The Belt

by Agatha Rae

  “Well, it’s not exactly funny,” John replied seriously. “I don’t have a job, any savings, and I have no place to live. I mean, it’s not funny.”

  “Right, right, oh God, I’m so sorry,” Paul said and sighed. “Rent something.”

  “From what? I have no income. And I’m basically broke,” John said and bent a bit as he put his elbows on his thighs.

  “Sell your car. It’ll help you pay the rent for a few months while you’re looking for a new job.”

  “Sell my car? Are you insane? I would rather sell my mother,” John replied. He wanted it to sound funny, but it didn’t exactly work out that way. To tell the truth, he felt quite offended with the idea. He was not the kind of a guy to sell his car, to get rid of anything he owned, for that matter, in order to survive. That’s what losers did. People who were desperate. He wasn’t. He was better than the whole mess he had to deal with.

  “Well, if you have a better idea, share it with me, I’m really curious,” Paul replied, finished his whiskey and put the glass on the coffee table.

  “I do have one. Two actually,” said John while finishing his drink. He kept the glass in his hands and was now delicately playing with it, rolling it between his palms.

  “What are they?”

  “You could help me out, my friend.”

  “How exactly?”

  “Well,” John sighed, and put his glass on the coffee table, next to Paul’s, leaned on the sofa again and looked at him. “I understand the club is doing fine, I mean, you could make me a co-owner? Or perhaps, you might think of opening a new one, you know, create a franchise, and I could own the other one?”

  Paul raised his eyebrows in surprise, but said nothing, allowing John to speak.

  “Also, I have been thinking about that apartment you have, the one that was being furnished some weeks ago. I could stay there. For free for now, until I start making some money again, but, you know, I will start paying you eventually. Or, you could just reduce my co-owner salary and subtract the rent money, to simply keep it in your pocket. What do you think? We used to spend some pretty nice time there, perhaps the good days may come back?”

  Paul took a deep breath and slowly released the air through his nostrils. Paul was looking at John and he knew that things weren’t going to go as smoothly as he was counting on.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t do any of those things for you,” Paul finally said with regret in his voice. The way he said also indicated that he wasn’t going to change his mind. Not easily at least.

  “Oh come on, man, why not?” John asked. He felt both angry and extremely disappointed. Didn’t Paul understand that he came here because he had nowhere else to go and nobody else to ask for help? Wasn’t it enough of a reason to agree on his ideas?

  “Well, first of all, the apartment is already sold, and I am not planning on buying a new one any time soon.”

  “Jesus, Paul, I may be facing becoming homeless in the nearest future, don’t you get it?” John hissed angrily through his teeth.

  “Not if you sell your car. Come on, you can’t have the cake and eat the cake every time, don’t you get it? You can help yourself immediately, but you’re whining about becoming homeless. That’s bullshit. Total bullshit. I mean, don’t get me wrong, if you needed a kidney, I don’t know, some huge amount of money for an expensive medical treatment, or something like that, I’d be the first person to help you, but not when you’re too comfortable to help yourself. While you can,” Paul said. He was speaking slowly, in a resolute way, as if he was explaining to his teenaged son that because he hadn’t improved his grades, he wouldn’t be able to go camping with his friends.

  “So what, you’re going to give me lectures now?” John scoffed, got up, and put his hands in his pockets.

  “No, but maybe treat me as the voice of reason?” Paul replied and also got up.

  “And what about the job?”

  “Don’t you know there’s nothing worse for a friendship than a common business? We’re good together, why would you want to risk it?”

  “No, seriously, don’t give me that crap.”

  “Oh, John, for crying out loud,” Paul sighed. “I’m sorry, the answer is no.”

  “Oh come on, you know I am good at organizing stuff, you know that I can manage big projects.”

  “I also know that you chose partying with me here in the club or elsewhere instead of helping your son prepare a presentation for school, or doing the housework Margaret was asking you to do.”

  John scoffed.

  “I’m sorry, but you’re just not reliable. You’re a great guy to have fun with, but any serious things, like managing a company, because FYI, this club is a company, it needs to make money, it gives people salaries, so it isn’t something I would easily choose to offer you.”

  “Look,” John said as he sat down again. “I know what it all looked like, although, God forbid you never felt too bad about calling me and inviting me, partying and taking dope with me, but it’s a different thing if I’m responsible for something. Then it’s a whole other ballgame.”

  “John, you’re not even acting as if you were responsible for your own kid. You left Margaret, whatever, but how many times have you called Mickey?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I’m just saying that if you’re not responsible for a kid, who, by the way, is your son, and you don’t even bother to call him, see him, ask him how he’s doing, if you weren’t responsible enough to do your best and keep your family together, then how am I supposed to trust you to come here and manage things? I mean, I can certainly imagine you coming here every night and having a free party with drinks you, technically, don’t have to pay for, but it’s not a game. It’s a business. It’s a job.”

  “I can learn.”

  “My club is not a lab animal. Start your own company and prove you can be a responsible manager, then we’ll talk.”

  “You son of a bitch,” John hissed, and took his jacket from the sofa, “you never seemed to care about my family life before.”

  “It wasn’t my business, you’re a grown-up. But if you’re coming to me for that kind of help, then your lifestyle kind of becomes my business. You know you can lower your living costs instantly, you can save some money, get a regular job, and then perhaps be credible for some banks to get a loan and start your own thing. You gotta make some changes, man, it’s not like you’re the universe’s puppy and it will always save your ass without any effort from your side.”

  “Fuck you, Mr. Pious, we both know who you really are, so why don’t you save yourself some breath and stop making up this crap!” John exclaimed and stormed out of the office slamming the door as strongly as he could, causing a picture hanging above the sofa to fall down.

  While on his way out, he walked to the bar, asked Scott to give him a double Scotch, drank it instantly, and told him Paul said it was on the house. Then he asked for a chaser and as he was marching angrily back to his car, he saw a group of special needs children with their three caregivers, collecting money in metal cans. One of the caregivers came to John and, smiling widely, asked him kindly to throw some change to the can as they are trying to repair the leaky roof of the building where the children live. John stopped, looked at her, peeked at the kids walking around the parking lot again, then at the woman and finally bent to her a bit and said through his teeth, “Get your retards back home, someone may accidentally hit them while driving.”

  “Excuse me?” She looked at him, very surprised, and blinked a few times.

  “You heard what I said,” John repeated and opened the doors of his Land Cruiser. He was just about to get in, when she patted him on the shoulder. He turned around.

  “Your breath reeks of alcohol; I wouldn’t be driving if I were you,” the woman said.

  “Fuck off,” he hissed and closed the door. As he turned the key, he watched as the woman walked to the front of his car, took out her phone, and took a picture of his lice
nse plate. He lowered his window and shouted,

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “Spare some change for the special needs kids, or the police are going to find out you’re driving under the influence,” she said firmly, walking closer to the door.

  John was breathing heavily; his nostrils were delicately vibrating. He felt the anger inside of him growing, becoming stronger with every second. Stupid bitch. He reached to his wallet and threw a fifty-dollar bill into her can.

  She rattled it a bit, looked at him, smiled again and said, “Thank you, sir, now you can tell all your friends how you graciously helped a bunch of retards. I am sure such things are scrupulously counted in heaven.”

  John closed his window, showed the woman his middle finger and drove off. While on his way back home, he kept on nervously looking at the rearview mirror to make sure the woman didn’t actually call the cops and there was no patrol behind him. In order to avoid any unpleasant encounter with the police, he was driving as much by the book as possible. No over-speeding, not even by a mile. It wasn’t the first time he drove after having some drinks, or beer, normally he wouldn’t have cared, but this time the threat of the police sitting on his ass was far more practical rather than theoretical, so there was no need to provoke the fate and enhance the chances of getting caught.

  When he came back home, he took the bandage off his fingers, biting his lips due to the pain he felt while doing it, washed his fingertips, or better yet, what was left of them, delicately with peroxide and decided to take a shower. A few minutes later, he was standing in the shower, washing himself with his right hand only and trying not to touch anything with his left middle and ring fingers. He was intensively thinking what to do now, and how to handle his problems. He felt betrayed by Paul, whose reaction to his problems was everything but what he was expecting. It was the second time during the last few days that someone surprised him so much and left him without any alternative.

  When John washed his belly, he felt the pain in the rib area once more. It was much less intensive; his body was healing. Yet when he walked out of the shower, he noticed that the bruises were hardly visible at all. He recalled Molly asking him about them some days ago. He told her Margaret got so furious when he told her he was leaving her that she threw a metal candlestick at him. Molly bought it. At that time, John thought she perhaps bought it because she was so naive. Now, he was sure she bought it, because she didn’t really care where the bruises came from.

  John dried his hair with a towel, brushed his teeth, put a fresh bandage on his fingers and went to the bedroom. He was about to face the last night during which he was to get some sleep.

  Chapter 12

  He was awoken by the stream of cold water mercilessly whipping his face and body. John opened his eyes, and swiftly moved aside to avoid it. He tried to dry his eyes with a sleeve of his shirt, but it was so soggy, it didn’t help at all.

  “Is the defendant ready for the trial to continue?” the woman judge asked. There was a complete silence; the spectators were quiet, as they were observing the situation. The creature stopped pouring water on John and put the hose away. The prosecutor came closer to the cage, bent a bit to look at John with his oddly pale eyes, then straightened and walked towards the judges.

  “Yes, I believe he is.”

  “Good, let’s continue. I want this thing to be done with by the end of the day,” the woman judge replied.

  “Of course. The next witnesses are Rhonda Martin, Cindy Miller, and Molly Brown.”

  “How is this possible?” John whispered when he looked at his hands. His left palm was bandaged, with two fingers, the middle and the ring one, and there was caked blood stains on the material. Speechless, he sat on the wooden stool, put his head on his hands as he leaned them on his thighs. The drops of water were falling from his hair to his eyes, and were dripping one by one on his shoulders and back.

  Three women walked upstairs, and came closer to the prosecutor. Cindy looked at John, their eyes met, and he couldn’t deny it; she felt sorry for him. One person among all those who came to testify against him. Neither Rhonda nor Molly looked at him, even in his direction. He swallowed loudly and kept on observing the situation.

  The women were ordered by the prosecutor to stand in line in front of the judges, to introduce themselves, and to describe their relationships with John. Each of them talked about the same mechanism. All of them knew he was married, all of them heard the story of an unhappy husband trapped between the love to his only child and the abusive, toxic relationship with a drinking, unstable wife. It also turned out that none of the women knew about each other.

  His method was constant; he liked to impress them with things, like taking them for expensive holidays, or showering them with expensive gifts such as jewelry, or beautiful clothes and when they were already mesmerized enough, he would step by step gain control over them, until he was bored and would sabotage the relationship in order to end it.

  Two of the women admitted that at some point they all felt he was changing them, more or less creating them to suit his needs. With Cindy it wasn’t the only thing, it was also his remarks about the way she dressed, or the color she dyed her hair, or sometimes about what and how much she ate. With Rhonda it was about teaching her things he liked so he would have a companion while doing something fun for him, like for example, sailing, or playing tennis. She was extremely afraid of water and didn’t succumb to the sailing idea, which made John quite disappointed. He even offered to pay for her course, for the lessons, but she refused, and when she did, their relationship started going through a rough patch. John kept on underscoring that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be with someone who was unwilling to cross certain borders, to learn new things. When she was underlining she did learn to play tennis, he would simply reply she was still on a beginner level and playing with her wasn’t as much fun as he was expecting it to be.

  Molly was the toughest, the most resistant one as far as the changes were concerned, and never allowed John to impose similar expectations on her, but it was most probably because their relationship was different; she was often gone, and they weren’t seeing each other regularly.

  Rhonda confirmed she wanted John to finally make up his mind and leave Margaret, hence she called her and told her about everything in hopes that maybe this would push her lover to stay with her. Cindy said she did keep her fingers crossed for it, but at some point realized it wasn’t going to happen, mostly because she knew that John was the kind of a person to always have different options in life. It was clear to her when after a month of living together he never mentioned getting a divorce, nor ever allowed his son to come to them and stay for a night, or a few days. Those days were clearly still adjourned for him. Molly admitted she never had any expectations for John to leave Margaret and stay with her, and, as far as her understanding was concerned, the whole reason why she was there was to prove John’s constant infidelity rather than his pathological tendencies to hurt and control women.

  Both Rhonda and Cindy admitted they were hoping for a steady relationship with John, and they were both heart-broken when he was ending their affairs. None of the women had any idea that he was lying to them about his family situation. He told Cindy that Mickey wasn’t visiting them because he chose to stay with his mother. She understood that the boy had problems with letting his mother go, that he felt responsible for her. Rhonda thought that Mickey was much younger and needed a dad in his life, so she was able to understand John’s lack of commitment to her and his doubts concerning leaving his wife. Together with Molly, they all said they wouldn’t have gotten engaged in a relationship with a man like John if they had known the truth about Margaret and Mickey. Cindy wasn’t able to stop crying throughout the whole thing.

  As the women were walking downstairs and were passing the cage, John looked at them. Rhonda said “Are you happy now? Look what you did?”—words that were to burn in his mind for many, many days ahead. Molly didn
’t bother to even glimpse at him, while Cindy came closer, kneeled by the bars, reached her hand to him and touched his shoulder. John was looking at her, looking at her big, wet eyes and cheeks swollen from crying, waiting for her to say anything, but she only patted him on the shoulder, and went downstairs.

  John felt the blood pressure in his veins rising. He’d had enough. He looked at the prosecutor, then at the judges, stood up, walked closer to the bars, grabbed them and shouted, “I’m not the only person to blame here! Call Paul! Call him; ask him! He knew all along about my family, about my affairs, he never, ever, pointed out I was doing anything bad, anything wrong! And he was supposed to be my best friend! Where is he now? He’s an accomplice for fuck sake!”

  The creature came to the front of the cage, and hit John in the face with the weapon. John reeled from the blow, and felt drops of blood falling from his mouth. With a trembling hand he touched his chin as well as his lower lip, and realized his tooth was missing. He looked down and saw it on the floor; it was yellowish, with white at the top.

  He had never felt so scared.

  When John woke up that morning, he saw the brown leather belt lying on the bed. He started screaming.

  Chapter 13

  John knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore; it was simply too terrifying. More than that, he was now absolutely sure that he must have been walking in his sleep while having the nightmares, as the next day after he had dreamt of having his tooth knocked out, his gums around the lower incisors and his lower lip were swollen. Perhaps he hit the wall or the door while walking, provoking the tooth loss in the dream and that was the result. Such tendency would also explain the bruises on his belly.

  John couldn’t find anything to do, any spot to sit in the apartment. Molly was coming back in three days and he was unable to move out. He had nowhere to go. He had no money, either, apart from the four hundred dollars he still had in his bank account. At one point, John recalled that many years ago he opened up an account for Mickey. He had deposited one hundred dollars every month until Mick was twenty-one, so there must be a tidy sum of money, just waiting for him, reaching out to him at that very moment. Lifted by the thought, John smiled to himself, and started walking around the apartment to get ready to walk out to the bank. Too bad, Mickey, your dad needs this money much more than you do. Just as he was putting his shoes on, it occurred to him that Mick was already twenty-three. The account had been his to manage for almost two years now.