Everything Burns

by Vincent Zandri

  But I don’t. I can’t.

  I move up to the top left-hand drawer and slide it open.

  It’s Lisa’s underwear drawer.

  Okay, sure, I knew it was her underwear drawer even before opening it. But this is the first time I’ve been alone in the house for an extended time, and this is the first time I’ve had the drawer all to myself.

  Setting the black socks on top of the chest of drawers, I begin to sift through the soft cotton lace and silk panties. I can’t help but recall, back when we were married, how Lisa preferred to wear plain underwear. Nothing special. Usually black cotton bikinis from the Gap. But now I can see that she’s changed her undergarment habit. Not that I haven’t noticed it already during the few times we’ve undressed before one another and made love. It’s just that I never really made the connection until now.

  The panties are accompanied by several pairs of black, thigh-high stockings. There’s even a garter belt to go with them. And behind that, three or four lace push-up bras from, you guessed it: Victoria’s Secret. Sexy stuff Lisa would have laughed at when we first got together.

  But then I find something else.

  A clear plastic freezer bag. Pulling the bag out, I don’t need to open it in order to see what the bag contains. There’s a vibrator inside. A blue, translucent vibrator.

  My heart is beating rapidly again, and if I didn’t know for certain that Lisa was about to undergo pre-op for an eye operation at nearly this very moment, I would swear she was just about to walk into the bedroom and snag me going through her most personal and intimate possessions. How would I explain myself? It’s perfectly within Lisa’s right to own this stuff. She has a life all her own now. Who am I to judge what she does for fun? Or, more accurately, what she and David used to do for fun?

  I quickly return the bag to the drawer, stuffing it back in the very same place I found it. That’s when my hand brushes up against something else. A manila envelope. I slide the envelope out, my fingers trembling as I pull back the metal clasps and peel back the flap. The package contains maybe three or four eight-by-ten color glossies.

  I pull them out and examine them, one by one.

  The pictures are full-color proof positive that the Lisa I once knew and loved as my lawfully wedded wife is no longer the Lisa I have come to know once again.

  Chapter 6

  Then, the pitter-patter of little feet. Paws, actually. Frankie, standing in the open bedroom doorway, looking up at me.

  “Oh my God,” she says. “You’re going through Lisa’s junk.”

  “She told me to go through it, remember?”

  “I believe her words were ‘Don’t be going through my underwear drawer, big boy.’ ”

  “You heard her whisper that from all the way in the living room?”

  “I’m a dog. I have big ears. I can hear shit coming from across the river in Troy. You know, where your old girlfriend, Rachael, lives. You remember Rachael, don’t you? She’ll put a knife in your back you ever come within spitting distance of her again.”

  “I’m trying to forget Rachael and her threats,” I say, picturing the very attractive but very angry blue-eyed, blonde-haired woman. “So back to the reason I’m going through Lisa’s underwear drawer. In humanspeak, when someone whispers seductively in your ear not to do something like Lisa told me not to do something, it’s actually an open invitation to go do it. Get it?”

  Frankie just gives me that blank, million-mile stare. “You know something, Reece? You’re an all-around good egg. But you sure have some quirky habits. Like having pretend conversations with dogs, for instance. If only your big brothers were around to witness it.”

  “Frankie,” I say, imagining the beating and tongue-lashing I’d have no choice but to endure, “you have no idea.”

  The dog wags her tail, about-faces, and heads back out of the bedroom.

  Finally, it’s just me and the photographs. Again.

  I decide to examine them further. Study them. Slower, more methodically this time.

  In the first picture, Lisa is standing at the foot of the bed. She’s wearing black stockings, which are supported by the matching silk garters and belt I just found inside the drawer. She’s wearing one of the black Vic Secret push-up bras and on her feet, black pumps. She’s not wearing any panties. I can’t help but notice that her pubic hair has been trimmed to perfection, the baby-blue cherub tattoo she acquired soon after college plainly visible directly beside it.

  She’s smiling slyly, her hands planted firmly against her hips, like she’s posing for Playboy. Her luscious lips have been painted red and her long, thick hair has been parted just above her left eye. The way it drapes her tan face causes her big brown eyes to take on a sort of playful glow. She’s clearly having fun.

  Next picture.

  Lisa is still dressed in the same sexy outfit, but this time she’s laid out on the bed on her flat stomach like a pinup girl. She’s wearing black pumps even on the bed, one leg bent at the knee at a ninety-degree angle, the other positioned straight, her perfectly shaped glutes a feast for sorry eyes. She’s still smiling slyly for the camera and her hair has shifted sexily so that half her left eye is hidden behind it, while the other half is exposed and glowing in burning candlelight.

  Third and final photo.

  This one robs me of my breath. Lisa is sitting back against the headboard. Her legs are spread and she’s gently touching herself. She’s no longer smiling but instead appears to be drowning in a fiery pit of sexual pleasure. I can only imagine that the person behind the camera is David and that no pleasure is lost on him either.

  As I return the photos to the envelope, I feel myself getting dizzy. My hands tremble and my stomach feels like it’s filled up with bricks. I’m also ashamed to admit it, but I’m as hard as a rock. It’s all I can do to resist the urge to relieve myself on the spot. How strange to be turned on by Lisa’s private photo collection on one hand but, at the same time, be shattered by it. Maybe it will help if I keep trying to convince myself that Lisa has a life. Or had a life with another man once. That what I’ve just witnessed in her telltale underwear drawer is perfectly normal.

  Or is it?

  Lisa and I are together again. Been together for weeks. Months.

  She should have gotten rid of these pictures by now. Destroyed them. Hell, burned them. Maybe she should have tossed out the vibrator and hit up the Gap for new undies. And why is David Bourenhem calling incessantly? Calling when I’m not home?

  Closing up the underwear drawer, I go back into the kitchen and light another match. After it’s burned down to my fingertips, I toss the remaining flame into the sink. Again, I get that familiar, satisfying hiss when the lit matchstick touches liquid.

  “Fire! Fire!” says the Town Crier . . .

  My eyes shift to Frankie, who’s asleep on the couch.

  “I promise you, Frank, I am not crazy.”

  I see the phone on the counter. I pick it up. Pre-op or no pre-op, I’m about to get to the bottom of what’s going on between Lisa and her former lover.

  Chapter 7

  She answers after the third ring.

  “Reece,” she says, “is everything all right?”

  My throat constricts at the mere sound of her low, smooth-as-silk voice.

  “Yes,” I answer. “Or, well, no.”

  She giggles, telling me they’ve already begun sedating her.

  “Well, which is it, Reece? I haven’t got all day. The lovely handsome doctor will be back in a minute and this time he will put me out for good.”

  I clear my throat. “I checked the house phone, Lisa,” I say as my face fills with hot blood. “The son of a bitch has called three times over the past three days.”

  “Who’s called, Reece? Who’s the son of a bitch this time?”

  There’s anger in her voice, despite the sedation
. I need to take it easy.

  “David.” I dry swallow.

  She exhales. “Okay, Reece, I’m going to level with you. David has been calling again.”

  I feel my legs melting. Like my body is about to form a giant puddle on the kitchen floor.

  “Thanks for the truth.”

  “Listen, I’m sorry for keeping it a secret. But trust me when I say there’s no deception here. He just calls to say hello, and that’s it. It wasn’t worth letting you know and going through all the trouble.”

  “Calls to say hello,” I repeat, like I’m not buying her story.

  “Yes, just hello. Come on, Reece, if I was so concerned about keeping his phone calls a secret, I would have made sure to erase the caller ID before I left.”

  “But I asked you this morning if he was calling again and you denied it.”

  “Calm down, honey. It’s not what you think.”

  “Lisa, he calls when I’m not home.”

  Her pause is as weighty as her sigh.

  “I can’t possibly control the times he calls. If he’s called when you’re not home, it’s purely by coincidence.”

  “You might ask him never to call again. I see you’ve called him back. Do you speak with him when he calls? Carry on a conversation? Have phone sex?”

  Another giggle. Not the answer I want.

  “Jeez, Reece, I spent almost eight full years with the man. He’s really a nice guy. It just didn’t work out between us. He loves your books. Truth is, he wishes he had your talent, your ability to be so productive and prolific, so that he didn’t have to work public relations for some second-rate community college.”

  “At least he’s got a gig. It’s more than I had when we were married.”

  “Don’t you remember meeting him before you and I split up to discuss his manuscript? He’s not the enemy. You’re just being paranoid, honey.”

  Lisa keeps telling me I’ve met him before. Back before we split up and I finally broke through my writer’s block in order to start on the novel that would become The Damned. My first best seller. I’ve racked and racked my brain, but for the life of me, I cannot remember meeting him. If not for Facebook, I wouldn’t even know what he looks like. The black-framed eyeglasses, the thick black hair, the scruffy face. But then an image of him taking pictures of a naked Lisa pops into my overheated brain. My throat constricts. My heart pounds.

  “I appreciate your telling me all this, Leese. Maybe I’ll give him some free fiction-writing lessons just to show what a sport I am. You can join us. We can have a threesome.”

  “You’re being mean and stupid. He’s a nice, sweet, gentle man who wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “You used to fuck him and do God knows what else with him, Lisa, and now he’s calling again.”

  Another sigh. “Tell you what, Reece. If David is upsetting you that much . . . if you don’t trust me . . . I will tell him not to call anymore. Okay?”

  I can tell she’s angry. I don’t want her to think I don’t trust her. Or worse, that I’m the same unstable, insecure boy/man I was years ago.

  “I’m sorry, Lisa,” I say, stealing a breath. “I trust you more than you know. Please forgive me. I’ve wanted you back for so long, and now that I have you, I feel like the floor is about to open up and I’m going to drop down into a pit of burning flames.”

  “Reece,” she says in the same soft tone, “you’re not playing with matches, I hope. I should have tossed all the packs out now that no one smokes anymore.”

  I picture the two used matches sitting inside a dirty coffee cup in the sink, the pack of matches still sitting out on the counter.

  “No,” I say, my eyes drifting to Frankie where she lies fast asleep on the couch.

  “Maybe you should go back on your medication. Why not give Dr. Cutler a call? It’s been a few months and you know what your doctors said. You need to be in therapy once a week, every week. You’ve been shirking and you know it. This . . . this phone call. This is what happens when you stop following doctor’s orders.”

  I picture the short, gray-haired, bearded psychiatrist entrusted with my case when I was released from Four Winds in Saratoga a few months after Lisa and I split up. Maybe Lisa’s right. Maybe I should call him and go back on the meds.

  “Reece,” Lisa says. “You still there?”

  “Yes, babe. I’m here.”

  “Listen, I need to go. You sure you’re all right? I knew leaving you alone in the house might be a problem. I still think you should call Blood and have him stay with you.”

  “I’m not an invalid, for God’s sakes,” I insist. But then I remember her underwear drawer. “But there is one more thing I need to discuss with you.”

  “Quickly, Reece.”

  “Your drawer. Your top dresser underwear drawer. I was looking for socks. I saw some things that maybe I shouldn’t have seen.”

  Lisa takes me completely by surprise when she bursts out laughing.

  “I’m sorry, Reece. I am truly sorry.”

  She’s laughing so hard she can hardly get her words out.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “It’s probably the sedation kicking in. I truly don’t mean to laugh in your face. I knew something like this would happen the second I told you not to go through my underwear drawer.”

  “You did? You made it sound like you wanted me to go through it.”

  “I did. I didn’t. Or, oh hell, I don’t really care either way, honey. It’s just that I’ve forgotten about the things I might have in there. I’ve been meaning to get rid of that blue toy for a long time. Ever since David and I broke up for good. It’s just that I keep forgetting. It’s so unimportant to me that it slips my mind. We have a daughter and she’s all I think about at home.”

  “There’s photos too, as if my imagination weren’t sharp enough.”

  Her laughter stops. “Oh, you poor soul. I’m soooo soooo sorry you had to see those, Reece. Really, I am. It was entirely insensitive of me to keep them lying around, even if they were hidden. They mean nothing to me.”

  “I guess you and I . . . way back when . . . we weren’t as adventurous.”

  “Reece, you were drunk way back when. You were blocked and wallowing in self-pity. We didn’t have much of a sex life.”

  “Unlike you and David.”

  “David is very . . . well, playful.”

  The word “playful,” and the way it sounds coming out of her mouth, is like a swift punch to the stomach.

  “I understand.”

  “I’ll get rid of everything when I get home. Don’t worry yourself over it all. Remember what I said. Don’t let David get to you. You two are very different people, even if you are both writers.”

  I’m surprised to feel myself smiling, my cheeks taking on a warm red blush. Uncovering the sordid details of Lisa’s sex life with her ex is not necessarily something to smile about.

  “I’m the better writer,” I say.

  “That’s the spirit. And I’ll tell you a little secret too.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re better in bed.”

  Just then, a commotion coming over the line. I make out a door opening, and the footsteps of people walking into Lisa’s room.

  “I have to go now, Reece,” Lisa says. “The doctor is back and so is Vickie. He’s going to put me out now. Bye-bye, bad tear ducts. I will no longer cry for you.”

  I hear her say something cute and bubbly to the “handsome” doctor. I wonder if he’d be interested in seeing some pictures of his patient dressed in sexy lingerie, minus the panties.

  “I love you, Lisa,” I say.

  But she’s already hung up.

  Chapter 8

  Dad is standing inside the open bedroom door. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, and his hair is parted on the side. H
e’s wearing his serious expression so that the cheeks on his clean-shaven face are slightly caved in. He’s younger than me in death, but somehow still older too.

  What the hell is wrong with you, Reece?

  You sound like a crybaby. And a paranoid one at that. Haven’t two stays in the nuthouse taught you anything? Two rounds of electroshock therapy? Did all that lithium go wasted?

  You must have some sort of messed-up whore/Madonna complex swimming through that head of yours. So what if Lisa and David talk? What harm can come of it?

  You know that if you had the chance, you’d talk to Rachael again. You and Rachael were inseparable for the better part of three years. Only when you were writing and she was in her studio making art were you apart. But now that you’ve gone back to your ex-wife, Rachael wants no part of you. She’s erased you from her life for good, and who the hell can blame her? She hates your guts.

  So don’t blame Lisa for communicating with David on occasion. Blame yourself for being bothered by it. Sure, Lisa and David used to have fun in bed. So what? You’ve had your fair share of fun, too, with your book groupies. Remember that threesome at the Toledo Holiday Inn during the book tour for The Damned? Both women (girls?) were barely eighteen. Then there was the high school English teacher who invited you to speak to her English Comp seniors and who, later on, asked you to “stay after class. You’ve been a terribly naughty boy, Mr. Johnston.”

  You need to get your head out of your ass before Lisa calls the whole thing off, this time forever and ever. This is your dad speaking: grow up, Reece. Face it, Lisa is an adult and she has been living her life over the past eight years, just like you’ve been living yours.

  David Bourenhem was a big part of that life. But now it’s over. Just like it’s over between you and Rachael. She’s gone. He’s gone. The sooner you accept that as truth, the sooner you can get on with the job of creating a new life for you, Lisa, and Anna.

  You hear me, Reece?

  Get a grip, or get used to no Lisa all over again.

  Chapter 9