Monsters

by Liz Kay

  Daniel shakes his head. “Fucking humiliating.”

  I take a big sip of my vodka, and I say, “What?”

  “Stace, come on, what are you doing with this guy?”

  “What? I like him.”

  “Uh-huh. You clearly like him a ton, honey,” Daniel says. “We can tell ’cause you’re like super genuine with him, totally at ease.” He rolls his eyes.

  “It was painful to watch,” Tommy says. “I mean, I’m all for making friends, honey, but then have the decency to cut them loose.”

  “You’re worse than Tommy,” Daniel says.

  “Yeah.” Tommy nods. “You’re worse than me.” He reaches across to my plate again, takes a bite of the sauerkraut. “I can’t believe I covered for you. I mean, it would have been a kindness to be like ‘Hey, I’m Tommy. Totally fucking your girlfriend.’”

  “Not today,” I say, and Tommy just laughs.

  “Look, I get that this guy is like a pet who comes when you call him and sits and stays and all of that, but that’s not what you want, is it? That’s not what you need.”

  “Fuck you,” I say, and Tommy says, “You always do, baby. You always do.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Daniel says. “Would you two stop? I don’t know if you realize there’s another actual person here, and he doesn’t want to hear this shit.”

  I don’t say anything more. I just look at Tommy and I think, I hate you. I know that he can see it, but he doesn’t care.

  • • •

  When we get back to the hotel, I gesture toward the parking garage. “It’s late,” I say. “I’d better go.”

  Tommy laughs. He says, “You’re not still pissed about dinner? Come on, I’ll make it up to you. Let’s get a drink.”

  “I’ve already had enough,” I say.

  “So you obviously can’t drive,” he says. He holds his hand out. “Come on. At least one.”

  The bar in the lobby is packed. I say, “I’m not going in there.”

  Tommy takes my arm like he’s trying to steady me. I do feel like I’m losing my shit. He says, “It’s fine, we’ll have something sent up,” and he steers me toward the elevator. People are watching, but he just positions himself a little in front of me, and I duck my head. Once the doors slide closed, I lean back and brace my hands on the rail. I feel like I can almost breathe. Tommy slides his arm around me. “Relax,” he says. “You know I’ve got you.” It really doesn’t help.

  When we get to Tommy’s suite, Daniel picks up the phone and tells them to send up a bottle of vodka, well chilled. “I’ve got to head to bed,” he says when he hangs up. “One of us”—he looks at Tommy—“never gets a day off.” He crosses the room and kisses me on the forehead, and as he pulls back he gives me this worried frown. I smile back at him.

  When the vodka comes, Tommy hands me a glass and sits in the chair across from me. He says, “I know you don’t love this kind of shit, Stace, but you have to get used to it. It’s going to get much bigger. Wait until you get to L.A.”

  I just sigh, put my hand over my face. “You don’t need me for all of this, Tommy. Really. I don’t need to come out.”

  “I want you there.” He says it like it’s final, like he gets the last say. “This is your baby. You need to see it through.”

  I don’t answer, and I don’t look at him either. Sometimes it’s bad enough just knowing he’s there.

  “How’s Sadie?” I say, because I’m interested, but also because I want to change the subject.

  “Better. Her mom’s got her in New York.” He makes a dismissive face. “She’s doing some off-off-Broadway thing, but I think the change is probably good for Sadie.” He shrugs. “She’s gained a little weight back anyway.”

  “Not that you would ever say that.”

  “No! Fuck no. I’m not an idiot.” He laughs, but it’s a sad laugh. “I don’t say a goddamn word.”

  • • •

  We don’t stay up much later. He’s got an early flight, and I feel completely frayed. I feel like I’m unraveling. I set our glasses on the bar in the corner, and as I walk back past the chair he’s in, he stretches his arm out and catches me by the waist, pulling me onto his lap. He slips one hand up the back of my shirt, unhooking my bra, and I let him, but I say, “Tommy.”

  “I fly out early,” he says, and he pulls my mouth against his. “I don’t have time for all the sweet talk, but you know how I feel about you.”

  I laugh then, turn my head. “Do I?” I say. I drop one foot to the floor and lean my weight into it, standing up.

  Tommy grabs my wrist. “Where you going?”

  I just shake my head, and Tommy lets go. He drops his head back, stares at the ceiling. “Jesus, Stacey, what is it you want from me?”

  “I don’t want anything from you,” I say, turning away. I reach back to refasten my bra. “Hasn’t that always been the point?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  I turn to face him, fold my arms across my chest. “What could I possibly want from you, Tommy? A reputation? Some confused shit I have to explain to my kids? I don’t know.” I wave my hand back and forth between us. “I mean, this is fun, but—”

  “You leaving then?” he says abruptly, cutting me off.

  I nod. I say, “Yes.”

  “Good,” he says. “Great. That’s just fucking great.” He rubs one hand over his face. He shakes his head and stands up. “Call a cab.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and throws it at me. I turn to dodge it, but it hits my arm.

  I hold my hand over the spot and look him straight in the eye. “I’ll just walk,” I say slowly because Phillip lives close and Tommy knows that.

  He moves toward me, his jaw hard, and I stumble backwards, hitting the wall. Tommy holds me there, one arm around my back, pressing my arms into the wall behind me. “Don’t fuck with me,” he says, and he leans into me a little harder, his elbow digging against my biceps. I feel my eyes starting to burn, and I close them fast. I say, “Tommy, you’re hurting me.”

  “Not yet,” he says, but he shifts his weight just enough that I can pull my arms free, and he leans down, kissing my neck. He catches at my skin with his teeth.

  “Tommy,” I say, my voice softening. I slide the fingers of one hand along the back of his neck, but then he bites me, hard, and I have to twist both hands through his hair to get him off.

  “Jesus, Tommy, what the fuck?”

  He takes two steps back and just stares at me for a minute, his mouth open, his tongue pressing into the corner of it. He raises his hand, pointing one finger toward me. “I don’t know, honey. That’s gonna leave a mark. I mean, I like the way it looks on you, but what’s your boyfriend gonna say?”

  “That you’re a sick fucking bastard?”

  “Nah,” he says. “That’s what he’ll say about you.”

  “Fuck you,” I say, pushing past him, but he grabs my wrist, dragging me toward him.

  “Tommy, let go.”

  “What?” he says. “You don’t like it?” And he doesn’t relax his fingers. He pins my arm behind my back, pulling me close. He rubs his lips along my jaw.

  I say, “Would you stop?” I twist my chin to push his mouth away, but he winds one hand into my hair, pulling my head back hard. I brace my free hand on his chest and push him. “That fucking hurts!”

  “Does it?” he says, but he lets go. He takes a few steps back until he bumps into the arm of the couch. He sits against it, closes his eyes, rubs his fingers across his brow.

  I press my lips together, try to catch my breath. I hold my palm against the dull ache in my neck, and I keep my eyes on Tommy.

  When he looks up at me, he frowns, holds out one hand. “Stace.”

  “What the fuck was that?” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

  “Baby, come on.” He tilts his head, lifts both his arms to me. He looks as sincere as I’ve ever seen him, but he’s a hell of an actor, really. “Don’t try to put this on me. You have been throwin
g this guy in my face for months, and I think I’ve been very fucking cool about it. Haven’t I?”

  “I’m not throwing anything in your face. I’m trying to be in a relationship.”

  “No.” He waves one hand back and forth between us. “This right here. This is the relationship you’re in.”

  “This?” I laugh. “This isn’t a relationship, Tommy.”

  He stands up and moves toward me, and I don’t move away. I let him wrap his hands around my face, lean his head against mine.

  “It’s been almost two years. What the fuck do you think it is?”

  I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

  I shake my head, rest my forehead against his chin.

  “You can’t see him anymore. This guy is out.”

  I laugh. I say, “That’s rich, coming from you.”

  “Yeah, honey, but you don’t care what I do.” Tommy leans back far enough to look me in the eye. He pushes my hair back behind my ear, rests his hand on my cheek. “I care. Okay? I hate it.”

  I lean into him, tuck my nose against his neck, and for a few seconds, I just breathe and breathe and breathe. I press my lips to his skin.

  “There she is,” he says. “There’s my girl.”

  He kisses me like he means it, working his fingers deep in my hair, and I almost say Yes. But then Tommy pulls his mouth away, rubs it along my jaw, kisses my ear, and he says, “From now on, what you do on the side, you need to keep on the side. I don’t want to hear about this shit.”

  I think, What? I think, What are you saying? I think, This is not what I wanted, this is not what I wanted, this is not what I want. But Tommy’s already got me by the hands, and he’s pulling me toward the bedroom, and I think, Maybe it’s close enough, even though, really, I know that it isn’t. Tommy just kicks the door closed with his foot, and he’s leading me toward the bed. He pulls my shirt up over my arms, and he drops down and presses his mouth against my stomach. He slides his fingers to the button of my jeans. I say, “Tommy,” but he just pushes me back onto the bed and leans over me, and he’s kissing me across my face, and he whispers, “Stacey. Honey. Baby. I really need you to shut up.”

  • • •

  I don’t sleep for a long time. I just lie there in the dark, clenching my teeth. I can hear Tommy breathing, and he has his arm thrown over me, his hand cupping my breast. I must fall asleep at some point, and when I wake in the morning, it’s still dark out, and Tommy is already gone. I think, Of course. I think, I knew it, and I slide out of bed to pull on my clothes. There’s a note on top of my bag that says, Didn’t want to wake you. Call later. Which is bullshit because it doesn’t exactly say which direction the phone is supposed to ring. I just sit on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands for a long time. I don’t even have it in me to stand up and walk away.

  • • •

  It is a long day. The longest. When the boys are finally in bed, I pick up the phone, and of course I have no messages. I knew that I wouldn’t. I think about calling Tommy, but I would never do that. I call Phillip instead.

  “Hey,” I say when he picks up. “Sorry for calling so late.”

  “It’s fine,” he says, but he sounds a little off. “How was your festival thing?”

  “Oh, I think it was good,” I say, and I shrug even though he can’t see me. “All that promotion stuff isn’t really my thing.” I wait a second. I try to pause my way off of the subject. I say, “I was hoping you’d want to come over.”

  He says, “I can’t, Stacey, I have an early morning.”

  I suck my lips in and chew on them. He’s never turned me down before. I say, “Maybe this weekend then.”

  He says, “Yeah. I’ll call you.” I think he’s just going to hang up then, but he says, “Sweet dreams, okay?” and I nod like he’s right there in front of me. I wish he was right there in front of me. I say, “Yeah, you too.”

  • • •

  Tommy doesn’t call for two days. When he does, it’s late in the morning. I can’t bring myself to answer, and I don’t want to call him back. He texts, Hello? What the fuck? in the afternoon, but I just reply, Super busy. Call soon. My phone rings again while I’m making the boys dinner. I’m making grilled cheese because they begged for it, and I don’t feel like I can eat anyway.

  “Hey,” I say, but I don’t think I sound happy. I’m not sure what to do with my voice.

  “What is going on with you?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine,” I say, but it sounds like I’m actually pretty shitty, and I shake my head like I can make myself stop. I can’t though. I’m way out in the deep end, and I know it. I know it only gets worse from here.

  He sighs. He says, “Is this because of the other morning? Because it was really early, Stace.”

  “No.” I flip the first sandwich over, and it looks like I’ve already burned it. It looks like I’m going to be starting over.

  “Okay. If you’re gonna be this moody, I’ll just call you later.”

  I take a deep breath, and I say, “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “Jesus Christ, Stacey.” He sighs again. “I mean, you do hear how crazy you sound?”

  “I’m not crazy, Tommy. I’m just tired of this.”

  “You’re tired of what?” The tone in his voice makes me tighten my fingers around the spatula, press my teeth together. “All the shit I do for you?”

  “You mean all the shit you force on me?”

  “Oh, I’m so fucking sorry, Stacey.” He laughs, but it isn’t a nice laugh. “For all the airfare, and the dinners, and the wine, and fucking making you successful. I’m such an asshole for giving you all of that. Do you even hear yourself?”

  I shake my head, chew on my lip. “I never asked you for anything.”

  “You’ve never had to. Because I give you everything.” He’s yelling now, and my eyes are stinging, but I can’t tell if it’s from him or the smoke coming off the griddle. “Everything you want, I just fucking give it to you.”

  “What makes you think you know what I want?” I say, but I wish I hadn’t because he says, “Then tell me what you want, Stacey, because I’m getting tired of guessing.”

  “Jesus, Tommy, look, I just … I’m trying to figure out my life here.”

  “Bullshit. You’re the same fucking mess you’ve always been.”

  “Don’t,” I say.

  “Tell me how you’re figuring shit out, Stacey. What is it you think you’re getting a handle on? I would love to fucking know.”

  “How am I supposed to get a handle on anything with you sticking your hands in it all the time? That’s the whole point, Tommy. You need to stay the fuck out of my life.”

  He doesn’t answer, and honestly, I don’t like it. I feel like taking it all back, but I know it’s too late for that, so I try at least to get the edge out of my voice, and I laugh a little like I think at the end of this, we’re still going to be friends. “Tommy, come on, I know you. I know how you are.”

  “Yeah? How is that?” he says, and the way he says it, it sounds like a trap, but I can’t help myself. I walk right fucking into it.

  “Are you kidding? Because every time I turn around, you’re fucking someone else. And you know what, that’s fine. I don’t care, but I’m not twenty-two anymore. I can’t stay mixed up in this shit. I’m not interested in being another way for you to pass the time.”

  For a minute, he doesn’t say anything. It feels like forever. And then he says, “I think you’re a little confused, Stacey. That sounds a lot more like how you treat your little doctor friend.”

  And I just say, “Fuck you,” but I say it like, I hate you. I say it like, I hope you fucking die.

  “You know what, honey? I think I’ll pass. ’Cause you’re a sweet little ride, but you ain’t worth the fuckin’ crazy.”

  And he hangs up and I think, This is just what I expected, this is exactly how I knew it would be.

  I set my phone down on the counter, and I switch the knob on the
stove to off. I leave the sandwiches on the griddle and set the spatula down on an empty plate, and then I sit down in the middle of the floor and put my head between my knees, and I cry.

  • • •

  “I bought you a Tofurky,” Jenny announces when I pick up the phone. “But you might want to cook it at your house. There probably won’t be any room in our oven.” We always do Thanksgiving at Jenny’s because Todd is serious about his bird, and I won’t let him bring that shit into my kitchen.

  “Yeah, okay,” I say. I haven’t really been thinking about the holidays. I’ve been trying not to think much at all. I spent most of the morning on the treadmill, and I’m fucking wiped out.

  “Are you bringing Phillip?” she says.

  “I don’t know.” He did come over on the weekend, after the kids were in bed, but he was kind of uptight. We just watched a movie, and then he left. “I’ll call him,” I say.

  “I think it would be good.”

  I think, What the hell would you know, Jenny? but she wouldn’t know anything. It’s not really her fault.

  • • •

  Phillip doesn’t pick up, but that doesn’t mean anything. I figure he’s probably with a patient, so I leave a message. I say, “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Honestly, he takes forever to call me back. I’m almost putting the boys to bed.

  “Where have you been all day?” I say when he answers.

  “I had a dinner,” he says, and I say, “With who?”

  He actually kind of laughs. He says, “I didn’t think we had to tell each other those things, Stacey.”

  Shit, I think, but I just say, “Hey, you’re not being fair.”

  “I think I could say the same to you.”

  “Phillip,” I say, “is this about the night of the festival?” I say it like it’s a genuine question, like I might be confused.

  “Well, I was surprised to see you there,” he says. I can almost hear him pressing his lips together in some thin, judgmental line.

  “But that was work.” I try to keep my voice like this is all coming as a total surprise.

  “Stacey,” he says, “if I was going to be spending time with a woman who had a reputation like his, I would have enough respect to tell you.”