by Sorbe, Lisa
Which quickly pissed me the fuck off.
I don’t like being out of the loop. The only ignorant bastard in a sea of know-it-alls.
I turned to Landon, who just stared down into his drink, refusing to meet my eyes. “You might want to go get your friend,” was all he said.
So I did. I did, and now I’m sitting here with Marla, back at my place, on my couch, and watching her cry and snot bubble all over the place. I hand her another tissue and resist the urge to smother her with it.
Death by Kleenex.
The box crumbles slightly beneath my death grip. “So,” I say slowly, “you slept with someone else. While you were married. And he found out.”
I’m just relaying what she told me, trying to come to terms with the fact that Andy Kershaw won’t be taking Marla off my hands after all. A lost love wasn’t rekindled tonight. Any chance of a reunion between those two had already been incinerated by a match Marla struck years ago.
Not only did she cheat on Andy. She slept with his brother. His twin brother.
And it tore the family apart.
From what I gather, the Kershaws still haven’t recovered.
I shoot her a look of disgust, one she doesn’t see because her face is buried in the tissue I just handed her. She swipes at her tears and groans. “I’m such a shit.”
Nodding in agreement, I say, “No, you’re not.”
She looks up at me, hope radiating through her tears.
I quickly stall my head. “You were young. And yes, what you did was shitty. But it was a long time ago, and you can’t beat yourself up over something that happened when you were, what? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?” I huff, and my next words are softened by honesty. “We all do stupid stuff when we’re in our twenties, Marla. All of us. No one is immune to the fickleness of that age. We all end up hurting…someone…that we love.”
“But I destroyed a family, Becky. An entire family.” She sniffs, her lower lip trembling. “All because it felt good to be wanted by someone else. It was like a high, a dirty excitement that corroded my morals. Clouded my judgment. I wasn’t thinking when I did it. It was just…I’d been with Andy for so long, you know? We were like an old married couple, yet we were so, so young. When he touched me, I didn’t feel, like, chills anymore. But Derrick? All he had to do was look at me, and it felt like every cell in my body was dancing the freaking Macarena.” Lame pun aside, grief is etched into every line of her face. And yet, the very energy around her screams victim.
The bitch has been babied so much that, even when she’s the cause of someone else’s hurt, someone else’s pain, she can’t see past her own misery.
I can’t help it; I dig. “You weren’t thinking about anyone else. Just you and only you.”
Marla grimaces and crumbles even more. Apparently, the truth isn’t something she’s used to hearing.
But I don’t care. Don’t even care if I hurt her. Because you know what? Good! Fucking good! The bitch needs to be taken down a notch. And I’m starting to wonder why the hell I need her at all, if I ever did. Certainly, I’m enough for Hollis. Me, and me alone. I don’t need to widen any cracks in his marriage, laying the perfect foundation for our reunion. When he sees me, remembers me and the way we were together, he’ll tear apart their whole damn relationship himself.
I mean, my pictures are on his computer. Mine.
And he wrote his book while thinking about me. I know he did.
I suddenly feel foolish. Like I’ve been stalling, taking this ridiculous, circuitous route back to him. Making something that should have been easy more complicated than it needed to be. Getting sidetracked, distracted, seduced by the drama of my own doing because, for so long, I’ve had no one and no thing and holy-hot damn it felt good to be in the thick of life again. To be needed and wanted after going unseen for so long.
But there’s the rub.
Have I been feeding off the drama of it all? My affair with Ford? My meddlesome friendship with Marla? Have I become one of those people? The ones who get their fucking kicks from crisis and commotion?
Am I the one stalling my reunion with Hollis?
“You’re right.” Marla sighs, and for one crazy second I think she’s responding to the questions pounding through my head. But she’s not, of course she’s not, because Marla only thinks of Marla. “I was selfish back then. Selfish and foolish, always wanting what I didn’t have.” She squishes the tissue in her hand and nods. “But then I met Hollis. And it was like all the chaos inside of me, I don’t know, sort of calmed down. Subsided entirely.” She gives me a watery smile that I want to slap right off her shiny face. “Hollis brought me peace.”
I smile. I smile and smile and smile.
“That’s nice,” I say.
“I’m glad,” I say.
Marla nods again, and swipes at her eyes. The tears have halted, and her expression has turned from misery to determination. “I can’t fix what I did in the past,” she says, almost like she’s talking to herself. “But I can make the future better for those I love now. And for everyone else I meet.” She gives me a half smile. “It’s what Hollis would tell me to do.”
Hmm. I cock my head, try to make my question as innocent as I can. “Does Hollis know about Andy? About what you did?”
The look on her face tells me no. No, he doesn’t.
She hems and haws and doesn’t really answer. But I know what she’s doing. It’s a tactic I’m familiar with.
I’ve used it on Nicholas a million times. Only he doesn’t care to push past my bullshit to get to the truth. My truth isn’t something he wants to hear. Or needs to hear, to be more accurate. I don’t make him money. I’m just arm candy. And arm candy is meant to be seen, not heard.
It’s one of the reasons that, over the years, my personality disappeared so thoroughly, and I needed Ford to help bring it back.
It’s time to get my shit together.
• • •
When Marla grows too woozy from liquor and tears, I steer her to the guest bedroom, tuck her in, and resist the urge to press a pillow over her face. She passes out immediately, head tilted at an awkward angle and mouth gaping like a fish. Like a creeper, I watch her for a few minutes, realizing how easy it would be to do it. To take the pillow and just…hold it there, right there, right over her wide-open trap. She’s dead to the world (though not as dead as I’d like her to be) so there probably wouldn’t be any struggle.
Easy peasy.
Any warm, mushy feelings I had for Marla are gone, squashed completely by the inability to use her ex-husband as a catalyst for ending her marriage. Now that I know she won’t leave Hollis on her own, any concern I had regarding her happiness has evaporated entirely, leaving only irritation and anger in its wake.
And irritation and anger? I can work with that.
I pour a glass of wine and head back to the couch. Our evening was cut short, thanks to Marla, and I’m not near buzzed enough to drift into a dreamless sleep. So I turn on the television and thumb the remote, sipping wine as I do. As usual, there’s nothing on – nothing worth watching, anyway – and just as I’m about to flick the damn thing off and take my drink to bed, I feel a soft buzz against my thigh. The muffled sounds of an old Chicago song “You’re the Inspiration” wrinkles my nose, and hopping up, I try to detect the source of the horrid music. Plunging my hand between the couch cushions, I extract a cell phone – Marla’s – and note the name on the screen.
Hollis.
My thumb is spring-loaded, swiping across the screen and accepting the call before I can stop it. I press the phone to my ear – “Hello?” – and can barely hear my own voice over the beating of my heart. It’s knocking against my sternum like a bird made insane by captivity, determined to break free of its cage or die trying.
My voice is a whisper; it sounds deeper than usual, and the plethora of emotions swelling in my throat make it difficult to breathe. I’m shocked and excited, terrified and giddy. I feel like I have a million hearts
, not only in my chest, but in my ears, my throat, my stomach, the center of my forehead, in the very balls of my feet, and they’re all pumping, jumping, fluttering madly at the same time.
A flood of memories rolls through my blood, stirs like tiny vortexes in my very cells, and it’s all I can do to hear Hollis over the sudden rush of our past.
He’s here. Miles away, but here. With me.
Right now.
He speaks his wife’s name again, and a warmth slips beneath my skin, worms its way between the fibers of my muscles, digs deep into my bones…and the wild cacophony in my head ceases entirely.
The world fades, everything fades, and I suddenly feel complete for the first time in my life.
Hollis’s laugh is just like I remember it.
Deep and warm, with a hint of surprise and a pinch of admiration, like he’s impressed that you had the power to catch him off guard and unleash a wild, uninhibited joy he didn’t even know he contained.
Making Hollis laugh always made me feel special. As if by tickling his insides, I could crack open his mind, plant myself there like a seed. One right after another. In the years we were together, my presence grew like a garden in his brain.
Eventually, though, I stopped tending it. And like any overgrown patch of flora, it became wild, choked with weeds.
Toxicodendron Marla, to be exact.
But that’s okay. Nothing a pair of pruning shears can’t handle.
Hollis is still chuckling about my jab at his ringtone.
“Yeah, well. I certainly can’t vouch for my wife’s taste in music.”
I think back, remembering that we always appreciated the same tunes. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m all about the classics. But I lean more toward classic rock, grunge even. Just not…that.”
There it is again, that laugh. Softer this time but laced with even more admiration than before.
“So,” I ask, “what ringtone did you set for her?”
“Oh, um, I think it’s the standard one?” It’s more like an admission of guilt than a question, as if by not assigning his wife a special ringtone, he doesn’t love her as much as he should. Granted, something that trivial shouldn’t make a difference, but society is whack like that. “But I just got a new phone,” he explains quickly. “I haven’t had time to mess with it yet. I’ll get around to it.”
“Sure,” I tease, knowing the truth. Of course I know the truth. Nothing about Marla stands out. She’s vanilla wafer, a one-hit wonder. And me? I’m a goddamn classic.
“If I may,” I say, allowing my smile to slip into my voice, “I’d suggest getting around to it sooner rather than later. Assigning someone a ringtone is of the utmost importance. It can make or break a relationship. Pick the wrong song, and you’re sleeping on the couch for a week.”
Hollis teases back. “Wow, yeah. You’re totally right.” He pauses, and I eat up his silence. “Got any suggestions?”
“Hmm,” I murmur, pretending to think. “I don’t know. What about “Still Remains” by Stone Temple Pilots?”
A soft intake of breath floats through the receiver, and I bite my lip, holding back a squeal of triumph.
“Do you know it?” I ask.
Of course he knows it. It’s our song, the song we danced to most, made love to most.
He clears his throat. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it.”
“But,” I say, thoroughly enjoying myself, “now that I think about it, I’m not so sure it fits Marla. I think she’s more Debbie Gibson, maybe Tiffany. Or, New Kids on the Block?”
Hollis laughs, like I was hoping he would, and I’m instantly cocooned in a phantom hug that gives me chills – the good kind – from my head to my toes.
“Yeah, yeah.” He sighs, and I can picture him shaking his head, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “My wife really has some shitty taste in music, huh?”
I click my tongue. “Oh, come on, now. ‘Electric Youth’ was an instant chart topper in its day. And The New Kids on the Block totally paved the way for more boy bands—”
“—Unfortunately,” Hollis cuts in, and I laugh.
“Yeah, okay. Maybe you’re right.”
Our chuckles die down, and it seems we’ve gone as far as we can in bashing Marla’s musical tastes.
“So,” Hollis starts.
“Well,” I say. Then, not wanting the call to end, I ramble. “If I had known she was supposed to text and let you know that we got home okay, I would have made her do it.” I take a sip of my wine and sink farther back into the couch cushions. “Before, you know, she passed out.”
“Don’t worry about it. My wife has a tendency to be…forgetful. Especially when it comes to letting her husband know she’s okay so he can get some goddamn sleep.” He sighs, like he’s exhausted, like just talking about Marla leaves him drained. “Shit. That…that was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”
I frown, confused. “Sorry about what?”
“Here we are, two people who’ve never met, and all I’ve been doing is complaining about my wife’s shitty taste in music and her innate ability to become distracted at the most inconvenient times. Not a very good first impression on my part.”
“Don’t worry about it. Spouses are entitled to vent. Better out than in, as my grandmother used to say.” Okay, so my grandmother never said that. But it seems like something someone’s grandmother would say, so there you go.
He doesn’t respond, so I keep talking. “And to be honest, I wouldn’t really say it’s all Marla’s fault. Something…” I’m the one who sighs now, as if, like Hollis, I’m also burdened by Marla’s behavior. “Never mind. I don’t think it’s my place to…”
“No,” Hollis interrupts. “What? Is…She’s okay, right?”
For the first time since we started talking, concern for his wife seeps into his tone.
And I don’t like it.
Not one fucking bit.
“Yeah,” I say, drawing out the word. “She’s physically fine. But, well, we ran into some people tonight, and one of them was her ex-husband.” I swallow hard. “It wasn’t exactly a pleasant reunion.”
“I should think not.” Hollis curses. “What the hell is that bastard doing up here anyway?”
That bastard?
Oh, that’s right. Hollis doesn’t know. But why would he call Andy a bastard? Unless…unless…
Fucking Marla.
I feign innocence. “They were up celebrating a buddy’s birthday. But when he saw Marla, he stormed out of the bar. And then she went after him to, I don’t know, make sure he was okay or make amends. But it kinda sorta blew up in her face.”
Hollis curses again, muttering something about Marla and her cheating bastard of an ex-husband, and that’s when I know I’m right.
The bitch twisted the story.
Well, I’m about to set the record straight.
“She’s fine,” I say, gently. “Really. We talked about it, and she completely calmed down. If you ask me, though, she still carries a lot of guilt about the whole thing.”
Hollis takes the bait. “Guilt? Why the hell would she feel guilty? You do know what happened? She did tell you, right?”
“Um, yeah. She slept with her brother-in-law.” I pause for effect. “Marla told me all about it tonight.”
“She what?” Hollis’s voice is strained, measured. But I can hear the disbelief laced with understanding, can feel the simmering of emotions boiling just beneath the surface.
“Um, she had an affair with her brother-in-law,” I say, and as happy as I am to be dishing out this dirty piece of intel on his wife, I keep my voice gentle. “Her ex-husband’s twin brother.”
Silence. Deep and hollow.
“Hollis? Are you still there?”
“Jesus Christ,” is his answer.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, knowing full well what the fuck is wrong.
“But she said…”
I wait patiently for it all to hit, for him to realize that his wife was the no-good cheater in her
first marriage, and not the victim that she painted herself out to be. Finishing off my wine, I set the glass on the coffee table and pull my knees to my chest. Then, when I’m comfortable, I get back into character so I can nudge him just a bit further down the path of mistrust. “Wait, you didn’t know? Oh, my God. Shit, Hollis. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just…I thought you knew and…”
I let my voice trail off with a worried sniff, and Hollis picks up the pieces – just like I knew he would.
“Don’t you dare apologize for her. You didn’t do anything wrong. Marla’s the one who…Jesus,” he says again. “There has to be some explanation. Are you sure you heard her right? How much did she have to drink? Maybe she was confused, or, or…”
“I’m sorry, but Marla wasn’t confused. Nor was she too drunk to not know what she was saying.” I get no joy when I say this now, because as much as I want Marla out of his life, I don’t want to subject Hollis to pain.
But I’m not the one to blame. I’m just the messenger.
It’s Marla fault. Every bit of it.
“Marla said that he was the one who cheated on her. She told me that the asshole slept with her best friend.” Hollis laughs, dark and deep, and then curses again. “She even said it was why she had a hard time making friends, that she couldn’t trust women…”
Damn. And I thought I had issues.
“Well, she lied to you, Hollis. Your wife lied to you.”
Nicholas isn’t a liar.
I know this for a fact. And how do I know, you may ask?
Because he doesn’t care enough about me to lie.
A few years after we were married, he slept with another woman. It was some random waitress from a random restaurant during one of his random business trips. She brought appetizers with a smile and slipped him a note with his drink, and after she served him dinner, she followed him back to his five-star hotel room and served herself up for desert on a thousand count Egyptian cotton sheets.
Nicholas showed no remorse when telling me this upon his return, explaining that he had a moment of weakness he wasn’t proud of and that he wouldn’t allow it to happen again. I felt like I was in a board meeting, where we were discussing an unfortunate drop in stock, maybe a merger that fell through. It certainly didn’t feel like I was discussing my marriage, my husband’s fucking infidelity.