Look How You Turned Out (15 page)

I soon fit that key in Marcus's front door. Inside, it's dim, and it doesn't smell. That's good. I enter and shut the door.

It's a little sad, and it's plain. No doubt about it, these guys need me.

I go immediately to the window and look back at Artie's. Artie's is more alive. It's the better-looking brother, similar in style but just more. I see the crow's nest up there. I wave and thankfully no one, nothing waves back.

Marcus has a fireplace, well-used. Over it is one picture, an Indian holding up a buffalo's skull. Yeah, that thing is going.

He likes books. He built shelves, and they're full. Books about nature, biographies, novels, Law books. He's practically Moses when it comes to that stuff. But practicing law, yeah I agree with Artie, can't see it. He likes the outdoors too much.

The kitchen is functional. Wood countertops. I remember when he put these in. I check out the food. A lot of boxed stuff.

Tsk. Tsk. I'll be changing that. He loves my cooking. Used to come in the kitchen to 'watch me cook.' Yeah, stare at me is more like it, but back then I really thought it was about the food.

The kitchen opens to the back porch and windows that show the woods. This is like a family room, another used fireplace, television over it. Yep, I could clock some hours here, cooking and being. Yeah, I can save this place from its current state of arrested development. I love the open shelving he's put in. I love the wood on the walls. It just needs the right equipment. Some color. Me.

I wouldn't check out his bedroom, would I?

Yes.

The door is partially ajar. I push it wide and go in. It smells like him a little, and that's a good thing. The bed isn't made in the truest sense, but there's an attempt, the cover pulled up, a little smoothed. The furniture is masculine, a tall chest, a tall dresser, dark colored. It's not cluttered. A bathroom off of this. Nothing fancy but neat. The seat is up on the stool, but it's clean. Cleaner than mine possibly. I'm impressed. There's a hamper, and the jeans I love are on the floor near it. I resist the urge to pick those up and hold them for a minute. Yeah, weird, not that weird stops me, but if I bend over, I'll get dizzy.

I'm looking at his stuff, his toothbrush. I picture mine beside it. All I can think is that I love him.

Then I hear something coming from the kitchen. First thought is that he's caught me. Then I hear the sobbing. Second thought is that Elaine is in here sobbing. And that's weird. But I make it to the kitchen, and it's Jessica.

She's got two hands on the counter, one of those heavy duty mixers pulled forward, the cord wrapped around her dagger nailed hand. Her head is bent, so there's a hair curtain that could keep out the sun. But she's boohooing.

So I'm standing in the doorway that leads to the hall, and the bedrooms and I'm waiting for her to lift her head. When she doesn't, I say, "What are you doing here?"

She looks up then, rocket-socket fast. There are tears and snot and streaked makeup. Her eyes show her shock that I'm here. She uncoils the cord from her hand and goes for a paper towel, fortunately, placed further yet from me. She rips off a couple and starts to wipe the tidal stream.

Then she goes back where she was and starts pulling drawers.

"What are you looking for?"

"My pie server," she says, no eye contact.

She finally seems to find it, throws it in the mixer's bowl.

"Does Marcus know you're here?" I say.

"What's it to you. I came for my stuff." She starts to scoop the heavy appliance off the counter then stops. "I'm not sorry about what I did. You're a little cheater."

"Better go now."

"I am." Then in a terrible voice, she screams, "I'm devastated! I'm crushed!"

I sniff, but it's just to buy time. "I'll get the door."

"We were going to get married."

I start to walk through the corner of the kitchen into the living room. I see the door.

Her hand is on my arm. When I turn she pulls it away, holds her hands up like she's proving she means no harm. "I shouldn't have gone for you, all right? But what do you expect? I leave home practically engaged, and I come home to him cheating on me."

"Get your stuff," I say going for the door again. I open it, stand there holding it. I hear her in the kitchen. Something breaks.

"Come on," I yell.

She comes out sniffing and carrying the heavy mixer. I make a note to stay out of its way.

"I have another load," she says.

"I'll get it," I say. As soon as she's out, I close and lock the door. I go in the kitchen, see a smashed bowl, carefully step around it and grab a couple of Tupperware things she has sitting there.

She can't get back in because I locked the door. She's already knocking, pounding. No way I'm reopening that door.

"You know," she yells through it, "this will come back to him. You're a cheater and a lying little bitch."

I lean on the door waiting for the sound of her car pulling out of the drive. But the next thing I hear is the tremendous crash of Marcus's picture window as her Kitchen-Aid comes flying through it to land and completely break through his coffee table.

Then I hear her crazy scream, the slam of her car door, the roar, the squeal, the dying charge as she drives away.

And over the mess, the silent print of the Indian holding the skull of the buffalo high above his head.

I let her Tupperware drop to the floor, and I kick at it a little.

Then I dig for my phone.

The police intercept Jessica before she reaches the hair salon. Right in front of it in fact and her employees and customers come out wearing plastic aprons and foils and clips berating the arresting officer who happens to be Marcus.

Jessica goes off at the mouth, and that shuts everyone up because it sounds like a rant…from hell, Marcus says later.

But the highlight is this--Juney's bus happens to pass right at that moment, and there, plastered to the window is his familiar head of hair, Marcus will also note later. "Dad," Juney calls out as the bus grinds away.

So Juney is breathless when he gets off the bus ten minutes later. The house is still in its state of molestation. The window is empty, broken through with jagged pieces of glass evident in the frame. And inside, the scene of the crime, untouched, unphotographed as it awaits the next chapter; the flash from the insurance adjuster's camera for the claim and the extra set of photos Marcus will request for the judge, as well as the attack from Marcus's vacuum, broom, and dustpan.

So Juney gets to see it as it happened.

I stand at the door, pretty much where I'd been when it went down. Juney steps further into the room and beholds the pink mixer nestled in the crushed center of the dark wood like a big bald baby eagle lying croaked in its nest.

I watch his small Marcus head as he studies the scene. When he's over the shock and moving toward acceptance, he turns and looks at me. His mouth is wide open. I know his words are coming, rising to the top like a gusher pumping right out of the ground.

"He's got her," he says.

"Who's got what?" I say.

"Dad has Jessica," he says.

He tells me about the arrest then. I tell him about the mixer toss. It's a hoe-down for sure cause that ho is going down. I don't say that, though. Not to Juney. But later, I'm saving that one for Marcus.

Marcus comes home a few minutes after he's handed his prisoner off to his partner to be booked and caged.

So she's in the pokey, at least for the night. She is charged with destruction of property. She's waiting to go before the judge. Marcus told him to take his time getting there in the morning.

Juney and I are allowed to wait in the kitchen with Marcus for his insurance guy, who is also Artie's guy Drew. Mr. Drew shows up, and he's excited as he snaps some photos and assesses the damage.

Once he is gone, Marcus won't let Juney or I help clean the mess. He swears if Juney or I sustain one more injury connected to, 'that foul woman,' he's going to return to the jail and hang her by her thumbs. It's not great motivation for either one of us to stay out of the way, but we do.

After that, the boys from the hardware store come out. They've already heard the story about the mixer toss, and they whoop it up, and Marcus pretty much ignores them while he cleans up the glass and the rest of his coffee table and they board the window.

I clean up the broken bowl in the kitchen. Juney holds the trash can. I squat to do it and try not to bend my head much.

"And you picked her without alcohol," I say to Marcus the next morning after Officer Stover returns from court, and we are finally on the way to Elaine's.

He smirks, but he's totally demoralized even though he'd had his house locked up tight until I broke in with a key and left it unlocked hence allowing Crazy's safe and easy passage in.

If only my vagina were so cooperative.

Cause I've been reading the papers and apparently all I have to do is learn to relax the vaginal walls. I knew that, and I've tried that, but apparently I haven't tried hard or consistently enough.

"So every waking minute I'm supposed to do a Kegel, which exacerbates the problem in a way because it makes my vagina stronger than ever, but I do a Kegel and release," I say.

"It's the release that you want to focus on," he says.

"What are you focused on?" I ask.

"How hurt you could have gotten," he says. "How did I allow this psychotic…."

"Bitch," I fill in.

"…bitch," he continues, "into my life…all of our lives?"

"Juney knew," I can't help saying.

He closes his eyes briefly because he is driving. "Yes, he did."

"Marriage Marcus? Really? Would you have?"

He's shaking his head. "She didn't show this side of herself. But…not with Juney so against it. I couldn't have."

"But you would have gone ahead?"

"No. I didn't love her. She was just…I kept waiting to like her more, you know?"

Unfortunately, I did know. I kept waiting for the same thing with Myron.

"You can't really know someone in six months," I say.

"Not when they're hiding a complete lack of self-control," he says.

"I'm glad I could help," I say.

"Help?"

"Yeah. Provoke the dragon, get it to breathe fire."

He looks askance at me. "It's not funny. You could have been hurt."

He'd been there when she went before the judge. She had to have her business partner post bail. Since Marcus was prosecuting he looked forward to a stiff fine and some community service at least...something to put her in the orange jumpsuit and maybe break a nail or two. That's my guess.

Elaine's house is really nice. White split rail fences around acreage, a long winding driveway and a two-storied house that looks like it would sell for more than the ones in mine and Marcus's neighborhood.

Marcus says it wasn't like this until she married Don. Marcus's father had been a working stiff who died of liver disease when Marcus was seven. Then there were the lean years with just the two of them, then the extra job at the law firm, then marriage to one of the partners, Don.

Then things picked up. Marcus went to college and law school. He had a little falling out with Don when he got married and didn't take the bar. Then he went into the dark years with Angela, took a job as deputy, for Artie, and the rest is his-story.

"You're my consolation prize," he says yanking on my braid.

"Oh, glad to know I have a purpose."

"You're also adorable."

"Okay, I'm an official stuffed animal."

"Just like one," he says squeezing my knee. "Soft little thing."

We are going to start kissing soon. He's been very respectable so far, all creepy because of the Jessica deal. I can't wait until the black-magic-woman forgets about us. She's going to be on the back page of the newspaper for her unfortunate display of deeply rooted psychosis. It's pretty embarrassing.

But enough about her.

"Did you have an awkward stage?" I ask, because just his mouth, it's like perfect.

He laughs. "I'm having one now," he says.

"Oh yeah? This is your awkward?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure you'll like my mother."

I crack up. "Oh. I thought you were going to say you were embarrassed because your insane ex threw her mixer…near me."

Now he laughs. "Nah. Nothing awkward about that. Now if she'd thrown it at you…."

He is smiling, and I almost squeeze his knee like he’s squeezing mine. I even entertain the idea of jumping on him and giving him a hickey.

But, we are about to meet his mother. I admit, I have these younger, or less mature ideas sometimes. I rarely act on them. If I did, I'd be Jessica.

So he kisses me, a stuffed animal kiss, then we're out the doors and through the garage and the highly functional cubicled mudroom, then into the palatial kitchen that is too pretty to make a mess in. Elaine is right there finishing these gorgeous fruit cups. "Oh hello Bedilia," she says like she's glad to see me. "I was just finishing up lunch. Marcus did tell you I hoped you could stay?"

She must think I have a ride home, like a pony up my sleeve or something? If Marcus is staying, so am I.

"Thank you," I say. "I'm looking forward to it." I don't know why I added that last. It's like I have to lie and then top my lie with another one. Even I don't know what I'm going to say most of the time. I start a sentence, and I'm like, gee I wonder how I'm going to finish this.

She's said something else, and I didn't hear it. "Excuse me?" I say.

"I said it must be terrible to have your father in the hospital when you just got home."

Oh, crap. I should have heard that. "No…I mean yes it's terrible, but no…it's okay."

What? Who says that? Yes and no in one sentence?

Marcus is going to give me a tour. He hurriedly pulls me up the stairs. He's a jogger, and I am huffing and puffing. "My head," I say weakly to hide the fact I can't keep up.

Of course, the mere mention of my concussion and he is apologizing profusely. I smile a small smile. "It's okay," I say.

"Oh baby," he says in this low throaty, raspy voice. I literally shiver.

He's got his arm around me, around my waist. He's holding my ribs. I hope he notices…everything. My waist goes in. I don't even watch what I eat. It just stays that way. I can't believe my luck. I hope it feels good to him.

"This is my old room," he says.

"Did you have sex in here?" I ask walking in.

"Just with myself," he answers, and I turn and he takes a quick step, and we are magnetized. I am kissing him, and he's holding me off the floor. It's stupendous as he walks me to his bed and we fall over and land there. "You're my fantasy girl. You're real…in my room," he says, his hands sweeping all over me.

I am on my back, but I stick my chest out, and he gets it, and rubs and I can sing like Grace Slick, Alanis Morissette, I mean hit the notes. His hand on me, it's explosive. Possible blindness could occur.

He is laughing and telling me to be quiet. He's nervous that way.

He kisses like…they should bottle it. He could give classes. Night school. Every girl lining up to experience this. I might have to kill people now to keep him to myself.

He is nibbling on me, my mouth. He nuzzles his face against my chest and groans. "That might carry," I say to get him back for always ragging on me.

He laughs. "I don't care. You drive me crazy."

He lifts his head, earnest eyes, "Here's what we're going to do. We're going downstairs, and I'm telling my mother that I got a call. We have to go, and I'll come back later. She'll understand. Then we're driving away from here, and we're getting a room. You know I love you, right? And I want to marry you. I want it all with you Bedilia. Everything."

"I'll bet you say that to all the psychotic girls."

He laughs a little bitty bit. "I'm not joking about this. You'll be it for me. I'll be a good husband. I'll be a great lover. I'll give it everything I've got. Everything I am." He takes my hand. He kisses it. "What do you say?"

"You lack confidence," I whisper.

He waits.

"I say yes. What do you think?" I say.

Just then his mother calls up the stairs, and we freeze, staring at one another.

"Yeah," he calls back.

"Don forgot his briefcase. I have to meet him in Litchfield at the courthouse. I'm afraid I won't be back for a couple of hours. I've left lunch in the frig so you and Bedilia help yourselves. We'll do this another day."

He looks at me. "She's good," he whispers. "Yeah, thanks," he calls.

"You mean she knows?" I say frantically.

"Probably," he says back, confident smile.

"This is so embarrassing. She's leaving her home so we can…."

"It's a gift-horse. Don't look," he says moving over me.