Domestic Affairs
I walk in through the front door after a day of work at my recently acquired job at the veterinarian’s office. Ray is lying on the living room couch, which he turned into a larger area by pushing together several elements. A porno plays on the television screen in front of him. From past experiences, I know this usually means that he gets so worked up that he expects me to join in and give him some “nook-nook” as he likes to call it.
Whip Cracker: He’s entitled to it because you don’t pay the mortgage.
Ragelina: Shut up.
Scaredy Cat: At least he doesn’t give me grief that I have been making him wear condoms. I sure can’t fathom what I’d do if I got pregnant by his ass.
Doubt Cloud: I’m convinced he’s got extra curricular activities going on the side. Definitely don’t wanna catch some shit from him.
I freshen up and return to the scene, placing myself next to Raymond to get caught up with the plot on the monitor. Ordinarily, I get at least something from seeing others fuck, but this time, I flatline.
While Ray indulges in the use of my flesh from multiple directions, I close my eyes and invite Fantasia. She promptly delivers, serving me images of hunky men that are sexing me up. I sense Ragelina’s mighty impatience, longing to scream into Raymond’s face “Don’t ever touch me again, muuthaafuckkkaaa. I’m tired of being your personal sperm depository,” but instead, I merely moan a few times, hoping for him to be done sooner if I play along. I don’t know what I’d do without Pretender Babe. She deserves an Oscar for best actress as far as I am concerned.
I discovered long ago that feeding Raymond junk food with lots of sugar makes him as sweet as a puppy dog. Therefore, minutes after tonight’s screwing session, we order in pizza and chase it down with rich caramel ice cream and a supersized pack of Oreos.
As predicted, Ray turns as mellow as a monk. I, too, relax while snacking on more candy. A feeling of safety and content comes over me now that I am filled to the brim.
Miss Vanity: Eatin’ and eatin’, that’s all you do these days. Would you mind stopping ruining your only ticket out of here?
I attend my first kickboxing class this morning, which in a matter of weeks adds beautiful lean and tight muscles to my already athletic physique.
~~~
It’s 1:30 a.m., and I am lying awake. At 2:00 a.m., I hear Ray come in through the front door. On most nights when he’s late, he heads straight for the bedroom but not this time. It sounds like he is fumbling around with something inside the office. Two minutes later, he joins me on the mattress, pressing his body against mine, his hands caressing my leg.
Ragelina: Ohhh, nooo. I’m not gonna put out for his ass. The audacity!
A strong floral fragrance, smelling like one of those overbearing designer perfumes, hits my sensitive nasal cavities.
Ragelina: He’s cheating.
“What is that smell?” I say with much indignity.
“What smell? I can’t pick up anything.”
I start sniffing him up and down like a K-9. Still, the scent won’t let up. Fueled by Ragelina’s fury, I get up and stroll into the office. Ray’s clothes are piled neatly onto the chair. I grab his slacks, and put my nose right up to the crotch area.
Ragelina: Pfui Teufel.
The scent is the same as what I picked up on Ray’s body, only in much higher concentration.
Ragelina: Sick bastard. I can care less, if he’s fucking someone. But he better keep his hands off me.
I walk back to the bedroom.
“Where were you?” I ask with fiery dragon breath.
“At my mother’s.”
Ragelina: Fucking liar. He’s got nerve barging in here trying to have sex after having fucked someone else? Bad enough, I must sleep with him at all. But THIS really pops the lid off.
I grill Ray for another hour-and-a-half.
“Fine. If you really wanna know,” he says straight-faced, “I went to a strip club.”
Ragelina: That fucking….
“Mind explaining how in the hell the strong smell got to the crotch of your pants? You must think I’m stupid, or something.”
“Uh…umm…I…uh…had a couch dance.”
“Why in the fuckin’ hell did you feel the need to see strippers when you are married to a retired one?” I say underneath my breath.
Ragelina: Yeah, really. I’m living the life of a nun these days, and his ass does me like that.
“I wanted to feel a woman’s arms around my neck once again since you never do that anymore.”
Ragelina: I’ve had it. We are so forever over, living here or not. I can’t believe the nerve of that son of a bitch bastard motherfucker. The ‘no-talking’ strike is on.
Around 4:00 p.m. on a Friday, Raymond flies at me with heavy verbal artillery. I don’t say a word, not even now that he slams several pieces of furniture around the room. The three-story cat tree takes a tumble. I see the panic-stricken eyes of the animals as they struggle to seek cover. Bella squeals when Ray kicks her harshly out of the way. I watch her disappear with her tail tucked under.
Scaredy Cat: I must protect them.
Tough Gal: You can’t. Save yourself.
Doubt Cloud: I may never see them again.
Feeling like someone on the Titanic must have felt when having to make the decision to let their friends drown to save themselves, I retreat into the bedroom. Ray follows me and shuts the door behind him. He positions himself in front of it.
“You are going to settle this with me right now, bitch. You are not leaving until I get a satisfactory answer. I am tired of your shit,” he bellows.
I walk straight toward him, trying to shove him aside.
“Let me out. Now.” My hands hammer against his chest.
“Get back,” he snarls while we enter into a wrestling match. He grabs my upper arms with inordinate force, squeezing down hard while pushing me backwards simultaneously.
“Ouuuch. You are hurting me.”
He shakes me while keeping a super tight grip of my limbs.
“You fucking bitch. You are going to talk to me now,” he yells, jostling me forcefully onto the low-to-the-ground mattress behind me.
“You are not getting off the hook this time with your god-damned silence. I want an answer now,” he raves.
Tough Gal: Don’t provoke him. Play it safe.
Thank goodness, this very moment, Raymond recalls that he must tend to an appointment. He grabs his briefcase and heads for the door.
“You better have an answer when I return or else,” he shouts, closing the door with a bang.
My eyes follow him through the curtains. I see the white BMW gain more and more distance. I see it turn right at the corner. After taking a minute consoling the pets, I rush back to the other room to check my body in the mirror. My arms hurt. Several dark bruises appear on diverse parts where Ray squeezed real hard. Still shaken up, I grab for the Polaroid camera on the office shelf and take a few pictures of the areas with the marks.
Ragelina: He better not put his hands on me ever again.
I grab my purse and get into the car, heading for the nearest police department.
Scaredy Cat: I don’t know if I can go through with this. What if Raymond finds out?
Tough Gal: I think it’s worth getting clarity regarding your options.
The officer on duty asks if I want to file a report for domestic violence. I decline. The policeman says that if I want them to interfere at all and have them put Raymond in jail for a night, I must call while the abuse is in actual session.
Scaredy Cat: Yeah, right. And how’s that gonna work. I’ll be dead by the time they finally arrive. How in the hell is anyone supposed to make a phone call while the attacker acts in a blackout rage?
Walking back into the house, I feel immensely afraid, frustrated, and powerless. Ray’s car pulls up thirty minutes later. In mortal terror, I retreat to the back of the building. Luckily, he does not come looking for me. For the
rest of the night, a deadening quiet lingers as we both remain in separate parts of the residence. I toss and turn in bed, following Romy again and again into the peace-invoking fantasy of how relieved I would be if someone called tomorrow and informed me that Ray had been in a fatal accident.
The Carrot
Although I’m neither religious nor do I believe in God, I am catching myself again silently praying for a way out as I lay in bed tonight.
“If that’s too much to ask, please present a way to painlessly end my existence. Amen,” I conclude.
Scaredy Cat: Believe me, I want nothing more than to get away from Ray, but I worry you’ll go back to selling yourself if the financial strain gets too overwhelming.
Doubt Cloud: Yeah. Maybe thinking of living alone is not the best idea this moment. You might get tempted again and do stupid things.
Not a chance. I could never go back to that lifestyle.
~~~
I get employed at an animal boarding facility in Canoga Park. Today is day two. At around eleven this morning, a guy drops off a huge gift basket with cookies, balloons and flowers for me.
Blushetta: That’s real nice of Ray.
Doubt Cloud: Another one of his bribes again. Nice try, but watch…the next argument is gonna be right around the corner as it always is.
Getting home tonight, things escalate to a brawl within the hour. I turn into the queen of door slamming, aiming to outdo Ray’s volume-rich accusations.
Miss Vanity: How embarrassing. The entire street can hear the profanities.
“Listen to me for a moment, will you?” Raymond says calmly. “I can’t deal with this shit anymore. I’m offering you ten thousand dollars if you get out of my life for good,” he adds.
My eyes widen.
Doubt Cloud: He’s bluffing. Don’t trust him dangling the carrot in front of you.
Scaredy Cat: Once you bite it, he’ll yank it away. I betcha.
Doubt Cloud: Precisely.
Blushetta: Gosh…freedom though smells sooo good. You must say yes.
“Fine, I accept,” I blurt out.
I wait, and wait some more, anticipating him to revoke his proposal at any moment. But…nothing. The carrot remains dangling.
“I’ll get you the money soon,” he says stomping off.
A newfound hope travels through me. I instantly buy a couple of newspapers and start searching for places that allow a dog and two cats.
Eager to scope out more “For Rent” signs in the neighborhood, I hurry back to the house right after work to get Bella to accompany me. Raymond greets me with a cheerful “hello” as I walk in.
“How was your day?” he inquires.
Hot Shot: Alert status red. Something is up.
Romantic music chimes in from the back part of the house. I see candles lit in various places.
Scaredy Cat: He looks awfully festive for someone preparing for singlehood.
Ray politely asks me to step into the dining area. Adrenaline rising, I slowly walk around the corner. The table is set for an idyllic dinner. Several scrumptious dishes from my favorite restaurant are lined up on the counter to the right of me.
Ragelina: I was afraid of that. The asshole wants to make up.
“Let’s sit down and eat.”
“I don’t understand. I mean, thanks for the food, but what is this all about? Can you give me an idea by when you’ll get me the ten thousand bucks?”
He laughs.
“Well, you know it was just a hoax to see if you’d take me up on it, don’t you?”
His words smash into me like bricks. I compare the feeling to what it must feel like to be shot in the head at close range because things inside me go dark like a television screen after short-circuiting.
Ragelina: I’m not ever going to talk to that psycho warfare motherfucker again.
Pretender Babe tries her best to make “gute Miene zum bösen Spiel.”
Ironically, this time, Raymond sings the song of “I love you, and I’m sure we can work things out.”
I nod, forcing myself to a fake smile while inside my head, I watch the pallbearers carry my coffin to the graveside.
Heaven
The venomous energy around the house prompts me to retreat to the small privately owned barn several blocks from the residence, where several horses I care for are kept. It begins to drizzle now that I arrive at the building, but it doesn’t bother me at all. A light, cool wind blows.
Sally, my favorite, a fifteen-year-old gray Arabian mare, greets me with cheerful snickers from inside her stall. The owner may think as he pleases, having told me not long ago that the animal no longer accommodates his needs, but I think she’s amazing. I am beyond grateful that he allows me to tend to her, because the bond we share fulfills a lifelong yearning of having a horse of my own. Despite the bit of arthritis in one of her hind legs, which is now barely noticeable due to the exercise I have been giving her, she is the best part of my day. I grab the fluffy green riding pad, throw it over her back, bridle up, and jump on.
Once out the gate, I entice Sally to warm up with a trot. Within five minutes, she breaks into a canter, her pace increasing with each stride. Like two arrows, we glide through the pitch-black deserted night. Refreshing dots of rain prick our faces, melting our spirits together into one heart and one soul inside a cloud of bliss. Seeing the mare mirthfully gallop ahead, her ears moving back and forth in anticipation, letting out periodic enthusiastic snorts, makes me feel amazingly alive and free. There is no doubt in my mind that she’s happy, and so am I. Here in my private little heaven, nothing can hurt me. It is simply wahre Glücksseligkeit.
We return to the barn forty minutes later. My equine bud gives me endearing looks of appreciation as I dry her sweaty coat off with a towel. Bogged down by a sudden shattering sadness, I sling my arms around her neck and whole-heartedly squeal into her voluminous mane. A few minutes go by. Having calmed down a tad, I recline against her still tepid shoulder. Battalions of thoughts zoom in and out of my head, taking me round and around like a passenger on a Ferris wheel. Each new turn ends me up exactly at the same place: lost in sheer and utter hopelessness. I feel Sally’s soft muzzle nuzzle my cheekbone.
The warm exhalation from her nostrils, sniffing on my salty tears, raises pleasant goose bumps on my skin. She proceeds with caressing my cheek, now nibbling on it by using only the very front portion of her velvety lips. Severely touched by her means of comfort, I cry even harder. But this time, the tears are those of delight over the special friendship we share.
CHAPTER 17
Where the Mighty Wind Falls
Late 1990’s
Sally lets out a welcoming neigh, sheepishly pacing back and forth in her box stall as I approach the stable. I see her pass a few horse apples while I’m getting closer. Her sudden bowel movement, which happens almost every time I arrive at the barn, amuses me. It makes me think of my own urges for passing stool at times of anticipating something wonderful. It makes me love Sal even more, knowing that she must equate my presence with joy and adventure.
“Hey, girl, brrrrhh.” I mildly glide my hand down her neck, my shoes half way sunk into the thick layer of pine shavings that cover the floor. After a quick brush down and putting on her tack, I lead her to the step-up platform next to the heavy black iron-gate that allows access to the trail.
Utter silence covers the property with me being the only one who’s present, or at least, so I thought. At this moment about ten feet away in the aisle across from the platform, I spot a tall black man with an olive green baseball cap who is grooming a cream-colored Appaloosa. He does not seem the slightest bit disrupted by my presence, instead keeps a cool demeanor, acting as if I don’t exist.
Hot Shot: I’ll be damned. It’s that fella with the killer smile from a couple of years ago. What was his name again?
I turn to Sally, needlessly fiddling around with her bridle for several seconds.
Romy: What now?
Hot Shot: Dang, I du
nno.
Tough Gal: Go to him. Strike up a conversation.
Miss Vanity: Are you nuts? I can’t face him with the ugly riding helmet, wearing clothes that don’t flatter, and a rundown face from too much crying.
Romy: But I wanna find out if he ever hooked up with Ingrid.
Hot Shot: Yeah, but…what happened to ‘run like hell in the opposite direction should a hot guy cross your path’? Do I get the green light for this one?
Romy: I might never come across him again after today. I am begging you—release the spell of permanent loneliness.
Tough Gal: Speak up now, or forever hold your peace.
“Hi, there, how are ya?” I say, leading Sally into the aisle the man stands in.
“Fine, and you?” he smiles.
Pretender Babe: Just play dumb.
“Aren’t you that guy I met years ago at the country western hangout? You took my friend’s phone number. Remember?”
“Yeah…right. I never called her though.”
Romy: Wheeewww. Thank heavens.
“What is your name again?”
“Ken.”
Romy: Right. Now it’s coming back. Don’t forget to ask him if he wants to go riding.
“Does the offer to join you on a ride still stand?”
“Sure, when are you going out next?”
I grin, scrambling to hide my ardor.
“I can call you once I’ll know I’ll be here again,” I say with the coolest attitude I can muster up.
He nods and hands me his number.
“Take care,” I say as I hop onto Sally’s back. Flowing over with undetectable jubilance, I take off toward the hills. Ripples of thoughts whirl around my head, thoughts about me racing through the woods with the most gorgeous man that ever wandered the earth….
~~~
I blossom like a flower that is being watered for the first time as Ken and I make our way through the winding woodsy terrain on horseback this sunny afternoon. Each trotting stride blows Sally’s and my mane back in unison like dancing silk strings in the wind. I feel ravishing in blue jeans and the two-tone brown suede jacket that compliments the Bernstein in my eyes.
Dealing Flesh Page 18