An Easy Dare

by Rosalie Rousseaux

  I listened. I heard every word. No one had ever spoken to me that way. It was surreal, to be talked to like a piece of shit—so surreal that I had no idea what to say. There were no words. The tears fell freely now, like a fountain that couldn’t be stopped, and even though I wanted to rear back my fist and bash Cort’s face in, I also felt deflated and defeated, like he was stomping me with every word and now I was flattened on the kitchen floor, disappearing into a mess of tears.

  I opened my mouth, determined to speak. Determined to say something.

  I was a strong woman. A strong woman wouldn’t let anyone talk to her this way.

  But there were no words. I was still lost in the realization that this man, who I’d known my whole life, who I’d married, had called me worthless. Of all the things he said, that word hit me the hardest—worthless. What a cruel word. What a meaningful word. Something you wouldn’t even say to your worst enemy, much less your wife.

  “Fuck you,” I said. And, without a single bag or item of clothing except the ones on my back, I walked out the door.

  -18-

  “Sometimes, fuck you is enough,” Anna said. She poured two cups of tea from her cramped kitchen as I sat on her secondhand couch with my legs tucked underneath me. This was the apartment we shared before I moved in with Cort. It was on this couch that Anna told me, time and time again, that I shouldn’t marry him; even if Gabe had never existed, Cort was not the man for me, she’d said. But I didn’t listen. And now my life was a clusterfuck. “Sometimes, the words ‘fuck you’ are perfect. And for someone like Cort, I’d say ‘fuck you’ is just enough. You shouldn’t have to waste any more breath on him than is absolutely necessary.”

  She carried the tea to the coffee table and placed them carefully on the funky mosaic top. Tea was Anna’s solution to most crises. She said her special herbal blend was perfect for calming the nerves and the psyche. I never knew if it was the placebo effect or her genuine tea-making skills, but it usually made me feel better.

  She frowned at me over her teacup. “You look awful.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You know, you can stay here as long as you want, rent-free. Just move right back in. Your room is still cozy and waiting. Or it will be, once I get rid of all the dirty clothes on the bed.”

  “How come you never found a roommate? Did you know I’d come back?”

  “Well, I figured you would eventually. I didn’t know it’d take less than four months.” She chuckled lightly. “But that’s still too long for you to have been married to that sniveling piece of shit.”

  This time, I couldn’t argue. I’d lost my ability to defend Cort.

  I inhaled the deep aroma of the tea. My whole face was sore from all the sobbing I’d done in the car on the way to Anna’s, and all the sobbing I’d done once I got there. Now that there were no tears left, my face felt the aftermath.

  “Do you want me to go over there and get some of your stuff?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “I just want us to stay in tonight. Watch a bad Lifetime movie, maybe order pizza. I need to blank out. Forget my life for a while, even if just a few hours.”

  “You got it.” She reached over and patted my knee. “Why don’t you take a nap first, though? You look exhausted.”

  “No. I’m not tired.”

  “Trust me. You’re tired.” She stood up and covered my legs with a blanket.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Just lay down for, like, five minutes. And we’ll see. If you’re not tired, then we’ll get up and put on Lifetime.”

  There was no point in arguing. And it was a good thing I didn’t—somewhere in that span of five minutes, I fell asleep. I woke up to the sound of light knocking on Anna’s door. When I sat up, she was already looking through the peephole with a paperback under her arm and a cigarette pinched between her fingers.

  “It’s your father,” she whispered, over her shoulder. Anna put out her cigarette and opened the door. “Hi, Marty.”

  My father smiled lightly at Anna and stepped past her into the apartment. He regarded me solemnly and with disappointment.

  “I figured you’d be here,” he said.

  I stretched and moved over on the couch so he could sit down. “Good guess.”

  Anna held up her book awkwardly. “I’ll get back to my book.” She disappeared into the back bedroom and quietly shut the door. I wondered if she was listening on the other side. I hoped so, because it would save me time. That way I wouldn’t have to recount the entire conversation as soon as he left.

  “I talked to Cort,” my father said.

  I hoped his next words would be and you were right to leave him or I can’t believe he humiliated you this way or that poor girl, Helene, but instead he squared his shoulders and raised an eyebrow at me.

  “How could you take the word of some goofy waitress over that of your own husband?” he said.

  I bristled. My dad had worked in the restaurant business since before I was born. He met my mother in a restaurant. When I was a girl he counted waitresses, bartenders, barbacks and busboys among his friends. He was a bartender himself, before he moved up the ranks in the Quarter. Yet he referred to Helene as “some goofy waitress.”

  “I was a waitress myself, if you remember. And Anna still is.”

  “I didn’t mean—” He sighed. “Even if she wasn’t a waitress. Even if she was Queen of England. How could you believe some woman over your own husband?”

  “You didn’t see her. You didn’t talk to her.”

  “But I talked to Cort. He’s devastated. He didn’t even make it into the Blue Note.”

  “That’s probably a good thing, considering that he’s running that place into the ground.”

  “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Cat. I taught you better than that.”

  “You also taught me not to settle for less.”

  He frowned. “And I’m afraid that’s what this is really about.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Maybe you’re using this thing with Helene …,” he waved his hand, as if this thing was something trivial, “… as an excuse.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “An excuse for what?” I already knew the answer, but I wanted to hear him say it.

  “To go back to Gabe.”

  “First of all, ‘this thing’ isn’t like getting a parking ticket or being an hour late picking me up for a date. What Cort did was disgusting. He took advantage of her.”

  My father put his hand up. “They were drunk. That’s it. You can’t just believe some girl who lives in a third-floor shack near Bells.”

  “Dad, we used to live in a third-floor apartment in the Quarter, too. We didn’t have any money, either, or have you forgotten in only a span of a few months? The fact that we were so fucking broke—”

  “Don’t you use that kind of language with me.”

  “—was one of the reasons why I married Cort in the first place. Because I grew up watching you cry in the stairs. I saw the way you treated the Belrose kids—brats that they were—and how you wished I could be up to their level. I saw the way you treated Gabe, like a pitiful dog that you needed to take care of, as long as he didn’t get too attached. And I let myself feel sorry for you. I let myself feel responsible, even when you got yourself into all your trouble. You kept telling me marrying Cort was the right thing to do. For some reason, I believed you.” I would have cried, but my face was so sore and dry and my eyes were so tired from weeping that I had nothing left. “And now, look what’s happened! My husband took advantage of a girl and got her pregnant and then talked to me like some worthless whore he picked up off the corner!”

  My father stood up, his eyes blazing. “I spent my life trying to do right by you. I worked long hours, came home half-asleep, so you could have a good future. That’s why I pushed you and Cort together, so you could have a good future. Now you’re just going to mess everything up…”

  I could smell the cheap gin on his breath. />
  “Pushed us together? Like I’m a piece of property to pass around?”

  “You should have been thankful that Cort wanted to marry you! The man’s family owns half of New Orleans and you come from nothing!”

  Each word hit me like a fisted blow. Thankful? I should have been thankful?

  “I won’t stay married to a monster just so you can keep on being the Belrose’s little pet.”

  “You chose the word of a young, pregnant girl over that of your own husband,” my father said. He took long strides to the door and threw it open. “Think about that, kid.”

  “Whatever, Dad. Why don’t you go have some more your ‘tea’. It’s not like it’s not completely obvious.”

  I wanted to slam the door behind him, but he closed it himself. An immature part of me felt like opening the door again just so I could slam it, but instead I pounded my fist against the door, hoping to release my bubbling rage.

  Anna emerged from the back room. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” I returned to the couch and collapsed on it.

  “I was listening on the other side of the door.”

  “I figured.”

  “Not that I needed to, once the yelling started.” She paused. “I’ve never heard your father talk that way. What’s gotten into him?”

  “Money. Oh, and gin. Definitely a good bit of gin.”

  “Money. The root of all evil. Especially when you don’t have it.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “Want more of my special tea?”

  “No. I’ve had enough of special teas for a while. I just want to disappear.”

  “I don’t have anything that can pull that off, but I have whiskey shots. The good news is, you’ll feel yourself disappear after the third or fourth one. The bad news is, you’ll be right back to square one tomorrow when you’re puking your guts up.”

  “No thanks. I’ll just lay here and stare at the wall.”

  “Sounds productive. I’ll do that, too.” She rested her head against the back cushion and focused on the ceiling. I wondered how long she would last before she had to say something and had bargained on five seconds when there were more knocks at the door. Harder. I could tell it wasn’t my father. Anna jerked her head toward the door in surprise.

  “If it’s Cort, don’t tell him I’m here,” I said, my heart racing.

  “Never,” Anna said. She tiptoed quietly toward the peephole. As she peered through, the knocks came again. “Holy shit.” She looked at me over her shoulder. “It’s Gabe.”

  A flood of mixed emotions scurried through my body. Relief, anticipation, irritation, confusion, love, annoyance. I looked like hell and I was the clear definition of ‘vulnerable,’ so now wasn’t a great time to be exposed to Gabe Augustine. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Hell if I know,” Anna said.

  Gabe’s voice traveled through the door. “Anna! I need to talk to you about Cat. I know something’s going on and I just saw Marty storm out of here.”

  Anna looked at me, as if to say should I let him in?

  I sat up straight, quickly ran my fingers through my hair and nodded.

  “Alright,” I said. “Let him in.”

  -19-

  I was thirteen the first time I kissed Gabe in any real way. We’d kissed before, but they were all mostly pecks because neither of us knew what to do. But when I was thirteen, he kissed me. We were standing under a hidden awning behind one of the Quarter gift shops. We were standing next to a window packed souvenir T-shirt displays, but it didn’t matter. It was the most romantic place on Earth as far as I was concerned and it’s still the most memorable kiss of my life. I could tell he was nervous, which I found funny because Gabe was rarely nervous about anything. After watching him shuffle his feet and fidget for two solid minutes, I linked my fingers in the belt loops of his jeans and said, “Truth or dare?”

  He stopped fidgeting and looked at me. His mouth curled into a smile. “Dare.”

  “I dare you to kiss me.”

  And he did.

  It was a sloppy, uncertain kiss, since neither of us had ever really kissed anyone before, but it was wonderful. My heart felt like it’d grown wings and taken flight. Butterflies twittered in my belly. I remember thinking: This is what love feels like.

  When Gabe walked into Anna’s apartment, his forehead creased with concern, his dark hair cropped in a new haircut, his jaw shadowed with a two-day beard, wearing tailored pants and a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, I got that feeling again—the feeling of my heart sprouting wings. I suddenly wanted to break down in tears again, but I swallowed away the lump in my throat and told myself to focus. I was a roller-coaster of emotions—I couldn’t stop hearing that word (worthless) or that phrase (You can’t turn a whore into a lady) and now I also heard my father (Think about that, kid)—and now here was Gabe, the person who held me when I was nine years old because some of the other kids made fun of me for not having a mother; who kissed my forehead when I caught the flu at twelve; who told me he would wait for me forever when I told him at fourteen that I wasn’t ready; who was kind and gentle and passionate three years later, when I was; the man who told me he would love me until the day he died, who would take care of me no matter what, who would never spend his life with another woman. All these thoughts hazed my brain, but also gave me clarity. Gabe meant love, security, warmth. Everything Cort wasn’t and had never been.

  As he walked toward me and sat on the couch, I kept reminding myself – he left you, don’t forget that, he left you – but instead I thought: You’ve really screwed things up, Catherine Martel.

  “Are you okay?” he said.

  I nodded.

  “What happened?”

  I shook my head and lowered my head, shielding my face with my hair. If I started talking, I would break.

  “Cort’s a fucking asshole, that’s what,” Anna said, locking the door and leaning against it. She frowned at me. “Actually, ‘asshole’ is too kind a word.”

  “Well, that’s not news,” Gabe said. His jaw tightened. “He didn’t – hit you?” His fists clenched and unclenched.

  “No.”

  “How did you know she was here?” Anna asked.

  Gabe ran his hand over his cropped head, like he always used to do after just getting a haircut. “I didn’t. I heard she and Cort had it out and she left. I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

  I lifted my eyes. “Who told you?”

  “Delilah. She was concerned.”

  Delilah. The thought of him even talking to that bitch made my blood boil.

  “Ah, Delilah,” Anna said. “So she’s the good witch of the south now?”

  “She’s not all bad,” Gabe said, not moving his eyes from mine. “She knows her brother just as well as we do.” He put his hand on my knee. “Cort called her after you left. She said he was acting like a fucking nut on the phone. He told her about Helene. Cort said you left. For good, I hope?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly then lowered his voice: “I’m not asking for my benefit. I’m asking for yours.”

  “Yes. I left.” I paused. Swallowed. “I don’t even know what my plan is. I just left the ring on the end table and left after—” After he called me a whore. After he said I was worthless.

  “After what?”

  “After the fight.”

  Anna walked to the couch and sat on the armrest behind Gabe. “She has a plan. She just doesn’t know it yet. She’s staying here and she’s divorcing that scumbag.”

  “Good plan,” Gabe said.

  I didn’t know what to say. Was that my plan? Divorced after a few months? The thought of divorce lawyers, money and Cort’s wrath swam through my head. Jesus.

  “You don’t need to think about all that right now,” Gabe added. “You should rest.”

  “Someone already forced me to take a nap.” I eyed Anna.

  “Speaking of a nap.” She stood up. “All this hub-bub has been keeping me up and I gotta work a short shift ton
ight, so I’m gonna …” She jabbed her thumb toward her bedroom. “I’m sure the two of you want to catch up anyway.”

  When we heard the door to Anna’s room click closed, Gabe knelt down in front of me and took my hands in his. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes.”

  He paused. “I went to Cort’s house.”

  I noticed he didn’t call it my house. I didn’t blame him. It never felt like my house anyway.

  My throat suddenly felt like sandpaper. He went to the house? I had an image of Cort sprawled out and beaten in front of our fireplace.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Nothing. He wasn’t there.” His face relaxed. The hint of a smile crept across his face—his beautiful, gorgeous, sexy face. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to kill him or anything. I just wanted to make sure you were alright and if you weren’t, I was gonna get you the hell out of there.” He inhaled deeply. “The place looked like hell.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I banged on the door. When no one answered, I looked through one of the windows. The front room is trashed. Looked like you a full out, knock-down brawl with him. Then I was ready to kill the motherfucker.”

  “Trashed? That must’ve happened after I left.”