Live and Let Die (9 page)

He waited until he heard her gulp before he pulled back with one long groan, his whole body heaving. He grunted a final time and collapsed onto his back for a few seconds before he cleared his throat and bounded out of bed, headed for the bathroom. Paula waited until she heard the shower cut on before she sprinted to the kitchen and vomited into the sink. She looked at the stove clock. The entire act had taken all of five minutes and for Paula, they were the worst five of the worst ten minutes of her week. She coughed and rinsed out her mouth while trying to swish her stomach contents down the drain at the same time. She ran back to the bedroom and hurried over to the dresser to pull out his blue cotton pajamas and laid them on top of the dresser. She listened to him brush his teeth with his electric toothbrush and gargle as she pulled a fresh set of sheets from the linen closet in the hallway and hurriedly stripped the bed down to the mattress pad. She yanked the fitted sheet across the rounded corners of the bed and flicked the top sheet onto the bed, rushing to tuck the excess fabric beneath the mattress and box spring. She heard the light click off and ran to smooth down the wrinkles and lumps just as Phillip opened the door. She smiled and handed him his pajamas.

“Here you are, dear. Did you have a nice shower?

“Yes, dear. And now, I’m very tired.” He gave her a papery kiss. “Goodnight, Paula.” Phillip dropped into the bed and rolled over, his signal for Paula to leave and finish her chores for the night. She scrubbed out the tub before filling it up for herself and took a quick bath. She scoured it again before slathering herself in lotion and slipping into the mint green flannel nightgown she’d hung on the back hook earlier that day. She let the hot water from the sink stream out and ran her white washcloth under it until it was drenched in heat. She filled it with a squirt of soap and toothpaste and scraped it across the skin around her mouth, scrubbing it until she felt the familiar tingle. She continued to rub until her mouth went numb and the washcloth was lukewarm. She repeated this three more times before rinsing out her mouth with scalding water, grateful for a reprieve from the rancid tang on her tongue. She ended by brushing her teeth just once, though she wanted to brush them at least four times, but she knew Phillip would be suspicious if he heard the electric toothbrush go on too long. She sighed and patted her face dry, grateful her weekly nightmare was almost over. At least when they had sex on Thursdays, she didn’t have to endure the oral assault.

Paula flipped off the light and crawled into bed next to a slumbering Phillip. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, her limp muscles burning with fatigue.

She really hated Tuesdays.

S
he was walking fast, trying to keep up. It was snowing so it was hard to see. There were so many people, so many faces she couldn’t make out. She dodged around the faceless splotches, trying, trying so hard to keep her eyes focused. She blinked several times and continued to search the crowd. Finally, she broke into a run and plowed through the blobs. And then she reached her hand out to the one she was looking for…

It was a blob with arms and legs and clothes and a voice, but she couldn’t hear the voice either. She pushed her hands out and shoved the blob. The blob shoved back and she went sprawling. Angry, Paula charged…

Paula’s eyes flew open and she bolted upright. Her breath came in jagged stops and starts and her cotton nightgown felt like fire next to her skin. Distraught, Paula ran her hand across her forehead, a soft whimper escaping her lips. She pushed back the heavy white comforter, rumpled white top sheet, and made her way to the bathroom. She tiptoed across the sea of white carpet, not wanting to wake Phillip. She closed the bathroom door before she flipped on the light. The sudden fluorescent assault made her stumble backward a bit. Paula gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself before she sank to floor.

“Make it stop,” she whispered to herself, a pleading desperation in her voice. “Please, make these terrible nightmares stop.”

The walls had no answers to her pleas and, with a resigned sigh, Paula stood and turned on the cold water to splash her face several times. She patted it dry with the white hand towel hanging on the bar next to the door then switched off the light. She crept back into bed and looked over at her husband. He never stirred. Paula flipped onto her back, staring at the popcorn ceiling and listening to the cricket chirping outside her window. She blinked several times, commanding herself to stay awake, not wanting the dreams to invade her sleep anymore that night.

C
icely Anderson was having a shitty day. First, she’d overslept and only woken up when her six year-old tapped her on the shoulder to remind her it was her day to take him to school. And then she overcooked the oatmeal. And she was late dropping him off. And on her way to take the car in for the oil change that was two months overdue, she spilled her lukewarm coffee all over her red suit, which she had just gotten out of the cleaners. The oil never got changed, but she did by running back home, which made her late for the luncheon where she was speaking. Now as she sat in the newsroom going over the rundown for the six, every single story in the first block was a rape, shooting, hit and run or child abandonment.

Some days she thought she wanted to get out of the news business altogether and go live on a farm in Wisconsin and sell cheese. Then she would remember she hated the country, was the number one anchorwoman in Chicago and that she was a news junky who thrived on the fast pace of local news and if she had to be stuck on a farm in Wisconsin with just her husband, her six year-old and wheels of cheese, she’d run screaming for the hills. Cicely shook her head at the thought and continued going over the rundown. Her phone rang.

“Cicely Anderson,” she said in her best breathy, disarming anchorwoman voice.

There was slight hesitation before an answer. “Uh, Cicely, hi, this is Sondra Ellis? Tracy’s sister?”

“Oh, my God, Sondra, hi,” Cicely said, her tone now soft and welcoming. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. Is this a good time?”

“Oh, yeah this is fine. Can’t wait to see the new film when it comes out.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks. Should be out this fall.”

Cicely was silent for a moment. “So what’s up?”

Sondra paused. “Um, well, I was wondering… I’m going to be in Chicago day after tomorrow and I was hoping we could have coffee or something while I was there. I wanted to talk to you about Tracy.”

Cicely closed her eyes at the mention of her friend’s name. Tracy had been an ace producer and the two women had started at the station at the same time. Cicely had come over to Four after ten years at Channel Three and Tracy was fresh from the Philadelphia affiliate. The two became fast friends and had worked on the regular newscasts together. In addition, as a team, they had produced several award-winning specials for the station. It was Cicely who had hosted Tracy’s wedding at her Winnetka home.

“Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?”

Sondra was silent. “I don’t really want to get into it over the phone. It’s kind of complicated.”

“Oh. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“Well that depends on how you define ‘okay’.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“If you could spare twenty minutes or so for me within the next couple of days, that would be more than enough.”

“What time are you coming in?”

“Flight gets into O’Hare at noon and I’m staying at the Omni.”

“Tell you what. I’m on at six and I usually grab dinner about seven. Why don’t I meet you in the lobby around that time and we can eat at the hotel.”

“Sounds good.”

Cicely leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “Great. I’ll see you then.”

“Tomorrow night, seven.”

“Have a safe flight.”

“I will. And thanks again. Bye.”

The phone went dead in Cicely’s ear and she replaced the receiver on her end, wondering what Sondra could possibly want to talk to her about. Cicely knew the Ellis sisters had been exceptionally close and how difficult it had to be for Sondra to come to terms with what happened to Tracy. Three years later, the wound was still fresh in the newsroom. Cicely looked over at the framed photo she kept on her desk from a vacation she and Tracy had taken the summer before she met Phillip. They’d gone to Cozumel and spent more time swimming in jumbo margaritas than in the ocean. The photo showed the two women toasting each other with frosty strawberry concoctions, broad, drunken smiles spread across their faces. Cicely smiled ruefully as she looked at Tracy. Shaking herself back to the present, Cicely turned her attention back to her bloody newscast.

T
here was blood everywhere. On her hands, her clothes, the tops of her leather shoes. What had she done? She had to leave, she had to run, run away from all the blood…

Paula jumped up from the couch. She ran her hands over her face and whimpered at the moistness she felt. She jerked her hands away from her face and laughed out of relief when she realized it was sweat dripping from her pores and not blood. Paula stumbled into the kitchen and splashed cold water across her face countless times before she sat down at her kitchen table. She stared down at the vast and unyielding whiteness in front of her. Every day, every night was torture. The dreams, the horrible, gnawing guilt and paralyzing fear over what she had done. Nevertheless, she had to go on, because if she didn’t, it would be all over for her.

She looked at the kitchen clock and forced herself to her feet. She had grocery shopping to do and she was a little behind schedule. Paula pulled her shopping cart out of the laundry room and left for the Pavilion.

“B
ut mommy, I love you!”

“I love you too baby, but you’re not getting it.”

“But mommy, I love chocolate poofy puffs!”

“Yeah, and if I let you have them, you’ll be bouncing off the walls.”

“I like to bounce off the walls.”

“Yeah, but Mommy doesn’t, because you leave scuff marks. Now put that back and let’s go.”

Cindy was trying to navigate the aisles of the Kroger in the Pavilion with her six year-old pulling every sugary cereal he saw off the shelves and tossing them into the basket, while the four year-old, who was sitting in the child seat of the cart, kept clapping and giggling, her blonde ringlets bouncing in time.

Cindy turned and saw Paula float down the cereal aisle. She was wearing a blue print cotton housedress and her tar black hair was wrenched back into a severe bun. Cindy licked her lips, feeling the need, for whatever reason, to be neighborly.

“Hi, excuse me? Paula, right?”

Paula turned to look at Cindy, her hand wrapped around a box of Grape Nuts. “May I help you?” she asked in a singsong voice.

Cindy held out her hand. “I’m Cindy Cross. I live across the street from you. The gray house with the red door?”

Paula gave Cindy a blank stare. “Oh,” she finally answered. “That’s nice.”

Cindy narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what was off about this woman. “Well, I thought maybe we could have coffee sometime. You know, since we’re neighbors and all.”

Paula tilted her head to one side. “Oh, I don’t think that will be possible. My husband and I like to keep to ourselves. But thank you for the invitation.” Paula turned and gently placed her Grape Nuts in her basket. Cindy looked down and almost laughed at what she saw. Every item was lined up with military precision, not like her own basket, which was a jumble of grape jelly, Wonder Bread and blue boxes of macaroni and cheese.

“You’re not from Stepford are you?” Cindy asked.

Paula blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You know, Stepford? Your basket is so neat. Just like a Stepford wife.” Cindy shook her head. “Sorry, bad joke.”

Paula wrinkled her nose. “I’m from here. Now. If you will excuse me.” With a determined steeliness, Paula shifted her basket past Cindy’s and proceeded down the aisle. Cindy stood staring at Paula’s retreating back, fascinated.

“What a nut job,” Cindy muttered. Her four year-old’s gleeful giggles snapped Cindy back to the task at hand and she continued on with her shopping. Finally, she finished and was on her way, still puzzling over her encounter with the beyond creepy Paula.

P
aula was consumed with dinner preparations. Now all she needed to do was add the Sweet ‘N Low to the tea. Paula opened her pantry door and reached into the Sweet ‘N Low box and was horrified to discover it was empty.

“Oh no,” she whispered. She snatched the box out of the pantry, clawing at the bottom of the box for that elusive packet of artificial sweetener.

Paula’s face crunched in worry and her hand clamped around her forehead, terrified about what she should do. Phillip always required a half a pack of Sweet ‘N Low in his iced tea and she’d forgotten to get a new box at the store. Phillip would be home any minute and there would be no time to get to the Pavilion. This was one time she wished she could hop in the car and go.

“What am I going to do?” She looked up. “Maybe she has some,” Paula whispered. Smoothing back her hair, Paula opened her front door. There was a silver car in the driveway of the gray house with the red door across the street, so that must mean the woman was home. Holding her hand over her pounding heart, Paula licked her lips and jogged across the street to the Cross house. Reaching the front door, Paula took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell with a timid finger. It was a few moments before the door flew open to reveal Cindy Cross on the other side.

“Oh. Hi,” Cindy said. “Did you need something?”

“Do you have any Sweet ‘N Low?”

“Huh?”

“Sweet ‘N Low, I need Sweet ‘N Low. It’s for my husband’s iced tea and he won’t take anything in his tea but Sweet ‘N Low and I don’t have time to go to the store.”

Her words were a stream of vowels and consonants crashing into each other. Paula stole a quick glance over her shoulder, fearful Phillip would come driving up and see her talking to this woman. Paula turned back around.