Hog Butcher: 2nd Edition

by Andrew Sutherland

  “Oh, Jesus! Look at that guy. All that hope in his eyes. All that hair on his head. Motherfucker…”

  She closed the window and went back to the Wildhorse picture. She zoomed in and you could read the names of the people in the picture. “There are six out of eight stiffs in this photo. Maybe they all got it together later? Did more people join the center of the group?”

  “Nope. It was a short-lived core group. A bunch of them did a few years with Wildhorse then went on to get their MFA degrees. Marty’s about the only guy who stuck around through all the years.”

  “So you don’t think it stems from this group?”

  “Stems from? No. Connected to? Oh, yeah.”

  “Because so many of them, relatively, have been killed?”

  “No. Because this guy…” He tapped Gill’s face, “Dropped his martini the other night when I mentioned Dave Parcel had been killed. He’s more than jumpy. There’s another member…” he tapped another face on the screen, “…that’s in this show I’m doing. Sheena Hummel. She’s playing my wife. She isn’t acting weird at all…not like you could tell.”

  “I take it we are not fond of Ms. Hummel.”

  “She’s why people hate actors…she and her ilk. But Gill, he’s scared as fuck. I need to quiz him about it. I’ve given him a little time, but I think I might have to beat it out of him.”

  Edith started to laugh but stopped when she saw that Al was serious. “You mean it. If he doesn’t talk to you, you’ll put the blocks to him, huh?” She looked concerned.

  “Yes. People are getting killed, and he knows something. I’ll try to play nice first. I always do, but if he demurs, I’ll incentivize him. This is important.”

  “I trust you. I don’t think we can do much more without a little more information. I think we’ve done a good job.”

  “I would have to agree with you.” He paused. “Wow. Things just got really formal. Did things get formal? I feel like things got formal.” She stopped his babbling mouth with a kiss.

  Edith stood and faced him. “I like you, Al. I generally don’t get intimate with people. I have some body issues and I find that most people trip my bullshit sensors about five minutes into my talking with them. You have, as of yet, not even come close to my bullshit button. On the contrary, I feel safe with you. I have to admit something.”

  “If you are going to tell me you’re a guy, I’m going to be really disappointed.”

  “No. I’m not a guy.” She smiled. It was a genuine smile, but it was a little sad. “I lied to you. My husband, Joe? The story I told you? It didn’t go quite like that.”

  “How did it go?” Al was scooted slightly forward on his chair paying close attention. She had his interest, and he could tell she was going to smack some truth down on the table, whether he was ready or not.

  Edith didn’t respond. She reached around behind her back and unclasped her bra underneath her shirt. The shirt sagged slightly forward, the draping seemed odd, the weight a little off. She crossed her arms in front of her and grabbed the bottom hem of her shirt. She pulled the shirt off and stood facing him naked from the waist up.

  Her left breast was well formed with a small dark nipple that pointed up at a forty-five-degree angle. The right side of her chest was devoid of any breast tissue. A beautiful, full, Japanese style tattoo of a peacock standing on a cherry tree branch covered where her right breast would have been. The cherry tree was in full bloom. It was a thing of breathtaking beauty. “I got cancer. I had a ton of it. I lost my right breast and all of my reproductive equipment. I was in the middle of chemo when we…I found out about the breast. The doctor thought it would be best to remove the breast. She said she could reconstruct it. I could even keep my nipple. Can you believe that? She offered me my own nipple as a consolation prize.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I take it Joe wasn’t a very good partner?”

  Edith laughed. It made Al angry, not at Edith, but at what he suspected was coming.

  “I’m still in the office and we were supposed to go to my chemo appointment next and he says…

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  “I can’t come.” Joe said this right as the door closed behind the doctor.

  “Why, Joe? Did you forget an appointment?” Her voice was caustic, accusatory.

  “Don’t be like that. I’ve just heard some bad news and I don’t think I can sit with all those people and watch…”

  “Watch what, Joe?” Edith pulled the scarf off of her bald head. “Watch them pump poison into you? Oh wait! That’s right. They aren’t going to pump poison into you. They’re pumping it into me--your broken baby machine. Am I missing something?”

  “Edith…you’re angry. We shouldn’t talk about this while you’re angry. We can talk at home.”

  “After I get done here and you’ve gone and gotten your comfort from your receptionist, Carla? I know you’re boning her, Joe. You should change your password if you’re going to exchange illicit e-mails with your employees.” She was sitting calmly enough, facing him. The color was burning high on her cheeks, but she did not look down. He was studying the carpet for imperfections.

  “How long have you known?” He was still looking down.

  “That’s all you have to say? Long e-fucking-nough, you prick. I knew and was willing to let it slide. I thought after the chemo was done and my hair was at least to the ‘cute pixie cut’ length, we’d talk it out. I’d say I understood, because I did.”

  “You aren’t being fair.”

  “No, Joe? If you haven’t noticed, fairness is in pretty fucking short supply.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t swear so much.”

  Edith stood quickly, grabbed an eighteen-inch-high glass vase and threw it across the room. Just after it exploded she screamed, “FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!!!! I’LL SWEAR AS MUCH AS I MOTHERFUCKING WANT YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!”

  The doctor poked her head in. “Edith? Are you OK?”

  “No, Susan, I am not OK. I am just trying to redefine my relationship before I have to go to chemo. I’ll pay for any damages. It’s therapeutic. If I was a danger to myself or anyone else…” she shot a cold look at Joe, who was presently trying to become part of the low sofa his ass was sunk into… “I’d have done it already. I’ll keep it down to a dull roar. I promise.”

  Dr. Susan Singh looked at Edith with such excruciating empathy, her heart almost broke. “Edith. Take as long as you need. Try throwing magazines and keep the shouting below ear-piercing screams and we should be OK. You aren’t the first person to have an…educational discussion with their partner in my offices, and you won’t be the last.” Dr. Singh closed the door quietly on a woman who would remain her friend for as long as they both walked on the earth.

  “Joe.” Edith’s voice was calm. “What you just heard was a combination of three very strong emotions. Sympathy, empathy, and kindness. I need that in my life. I know you wanted to have kids. We can adopt. If you really needed to have your genes continued on the planet, we could hire a surrogate. We can afford it. You make enough money to keep ten surrogates.” It was true. He was a corporate lawyer and was going to be clearing seven figures this year.

  “I know. I’m stressed. The thing with Carla at work. It’s just childishness. I’m trying to make sense of all of this. I wanted to have kids with you and we find out we can’t do that. Now I find out you have to have your tit cut off…”

  “Whoa. What did you just say?”

  “I’m sorry. Your breast. You have to have a mastectomy. They can rebuild it but it won’t be yours.”

  “It would be my nipple.” Her tone was cold and it cut like a serrated knife.

  “I don’t know if I can get over that. I don’t know if I’ll still be turned on when I think of you missing your insides, or with a silicone implant. I just don’t know if I can take it. I wanted to have this perfect family. I went to law school and I slaved until I’d made something of myself. Then I met you and made you my wife so I could have this perfect lif
e. Now I feel like I’m losing it all. I just need some time.”

  “Joe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “This is about me right? The cancer?” She sounded almost kind.

  “Yes. And I know I shouldn’t take it personally.” Joe thought she was going to apologize. He was never more wrong than in this moment.

  “Well, Joseph, if this is about me, then how come you said ‘I’ or ‘me’ more than twenty times just now? I say more than, because I quit counting at twenty. I’m not perfect. I have cancer. They’ve taken out some of my parts, and they are going to take off some more parts. You’ve made it clear you can’t handle that. I do have one question for you. It’s honest. It’s not a trap in any way. Just a simple question.”

  “OK.” He was looking wearily at her. It was one of his lawyerly looks. She knew it. He knew she knew it. Familiarity breeds contempt.

  “Up till all of this, were you happy?”

  “What? Um, yeah. We had everything. Nice house. You drive a Mercedes, I drive a Lexus. We belong to the best country club around. We live in the best neighborhood. We have a great cook. We can vacation anywhere we want. We went to the Bahamas and to Alaska in the same month!”

  “Joe? Listen to the question. Were you happy?”

  “I had everything I always wanted. I don’t know what you’re asking me.”

  In that moment, Edith realized everything. She knew in that instant that all of her fears and dreams and worries had all been for nothing. She’d married a man who didn’t know what happiness was. She sat silently for a full minute, then two. In the third minute, he started to speak, but she held up a hand. “Wait for another moment. I’m thinking and I want all of this to come out right. OK?”

  “Sure.”

  She sat and thought. His phone buzzed indicating both that he had a message and that the inconsiderate prick hadn’t turned off his phone during this, one of the most important healthcare visits of her life. “I’m almost done thinking. Go ahead and write back. I wouldn’t want anyone worrying on my account.” The decidedly nasty thought I hope it’s Carla and I hope she marries the son-of-a-bitch sliced through her head like a wire through cheese. It was mean, but she wasn’t feeling nice right now.

  After Joe had finished his reply, he started to put his phone away. “Don’t put that away. Put it on the table.”

  “Edith, you aren’t going to crush it or throw it or anything, are you?”

  She knew he had a crush-proof, cockroach-proof, water-proof, fucking nuke-proof case that he’d paid a zillion dollars for on his fucking iPhone. “No. Joe, I am going to make you an offer. It’ll be a one-time offer. I am going to record the conversation and you are going to record the conversation. I am also going to call Dr. Singh in to listen and witness the conversation. This is the only offer I am going to give you. It’ll be WAY better than anything that’ll happen to you in a divorce court, so you’d better be ready to give a clear affirmative.”

  “Edith, divorce?” He feigned surprise, but she could tell he wanted it; he just didn’t want to get financially fucked. “If you think that’s the best choice, I’ll listen to your terms.” He knew that she knew Illinois was a no-fault state which entitled her to 50% of their assets and 50% of their debts. He’d made them debt-free years ago. They were sitting in gravy. Millions of dollars in assets. Some were liquid, but most would have to be sold and it would be messy, public, and time-consuming. He also wouldn’t put it past her to have made copious notes on his “less than legitimate” business dealings.

  Edith went to the door. Susan was drifting by the door as she opened it. She’d just delivered a “cancer free” diagnosis to another patient. She looked at Edith. “Can I help you, Edith?”

  “Yes. I need you to witness a conversation. An offer of amicable divorce from me to Joe. It’ll be five minutes, tops. I’ll buy you an extra vase.” She smiled as she said this and Dr. Susan Singh further cemented her friendship by breaking into a wide grin and pumping her fist in a “right on, Sister” move that was just out of Joe’s sight.

  “Turn on your voice recorder, Joe. I’ll turn on mine” They did. “Everyone say your full names.” Dr. Susan added the word witness right after her name. “This is a one-time offer that needs to be written up in simple language and signed by both parties no less than seventy-two hours from right now.” She gave the exact time and date. “Is that agreed upon by you, Mr. Joe Carruthers?”

  “If the terms seem fair, yes seventy-two hours is adequate.”

  “And I, Edith Carruthers, agree to this as well. Do you witness that Dr. Singh?”

  “Yes.” The Dr. had her phone out and was recording as well.

  “Your total assets, both liquid and illiquid are well in excess of twenty million dollars.”

  Joe flushed, expecting the worst. “I don’t know if I’d go on the record saying that.”

  “OK. Would you agree that your reasonably liquid assets are north of four million dollars?”

  Joe knew they were very, very well north of four million dollars. “I think that would be a fair assumption.”

  “OK. Here is my deal for you. I want one million dollars. Cash transfer. You take care of any tax rubbish. I want a net payment of one million dollars. You clear on that part?”

  “Yes.”

  “Next, I want one hundred thousand dollars a year for ten years. Net. You pay all taxes and all that shit. I don’t even want to have to file. I want your accountants to take care of it. Are you clear on that part?”

  “Yes.” He was waiting for the coup de grâce. He knew in his heart there would be some fait accompli, a cherry on the cake that was his day.

  “I will remain in residence at our home until I have finished all of the recuperation from these treatments, both medical and cosmetic. I will continue to spend up to ten thousand dollars a month as I see fit. Anything above that will need your approval. During that time, you do not have to remain faithful to me, but you cannot have any women over to the house for anything but business. If that happens, this contract will be rendered null and void and I will go after 50% of everything.” She stopped at this time and just looked at him.

  “OK. What else?” Joe couldn’t believe this was all she wanted.

  “I want the rest of this to go down with a spirit of goodwill, no hard feelings, bad behavior, or drama. I don’t want this to be yucky. I want it to be fair. I think I have probably contributed a little more than two million dollars to your wealth and prosperity, but you have done the lion’s share of the work. I don’t want my memory of you to linger any more than you want thoughts of me to sting. I don’t want to be your bitch ex-wife. I don’t want you to be my asshole ex-husband. I don’t wish you ill. We are, simply put, at the stage referred to as having irreconcilable differences. Got it?”

  “Yes, Edith, but in all fairness, I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you you’re entitled to so much more than that.”

  “I know, but if I went for the jugular, you could keep this tied up in court for-fucking-ever. I’d never see any money and neither of us would, as Spock says, live long and prosper. So, deal?”

  “I have to check with my lawyer, but I don’t see anything wrong with…”

  “No, Joe. Yes or no. I have a witness. This shit will be legally binding enough. Just say we have a deal, then we can hash it out with lawyers based on your cooperation and what is on these tapes. I married you because you’re basically a good guy. Be a good guy, Joe. Just make it simple. We could all use a little simple.”

  Dr. Singh, quite unexpectedly chimed in my saying, “It is a very gracious offer, Joe. I see people tear each other apart all the time. A happy ending in this would be such a nice finish to a mediocre day.”

  “What the hell. Yes. As stated. We’ll get the schedule together and meet at the office in the next day or so. Can I still live at home…really?”

  “Yes, Joe. We have a ten-bedroom house. We don’t even have to see each other if you don’t want.”

  “O
K, then…”

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  “…and we did the mumbo jumbo paperwork. I finished my chemo. I thought a ton about the reconstruction, my own nipple, all that horseshit. I’ve always loved Japanese style silk screened peacocks and cherry blossoms. Now I have one of my perfectly perky breasts, and a wonderful work of art. I am a work of art Al. All of me.” She had moved onto the bed and was lying on top of the covers propped up on pillows. She’d moved to the bed during the story and he had moved during the story. He’d lain down next to her, then had slid down slightly so his chin was lying just below and to the right of her left breast. He was looking at the landscape of her beautiful tattoo. His perspective was that of a miniature airplane pilot about to land on the world’s most gorgeous landing strip.

  “Thank you.” Al said this with his usual blunt honesty. “I feel honored to hear your story and equally honored to be here with you. You are an amazing creature, Edith Carruthers.”

  “It’s Fiske. That was my maiden name. I switched back.”

  “I just have one question. Would you really be interested in flying to Hattiesburg, Mississippi, with me tomorrow afternoon? I mean, seriously?”

  “You aren’t turned off by a woman missing parts and wearing art?”

  “You aren’t turned off by a man with Latin written on his body, who is balding, who harbors bad feelings and resentment for authority figures, and who has a severe Robin Hood complex?”

  “Can I test drive you and turn you down if you’re shitty in bed?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Our motto at air Al is We Aim to Please and Shoot to Kill.”

  She laughed raucously at this then spread the wings of her beautiful peacock over his rigid idealism. The test drive went just fine. They slept in each other’s arms until daybreak.

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