.

  That was lovely. The bubbles must taste nice, he said.

  Again she went under, quickly, again her cheeks ballooned out, but this time she spit the water at Mark, hitting him on his hairless chest.

  Thank you, he said.

  Anytime, she replied. She closed her eyes and let her tongue drop out to her chin.

  Mark slid off the toilet seat and sat pressed against the sweating tub. His hair was wet now, his face dripping like hers. He put a hand in the water. He wanted to touch his wife, who seemed to be disappearing. He wanted to get in the tub with her. The water scorched his hand.

  Jesus, Maddy, this water is hot as hell.

  I like it that way.

  Can I come in with you?

  Oh, Mark.

  Please? It’ll be fun. We haven’t taken a bath together in a long time.

  We haven’t for a reason.

  Let me come in. You could show me one of your tricks. You never do your tricks for me anymore. You used to do them extra well in the tub.

  Neither of us does tricks for the other. Neither of us does anything for the other anymore.

  Don’t say that. That’s not true. Let me come in.

  Maddy looked away and Mark decided that this was a yes. He took off his pants and tried dipping a toe into the water.

  This is impossible. You have to let me run some cold water.

  Absolutely not, she said, and ran her hands over her bright face.

  He put a foot in. It burned. Slowly, painfully, he managed to squeeze into the tub with her. His legs pressed against the sides and hers lay in between his, their backs against each end of the tub. The wate
r rose to the edge and began draining through the hole underneath the spout.

  Jesus, this water is so hot I can’t breathe.

  Then get out.

  Mark stared at his wife.

  Maddy, stop being such a bitch. We have to stop being this way to each other, he said, and grabbed her calf.

  Let go of my leg.

  No.

  Get out of my bath.

  No.

  He grabbed her other calf.

  You’re a bastard.

  You’re a fucking bitch.

  Maddy stood up and he tried to pull her back down, still holding onto her legs. She slipped and steadied herself by holding onto his shoulders and he let go of her legs and held her wrists there, held her against his shoulders.

  You’re going to kill me, she said.

  She sat down again, shaken, plopping down directly on his lap.

  I almost cracked my head open in my own bathtub and this is my only day off and you’ve ruined it.

  I’m sorry.

  You are not.

  When was the last time we fucked, Maddy?

  They sat together now, uncomfortably, their arms around each other.

  I don’t know, Mark. I don’t know.

  15

  Mark tried. He tried talking to her, he tried touching her, he tried doing things for her like buying flowers that would sit hopelessly in a vase on the kitchen table. She wouldn’t even notice them. He tried kissing her, smiling at her, watching TV with her. He tried to take her out for dinner, but she wouldn’t let him, no way, she said, I don’t want to spend money at some stupid restaurant. I’ll pay, he’d say, and she just shook her head, no. You used to like going out to restaurants. Leave me alone, she’d say. She was so thin he was frightened of her.

  Miraculously, she stopped cooking for him all the time. At first he was relieved; her behavior had been so fierce. Then she stopped cooking altogether. He’d make himself a sandwich and ask her if she wanted anything and she’d say no. He knew she hadn’t been eating much for a long time. But now she didn’t even try to hide the fact that she didn’t eat at all.