Honeymooners A Cautionary Tale (38 page)

Say what? Jim
says.

Are you in love with another
woman, Jim?

What other woman?

I just want for you to tell
me if you are. I won’t cause any trouble for you. I promise I
won’t. I’ll simply go away quietly. You’d tell me the truth,
wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t lie to me about something like that,
would you?

No, Jim says. —Is the water
okay? Is it too hot?

The water is perfect, hon.
Jim, hon, get in the tub with me. Would you?

Oh, I don't know. Let me
wash your back. Would you like me to wash your hair?

Are you afraid of something?
Are you afraid some of my smelly blood might get on you?

No. Nothing like
that.

Please.

Okay, Jim says. He slips off
his clothes and eases into the hot water at the end opposite
Lindsay.

Jesus motherfucken Christ
holy shit, this water’s hot! Jim says. —I mean, it’s really
hot.

Lindsay cups sudsy water and
lets it fall over Jim’s chest.

Ouch ouch fucken ouch! Jim
says through clenched teeth.

I love bubble baths, Lindsay
says, and lies back in the blue bubbles, her breasts like little
islands on the surface of the water. — Jim, honey, are you still
getting those nosebleeds?

No. I mean, hardly
ever.

What does that
mean?

It means hardly
ever.

That really frightens me,
hon. That morning I woke up and found blood all over your pillow
scared me to death. Will you agree to see a doctor if I do? Would
you let me make you, us, an appointment tomorrow?

I can’t tomorrow.

I mean simply make the
appointment tomorrow.

Okay.

Do you mean it? And none of
this the-doctor’s-appointment- is-in-the-mail business.

Sure. Okay.

It’s the dope, Jim, that’s
what’s making your nose bleed. And you, we, should really slow down
in the booze department, too.

I know, Jim says. —I’ve
already started. I’ve cut way back.

I just don’t want to be
worried sick all the time, Lindsay says, and she slowly rolls some
of Jim’s chest hair around a finger.

—Worried about your
nosebleeds. About the booze and dope. Worried about your and
Shorty’s dope deals, which I know are dangerous.

They’re not so
dangerous.

Worried about you getting
caught and going to jail.

At least you’ll know where
Ralph and I are.

Right, Lindsay says, and
laughs. —But most of all I’m worried about your health.

I’m okay.

I’m tired of being worried
and sad all the time.

Please don’t start crying,
honey.

Like this? Lindsay says, and
gets up on her knees in the tub and leans forward over Jim, her
long hair falling like a curtain about his face. —I can cry at
will, Lindsay says, and lets her tears fall on Jim’s
face.

Are you crying at will right
now?

Sure, Lindsay says, and lets
the tears drop.

Cool, Jim says, and touches
Lindsay’s wet cheeks with his fingertips. He brushes the tears
away.

I learned that when I was on
the stage in college, Lindsay says, and eases back in the water. —I
can cry on cue.

I know, Jim says. He rubs
strands of Lindsay’s hair in his fingers.

Do you love me?

I do.

I hate feeling old and
ugly.

You’re not old and
ugly.

I always feel as though I’m
smelly or something. I don’t even care if we fuck, necessarily. I
just need to feel a man’s arms around me.

Any man’s?

The man who loves me. All I
ever felt like I was good for with that asshole of a first husband
was washing his socks and sucking his cock. But at least the
sonofabitch would roll over every couple of weeks and want to stick
it in my mouth. I felt desired that much at least. You’re the one
who makes me feel old and ugly and smelly, Jim. And you’re the one
who promised to love and cherish me until death us do
part.

Let’s talk about this
later.

But you always put me off.
You never want to talk.

I talk.

Why do you make me feel so
fucking awful?

Thanks, Jim says. —Put all
your problems at my doorstep.

Now you sound like fucking
Ralph.

That’s probably the worst
thing you ever said to me, Jim says. —Look, I’m trying to write a
book. It’s taking about everything I got.

That’s not good enough. Jim,
honey, we need to talk. Even when it’s painful. Tonight is the
first time we’ve even come close to talking about anything since I
don’t remember when.

I know, Jim says.

We have to stay in love,
Jim. We have to try, anyway. Staying in love is the most difficult
thing to do on the face of the earth. But we can do it. We simply
can’t keep drifting apart.

I know, Jim says.

Two people are capable of
loving one another all their lives, I know it. I have to believe
this. If I don’t believe anything else in the world, I have to
believe this. Your book is no reason for us to drift
apart.

I’ll do better.

Do you really still love
me?

I love you.

God, I hope so, you big
bozo. I love you. I do.

I’m glad.

Well, I’m glad you’re glad,
Lindsay says, and laughs. She strokes Jim’s nipples through the
hair on his chest with her thumbs. Jim touches the sides of
Lindsay’s breasts with his fingertips. He cups her breasts and
squeezes gently.

The Kindness of
Strangers

Ralph had to look high and
low, rummage around in countless drawers, before he found a
functioning pair of scissors, which he then arranged in his son’s
left hand (the boy was a lefty, another suspicious sign in the
devil department). In the boy’s right hand Ralph arranged several
fistfuls of greasy hair and, as an afterthought, a ripped section
from one of the evil posters. Ralph locked the boy’s bedroom door
behind him, and he fled the scene of that crime against nature with
hopefully no solid clues pointing in his direction.

In the kitchen Ralph lifted
the print of the green pepper above the stove and reached into the
hole behind it. He wiggled his fingers around until he found the
little bottle. It was only a half-pint of bourbon, but an unopened
cherry, and in a pinch what else could a man hope for. Ralph
unscrewed the top and took a long hit and, after swatting a cat off
the chair, sat down at the kitchen table. He reached up and clicked
off the overhead light and then sat there in the dark chain-smoking
and sipping from the little half-pint, one sip for himself and one
for his dad, as he watched the driveway. He reflected upon that
naked, nearly bald boy in that bedroom of black walls. At this
point, Ralph reflected, it was all out of his hands.

A car Ralph did not
recognize pulled into the driveway and stopped. It was a big,
black, expensive-looking affair, and whoever was driving left the
engine and high beams on. Ralph ducked back away from the window
and stubbed out his cigarette. The backseat’s door was flung open
and Alice Ann tumbled out onto the gravel on her knees. Ralph
killed off the pint in a single gulp. Alice Ann was laughing
hysterically. The driver’s-side door of the car swung open and
Ralph saw a pant leg.

Ralph blinked his eyes in
the bright overhead light when Alice Ann clicked it on with the
switch by the door, and spots spun in his vision. When he was able
to focus, Ralph peeked out from behind the refrigerator. Alice Ann
was being supported on either side and guided along by a couple, an
older couple, who were complete strangers to Ralph. They were a
tall, handsome couple, and the woman had beautifully coiffed white
hair. The man looked like that junior-high-school principal who had
expelled Ralph for smoking in the boys’ room. The woman made
encouraging cooing sounds at Alice Ann, and kept saying, “There,
dear; there, dear; there, dear.’’ At this point Alice Ann was
weeping uncontrollably. Suddenly Alice Ann began to laugh again.
Both the man and woman had stricken looks on their otherwise
pleasant, kindly faces.

Over there, Alice Ann said
after a particularly wrenching combination sob and hoot, and she
pointed at Ralph, who ducked back behind the refrigerator and held
his breath. —Over there is Mr. Crawford, the man who happens to be
my husband of all these wasted lifetimes. We are the Crawfords, my
husband and I. Come out from behind the refrigerator, Mr. Crawford,
you miserable sonofabitch, and meet the Myerses, the kindest human
beings on the face of the fucking earth, who just saved my
life.

Hello, Ralph said, and
stepped out from behind the refrigerator. —I was looking for
something. I dropped something back there. Hello, hello, Ralph
said, and offered his hand to Mr. Myers, who shook it
once.

She—your wife, I mean, Mr.
Myers said to Ralph, in a whisper Ralph supposed he meant to
somehow fly over Alice Ann’s head, she was walking on the side of
the road.

Your wife was stumbling,
Mrs. Myers stage-whispered, her lips pursed and her wide eyes
suggesting her utter astonishment. —She was stumbling on the
roadside. We had to stop, Mr. Myers and myself. We had to help her
some way.

This is the third house she
has asked us to stop at, Mr. Myers said, his kindly eyes crinkled
with confusion and concern. —We really didn’t know quite what to
do.

We had to help her, though,
if we could, Mrs. Myers affirmed, nodding her white head
vigorously.

She is not deaf and dumb,
Alice Ann said. —She is not a dead person or a child or somebody
simpleminded.

My wife has been under the
weather lately, Ralph said. —And she’s been taking medications.
Prescribed medication, of course. She had a glass of wine with
dinner. Two tops. Nothing like this has ever happened to us
before.

These kind people, the
Myerses, were kind enough to drive me home after you dumped me on
our eighteenth wedding anniversary. Mr. and Mrs. Myers, I will
never be able to adequately thank you enough for your kindness.
Mrs. Myers, I would bet my life that Mr. Myers has never been an
inconsiderate cocksucker to you, has he? Unlike Mr. Crawford. By
the bye, Mr. and Mrs. Myers, would you care to have a little drink?
A nightcap?

I looked everywhere for you,
Alice Ann, Ralph said. —I thought you had left me. I did, I did,
Ralph said to the Myerses.

We really have to be going,
Mr. Myers said, looking at his watch. He took his wife by her
elbows and edged her toward the door. —Mr. Crawford, Mr. Myers
stage-whispered, perhaps she, Mrs. Crawford, should see somebody,
somebody, you know, professional.

Please, Mr. and Mrs. Myers,
I implore you, Alice Ann said. —Permit my husband, Mr. Crawford, to
fix you a little drink. Pull up a couple of chairs and let’s get
better acquainted. My husband’s first name is Ralph. Call Mr.
Crawford Ralph from here on out, please. My first name is Lindsay.
Call me Lindsay like my husband, Mr. Crawford, does, I implore you.
Mr. Crawford, will you please fix us all a nice little drink and we
will explain to the Myerses how things went astray tonight. So they
will understand and hopefully not think too badly of us and
hopefully will give us a second chance, as I have given Mr.
Crawford. Mr. Crawford has had more chances than you can shake a
stick at. Mr. Crawford, Ralph to you, went outside the marriage,
you understand. A woman’s charm, as we all know, is fifty percent
illusion, but when a thing is important, I tell the truth, and this
is the truth. I, for one, have never cheated on Mr. Crawford as
long as I have lived. Is it that I am not young and desirable
enough any longer, Mr. Crawford? Is that why you were fucking my
sister royally? Look at dear Mrs. Myers here. Mrs. Myers is no
longer young and desirable, but does that mean Mr. Myers would fuck
her sister royally? I think not. I have always believed that
whatever good you possess is good enough to merit your salvation.
Something has happened to Mr. Crawford and myself while we weren’t
looking. But what was it? Mr. Crawford, why don’t you see if our
children are awake. I’d love for the Myerses to meet our children.
They’re wonderful kids. They want to be lawyers and
doctors.