Monsters

by Liz Kay

  “Oh, me too,” I say.

  I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. “I’m so sorry,” I say, pulling it out. “I have to check this text. I wouldn’t normally. I just … I have a new sitter.”

  “Oh, sure. Yeah,” he says.

  But it’s not the sitter. It’s Tommy. I should have known. There’s a whole chain of messages under his number because we text a lot and I never delete them, though I probably should. This time it says, Read the hairless cunt poem. That’ll go over well in Omaha.

  “Kids okay?” Phillip asks.

  I look up. “Oh, yeah. It was”—and I don’t know what to say—“work.” I shrug.

  We’ve reached the end of the tables, and I’m out of wine. “Can I return the favor? Buy you a drink?” I say, gesturing toward his glass.

  • • •

  I read a few pieces from Monsters because god knows I don’t have anything new. I keep it short, maybe fifteen minutes, and when I walk away from the microphone, Phillip stands up from his chair in the front row and brings me my wine. I’d asked him to hold it. Seemed like a good move.

  “That was terrific,” Phillip says. “Really great.” I can tell by his tone that he didn’t understand a word of it. It’s probably better that way.

  Craig comes up to me from behind, touches my shoulder. “First rate,” he says. “Love that second piece. It’s one of my faves.”

  I know this is a dig. Why don’t you have any new shit? is what he means. It’s true, this book is three years old. Phillip doesn’t care though. He thinks I’m great, and when I decide it’s time to leave, he walks me to my car. He holds the driver’s door open for me and asks for my phone number, and when I give it to him, he writes it down with a pen. It’s really cute.

  • • •

  It takes Phillip almost a week to call me. It’s Wednesday, mid-morning, which is weird. I wonder if he’s calling me from his office and what his office looks like. I wonder if he’s wearing a white coat.

  “Stacey? It’s Phillip. From the fundraiser.” He sounds nervous. Out of practice.

  “Oh, hi,” I say, trying to sound surprised.

  “I won the wine,” he says, “that I bid on. I think I promised you a drink.”

  It’s a cute touch. I like it. I think he’s doing pretty well. “You did,” I say. “You absolutely did.”

  “I don’t know what your weekend looks like?”

  It looks shitty. Ben’s got a friend sleeping over on Friday, and Saturday I have my sister’s kids.

  “This weekend’s pretty lousy,” I say. “But I’m free the next?”

  He groans. “I’m in Philadelphia for a conference. Let me grab my calendar. The nineteenth? No, wait, I’m out of town for the holidays. First week in December?”

  “I’m in L.A. Work.”

  “Seriously?” He laughs. “I think this used to be easier.”

  “I know, right? Maybe we could just say coffee? Next week?”

  “How about Tuesday morning? Around ten? My office is just off Pacific. I could meet you at Countryside.”

  “Perfect, yeah. I’ll be there,” I say.

  I have a date, I think when I hang up. I’m going on a date. And I guess I don’t have any reason not to.

  • • •

  Phillip is already waiting when I get there. He must have come early because I’m not even running late. He stands up to greet me, and sort of air-kisses me on the cheek. He motions for me to sit down and says, “I’ll grab you a drink. What’ll you have?”

  I say, “Vodka?” but he doesn’t seem to get it, so I say, “I’m kidding. Coffee, black, would be great.”

  I look around and realize this is a shitty place for a date. In the corner is a business meeting, probably sales. Some guy’s blustering, and the rest of them are nodding along. The table across from us is a mommy with her kid. She’s probably just looking to get out of the house, read a paper, have an excuse to comb her hair. I get it. The little girl looks about two, and she’s fully into her muffin, picking out the chocolate chips. Phillip returns with the coffee, and I smile a thank-you. He looks nice, a little straitlaced but nice, and definitely cute. He looks like a very nice, cute allergy doctor. I wonder if my sister’s ever taken her kids to him.

  “So what’s taking you to L.A.?” he asks as he sits down.

  I blow into my coffee but don’t take a sip. “Film adaptation.”

  “A movie?” he says.

  I nod. “One of my books. I’ve been working on the script.” I blow across my coffee again and watch the steam swirl off. “They want me to come out for the start of filming, but I won’t stay long.”

  “Wow, that’s incredible.” He looks genuinely impressed. “Is it like a big-budget thing?”

  “I have no idea, really. They don’t tell me the budget.” I laugh.

  He makes a little Of course shrug. “So is there anyone I would know in it?”

  I don’t say Tommy. I say, “Sarah Nixon is the lead.”

  “No kidding?” He shakes his head, smiles. “Wow, that’s really cool.”

  I just shrug. “So tell me again what brought you to Omaha?”

  “I did my residency here.” He sits up a little straighter, looks a little more serious. “And then my wife, my ex-wife, her family is here, so we stayed.”

  “Mmm.” I take a sip of my coffee finally. “How long have you been divorced?” I don’t know if this is a safe date question or not.

  “Almost two years. You?”

  I shake my head. “My husband passed away.”

  “Oh, jeez, I’m sorry. Craig said you were single. I just assumed …”

  “No, you’re fine.” I feel like this would be easier if we were drinking. “Do you have kids?”

  “No. No kids.” He looks down at his coffee, and for a second I’m afraid he’s going to tell me some awful story about how they tried, but he doesn’t, and I’m totally relieved.

  “And you’re off to Philadelphia, is it? For this conference? If it’s anything like a writer’s conference, you’ll be hungover for a month.” I laugh, but really I’m thinking, Jesus, how hard do I have to work? But this one takes, and he laughs, and he tells me a few stories about drunk doctors and guys who get busted for fucking around on their wives, though he doesn’t use the word fucking. Whatever, it’s working, and I think, We could do this. I could see him again.

  DECEMBER

  DANIEL RUNS UP just as I’m pulling my bag from the carousel. He grabs me by the shoulders and presses his cheek against mine. “I just texted the driver. He’ll swing through.” He steps back. “Tommy wants me to take you straight to the set. You okay with that?” he says as I’m popping the handle on my roller bag. “I can stall if you need to rest. It might be kind of a long day.”

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  By the time we walk outside, the driver’s pulling around. Daniel opens the back door and nudges me in, sliding in behind me. “I brought you a protein bar,” he says, digging into his bag. “I know you haven’t eaten yet, and the shit on set is not going to work for you.”

  “Peanut butter? I love it. I wish you lived with me.”

  “I know,” he says, patting my hand. “I better text Tommy we’re on our way.”

  I tear open the wrapper and take a small bite, folding the paper back over the end of it. I shake my head. “I already sent him a text when I landed.”

  Daniel raises one eyebrow. “You two still text a lot?”

  “Daniel, please don’t start.”

  “You’re right,” he says. “Never mind.” He pinches his lips together, folds his arms, but after a minute, he pulls his phone out and says, “You know, I’m just gonna text him anyway.”

  We ride for a long time with our arms crossed, looking out separate windows. The sky is so hazy, so beige. Not like Nebraska, where everything’s so blue and wide and clear.

  “I mean, you do get that he doesn’t do relationships, right?”

  “Daniel.” I close my eyes, press my t
ongue against my lips because of course I get that. “I have a dead husband and two sad little kids. I’ve got more relationships than I can handle, so the fact that Tommy’s not particularly invested really works out pretty well.”

  “Jesus, Stacey, you know that isn’t how I meant it. Don’t make him sound like that.”

  “I wish you’d make your mind up, Daniel.”

  “Yeah? I wish lots of people would.” He sighs heavily, shakes his head. “I’m not saying he doesn’t give a shit. I’m just saying he’s not really equipped for this.”

  “There’s no ‘this,’ Daniel. It’s just … it’s easy.”

  “Really?” he says. “You just keep telling yourself that. And then when this shit blows up, don’t come crying to me.” He shifts his whole body toward the window, and I do the same.

  “Take her things back to the house,” Daniel tells the driver as we step out. “I’ll text Tommy that we’re here,” but he doesn’t actually need to.

  I hear Tommy’s voice behind me calling, “Stacey,” and by the time I turn around, he’s in front of me, and he wraps me in this tremendous, tight hug. “Jesus, how come you haven’t been out to L.A. in forever?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “You haven’t given me an excuse.”

  • • •

  The first person I see when we walk in is Sarah. Well, she’s not the first person I see, but the first person I can’t stop looking at. She’s in costume, and it’s like she stepped right out of my head. When she turns toward us, she smiles at Tommy, but then she looks back at me for a second. “Oh my god,” she says, “is this Stacey? Oh my god!” and she comes rushing over and swoops me into a hug. “Tommy’s told me so much about you,” she says. Her head is by my ear, and I look over her shoulder at him like, You didn’t, because someone like Sarah thinking of me as just another girl that Tommy fucks is really more than I can stand. But he just barely shakes his head.

  “So I want Jason to rethink the blocking on this scene. Who’s going to talk to him?” I don’t know if she’s talking to me or Tommy now, and I don’t know if she does either. She loops her arms through ours and starts leading us toward the set.

  • • •

  They’re still filming at six o’clock. They do, I don’t know, a million takes of this one microscopic scene, and when Jason turns and catches my eye, he gives me a thumbs-up, and I smile, but really I’m like, I think I’m in hell. Tommy must be able to tell. Between takes he whispers, “You want to go?”

  “Don’t you have to be here?”

  “Nah, this is Jason’s baby now. I’m just an actor, and they’re not shooting any of my scenes this week.” He nods toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Tommy’s parked right out front, so we’re in the car and off the lot in just a few minutes.

  “So what do you think?” he says finally.

  “I think your job is exhausting,” I say. “You should try my job. I can do it in bed.”

  He laughs. “No. How do you think it looks?”

  “Sarah looks amazing, like I dreamed her.”

  “Yeah. I thought of her the first time I read your book. She’s perfect for the part.” He pulls up a hill, and I think it looks familiar. I think we’re almost there. “And she loves it. She’s really excited about it.”

  But we’re not almost there. I’m just imagining landmarks. He’s just pulled through some side street, and now we’re back on a main road, deep in traffic, stopping at a red light. “Speaking of excited,” he says, and he reaches across with his left arm and grabs my head, pulls me toward him, and leans in to kiss me. “I’ve wanted to do that all day.” But then traffic starts to move again, and he lets go and kicks the car back into first.

  • • •

  The door’s barely closed when Tommy wraps his arm around my waist from behind and pulls me back against him. He twists me to face him and buries his hands in my hair, and he pulls me up against his mouth.

  “There’s no one here,” he says, and he doesn’t move his mouth away from mine, but he walks me backwards, presses me up against the wall, and he starts unbuttoning my shirt.

  “Jesus, Tommy.”

  “I can’t help it, baby. You’ve been gone too long. You can’t stay away from me like that.” He pins my right hand to the wall just above my head and leans into me, pushing his knee between mine. He holds my earlobe between his teeth and the feel of his breath against my neck makes me laugh.

  “Slow down,” I say. “Let me get in the house at least.”

  “Uh-uh.” He grabs me hard around the waist, lifts me off the floor, and I wrap my legs around his hips. “I’m tired of waiting,” he says.

  • • •

  Tommy brings dinner and a bottle of wine to bed. Dinner being a box of crackers and some insanely strong blue cheese. I don’t like it at all, and he says, “You have an undeveloped palate.”

  He keeps slipping me little bites of it between kisses, and when I say, “I seriously hate this cheese, Tommy,” he says, “You’ll get used to it.”

  “You say that about a lot of shit,” I say, and he laughs and says, “I’m right.”

  The wine I do like, and I keep letting him refill my glass.

  “I hope I have another bottle,” he says.

  “You have another bottle of something,” I say, and he says, “Yeah, that’s true.”

  He rolls to his back, pulling me on top of him, and I lean down to catch his mouth with mine when there’s a knock at the door, and this little voice calls, “Dad?”

  Tommy pushes me off him and jumps out of bed, pulling on his jeans and wrestling his way into his shirt. “She won’t just come in here,” he whispers, but I slide as far down under the sheets as I can. Then I remember that half of my clothes are out in the hallway. At least they’re by the garage. I’m guessing she came in the front entrance. Still.

  “Tommy,” I whisper, “my clothes are out there.”

  He closes his eyes like he’s trying to wish this fact away. He holds one finger up for me to wait, and he opens the door. He doesn’t walk out though. He just stands there, totally relaxed, holding the door open, like it would be fine for her to come in. At least the door is between us, blocking her view of the room.

  “Hey, I thought you were at your mom’s tonight.”

  “I just came to see Stacey. Isn’t she here yet?”

  “Yeah, you know, Daniel had to bring her back this afternoon. She had a migraine. I think she’s still sleeping.”

  “She okay?” She sounds worried.

  “I don’t know, hon. Hopefully it’s just from traveling. I guess we’ll find out in the morning. You staying the night?”

  “Yeah, Mom’s driver just dropped me off.”

  “You want some dinner? Want me to take you out?” I can’t believe he says this. This would take them right past my discarded clothes, but he must know she’ll turn him down.

  “I ate already. I think I’ll just go up to bed.”

  “Try to be quiet. I don’t want you bothering Stacey.”

  “I’m not going to bother her, Dad, god.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning, honey.” Now he does duck behind the door to hug her.

  When he closes the door, I sit up in bed and drop my head into my hands. Tommy throws himself onto the bed next to me.

  “I feel like such an asshole,” I whisper.

  He pulls my hands away from my face. “We’re not doing anything wrong.” Then he sort of twists his mouth and says, “I mean, aside from the lying.”

  I smile, and he smiles, and we both start to laugh, and then we’re laughing really hard, and he pulls me down against him and covers my mouth with his hand. “Jesus. Shut up. She’s going to hear you.”

  • • •

  I feel like an asshole again in the morning when Sadie comes down for breakfast all dressed and ready for school.

  “Stacey,” she says, and she throws her arms around me. “Dad said you had a migraine. Are you feeling oka
y?”

  “You’re sweet, honey. I’m fine.” Having never experienced a migraine, I don’t even know how to play this off, and over her shoulder, Daniel is scowling at me. Of course Tommy had to fill him in. How else could he cover for us? Disgusting, he mouths.

  When she lets go of me, I say, “Daniel stocked us up on yogurt. You want some?”

  “Like flavored?” she says, and by this I know she means sugared, because that’s how I mean it too.

  “Plain. It’s Greek. Lots of protein. I’ll get you some.”

  I start to stand up, but Daniel says, “No, let me. You should take it easy today.”

  “Yeah,” Sadie says. “You don’t need another migraine.”

  “Okay. Then can someone refill my coffee?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Daniel turns back from the fridge with the tub of yogurt in his hand. He reaches into a cabinet for a bowl. “You should probably go light on the caffeine today.” He makes a face.

  I know the only way I’ll get a headache is if I don’t get enough caffeine. “Daniel,” I say.

  “Caffeine can be a trigger,” he says. I don’t even know if this is true, and I’m sure Sadie doesn’t either.

  “You know what? I’ll just get myself a refill.”

  Sadie puts her hand on my arm and says, “Really, I don’t think you should.” She looks so sincere, so absolutely worried, I just say, “Okay, I’ll skip it, but if I fall asleep at lunchtime, it’s on you,” and she smiles. She absolutely beams at me, and she eats her yogurt, almost half a cup, and I even talk her into adding a third of a banana.

  “Go get your stuff together, sweetie. You don’t want to be late,” Daniel says as she finishes the last bite.

  She leaves, and Daniel leans across the counter, sighs heavily.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, but it’s not fair for you to show up for a week and play house or whatever this thing is that you and Tommy do. I don’t care how secretive you think you are, this affects more than just you.”

  “Daniel,” I say quietly. “I think you’re reading too much into things. I think …”

  “Would you stop lying?” he says. “At least to me.”

  • • •