The Feeder

by Gayle Siebert

  I laugh and want to say, I didn’t know a try was worth five points and also a bull’s eye counts fifty so he needs ten more tries to win on points. I should also offer to hit him in the nose with smelly socks more often since it’s such a turn on. But now he’s nuzzling my neck and feeling his body hard against mine, with those hands going places, somehow I’m okay with letting him think he’s the winner. This time, anyway.

  Twenty-two

  Carly

  MONDAY MORNING. I can hardly wait for Derek and Jennifer to leave. I’m distracted, mentally running over the inventory of his desk file drawer, wondering which file he would have the WIFI information in. I’m so excited I’m jittery. So jittery, my hands are shaking and when I top up his coffee, Derek notices.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he demands.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? Why are your hands shaking?”

  “I, er, I’m just thinking about this new, um, there’s this new recipe I’m going to try.”

  He rolls his eyes, but my reason is feeble enough to satisfy him. He frowns and shakes his head. Brainless Carly, all giddy at the thought of trying a new recipe. It’s a lie he accepts without question.

  I’m tempted to head for Derek’s study as soon as I see the tail lights going out onto the road but force myself to have a second cup of coffee and watch the news. I have this niggling fear he might have forgotten something, or noticed he had navy socks instead of black, or had some other reason to come back. It’s never happened, but Murphy’s Law, this would be the one time it did.

  When I think what he might do if he did have navy socks instead of black because I screwed up his sock drawer again, I indulge in the meat-tenderizer-hammer-to-the-head fantasy. Then I think about all the hammers out in the garage. Would a bigger, heavier one be better? Should I go and get one? Hide it somewhere?

  I tell myself not to be ridiculous. I would never actually do it. But just knowing I’m not completely defenceless and that I have a plan to protect myself is empowering, whether I’d actually be able to follow through or not. The meat tenderizer hammer is pretty heavy, but it’s not very big and something with a longer handle would be better. I think it will fit perfectly between the microwave and the wall and if he notices, I can say I used it to tap those nails on the front deck rail that stick out an inch back in, stuck it behind the microwave to get it out of the way and forgot about it. Out of sight, out of mind. He’d be annoyed, but not enough to do anything. I’m going to do it.

  Planning something like that! Having a fantasy like that! I must be truly evil.

  Twenty-three

  Lita

  IT’S THE FIRST Friday night I’ve spent home alone since I moved in with Nullah. At some point this will become more commonplace, and I will go out without him, too. This is normal. We’re in a committed relationship; I wouldn’t cheat on him and I believe he is as trustworthy as I am.

  Having these thoughts surprise me. I never thought I was the jealous type, but when I think about what gorgeous, successful women will be at the meet and greet, I have a moment of self doubt. I tell myself it’s not Nullah I’m worried about, it’s those women. I don’t trust them not to hit on him. He’s so good looking I can’t blame them, because I did it. That’s how we got together after all. I tell myself it wouldn’t matter how they came on to him, the worst he might do would be to flirt back and then come home horny. I call women like that missionaries. Before Nullah, I was one myself.

  At last there are headlights coming up the drive, and minutes later, Nullah comes through the back door, calling out, “I’m home!”

  “Hey! I’m in here,” I respond. I stand and go to greet him with a kiss. He pulls me in tight and makes it a truly juicy one. So, I guess there was some missionary work going on. Just as I thought.

  “Mmmm,” I murmur, palm the growing bulge in his jeans, and say, “I guess you missed me.”

  “I miss you whenever we’re apart, babe. But how come you’re still up?”

  “Just waiting for you,” I tell him. “You reek of booze and cigarette smoke. I can’t believe they allowed smoking.”

  “They didn’t. That was after.”

  “After what?”

  “After the fancy schmancy meet and greet. I’m bushed. You ready for bed?”

  “Um hmm,” I agree, and follow him to the bedroom. I take my robe off, hang it on the back of the door, and slide between the sheets, half sitting as I watch him strip. “So! Don’t keep me waiting. What about after? What about Derek?”

  He disappears into the closet and comes back out naked, his penis at half mast. He climbs into bed, pulling me into his arms, and as I snuggle into his armpit, says, “that’s better.”

  “Did Alf and his crew show up?”

  “Did they ever! Nine of them. Mmmmmn,” he mumbles as he runs his hand down my ribs, then cups my buttock.

  “So…?”

  “So, they pretty well cleaned up everything on the food table, and made a good start on the booze. The bartender seemed to be enjoying himself and poured doubles without being asked. The good-looking young guy—”

  “Ray?”

  “Yeah. You met him once and you remember his name?”

  “I’m good with names.”

  “You remember the other guys’ names?”

  “Umm, sure.”

  “Okay, name them.”

  “There’s, er, Bill. And Dave…”

  “Forget it. There’s no Bill or Dave. Figures you’d remember Ray. Anyway, he caught the eye of one of the caterers and they disappeared for a while.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, goodnight then. That’s all I waited up to hear.”

  He chuckles. “I made sure to introduce everyone to the big boss, Jackson, and assured him we were all friends of Derek’s and it was good of him to invite everyone. He was polite but cool. The way he looked at Derek—! I think Derek’s gonna have some ‘splainin’ to do!” He growls deep in his throat and tries to pull me up on top of him.

  I push him away and say, “continue.”

  He snorts, but says, “Derek was real friendly with one of the women. Good lookin’ brunette. She seemed pretty happy with his attention. You’d think he’d be careful about it but it was almost like he was showing off, like he wanted me to think he’s a player. Had his arm around her and his hand practically on her tit when he introduced her to me. When the two of them went out into the hall like they were on the way to the washrooms, Alf was right behind and didn’t let him follow her into the ladies room. Herded him down the hall and around the corner before, er, talking to him. Alf came back without him. The boys all grabbed bottles from behind the bar and left. I hung around until the slimy little fucker came back. He looked like he’d been crying and took off right away. Alf told me later that he grabbed him by the nuts to deliver the message. He thinks he may have squeezed harder than necessary and maybe there was a little twist, too. I guess I might feel like crying, too, if Alf got my junk in one of his meat hooks. You’ve seen the mitts on that guy.”

  “Oh! But you left early then?”

  “Yeah, booze and food cleaned up, message delivered. No reason to hang around. We went to the clubhouse and played poker. The caterer girl came away with Ray. Pretty sure she doesn’t have a job anymore.”

  “You went to the clubhouse instead of coming home?”

  “They did me a favour, babe. I couldn’t just say see ya later. I lost enough that it wasn’t rude for me to leave but I still got razzed for taking off early. They think I’m pussy-whipped. Afraid of a girl half my size. I told ‘em you’ve got some nasty moves that make up for your size.”

  “Great. There goes any chance I have of getting with Ray.”

  “Want to get with an outlaw biker, do ya? You’ll have to settle for an outlaw fitness club owner.” He grasps my hips and succeeds in pulling me up on top of him. “No more talk, babe. Show me some of those nasty moves, and make it quick. I’m tired.”

  “You’re obviously ready, but
I’m not. You’re going to have to put a little more effort into it, buster.”

  He rolls us both so now he’s on top of me. “Arrgh! They’re right. I am pussy whipped.”

  He starts to work his way down, fondling and kissing everything on his way while he mutters about me not knowing who’s boss and promises that what he’s about to do to me will have me begging for mercy, just before his head disappears under the covers.

  Does he really think he’s the boss? I’m going to have a discussion with him about that. Some other time.

  Twenty-four

  Carly

  I’M IN BED, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. This isn’t unusual. It makes Derek crazy because when I’m thrashing around he can’t fall asleep either. Not that he’s here now. I was hoping to be sound asleep before he got home from the company party.

  On nights like this I often take my pillow and go downstairs to sleep in the recliner. It’s uncomfortable, though, and I can’t sleep very long that way. I wish Derek would agree to put a bed in the spare room. But as he points out, we never have overnight guests so it would be a waste of money. I decide that if I’m still awake at one, I’ll go down to the recliner. But then I hear the car drive in, and glance at the clock. 11:18. That’s kind of early. I hope nothing went wrong.

  The car door slams then the back door opens and closes. There’s a crashing noise and the sound of glass breaking. Did he knock the vase off the console table in the foyer? He must be drunk, probably shouldn’t have driven home, and will no doubt want sex. It’ll be mercifully short, but still, it’s a sloppy, rough, thoroughly unpleasant experience when he’s drunk. I learned early on not to refuse. Too late to escape to the recliner now. I’ll have to pretend to be asleep.

  He pushes the bedroom door open with such force it slams back against the wall, and flicks the switch to turn on the ceiling lights. No way anyone could possibly sleep through that.

  “You’re home,” I mumble. I roll onto my back, fake a yawn, and stretch. “How was the party?”

  He pulls his jacket and tie off and throws them on the chair. “Oh, it was awesome, honey. Just fuckin’ awesome.”

  “Oh. Good.” I roll to my side so my back is to him and burrow into my pillow, hoping that’s the end of the conversation.

  “Yeah, Nelly really made an impresshun with the big guys. Showed up with a bunch of his frienz. Fuckin’ pigs ate all the food… like a swarm of filthy fuckin’ locuss.”

  Pigs? Locusts? Oh, no. I shrink further under the covers.

  “And drink? Half the time they never fuckin’ waited to be served. Just fuckin’ helped themselves. When they left, they took booze with them. Nearly fuckin’ cleaned us out.”

  What kind of friends does Nullah have, anyway? I’m not going to ask. Derek swearing like that means he’s really angry and that doesn’t bode well for me. I’ll say nothing in hopes he gets into bed and passes out.

  But he comes to the wrong side of the bed. My side. And grabs me by the hair. He hauls me off the bed. I land heavily, my feet still tangled in the sheets.

  “Get up!” he hisses.

  I struggle to untangle myself and sit up.

  “I said, get the fuck up!”

  “I am! I am!” I sob, but manage to stand. He grabs the front of my pyjamas and propels me back against the wall. I brace for the first blow.

  But it doesn’t come.

  “You fuckin’ bitch! What did you tell your little friend? Fuckin’ Lita?” His face is inches from mine. He’s spraying saliva with every word and his heavy alcohol breath nearly gags me. “’Course you’d never tell her you have it comin’, would you? You wouldn’t tell her anything to make me look bad, you said. You think talking about our private lives, our fuckin’ marriage, that helps me? You think Nelly likes me more now?”

  “Oh, but I… I didn’t!”

  “Of course you fuckin’ did! How’d anyone know… How’d Nelly find out if you didn’t?”

  “I…”

  “Don’t!”

  He releases me and takes a couple of steps away, bumping back against the bed and abruptly sitting back on it. I start away, but he gets unsteadily to his feet and grabs the back of my pyjama tops. “You wanna leave? Good! You fuckin’ better get outta here before I change my mind.” He shoves me. I stumble forward, putting my hands up at the last second to avoid going face first into the wall. “F’now on, you don’t sleep in my bed until I sums…summon you.”

  I turn to face him. He’s coming toward me, his face twisted with rage. I dash for the door and make it out into the hallway. I don’t want him to catch me on the stairs so I hurry down. When I look back up, I realize he’s not behind me. The bedroom door slams shut.

  I have no idea why the attack stopped. I’m relieved but at the same time, puzzled. I can’t believe it, but Lita must have told Nullah that Derek abuses me, even though I begged her not to tell anyone. And Nullah must’ve said something to him at that party. This not only doesn’t help Derek, but makes things worse for me. He’ll never let me near anyone again.

  I’m starting toward the kitchen when I experience an sharp stabbing pain in my foot. Too late I remember the crashing sound. I turn on the lights in the foyer and examine my foot. It’s bleeding, and there’s glass from the broken vase on the floor. I pick up the largest pieces then choose my steps carefully as I make my way to the bathroom and put a Band-Aid on my foot. Then I get a broom and dustpan and sweep the entire area before going into the kitchen.

  Derek still hasn’t come back down. I wonder if he’s going to stay up there. Is it safe to make a cup of tea? It wouldn’t be unusual for him to come back after me once he’s had a chance to think about what else I might have done that deserves punishment. But so far, I don’t hear any movement upstairs.

  Is the only punishment he can think of banning me from our bed? If he had done that last summer I would’ve been devastated, but it’s been months since I wanted to even be near him. Why? It’s not like the abuse is something new. What happened to make me start seeing him differently?

  Lita. Lita happened.

  ***

  HAVING SLEPT IN the recliner in the family room I’m the first one up in the morning. I get everything ready to make French toast, bacon, and maybe hash browns, in hopes that if Derek is still angry when he comes down, the nice breakfast will put him in a better mood. I remind myself Jennifer should be down soon and in fact she has to be taken to the airport this morning, so I’m likely safe.

  Drunk as he was last night, I don’t expect Derek up before noon, long after Jennifer has to leave. I look forward to being the one to take her. It’s been so long since I had the car. Maybe I can zip into Ladysmith before I come home. I don’t really need anything, but it would be nice just to stroll along and look at the shops. Now that I’ve been able to get on the internet, I know about sales, and the kitchen shop has one this weekend. They posted an extra 10% off coupon on line, so I’d love to check it out, even if there’s almost nothing I don’t already have.

  I hear footfalls on the stairs and expect it to be Jennifer, but instead it’s Derek, bleary-eyed and unkempt, his hairy legs sticking out under his crookedly-belted robe. Was it only a few months ago I would’ve focused on the little patch of silky hair that shows in the vee of his robe and thought myself lucky that this sexy man was my husband? And I would’ve been disappointed and thought it was a failure on my part that he didn’t kiss me?

  “Oh!” I say. “I thought you’d sleep in this morning.”

  He says nothing, just goes into the fridge, gets a beer and pours it into a glass, then roots around in the pantry until he comes out with a can of Clamato juice. Once he tops up the beer with that, he mumbles, “Tabasco?”

  I open the spice cabinet, find the bottle, and hand it to him.

  He shakes several squirts into his glass, then asks, “what time does Jennifer have to be at the airport?”

  “I, uhh, er, the kids are supposed to meet with the chaperones at 10:30. But yo
u don’t have to go. I can take her.”

  “I’ll take her,” he says. He gets a cup of coffee and takes it, his red eye and his iPad into the family room.

  I was looking forward to taking her but I know there’s no use arguing. I follow him to the family room, stopping at the top of the stairs, and ask, “I’m making French toast. Would you like bacon and hash browns with that?”

  “Forget the fuckin’ French toast. Just make me plenty of bacon and hash browns, and a couple eggs.” Then he looks up at me through narrowed eyes and adds, “and Carly? I’m golfing this afternoon so I won’t be home until dinner time. But don’t think we’re finished talking about last night. You know how you’re always bragging about being the star of the Rip Tides? We’ll take a little boat ride and find out if you can still swim as well as you did in swim club.”

  My guts clench. I know what that means. He has threatened to toss me overboard before but he wouldn’t really do it. Not when he’s had all day to calm down.

  Still. Usually by morning, he’s over whatever upset him. But he doesn’t seem angry. He’s calm. This sounds calculated.

  Maybe a nice big dinner complete with made-from-scratch Hollandaise sauce and dessert will appease him. Cook your man happy, my mother always said.

  I wonder why I’m just now realizing that it didn’t work for her.

  Twenty-five

  Lita

  THE WIND IS increasing and the not-too-bad-just-a-little-rough chop turned to surge waves half an hour ago. This fishing trip/tour of the Gabriola Galleries rock formations is becoming a truly miserable experience. For the past forty-five minutes give or take, the radio has been squawking with reports from other boaters describing the same situation where they are, which is pretty much up and down the coast. Nullah is constantly checking the screen on the Chart Plotter for the weather report, which only confirms what we know first hand: there’s a storm going on.