by Frank Zafiro
I could say it had been a long time since I’d known a woman, but the truth is that she was the first. I went away at a young eighteen. All I knew of sex was adolescent fumblings and then the cruel ugliness of prison. Bobbi was nothing like either one. She was soft and sweet-smelling and giving. She intoxicated me and when I was with her, I forgot about prison and my life and getting even with Hank.
Once, we lay in the bed, the fading afternoon light drifting in through the small part of the curtains. I was staring at the picture of a cowboy crouched on a rock, surveying the prairie, his horse’s reins held loosely in his left hand. Her breath was rhythmic and I thought she’d fallen asleep. That was the first moment I allowed myself to think about taking her away from him for good.
It was a crazy thought, but it sunk into my head and wouldn’t budge. We could leave River City and go...hell, anywhere else. She had no kids, so she’d never need to see Hank again. We could start a new life. And somewhere down the line, maybe I’d drop him a letter to let him know who took his woman.
Still, was that enough? Was that enough for seven years of a hell that he could never even truly imagine?
No, it wasn’t. I needed something else –
“What’s this?” she asked.
I started slightly at her voice.
She giggled. “I scare you?”
“No. I thought you were asleep, that’s all. What’s what?”
She traced the tattoo on my right forearm. Even in the dim light, I could make out the letters B, S, C.
“It’s a tattoo,” I said quietly.
She giggled again. “I know that. But what does it mean?”
I hesitated. If I told her –
“It looks homemade,” she said. “Did you do it yourself?”
“No. Someone else did it.” I took a deep breath, my heart pounding. I could lie to her, just like I lied about my name and the reason I tried to meet her. But if there was going to be any chance for us, I’d have to come clean about some things. I could always explain the name, but the tattoo...
“It stands for Brotherhood of the Southern Cross,” I said. “It’s a white supremacist biker gang.”
She stopped breathing and tensed up next to me.
“I got the tattoo in prison,” I told her. “I had to join up with them for protection. It was the only way to survive.”
She remained stiff for a moment, then let out her breath slowly.
“Are you still...?” she asked, her tone guarded.
I shook my head. “No. I never really was. I just needed the protection to survive inside.”
She was silent a few moments, then asked in a soft voice, “Why were you in prison?”
“I made a mistake,” I said. “I screwed up and someone died because of it.”
She paused, considering my words. “Like manslaughter or something?”
“Like that, yes.”
She swallowed, her throat muscles moving against my chest. Her hand caressed my forearm over the top of the tattoo. “How long?” she whispered.
For a moment, I was a kid again. I felt as safe as if I’d been curled up next to my mother. Tears welled up in my eyes.
“Forever,” I rasped. “It was forever.”
She lifted her head and looked into my eyes. There was no fear in those eyes, only compassion. She slid on top of me, her breasts flattening against my chest. She kissed my forehead, my eyes, the corners of my mouth. Her tongue flicked out and caressed my ear lobe.
“I don’t care about that,” she breathed into my ear. “I care about right now.”
Shivers rushed over my body. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled tight. In that moment, I believed.
Troy cracked open the apartment door and peered out at me with suspicion. “What do you want?”
“It’s me, Troy.” I raised my eyebrows expectantly.
He examined me for a moment, then recognition flickered. “Skiz?”
I winced a little. They’d called me that inside. “Yeah.”
Troy swung the door open. “Well, damn. Come on in, brother.”
The inside of his tiny apartment stank of sweat, smoke and burnt grease. It was dark, all of the windows closed with the blinds drawn. A small shudder ran across my back. Troy had never really left prison.
“Get you something?”
I shook my head. “Nah. I’m good.”
Troy nodded, then smiled and shook his head. “Goddamn. Skiz. Good to see you, my man.”
“You, too, man.”
Troy brushed a pile of newspapers and magazines off of a cheap dining room chair. The vinyl cushions were torn and cottony stuffing leaked out. I sat down. Troy plopped into his battered lazyboy.
“No TV?” I asked, looking around. Aside from the computer desk next to the lazyboy and one rickety coffee table, the room was empty of any other furniture.
Troy shook his head and motioned toward his computer screen. “Don’t need it. I can watch anything I want on this. TV, DVDs, porn. It’s great.”
“Computers are amazing,” I agreed.
“They say that every eighteen months, the technology doubles.” Troy smiled. “I think they’re full of shit. It only took me a month to get caught up once I got out of the joint.”
“You making bank the way you talked about inside?”
A flicker of suspicion flashed across his face. “I’m getting by. Why’re you asking?”
I pulled an envelope of cash from my back pocket and set it on the coffee table between us next to an overflowing ashtray. Troy eyed it briefly before snatching it up and examining the contents. He gave a low whistle, then turned his gaze back to me.
“What do you want?” He asked. “Like, exactly.”
And so I told him.
Another month passed. Troy told me he had to be careful not to get caught and careful meant slow. I didn’t mind. During the days, I worked at the construction site. I thought about my plan coming to a head and how it would crush Hank. It would ruin his life at least as much as he ruined mine.
More than that, though, I thought about taking Bobbi from him. I wondered, especially in the half-light of the motel room with her scent surrounding me, if I wanted to take her from him or if I just wanted to take her for herself.
It was a question I didn’t try to answer. I didn’t know if I really wanted an answer. All I knew was that something hot and angry still burned in the pit of my gut whenever I thought about Hank. But something else burned there, too. Something softer, something all her.
On a Friday night, Troy called my house.
“It’s done,” he said.
“Both parts?”
“Yeah. I dropped the package a half hour ago. It’ll get there on Saturday. Monday at the latest. I’ll send the emails tomorrow. Everything will be waiting there come Monday morning.”
I thanked him and hung up. My palms tingled with excitement.
The next day, Bobbi called. “I need to talk to you. Meet me at the motel.”
“Okay. Where’s he?”
“Golfing with a client. He’ll be gone all day.”
I smiled at the thought of him working so hard for a career that was about to end. Then I thought of Bobbi and having her to myself for the remainder of the day.
“See you there.”
I checked in and waited outside the room for her to arrive. She pulled her red sports car to a stop. I watched her get out of the driver’s seat, admiring her legs and the curve of her hip. She’d left her hair hanging free and a touch of breeze toyed with it.
She didn’t say word, taking me by the hand and pulling me into the room. As soon as the door slammed shut behind us, she was on me. Her movements were frenzied, hungry. I struggled to keep up with her passion. We ripped aside clothing and fell to the thin carpet next to the bed. She bucked and grinded against me, her eyes pressed tightly shut. A low growl came from deep into her throat, growing into a pant and finally a clenching cry.
Afterward, we lay in drained silence on th
e hard floor. Her ragged breath plumed against the hollow of my throat. I stroked her hair and said nothing, listening to her breath slowly taper off to even. The scent of her hair filled my nostrils. I shifted and kissed the top of her head, pressing my lips against her scalp and lingering.
Her breath hitched. Once, then twice. Her chest shuddered. Tears spilled onto my chest.
“What is it?”
She shook her head against my chest. “Just hold me. Please.”
And so I held her. She cried quietly. Her tears streamed onto my chest, warm and wet, and trickled down my sides.
I held her and I wondered.
Eventually, she stopped crying and grew still. Her breath evened out. She wheezed slightly, a sound I’d come to recognize that she made when she fell asleep.
I held her and she slept.
I must have fallen asleep myself, because I woke the sound of the shower in the bathroom. I rose stiffly from the floor. My clothing was strewn around the floor where we’d fallen. I gathered the pieces and tossed them onto the undisturbed bed.
I stared at my clothes for a moment. Taking a shower was always her way of signaling she was leaving. I reached for my boxers and my jeans and pulled them on. Then I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the sound of the shower to stop.
She emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, fully dressed. With the shadowy darkness of the motel room, the harsh bathroom light silhouetted her in the doorway like a dream. I felt something flutter in my stomach. Then she flicked out the bathroom light and moved in my direction.
“Bobbi...what’s wrong?” I asked, surprised at the waver in my own voice.
“Everything,” she answered, her voice thick from sleep and crying.
I didn’t know what to say. I sat and waited.
“I hate my life,” she said. “I hate everything about it, everything I’ve done.”
“So change it.”
She laughed sadly. “I was going to. I was going to leave him.”
Something leapt in my chest. “Going to?”
She nodded.
“Then why don’t you?” I asked.
And come with me, I thought.
“I’m pregnant,” she said. “That’s why.”
Cold sensations washed over me. Pregnant?
“And I...” her voice broke again. “I don’t even know who the father is.”
The coldness turned suddenly warm, then hot. “You’ve been fucking him?” I snapped.
She froze in surprise, then shook her head slowly. “Don’t be an asshole. He’s my husband.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. I gripped fistfuls of the bed covers.
“All this time,” she said, “I thought it was me who couldn’t get pregnant. Especially after my mom and my sister both had their problems. But maybe it was him all along.”
“It could be mine, then.”
She nodded. “It could be.”
“Or his.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Or his.”
A mixture of rage and longing swirled through my chest. I wanted to hold her, I wanted to smash him. For a long while, we waited in silence. I remained sitting on the bed. She stood near me, but too far away to touch.
“What are we going to do?” I finally asked.
She drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long, shuddering sigh. “I need to think.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll talk to you later,” she said.
“All right.”
She paused for a moment, then turned away. The room flooded with light when she swung open the door and stepped outside. The heavy door slammed behind her with finality.
I listened to the muffled sound of her car engine starting, the whining of her transmission as she reversed out of the parking space and the small chirp of tires as she pulled away. Then I was alone.
I wrestled with it all weekend. Even my Dad asked me what was wrong while we ate dinner Sunday night. I shook my head and avoided his inquisitive eyes.
It would all be over tomorrow. I’d have my revenge and it would be sweeter than I ever imagined. Hank would lose everything, which was fitting because he never deserved any of it. Then I’d tell Bobbi what I wanted. We’d go away from here. We’d make a life together, her and I. And our child.
I knew it was mine. It had to be.
I took Monday off, even though I had nothing more to do but wait. All morning, I paced through the house I’d grown up in. It surprised me how small and tired it seemed to me now. I wanted to shed it almost as badly as I’d wanted out of prison.
Ten o’clock came around, then eleven. I imagined the scene at Barnes and Associates. Saw Hank’s boss and secretary open the emails to Hank that were “accidentally” forward to them both. I could almost see the look of horror and revulsion on each face as they saw the disgusting pictures. The accusing stares at Hank. The muttered words.
Pervert.
Sicko.
Child molester.
He’d deny it, of course. A mistake, he’d say. But then they’d open the manila envelope. More pictures inside.
What would they do? Fire him and call the police? Or decide to avoid the embarrassment and demand he resign quietly? I guessed they’d take the quiet route to avoid losing clients over the matter. But they’d blackball him. He’d never work in the financial field again. What else could he do? Wash dishes?
I tried to smile as I saw the scenes in my head, but pictures of Bobbi kept flashing past my eyes. I swallowed over a lump in my throat and stared down at the small silver cell phone.
I waited.
At three o’clock, I called him. It rang five times without an answer. I worried for a moment that it might go to voice-mail, but then his voice came on the line.
“Hello?”
In that single word, I heard all of the tired defeat I needed. Everything had worked.
“Hank?”
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“I’m the guy who got you fired.” He didn’t answer right away, so I added, “I’m guy who’s been banging your wife.”
Even over the phone, I sensed his surprise. Finally, he whispered, “Why?”
“Meet me at Roper’s at seven tonight,” I told him. “I’ll be at the corner table in the back.”
“Who are you?”
“Come to Roper’s. Then you’ll see who’s destroyed your life.”
I hit Cancel and leaned back in the kitchen chair. I imagined him searching through his memory for my voice, but I knew he’d never place it. He’d wonder about it until seven, then he’d come.
The phone rang, causing me to jump slightly. He couldn’t be calling me back. The number was restricted. I glanced down at the small screen and recognized Bobbi’s number.
I flipped open the phone. “Hello?”
“I...I need to talk to you.”
“Okay. Where are you?”
“I’m on the freeway near Ritzville.”
“Ritzville? That’s an hour away. What are you—”
She cut me off. “Where can I meet you?”
I glanced at my watch. “The motel?”
“No.” Her voice was firm. “Not there. Somewhere else.”
“How about Roper’s?” I said. “I’m going over there now.”
“Okay. I should be there in about an hour.”
“Okay.” I swallowed. “Bobbi, I—”
The phone went dead.
I drove over to Roper’s, parking my Dad’s VW in the back. Hank was unlikely to remember the car, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I wanted to look into his face when he realized it was me behind everything. I wanted to see the weight of his crumbling life come crushing down on him at once.
The bartender gave me a bottle of Heineken and I took my seat in the rear corner of the bar.
I waited.
She took longer than an hour. It was after six when she came in. I’d begun to worry that she’d show up at the same time Hank did. Then I worr
ied that she wasn’t coming at all.
She didn’t see me right away. I watched her survey the sports bar, looking for me. Her eyes passed by me once and didn’t see me. I waved and caught her eye. She hurried to the table and sat across from me.
The only waitress in the place appeared at the table, but Bobbi brushed her away with a shake of her head. The waitress glanced at my half-full bottle, my second, and trudged away.
I leaned forward. “Why were you in Ritzville?”
Bobbi pressed her lips together and swallowed. “I was leaving.” She took a short breath and continued. “I packed a few things while Hank was at work this morning. I took some clothes and some paperwork and that was it. And then I left.”
“Did you tell him?”
She nodded. “I called him before I got on the freeway.”
“What did he say?”
“I didn’t give him a chance to say anything. I just told him it was over and I was leaving for good. Then I hung up.”
She didn’t know.
“When?” I asked.
“When what?”
“When did you call him?”
She shrugged. “Right before I got on the freeway, like I said. About an hour before I called you. Why?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. Where were you going?”
“Away,” she answered quietly, looking away. Then she looked back at me. “But then I couldn’t...I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”
Something in my chest jumped and hollered. I forgot about Hank for a moment.
She couldn’t leave without me.
I leaned forward. “You had to come back?”
She nodded her head. “I had to. It wasn’t fair not to.”
I smiled at her. “I only need a couple of hours.”
“What?”
“A couple of hours,” I said. “I need to take care of something and get a few things from my Dad’s place. I can be ready to go by nine.”
“Go?”
“With you. Wherever you’re going.”
Her mouth turned down and she looked away. A pang of fear slashed through my stomach.