Milo waited for his wife to leave the kitchen before shouting, “Would you like a cold drink?”
“That sounds great. Thanks.” A moment later Milo heard the bathroom door close and felt his spirits drop a bit. Christine could have sex with him while standing in the kitchen but still felt the need to close the bathroom door, even though it was around the corner and out of view.
Nevertheless, with excuse in hand, Milo went into action. First, he grabbed a dish towel and used it to wipe his penis clean of the stickiness that the sex had left behind. As with all his fake orgasms, the cleanup was minimal. Nevertheless, he tossed the dish towel into the cabinet below the sink, lest he accidentally use it before washing it. He then retrieved two mismatched glasses from his collection of three in the cupboard and placed them on the counter beside the sink. Finally, he opened the freezer and removed the first of four ice cube trays from the stack.
To his delight, the water was completely frozen.
Milo took the tray in both hands and held it over the sink, examining its contents closely. As expected, the individual cubes were covered by a satisfying layer of ice that reached to the lip of the tray on all four sides. Minuscule air bubbles had been trapped under the water during the freezing process, giving the ice a white, opaque appearance.
It looked perfect.
Gripping both ends of the tray, Milo began twisting slowly, back and forth, watching cracks spontaneously erupt throughout the upper layer of ice, throwing tiny shards out as the crevices grew larger. As he continued to twist, bending the plastic to a greater and greater degree, more substantial cracks forced chunks of the ice to break free and tumble into the stainless-steel sink with a thrilling clang. A moment later Milo heard and felt the first popping of actual cubes as they were released from their plastic compartments. He was careful not to allow the cubes to dislodge from the tray just yet, wanting to be sure that every cube was free before tipping the tray over and watching them spill out all at once. If just one cube remained trapped in the tray after he had turned it upside down, or if a cube managed to escape prematurely, the anticipated feeling of relief and satisfaction would be greatly diminished, necessitating the freeing of more cubes from more trays.
There would be no time for a second tray tonight. Though he had never been certain about what Christine did in the bathroom following sex, he knew that whatever it was, it didn’t take long. One tray would have to be enough.
Fearful of waiting a second more, Milo held his breath and turned the tray over in his hands, catching flashes of cubes as they dropped and clanged into the sink as the tray instantly lightened in his hand. It was this combination of sensory input, the amalgamation of sound and sight and touch, that sent a wave of relief washing over him, causing Milo to issue an audible sigh.
Thankfully, one tray had been more than enough.
Milo took a moment to compose himself before moving on. The fact that his pants were still around his ankles didn’t help matters, but within a few seconds, he was removing four ice cubes from the sink and splitting them between the two glasses. He was reaching for the bottle of soda when he heard the bathroom door open. Forgoing the drink, he quickly reached down and yanked up his pants.
“All set,” Christine said, her disheveled hair already back in place, her postcoital glow nearly gone. “When you get out of the bathroom, we should really talk.”
Milo didn’t like the sound of that one bit.
chapter 10
“You bought a video camera?”
When Milo reentered the kitchen, he found Christine at the table with Freckles’s video camera and nylon bag sitting in front of her. The plate and cutlery he had set out for her had been pushed back into the center of the table and several tapes had been removed from the bag. Christine was holding the camera in one hand and tape number six in the other.
A lump formed in the back of Milo’s throat. He had placed the camera behind a row of unopened boxes in the living room, not planning to show it to Christine. Apparently she had made a brief inspection of the apartment while Milo was in the bathroom, probably looking around to see how her husband was living. Milo could envision his wife scanning the room, examining piles of books, wondering at the origin of the black and gold lamps that Milo had purchased at a garage sale, and taking mental inventory of the items that he had removed from their home during his move. Had she opened any of the boxes that were concealing the video camera, Christine would have also seen his Dungeons & Dragons paraphernalia: books with archaic covers, multisided dice, an assortment of die-cast creatures, and stacks of notes representing an adventure that he had been guiding his friends on for more than three years. Though she had never spoken in opposition to his role-playing hobby, Milo knew from the persistent absence of commentary that she did not approve.
“No,” Milo said, moving closer in hopes of somehow casually removing the camera from her possession. “I didn’t buy it. I found it in the park a few days ago. I’m trying to find its owner.” Milo knew that he had already said too much. Milo lied to his wife frequently, of course, in order to conceal the demands of the ice cubes and Weebles and the words that became trapped in his head. But, feeling perpetually guilty about the lies that he told his wife, Milo made every effort to minimize his lying in all other situations, and he had managed to adhere to this policy with few exceptions during their marriage. Telling his wife the truth about the camera had been almost instinctive.
“How do you plan on finding the owner?”
“Well, there are a bunch of tapes in the bag.” In truth, Milo knew exactly how many tapes were in the bag but had learned through experience that people found his constant, exacting precision to be unnerving. Casual was cool, he had discovered long ago, and though Milo knew that he would never be cool in the conventional sense of the word, he still converted exactitude to generalization for the benefit of those around him. Even a little bit of cool was better than none at all.
“Yes, I can see the tapes, Milo. So what?”
“Well, I started watching them to see if I could figure out who the owner was. You know, hoping that she might say her name or something.”
Christine smiled. “But the problem is, the owner probably doesn’t appear on camera, right? She’s always behind the camera?”
“Actually, no. It turns out that she was recording a video diary. So she’s the only one on film. At least so far.”
“So who is she? What do you know about her?”
“Not much. She hasn’t said her name yet.” Milo purposely avoided telling his wife that he had assigned Freckles a nickname, thinking it might sound too familiar for his wife’s liking. He wanted to find a way off this topic as quickly as possible. In an effort to change the subject, he moved into the kitchen to make himself busy, hoping his wife would offer her assistance. The unexpected sex had given the food that Milo had prepared time to cool, so he began picking out the pots and pans needed to reheat the meal. In truth, he had purchased prepared meals at Whole Foods earlier that evening (prior to his mad dash for ice cube trays) and had plated the food (stuffed pork chops, garlic mashed potatoes, and baby carrots) on dinnerware that he had extricated from the attic during his move.
“So what’s she like?” Christine asked.
“I don’t know. She’s probably in her early thirties. A friend of hers just died. In video time, I mean. There are no dates on the tapes, so I don’t know if I’m watching something three weeks old or three years old.”
“Have you watched all the tapes yet?”
“No, just the first couple,” Milo replied, attempting to determine if the stove was gas or electric. He had yet to use the appliance and wasn’t entirely sure. “They’re kind of boring, to be honest.”
“Can I watch some?”
Milo feared that this question might come and wasn’t sure how to answer. Though he knew what his response would be, he had no idea of how to convey the answer to his wife without offending her. So he said the first thing that came to his
mind. “I wish you could, but to be honest, I’m not sure if I’m going to keep watching. The tapes are getting kind of private.” He took a moment to explain Freckles’s decision to stop recording for broadcast and his resulting hesitancy to watch any more of the tapes.
“Well, can I watch some of the first couple tapes? The ones you’ve already seen?”
“If you don’t mind, Christine, I’d rather you didn’t. I feel weird enough having watched the first couple hours. Like I’ve invaded this girl’s privacy. If I let you watch too, I’d feel like I’m violating her privacy even more.”
Milo knew that this wasn’t the entire truth, but he liked the way it sounded. It was a decent explanation, he thought, and he had fleeting hopes that his wife might accept it. In reality, Milo oddly treasured his relationship with Freckles, and considered it a private one. And in an equally odd sort of way, he cherished the secrecy of it. The tapes had been left behind for reasons Milo didn’t understand, but as the temporary owner of them, he felt an obligation to protect Freckles from prying eyes. Even those of his wife.
“You really don’t want me watching the tapes?”
“No, I don’t. Please don’t be upset.”
“Fine,” Christine said, but he knew that Christine was anything but fine.
Milo had managed to coax a flame on the stovetop (a gas stove, he had determined) and remained silent as he stirred the carrots in an overheated skillet. He was certain that his wife would have more to say momentarily, and from experience, he knew that it was better to wait until she began speaking again on her own. Prompting never made things better.
Less than a minute later, Christine broke the silence. “Let me ask you this: If you were living at home with me and had found the camera, would you still feel the need to protect this girl’s privacy?”
“I don’t know,” Milo said. “I mean, if I were still living in the house, we probably would’ve watched the tapes together. It wouldn’t be an issue.”
“Exactly. So why don’t you want me to see them now?”
“Well, now I know what’s on the tapes, and if I were Freckles, I would want as few people to see them as possible.”
“Freckles?”
“Oh, yeah. She has freckles on her cheeks, so that’s what I’ve been calling her. In my head, I mean.”
“I don’t get it, Milo. I’m your wife. We’ve been married for three years. You find a camera and some tapes in the park and won’t let me watch them, even though you admit that if we were living together, I would’ve already seen them. What the hell is going on here?” She was still holding tape number six in her hand and shaking it at him. “What’s so special about Freckles that prevents me, your wife, from watching?”
“Look, Christine. This has nothing to do with Freckles. If I had found the camera with you, we probably would’ve watched the tapes together. But we didn’t. And now that I’ve seen them, I know that she wouldn’t want you to watch. Wouldn’t want anyone to watch. Not even me.”
“Not even you?”
“Yes, not even me. Look. I can’t take back what I’ve seen. I can’t go back in time. But I can keep others from watching. Keep her tapes as private as possible until I find her. It’s what she would want.”
“You think you know what this girl wants? You don’t even know what the hell I want. How are you supposed to know what a stranger on a tape wants after watching … what? Two hours?”
“It doesn’t take long to see …”
“Bullshit. You don’t know anything. I asked for a little space and you got yourself an apartment and a six-month lease. I needed some time to think and you emptied out the attic of furniture and dishes. I wanted a chance to work on our marriage, and you’ve started decorating a new home. How the hell would you know what this girl wants when you don’t have a goddamn clue what your own wife wants?”
With that, Christine threw the tape that she had been holding (still tape six, Milo noted) at her husband, missing badly and striking the hood above the oven with a metallic clang. She was breathing heavily and on the verge of crying, struggling mightily to hold herself together.
Milo decided to wait another moment before speaking. Allow her to calm down before responding. Oddly enough, he was pleased with the direction that the conversation had taken. He didn’t want his wife to be angry with him, but since she had become so, the topic had shifted away from Freckles and her tapes and onto their relationship, which is where Milo thought their attention should be focused anyway. Finally, when he thought she had dipped below the boiling point, he spoke. “I’m sorry, Christine. I know that I misunderstood you about getting the apartment, but I honestly thought that this is what you wanted from me. You heard what Dr. Teagan said. Most people would’ve thought the same thing.”
“Fuck Dr. Teagan! Fuck you! Fuck this whole goddamn thing.” Now Christine was crying. Tears streamed from her eyes, and her nose was beginning to run. Milo moved forward in an attempt to comfort her.
“No!” Christine said, rising from her chair and backing away. “I can’t believe this. I come over here thinking that we’d have dinner, fool around, and talk about things. Maybe get back on track. But now I find out that you’re keeping secrets from me. Can’t even trust me to watch a tape of a girl that you’ve already seen. Did you plan on ever telling me about her? Did you?”
Once again, Milo wished that he could lie to his wife, but could not. “I don’t know. Probably not. Maybe after I found her and returned the camera and the tapes, I would’ve told you. I knew that you would want to see the video, and I knew that I couldn’t let you. Christine, I’m just doing what I think is right.”
“Fine. I’ll do the same.” She then turned and left the apartment, slamming the door behind her.
Milo considered following her for a moment, desperate to avoid the awkwardness of his wife’s latest dramatic exit, not wanting to endure the suspense over when she might call again. But instead he turned off the burner, removed the skillet from the stove, and retrieved tape number six from the floor and replaced it in the nylon bag.
Tape number three was the one that he needed.
chapter 11
Had Christine not found the camera and tapes, Milo might have stood by his decision to stop watching completely. But a wave of indignation and loneliness rose up in him as the door slammed behind Christine, and before he had given it any conscious thought, the camera was reconnected to the television and tape three was playing.
Okay. First secret. I like to eat in hospital cafeterias. Not a huge secret, and I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. The food is usually good and cheap as hell, and there’s something about hospitals that I like. Knowing that I’m there for some reason other than being sick or dying—knowing that there is a reason to be there other than dying makes me feel … I don’t know. Better about things.
And it’s just easier to eat in a cafeteria. No waitress to deal with. No tipping. You get to choose your seat. I hate walking into a restaurant full of empty tables and not being allowed to choose the one I want.
And I love Jell-O. Not the unrefrigerated crap that they put in snack packs. I like the kind that requires boiling water and a saucepan. I love the stuff but I’ve never made it once in my life. Single people just don’t make Jell-O. But hospital cafeterias do. When I was a kid, I thought Jell-O was some kind of magical food. What other food needs to chill in the refrigerator but starts out at a boil? Reminds me of that fire and ice poem by whoever that was.
Freckles was back on the couch, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. She sounded conversational and relaxed. More relaxed than any previous recording. It was clear that she was now recording for herself. No more audience to consider.
So there you have it. My first secret. I like to eat in hospital cafeterias. When I say it out loud like that, it doesn’t sound like such a big deal after all.
Milo paused the tape, catching it in the moment of blackness between frames, attempting to determine if there was any inf
ormation worth writing down. She said that she was single, but he had already assumed that. Not that it mattered. Despite promises to himself to begin searching for Freckles’s identity with the information that he had gathered so far, he hadn’t so much as turned on the computer. When the choice was between searching online for the identity of Mira, Freckles’s deceased friend, or watching more of the tapes, the tapes won out.
And perhaps he also knew that if he was able to identify and locate Freckles, then he wouldn’t be able to watch the tapes anymore. While he wanted to find Freckles and return the camera and tapes, he was admittedly not in a rush.
Deciding that Freckles hadn’t revealed anything else of value, Milo pressed play again.
When her image returned to the screen, she was no longer sitting on the couch. Pillows and the fuzzy corner of a blanket indicated that she was in bed again. Her face filled the screen, looking down on the lens this time, as if the camera was resting in her lap, pointing up. A dim yellow glow to her left was the only source of illumination in the room. Probably a bedside lamp, Milo thought.
Despite the limited lighting, Milo could tell by the look on Freckles’s face that something was wrong. There was a fierceness in her eyes that he had not seen before. It caused Milo to lean forward and grip his pen with unconscious force.
I couldn’t sleep. Either I’m going to do this right or not at all. Fine. I eat in hospital cafeterias. But if that’s the kind of secret that I’m going to tell, I might as well post this online after all. Except that no one would care. That I like hospital Jell-O hardly constitutes a secret. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right. Here goes.
Milo was holding his breath now, leaning so far forward that he was in danger of toppling headfirst off the couch. Freckles took a deep breath, almost as if she were reminding Milo to do the same, and repositioned the camera a bit, bringing her face closer to the screen. Milo didn’t know how he knew, but he was certain that she was stalling, still debating about whether or not to take the plunge.
Unexpectedly, Milo Page 9