by Joy Fielding
“It’s so easy for you men,” Caroline said, getting down on the floor and extending her legs straight out behind her, pushing up and down with the palms of her hands.
“Slower,” Jeff cautioned. “You think it’s easy for us?”
“Isn’t it?”
“In what way?”
“With women,” Caroline grunted.
Jeff looked toward Melissa, whose slightly embarrassed smile revealed she’d been watching him, and then over at Kelly, who gave him a discreet little wave with the fingers of her left hand as she prepared to hoist two ten-pound barbells to her chest. “I guess,” he said, imagining his mother reflected in the large mirror behind her.
“Who were you with this time?” his mother demanded, her voice an accusation.
“I wasn’t with anyone,” came his father’s testy reply. “I was at the office.”
“Yeah, sure. Like you were at the office last Thursday night, and the Thursday night before that.”
“If you say so.”
“I say you’re a no-good son of a bitch, that’s what I say.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Okay, come down a little farther, Caroline,” Jeff said loudly, using his own voice to block out the sound of his parents’ fighting, the way he used to when he was a little boy. “That’s better. Do another ten.”
“Why are you shouting?” Caroline asked.
“Sorry. Didn’t realize I was.”
“Everything all right?” Larry asked, walking past, muscular arms bulging from beneath his sleeveless white T-shirt, Kelly following dutifully after him, although her eyes followed Jeff.
“Music’s a little loud,” Jeff said.
“It is, isn’t it?” Larry agreed. He walked over to the far wall and turned it down. “How’s that?”
“Much better,” Jeff lied. In truth, he loved loud music. Especially rap and hip-hop, the kind of music that got not only inside your head but underneath your fingernails and in between your toes. The kind of music that usually obliterated all conscious thought.
When he was a little boy trying not to listen to his parents screaming at one another in the next room, he’d turn his radio up as loud as he could, singing along with Aerosmith or Richard Marx, and if he didn’t know the words, making them up. Hell, he even sang along with Abba. You are the dancing queen.
Ellie had loved that one. His sister was three years older than he was, and sometimes, when their parents were going at it, he’d run into her room, and they’d put on the radio and he’d sing, and she’d dance, sometimes grabbing him and twirling him around and around in circles until, exhausted and dizzy, they’d collapse in a heap on the floor, the room continuing to spin happily about their heads.
You are the dancing queen.
That was before their mother had pulled them out of their warm beds one wintry night, throwing their coats on over their pajamas, then bundling them into the car in the bitter cold and driving down the highway, without even making sure their seat belts were fastened, crying and sputtering words he didn’t understand but knew were bad just from the way she was spitting them at the windshield. And then driving for such a long time before pulling into the parking lot of a motel on the outskirts of town and dragging them out of the car, making them trudge through the snow without their boots, the bottoms of their pajamas trailing through icy, cold puddles, everybody crying by the time they reached door 17.
“Do seventeen more,” Jeff said now.
“What?” Caroline pushed herself up onto her knees. “Seventeen more? Are you kidding me?”
“Sorry. Just wanted to see if you were keeping track.”
“Oh, I’m keeping track all right.”
“Have a seat at the edge of the bench.” Jeff reached for a twenty-five-pound bar as Caroline held up both hands. He lowered the bar into her open palms, her long, red fingernails curling around it. “Hands out a little wider. That’s good. Okay, exhale on the way up. Try to keep the arms straight.”
The child Jeff took a deep breath as he watched his mother’s hands pummel the motel room door. “Let me in, you bastard,” she yelled into the cold night air. “I know you’re in there.”
And then the door to room 17 opening slowly, and his father standing there, wearing only his boxer shorts and a loopy grin, a woman sitting up in the bed behind him, a sheet gathered up under her chin. But before he had time to wonder what his father was doing with this strange woman in this strange place in the middle of the night, his mother was already pushing him and his sister out of the way, screaming that the woman was a filthy whore, and snatching the sheet away from her, so that her naked breasts were fully exposed, and then lunging at her, scratching at the side of her face with her long, red fingernails.
Just like Caroline’s, he realized, watching the bar in Caroline’s hands go up and down, up and down. Was that what had triggered these unwanted memories of his mother? Or maybe it was the conversation he’d had on Saturday with Will.
Did his mother really have only a few months left to live?
“Stupid bitches,” he heard his father mutter, a look of bemused indifference on his face as he watched the two women wrestling on the motel bed.
“That’s very good, Caroline,” Jeff said now, careful to keep his voice steady and low. “You’re very strong.”
“Well, they do say women are the stronger sex.”
“You think it’s true?” He handed her a skipping rope. “Do one minute.”
“I think in some ways we are,” Caroline said.
“What ways?”
“Emotionally.” She began to skip in place. “You men are a lot more fragile than you realize.”
“Didn’t you just finish saying it was so easy for us?”
“Having things easy doesn’t make you any less fragile,” Caroline said cryptically.
What the hell is she talking about? Jeff wondered, growing irritated with the conversation. He didn’t like it when women made him feel stupid. “Why don’t you grab some water?” he suggested when she was through skipping.
“Stupid bitches,” he heard his father repeat.
“You’re going to go live with your father for a while,” his mother was saying in the next breath.
The child Jeff stood ramrod straight, trying desperately to contain the tears he felt forming behind his eyes as he watched his mother throwing his clothes into a small brown suitcase on the bed. “But I don’t want to live with him.” He was all of seven years old. Ten-year-old Ellie stood in the bedroom doorway, eyes wide as saucers, watching.
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. Your father doesn’t give me enough money to take care of both of you, and I’m tired of fighting with him over every last dime. So, let him look after you for a while. That should take some of the bloom off the rose with Miss Clarabelle.”
Miss Clarabelle was the name his mother had christened his father’s new wife, although her name was actually just Claire. Jeff had never really liked her. She was thin and bony and always upset about something. And now that she had a new baby, whenever he visited, he always seemed to be in the way.
“I just need some time to myself,” his mother continued, snapping his suitcase shut. “To figure out what’s best for me. For all of us,” she added, an afterthought at best, Jeff realized even then.
“What about Ellie? Is she going to Daddy’s?”
“No. Ellie stays with me.”
“Why can’t I stay, too?” Jeff cried. “I promise I won’t be any trouble. I promise I’ll be a good boy.”
“It’s just that he reminds me so much of his father,” he heard his mother say on the phone later, making no effort to soften her voice, as he sat sniffling on the stairs, waiting for his dad to pick him up. “I swear they have the same damn face. And I can’t help it, but every time I look at him, I just want to strangle him. I know it’s irrational. I know it’s not his fault. But I just can’t stand looking at him.”
“This is just temporary,” h
is father said later, leading Jeff into his stepmother’s quilt-filled sewing room and depositing his suitcase on the narrow cot that had been hastily pushed against the far wall. “Soon as your mother gets her act together, she’ll be back for you.”
She never did come back. Except for the occasional strained visit, during which she always seemed to focus on a spot just past his head. Eventually, even those visits stopped, although Ellie had been vigilant about maintaining contact with both her father and her brother over the ensuing years.
“Ellie says she’s been asking for you,” Jeff heard Will say.
“Jeff? Jeff?” Caroline was saying now. “Earth to Jeff. Are you there?”
Jeff returned abruptly to the present, the image of his younger self disappearing in a streak of reflected sunlight. “Sorry.”
“I think there’s somebody here to see you.” Caroline pointed toward the reception desk. Jeff’s head snapped toward it, for one crazy second expecting to see his sister, or maybe even his mother, standing in the doorway. Instead he saw a frail-looking young woman with dark hair and large sunglasses.
“Excuse me a minute,” Jeff said, walking quickly toward her. What the hell was she doing here?
Suzy removed her sunglasses as he approached, revealing a cheek that was bruised and swollen. “I need to talk to you,” she said.
TEN
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, JEFF slipped into an uncomfortable wooden chair at the back of the bakery located directly beneath Elite Fitness. The bakery boasted a long, exotic coffee bar, and half a dozen tiny round tables for two were crowded into the rear of the small, sweet-smelling space. “Glad you could wait,” he said, wondering exactly what he was doing here, what she was doing here.
“Thanks for squeezing me in,” Suzy said, stirring the cinnamon-laced cappuccino she’d ordered while waiting for Jeff to finish up with his client.
“My eleven o’clock canceled.”
“Lucky for me,” Suzy said.
“You don’t look very lucky.” Jeff glanced out the long side window, watching his boss accompany Caroline Hogan across the street to the chocolate-brown Mercedes parked in front of a hydrant. She’d commented more than once during their session that his mind seemed to be elsewhere—especially after Suzy’s unexpected appearance—and he hoped she wasn’t complaining to Larry about it.
Suzy adjusted the sunglasses she was wearing despite the dimness of the room’s interior and took a sip of her coffee. When she looked back up, foam was clinging to her upper lip. She pressed her lips together, swiped delicately at the foam with the back of her fingers, as if even the slightest pressure would be too painful.
“Your husband do that?” Jeff asked, motioning toward her face.
“What? No. Of course not.”
“You gonna tell me you walked into a door?”
Suzy laughed self-consciously. “Actually, I was walking a neighbor’s dog.” The familiar lie escaped her mouth with surprising ease. “Fluffy. She’s this really cute little Pomeranian. All white and . . . fluffy. Anyway, she has one of those leashes, the kind you can click when you want the dog to stop. You know the kind I mean?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
“Well, anyway, Fluffy started running, and I tried clicking, but I obviously wasn’t doing it right, and I guess I wasn’t paying attention either, and my feet got caught up in the leash, and I went flying, ass over teakettle, as they say.”
“Who says that?” Jeff rubbed his forehead. He was getting tired of people lying to him.
“Well . . . my husband’s mother, for one,” Suzy replied. “Or at least she used to. She’s been pretty sick lately. Cancer.”
“My mother has cancer,” Jeff said, then shook his head. Why had he told her that?
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be.” Jeff fidgeted in the too-small chair, inhaling the smell of freshly baked bread. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Suzy said. “About Saturday,” she clarified.
Jeff shrugged. Two could play this game, he was thinking, although truthfully, he wasn’t sure exactly what game they were playing. “What can I say? We were just three guys out for an afternoon drive.”
“Who just happened to find themselves in front of my house?”
“You trip over dog leashes,” Jeff said pointedly. “We go for afternoon drives.”
Suzy nodded, looked down at her cappuccino. “Your friend followed me the other night. I recognized his car.”
Jeff laughed. “Tom was never very good at reconnaissance work.”
“Why did he follow me?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“I’d rather ask you.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe because you have a kind face,” she said, then paused. “And your friend doesn’t.”
“And my brother? What kind of face does he have?”
Another pause, another glance at her coffee. “What is it you want me to say?”
“Why did you choose Will?” Jeff asked, unable to stop himself. Why had she come to see him? What was she really doing here?
Suzy smiled, although the corners of her mouth turned down instead of up. “I thought he looked nice.”
“Nice?”
“Harmless.”
“Nice and harmless,” Jeff observed. “Clearly a winning combination.”
Suzy fidgeted in her chair, looked toward the counter on her left. “They have such wonderful-looking pastries here.”
“Thinking of taking some bagels home for hubby?”
“Do you think we could dispense with the sarcasm?”
“Do you think we could dispense with the lies?” Jeff countered.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that my life’s a little complicated at the moment.”
“Lives tend to get that way when married women go to places like the Wild Zone, trolling for men.”
“I didn’t go there to pick up men.”
“You just couldn’t resist nice and harmless.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking. I really don’t. The bartender brought me my drink, told me about the bet you guys had going. Suddenly, the whole thing took on a life of its own. I acted on impulse, and, obviously, I made a mistake.”
“Your mistake was that you picked the wrong guy.”
“Did I?”
“I think you know that.”
Suzy shook her head, revealing a panoply of bruises. “I don’t know what I know anymore.”
“I think you do. I think that’s why you’re here.” What am I doing? Jeff wondered. Was he really coming on to this woman? Why? Because he was genuinely interested in her? Or because his brother was?
Suzy slowly removed her glasses, revealing a yellowing half moon beneath her right eye. “You think I’m here because of you?”
“Aren’t you?” Back off, Jeff was thinking. Don’t do this. Not only was her husband a lunatic, the man was a wife beater as well. Who knew what else he might be capable of? Although men who beat up women were generally cowards, he thought, afraid to pick on somebody their own size. Jeff was definitely his size.
“I thought you had a girlfriend,” Suzy said, sidestepping his question. “Kristin. Right?”
“Right,” Jeff agreed. “Kristin.”
“She’s very beautiful.”
“Yes, she is.” Not only was she beautiful, she was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman—adventurous, understanding, nonjudgmental, great in bed. In truth, Jeff had never felt any real desire to cheat on her and did so far less often than he let on. Still, appearances had to be maintained, and it was never a good idea to let a woman get too comfortable. Besides, in this case, there were several hundred dollars at stake. And, even more important than money, bragging rights.
“So, what’s this all about?” Suzy was asking.
“You tell me. This was your idea, remember?” Jeff sank back in his chair, throwing one arm over i
ts high back, exaggerating the already exaggerated swell of his bicep.
“Contrary to what you think,” she began slowly, “I came here today because I didn’t know how else to get in touch with Will, and I remembered your telling my husband where you worked.”
Jeff felt his entire body tense. “We’re in the phone book. You could have called.” Had she really come all this way to talk about Will?
“I have a message I’d like you to give him,” she said, ignoring his remark.
“I’m not a messenger boy,” Jeff said, bristling.
“He’s your brother.”
“Which doesn’t make me his keeper.”
“Please. I just want to apologize. I know I’ve hurt him. I could see it in his face.”
“I think you’re giving yourself way too much credit.”
“Maybe. I’d just really appreciate it if you’d tell him I’m sorry.”
“Tell him yourself.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can.”
“Clearly I won’t be going back to the Wild Zone any time soon.”
Jeff stood up. “You won’t have to. Come on. You have your car? I’ll take you to him.”
“Now? You really think that’s wise?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been very good with ‘wise.’”
“Me neither.”
“You coming?”
Suzy pushed herself to her feet, pausing for an instant to draw the pleasing aroma of newly melted chocolate into her lungs, then reluctantly following Jeff out of the bakery into the blistering heat of the fast-approaching noontime sun.
“YOU WANT TO talk about it?” Kristin was asking. She was standing at the open fridge door, wearing a low-cut, lime-green T-shirt and short, tight Daisy Dukes. Her long blond hair was pulled into a loose bun at the top of her head. A series of wispy tendrils spiraled down toward her ears. Bare toes, their toenails painted a bright coral, tapped against the cheap linoleum floor.
Will stared over at her from his seat at the kitchen table. He was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. His feet were also bare. “What do you mean?”