by Fiona Lexus
“What do you mean?” Jonathan steps even closer to me.
“Oh, no, just that some of these people have fucked up marriages.” I look down and tuck my hair behind my ears.
“Are you afraid we will have a fucked up marriage?” Jonathan grabs my hand. I let him.
“You already did have a fucked up marriage. You should know.” I can tell I’ve hurt him. But I’m not sorry.
“Ouch. That wasn’t necessary.” Jonathan kisses me. Hard.
“But, I forgive you. Now take me home.”
He is so frustrating sometimes. But I am too tired for games. We walk around the outside of the building, back to the car, both trying to avoid the people inside.
He unlocks the car and we are about to step in, but he pauses and catches my attention. “You know, I realize I fucked up with some of my choices. But I’m not who I used to be. You changed that.” He says this deadpan and then gets into the car without waiting for a response. Which is good because I don’t have one.
I turn and see Cindy staring at me from a few parking spots over. Did she just hear this? I feel a wave of guilt for talking to her about Jonathan in the way that I have. I didn’t realize she’d still be here.
She finishes loading up her drunk husband as Jonathan and I drive away. Cindy and I exchange smiles, but they aren’t really smiles.
7
Phase Two
Glen Cove Community Boosters meeting, September 1st, 7pm at the Community Center. I am engaged. Well, I’m partly engaged and partly thinking about running home to have sex with Jonathan. He came home from work today in an angry mood, and our best intercourse is usually post-angry Jonathan, pre-sleepy time Jonathan. Secretly I realize that my plans for hating him and getting rid of him are fading and I need Cindy’s help.
When Frank, our chipper and possibly gay Community Boosters Club leader is finished with his spiel, I turn to Cindy in the hopes that she already knows what I am about to say. She is the Alpha Genius Goddess I already knew she was.
“Don’t say you want to talk about how to get rid of him, Emily. I already know your secret.” She says, holding her palm up to me.
Damn, she is good. She turns and faces me, as the crowd starts to get up and head out of the meeting. “Look, I can see you sitting there tapping your leg under the table, biting your nails. I’m not stupid.”
She turns to gather her things. I am still sitting. She continues: ”You don’t fool me honey. I saw the way he was looking at you. You want to throw that away, you go right ahead. But if you want to know the truth, I have never been looked at in that way before, and you’ll be fucking up a good thing if you toss it out the window, love.” She turns and walks out of the room.
Wait, what the fuck? Is she mad at me? This is coming out of nowhere.
I grab my purse and run after her. I catch her walking down the steps heading out towards the parking lot. “Wait!” I yell loud enough that multiple heads turn to see if I am talking to them.
She stops and waits.
I ask, “Are you mad at me or something? I thought you liked this plan we had? You practically set the whole thing up the other night at the formal.” I put my purse over my shoulder. There is a breeze and summer seems to be slowly shutting her doors.
“Emily, I’m not mad. I told you my piece, take it or leave it.” She cocks one hip and fishes in her purse for something.
I continue, “But I thought you were going to help me?” My eyes are directed at her shuffling around in her bag. She pulls out a pill bottle and pops a couple pills.
“I’m your friend, Emily, and as your friend let me just give you a little piece of advice.” She grabs my shoulders now and looks me in the eyes, “You don’t need help. You are spoiled and you don’t even know it. You come off to the world like you don’t care about what anyone thinks about you.” She now throws her hands in the air. “Like you’re immune to the pain of the world or the shit that happens to us on the daily, but sweetie, you aren’t immune.” She grabs onto her purse now and cocks her head to the side. “The sooner you realize that, the easier it will be. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get home. I will see you tomorrow at the park.” She turns quickly and leaves. Leaves me standing there feeling like a scolded child.
I am stunned and can’t speak for a second, but then my defenses rise and I yell out, “Ya, well rich bitch suburban hell wasn’t exactly in the cards for me, Cindy!” And I am proud of myself, until I see what happens next.
Cindy opens her car door, throws her purse in, and comes walking back over to me. Fierce and on a mission. I feel scared shitless for a second, I have to admit. She is not someone I want to be messing with. A mom on a rampage.
She points her finger at me. “Let me tell you something about life sweetie. Sometimes you don’t pick it, it picks you. You think I fantasized about having six children and a husband that works all of the time? That wasn’t necessarily my dream, but I compromised and I give it everything I have.” She takes her finger out of my face and puts her hands on her hips. “Yes, I drink too much, and I take valium to sleep. Listen, you have a chance here honey to actually make a decision. You don’t have anything holding you back.” Her hands are at her sides now and she’s seemed to simmer down.
“Cindy, what are you talking about? I told you about my situation. How do you not have a chance? How am I spoiled?” I say, shifting my position.
“Sit down.” Cindy points to the steps of the community center. Everyone is gone. Our cars are the only two left in the parking lot. I am gearing up for another lecture.
“When I was twenty, I got pregnant with my first child. It was not planned and it wasn’t my current husband's kid. The man I was with wanted nothing to do with me and so I raised Ebby on my own for almost two years. Then I met Ted. He took us in and, even though I gave up on my own personal dreams and agenda, I substituted that for something better. A family and security. Look, I didn’t grow up with the privileges you have. I grew up dirt poor.”
Cindy turns and looks out towards the parking lot, in an escape of the moment. She turns and faces me again. “My oldest, Ebby, is now thirty years old. The same age you are now. She has her own life, and gets to explore her own dreams because Ted allowed that for her. And I am forever grateful. So, no darlin’, I’m sorry if I don’t have a lot of sympathy for you right now. You played the game. You rolled your dice. The man you have in your house, no matter how weird and frustrating he may be, loves you and chooses to be with you.” Cindy gets up and wipes off her jeans.
“Cindy, I’m sorry. I didn’t know any of that,” I say as I stand up to face her and meet her gaze.
“Emily dear, no one knows that. But I am telling you because I think it will help your situation. You should know that life and love, it’s a fucked up thing. Nothing is perfect and it’s rarely ever what we think it will be. Once you’re done playing games and are ready to face reality head on, you’ll realize that.” Cindy walks to her car, gets in and drives off.
I stand for a second, and my sassy, rebellious Emily wants to yell at the top of my lungs, “What the fuck do I do?!”
But instead I go home.
I am confused, I am tired, and I probably respect Cindy more now than ever.
My own mother has never in her life laid shit out to me as plainly as Cindy just did.
I climb up the stairs and open the door to my bedroom. The clock says 8pm and I see that Jonathan is already asleep. And he still has his work clothes on. Some papers are scattered on the floor and I head to his side of the bed to pick them up. As I am stacking them neatly, I spot something shiny. A small glare on one of the pieces of paper. A picture. Laying on the floor. I snatch it up and bring it close. It’s the one of me, from the red box. From his closet, almost a year ago. The one I found. Me in a black beanie. My old self. My less mature, Hello Kitty-loving self. This whole time he has kept it.
I lay it on his night stand and put the papers next to it. I hit the light and climb into bed, my jean sho
rts, converse, and Led Zeppelin shirt still on. I slide over right next to Jonathan and touch the back of his shirt.
Gertie-bitch-cat comes and climbs in between us. She starts to purr. I really can’t believe that she is actually snuggling with me. I don’t want to jinx myself, so I just close my eyes.
8
Allergies
So today is the day when I finally get to hang out with Dirk, in high hopes that he will be the chosen gay in my friend collection. That he will supply me with ample amounts of gossip, regular stimulation, and be ready by the phone for my every little need. I am so excited I could pee myself! Oops, I may have just a little.
I am dressed and ready to head over. I heard somewhere that gay men have this incredible way of seeing through people, but that if one is wearing an impeccable outfit, these powers diminish. So I decide I need to get Dirk caught up in my ‘web of wardrobe’ (courtesy of Jonathan).
Dirk and I are both signed up for the Glen Cove High School's Homecoming Dance Committee. Today we decorate, so I am thinking I must not only look chic but be somewhat comfortable. Ripped jeans, converse and my Prada polo in black will have to do. I am getting quite vain I realize.
Jonathan is in the City for two days, and after my fight with Cindy, I felt like I needed a little space and “me time”, so last night Gertie-bitch-cat and I stayed up until 1am watching Making a Murderer. That shit was fucking crazy and at one point I grabbed Gertie and held her tightly and started to pet her fur so veraciously that pieces of it started coming out!
I was anxious and mad at the television and the injustice of it all and took it out on my cat. She promptly scratched me and put me back in my place. I will probably be trying to win her over with affection for the next month. We were just starting to get somewhere in our relationship too. Oh well, she is a little grouchy asshole anyway.
It’s time to head over to pick up Dirk for some decorating fun and, hopefully, drinking possibilities afterwards. I get to his house and it’s nothing special, very simple but charming. Located close to the high school about five miles from my house. It’s pretty much a perfect day on Long Island. About 75 degrees with a light breeze. I knock at his door. He answers it, wearing a pink Polo, bright green shorts and a scarf around his neck. He does not disappoint.
I step inside of his home and I am in shock. To my right, small cat figurines. Porcelain. Stacked on shelves. There must be a hundred at least. Hanging above his fireplace is a portrait of a cat, large, too large for the wall space.
“Come in, love. I will be out in a minute, I just have to find the right shoes.” Dirk lures me into his den of cat-dom. But I’m not really listening because I am fascinated with his decor. Cat cookie jars in the kitchen, cat salt and pepper shakers on the dining room table, and to top it all off, one large cat statue sitting in the corner of the living room. Odd looking, and white. I realize that I may be in a serial killer's house. I mean, who decorates like this? Plus I was under the impression that gay men had impeccable taste.
I walk around his living room looking for any signs of actual cats. There are none. Dirk walks briskly back out into the living room, humming a tune which I don’t know. But instead of trying to explain any of his crazy cat decorations, he simply looks at me and says, “Ready, doll?”
I take a deep breath and reply, “Sure, let's take my car.” I scramble out the door and Dirk locks the door behind us.
We drive and we listen to some Britney Spears (but of course we do!). I then decide that I should just come out and say it.
“So Dirk, the cat stuff, what’s up with that?” And there I go again, instead of thinking through how to say something, it just comes out as a sort of straight forward vomit of syllables.
“Oh, yes, I love cats. It’s like the best, don’t you think?” He is laughing and looking out the window.
“Right, totally.” I say. “Do you actually own cats?” I prod.
“Oh, I’m allergic,” he says with a frowny face, looking over to me dramatically. “That’s probably why I am so obsessed with collecting them. They are so damn cute and I just can’t help myself.” Right then he sneezes. He pauses after the third sneeze and looks over at me. “Wait, do you have cats? Because I am having some sort of allergic reaction!” Dirk is getting hysterical.
“Yes, I do, but it’s not like she ever gets in my car or anything.” I am looking over at Dirk right now and he is actually holding his hands around his own throat. “Are you OK?” I ask.
“You have cats, the hair must be on your clothes. I can’t breath!”
What the fuck is happening right now? There is no way he is that allergic to cats.
“Pull over, Emily! I can’t breath.” He is being very dramatic.
“Dirk, I’m sure you are fine.” I am looking at his face as it turns red.
“Pull over!” He yells at me, and so I do, right there by Rigby Park, one mile from his house. He grabs the door handle, and in no time he is laying on the road next to my car.
What the fuck is this guy about anyways? Jesus, not how I wanted this day to go. I run over to his side of the car and he is gasping for air. He unbuttons his Polo and points to his pocket.
“What, Dirk? What is it?” I am sitting down with him now partly thinking this is him being insane and partly thinking that I just killed my first gay man.
“Epi…pen” He squeaks.
“Oh, Epipen. OK gotcha! I’m on it.” I am trying to talk myself through the fact that I have to stab this guy with a fucking pen right about now. I grab it out, take off the lid and ask, “Where?”
“In my leg!” Dirk is screaming at this point, holding his throat and gasping for air. I stick the man. This man who is so allergic to cats that one strand of cat hair on my clothing makes him beg for his own life. This is ridiculous, I think.
His breathing returns to normal and we are both sitting in shock, next to my car which is still running. Dirk sits up and folds his legs into his arms. He takes a few deep breaths. I sit silently, not knowing what to say. I barely know this guy and I have already tried to kill him.
“Do you need to go to the Hospital?” I ask, creasing my eyebrows together, trying to put the lid back on the pen which I just used to save this well-dressed man's life.
“No, Emily, hospitals terrify me. Just take me home and I will rest a bit.” He then looks at me and grabs my hand. “You saved my life and I will never forget it.” He seems so sincere. All the while I am waiting for the hidden camera crew to jump out of the fucking bushes.
“Dirk, you should probably tell people you are deathly allergic to cats. What if I had taken Gertie to the vet in my car or something? You would have died right here on the curb in front of Rigby Park. That is not how you want things to go down, my friend.”
Dirk smiles and tries to stand. He nods his head and I help him into the car. I have never seen someone with an allergic reaction like this before, but then again there are many things in Glen Cove I have never experienced. I guess I will be decorating the Homecoming dance by myself. No booze with the gay. No sultry conversations or witty banter. For a moment I think of Derek. Yes, him. Old boss Derek. He was always good for a laugh, whether I was laughing at him or with him. Lord knows he would never pull this sort of shit on me.
I drop Dirk off at his house and wave goodbye.
“Call me!” He says as he shuts his front door.
No, thank you, I say to myself. I think I will stick with Netflix and Ben and Jerry’s for a while.
I get to the school to decorate and I am late, so of course when I walk in with all of the other rich-bitch mothers stare at me. I wave awkwardly and take a seat in one of the metal folding chairs and join the conversation. Well, not actually join. They are making lists of who will do what, and what colors we need and so on. I am already bored. I need entertainment.
Right then the gym door opens again and I turn to look, wondering what pathetic soul, such as myself, would dare to interrupt this sacred meeting.
It’
s Cindy. I am pleasantly surprised. She sits down in the empty seat next to me.
“What are you doing here? I thought you signed up for the Harvest Festival,” I whisper.
“Two words: cat-allergy.” Cindy looks deadpan straight ahead and pretends to be listening, but I know she isn’t because this shit bores the crap out of her too.
I don’t know how she found out about Dirk, or how she knew that I might need a friend right now, but that’s because I’m not even close to being as badass as Cindy is. She is like The Godfather, but hot and tall and maternal. I lean my head on her shoulder and pretend to listen too.
9
The Beach
This weekend Jonathan is not working, for once in his life. Most of the time I don’t mind him working, because I have other, more important things to do.
Who am I kidding? I don’t have more important things to do.
But to make it easier on myself for when one day Jonathan chooses to leave me (or cheat on me, or gets himself involved in the next up and coming thriller sexcapade with a friendly Hooters waitress) I need to gently pull away from him and isolate myself. Usually this consists of hanging out with the Badass Mom Squad, volunteering with the Glen Cove Community Boosters Club, or changing my sleeping pattern.
I have my sleeping down to a science. If I get to bed at 1am and sleep until about 9am, then I miss Jonathan in the morning. When he gets home from work around 6pm I have “something to do” or “a meeting”. Sometimes we have dinner, but usually he is in bed around 9pm because he gets up at 5am to run before work. He is fucking exhausting. He’s pretty much perfect. And that’s what scares me.
I don’t ask him about work, or the case he is doing with my father. It’s not that I don’t care, but we have this sort of arrangement. This sort of distant relationship that we keep, to ensure that we don’t get hurt. He has tried to move in closer. He’s tried to be intimate and personal but I just can’t trust him fully. I mean, after what he put Molly through, it’s not fair to either of us to lie and pretend we are going to be in this for the next thirty years.