Monsters

by Liz Kay

I wave my hand like, I get it. “Let’s just drop it.”

  He does at first. He doesn’t say anything for a while, but once something’s under his skin, he can’t let it go. At least when he brings it back up, he sounds fine. He sounds like he’s just teasing. “What’s with this ‘Oh, I’m staying with one of the producers’?” he says in this falsetto voice. “You can’t be like, ‘I’m crashing with my friend Tommy’?”

  “Um, no.” I shake my head. “I think that would make him uncomfortable.”

  He glances to the right before switching lanes. He seems to be driving a little fast. “You know, I think it’s great that you’re so invested in protecting his feelings. Have you considered the possibility of sometimes lying to me?”

  “I don’t have to lie to you. You don’t have any feelings. Besides, I’m in a relationship now, so this shit between us is off the table.”

  “Oh, so this is a ‘relationship’?” He does use air quotes, but I ignore him. “And this”—he tucks his hand between my legs, gives my thigh a little squeeze—“baby, this is never off the table.” And he gives me this really ridiculous impish smile, and he winks at me, and I think, Goddamn it, Tommy, what the hell are we doing?

  • • •

  Tommy says the rough cut is fantastic, but I think it looks awful. I think it’s a goddamn terrifying mess. We walk out of his screening room, and I say, “I need a drink.”

  “You just don’t know what you’re looking at,” he says, and I know he’s trying to sound reassuring. “There’s still a lot of editing left.”

  “Great.” I raise one eyebrow. “I’m glad you showed it to me then.”

  For a second, I think he’s going to say something shitty, but then he puts his arms around me and laughs. “God, what am I going to do with you?” He sort of shakes me around. “I’m trying to keep you in the loop here. I’m trying to show you some fucking respect.”

  I just sigh and let my head fall against his chest. “I know,” I say.

  Then I notice the feel of him against me and how he smells, and I think I need to back away, but he’s still got a hold on me, and his mouth is by my ear, and when he sighs, I can feel his breath.

  He says, “You just don’t trust me,” and I nod because I really don’t. How could I?

  • • •

  Matt is coming for dinner, and Sadie swears I’m going to love him. She’s dressed in jeans and this pale yellow top. She looks pretty, but I can tell she’s not wearing a bra.

  “Honey,” I say, waving my hand across my chest, “maybe let’s not give it all away, huh?”

  She shrugs her arms across her chest and says, “Stacey, oh my god!”

  “You want your dad to see that?”

  “See what?” Tommy says, walking into the room. He’s got an open bottle of wine, and as he passes the bar, he picks up two glasses, hangs them off the fingers of his right hand.

  “Nothing, jeez,” Sadie grumbles, but she crosses her arms tighter and storms off toward her room.

  Tommy looks at me, but I just shake my head. I don’t want to embarrass her more than I need to. I just want her to put on a damn bra. Tommy steps into the hallway to look after her, and when he’s sure she’s gone he turns back and says, “Wait till you see this kid.” He sets the glasses on the table and pours them half full. I love how he always starts the evening like a moderate.

  “I can’t wait.”

  “You won’t believe me though.” He smiles. “I’m like a changed man. I really apologized for flying off the handle, said that I knew I wasn’t being fair to him. I lied my ass off.” He raises his glass in a toast to me. “Sadie probably thinks I’m saving up for their wedding.”

  “Good.” I sit back on the couch with my glass. “You should make him think that too. Nothing kills a young boy’s libido like thinking about a wedding.”

  He laughs. “Don’t I know it.”

  The doorbell rings, and I can hear Sadie skipping down the stairs. She’s so light I’m surprised she makes any noise at all. I hear the front door open, and she says, “Hi,” in this really pathetic and lilting tone, and I look at Tommy like, That’s disgusting, and he mouths, I know. And then they’re standing in the doorway, and Sadie’s holding his right arm with both hands, tucking herself behind his shoulder, hovering nervously on her toes. She says, “Stacey, I want you to meet my boyfriend, Matt,” and she says under her breath to Matt, “Stacey’s like my dad’s really good friend.”

  I want to kill the kid immediately, and now I can’t blame Tommy for ever trying, but Tommy steps toward him and claps him on the shoulder and says, “How’s it going, man?” and I honestly don’t know how he does it. The kid is tall and pretty lanky, and he gives Tommy this cocky Hey, man nod, and I suck on my lip to keep from saying, Jesus, who do you think you are? Even the way he moves makes me angry, the way he positions himself so that the arm Sadie’s hanging on to keeps her a half-step behind him, away from Tommy and me.

  He looks at me and says, “Hey, nice to meet you. Sadie says you’ve been real good to her.” I can tell he’s trying to make his voice deeper.

  It takes me a second, but I channel my very best midwestern, and I stand up and walk across the room to pull his arm away from Sadie.

  “I’ve been waiting all day to meet you, come have a seat.” I nudge him into the corner of the couch, so there’s no room left for Sadie on his other side. I glance back at Tommy, and he looks like he wants to take me to bed right then. He looks as grateful as I’ve ever seen a man.

  “So tell me how you met,” I say, and Matt says, “School.”

  “I know that,” I say, and I laugh, “but I want to hear the story.” I know he doesn’t have a story. Sadie’s probably memorized every minute that’s passed between them, and I doubt he remembers more than five. Depends how many times they’ve managed to have sex. I pick up my wine and take a drink. I’d like to swallow the whole thing, but I don’t. I hold my glass in front of me and look at him like I’m waiting to hear what he has to say.

  “Um, I think we met at a pep rally,” he says, and when I look at Sadie I know he’s gotten it wrong.

  “English class,” she says, “first semester.” Of course. They probably read Romeo & Juliet. They shouldn’t read that in high school. That play really fucks up little girls. And what the hell were they doing in the same English class? Is he stupid? Is he taking remedial shit?

  “That’s so romantic,” I say, nudging him with the back of my hand. “And you saw her sitting there, with her cute little nose in a book, and you were like ‘That’s the girl for me,’ right?”

  He just kind of shrugs and says, “I guess.”

  • • •

  After dinner, Tommy lets them have the living room to themselves, but he makes it clear we’re going to be just outside the door. “So no getting carried away,” he says to Matt, and he winks at him. He should get an Oscar.

  I sort of lean against the dining table and look through the door at them. They’re sitting on the couch, and Sadie’s trying to kind of cuddle up to him, but he’s having none of it. I feel terrible for her, but also glad. Tommy’s standing with his back to them, so they can’t see his face. He looks at me, and he lets the whole act drop, and his eyes just fill up with loathing and his jaw looks tight. He whispers, “I could kill him. I could seriously cut his body up into little pieces and bury him in the yard.”

  I say, “You’re doing amazing. You’re doing great.” I reach out to squeeze his arm, and when I do, he grabs my hand. He twists his fingers tightly through mine. It doesn’t feel like affection. It just feels like he needs something to grab on to.

  When he lets go, he sighs. “I hope he leaves soon. I plan on getting drunk.”

  • • •

  We do. We get very drunk. By the end of the night, we’ve got four open bottles, and I’m starting to worry about the morning. Tommy’s lying back on the arm of the couch, and he’s got his legs stretched out toward me, and he’s swirling the wine in his glass. Not
like a connoisseur, exactly. More like a drunk. He looks at me, and he says, “We need to get some food in you, or you’re not gonna make it.”

  I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”

  He gets up and walks off toward the kitchen, and when he comes back, he’s got a bag of tortilla chips.

  “I don’t eat that kind of crap,” I say.

  As he’s pushing past me to sit back down, he says, “Stacey, you don’t eat.” Which is bullshit, and not something that people are supposed to say anyway. I must look pissed because he pats me on the leg and says, “It’s cool, honey, I’m used to it.” He shrugs. “I mean, it’s fucking L.A.”

  I just glare at him, but he opens the bag and tips it toward me. He’s sitting next to me. His leg’s pressed right up against my leg. “No, thank you,” I say.

  He laughs and bites into a chip. He holds another one up to my mouth, uses the corner of it to poke at my lip. “Come on,” he coaxes. “They’re delicious.”

  I brush his hand away. “I don’t want a chip, Tommy.”

  “I don’t really care what you want. You’re gonna eat it because I don’t feel like cleaning you up in the morning. I have been there, and done that, and it is no goddamn fun.” He waves another chip in front of my mouth. “C’mon, baby, open up. Do it for me.”

  I try to sink farther into the corner of the couch, but he just leans closer, his whole body pressed against me now, his hand braced against my thigh. “We can do this the hard way if you want to, honey. It’s a whole lot easier if you just say yes.”

  • • •

  He makes me eat eleven chips, which is ridiculous, and then he tosses the bag on the table. He reaches across me and grabs my thigh, pulling it toward him over his lap so I’m straddling him, and his chin is between my breasts. He tugs the neck of my shirt down with his teeth.

  “I’m not going to bed with you,” I say.

  He holds my hips in his hands, presses me down against him. “I think it’s so cute when you talk that way.”

  “I’m serious, Tommy. I’m seeing someone.”

  “It’s cool, baby. I’m seeing lots of people, but I save all my best shit for you.” He grabs the skin of my neck with his teeth, and I let my head fall back. I don’t have a lot of resolve left, and he’s already pulling off my shirt.

  “Tommy, I mean it,” I say, and he pulls my mouth against his and pushes his tongue between my teeth and, of course, I kiss him back because I always do, because I can’t seem to help myself, and when he pulls away he says, “I think I’ll decide what you don’t mean and what you do.”

  • • •

  I wake to Tommy’s lips on my cheek. “You look like shit, Stace.”

  This is appropriate since it’s exactly how I feel. I just groan, hold my hands over my eyes.

  “How long till my flight?”

  “Three hours. Here, sit up. I brought you coffee.”

  I do sit up, but maybe too fast. My head is pounding already, and the motion sends a jolt through the top of my skull. I might sway a little, or maybe the room does, but Tommy wraps an arm around my shoulders, holds me up straight. “Easy, honey,” he says, and then he holds his hand out. “Pills?”

  I look at him like, Christ, but I take them. I say, “God, Tommy, what are you doing to me?”

  He just laughs, takes a mug from the bedside table, puts it in my hands, and lies back on the bed next to me. He trails his fingers along my spine. “Sure you want to fly today? You know you can stay if you want to,” he says, but I can’t see his face. I can’t tell what he means, if he just feels like he should offer.

  I shake my head. I say, “I’d better get back.”

  Tommy moves behind me, wraps his arm around me, grabs hold of my breast. He presses his lips against my back, and for a second I think he must be trying to convince me, but he’s not, because his mouth is still on my skin when he says, “Yeah, okay.”

  • • •

  Phillip picks me up when I land in Omaha. The airport is tiny, and I’d told him to just pick me up at the curb. They won’t let you wait, but he must have driven in circles until he spotted me, because when I walk out, it’s like he’s right there. He gets out of the car and takes my bag from me and puts it in the trunk. He opens the passenger door, and as I move to get in, he stops me and gives me a long kiss. I’m glad to see him. He makes me feel like I can catch my breath. I get in the car, and he closes the door behind me, and then he walks back around to the driver’s side and climbs in. He puts the car in gear, but before he pulls out, he takes my left hand and kisses the back of it and holds it in his lap as he starts to drive.

  “I’m happy you’re home,” he says, and I smile and say, “Me too.”

  Traveling from L.A. takes like all fucking day, and I’m still hungover, and I just want to get home, but when he says, “Can I take you to dinner?” I say, “Sure.”

  • • •

  “So how was the movie,” Jenny says, holding her mug out for me to fill.

  “Pretty awful.”

  She frowns at me. “Really?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m sure they’ll fix it.”

  “I can’t wait to see it,” she says, and she turns to look out the window at the kids. They’re playing this game with Bear where they run screaming away from him, and he knows he’s supposed to run them down hard, that that’s what they want. He always slows down in the end though, veers to the side, lets them win.

  “So is Tommy really dating that Vivian Kells?” Jenny says, turning back to me. I don’t even have time to think. I’m too busy trying not to react. “She is so cool. I’ve loved her forever, ever since she was in that movie Caroline, remember? I loved that movie.” She shakes her head. “Doesn’t really seem like his type though. I mean, she’s like forty, right?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I think probably everyone is Tommy’s type.”

  “He didn’t talk about her?”

  “Tommy doesn’t really talk about that kind of stuff with me.” I shrug.

  “I thought you two talked about everything.”

  “Yeah, but not that.” I take a sip of my coffee. “I’m not really interested in who he’s dating.”

  “The kids say you talk to Tommy a lot,” she says slowly. “Pretty much every day.”

  “I talk to you every day.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that, you know, there are lots of people I’m close to.” I move to refill my cup. “I talk to Sarah a lot too.”

  “Okay,” she says, and she sets down her mug. “I guess I’m wondering if maybe you have some feelings?”

  “For Tommy?” I force a laugh.

  “I’m just asking,” she says.

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath. “I adore Tommy. I do. And he’s been really good to me. But it would be stupid to have those kinds of feelings for someone like Tommy. Wouldn’t it?” I want her to say no. I want her to feed me some bullshit line about how you have to follow your heart, or be true to yourself, but she doesn’t say any of that.

  She says, “Yeah, it would be really stupid.” She holds out her cup for me to fill. “That’s why I’m glad you have Phillip now.”

  I nod. I say, “Me too.”

  JULY

  STEVIE’S BASEBALL TEAM is having an end-of-season potluck, and of course I’m going to take him. He’s excited. He’s wearing his team shirt. I can see him smiling in the rearview mirror. “Do you think I’ll get a trophy?” he asks Ben.

  “Everyone gets a trophy,” Ben says, but he doesn’t say this as a dismissal. He’s being reassuring, and this is exactly how Stevie takes it. He wiggles in his seat.

  I feel out of place even pulling up to the house. The boys climb out of the car, and I hand Ben a package of organic juice boxes. I made hummus, and I’ve sliced up carrots and bell peppers. I don’t want the boys to just fill up on chips. Stevie races to the front door, but he doesn’t ring the doorbell. That would be asking too much. He just hops
up and down on the step.

  It’s a nice house, and the neighborhood is prime, but inside, it’s a little out of date. There’s a wallpaper border above the kitchen cabinets. There’s an awful lot of oak.

  “You can just set your food in the dining room, and if the boys are hungry they can go ahead and grab a plate,” the hostess tells me.

  There are a lot of moms and dads here, and while I’ve been running into them twice a week for the past two and a half months, I don’t know any of their names. It’s Stevie’s first year, and none of these kids even go to the same school. I think we got put on the wrong team. Everyone else seems to know each other, and none of them have ever talked to me, and I think, That’s fine. I don’t need friends who bring frosted sugar cookies and potato chips to a potluck. How about a salad? How about you don’t try to give my kids diabetes? But maybe I’m just defensive.

  The boys are eyeing the table, and Ben says, “Mom?” I glance over it. The other kids are piling their plates with mostly chips, half barbecue, half plain.

  “Ten chips, lots of veggies, and you can split a cookie,” I say.

  The woman across from me raises her eyebrows.

  “I’m a vegetarian,” I say, “kind of a health nut. I try to be pretty mindful about what they eat.”

  I think this may be why people like her don’t like me. She’s squirting a lake of ketchup onto her kid’s plate. I think about saying, You know that shit is mostly corn syrup, but I don’t. Instead I say, “Which boy is your son?”

  “Gavin,” she says, and nods at a redheaded kid.

  The truth is I haven’t actually been paying attention at most of the games. The thing about baseball is that you only really have to watch the few minutes your own kid is up to bat. I mean, sometimes I glance up when he’s in the outfield just in case he’s looking, so I can wave, but they put him way the hell out there. The kid can barely catch. In any case, I spend a lot of the games reading or texting, and maybe the other parents have noticed my lack of investment. This may be the other reason they don’t like me.

  “Did you have fun playing baseball, Gavin?” I say, even though I don’t care. I’m just trying to fit in.