All Things Dark and Dastardly

by Kaye George

  After the game, she spotted Toby in the parking lot, walking to his car with a woman, and rushed over to him. Roger tried to grab her arm, but she shrugged him off.

  "What makes you think you know how to call a field hockey game, you fucking idiot?" Misty said, almost in his face.

  "If we were still playing," Toby answered calmly, "you’d get a technical for the rest of the season. Maybe you will anyway."

  "Ha!" she yelled, taking a step that put her nose inches from his. "You’re not even a real ref. Nobody’d ever hire anyone as blind and stupid as you."

  He pulled her away from the other two a few feet and spoke softly. "What’s your phone number?" he asked, still maddeningly cool and calm.

  Misty was so shocked she gave it to him. He left her and helped his date into the passenger seat, then sped off in his Lexus. Misty was left speechless. For about a minute.

  All the way home she sputtered to Roger about "the gall" and "the balls" of the "so-called referee." When Roger dropped her at the apartment, she stalked into the building, leaving him to close the passenger door, shake his head, and leave.

  After flinging her shin guards into a corner and kicking off her shoes she paced the floor, mumbling to herself.

  "Who does he think he is? Asking for my number! He has a girlfriend, and I wouldn’t date him if he rented a billboard to ask me. If he calls, after throwing me out of the game like that, I’ll damn well tell him what I think of him."

  Toby didn’t hire a billboard, he merely phoned. He had a smooth, suave telephone voice. Misty found herself being civil and, to her surprise, accepting a date. They met for coffee two nights later.

  That was the beginning.

  ***

  It's almost dark enough now. Crickets chirp in the woods behind her. A late songbird trills in a nearby oak tree.

  She dials Toby's cell phone.

  "Hey, babe," he answers, as if everything is fine between them.

  "What do you say we meet at the park?"

  "What park?'

  "Our park. The one where we met. Where I first saw you at the field hockey game." It seems ages ago.

  "What do you have in mind? Something nostalgic? Romantic?"

  "I have the paper you gave me, Toby," she says. "I’ve signed it, too."

  "Hey, I knew you'd see it my way. That's my girl. I'll be there in forty-five minutes." She can hear the smile in his voice. That smirky smile.

  ***

  There had been times when she thought it would all work out. Over and over, they'd fight, but would always make up. Once, in a posh French restaurant, she got upset with him for flirting with the waitress.

  "I'm outta here," she said, reaching for her purse.

  "Just wait till I pay," he said. "I'll drive you home."

  By the time the bill came, that velvet voice, that voice that gave her goosebumps on her privates, had convinced her she was making a big deal out of nothing.

  "You get better service if you play up to them," he said. "That's all I'm doing, just playing along with her."

  That was the night, fourteen days after they started seeing each other, that he got her into his apartment’s king-sized bed. Toby told her he loved her spirit, her passion. And she loved it that he wasn’t intimidated by her, that he loved her for who she was. She had come out of the womb kicking, and had been running ever since. Some guys were intimidated by her. Even Roger had sometimes seemed a little afraid of upsetting her. But Toby—tall, good-looking, smart, funny, Toby—adored her, set her on a pedestal. Misty fell in love with being loved. This, she told herself, is what all the books and movies are about. She vowed to keep this man.

  He was an IT manager at Kodak and made good money, and their dates were fabulous. Especially the trips. One Thursday afternoon he showed her two tickets to Hawaii for that night, telling her she could call in sick Friday morning and they'd have a long weekend together. If her boss gave her any grief, he’d take care of it.

  "There's one problem, Toby. I'm supposed to coach the Big Sisters soccer team this weekend."

  "Hey, they can do without you for one game, can't they?"

  "I suppose so. It's a play-off, though." She hated to miss the game. She'd been involved with the Big Sisters organization for three years now and was getting attached to her Little Sister, a quiet, big-eyed Hispanic girl named Juanita.

  When she called Juanita and told her she couldn't be there for the big game, it sounded like Juanita was going to cry right after she hung up. Misty blinked back her own tears.

  Toby and Misty spent a glorious weekend in Maui, mostly on the sand and in the huge bed of their beachfront cottage, and she came back Sunday night sunburnt and deeply smitten.

  ***

  Misty checks the pistol while she continues her cell phone conversation with Toby.

  "I signed your damn paper, Toby. You can have everything. Just leave me alone."

  "Oh, baby, I would never do anything to hurt you, you know that. I want to take care of you."

  ***

  There’d been some fun times. At Toby's prompting, they’d taken archery lessons together, then target shooting lessons. Misty had turned out to be a crack shot. There’d been talk about a hunting trip, maybe even an African safari, but they’d never made it.

  After the wedding on the beach in Hawaii, six months after they met, she moved into Toby’s apartment in the trendy new-old section of town, and they started house hunting right away. Misty had always envisioned an older house with some character and lots of trees when she settled down. Toby, however, insisted on a newer one. He liked an open floor plan, clean modern lines, and lots of skylights.

  "We should buy this one, baby. It'll get snapped up if we don’t get it right away."

  It was way out, almost an hour’s drive from everything. "It's a long way to drive to my job and Big Sisters. And my parents." Her words echoed in the two-story entryway.

  "You don't need to work anymore, babe. I'll take care of you. You can help me set the house up. That'll keep you busy."

  Help him set up his house, he meant. That’s how she thought of it, even then. It was always Toby’s house, never hers. But, she made herself believe, this was a fairy tale romance. She wanted to give it her all.

  He preferred black, gray, and white decor, and their modern furniture was bought to his taste. When Misty brought home brightly colored throw pillows, Toby grimaced, but left them where she arranged them.

  Soon after moving to their new house, Toby brought up her job again.

  "There’s no sense in both of us commuting all that way. Your income isn’t that much, we won’t really miss it," he said.

  "But I'll miss my job. I like it. Maybe we should carpool, like I've said before."

  "That wouldn't work. I have to stay late sometimes."

  "I'm capable of entertaining myself while you work late."

  "What the hell does that mean?" He narrowed his eyes at her and she felt a chill. "Who are you thinking of entertaining yourself with?"

  "What, not who. Probably a book or a movie."

  He didn't look like he believed her.

  The crack about not missing her income hurt. But that steely, suspicious look scared her, gave her a cold feeling in her chest.

  He talked her into leaving her job within a few weeks.

  "You should stay home when we have kids, hon. I don't want them in daycare. Filthy places, full of germs, and you never know who's working there for minimum wage."

  Misty took that as her signal to stop taking birth control pills. She grew excited about the prospect of a baby. They had barely discussed having children during their whirlwind courtship. Toby hadn't seemed wild about the idea, but hadn't objected when she said she wanted them. Didn't every married couple want children?

  She also, reluctantly, quit her job. She had to admit it was nice to have a husband for whom money was no object. Her department threw her a big going-away party her last day. She cried when she left, and everyone promised to keep
in touch.

  They did, for awhile. Misty drove in for lunches several times a month, then every month or so, then not much at all.

  ***

  "You say you'd never hurt me, but that's not what my lawyer says," says Misty. "He said the paper you want me to sign gives everything to you."

  "Your lawyer's wrong. I can explain it to you."

  "I don't care anymore, Toby. You can have everything. I just need you to leave me alone."

  "I'm on my way. We'll talk. Hang on."

  ***

  The next time they talked about children, Toby sounded like a different person. She'd given up the Big Sisters program soon after she quit her job. Toby complained so much about it interfering with their time together, she got tired of the struggle. Anyway, he said, if she had her own baby, she wouldn't have time for a Little Sister.

  Misty spent happy hours decorating a nursery in her mind, looking online and in stores at baby furniture, curtains, and tiny clothing.

  "Toby," she said one night when they were cuddled in front of the television. "I’ve been thinking."

  "Oh-oh," he teased.

  "No, listen. We have to talk about which room to use for the nursery."

  "Nursery?" She felt him tense.

  "For when I get pregnant and have a baby." She gave him a playful sock on the arm.

  "You'd better not be pregnant."

  There was that cold tone again.

  "I'm not yet," Misty said. "But it shouldn't be too long. I quit taking the pill awhile ago."

  "You're not going to get pregnant by me."

  She pushed herself away from him and sat up.

  "And why is that?"

  "I had a vasectomy." He wasn't looking at her. He was watching the TV.

  She had trouble processing that word. Vasectomy? "But what about our kids? You said you wanted children."

  "I hate kids."

  "That's not what you said." Her chin trembled and tears welled in her eyes. "We agreed to have children."

  "I suppose you have a recording of that?" Now he looked at her, and the harshness of his gaze matched his tone.

  "What? Of course not." Was this the same guy she'd married?

  "We are not having kids." He pushed her away, stood up, and left the house.

  He came in long after Misty had sobbed herself to sleep. She woke up as he entered the bedroom, but pretended to be asleep. He woke her to have sex, but she said she was too tired.

  ***

  The playing field is shielded by trees on three sides and, this time of day, feels empty, isolated.

  It is peaceful here. The sun streaks the sky golden as it sinks. The sounds of cars passing on the distant road is further muted by the woods.

  She hears the faint sounds of an engine shutting off and a car door slamming in the parking lot. Toby is on the way. The bastard. She grits her teeth and ignores her pounding heart.

  ***

  She found an ad for a part-time job not far from where they lived and showed it to him. He pushed it away.

  "I need to do something, Toby."

  "No wife of mine needs to work," Toby insisted.

  "I know. I don't need to. But it would be good to have a little extra, don't you think?"

  "I make good money. I can take care of you, baby. Your job is to make sure you look pretty when I come home."

  That seemed to be all he wanted. She didn’t even cook much because they usually went out to eat. The house and furnishings were so stark it didn’t take long to clean the place. Misty’s days got longer and emptier. She grew to hate the bright, light, sterile house. Toby’s house. Her prison. Sometimes she felt Toby got his ideas from their parents’ generation—or their grandparents’.

  One day, she noticed the smell of "Charlie" perfume on Toby’s shirt when she was doing laundry. That's what Misty used to wear before Toby insisted she should wear more expensive stuff. She felt something shift inside her.

  After another one of his storming-out sessions that lasted all night, she discovered lipstick on his undershirt. She'd given up a lot for Toby. He didn't seem to have given up anything for her, though. She decided she wasn't going to talk to the prick about it.

  It was time to face what was happening to her. This was the end of her fairy tale. But no happily ever after for her. The dream had been just that, and the reality was a nightmare.

  Misty packed some clothes and moved into her old room in her parents’ house and made an appointment with a lawyer.

  Brock Smith, the lawyer, a heavy-set, middle-aged man, was stern, but cordial. His thick white eyebrows helped emphasize his main point, which was that she should let the lawyers talk to each other and should not try to work things out with Toby.

  Misty sat in a leather chair in his sumptuous office, peering at him between two tall stacks of file folders on either side of his expansive carved desk.

  "It would really be best if you moved back into the house. You'll likely receive half, but it would make it easier if you’re already there, since this isn't a community property state."

  "Oh, no. I...I couldn’t. I can't." It felt so good not living in that Spartan monument to Toby’s taste. She refused to consider ever staying overnight there again.

  He cautioned her, as she left, to leave all the communication to him. She agreed, never wanting to speak to that miserable, cheating son of a bitch again.

  Until Toby called her the next night.

  "Misty, baby," he crooned. "I didn’t realize you were so upset."

  "Fuck off, Toby. I found out you’ve been sleeping around. I have an appointment at the doctor in two days to get checked. My lawyer said not to talk to you, besides."

  "Aw, let’s not let the lawyers have all our money. Look, I’ll move out and let you have the house. We can do this without attorneys—it’ll be a lot cheaper. I’ve always said I’ll take care of you, haven’t I? Haven’t I always taken care of you?"

  She let him sweet-talk her into it.

  "Tell you what, I'll leave a key under the mat Tuesday. You can move in any time. Any time you want, babe."

  She packed a bag full of clothes and drove out to the subdivision. There was no key under the mat. Toby had never gotten around to having a copy made for her. Misty fished out the key she'd had made without him knowing, and stuck it into the keyhole. It wouldn't turn. She took it out and put it in again. Twisted as hard as she could without breaking it off, until her fingers ached from pressing against the hard metal. No joy. The bastard had changed the locks!

  Furious, she sped home, careening around slow drivers and bumping up over the curb on her last turn, barely able to see through her hot, angry tears. She called Toby’s cell phone from the driveway.

  "Oh shit. I forgot to leave the key. Sorry, hon."

  She stalked to her room and perched on the edge of the bed, staring at her fingers on the cell phone, picturing them tightening around Toby’s neck. "You forgot?"

  "I know, I know, I said it would be today."

  God, he's smooth, she thought.

  "Look, I can’t drive out there until next week. I could leave the key then. Oh, I've got it. Can you meet me tomorrow downtown for lunch? We need to talk anyway."

  Was it possible he'd give her the key? She couldn’t think how else to get it. Reluctantly, she agreed. After she hung up she flung herself backwards, bouncing on the mattress, as she realized she had forgotten to confront Toby about the changed locks.

  ***

  The birds that have been twittering, bedding down for the night, grow silent. She hears Toby tromping through the underbrush. He'll appear in a few minutes. It is time to face him. She gulps a mouth full of air and presses her lips together, stands up and steps into the clearing, holding the gun behind her purse.

  ***

  When they met for lunch, he presented her with a paper he wanted her to sign. She grabbed it, insisted on taking it with her.

  "Why are you leaving me? I can't figure out what’s the matter with you," he said, soun
ding truly puzzled.

  "Toby—" she couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice "—you’ve been cheating on me."

  "Baby, it wasn’t really cheating. I need more than you can give. It’s just a physical thing." Was he really saying that? "A man’s gotta have sex, you know. It’s the way we’re built. You don’t seem to want it anymore."

  "I’ll admit you have balls, Toby. But other than that, I can’t remember what I ever saw in you."

  "I do have balls, sweetie, but lately, how would you know?"

  He left her to pay for the meal.

  "This isn’t good, Misty," said Mr. Smith when she handed him the paper Toby had given her. He lowered his snowy eyebrows to punctuate the sentence. "He wants to give you a one-time settlement of ten thousand dollars. If you sign this, you give up all rights to anything else that might be coming to you."

  "He said he was giving me some money to tide me over. I thought that was too nice for him."

  "I’m glad you didn’t sign this document." He gave her a stern look. "I will advise you—again—not to have any contact with him."

  "But he says he'll let me have the house," she protested. Which she would sell, of course.

  Smith merely raised those bushy eyebrows and gave her a look that said, "And you believe him?"

  She wanted to. She also wanted to save the money that the lawyer was charging. His retainer was so hefty Misty had to borrow it from her father. She had left the checkbook to their joint account in the house, Toby’s house, didn’t know the account number, and didn’t know which bank Toby used. He’d handled all the bills and expenses. Two weeks later another bill arrived from the lawyer for a similarly large amount. Toby was right, the lawyers were very expensive.

  Misty got the results back from the doctor; she didn’t have any sexually transmitted diseases. She felt a knot in her stomach loosen partway. Now, if she could just get the damn divorce mess settled….

  Once, she called Roger, the guy she'd been dating when she met Toby. He'd just gotten engaged. He'd been boring anyway. One day, she told herself, she would find someone else. Someone better than both of them.

  She met Toby for lunch again. He looked better every time she saw him. Big smile, expensive-looking new sweater. Separation was agreeing with him.