The Rain Dancers

by Greg F. Gifune

  I put the wine away. No more drinking. My mind was already fuzzy and I was feeling no pain. I needed to be alert and aware from here on out.

  I lingered in the kitchen doorway, trying to sort my thoughts while keeping an eye on him. He’d joined Betty in the den as she made up the couch for him with a sheet, blanket and pillow she’d found in the linen closet. I was only half-listening, but he was in the midst of another heartwarming saga, this one about a party he’d attended here when Betty was just a little girl, and what fun they’d all had. He even recited the country music tunes he and Earl had loved and how they’d played records and gotten so drunk they both started singing along with George Jones, making fools of themselves and not caring in the least.

  I focused on Betty. She loved every minute of it, listening to these stories she’d never heard before from a man who portrayed himself as someone that truly loved her father. That didn’t concern me. What did was the way she so effortlessly slipped into the role Laurent wanted her to play, that of innocent Little Betty, a blushing beauty so taken with him and his self-serving compliments that she didn’t know any better than to smile and bow her head and giggle and fawn over every word like an attention-starved teenager. Where was my wife, the educated, savvy and sophisticated woman I knew and loved, the one who’d see this for the bullshit it was in a New York minute? Who was this woman-child so easily swept away by a strange old man and his pandering tall tales? It was as if an internal switch deep inside her had been thrown, as if Laurent knew exactly where it was and how to manipulate it, how to arm it when she was interacting with him and how to switch it back off when she was dealing with me.

  But that was ridiculous. No one had those sorts of abilities. The entire thing was absurd, yet that’s exactly what was happening.

  As Betty bent forward to straighten the blanket on the couch, her robe opened just enough to reveal a hint of cleavage. Laurent casually adjusted his position so he’d have a better view then glanced back over his shoulder at me and winked.

  “Will and I are going to sleep in my old room,” she told him. “And we could’ve put you up in Dad’s bedroom, but we donated the bed this afternoon, there’s nothing to sleep on.”

  “This is just fine, darlin’.”

  “It’s a comfortable couch. Shouldn’t be too bad for one night.”

  “I appreciate you going to all this trouble.” He hugged her yet again, purposely crushing her against him harder and longer than was necessary.

  If it bothered Betty she didn’t show it. In fact, she reacted by returning the hug and going on and on about how it was the least she could do.

  There was no question. This was a different Betty, a Betty I didn’t know because she’d existed prior to my meeting her. That’s why in Laurent’s presence she seemed like a stranger to me as well. This was a dated version of my wife, a version Laurent was able to resurrect whenever he wanted to. All he needed was some silly stories about her father, a few inane compliments and as many inappropriate hugs as he could get away with and there she was, back from whatever grave Betty had left her in.

  That made me odd man out. With my own wife. In an unforgiving old house I had no connection to or feelings for, and no memories of but for those unpleasant times I’d had no choice but to be here. In some ways it wasn’t that far off from when we’d come to visit over the years. Only it was bearable when I felt that way in Earl’s presence. After all, he was her father. Who the hell was Bob Laurent?

  “Besides,” Laurent said, snapping me back, “I’m having so much fun I don’t know if I’ll sleep tonight anyway. It’s just so good to see you again, Betty, and it’s been a pleasure meeting and getting to know you, Will, who’d want to sleep on a night like this? Heck, I feel like a kid at a slumber party!”

  “Well if it’s going to be a sleepover,” Betty laughed, “we need to get in our jammies and have popcorn!”

  “You already got your jammies on, girl!” Laurent slapped his knee. “Least I hope that’s what’s under that robe!”

  Betty playfully feigned shock. “I’ll never tell!”

  “What are you trying to do, kill this ole boy?” As they continued laughing he turned to me. “Will, I guess we need to get our nightclothes on!”

  I forced a smile. “You go right ahead.” My head was reeling. I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation, jokingly or otherwise. “I’m all set.”

  Betty gave me a look. Don’t be such a grouch, he’s only kidding.

  “Maybe we ought to just settle for the popcorn and some more beer!” Laurent managed through another burst of laughter.

  My wife followed suit.

  Rain pummeled the house. It had slowed for a bit but had regained its strength in the last few minutes. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d experienced such a prolonged and violent rain.

  “Look,” Betty said, her tone suddenly serious as she pointed at the window behind me. “It’s doing it again.”

  The back light had come on.

  Rain sprayed the window, drumming the pane in a steady rhythm as I moved closer and peered out. I don’t know what I expected to find, but all I could make out was rain and shadows, glimpses of the backyard and a blurry tree line leading to dark forest beyond. Nothing seemed out of place, and everything looked just as it had in daylight. But in the storm, and bathed in the eerie liquid glow of the spotlight, the world beyond the window took on a surreal and alien edge, like I’d caught sight of a version from some alternate reality.

  “Why does it keep doing that?” Betty asked softly. “Something must be setting it off.”

  I turned from the window. “There’s nothing out there, don’t worry about it.” That’s what I said, but what was going through my mind was the fact that the light had only done this while Laurent was in the house. The entire time he was gone it hadn’t come on. Not once. Everything else had been the same—the storm, the night—he was the difference. Ridiculous as I knew it was to even consider that Laurent could somehow be causing the light to come on and off, I couldn’t shake the idea that at a very minimum, it had something to do with him.

  Betty slid in next to me and gazed out the window as if in a trance, her eyes slightly squinting at the night. “Something,” she muttered. “There’s…”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, gently touching her arm. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know, I…I’m not sure, I…thought I remembered something.”

  “Storm’s spooking everybody,” Laurent said. “World’s not the same when it rains. Everything changes.”

  The sound of his voice snapped Betty back from wherever she’d gone to. She blinked her eyes rapidly and stepped away from the window. The confusion on her face drifted away as she looked to Laurent. Their eyes met and locked. “Yes,” she said, “you’re right, I—I think that’s it. The storm, it…”

  I stepped between them. “Sweetie, are you all right?”

  “Of course,” she snapped. “Shouldn’t I be?”

  Stunned by her venomous response, I froze. “I just—”

  “I’m going upstairs to dry my hair then put something on for the night,” she said, staring at me dully. “I really shouldn’t be running around the house with nothing on under my robe. We have company.”

  I nodded, unsure of why she’d felt the need to say that aloud. It seemed wholly unnecessary to make such an announcement when she simply could’ve excused herself, gone upstairs and taken care of what she needed to do. Which is exactly what she normally would’ve done.

  But nothing was normal about this night. Not anymore.

  “You go and do what you need to do, little one,” Laurent said. “Will and I can sit and have another beer and chat awhile. Isn’t that right, Will?”

  “Yeah,” I answered. “Sure.”

  Laurent winked at Betty.

  She winked back. “You boys play nice.” As she crossed the kitchen, left the room and headed up to our bedroom, the outside light went out.

  It took e
verything I had not to follow her, but I forced myself over to the table and motioned to a chair. “Have a seat.”

  He did, a silly grin plastered on his face. His presence threw everything off. Nothing felt the same, or as it should, and the longer Laurent’s invasion into my life continued, the stronger the sensations became.

  I took a seat across from him and placed my hands on the table.

  “Not going to leave me drinking all by my lonesome are you?” he asked.

  “I think I’ve had enough for tonight.”

  He placed his beer bottle on the table. “Then maybe I have too.”

  “Don’t feel you need to stop on my account.”

  “You two always drink like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, we’ve all had quite a few tonight already. And the night’s young.”

  “Just being sociable, Bob.”

  He leaned back. “It happens.”

  “What does?”

  “People that been together a long time, like you and Betty for instance, fall into certain patterns of…well, let’s call it comfort. But they’re not always healthy patterns. Like drinking. See what I mean? You both throw back the beer and wine pretty easy. Bet you do the same with the heavy stuff too, am I right? I’m thinking you’re a scotch man, being a teacher type and all, going to all those faculty parties and whatnot.”

  He was right but I wasn’t about to admit it.

  “And I’ll bet Betty’s a vodka drinker,” he said.

  Lucky guess, I told myself. Sure, Betty and I drank socially but neither of us had a problem. We had a couple drinks most nights but that didn’t mean anything; lots of people did that. “What’s this all about?” I asked. “Why are you here? What do you want? Why are you trying to goad me?”

  “Why am I trying to what now?”

  “Look, do us both a favor and drop the hillbilly bumpkin act, all right? It’s just you and me now so there’s no reason for your good-ole-boy routine. You know what I’m asking you and you know damn well what goad means.”

  Laurent smiled like I’d amused him. He grabbed his beer bottle and drank the rest of it down. “Well lookie here, the dog’s got some fight in him after all.”

  I felt a warm tingling sensation spread through my body. “Why would you want me to fight with you?”

  “If a man came into my house and did to my wife what I’ve already done to yours, I’d knock his dick in the dirt.”

  “I’m not some kid on a schoolyard. I don’t get into fistfights.”

  “Too good for that, huh? Above it, are you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Civilized, right?” he chuckled, bowed his head and thought a moment. “Or just maybe that’s code for being a prissy little faggot, a scared pussy-boy.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Never understood why people use the word pussy when they mean to say weak. Pussies are strong. It’s amazing the beating they can take.”

  I grit my teeth. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

  “I think you’re afraid of everything.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Just an old family friend lost in the storm is all.”

  “Bullshit. Betty’s not even sure who you are.”

  “She knows exactly who I am,” he said evenly. “She’s remembering.”

  “What do you want, Laurent?”

  “Just here for a little fun.” He smiled with his eyes. “Betty always was fun. You should’ve heard ole Davey Hamilton going on about her today. They were quite the item when they were younger, you know.”

  “We all have old flames,” I said. “So what?”

  “Davey sure does have some great stories about her. Come to think of it, plenty of boys in town do. Guess nobody’s got to tell you, but damn, that girl sure can suck dick, can’t she? She always loved it in her mouth, natural born cocksucker, that one.”

  I sprung to my feet, fists clenched before I’d even thought about it. I was so angry my entire body was trembling. I hadn’t come so close to hitting another human being since high school. “Get out.”

  “Aw, you don’t want to do that, Will. Betty wouldn’t like it.”

  “When she hears what you’ve just said she’ll—”

  “What’d I say? That Davey sure did have some nice things to say about her? Well, gosh, Will, I’m awfully sorry, I didn’t realize you had a temper like that and would react the way you did to some old stories from a few boys that dated your wife before she even knew you. But if I’ve offended you somehow, I truly didn’t mean to and I hope you’ll accept my apology.” He winked, crossed his arms over his chest. “You going to throw me out for that?”

  “I’m going to tell her what you really said.”

  “You think she’ll believe you?”

  “Yes I do. She’s my wife.”

  “Maybe she won’t want to believe it. Ever think of that?”

  I stood there shaking, wanting nothing more than to put my hands around his scrawny old neck. “Why are you doing this? There must be some point.”

  “Sit down, boy. We both know you aren’t going to do anything.”

  I remained on my feet.

  “I know your type, Will, know it well. Always had a good life, good family and a good home. Or at least that’s how it looked on the outside, right? Behind closed doors it wasn’t quite the Leave It To Beaver world y’all made it out to be publicly, was it? Dad drank a little too much, popped a few too many pills to keep the darkness away, yeah? Pumped a little strange on the side while everybody looked the other way and pretended he didn’t. Mom saw doctors about her depression and took pills of her own, pills that made her a zombie stumbling through her own life. Two older sisters that couldn’t get out fast enough. One married young and moved across country. You still barely see her and only talk on holidays on the phone. The other’s got a thing for the ladies, was always something of an outcast growing up and hit the big city by the time she’d graduated high school. Lives with another woman out in the desert now, with some dogs and an adopted son. You tell yourself you’re closer to that one but it’s all a lie, isn’t it? You haven’t seen her in years. And when’s the last time you saw your mother, Will? Long time, huh? You like to pretend you miss your old man—and maybe in your own way you do—but the two of you never got along. You were a disappointment to him and he was a disappointment to you. You had all the advantages, made the most of them, went to school, studied and worked hard and got ahead. Fucked around in college with plenty of babes but none of them meant anything to you. Married your first true love, made a life together. Couple cats and dogs over the years but no kids, so you two settle in and you do the whole married thing. You live the life. And now, you blinked and a couple decades are gone. You’re both into your early forties and it’s all slowing down. The payoff you thought would be there isn’t, it’s just more of the same, day in, day out, the same, one day blurring into another. This is it, and you know that now. It doesn’t get any better than where you are right now. That’s why you drink the way you do, so when you tell yourself your lies, you might just believe them. You tell yourself this is the part of life where you’re supposed to be able to slow down a bit and smell the roses—and it is—but that’s all been taken away, hasn’t it. Given away. You’ve never been as alone as you are at this moment, and it tears you to pieces because you still think you should’ve been able to stop it, to make it all right, to save the both of you. Sound about right?”

  I swallowed so loud it was audible. “How do you know about my family?”

  “I know everything, Will. It’s part of who I am.”

  “And who are you?”

  “It’s not the who you should be worried about.” Laurent began to laugh.

  My stomach clenched as fear clawed at me, ripping me apart from the inside out. “What are you?”

  His laughter stopped as quickly as it began. He leaned forward on the table, glaring at me, and when he spoke it was quietly a
nd through clenched teeth. “Everything you’re afraid I am.”

  I suddenly felt lightheaded and nauseous. The room tilted and I grabbed the edge of the kitchen table for fear I might otherwise topple over. “Tell me what you want.”

  He pointed a long and crooked index finger right at me.

  “Why?” I gasped, my voice a tight croak. “What am I to you?”

  “I’m the death of you both.”

  Behind me, I heard the stairs creaking. Betty was coming.

  Laurent’s lips slowly curled into a devilish grin as he motioned to the other room. “Did you know when they were just young’uns Davey used to fuck her right in that den, on that couch she just made up for me? Oh they used to put on a real good show, let me tell you. And all the while poor ole Earl was passed out drunk right upstairs.”

  I rounded the table, stood over him. “Get up. Get up and get out. Now.”

  He licked his lips with a pale tongue. “Yes sir, Davey used to give it to her doggie-style real good, nice and deep, right up that cute little ass of hers. Betty still like a nice hard cock in her ass, Will?”

  I don’t remember attacking him, only that he was suddenly in my grasp. I had hold of his shirt with both hands, had evidently yanked him up and out of his chair and was in the process of shaking him back and forth like a madman.