by SE Reynolds
"I know you never saw me," Melissa whispered.
I was surprised by the sudden sound of her voice.
"What did you say?"
"I said, you never saw me, Joshua. You never noticed me, but I noticed you the first time I saw you. I remember you standing in my dorm room, focused solely on Rose. You couldn't take your eyes off her. I might as well have been a lamp or a chair. I wonder, if Rose never left, would I be sitting in this car with you today?"
I stayed quiet with my eyes focused on the car in front of me and let Melissa continue.
"I was jealous of Rose. I wanted you to look at me the way you looked at her. I was glad when she left. She didn't deserve you. I remember her calling you a pathetic little puppy dog while she waited for you to come. When is my clingy little puppy dog going to get here? I heard her say that once when I was anticipating your arrival. I didn't like hearing her talk about you like that. You just loved her, wanted her, needed her. Funny how you were coming for Rose, not me, but it was me anticipating your arrival the most."
"I didn't know that, Melissa. Honey, I had no idea you saw me in that way. If I had, I probably would have dumped Rose and run into your arms."
"Stop it, Joshua! No, you wouldn't. You were so in awe of Rose. I never understood it. You call me your angel as if I'm innocent and free of sin. I'm not. I've had bad thoughts. I've done bad things.”
"What on earth could my beautiful wife, the only woman who literally landed here from heaven, ever do that was bad?" I said to Melissa.
I wondered if the cancer had gone to her brain. I never heard her speak to me like that before. Her words were raw and not pre-determined or analyzed before they came out of her mouth.
"I lied about Rose."
"What?"
"Yes, your precious Rose. I lied. I just wanted the love you had for Rose; it was intense. I wanted that so much from you.”
"What did you lie about, Melissa?"
"Rose's dad was visiting that day, as I told you, but I never saw those things, nothing dirty or inappropriate. I never saw anything like that. The only thing I noticed was Rose's dad helping her pack her things. Rose was crying, and her dad was saying he was sorry. Rose was cursing at him, something about a gambling habit. I didn't get all the details. I just left the room, and then she eventually left for good."
My jaw felt heavy. I couldn't close my mouth. So instead, I stared at the car in front of me, trying to comprehend what I'd just heard.
"This makes no sense. What you told me, it's so unthinkable, so out there. Why tell me that? Of all the possible reasons for Rose to leave, why tell me that, Melissa?"
Melissa was sitting up straight, almost in a proud stance. I could see her staring at me in my peripheral.
"Because Rose was trash. Oh, she wanted you to believe she was something with all her books and the deep-thinking crap she would spew at whoever would listen, but it was all a façade, Joshua. I lived with her. When she wasn't around you, she'd curse like a sailor, read the National Enquirer, or go on and on about finding a rich man to take care of her like some sort of sugar daddy. It was all about her, and when she wasn't droning on about her big plans or how she had you wrapped around her finger, I'd see her flirting with other guys that lived in the dorm. I even caught her making out with one on the floor of our room. She could have just used the bed, but no, she was straddling him right on our floor where I walked barefoot. I sprayed half a can of Lysol on the floor to get rid of all her filth. You think you were the only one, Joshua?"
"I…I didn't know. I never had any expectations of anything. I just wanted—"
"Her? You just wanted her at all costs? She would have just messed you up, Joshua. She came from nothing, no mother to raise her to be a proper woman, just a loser father with bad habits. I saw your potential the first day I laid eyes on you—such a handsome young man, so magnetic and charismatic. I knew you'd make something of yourself. You just needed me, the right kind of woman. Not Rose. She was just the dormitory whore."
A dormitory whore? That's it? I was young and a bit naïve, but I wasn't stupid. I knew I wasn't the only one. Hell, I was just happy to be one of them, one of Rose's playthings. The only difference between them and me is I appreciated all of what Rose had to give; as little as it was, it was precious to me.
"You took it away from me."
"Took what away, Joshua?"
"My choice, my time…my…"
"Wrong, Joshua. I gave you a future; I gave you a son; I gave you potential."
And just like that, my sweet Melissa was no longer the epitome of all good and pure. She was sinister, making up such deplorable shit. If only that were it, maybe I could have forgiven Melissa, if only that were it.
Chapter 11 – Virginia
I adored every inch of Harry, from the top of his head to the heart-shaped freckle on the top of his big toe; I truly believed he was made for me. Harry was the first person who told me I was beautiful, and I loved him for that.
"Virginia, I think you are quite beautiful," Harry whispered as he leaned in to kiss me for the first time.
I'm sure it was the wine talking, but damn it felt unexpectedly wonderful to hear, especially in a British accent. Before that, I always thought I was very average and judged myself based on my mom's unsolicited opinions. According to her, my hair should be blonder, my stomach should be flatter, and my waist should be longer. So, I keep my hair highlighted, and I work out five days a week. Unfortunately, I can't do anything to elongate my waist, so I never tuck in my shirt. My mom said if I do, I will look disproportionate. So tonight, to be safe, I wore a nice tailored white blouse, the kind that you can leave untucked and not look like a slob.
As soon as I get to Reggie's, I slip into the bathroom in the lobby next to the hostess stand. I need one last hair and makeup check before presenting myself to the honorable mayor. My palms are sweating profusely, so I wash them with a fist full of liquid soap and double dry them with paper towels. I’m surprised to see a condom machine next to the paper towel dispenser. I didn't think they still had these things now that the AIDS epidemic is long gone, but I guess I’m now part of the condom consumer demographics. I’m a single middle-aged woman who now has to add yearly STD tests to her heath-care prevention regiment. Yes, doctor, please order my colonoscopy, and while you’re at it, can you swab me for chlamydia. Oh the thought of condoms, sterile dry sex, and lack luster orgasms depress me.
If Harry could have just been normal, I’d still be having multiple, powerful orgasms brought on by his tongue. He was a giver. He knew how to interact with every inch of me. I'm not sure where he learned how, but I was grateful to be the recipient of such talent. He’d start by lightly grazing me with his tongue, and as I became wetter, he'd focus solely on my clitoris, or my little pearl as he used to call it. That's when the orgasm show would begin. Little spritzes of fireworks would poof inside me as my uterus would quiver. Then finally, the big colorful one that makes me go "ahh" would burst, causing me to pull Harry's face into me until he almost suffocated. After he came up for air, he'd slide inside me, and within a minute, my vagina would tighten, squeezing him until I had a real vaginal orgasm, the kind most women only dream about. I asked Harry once how he knew what to do and when to do it. He said that he judges it by the size of my little pearl.
"When your pearl is small, you are not there yet. When it swells, then it's ready, and I don't stop until it returns to its normal size."
I found it endearing how he never used dirty words like clit or cunt when referring to my body. Instead, he used sweet, pretty words like honey pot and pearl. The first time he saw my breasts he said he’d never seen such perfect little tangerines like mine before. For a time, I felt like he cherished me, all of me, and now, I’m digging through my wallet trying to find enough quarters to insert into this condom machine. Twenty-five, fifty, seventy-five, huh? The bathroom door opens, and I stop counting. I turn, and a teenage boy is standing in the doorway dumbfounded. We stare at each other
for a few seconds, and then it hits me as three urinals come into view.
"Oh, I'm in the wrong place. Sorry," I say as I rush past him and quickly exit the men's room.
Chapter 12 – Joshua
I get to Reggie's early and scan the area, making sure there are no Joshua and Melissa loyalists lurking around. The coast is clear. I see two empty stools on the other side of the bar snuggled together in the corner. I stake my claim and order a shot of tequila, hoping it will dissolve any residual effects from the conversation I had with Mimi earlier. I know Mimi means well, but it's only a matter of time I slip up and say something I will regret the second after I say it. So many times, I wanted to tell Mimi about her perfect daughter, who single-handedly changed the last twenty years of my life with one demented lie. Mimi thinks I lost the love of my life, and any other woman who catches my attention will have to take a back seat to the memory of Melissa. It's like that book Rose and I studied in English Lit right before she left me. It was about a woman, Rachel, no Rebecca. This handsome, successful businessman's beautiful, polished wife, Rebecca, dies a tragic death. Then to fill the void, he marries this young average looking chick, a poor substitution at best. She ends up moving into the mansion where he and Rebecca lived and is haunted by the memory of his dead wife. In the end, it turns out the husband hated Rebecca. She was a whore and flaunted her men around the poor bastard. Most would've hated Rebecca, but not Rose.
"Why should Rebecca be the bad guy? She married a rich man that went on long business trips, leaving her alone to manage this huge mansion. Why shouldn't she have a little fun on the side? Maybe he loved his career more than her; maybe he was just a big bore with a micro-penis, a horrible lay!" Rose laughed as she rolled around my bed, twisting and turning her naked body, entwining herself within my sheets.
Strangely, I agreed with Rose. The story would have been better if Rebecca came back to life, kicked the wannabe Rebecca out of her house, and took what was rightfully hers. Without thought, and like I have done so many times when I'm killing minutes, I pull out my phone and google Rose Umbra. And as always, I get nothing. So, I google just Umbra last name, and as always, the only thing that pops up is a Wikipedia definition.
Umbral is derived from the Latin umbra, meaning "shadow." It is also the Spanish and Portuguese word for "threshold" and is sometimes used as a surname in that language.
I put my phone away and stare at the TV hanging above the bar as I concentrate, hoping that the thoughts in my head somehow telepathically reach her.
Rose, you are the bane of my existence. Damn you. Please leave my head at least for the next two hours. Just pass through me and onto some other asshole so that I can move on.
I order a Heineken and take a long sip to wash her away, and then suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn, and there is Virginia looking better than I remember. Maybe Rose or God or some other higher power heard me, but at least for now, I'm distracted. Virginia looks softer than I remember. Perhaps she had her hair up when I met her at Misty's, but this time it's long and wispy. She's not a blonde or a brunette; I'm not sure. Her eyes are not blue or green; I'm not sure. She looks simple but in a nice, casual way. Her white blouse is form-fitting, and so are her jeans; they are not tight but have just the right amount of cling to her body. I like her colorless heels; I bet they make her ass look incredible.
I stand and reach out my hand, but Virginia disregards it and sits down on the stool next to me. I guess a handshake is too formal for her. Maybe I should have hugged her, but she doesn't seem like a hugger. So, I'll just move on.
"I hope you don't mind, but I ordered a beer already. I should have waited for you."
"No, you shouldn't. I wouldn't have waited for you," she replies.
"Wow, okay, honesty. I like that; at least I'll know where I stand."
Virginia ignores me and waves to the bartender. She squints, trying to make out the name on his shirt.
"Do you have a dry pinot grigio, preferably Italian, Chad?"
“Santa Margherita, okay?”
"Yes, it is, Chad, thank you."
Virginia turns to me and gives me a faint smile as she waits for me to start the conversation.
"So, Virginia, you are named after our fine state?"
"Nope, I'm named after West Virginia."
"Oh, I just assumed…"
"Yea, don't do that, Joshua; it'll get you into trouble."
"Well, Virginia, if not the state, then maybe your parents are really into smoking."
"What?"
"Smoking. Virginia is also a name for tobacco. I was trying to make a joke."
"Yea, don't do that either. My dad died of lung cancer."
"Oh, I'm sorry. That was a dumb thing to say."
I feel my mouth go dry, so I gulp my beer. Virginia bursts into loud, cackling laughter, causing me to flinch.
"I'm kidding. My dad is dead, but he died of old age, not lung cancer. My mom named me after her birthplace. She grew up in the hills of West Virginia and was a coal miner's daughter, just like Loretta Lynn."
"Who?"
"The country singer, really popular in the seventies?"
"I'll have to look her up."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. She's not on my playlist."
Virginia's wine finally arrives. I watch her as she picks up her glass, smells it, and takes a sip.
"Does it smell okay?" I ask.
"Huh?"
"Your wine, does it smell okay?"
"Oh. It's a habit. I like to smell the wine before I drink it. It's a process."
"Here's to the process of getting to know you," I say as I raise my beer bottle. She taps her glass to my bottle, sniffs her wine, and takes another sip.
"I know nothing about politics, Joshua, unless they directly impact me, but I do know our president is an illiterate demagogue."
"Oh, not a fan, I take it. Yea, he knows how to stick his foot in his mouth now and then."
"Oh, I'd like to stick my foot straight up his fat ass, but Secret Service would shoot me; might be worth it, though," she says as she startles me again with another cackling laugh.
Whatever little she knows about politics is the total opposite of what I represent daily, so I change the subject.
"What do you edit? Books, articles?"
"All of the above. Whatever my boss wants to publish, I edit."
"Have you ever written a book?" I ask.
"No, I can't write. Those days have passed, and I'm too tainted now. Writers, good ones anyway, expose themselves only to be judged, critiqued or fixed by an editor. I don't want to be judged, critiqued, or fixed."
She pauses while her eyes vertically glide up and down my body and not in a sexual way.
"So, how many campaign promises have you broken so far, Mr. Mayor?"
"I never break a promise. But circumstances change, and I make adjustments as needed. I never make adjustments unless I have a good reason to; otherwise, it will come back to haunt me, and then I have a lot of back-peddling to do."
"Have you had anything come back to haunt you, Joshua?"
"No, not yet."
"Really? Good for you. It must be tricky, though, someone in your position. Reputation is everything. I bet you are judged every day. People looking for skeletons in your closet, trying to find something to use against you at the right time. You must have to keep those skeletons locked up tightly or be exposed. I'd hate to have that hanging over my head."
"I don't have any skeletons, only memories and experiences, some good, some bad, some I'd like to just forget about. Just because I’m an elected official, a pseudo politician, doesn't mean I have a bunch of dirty laundry. Well, actually, I do, and it's piling up on my basement floor. What about you, Virginia? What keeps you up at night?"
"Nothing, I sleep like a baby every night."
"Good for you; what's your secret to a good night's sleep?"
"This," she says as she holds up her glass of wine.
"Self-med
ication, there's nothing wrong with that."
"I never said there was."
Virginia continues to study my face. I feel like I'm the bad guy in a poorly written Columbo episode. If she is trying to rattle me, she is not doing a good job. In fact, she is getting boring, fast.
"I find your line of questions overly dramatic. This isn't the West Wing, Virginia. I don't have political enemies, or power-hungry staffers. I oversee people that are better at their jobs than me. And I have an assistant that keeps me on track. I'm just a little tick in a massive jungle called the Beltway."
"You mean fly, Joshua."
"No, I mean tick. Are you hungry?"
We order crab dip and chicken wings. Virginia orders another glass of wine, and I order another beer. Then, just in the nick of time, before I'm about to wish the night away, the lights dim, and the music gets louder. The thickness of the unnecessary tension Virginia created dissolves as Echo and the Bunnymen, Lips Like Sugar, plays.
"God, what a great song," I say. "I haven't heard this in years."
"You like Echo and the Bunnymen?" she asks.
"Yes, and Depeche Mode and The Cure," I added proudly.
"Oh, I know your type," she says, shaking her finger at my face. "You were one of those guys in high school with the short floppy hair and the long black trench coat, kinda goth, kinda aloof."
"I was, and I brooded a lot too."
"I liked the brooders, thought they were mysterious and misunderstood," she says, sniffing her wine again. "Yes, that's what we wanted pretty girls named after American states to believe."
Virginia finally relaxes her face and smiles a genuine smile. I'm slowly getting my foot in Virginia's door, but at this point, I'm not sure I want it to be.
