by Annie Jocoby
“No. The answer is no. Now come to bed, if you want.”
But of course, moving in with him was exactly what I did. I put in applications for leases all over town, but, just as I thought, my forcible eviction and lousy credit put the kibosh on all of them. I knew that Ryan was secretly rooting against all of the apartment complexes. I wouldn’t be surprised if he paid them all off, one by one, to deny me.
Of course, it wouldn’t take something that nefarious to get me denied at these places. My history did that all on its own.
Finally, I called uncle. But first, he had to meet my family.
At his house, when I finally confessed that I was going to take him up on his offer, I put the stipulation of meeting my family. There was no way that I would move in with him, making such a serious step, without them first meeting him. Ryan readily agreed.
I figured that this was a good time to see if there was some reciprocity in this.
“So, you’re finally going to meet the fam.”
“Yes, and I am excited!”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Well, is your family ok with some strange woman living in your house?”
His mood darkened. “I don’t know.”
This was a reaction I expected, yet didn’t expect. I knew that there was something going on with the dad, and I had a pretty good suspicion about what. However, my suspicion was so horrible that it couldn’t be imagined. Yet, the proof was there – at least one night a week, Ryan talked in his sleep, begging his father to stop something. I wished that Ryan would open up, but, apparently he wasn’t ready for that just yet.
I didn’t push.
What I didn’t expect was that he would react this way about his mother. He loved his mother, and was apparently close with her again, after being estranged for many years. After his father’s divorce, he wasn’t allowed to see her anymore, and his father told him that this was Maggie’s choice. It wasn’t until he was an adult, and sought her out, that he learned the truth. It took some work and some family therapy, but they got past their differences and worked at re-establishing a relationship. Now they were close. Christ, he took her maiden name as his own, although he never did admit to me that this is what he did.
“So you don’t want me to meet-“
“Iris, just drop it, please.” His voice was hard-edged, as it always was when the subject of his father came up. And he used my first name, which was never a good sign with him.
I was perplexed. What about my meeting Maggie?
But the conversation about his parents ended there.
Chapter Twelve
The night was upon us for him to finally meet the family. He had been warned about what to expect, so there was nothing that would make him run for the hills. And the night went just as I thought it would.
Ryan brought my mother a bouquet of wildflowers and a limited edition Barbie Doll for her collection. He presented my sister with a box of Christopher Elbow chocolates, which was a boutique chocolatier in Kansas City. For my father, he had picked up a signed copy of Atlas Shrugged, one of my father’s favorite books. I knew that the book set him back, and the doll did too, but money was no object, as usual.
We met at a Japanese Steakhouse. I wasn’t quite ready for Ryan to see my parent’s townhouse. My apartment was the Taj Mahal compared to their place. They had an untrained dog, so their carpet constantly smells like pee, and my parents were sloppier than I could ever hope to be. I figured that Ryan would be better off with a small dose for this first night.
The dose he got was bad enough. I loved my family, but they were a little quirky. My nephew also showed up, and he was loud. His speaking voice was loud to begin with, and he had a quick temper and tended to cause scenes in restaurants, dropping the F-bomb as many times in a sentence as possible.
My father showed up in his usual Japanese gear – a Japanese headband, a Japanese robe and a white t-shirt on underneath. Ryan was amused by this get-up, and thought that it was cute. My mother wore a colorful shirt that I had bought her for her birthday one year. My nephew wore his usual jeans and plaid shirt, topped by an enormous straw hat. My sister was, as usual, dressed to the nines, wearing high heels and a lacy blouse.
The night wore on, as my family sat around the long table, watching the chef prepare our food. It occurred to me that this was not the best set up for Ryan to get to know my family, as we sat in a long row. It was difficult for him to talk to anybody except the people sitting next to him, one of whom was myself. Still, I could see him talking to my father animatedly.
Since Ryan had given my father the Ayn Rand book, my father took that as a sign that Ryan was interested in Ayn Rand, and he started talking about Randian philosophy. I could catch snippets of their conversation. To my surprise, Ryan knew a lot about Ayn Rand, and was prepared to debate my father about her ideas.
I heard him tell my father “I’m quite sure that she was a very intelligent woman, but I don’t agree with social Darwinism or objectivism.”
“Yes, but we can’t let the social safety net get too out of hand.” I rolled my eyes at my RINO father. The Republican party wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him – the guy was pro-choice, pro-gun control, pro gay rights, and didn’t mind if we would legalize marijuana. He was also passionate about green technology. Yet he called himself a Republican. Go figure.
I heard Ryan expound a little more about her philosophy, which showed that he had a deeper understanding of her work than I gave him credit for.
Meanwhile, I was talking with my mother. “So, what do you think?”
“Well, he’s certainly easy on the eyes. He seems like a real gentleman, too.”
“That he is,” I said, truthfully.
“Do you love him?”
Again with that word. “Yes.” And I realized, perhaps for the first time, that I really did love him.
Ryan made his way to sit beside my mother. It was a bit more difficult to find topics of conversation with her, as her interests ranged from trashy television to tabloids. Nevertheless, Ryan found common ground, talking to her about The Rachael Ray Show and other cooking shows, and about various episodes of Flip That House. I was amazed again at how well-rounded he was.
With my sister, he debated legalizing marijuana. Well, it wasn’t really a debate, as they were both for it, but they discussed it. They also talked politics, and, again, their views were virtually identical, so there was not a disagreement there. My nephew joined in with this conversation too.
All in all, Ryan was a hit with everybody. He just had a way of making people feel at ease, and he really went out of his way to engage in conversation with each and every one of them about things that interested them. I was amazed at how deftly he handled everybody.
If anything, my sister said that he was “too good to be true.” Which, I suppose that he was. The other shoe was going to drop soon, I told her. I really believed it when I said that to her.
But I wasn’t quite prepared for how it would drop.
Or how quickly.
Chapter Thirteen
It was about a month after I officially moved in with Ryan when it happened. We were doing exceedingly well together. I curbed my messier habits, and I took a cooking and wine class so that I could do my part in the kitchen. Ryan was an excellent cook, and I managed to get out of him that he spent two summers taking cooking courses in Italy when he was at Oxford.
As he explained “I was living in Europe anyhow, I might as well have taken advantage of it.” Indeed. He was an expert Italian cook, but could also cook all kinds of other cuisine – Greek, French, Spanish, even Moroccan and Turkish food. “I became fascinated with the Mediterranean way of preparing food while I lived in Italy,” he explained. So, he took cooking classes here in the states that would help him prepare Mediterranean food in general.
I’m not a bad cook, myself. I mean, I could follow a recipe for the most part, but was not yet well-versed in how to t
hrow together gourmet meals without a book in front of me. So, like everything else, Ryan was well ahead of me in the cooking arena. I wanted to do my part, as much as I could, to help with the cooking, so I enrolled in a cooking course.
I actually told Ryan how far I had come from my horrible cook days, just a few years earlier. “I’m a passable cook now, but, just a few years ago, I’d take frozen chicken, put it in a pan, put the stove on high, then be shocked, shocked when the chicken came out raw on the inside. I knew when the food was done because the smoke alarm would be going off.”
He found that amusing.
“Beautiful, you’re an excellent cook. I love your Osso Bucco.” That was something special that I prepared for him one night, using a recipe. To my credit, it did turn out nice.
Anyhow, it was my night to cook. As I said, up until that night, everything was going well. He taught me how to mountain bike without fear, and I was getting better at it. He was also trying to teach me how to ski, and that was harder, but I was trying. We went to independent movies at least once a week. We spent time with friends, his and mine, having somebody over at least every other week for dinner. We went to the casinos together about every other week. And we made love every night before we went to bed and every morning before both of us went to work. We also pursued separate interests, as I continued with my pit bull rescues, and he pursued tennis and photography.
In short, we were getting into a nice routine of contentment.
Not that all was perfect and rosy. We had our arguments, usually over petty things.
“Goddamn it, Ryan, would you stop flipping the channel? I mean, I don’t mind it if you want to see what’s on while our show is on commercial, but I really hate it when you flip around and don’t return to the program we were watching.”
That had happened three times now. We would be watching a show, I would be getting into it, then, when the commercial comes – boom! Ryan was off to find something else. It was driving me crazy.
Instead of arguing back on this particular evening, Ryan clicked off the channel and went to bed without a word. He was in a shitty mood, which I saw him in more often than I would’ve liked.
He, on the other hand, would get on me about minor things as well. “Why are you always forgetting everything I tell you? Why don’t you make a list?”
“I do make a list.”
“Oh, yeah, well, where is it?”
I had to admit that I couldn’t find it.
“I bought you that iPhone so that you could keep track of things. Why aren’t you using it?”
Because I couldn’t find it, either. When I admitted as much – “I don’t know where it is right now. I think it might be at the office,” Ryan threw up his hands in frustration.
“You’re driving me crazy! The way that you forget everything all the time, I constantly feel that this is Fifty First Dates.” Fifty First Dates was a movie that we had rented one night, because Ryan said that the main character reminded him of me. I instantly got the reference – the main character was a woman who had a short-term memory problem, and literally could not remember from one day to the next. I chuckled at the time that this was how Ryan saw me, but he was evidently irritated about my forgetfulness, and was not joking in using that reference.
Plus, Alexis was still in the picture. Ryan was surprisingly patient with her when she called, not like that one morning when I heard him yelling in the phone. She even showed up on a fairly regular basis, and he would invite her in to watch television with us. She was usually drunk when she showed up, and would talk throughout the show.
“So, what’s this show called again?”
“The Voice.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s a singing competition.”
“Gawd, look at that outfit Christina is wearing.”
“She always looks like that.”
“I think Adam is hot.”
“Everybody does.”
“What are those chairs for?”
“They spin them around when they want somebody on their team.”
“Oh, my god, that guy is fugly. Why would they want him on their team?”
“The whole point of this show is to find somebody with a good voice who might not have the look.”
And on it went, throughout the show.
Sometimes Alexis would show up on a Saturday evening, when Ryan and I would be going out to see a show or go to dinner. Such as one Saturday evening when we were heading down to the Tivoli theatre, a theatre that shows independent movies and revivals, to see a revival of Citizen Kane.
“So, what are you guys up to tonight?”
“Going to the Tivoli to see Citizen Kane.”
“Isn’t that an old movie?”
I looked at her, dumbfounded. She’s a Yale-Educated lawyer, and she doesn’t know about Citizen Kane?
She clarified. “I mean, of course it’s an old movie. I just didn’t hear that it had been remade.”
“Actually, we’re going to see the original. There’s been no remake.”
“Oh.” She stood there, kinda looking around. “You know, I love old movies, especially on a big screen.”
So I said “Would you like to go with us?” Please say no.
“I’d love to.”
This happened more frequently than I would like, and I was puzzled as to why Ryan was being so nice to her. But, far be it for me to tell her to get lost. If Ryan wants her to get lost, he can tell her to.
Which he never did.
He did apologize for her intrusion, though, explaining “You know what they say. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”
I sighed. I knew that Alexis was blackmailing him. With what, I hadn’t exactly ascertained. But, he didn’t know that I knew that, so I kept quiet and accepted her role in our lives. Besides, she was really pretty harmless, if annoying. And, of course, whenever we were out together, there was always the assumption that the two stunningly beautiful people were together and I was the adopted sister to one of them. I accepted that too.
I had the patience of Job.
However, on this night, Alexis came over and was definitely different. She came over, unannounced, as usual, but she wasn’t her usual spacy, but sweet, self. She was belligerent.
“Shit,” Ryan said, looking out the door. He locked it with the deadbolt. “Hide!”
I made a face. Hide? Why would I hide from Alexis? In spite of myself, I was starting to consider her to be a friend.
I ran up the stairs to the guest bedroom with the artwork from the unknown, where I spent the first night in this house.
Alexis was pounding on the door. “I know you’re in there, you little shit!”
Ryan looked panicked. I was up above, looking down at him. He looked shaken.
“Let me in there right now! I mean right now!”
He ran up the stairs as I retreated back into the bedroom. “Stay in here!”
“What’s going on?”
“She’s really high. I knew it the second I looked out the door at her. Her pupils are dilated beyond belief and she looks a mess.”
“High on?” I didn’t know too much about heroin, still her drug of choice, but I did know that it didn’t make people act the way Alexis was acting.
“I would say cocaine.” Cocaine. What are we, back in the ‘80s? “She’s also probably manic. She tends do more cocaine when she’s manic, which, of course, just makes it that much worse.”
Oh, she’s bipolar? That explains a lot. “Why didn’t you tell me she has bi-polar disorder?”
“I don’t know, it probably didn’t come up.”
Alexis was pounding, louder and louder. “You open up, or I’ll kick your precious stained-glass bird in, I swear I will!” At that, she started kicking the door, on the wood part, just below the bird. The door was enormous and solid, but the bird was not. Alexis would shatter that bird, there was not a doubt.
“Stay here! Don’t move,” Ryan said, as he ran
back down the stairs.
He ran to the door, unlocking the deadbolt.
“Where is she?” Alexis demanded.
“Where is who?”
“Who do you think? What do you see in that toad, anyhow?”
Hey! I mean, I know that I’m not supermodel status like you are, Alexis, but I try. I don’t think I’m exactly a toad.
“She’s not here.” Ryan didn’t address the “toad” comment, but I guess that it was just as well.
“Well, then, I’ll wait. What do you have to eat?”
“Why do you want to talk to her?”
“Nunya.”
“It is my business, Alexis. Why do you want to talk to her?”
“I saw Nick today. I ran into him at the liquor store.” Him? Nick is a him? What the hell?
“Oh, shit. Alexis, you wouldn’t…”
“Oh, wouldn’t I? Listen, I don’t have anything against your little rando of a girlfriend. She seems pretty nice, actually. I’m only looking out for her.” Oh, now I am a rando? She thinks that I’m just a random person in Ryan’s life?
“Alexis, please.” Then he lowered his voice, but I could still hear what he said. “I haven’t told her about that.”
Told me about what? Oh, lord, what now? What next?
“Why are you lowering your voice?” Alexis was no dummy, even when she’s high. She immediately figured that I was somewhere in the house because Ryan lowered his voice. “She’s here, somewhere, isn’t she?”
“I told you, she isn’t here.”
“Bullshit.” Now she was coming up the stairs. I hid in the closet. She was immediately in the room. She opened the closet door. “Oh, in the closet, huh?” Ryan was right behind her. She looked back at him. “How appropriate. Now you’re both in the closet.” Alexis laughed wickedly at her own joke.
What does that mean? And who the hell is Nick?
She rubbed her chin, looking at me. “Nah, I can’t do it.” Then she turned to Ryan. “You know what I want. I want that Cezanne. I know where all the bodies are buried. Every last body. I will burn you to the ground. To the fucking ground.” I hope that the she is using “buried bodies” as a figure of speech.