by Alex A King
“You move fast.”
She bites her lip. He knows it’s calculated, but tonight he doesn’t care.
“So old fashioned. I didn't expect that from the boy who used to piss on his mother's gardenias.” Her laugh is thin, girlish. “Come on.”
He goes.
* * *
There’s a park nearby. Max knows it well. He dumped his virginity there during his fourteenth summer. An amicable breakup.
Anita was her name. Pretty, German, Eighteen. Easy in the best possible way. God bless horny girls.
“They won't be expecting us back for a while. They'll just be glad we're bonding,” Anastasia says. She smiles her angel’s smile, her making-a-secret smile.
“Hey, gardenias like acid,” he says, belatedly.
“I don’t care. Do you?”
The heavily wooded park behind St Constantine's Church is the color of carbon at night. No lights, except on the edge closest to the church. It’s a good place for lovers and the merely lustful.
He goes, he goes, following her steps.
Like wearing a blindfold.
Max is a man who likes playing with blindfolds.
He groans when her soft hands pull his face to hers, lips parted, tongue waiting to be captured. Fuck, she makes him want to lose control, like some overeager teenager. It takes everything he’s got to grind her into the tree’s bark, good and slow.
“Fuck me, Max,” she whispers.
“No.”
She stops. “No?”
“No.”
One hand goes up her skirt, makes her naked from the waist down. He lets her really feel his fingers.
“Why not?”
“It’s not a debate,” he says. Maybe he’ll be getting married soon, maybe not. But until then, there’s fun. “I haven’t decided if you’re going to be mine.”
“A game. I like games,” she breathes.
He doesn’t like games, but Max sure loves to play.
10
VIVI
ROCK BOTTOM WAS LAST week. And now look, a new rock bottom.
Rock bottom’s bottom?
Life, you are one funny bitch, Vivi thinks.
Nice holding cell. A cozy six-by-eight. Shiny, shiny toilet and the worst bed taxpayers’ money can buy. Is it too soon to make a shiv, or should she wait?
She flops on the bed. The pillow doesn’t pretend to care – it keeps on being a rock.
John is gay. John is gay. Hip-hip-hooray.
In the old days, gay meant happy. She doesn’t feel happy. But then she’s not the gay one, is she?
Is John happy?
Someone has to be happy.
Round and round in circles, until someone comes for her.
She shuffles, on her way to death row – stupid woman walking. Into a grim room with sad walls and an equally sad table and chairs. Her escort points her to the bad-guy side of the table. Then another police officer comes in and sits on the good-guy side.
Oh God, she’d rather eat shit than call John to make bail.
“Sounds like you're a woman on the edge,” the officer says. She’s one of those big, no bullshit types. Ten bucks says she’d never be dumb enough to hook up with a gay man. Or any man.
“You have no idea.”
“Guess we should be grateful we don't have to charge you with homicide. Killing someone means more paperwork. I really don’t like paperwork.”
“I would never kill my daughter,” Vivi says. “It was just a slap. And I regret it, I swear.”
The officer holds up her hand. Vivi shuts up.
“I’m talking about that husband of yours. Your mother gave us the lowdown on his doooown low. That woman sure can talk. She kept calling him a pousti. At first I thought she was talking about some kind of Italian sandal, until your kid translated.”
“Are you charging me with anything?”
“No, you can go home – this time. You family is waiting on you out front.” She holds the door open. “If I were you, I would have ripped off little Willie and the twins and fed them to the dog.”
“We don’t have a dog.”
“So get a dog.”
Eleni and Melissa are sitting on a battered wood bench in the lobby. Melissa won’t look at her, and her mother won’t talk to her.
Which is fine. She just wants to go home and scrub the humiliation off her soul.
Then she’s going to deal with the two of them.
* * *
Vivi searches “how to get a life.”
But the Internet being the Internet, it only wants to sell her stuff.
So she tackles the problem old school: with a notepad and a thinking cap.
She’s there on the couch, wide-awake, when the night peels back from the sky and flaunts its golden petticoat.
It’s an omen. Spring is coming, and in spring anything is possible – not just allergies.
Vivi wants a brand spanking new life. The old one is a tatty pair of sweats, all baggy around the knees. It makes her look and feel like shit.
The big question: Is selling the house and finding a new neighborhood a big enough change?
Life won’t be the same, no matter where they go. Staying nearby, she runs the risk of bumping in John and his Mr. Perfect. Who needs that?
Last night Melissa came clean, told her all about what the kids at school have been saying. Vivi didn’t say it, but she wanted to kill John for his indiscretions. It’s one thing to betray her, but Melissa? Not cool. She wonders how many nights he spent cruising the park, looking for some action, while she and Melissa ate alone.
Is he even practicing safe sex?
Never mind. Of course he is. The man is the epitome of paranoid and O.C.D. when it comes to cleanliness. Every time they had sex, he couldn’t get to the shower fast enough.
Doesn’t matter, she’s still making an appointment to get things checked out under her hood. Can’t start a new life with someone’s secondhand, thirdhand, diseases.
A new life. She can do it. They can do it.
But where?
Someplace unfamiliar. None of the same restaurants, none of the same people. But not too far from family.
Back to the computer.
Google Maps is useless, for once. It shows her pictures of a better life, better places, but it’s skimpy on the finger snapping make-it-happen part.
She snaps her fingers. Clicks her heels.
Nothing happens.
11
VIVI
SAME OLD NUMBER, BUT the phone doesn’t nag.
Vivi says, “Dad?”
“How did you know it was me and not your mother?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Eh, probably not. I accepted a long time ago that the women in my life are all strange.”
Vivi can hear the smile. “Are you okay? Is Mom okay?”
“Of course we are okay. But I need to ask you to do a thing for me. It is a secret, and I know you can keep a secret, especially from your mother.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“No. It’s nothing. Someone is sending me a package, and I do not want your mother to know. If they send it to your house, will you keep it there for me?”
“Sure,” Vivi says. “Of course.”
“Thank you. You are a good girl. I know you have problems right now, but I can’t ask your brother. One twist and he would tell your mother everything. Chris could not keep a secret even from a stranger.”
Vivi laughs because, hey, it’s true. “It’s no problem, Dad. I’ll let you know when it gets here.”
“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you.”
He ends the call on a distracted note.
* * *
The package shows up a couple of days later. Vivi scribbles her signature on the pink form, and then it’s just her and the box.
It’s . . .
A box.
Unremarkable.
The boxiest box ever.
Only thing interesting is t
he return address. It flew express, rocketing across the top half of the globe from Greece. The customs form is next to useless. There’s a big, fat smudge across its details.
Huh, she thinks.
Then it’s off to Google for more intel. But Google’s got nothing to say, except what looks like an address is the Greek equivalent of a P.O. Box.
So, basically Vivi’s at a dead end.
But not quite.
Two days late, that finger snapping and heel clicking pays off. Not instant teleportation (which is okay, because on one hand there’s Star Trek, but on the other? The Fly), but an idea busts into her head, waving a bright white on blue banner.
Greece.
Yeah, she could handle that. It meets her criteria: unfamiliar, different restaurants, close to family. Throw in the beaches, the history, the culture, and all the Greek food they can eat.
Her language skills are covered in a sprinkling of rust, but they’ll polish up just fine.
Greece?
Why not?
* * *
Her father shows up for the package during his lunch break. He never looks like Dad in a suit.
“Where’s the lab coat?” she asks.
“Big meeting this afternoon,” he says. “The company is launching a new drug, soon. They asked me to be impressive, so I wear something impressive, that way the FDA lackeys concentrate on my suit and not on my big, confusing words. How are you doing, my love?”
“Amazing. No, better than amazing. What’s better than amazing?”
“Wonderful?”
“Then that’s what I am. Do you want coffee?”
“Not today,” he says. “What if I spill it on my suit?”
She laughs and gives him the box. “What is it? A surprise for Mom?”
“Yes, it is a surprise for your mother.”
“I won’t say a word.”
But he has already checked out, fingers skating over the label. “Eh?”
“I won’t tell her. About the box.”
“Good,” he says. “You are a good girl, Vivi.”
12
VIVI
MELISSA SAYS, “BUT WHHHHHHHY?”
(So much angst packed into one syllable.)
“Because it’s the best idea ever.”
“No way.” She’s shaking that blonde head so hard, Vivi thinks there’s a good chance it’s going disconnect itself from the rest of her and slam a cranium-shaped hole in the living room wall. Not good. No way is Vivi redecorating before they move to Greeker pastures.
“Too bad,” she says. “You’re outnumbered. You get one vote, I get two.”
“Not fair. I’ll stay with Dad.”
“And his boyfriend?”
“Okay, I’ll stay with Uncle Chris and Aunt Trish.”
“You’re not staying with Chris and Trish.”
“Grams and Grampy? They love me.”
“I love you.”
“Could we have a dog?”
“Maybe.”
“What about my friends?”
“They’re an email away. And you’ll make new ones.”
“I don’t want new ones. I like the old ones.”
“And you’ll learn to like the new ones. Isn’t this exciting?”
“Yeah right,” Melissa says.
13
VIVI
A COUPLE OF MONTHS mosey on by while she’s plotting her way out of the United States. Christmas comes . . . and goes. The New Year kicks the old one out of its seat.
Vivi pinky swears Melissa to silence. Easy, because the girl’s vocabulary has shrunk to a handful of monosyllabic words. Doesn’t seem likely that she’s going to go on a sudden chatting spree, least of all to her grandmother.
Passports, Visas, tickets. And on top of everything, a whole house to pack. John’s selling the house, moving on and away – from her, from their marriage. Everything she and John collected during their tenure will be divided; her half will go into storage until she decides whether staying in Greece is viable option. John gets first shot at buying out her life if she starts calling Greece “home.”
It gives her a kind of fever.
John doesn’t say much when Vivi fills him in. She’s being nice about it, not bitchy. Flexible, too. But not flexible enough to leave Melissa behind.
He’s okay with that – he’s okay. They’ll work something out. They really will. There’s the Internet and Skype and airplanes to slash the miles.
Meanwhile, she’s making a mushroom out of her mother, shoving her in a dark place and feeding her bullshit. One poorly timed word, and Mom will spin out of control. When Eleni gets going, she’s like a flaming star, thrown off its axis, burning everything in its path.
The house sells fast. One day it’s still theirs, the next it’s not. The buyers have a family and they want the perfect family home.
Well, they can have it.
They sit there in the title office, John and Vivi, and sign away the largest purchase of their marriage for two small pieces of paper. Vivi weighs her piece in one hand. Funny how so much money can feel light and insignificant. Checks and credit cards have a way about them, of transforming something into nothing at all.
She’s pretty sure banks count on that. It’s easier to spend dollars you can’t see.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” John touches her hand. He feels rubbery, unnatural.
“I'm not sure of anything.”
“So, why go then? Get a new place and find a job here. That way Melissa won't have to go to a new school in a strange country. Surely that would be better for you.”
“Better for you, you mean.”
“That's not what I mean.” He escorts her to her car. “Reconsider. Please, Vivi.”
She can hardly stand to look at him, but she makes herself do it, look at the stranger.
Who is he?
Who is she?
“Were you thinking about men all those times we were screwing? Was fantasizing about them the only way you could get off with me?”
“God, Vivi. No. How could you think that?” A guilty man looks her in the eye. “How did you find out?”
The knife slides in easy. His back is butter.
“I didn’t know, until Melissa told me. She saw you. Followed you to your boyfriend's house.”
He goes pale – face and shirt merge where they meet. Despite the Botox, the facials, the dermabrasion, he leaps forward a decade.
“When?”
“The night you left. After some kid at her school saw you at the park, she followed you. This kid and his buddies have been giving her hell about it.”
He slumps against the cold car. “God, Vivi, how did we screw up this bad?”
“You shouldn’t have lied to yourself. That never works out.”
“But I loved you.”
“Not in the way you should have loved me. Not in the way I wanted to be loved. It’s better this way, don’t you think?”
She drives away feeling every synonym for sad. When a marriage dies, there’s no corpse to grieve over, no place to put flowers.
14
VIVI
LIFE IS TOUGH IN the gulag.
It’s only temporary, Vivi tells herself. She’s balancing a magazine and a roll of flower-printed toilet paper on her knees in the pink bathroom. Living with her mother is enough to literally give her the shits.
One week until they escape.
Her mother insists on a family dinner, though she still has no idea Vivi and Melissa are about to fly her coop. That means Chris will be here with his wife. Trish is one of those good through to her gooey center types, an optimist who sees the sunny side of everything, even taxes. Have to pay for schools somehow, she says. Aside from Melissa and John, she’s the only one who knows about Vivi’s plan. She helped Vivi with the details, never once begging her to stay.
She gets it, Trish does.
Eleni pulls on her pissy pants before Chris and Trish walk in the door. She’s tweaking the sheers as the Subur
ban butts up to the garage. “Why do they need that thing? So big. It is not like they have a family.”
Aaaand . . . that right there is the crux of it. Vivi’s sister-in-law doesn’t want kids, though she and Chris dote on Melissa. Like all Greek mothers, Eleni expects Vivi and Chris to provide her with at least ten bouncing babies. Clearly, she was temporarily deaf all those times Chris pointedly mentioned they’re happy living in a childfree zone.
Vivi says, “Lots of people drive big cars. So what?”
“So much gasoline. So expensive.” She scurries to the kitchen, where she gets busy pretending she’s overworked and underpaid; she wants homage before hugs. “Tell him I’m in the kitchen.”
“Them.”
“That is what I say.”
It all goes as Eleni planned. Vivi opens the door, hugs them both, then she says, “Mom’s in the kitchen.” Chris goes on ahead, leaving the women to link arms and take their time.
The sound of Eleni smothering her son with kisses wafts down the hall. Then she starts berating him for hair she considers too long. Jesus had long hair, Chris tells her.
“So how’s it going?” Trish asks.
“Do you know how to make a noose?”
“For you or Eleni?”
“Does it matter?”
Trish laughs. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me alone with her.”
Vivi laughs, too. But it annoys her that five years into their marriage, Eleni still acts like Trish is Chris’s imaginary friend.
“Mostly, I’m trying to stop Melissa from going completely mute.”
Into the kitchen, where the wild thing is.
“Speaking of Mel, where is my favorite girl?” Chris grabs a handful of sunflower seeds from the bowl on the table. He nibbles out the center before spitting the shell on a napkin Trish slides in front of him.
“In the garage with Dad,” Vivi says. “Probably got her nose stuck in one of his woodworking books.”
“She sure likes to read,” Trish says.
Eleni snorts. “Reading is very good for you. My Melissa is a smart girl.”
