Butterfly (72 page)

“Okay, if it’ll make you girls happy.”

As they struck off down the dusty lane Jessica watched John and Ray in front of

them—two athletically fit men in their forties, wearing well-cut clothes, their hair expen-

sively styled, their stride and manner fairly shouting success. They owned the world,

Jessica thought. Men like John and Ray ran things, they were who counted, and they

knew it. As she followed behind them, only half listening to Bonnie talk about her sixth-

grade class, Jessica watched her husband move through the crowd with ease and confi-

dence. Occasionally he and Ray would laugh. They flirted with “wenches.” They paused

now and then to study something, to point and comment, and then move on. And as

Jessica watched John stroll through the world with such supreme self-assurance, she felt

the day grow dark and her happiness at being at the fair start to slip away.

It had been three weeks since her panicked flight to Butterfly. It had been that long

since her vow to stand up to John. She had come home from her interlude with her fan-

tasy cowboy to find John packing for an emergency trip to London. Problems in the UK

office had suddenly cropped up, he had explained. And then he had been gone for nearly

two weeks. Upon his return, he had been warm and loving toward her, as he always was

after a long absence, and the days that followed had been filled with work, court appear-

ances, and more work. This weekend was the first they really had alone together, to relax

a little and have some fun.

But the joy Jessica had felt that morning, when they had pulled up next to Bonnie and

Ray in the parking field outside the fair, had trickled away over the hours, like a bag of

sand microscopically punctured. It seemed to Jessica now, as she looked back over the

morning, that with each step she had taken, each booth they had visited, she had left a lit-

tle of her happiness behind.

She knew now that things between her and John were never going to change. As pleas-

ant and harmonious as his home-comings were, brief spells when Jessica felt she truly

loved him, there invariably followed the days of criticism, the gender game-playing, with

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sex the reward or punishment, the need for John to keep her down and himself dominant.

Jessica looked ahead down the long, crowded Renaissance lane, through which her hus-

band sauntered like some lord of the manor, and saw their years together, in which they

grew older and older, the roles never changing, Jessica stifled, like her mother in that mil-

lion-dollar Palm Springs home, the ornamental wife of John Mulligan, a man who

counted. And it suddenly frightened her.

A sword fight broke out just then, between two men who might have been Robin

Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham. One wore a leather jerkin and green hose, the other

a padded doublet and fancy velvet hat, and they dueled expertly, calling each other

“knave” and “villain.” The crowd formed a circle around them and goaded them on.

Jessica and Bonnie came to stand next to their husbands, who, instantly taking sides,

cheered for their chosen champions, exchanging friendly insults as they did at football

games.

Jessica watched the fight and felt herself become excited. The duelists were both young

and handsome. Their tights covered well-muscled legs and firm, round buttocks. And

they played their parts well. No doubt, she thought, they were drama majors in college,

and thrilled over this opportunity to display their skills.

When the fight was ended and the two went their separate ways, the crowd cheered

and headed for the food stalls, the clash of blades having suddenly made them ravenous.

As the four resumed their walk toward the Gulch of Seers Bonnie said, “This is great! I’m

so glad you asked us to join you. I had no idea what the Renaissance Fair was like.” She

turned to Jessica. “Wouldn’t you like to have two men fight over you like that?”

Yes. Yes, I would.

“You realize, of course,” John said as they rounded the corner and headed down the

sloping path toward the wooded gulley, “what was wrong with that duel?”

“What?”

“The one in black, his costume was from the wrong era. Men didn’t wear tall hats like

that in the Renaissance. And his jacket was seventeenth-century.”

“I thought someone made sure everything was authentic here,” said Ray.

“The people who work here undergo a training course before the fair opens,” John

explained, leading his three companions over a small footbridge. “And their costumes are

inspected. That one got in through the back door, I’ll bet.”

“Well, actually, John,” Jessica said. “I don’t think that’s right. His costume was right in

keeping with the Renaissance.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong, honey. He was a hundred years out of date.”

But I know I’m right.

“All right, everybody,” John said expansively, looking up and down the gulley lined

with tents and booths. “What’ll it be? Cards? Tea leaves? Cranial bumps?”

“John,” Jessica said quietly, “that man wore a costume very similar to what Sir Walter

Raleigh wore. And he lived in the Renaissance.”

“Honey, face it, you’re mistaken. You’re not an expert on history, you know. Now then,

it looks like we have about fifty fortune-tellers to choose from—”

“I do know something about history, John. After all, at UCSB I had a history minor.”

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He patted her arm and smiled. “Yes, very minor.” He turned to Bonnie and Ray.

“Okay, which fortune-teller shall we go to?”

“I want an optimistic one,” Ray said. “One who’s going to tell me there’s a

Lamborghini in my future!”

When the others started off in the direction of the fortune-tellers, Jessica stayed where

she was and said, “John, I don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

He turned and looked at her. “Like what? What’s the matter, Jess?”

“You treat me like an idiot. As if everything I say is silly and not worth listening to.”

He sighed and came up to her. “Jessica, what are you making a big deal out of this for?

Who cares if that guy was in the right costume or not?”

“It has nothing to do with the costume, John,” she said quietly. Her heart started to

race. “I don’t like the way you put me down.”

“Put you down!” He laughed. “Honey, you were wrong, plain and simple. What am I

supposed to do, go along with you when you are clearly mistaken?”

“It’s the way you do it, John.”

He gave Ray and Bonnie a look, then said to Jessica, “Look, I don’t know what I did

wrong, but if it’ll make you feel better—okay, the guy was in the proper costume.

Satisfied?”

As he turned once again to walk away, Jessica stood her ground. “No, I’m not satisfied.”

Now he stopped and gave her an annoyed look. “Listen, Jessica. I don’t know what put

you in this mood, but I’d like you to snap out of it. I’ve already conceded the argument to

you. What more do you want?”

Her heart pounded. “I want an apology.”

“You want a
what?”

“I want you to apologize for the way you spoke to me.”

“Jessica, listen. I don’t know what got into you today—”

“John, I just want to be treated with some respect. You insulted me in front of our

friends. I don’t think that’s fair.”

John stared at her as Bonnie and Ray pretended to be interested in something else, and

people had to walk around them at the end of the little bridge. Finally John said, quietly,

in a tone she knew too well, “All right, Jess. That’s enough. Whatever is bugging you, get

rid of it right now. You can be as miserable as you want, but you’re not going to ruin the

day for the rest of us.”

“You’re the one who’s ruining it, John,” she said evenly, surprised at how controlled

she was. “I’ve tolerated your put-downs and patronizing attitude for eight years. I’m tired

of it.”

His eyes widened. Then he threw up his hands and marched away. Jessica didn’t follow

him; she stayed where she was while Bonnie and Ray exchanged an uncertain look. When

John had gone several yards, Jessica called after him, “Turning your back on me won’t

work this time.”

He spun around. “Jessica, get over here right now.”

“Stop treating me like a child.”

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He glanced at the people walking by; then he came back to Jessica and said in a low

voice, “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

“I don’t care.”

“No, I know you don’t. That’s why you defend clowns in a public courtroom.”

“Don’t change the subject, John. I want to have this out right here and now.”

“I will not get into an argument with you in front of strangers, Jessica.”

“You won’t talk to me in private when I try to bring it up. So why not in front of the

whole world?”

“I give up,” he said, turning away again. “I can’t talk to you when you’re hysterical.”

She watched him march away, the way she had seen him walk away from her so many

times before, when she wanted to talk and he wanted the subject dropped. At home, she

would have been punished with his silence and then he would have made love to her as if

nothing had happened. This time she watched him go, and then she turned around and

headed off in the opposite direction.

It was some minutes before John realized what had happened, and he caught up with

her. Grabbing her arm, he said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going home.” She pulled her arm free and continued down the lane.

He ran after her and took her arm again, painfully this time. “Don’t you dare walk

away from me!”

“Why not? You do it to me all the time. I think it’s my turn, don’t you?”

He frowned at her. “Jess, what’s this all about? Are you having your period?”

She freed her arm again and walked quickly away.

Jessica got as far as the entrance, which was a considerable distance from the little foot-

bridge, when John caught up with her again. Just as she was about to go through the gate

he took her arm and spun her around. “Snap out of it right now, Jessica!”

“If you want to get back into the fair, John, you’d better have your hand stamped.”

She hurried through the gate and he stared after her. Then he pushed through and

stopped her on the other side. “I won’t stand for this, Jessica. Let’s go back inside right

now, and then
you
apologize to our friends.”

“They’re not
our
friends, John. I don’t even like Bonnie and Ray.”

“This is a great time to tell me!”

“I’ve told you before, you just haven’t listened. Let go of my arm. I’m going home.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You didn’t get your hand stamped, John. Now you’re going to have to pay to get in

again, just to retrieve your ugly goblets.”

“I bought them for you!”

“You did not buy them for me!”

The color rose in his face. His grip on her arm tightened. “I swear, Jessica, if you don’t

go back in there with me right now, you’ll be sorry.”

“I’ve been sorry for eight years, John. Right now is the first time I’m not.”

“What the hell is the matter with you!”

“I just reached the end of it, John. That’s all. I’m tired of your treating me like a

child, telling me what to do, what to wear, what to eat. You humiliate me every day in

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a hundred little ways. I can never have an opinion unless it matches yours. You put me

down in front of other people. You make fun of my career—”

“So you’re just going to drive off, is that it? Leaving me here?”

“Bonnie and Ray can give you a ride. Unless, of course, you want to come with me

and talk this out.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, damn it! You’re going to stop acting like a spoiled

brat and grow up.”

“I find that an ironic twist.” She pulled free of his hold and started to walk away again,

quickly this time, nearly running.

He ran after her and blocked her way. “I will not let you do this.”

“I don’t need your permission to go. I’m quite capable of driving myself home. I’m

quite capable of doing a lot of things that would surprise you, John.”

“You don’t surprise anyone, Jess. You are the most unimaginitive, predictable woman I

have ever met! Christ, but you’re boring!”

She gazed at him, finding herself suddenly close to tears. They had had arguments

before, but she had never seen such contempt in his eyes, had never heard him speak such

words.

“I think you’ve made me a boring woman, John,” she said quietly. She heard a tremor

in her voice and hoped she wouldn’t start to cry. “You haven’t allowed me to grow.”

“Grow!” He spun away, thrusting his hands in his pockets. “You dumb bitch! Where

would you be if I hadn’t married you? What would you do without me telling you every

single day what to wear, what to order in a restaurant, for God’s sake? You don’t have a

mind of your own, Jess.”

“That’s because you never let me have one!” she cried.

People walking by, heading from the parked cars toward the entrance gate, cast sur-

reptitious looks at the couple. John, for once, didn’t seem to care. “Okay,” he said, his face

flushed with anger. “You want to go home? All right, we’ll go home.” He seized her arm