But Inside I'm Screaming

by Elizabeth Flock

  Casey raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “No, it’s just he’s so-o-o into me. He knows everything I do, everything I like, everything I want—”

  “Except sex…”

  “I’m going to ignore that. He does, though. He’s just so focused on me. I just need extra time so I can focus on him like he wants me to.”

  “Focus away. You can have all the time in the world, kid. I want this to work for you.”

  “Since when are you supportive of me and Alex? I thought you didn’t like us together.”

  Casey turned and faced Isabel. “You like you and Alex together, right?”

  Isabel tentatively nodded to Casey. “Yeah?”

  “Then that’s enough for me.”

  Isabel paused and watched Casey cross the street before running to catch up with the best friend she’d ever known.

  “One more thing?” Isabel looked uncomfortable.

  “Don’t tell me. You want me to have sex with him instead of you?”

  Isabel laughed and then turned serious again. “It’s just…well…don’t mention to Alex I was with you today, okay?”

  “Oh, my God, Isabel.”

  “It’s no big deal! It’s just that I told him I had a meeting downtown—I didn’t tell him I was seeing you—and I don’t want him to think I was lying to him.”

  “Perish the thought.”

  “So you won’t say anything?”

  Casey’s face was filled with pity. “I won’t say anything, Isabel.”

  When they reached the boutique with a window display swathed in yards of pink fabric and lace, Casey took her friend by the shoulders.

  “Okay, now. You can do this. Think 9½ Weeks. You’re Kim Basinger. Go get ’em, you little sex kitten.”

  “This is so pathetic.”

  “Come on, sport. Buck up. Let’s go.”

  Isabel fiddled with the volume on the stereo but it was hard to adjust since the dial was so sensitive. If someone sneezed near it it would move. Finally she found the right level—somewhere between “Oh, did I leave the stereo on? I must’ve forgotten, I listen to Sade all the time” and “Hey, lover, come on over and make yourself comfortable.” Between obvious and desperate.

  She turned to the mirror and pulled at the garter belt.

  When she heard him come in she panicked, turned off the music and threw her terry-cloth robe over her half-naked body.

  “You’re home early,” she called down from the bedroom. She checked her look in the mirror and headed for the door.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi, yourself,” Alex answered. “You almost ready? Our reservations are for eight.” He eyed her skeptically.

  “I was thinking…” Sex kitten. 91/2 Weeks. “We could take it easy…” Take off the robe. Good. “Relax…” Why is he making that face? “And play dinner by ear…” Oh, God. “What do you think?”

  Alex’s look made her reach for the robe she’d tossed in a mock-careless way onto the overstuffed chair.

  “What?” she asked, already embarrassed and defensive.

  Alex gulped. It was the first time Isabel saw him speechless. “I made these reservations a month ago. It’s really hard to get in. Let’s just go, okay?”

  He was already out the door.

  Twenty-Nine

  “Isabel? Where are you?” Alex hollered as he walked through the front door of their apartment. “I’ve got news.”

  “I’m in here,” Isabel answered, her tense shoulders involuntarily relaxing at the sound of Alex in a good mood. She had gotten home from work early and was flipping TV channels, comparing the lead stories on the different network newscasts.

  “I got the backing,” Alex announced.

  “What? Oh, my God.” Isabel leaped from the couch into Alex’s arms. “Tell me.”

  “Terry called me into his office about an hour ago—can we turn this off?” His tone was more demanding than inquisitive. “He said the Australians came through. Apparently they’re sure they want to open a place here in the States and they liked my proposal.”

  “Wow. That’s unbelievable! Just like that…” Isabel was happy to see him so excited. He’d been in a foul mood for weeks.

  “Yeah, well, I guess they thought it was a good idea.” Alex, pleased with himself, plopped down on the couch next to Isabel. “It’s going to be rotten hours—that’s the only drawback. Just until the crowds even out.”

  “So what kind of time will you need to spend there? You’d be the boss, the owner, right? You can go in whenever you want.”

  “They only want to do it if I can be hands-on at the bar, you know, on the floor, getting to know the regulars.”

  “And hands-on means you’ve got to work every night?”

  Isabel knew he needed her to be happy for him. But she pressed on.

  “We’ll never see each other, you know.”

  “Here’s what I was thinking about that.” Alex leaned forward excitedly. “I was thinking you could get a morning job and then we’d both be on the same schedule and we’d have the entire day together.”

  “Honey, I’m so happy for you. Really. But I’ve just gotten the 5:00 p.m. slot and it’ll look great on my résumé. The networks won’t even glance at me if I don’t have evening newscast experience. But just because I don’t want the early shift doesn’t mean you shouldn’t move forward with your own place. It’s what you’ve always wanted.” Isabel was trying to keep it light but couldn’t resist adding, “I just worry that we’ll never see each other.”

  Alex was quiet for a moment. He hunched forward in his seat, bowed his head and placed his fingertips together as if he were praying. When he looked up Isabel felt a chill.

  “Why do you have to spoil it? Why do you have to be so negative about something I’m so happy about?”

  Isabel and Alex had an unspoken rhythm to their disagreements. Isabel could push him—but only to a point. She was always the one to back down first. When she had insisted she didn’t want to eat barbecue for dinner she’d had a CD thrown at her, nicking her forehead and causing blood flow. Sensing that a mood swing was imminent, Isabel abandoned her doubts.

  “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry. I am happy for you. And we will see each other—I was just playing the devil’s advocate. I am so proud of you.” Isabel hugged Alex. Within seconds he went back to being enthusiastic.

  “But we haven’t really talked in weeks!” Isabel leaned on the bed as Alex closed the curtains to block out the bright noonday sun.

  “Isabel, give me a fucking break!” he snapped. “Are you completely deaf? I told you I’m taking a nap. Get out!”

  Alex pulled his eye mask from the bedside table and slipped it over his head.

  “But…”

  “‘But’ nothing, Isabel—Jesus Christ! I’m exhausted. Can’t you just let me catch up on sleep? Jesus.”

  “I knew this was going to happen.” Isabel wouldn’t let up, even though the eye mask was firmly in place. “I knew we’d never see each other. I’m just trying to talk to you for five minutes. Aren’t you even wondering what I’m doing home at this hour? Aren’t you in the least bit curious?”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Isabel.” His stock warning. He sat up in bed and pushed his eye mask up to his forehead. “I’m going to sleep now. When I wake up, we’ll talk—hell, we’ll do an Irish jig, I don’t give a flying fuck—but right now I am going to sleep. Get out of this bedroom!”

  “But I need to tell you something.”

  “Get out.”

  Isabel backed out of the unnaturally dark bedroom into the sunny living room. She surveyed the room filled with pricey decorations they could not afford. They were living beyond his means and Alex didn’t seem to care. But that would have to end. As she fixed her stare on the huge mainframe computer Alex had just spent thousands of dollars on, she knew his spending would be curbed by sheer necessity. He wouldn’t like it, though, and Isabel shivered at the thought of breaking the news.

&
nbsp; “You what?”

  “I lost my job,” Isabel said, humiliated at having to repeat it.

  “What’d you do?” Alex sneered in an accusing tone of voice.

  Isabel looked up, shocked. “What do you mean ‘what’d I do’? It’s not my fault, Alex! The station just got sold and the new owners are cutting back. They want to bring in their own people. Everyone’s been speculating about this for months—ever since the sale.”

  “Yeah, but why you? How come they fired you? I’ve been telling you to stay on your toes. What’ve I been telling you? I specifically told you that you need to look good and do good—”

  “I always do my best…”

  “Was I finished talking? I don’t think I was finished talking yet, do you?”

  “You know what? Fuck you, Alex.”

  Alex was still. Isabel gulped hard.

  “I was fired. It wasn’t my fault. I know you’re going to say I’m playing the victim again—blah, blah, blah—but I don’t care. I’m not a victim. It wasn’t personal and I know that. So just get over yourself.”

  Alex stared at his wife.

  Alex took a step forward. “‘Get over myself?’ Is that what you just said? Get over myself? What, may I ask, is that supposed to mean?”

  Isabel took a step backward.

  “I don’t have the energy for this right now, Alex—okay? Please?”

  Alex took another step toward her and Isabel knew it was time to back down.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” she said, careful to stick to the script of their arguments.

  “Yeah, you’re sorry. You’re sorry,” he interrupted. “You deserved it, you know that? The more I think about it, the more I realize you deserved it. Why? Because you don’t have the hunger. Deep down inside you know that Mommy and Daddy will cushion your fall so you aren’t hungry for the paycheck. Some people have to work for a living, you know that?”

  “Alex, please…”

  “Please? Please?” He slapped Isabel so hard across her face that she fell to the floor.

  “Did you honestly think you could talk to me that way and get away with it?”

  Thirty

  “This year the world will lose 2.3 million people to the AIDS epidemic, and nowhere is there a greater toll than here in sub-Saharan Africa. The statistics are staggering: in Zimbabwe at least one in five adults has the AIDS virus, in Zambia the infant mortality rate due to AIDS has increased twenty-five percent, and here, in Botswana, nearly thirty percent of the entire population is HIV positive.

  “Even more frightening is this week’s announcement from the World Health Organization that we could see an explosion in AIDS cases to the tune of forty million within two years.”

  Isabel Murphy, ANN News, Botswana.

  “Alex? Can you hear me now?” Isabel shouted into the satellite phone.

  “Isabel? Is that you? I can barely hear you!” he shouted back.

  “Sorry, honey. I’m afraid this is as good a connection as we’re going to get. I’ll talk loudly.”

  “That’s okay. I can’t believe you could even call out. How is it there? Are you okay? God, I miss you so much.”

  “I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s unbelievable here. Hell on earth. It feels like another planet.” She looked at the lean-to the crew was huddled under to escape the burning midday sun.

  “I bet, I bet. When’re you coming home? Have they told you yet?”

  “That’s one of the reasons I called….”

  “Isabel? I think I lost you. Isabel? Are you still there?”

  “Alex! I’m here. Sorry. I’ll shout. I called because they want me to stay on and go over to Zimbabwe next week. It’s really great, actually. Doctors Without Borders is letting us travel with them while they go distribute protease inhibitors to these makeshift clinics…”

  “So you’re going to miss our counseling session again?”

  “…these people, most of them, anyway, don’t even know what AIDS is or why everyone in their family is dying…”

  “I take that as a yes. I’ll call Dr. Bauman and let her know we’ll have to reschedule again.”

  “What’d you say? I missed that.”

  “I said, I’ll call Pat Bauman and reschedule. You’re out there saving the world and I’m just here…walking the dog…waiting for my globe-trotting wife to remember she has a husband.”

  “Aw, Alex. I’m sorry. It’s just this one story—”

  “It’s always ‘just this one story.’”

  “Alex? Sorry, but I’ve got to go. The doctors we’re hooking up with just got to our camp and I’ve got to go meet them. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  The phone went dead before Isabel could say goodbye.

  Thirty-One

  “You’re the one who wanted me to go to therapy in the first place!” Alex pointed at Isabel. “I can’t believe you’re resisting this.”

  “I’m not resisting couples counseling—wait! Just listen to me for a second. I’m not saying we shouldn’t go to couples counseling, I’m just saying that I don’t feel comfortable going to the doctor you see for individual therapy. Why can’t we find a neutral person? Someone whom we’d both feel comfortable with?”

  “We can.” Alex had calmed down. “If you don’t like Pat. But let’s just try this for now—okay? For me? This is hard for me, this therapy thing. I don’t want to have to get into all my stuff again with someone new. Pat knows me now. It’s easy with her.”

  Isabel looked down at her ragged cuticles and chipped fingernails. “Fine. I’ll try it. But I don’t think it’s right. I’m telling you that straight out. It’s not right. I can’t believe Pat even suggested it.”

  “She didn’t. I did.”

  “Isabel, before our time is up I wanted to approach you with an idea,” Pat said. “As you know, I have been seeing Alex for a period of time. It’s been, what, Alex? Seven months? Well, I know this is somewhat unorthodox—you two coming to me for couples therapy on top of my work with Alex—and I hear that you don’t feel entirely comfortable with this arrangement. So I’m proposing that you come to me as an individual—just for a session or two—so I can get a more rounded picture. You’re shaking your head. Would that not be acceptable to you?”

  “I don’t think any of this is acceptable.” Isabel tried to stay as measured and calm as the therapist as she addressed her husband. “Alex, this is unorthodox. Pat doesn’t even know me—”

  “That’s exactly why she wants to meet with you one-on-one,” Alex interrupted. “Isabel, you said you’d give this a shot. You said you’d try it.”

  Isabel looked at her husband, whose beseeching look matched that of Pat’s.

  “Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll try it.”

  “I appreciate your coming in, Isabel.” Pat motioned for her to take the seat opposite the desk. “I do think that this will inevitably help me to help you and Alex both work through this difficult time. If I may, I’d like to start out by asking you some questions and, since it’s our first visit one-on-one, I may scribble some notes down, if that’s all right with you.”

  Suddenly you care if something’s “all right” with me? Why start now?

  “That’s fine.”

  “Okay, well, to begin with, what would you say your major problems with the marriage are? This is probably a good place for me to point out that whatever you say to me in here will not be repeated to Alex either in my individual sessions or in our couples sessions.”

  “My major problems with the marriage?” Isabel considered the question. “Where do I begin? I mean, we covered some of this in our session last week.”

  “Yes, we did.” Pat looked up from her notepad. “But what I’d like to hear is your perspective on the marriage, on your relationship with Alex. We touched on it last week but we didn’t go much beyond the surface.”

  Isabel shifted in her seat. “The sex stuff’s thrown me for a loop. I mean, like we talked about, I’m in my prime and Alex has the drive of a
ninety-year-old. And it’s not just sex drive, because I know there are pills he could take or whatever. It’s something more than that. It’s deeper than that—like he clicks off whenever it comes to intimacy. Like he’s not even there. So that bugs me. And Alex says he doesn’t see what the problem is. No, that’s not right: he says it’s my problem. That I place too much importance on sex. Oh, and he hates that I can remember how long it’s been since we last made love. He says I keep score.”

  “Do you?”

  “No! I don’t keep score as much as I just feel like it’s been forever since we had sex and then I check the calendar and I see that—”

  “Ah. So you do keep track of your lovemaking.”

  “That’s not what I said! I was just—”

  “You just said that you checked the calendar, correct? So you make notations of when you and Alex are intimate?”

  “No. That’s the thing. I keep track of social things on my calendar. Dinner with Marty and Alice, for instance. And, if Alex and I had sex when we got home that night I remember it. So I don’t keep track, really. Not the way you and Alex are suggesting.”

  “Me and Alex. You put me and Alex together as a united front. Is that how you see us?”

  Duh.

  “Yes. I told you that. Well, I told Alex. That’s why I don’t think it’s a good idea to get counseling from you for our marriage—because I feel underrepresented in our session.”

  “So why did you end up doing it? Coming in with Alex?”

  Isabel picked at her thumb again and pushed down against the speck of blood. “I was scared not to.”

  “What are you scared of?”

  Isabel looked up from her hands. “What am I scared of? Alex, of course. What else would I be scared of?”

  “You’re scared of Alex?”

  “Ah, yeah.” Isabel was bewildered at Pat’s naiveté.