My Wife and My Dead Wife

by Michael Kun

  I get back in the car and stop at Fat Matt’s Rib Shack for some chicken. I have a few beers and smoke a few cigarettes before heading home. When I get there, I wait for the elevator. A couple waits with me, a thin young woman with an older man. She looks like she hasn’t eaten since last week. He’s heavy with a thin mustache than sits above a silly mouth. He has a big billboard of a forehead and wormy blue veins on the backs of his hands. They’re the silliest looking couple I’ve seen in hours. They’re the silliest looking couple I’ve seen since me and Bobbie Jean.

  I step aside to let them on the elevator before me when it arrives. They smile to thank me. The doors close, and none of us says anything as the elevator rises, rocking a little. They step off on the floor below mine.

  “Have a good evening,” the woman says to me.

  I say, “Thanks.”

  As the doors close, I hear the man say, “It’s a night fit for royalty,” in the same voice that seeps through my floor most nights. “Yes, a night fit for royalty.”

  CHAPTER 23: TELL ME SOMETHING I DON’T KNOW

  There’s an expression that I heard a long time ago, I don’t know where.

  It goes like this: Life would be funny if it weren’t so sad.

  Or, Life would be said if it weren’t so funny.

  I don’t remember which.

  But I believe it’s true.

  After work one Friday, I say good night to Palmeyer and Debbie, then drive to Buckhead, which is an area of town filled with bars and restaurants. I’m tired, but I want to have a few beers, maybe see if I meet someone nice.

  I have one beer here, then one beer there. I talk to a few girls. Nothing serious, nothing personal. Just “How are you?” and “What do you do?” and topics of that nature. They’re nice girls, but I find myself looking over their shoulders.

  I end up on the deck outside a bar called CJ’s Landing, where they play live music and sometimes have contests where you can win trips to exotic places. It’s crowded, all the young girls in their short skirts and sleeveless blouses, all the young men with their hair combed back and wet like they’ve just stepped out of the shower. And me in my work clothes, smoking a cigarette.

  I push my way through the crowd to the bar.

  “Hey!” I yell to the bartender. “Hey!”

  Either he doesn’t hear me or he ignores me.

  “Hey, over here!” I say, but the bartender walks right by me.

  That time I KNOW he heard me.

  Then I hear a girl behind me say, “Let me give it a try for you.” She puts a hand on my waist. I turn, and there’s a pretty, brown-haired girl standing there. She has very white teeth like you’d see in a toothpaste commercial or on the cover of a magazine. She’s wearing sunglasses even though the sky’s starting to get dark. You can see the reddish-orange of the sun setting behind the buildings, like on a postcard.

  “Yoo hoo,” she says, and she waves at the bartender. “Oh, yoo hoo.”

  I laugh a little and say, “Yoo hoo? Did you actually say, Yoo hoo?”

  She smiles a little and says, “If it works, it works.”

  “Does it work?”

  “See for yourself.”

  Sure enough, when I turn around the bartender is standing in front of us.

  “I’ll have a Budweiser,” the girl says. “And he’ll have….”

  I say, “A Budweiser sounds good,” even though I don’t really like Budweiser that much. I just say it because it’s the first thing that comes out of my mouth.

  She says, “Two Budweisers,” and holds up two fingers. I check: she’s not wearing an engagement ring.

  I reach for my wallet, but the girl puts her hand on my wrist. “I’ll get this round,” she says.

  And I say, “Okay, but I’ll get the next.”

  And she says, “Then I’m ordering something really expensive next round.”

  And I say, “Like what?”

  And she shrugs her shoulders and says, “A Mercedes.”

  And I say, “I thought we were limiting this to drinks.”

  And she says, “You should have read the contract before you signed it.”

  The bartender hands us each a bottle of beer, and the girl pays him, then takes a sip.

  “What’s your name?” she says.

  And I say, “Ham. It’s short for Hamilton.”

  I wait for her to make a comment about my name, but she doesn’t. Instead, she says, “I’m Anna,” and sticks her hand out for me to shake, which I do.

  “Pleased to meet you,” I say.

  And she says, “You won’t be after I make you buy me that Mercedes.” Then she says, “Quick, let’s move,” and points toward a table where a couple is just standing up to leave. “Come on,” she says, “don’t dilly-dally.”

  I follow Anna as she races through the crowd, and she slips into one of the seats and places her bottle on the table to mark her territory just before another girl reaches the table.

  “Sorry,” Anna says to her, “but the race goes to the swiftest.” Then to me she says, “I ran track in high school. There was no way that girl was going to beat me here.”

  “But what if someone got in your way?”

  “No problem. I ran hurdles.”

  I sit across from her. She takes off her sunglasses. She has pretty green eyes, the color of grapes.

  “So, what do you do?” she says.

  Just then the band starts playing behind me, so I have to speak up a bit, but not too much.

  “I’m a tailor,” I say.

  And she says, “What?” and cups a hand around her ear like you’d expect an elderly woman to do.

  And I say, “I’m a tailor,” a little louder.

  And she says, “That sounds like fun.” There’s a chance she thought I said “sailor.”

  I say, “It’s not bad. How about you. What do you do?”

  And she says, “Would you believe it if I told you I’m a top fashion model?”

  And I say, “Yes.”

  And she opens her eyes wide and says, “Really? Well, that’s very nice of you to say, Ham.”

  And I say, “So, are you a model?”

  And she says, “I WISH. Work two hours a month and make a million dollars. That’s a sweet life. No,” she says, “I’m a lawyer.”

  And I say, “Really? So’s my brother.”

  And she says, “What’s his name?”

  And I say, “Carl.”

  And she says, “What’s his LAST name, silly?”

  And I say, “Ashe.”

  And her eyes get wide again, and she says, “You’re Carl Ashe’s brother?”

  And I say, “Yes.”

  And she says, “THE Carl Ashe?”

  And I say, “Yes.”

  And she says, “You’re the brother of THE Carl Ashe?”

  And I say, “Yes. Do you know him?”

  And she says, “Everyone knows him. I’ve met him a couple times. He’s got a great reputation. He’s supposed to be one of the best lawyers in town.”

  And I say, “I didn’t know that.”

  And she says, “It’s true. He speaks at a lot of conferences. I heard him give a talk at a conference in Savannah last year.” Then she squints a little and says, “I guess you look sort of like him.”

  And I say, “People say that sometimes.” It’s the nose.

  She makes some movements with her hands like she’s tugging at a piece of clay. “I guess if we stretched you out a little bit, and pushed your chin in a little, you’d look just like him.”

  And I say, “Maybe.”

  And she says, “Of course, we’d have to make you look pretentious and self-satisfied.”

  I don’t say anything.

  And she says, “And we’d have to pull out some of your hair up top.”

  And I say, “I’d rather we not do that.”

  And she says, “Aren’t you the party pooper, Ham.” She takes a sip of her beer, then sets the bottle on the table again. That’s when she l
eans closer and says, “So, what really happened? Give me the dirt. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

  The band has gotten louder, so I have to speak up again. “What do you mean?” I say.

  And she says, “I bought you a beer, so now you have to tell me the truth. Did his wife really leave him because he got his secretary pregnant?”

  And I say, “WHAT?”

  WHAT?

  Anna repeats her question a little louder this time because she thinks I didn’t hear her over the noise of the band. But I heard the question just fine. It just took me by surprise.

  Judy left Carl?

  Carl got Cecily pregnant?

  WHAT?

  “His wife left him?” I say.

  Anna tips her head to one side and says, “You said your brother’s Carl Ashe, right?”

  And I say, “Right.”

  And she says, “Carl Ashe, the lawyer?”

  And I say, “Yes.”

  And she says, “I thought his wife left him a month ago.”

  I don’t say anything, then Anna closes her eyes and says, “Uh oh.” She shakes her head side-to-side.

  And I say, “Are you sure about this?”

  And she says, “Ham, I’m sorry. I just assumed.”

  I stand up and say, “I’ve got to go call my brother,” though I don’t know what I’m going to say when I reach him.

  Carl was cheating on Judy?

  With Cecily?

  It doesn’t make sense.

  Anna says, “I’m sorry.”

  And I say, “It’s not your fault. I’ll be right back.”

  I turn around to look for a telephone, looking past the bar, past all the customers, past the band, past their singer, who’s holding the microphone in one hand and twirling her cowboy hat with the other.

  And who’s the girl who’s singing?

  Renée.

  MY Renée.

  Life would be funny if it weren’t so sad.

  Or the other way around.

  x

  I stand in place for a moment. I couldn’t move if I wanted to.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen Renée since I moved out of the apartment. It’s been months and months and months and months.

  Renée looks beautiful. She’s lost some weight, and she’s smiling. She seems to be composed of sunlight and open air, dancing a little on stage, swinging her hips. There are three men in the band, none of whom look familiar. For a moment, I think one of them is Guitar Walter, but I’m wrong. It’s just another thin guy with oily hair.

  Renée’s wearing a long, black skirt and a beige top with thin straps. She’s singing a song about the rain. Her eyes are closed.

  Georgia rain,

  — she sings —

  Let it fall upon my face,

  Georgia rain,

  Wash away my fear and my disgrace,

  Georgia rain

  It’s a pretty song. Then Renée opens her eyes, and she sings a little more, but after a few more words she sees me standing there, and her mouth hangs open for a moment, the way it does when someone tells you a surprise, like your brother’s wife left him because he got his secretary pregnant. Renée forgets to sing a couple words. Instead, she says, “Um um um.”

  It’s that moment, that instant when we see each other and her mouth falls open, that I realize that she’s going to be my wife after all.

  “I’ll be right back,” I mouth to her.

  She finds the words and starts singing again, but taps her ear to let me know she can’t hear me.

  So I mouth, “I’ll be right back” again, more slowly this time, and I hold up one finger, though I don’t know why. She nods like she understands.

  I push my way through the crowd toward the restrooms, figuring that might be where the phone is. I’m right, only there’s a girl on the phone, twisting her hair into curlicues. I stand next to her, waiting, waiting. I can see Renée dancing in the distance.

  “You said that the last time,” the girl says into the receiver.

  After a few seconds, she says, “In your dreams you will.”

  I can hear Renée singing in the background:

  For all the things that haunt me

  That I just can’t explain,

  For all the things that tear through me

  Faster than a train,

  For all the things that keep me up at night

  I have just one refrain:

  Clean me, Georgia rain.

  “I don’t want to go to hell,” the girl says into the receiver. “Want to know why? Because I’m afraid if I do, they’ll make YOU my roommate for time eternal.”

  There’s a pause, and then the girl laughs and says, “I did so think of that myself.”

  Then she says, “Okay, ten-thirty. Don’t be late.” Then she hangs up.

  I put a quarter in the phone and dial Carl’s home. I hope he answers. I hope the girl’s wrong. I hope she’s thinking about someone else’s brother, about some other lawyer whose name sounds similar to Carl’s. Maybe she’s confusing Carl with Cecily’s boyfriend. Maybe Cecily’s boyfriend was married, and maybe HE was cheating on HIS wife.

  Only Carl doesn’t answer. Judy answers.

  “Hi, Judy, it’s Ham,” I say, trying to sound pleasant.

  Judy says, “Ham?”

  And I say, “Yes.”

  And she says, “I can hardly hear you. What’s all the noise?”

  “I’m at a bar,” I say. “ How are you?” Renée is standing still now, holding the microphone to her lips. Her shoulders are hunched.

  Judy says, “I’m fine. Are you drunk, Ham?”

  “No, no, I’ve only had one beer. Not even the whole thing. How are the kids?”

  “They’re fine.”

  “Good, good. I’m glad to hear that.” Then, casually, I say, “Listen, Judy, can you put Carl on the phone for a minute?”

  There’s a pause that grows longer and longer and longer until I know that everything the girl just told me is true, absolutely true. Finally, Judy says, “You’re looking for Carl here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jesus, Ham,” she says, “don’t tell me he didn’t tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “This is incredible. I shouldn’t have to tell you this. That’s his responsibility.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Carl doesn’t live with us anymore. It’s been a couple weeks.”

  “What happened?”

  “It’s not my place to tell you. He’s your brother.”

  “What did he do, Judy?”

  “He’ll tell you.”

  “Where can I reach him?”

  “Why don’t you call his secretary,” she says.

  “Cecily?”

  “The one and only.”

  I can hear Renée singing in the background. She’s singing the song about the whisper and the wild horse.

  I say, “Judy, are you going to be okay?”

  “God knows,” she says, “God knows.” Then she says, “Ham, I want to apologize to you if I’ve ever been rude to you or didn’t seem as welcoming as I could have been.”

  And I say, “Judy, you’ve been great.”

  “No, Ham, I’m sorry. We should have had you over more, and I should have been kinder to you. Want to know the worst part?”

  “I guess.”

  “For about a year he’d been telling me that you were having an affair with Cecily. And like an idiot, I believed him, and I said and thought some horrible things about you. Like it would make sense for you to do something like that, for you to cheat on that sweet girl you were dating, but it was actually my own husband who was doing it. I’m so sorry, Ham. I’m so sorry for the things I said and thought.”

  And I say, “It’s okay, Judy. It really is. I’m going to come by the next day or so to see you and the boys, okay?

  “That would be nice.”

  I say goodbye, then hang up. I head back
toward the bar. I have to decide whether to try to find Carl or stay to talk with Renée. I have to decide which is the right thing to do.

  I stay to talk with Renée.

  x

  It’s two-thirty in the morning, and Renée and I are sitting at one of the tables on the deck at CJ’s Landing. They’ve herded everyone else out, so it’s just me and Renée and the employees, who are sweeping up and wiping off the tables with dirty rags. I’m running my fingers over the back of her hand while we talk.

  I tell her about Carl and Judy, and about Carl and Cecily. I tell her everything I know.

  “What am I supposed to say to him?” I ask.

  And she says, “I have no idea. Whatever pops in your head. Just make sure it’s something you can take back later, if you have to. He is your brother, after all.”

  And I say, “That sounds like good advice.”

  And she says, “That’s what I was shooting for.”

  We don’t talk for a few minutes. We just look at each other. I look into her eyes, not where they’re blue, but near the center where they’re turning black. I keep running my fingers over the back of her hand, and she closes her eyes.

  “That feels nice,” she says.

  And I say, “Good.”

  And she says, “Did you know we were playing here tonight?”

  “No.”

  “It’s just a coincidence that you showed up?”

  “A complete coincidence.”

  “Either way, it’s nice. If you came to see me, it’s nice. If it was just luck, luck’s nice, too.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “I do,” she says. Then she says, “Why did you hang up?”

  “What?”

  “A couple months ago you called me late at night, only you hung up.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  She says, “Hay-yum.”

  I remember the night the boy called and said he’d found a girl in the movie theater. I tell Renée about it, about how I’d been worried about her.

  “How did you know it was me who called?” I say.

  She shrugs and says, “I don’t know, I just could tell.”

  We sit a few more minutes.

  “I thought you had to go talk to Carl,” she says.

  “I think it can wait until morning.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay.”

  That’s when I say, “Listen, Renée, what do you say we grab lunch sometime?”