by Nolon King
We went through a bottle of wine during dinner, but I only pretended to sip.
Olivia noticed. “You’re not drinking?”
“It makes me too sleepy,” I said, though the truth was that I couldn’t trust myself with more than a few drops. There were too many things that I wanted to say, and they might pour from my mouth like wine from the bottle.
We talked about Alec, his grades in school, and how he was about to start karate; Lena’s favorite books (A Tale Dark and Grimm, Holes, and — of course — Harry Potter) and her essay on “Why Family is Important” hanging in the hallway outside of Constellation’s front office; Ryan’s job, most of it centered around the last year so I knew every word out of his mouth was A TOTAL FUCKING LIE; and Olivia’s job, which she referred to as “Rolodexing” before explaining that she was a professional networker, which I had to admit was a great way to describe what we do.
Then the conversation turned to me. Olivia had thirty-seven thousand questions about the CTA and all my girlfriends at Constellation, curious as she was about how a modern housewife raised a wonderful family like ours.
I wanted to vomit the entire time.
“That was amazing!” I blew my husband a kiss. “You really can do anything when you put your mind to it. Thanks for putting your mind to something for our table tonight.”
Ryan looked like he didn’t know how to take that. I wasn’t even sure what I meant, except fuck him and every word out of his stupid lying mouth.
He finally said, “Thank you,” then invited Alec and Lena into the kitchen to help him with the dishes, just like the perfect husband he wasn’t. “You girls should stay out here and catch up.”
FUCK YOU BOTH!
Ryan stood and began to gather dishes.
Beaming up at him: “I couldn’t do this without you.”
Looking at me, slightly unsure: “Same for me.”
Olivia watched us, smiling.
The children were making silly faces at each other.
As soon as I had her alone, I hissed at Olivia, “What are you doing?”
“Taking a stroll down memory lane.” She looked appreciably around the living room, studying it all with a steady gaze. Framed and hanging, polished and waxed, ordered and shipped and displayed. “This is a nice life you have here. Reminds me of Page 27 in the Restoration Hardware Catalogue.”
“Cut the shit, Olivia. This is my family we’re talking about. Why are you—”
“You only have a family because you stole it from me, Natalie.” Olivia had drunk most of the bottle but she was holding it well. Her words were clear, and her smirk sharp enough to cut them. “Ryan’s gotten better-looking with age. He was a perfect fit then, and with all of his experience now?” Olivia laughed, shaking her head in pity. “I can’t believe you’d rather fuck strangers for money when you have that waiting for you at home. Poor thing, he probably feels so neglected. And I can’t imagine what that’s done to your self-esteem … To think that you were heading right into frumpy town before—”
“Get. Out.”
Olivia laughed. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Like hell you’re not.”
“What are you going to do, Natalie? You’re not holding a single card.”
“What do you want from me? Why did you show up out of nowhere to ruin my life? I don’t under—”
“You know exactly why I’m here. And you always knew that something like this would eventually happen, because you can’t outrun karma. You used to say that, Natalie. Not me. But you’re right, you can’t. So here we are.”
“What about when karma comes for you?”
Olivia shrugged. “I’m good at settling my debts. That’s what I’m doing now.”
I was boiling. Good thing we weren’t anywhere near the knives.
“Tell me how to get you out of my life forever.”
Those words appeared to hit Olivia the same as they hit me, with a sort of yawning hurt, haunting her face in an immediate shadow. She lost her smile.
“I’ll get out of your life when you pay me back.”
“Pay you back for what?”
“You stole my life.”
I could see in her eyes that she meant it.
There was no way to argue with her, not without her announcing to Ryan — in front of my children — that I was a whore.
She’d screamed that at me before, but now it was actually true.
“How are you girls doing out there?” Ryan called out from the kitchen. “Anyone in the mood for some ice cream?”
A chorus of Yes! from the children.
“That sounds great!” Olivia said, while glaring at me.
“Sure!” Then, “How am I supposed to pay you back for stealing your life? What’s the price tag on that? I’ve never seen it at Target.”
“Like you shop at Target.”
“I shop at Target all the time!”
“Are we going to Target?” Lena yelled from the kitchen.
“You should lower your voice,” Olivia said.
Goddammit. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want twenty-five percent of whatever you’re taking home.”
“Fine, Olivia. If an extra five-percent is really worth all of this to you, then please enjoy an extra Benjamin every time I’m taking another dick in one of my two available holes.”
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not an extra five percent. I want another fifteen, on top of the ten that you’re already giving me.”
“WHAT?”
“What?” Ryan echoed from the kitchen. “Did you need something?”
“She’s fine!” Olivia said, her smile still fixed on me.
The first tear fell down my cheek. I couldn’t stand to let Olivia see me wipe it, or for anyone from my family to see it at all. I dragged my sleeve across it as one fell down the other side.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“You know why.”
“I don’t even want to be doing this.” Now I was softly crying, and doing everything I could not to bawl. “I just want to pay off my debts and get out.”
“Then work more.”
“I can’t work more.”
“Then raise your rates,” Olivia said.
“I can do that?”
“Of course you can. My best clients pay me five grand, but for them I charge by the encounter rather than by the hour. It’s twice that for overnight. Although I could see how that particular service is out of reach for you. So, you give me a quarter as my cut, and I’ll keep all of your little secrets. Then I’ll leave you alone for the rest of your life once you’re out, just like you want. Do we have a deal?”
I gathered myself as best as I could, then drew in a breath and held it before exhaling.
“Deal,” I said.
Then I got myself ready for ice cream.
Chapter Seventeen
Monday Evening …
LYNETTE
“Would you like a refill, Lynette?” Roberta asked.
“Sure.” I held out my glass and let her fill it.
She finished, smiled, then set the pitcher on the table between us. Susan went on with her bleating.
I was grateful for the Long Islands because Susan hadn’t said anything interesting in the entire time that she had been over, because there was nothing interesting about her oldest son, unless you were one of the unfortunate few fascinated by arrested development. That kid was a thirty-year-old nightmare. Roberta wasn’t helping, leaning forward with her chin on her knuckles, listening to Susan’s stories as though they were in any way absorbing.
I looked around my backyard, wondering if I’d rather be alone.
Probably not. Frank was inside, and he’d probably try to get on me. This time of day that meant watching some sort of financial reports while he grunted from behind.
Finally, Susan said something worth caring about.
“I saw Natalie over the weekend …”
I hated the
way she always trailed off when she actually had something to say. Susan never did us that favor when discussing gluten, grades, or Owen’s tantrums (they were never his fault, nor hers, just an even mix of no sleep, hunger, and schedules gone haywire).
“You know how I started counting my steps and trying to get ten thousand—”
“Yes,” I said, twirling my finger.
“Well, I haven’t been able to get more than seven thousand on average, even with all my running around and Owen’s—”
“So you figured it was the weekend, what the hell, you’d go for ten,” I finished.
“Right?” Susan looked at me, the smile half-hanging from her face. “So I was walking a little further than I normally would, and—”
“Farther,” Roberta corrected. “Further is metaphorical. Farther is distance. You meant distance.”
“Thanks!” Susan chirped, because she actually liked that shit. “Anyway, I was walking farther than usual and ended up over on Dalton.”
“Where Natalie lives.”
Roberta had an unhealthy habit of stating the obvious.
“Right!” Susan gave Roberta a look: You know me!
“So I was over by where Natalie lives and I thought—”
“Oh my God, Susan! Will you please get to the point?”
Then she looked at me, blinking like a child who’d peed himself. Maybe she was imitating her son.
Her voice a lot quieter than it had been a few seconds before, Susan said, “I saw Natalie walking a beautiful blonde woman out to her car.”
I sat up straighter, instantly curious. And jealous. I hated to admit to that particular emotion, but I couldn’t lie to myself about what I felt. Natalie didn’t have time to have lunch with me, but she had time for this blonde?
“What did she look like?”
I was glad Roberta asked so that I didn’t have to.
“Not the kind of woman I would ever want around the house, that’s for sure.” Susan shook her head. “No. Way. Natalie’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, and youth is on her side. But this woman?”
Susan took a moment to exhale in appreciation. For the first time I didn’t mind.
“She was one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in real life. I wouldn’t trust her around my husband.”
Roberta said, “And you just know that Ryan could have any woman he wants.”
I didn’t disagree. If Frank had an exact opposite, it was Natalie’s husband.
“I bet it gets lonely on the road, with all the traveling he does,” Susan said, then lowered her voice to a conspirator’s whisper. “Do you think he’s ever … you know?”
“I don’t know, and it seems mean to say,” Roberta said, “but can you imagine sex with him?”
“Yes,” I said, laughing.
I probably wouldn’t have said that without the three glasses of Long Island iced tea, but the girls laughed with me.
“No,” Roberta clarified. “I mean with a psychologist. The way he must know people … and things. It must be so … intense. And yes, the way he looks. Because oh my God, I don’t mind bitching to you girls, and I know I don’t have to tell you, but he is nothing like my husband.”
“Well, yours is older than your father, right?”
Roberta shook her head like always, an uncomfortable laugh as usual. “Only by a year.”
“Seriously,” I said. “Do any of you think that Ryan could be cheating on Natalie?”
An uncomfortable silence settled among them. None of them wanted to break it. My money was on Susan, but Roberta proved me wrong.
“I just wonder if she knows what she has.” She looked at Susan. “You and Steve are like peas in a pod. He’s just as high strung as you are, and don’t look at me like that because you know it’s true.” Then she turned to me. “You seem to genuinely appreciate Frank and the life that he’s given you. Same for me and Walter. Our sex life isn’t great, or really even good.” She laughed. “But I love Walter. He makes me laugh and he takes great care of us. I never, ever have to worry. And I appreciate that.”
“But you’re not sure that Natalie does?” I said.
“Right.” Roberta nodded. “Men need to feel appreciated. It’s in their DNA. So if she’s not appreciating it, then things are going to break, and if they break in the bedroom, then most men are going to at least think about getting it elsewhere. And with all of his traveling?”
“I’m more suspicious of Natalie,” Susan said. “All of a sudden, she’s always busy. But she’s a stay-at-home mom? How much stuff can she possibly have to do? What is it that has her missing CTA meetings and volunteer days and—”
“I want to know why she looks so fantastic lately,” I cut in. “Mark Krieg’s dad was staring at her during drop-off the other day. I mean, I don’t blame him.
“But” Roberta said, “there’s gotta be something else going on there, right?”
“Well, whatever it is, I hope Natalie realizes how good she has it. With Ryan.”
Roberta looked wistful. “If he had a practice, I’d book office hours for sure.”
I thought about what office hours with Ryan might be like, and wondering if he and Natalie had ever role-played that particular fantasy, or any fantasy at all.
I leaned back in my chair, stewing, sucking on the end of my straw, slurping to the bottom of my Long Island iced tea, stuck in a cycle of illogical thoughts that I couldn’t seem to escape.
Why did I care so much that Natalie had been avoiding my calls for a while now?
Why was I so bothered that she was hanging out with another woman? We were barely friends, although not for lack of trying on my part.
Why on earth did it matter if she was losing weight and looking great, with her calendar and heart both apparently full?
I was tuning the girls out and considering filling my glass one final time, when Frank came outside.
He appeared more buoyant than usual. The sort of mood I knew well enough to be suspicious of.
I reached for the pitcher.
Frank looked at the three of us and said, “No Natalie today?”
He probably thought he sounded nonchalant, but if anything I thought he sounded eager.
I traded a look with the girls. They could hear him lying too.
“No darling,” I said, saccharin sweet despite the souring of my stomach, “Not today.”
Frank looked disappointed, and I was suddenly hungry to know why.
Natalie Monroe was up to something, and I was going to find out what.
Chapter Eighteen
Tuesday Afternoon …
NATALIE
I was racing down the freeway, headed toward Constellation, hoping I wasn’t going to get pulled over, and thinking that I probably would since everything else about this afternoon had been total shit.
Alec was in trouble, and I was on my way to go get him, an hour and a half after getting the call. I’d been with a client when Principal Butler called. It was forty-five excruciating minutes before the client finally rolled off me and I was free to check my voicemail. Three messages, each one sterner than the last.
I checked to make sure I was clear, cut across two lanes of traffic, drove another three-quarters of a mile, then barreled down my exit. There were six lights in between me and Constellation. If half were red, I might be able to make myself presentable by the time I arrived.
I wish it had been a hundred red lights. That would keep me from having to face the inevitable.
Not what Alec did, but what I did.
I would have bet every stitch of clothing in my closet that I wouldn’t be getting called into Mr. Butler’s office if I’d been doing a better job as a mom. Disciplining my son rather than bribing him. Doing the hard work instead of spending so much of my time taking the easy way out.
That’s because you’re trying to get out, period. And there’s nothing easy about what you do.
Alec had gotten into a fight with Drew Wilder, and as much as I can’t st
and Lynette’s little twat demon, I was shocked when the school receptionist told me that Alec had thrown the first punch. He’d never been in a fight, even in third grade when one of the other kids had tried to make him hand over his lunch money.
Clearly he was having more trouble dealing with my absence than I’d realized.
And again, I knew it was all my fault.
I parked, killed the engine, then marched up the front steps and into the office where Lynette was already waiting.
She looked up at me, her eyes darker than I’d ever seen them, especially when directed at me. Coldly and quietly, she said, “Thank you for finally deciding to join us.”
I couldn’t quite bring myself to apologize to her. “I was stuck at an appointment.”
She said nothing, and we sat through a few minutes of silence, cut mercifully short when the principal opened his door and invited us inside.
“And you’re sure that Alec started it?” I asked.
“That’s not what I said,” Mr. Butler shook his head. “Alec did strike Drew first, but both boys agree that it was in response to something that Drew said.”
Lynette suddenly looked a little less smug. “What did he say?”
Mr. Butler clearly wasn’t looking forward to answering, shifting in his seat, and working hard to avoid my eyes.
“Yeah,” I prompted. “What did he say?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Monroe, but Drew called you a hooker to Alec’s face.”
I gasped. So did Lynette. Both of our jaws could have been swept up off of the floor.
That was so … specific.
I started to panic, wondering if I was sweating, sure that the guilt was like red paint all over my face. Probably all over my body. Maybe they knew where I had just come from and what I’d been doing.
What if I had cum in my hair and didn’t even know it?
Drew had called me a hooker, told my son how I was spending my time. How did he even know? If Frank had said something, I was going to kill him.