A prickle of hot rage runs across my scalp. I clench my fists. I want to throw the mess at him, bombard him with sour-smelling bottles and garbage, and tell him to get the fuck out. But I will myself to calm down. I had wanted to see him more than anything, but now that he is here, in my space, soiling my haven, intruding unexpectedly and in such an ugly and depraved fashion, the only thing I want is to have a long hot bath, climb into bed and get some sleep.
And those feet, I can’t stop staring at those feet. I want to slap them for their insolence. How dare he help himself to my life while I was away? He spurned me and then he made himself welcome, without so much as a by-your-leave. This wasn’t part of our deal at all. The anger and hurt from the past few days poisons my heart like a filthy abscess.
But then, just as suddenly, I’m delighted and my heart is as light as a summer-time balloon. He’s here, with me!
I turn to leave, to go and have my bath, but he wakes at that moment and he lies there, with one arm behind his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He hasn’t shaved in days and there are food stains on his T-shirt.
“So,” he says and he is nonchalant. “Here I am.”
“Ja, I see that. And to what do I owe this honour?”
“Chrizette kicked me out.”
“What?”
“She knows about our affair. She had me followed and she pulled my phone records. She showed me all kinds of evidence.”
“Did you tell her you’ve never fucked me? That you’ve never actually been inside of me? Did you explain that all important dividing line between morality and fidelity, between Godliness and sin?”
“Ag, of course I tried to explain. She said she didn’t believe me. She said if that was true, why would you keep seeing me? She also said it was the most childish thing she had ever heard, and that I was beyond stupid for thinking that my virgin dick, virgin with regards to you anyway, could make up for the time and money I spent on you. She said that if penetration was my code of honour, I could shove my dick up my arse or, as she less than politely put it, I could shove it up your frigid cunt. She said it’s over for good and she’s going to take me for every penny I’ve got. I’ve never heard her talk like that. I didn’t even know she knew words like cunt.”
“I see.” I sit down. “And so you came here.”
“Where else would I go? Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“Why didn’t you email me? Or text me? Or phone me? I had that shitty bloody interview and if you tell me you didn’t watch, then you can fuck off right now.”
“Ag, of course, I watched. You were magnificent. You didn’t need me to tell you that. I’ve had a lot on my plate, a lot to process too. I lost my entire family for you.”
“For me? Ag ja, now that’s rich. Before I left, you gave me the boot, don’t you remember? You have the most convenient memory in the universe. It’s like a black fucking hole, a death star, the things you choose to forget. You make me impossibly angry. What makes you think I even want you here?”
He gets up and walks over to me and pulls me to my feet. The minute I feel his arms around me, I forget my anger and my hurt. A part of me wonders why I had been angry with him at all, while another part of me curses my desire, the desire that overrides every rational thought.
“We belong together,” he says. “I couldn’t leave Chrizette, that is true, but now she has kicked me out, she failed in the marriage, not me. It’s no longer my fault. It’s hers. I never left her. I stood by her, and I did no wrong. And, you and me, we are meant to be together. Don’t be angry. I wanted to come and get you at the airport, but I wasn’t sure what you would say, or if you would be happy. I hoped you would be, of course, but I had no idea. Maybe you like me being married, maybe you like your independence and your freedom.”
“No. All I want is you. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” And, in that moment, I mean it. I also want to say that he can fuck me properly now, but I’m afraid to mention it in case he finds some new excuse to deny me.
“I have to go and have a bath,” I say and I pull away. “I’m exhausted. It was a grueling trip. And that man, that horrible man, who says he is my half-brother, what a con man. He thinks he is God’s gift to the world and I suppose some women might agree. His girlfriend does, that’s for sure. She shouted at me! She called me a bitch. What a pair, the both of them. I wish I could sue Janette’s Daytime Reveal! but I’ve got no doubt that all the i’s were dotted and t’s crossed.”
I walk down the hall and stop at the kitchen for a bottle of Perrier water. I fill the bathtub, adding bubble bath as well as bath salts. I peel off my clothes and I climb into the hot scented water. It feels fantastic to wash that off that disastrous trip. I lather up sponge after sponge and wash my face with the strongest exfoliants in my arsenal.
Dirk wanders into the bathroom as I am drying myself.
“That JayRay, he said there was something I should know,” I say, turning to Dirk who has shed his sweatpants and his dirty T-shirt and is sporting an enthusiastic erection. I drop my towel and move towards him. “I wonder if I should have asked him what it is. But all I could think about was getting away from him. I told him that if he ever contacted me again, I would put the police onto him.”
“Never mind that now. I want to introduce you to someone,” Dirk says and his voice is husky and it’s clear he hasn’t been paying the slightest bit of attention to what I said. “I want to be inside you,” he says. “I want to introduce you to my cock, my cock that wants to be so deep inside you that you will come forever.”
About bloody time, I think, and then I stop thinking and enjoy this long-awaited fuck.
9. LEONIE
I’M AT HOME IN THE KITCHEN trying not to scream. I take the teabag out of my mug and squeeze it, burning my fingers and splashing drops of tea on the granite countertop. I throw the teabag into a stack of unwashed cereal bowls in the sink. Why are there dishes in the sink when we’ve got a perfectly good dishwasher?
Maddie and Kenzie are playing video games in the living room and they’re dancing around, shouting and singing. Dave is at the old oak table, engrossed in homework or something, and somewhere in the house, a radio is playing. And, breaking news, we have a dog. The family acquired a puppy while I was away, and by the way, Dave, thanks for involving me in the decision-making. The dog is a ratty little mongrel, a teacup terrier of some kind. They named the creature Muffin and right now Muffin is yapping at the top of her tiny but powerful lungs.
Hockey equipment lines the hall and the kitchen table is covered with sporting gear, with Dave having cleared a tiny space for himself. I clean up a puddle of Muffin’s pee and when my phone rings, I lunge for it, praying that Ralph will need me at the office.
“Well hello, Leonie,” my mother-in-law says. “Nice to hear you’re home for once. How long this time?”
“Two weeks,” I say, thinking I might have to kill myself before it’s over.
“Truth be told, Dave gave me the heads-up that you’d be home. I need product. Don’t forget to add more of your secret ingredient to mine. I need to pick up extras to sell but only add the zing to mine. My friends tell me I look like I am going backwards in time and they’re buying stock like crazy but I don’t want them to look as good as me.”
“Sure,” I say, thinking how trusting this woman is, letting me mix up a lethal blend of poison for her to spread liberally on her face. Good thing she doesn’t have a heart condition or she’d be long since dead and we’d be down a granny and a nanny. “Come on over any time you like, we’ll be here all day.”
“I’ll be right there,” my mother-in-law slams the phone down and I look at my watch. Half an hour and she’ll be ringing the Chopin-chimed doorbell.
“Who was that?” Dave asks, looking up from his book, his pen still for a moment. I peer over his shoulder and am immediately pissed off. He’s filling in Bernice’s ridiculous s
elf-help book.
Bake Your Way to a Happy Marriage arrived while I was away and the minute I got home, Dave tried to get me to do a worksheet with him. He wouldn’t stop telling me how great the book was, but I couldn’t bear to look at it.
“I was skeptical too,” he said, misunderstanding my lack of enthusiasm. “But it’s based on solid psychology. This woman has a doctorate and she’s incredible with emotions and the human psyche. Just reading it makes me feel more cheerful.”
“You weren’t cheerful? You seemed cheerful.”
He shrugged. “I’m okay. I could be happier, and this book could help us.”
“No us, buddy. I am perfectly happy, couldn’t be happier.”
He looked at me and he knew I was lying and I knew he knew, but I couldn’t go there. I couldn’t go anywhere with this discussion.
“We’re adults,” I said. “Happiness is a fairytale. Actually, happiness is the end of a fairytale and since no one gets to step behind the curtains of ‘they lived happily ever after,’ we’ll never know the truth.”
“Suit yourself, Lee. I’ll do the book by myself. At least one of us wants to be happy. And not only do I want to be happy, I believe I can.”
To which I did not reply and he opened his book and started filling in a worksheet and now he is at it again, writing like a possessed man while his accompanying worksheet recipe, toffee crunch cookies, bakes its way to cookie-ness in the oven. They smell heavenly, I will acknowledge that. Bernice might be annoying but the skinny bitch knows a thing or two about cookies.
“Lee? Who was on the phone?”
“Your mother. She’s on her way over.” I put my mug into the dishwasher with exaggerated slowness, trying to point out that we actually have a dishwasher and why is he using the sink?
“Dishwasher’s broken,” he says, reading my expression. “I’ve got to get someone in to fix it. Let me guess. She wants more face gunk, doesn’t she?”
“It isn’t gunk,” I’m affronted. “It’s our biggest seller. Ralphie says he can’t believe how well we’re doing. We keep growing. My formula’s a winner, baby.”
“With your brains, you could be using your skills to help people. Instead you jet off to sell face creams to desperate middle-aged women in mid-West America. You could be doing something important, like helping save lives.”
I am saving lives. I’m saving my own, by getting out of here. I’m saving your and the kids’ lives too. If I stayed home, I’d murder all of you.
I glare at him. “I do what I need to do. Plus I pay the property taxes and insurance on this.” I wave my hand around the mansion that Dave inherited from his father.
“I pay my way,” Dave looks annoyed. “You know I do. And you’re lucky, you’ve got me to play mommy when you’re not here.”
“We’ve had this discussion Dave,” I say. “Don’t try to pull a guilt trip on me. What’s going on with you? All of a sudden you’re not happy, you’re ordering self-help books and attacking me, and sounding self-righteous and wounded.”
“I’m just tired.” Dave admits and he rubs his face hard. “The kids are full-on. Their homework and after-school activities take up a lot of time. And I struggle to keep them off their computers and I worry that they aren’t outside enough, learning to be kids like we did when we were young. And I worry about who they hang out with at school. I worry about bullies. I worry about their safety. There’s a lot I worry about.” He sighs.
I look at him. He does look tired and I go over to him. “I’m sorry, honey. I don’t mean to be a bitch. I feel guilty, you know, like I should do so much more than I do. I feel bad when I come home and see how hard you work. What can I do to help? After your mom leaves, how about we go to Boston Pizza? Have a nice meal out?” I want to do something to make it right even though I know that everything is wrong and it’s all my fault. None of this is on Dave. He has no idea that the root of our discontent comes from me, and here he is, shouldering the blame.
He stands up and I hug him and he relaxes into me. “I miss you so much when you’re not here,” he says and I feel his erection through his jeans. “You bring him to life,” he whispers. “He missed you too.”
“And I missed him,” I lie and I’m about to tell him that I have a bladder infection and we can’t have sex until it clears up, when Maddie runs into the kitchen to tell me that Muffin has thrown up on the Persian rug in the living room.
“What the frick are you feeding that dog?” I snap at Dave, my grumpy mood instantly back. “Tell me again, where did you get her and why can’t we take her back? She pees, vomits, shits, and barks the whole time. I’m not seeing the appeal.”
“It’s a he, not a she,” Maddie says and she bursts into tears. Dave frowns at me as he gets a rag to clean up the mess and we follow him into the living room. I watch him spray Windex onto one of the many family heirlooms in the house and I want to ask him if what he’s doing is a good idea but I can’t be bothered.
“Your mom didn’t mean it,” he says to Maddie and I apologize.
“Come here Maddie,” I say. “Give your mom a hug. Have you brushed your hair this morning? It’s grown about two inches since I was away.”
“I don’t want Muffin to leave,” Maddie sniffs and I wonder what Dave’s feeding her to make her such a roly poly.
“He’s not going anywhere, mommy is sorry,” I say and I give her a hug. “You want to go out for pizza tonight?”
Maddie’s face brightens. “Yes! I’ll tell Kenzie.”
She runs upstairs and I sink into the sofa and watch Dave finish cleaning the throw-up. The once-elegant oval living room is full of kid’s clothes, scattered toys, DVDs and jewel cases. I wonder, not for the first time, how Dave and the girls manage to cover every available surface of such a vast house.
The fifty-two inch TV screen is frozen on a Minecraft game and I study the farm that Maddie was building. I don’t understand what she sees in the game. It’s ugly, with distorted pixels creating bitmapped images in shades of olive and blue. I reach for the control and switch it off. I want to comment on the surrounding mess but I know that will come back to bite me.
“What are you feeding that kid?” I ask instead. “She’s getting fat. She needs to exercise.”
“She’s not fat,” Dave says and he no longer sounds simply tired but exhausted. “She does exercise. She’s a hockey kid; she plays and she eats. She’s a little kid, Lee. You need to be supportive of her, not critical.”
“I didn’t say anything to her,” I protest, lying down and arranging a cushion behind my head. Like everything in the house, the sofa is worn and threadbare.
“She can sense what you are thinking,” Dave mutters. “Kids are like that. You should know that better than anyone.”
I stand up, furious at the criticism. “I do the best I can,” I yell at him and a recriminating silence falls throughout the house. The kids’ chatter falls silent, Muffin stops barking, and Dave stops scrubbing. Only the radio keeps playing, a song from the eighties, something I recognize as early Billy Joel.
“I’m going to lie down for a bit,” I say. “Wake me up when your mother gets here.”
But the doorbell chimes and I sigh. “No rest for the wicked,” I say, and Dave nods and gives me a look.
“You’ve got that right,” he replies.
Dave’s mother, Nancy, is a fancy old dame who lives in a downtown high-rise condo, close to the Elm Street Spa and the Arts and Letters Club. I don’t think she ever cared much for me, a solidly mutual feeling.
Dave air kisses his mother and I take Nancy upstairs. The girls rush out of their room to see her and she hugs them.
“Come see our friendship tree, Granny,” Maddie says and I follow. Not having been in the girls’ room since I’ve got back, I have no idea what they are talking about.
Maddie and Kenzie still insist on sharing a room, wh
ich I think is ridiculous since they could each have two apiece. Then again, their one room is nearly the size of the house I grew up in, plus they have an en suite bathroom with pastel-coloured geese and piglets in the relief pattern of the wall tiles.
Their bedroom is painted a pale robin’s egg blue and a large crystal tear-drop chandelier hangs from the high ceiling. During my first tour of the house, I jokingly asked Dave if the place was a chandelier showroom, which made him grin.
The kids are showing Nancy a large cut-out brown paper tree that is stuck to the wall, with branches extending in various directions, and a liberal pasting of green leaves. Pictures of the girls are pasted onto the leaves, showing them at their various activities with their friends, at school, with Dave, and with Nancy.
“There are lots of Muffin too,” Kenzie points out as Nancy oohs and ahs at the artistry. I wonder if she notices, as I do, that there are very few pictures of me and the ones that are there, are from years ago. I also wonder when Kenzie took up ballet. I don’t want Nancy to know I don’t know, so I file the question away for later.
“Come on girls,” I interrupt them, wanting to move Nancy along, “I have to talk to Granny in my study. You can come with us if you like.”
“Boring!” they both chorus and Nancy hugs them again.
“See you Tuesday,” she tells them and I inwardly sigh. Great, she’ll be back.
“We take trips to the library every week,” she tells me as I lead the way to my study. “Gives Dave some time off to catch up with things.” I wonder if her comment is a pointed one. It probably is, but I ignore it.
I want Nancy to take stock of the place, I want her to wince at the not-so-genteel deterioration that is clearly visible at every turn but she doesn’t seem to notice. She truly doesn’t care. Things have rapidly gone downhill at 66 Ashdale Drive since her reign of unlimited budgets and dedicated housekeepers, but Nancy doesn’t give a damn. I notice new stains on the carpets, and wallpaper that is peeling at an alarming rate and I’m sure there’s some kind of rot crawling along the ceiling cornices. The truth is, Dave and I have no right to live in a five-million-dollar home that we can’t afford to maintain, but neither of us wants to admit it.
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