by Jason Starr
‘I have to go,’ she said to whoever she was talking to. From her tone I assumed it was one of her friends from college – probably Anne or Tasha.
Seizing the chance to speak first, I said, ‘I know how angry you are at me right now and I know you don’t want to go to marriage counseling. But I just want you to know I’ll do anything you want to make up for this. I’ll delete my Facebook and Instagram accounts, I’ll never send any emails without you screening them, I’ll never go online again. I just want a chance to get your trust back, that’s all I want. Tell me what I have to do and I’ll do it.’
‘I don’t think that’s possible,’ she said.
‘What’s not possible?’ I said. ‘I’m telling you, I’ll do anything you –’
‘I want you to move out,’ she said.
This was different from the times when she threatened to leave me for dramatic effect, to get a rise out of me. There was a rigidness and finality and coldness in her tone, as if she’d made a decision and there was nothing I could say to change her mind.
Though I understood the gravity of the situation, I pretended to not take it seriously, saying, ‘Come on, let’s just talk about it. There’s no reason to –’
‘It’s over,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing you can say.’
She wouldn’t look at me. She was biting on her lower lip, staring at the dresser.
‘I know you’re upset but –’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said. ‘I just want you out of here.’
‘Why?’ I said. ‘I didn’t do any –’
‘Please, just stop it!’ she screamed. ‘Fucking stop it!’
Knowing it would be impossible to talk to her when she was this upset, I said, ‘Fine, we’ll talk about this later or tomorrow morning.’
‘We’re not talking about anything,’ she said. ‘I’m through with you. Through with you, you lying, cheating son of a bitch!’
‘You’re not being logical right now.’
‘Bullshit!’ she yelled. ‘Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!’
‘I told you the truth.’
‘The truth,’ she said mockingly. ‘Oh, and that means so much coming from you.’
I knew this was a dig about my past, the lies I used to tell her when I was drinking.
‘I know I’ve screwed up before,’ I said, ‘but this is different.’
‘Oh, really?’ she fake smiled. ‘You go on some cheating website and you expect me to believe you changed, you’re a new man?’
‘I was acting out,’ I said. ‘I know it’s no excuse, but we’ve been having problems, and I didn’t know how to solve them so –’
‘You picked up a woman online and she wound up dead.’
‘I didn’t pick up her up,’ I said. ‘It was just flirting, and I know that’s bad too –’
‘So if the detective sends me your chats,’ Maria said, ‘are you telling me all I’ll see is harmless flirting?’
Remembering the things Sophie and I had written to each other, I said, ‘It’ll look worse. It’ll look a lot worse. But things aren’t always like they seem.’
She stared at me, holding my gaze, as if trying to see into my brain.
Then she said, ‘Why should I believe anything you tell me anymore? How do I know you’re not lying right now? How do I know you didn’t kill that woman?’
This hurt, the way you’d expect it to hurt when your wife accuses you of murder.
Looking right at her, I said, ‘You know I didn’t do that.’
She wouldn’t look back at me.
‘Get out,’ she said.
‘Look,’ I said. ‘Let’s talk about this later, when we’re both calmer –’
‘Fuck later! I want you out of this apartment, out of our lives!’
‘Our lives? What’s that supposed to mean?’
I knew exactly what she meant, of course.
She walked away, into the living room.
I followed her, saying, ‘I can’t control what you do, but if you think I’m just going to walk out on Jonah, you’re out of your mind.’
‘Just leave,’ she said. ‘Get the hell out of here!’
‘Then tell me,’ I said, ‘Why did you say “us”?’
‘I’m not supposed to discuss this with you,’ she said.
‘What do you mean, not suppose…’ I cut myself off, realizing what she was getting at, and all of the implications. ‘Wait a second,’ I said. ‘You were talking to your cousin Michael, weren’t you?’
‘What if I was?’
‘What did you do, call him when you were out? Holy shit, did Jonah overhear –’
‘Jonah didn’t hear anything,’ she said. ‘I was very vague.’
‘I can’t believe you,’ I said. ‘Why? Why’re you doing this? What the hell’s wrong with you?’
She smiled in a self-satisfied way, like she felt she was, what, getting some kind of revenge?
Then I made a big mistake. I was so frustrated I cocked my fist. I wasn’t going to hit her of course. I just did it as a reflex, because she’d gotten me so upset, made me feel so helpless.
I lowered my fist almost immediately, but it was too late. She’d seen what I’d done.
‘Changed my fucking ass,’ she said, and then she marched melodramatically into the bathroom and slammed the door and locked it.
I was still angry at myself, but it wasn’t all my fault. Anybody threatened with the possibility of losing a child was liable to lose control.
I was craving a drink. I used to think that alcohol relaxed me – what alcoholic didn’t believe that? The reality that when I was drunk I was a belligerent asshole never occurred to me when I wanted a jolt of liquor. I did my deep breathing, my creative visualization, and settled on the couch. Within a few minutes I actually felt relaxed, and I didn’t have to go off the wagon to get there.
I was actually glad that Maria had gone into the bathroom. Today had been an extremely stressful day for both of us. It would be much better to have a discussion about our marriage tomorrow, when we were calmer and less emotional.
When she came out, I noticed she had her cell with her which got me paranoid – had she been texting her cousin Michael in there? Wisely, I didn’t say anything, though. She went into the bedroom and shut the door. Rather than joining her, I decided that it would be best to spend the night on the pullout.
I turned on the TV – Jimmy Kimmel interviewing Justin Timberlake. I hated how happy they both seemed. It was hard to focus and, after a little while longer, I zapped the TV and killed the lights.
The apartment was dark except for some faint orange lamp post light from outside. Lying there, staring at the ceiling, my mind churned. I was ruminating about Sophie’s bulging eyes, my non-existent marriage, and the questioning from Barasco – pleasant stuff like that. I needed to lawyer-up in a big way, but how was I supposed to start hiring lawyers? I didn’t want to burn through thousands of dollars, and Maria and I had a joint bank account, so if I hired a divorce lawyer she’d find out about it. The last thing I wanted to do right now was give her a reason to have even more animosity toward me.
Then I started sobbing. I’d been so distracted by the police investigation and the drama at home that I hadn’t had a chance to mourn for Sophie. I barely knew her – had it really been just a week? ten days? – but I’d somehow become attached to her. I felt like I’d lost a relative, or a best friend.
Thinking about everything I’d done to fuck up my life, I continued to cry until I eventually passed out.
* * *
‘Daddy, are you up yet? Daddy?’
I opened my eyes and saw my favorite sight in the world – Jonah’s smiling face.
I kissed him on the forehead, feeling in that moment like the luckiest guy in Manhattan, then said, ‘I’m up now, kiddo.’
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‘Did you sleep here all night?’ he asked with amazement. Ah, to be eight years old. I wished I could be so easily impressed.
‘Yeah, I did,’ I said.
‘How come you didn’t sleep with Mommy?’
Wanting to change the subject I said, ‘Why are you up so early?’ I glanced at the clock on the cable box. ‘It’s not even eight o’clock yet.’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. Then, as if he’d suddenly gotten the greatest idea in the world, he said, ‘You want to play NBA 2K?’
You gotta love kids’ energy.
‘Now?’ I said. ‘Can’t I have my coffee first?’
‘Pleeease,’ he said in the manipulative, impossible-to-say-no-to tone all kids master. ‘We haven’t played in sooo long. Pleeease.’
‘Okay,’ I caved.
‘Yay,’ he said. ‘Just three games.’
‘Three games?’ I said.
‘Okay, two games.’
‘One game,’ I said.
‘Three games,’ he said.
‘Two games,’ I said.
‘Deal,’ he said.
I laughed. The kid was a natural negotiator; I just hoped he didn’t go into the real estate business.
As he was loading the game, it hit me that today was Sunday – Sunday. Holy shit, I had two open houses this morning and I was completely unprepared.
I grabbed my phone and emailed and texted reminders to potential buyers. I could think of four possibilities for the one-bedroom on 74th near York, and a few for the studio on 89th between 3rd and Lex, but I knew I was forgetting some people. The good work energy I’d had over the past several days was gone, and I was flustered, and had reverted to feeling off my game. I only had about fifteen minutes to get to the first showing.
‘We’ll have to play later,’ I said to Jonah.
I started putting on the clothes I’d worn yesterday and had left in a pile on a chair.
‘Daaad.’
He was trying to play the guilt card. On another day that might’ve worked.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I promise, when I get back later, I’ll play three games with you, okay?’
‘But you promised you’d play now.’
‘I can’t now,’ I said, raising my voice, though I didn’t want to.
He threw the Xbox remote down on the rug, so hard it bounced.
‘Hey!’ I shouted.
He rushed away into his room.
‘Come on,’ I said.
Maria came from the bedroom, eyes widened, already enraged, looking for a fight.
‘Why are you yelling at Jonah?’
‘He threw the Xbox remote, and I didn’t yell. I just raised my voice.’
‘Are you completely losing it?’ she asked. ‘Can’t you control yourself at all anymore?’
She was doing it to me again – twisting everything, making me into the one with anger issues.
‘Okay, let’s just drop it,’ I said.
‘Oh, I’ll drop it all right.’ She had a weird, sarcastic grin. ‘That’s exactly what I intend to do.’
Was she implying divorce again? In a rush, I didn’t feel like trying to unravel one of her cryptic threats.
‘Fine, whatever,’ I said, just to end it.
She returned to the bedroom.
I finished getting dressed, put on my shoes, and left the apartment. Getting away for a while would be the best thing – if Maria and I had spent the morning around each other’s stress, a meaningful discussion would have been impossible.
* * *
When I arrived at the building on 74th Street, I saw a tense young couple waiting in the lobby. The anxious-looking woman was holding pages from the real estate section of the Times.
‘Sorry, had a closing downtown,’ I said, wanting to give off the vibe that I was a successful real estate agent, out wheeling and dealing bright and early on a Sunday morning.
I rode with the couple – Dan and Jen – in the elevator, giving them the usual spiel about the general amenities in the building – a roof deck, a bike room, a laundry room – and how it’s ‘new on the market,’ although it had actually been on the market for three months.
‘Really?’ Jen asked. ‘I thought I saw it listed a couple of weeks ago, but we were away and couldn’t see it.’
Damn, busted already.
‘Oh sorry,’ I said. ‘I meant fairly new. But hardly anybody has seen it yet.’
They didn’t seem convinced. Already I felt desperate.
In the apartment, I did my best to stay upbeat, boasting about how spacious the place was and how there was a possibility of creating a second bedroom by putting up a wall in the living room.
‘We’re going to need that,’ Jen said. ‘I’m expecting.’
‘Wow, congratulations,’ I said. I was surprised because she wasn’t showing.
‘It’s still five months away,’ she said, ‘but we’ll definitely need that second bedroom.’
I thought I had an in. I mentioned that I was a dad myself and that my son went to school on the Upper East Side. This created a great bond between us as I answered all of their questions about the school and the playgrounds in the area. Then I went into my spiel about how the building was very accommodating regarding putting up walls and how the apartment was ideal for it because the alcove they would section off had its own window and heating/air conditioning unit. They seemed to really like the apartment too – they were discussing where they would put their furniture, and how to decorate the apartment, which was always a positive sign. Dan had a few questions about the building’s financials and seemed satisfied with my answers. I was confident that the discussion would segue into how they could go about making an offer and was already thinking about my commission on the deal – maybe ten thou after the agency’s cut – when Dan went to check out the bathroom again and called Jen in to discuss something.
They remained in there for a couple of minutes, conferencing in a hushed tone, and I started to get paranoid, fearing they were having second thoughts.
When they finally returned, I said, ‘Do you want to go and take a look at the bike room in the basement? I don’t know if you guys ride, but it’s a great space down there.’
‘It’s okay,’ Dan said. ‘Do you have a card?’
Sensing the blow-off, I gave him my business card. Obviously something had soured them.
‘So what do you think?’ I asked. Trying to revive the upbeat vibe.
‘We’re concerned about the size of the bathroom,’ Jen said. ‘Especially with the baby coming and all.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘It’s actually an above average-size bathroom for a one-bedroom.’
‘It’s smaller than our bathroom in the studio we live in right now and with a baby it’ll be impossible. And we won’t be able to give the baby baths with that old shower door.’
Dan was near the front door, texting, obviously ready to leave.
I knew I’d lost them on this apartment, but I tried. ‘Actually, if you take down the shower doors and put up a curtain it’ll make the whole bathroom look more spacious.’
‘Thank you, we’ll think about it,’ Jen said.
I knew this meant no.
‘I have some other listings, a few great apartments right here in this neighborhood,’ I said. ‘If you have some time later this afternoon I’d be happy to show them to you.’
Actually, I didn’t have any other apartments in particular in mind, but I could come up with some possibilities. It didn’t matter because Dan was already in the hallway, calling for the elevator. I’d done something to sour him, probably come off as pushy and desperate.
‘We have a few other appointments later,’ Jen said. ‘But if you could text me the links to those places, that would be great.’
They left and I sensed I’d
never hear from them again.
Exuding positive energy was so important in selling real estate, and becoming a murder suspect hadn’t improved the situation. While an upbeat attitude wouldn’t have expanded the bathroom or closed the sale, I certainly wasn’t helping myself.
The rest of the open house was pretty much a bust. I hung out at the apartment for two hours as nine people drifted in. No one showed serious interest and most were ‘professional open house goers,’ whom I recognized from previous open houses. They went to open houses every Sunday, claiming they were serious buyers, but they were really just lookers. I had no idea what people got out of spending their free time going to open houses, but addictions came in many forms.
At a little before noon, I walked uptown to the other open house on Eighty-ninth. This showing had a better turnout, and generated a few leads, but I still felt like I was off my game. I wasn’t myself – I was an actor playing Jack Harper, and was watching this make believe Jack Harper hide his fear and desperation, trying his best to come off as relaxed and confident, and failing miserably.
It had been cloudy earlier, but had turned into a sunny, chilly day, dried leaves swirling on the sidewalk like a mini tornado. I checked my phone, hoping there was news about the arrest of Lawrence Ward. I had a flashback to discovering Sophie’s body, the red tie around her neck, and, in front of a Mexican restaurant, people having Sunday brunch, I began sobbing. As the tears gushed, all I could think about was how connected I’d felt to her, how happy she’d made me feel. Now she was gone forever, and maybe those happy feelings were gone forever too.
Distracted by my desperation to sell an apartment, and sadness about Sophie, I’d forgotten to eat. Morbidly, I realized that with Sophie gone, I had no reason to get into shape anymore, so I stopped at the Shake Shack on 86th Street. I ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake. The woman took my order and then I scanned my Chase banking card.