Crazy People: The Crazy for You Stories (7 page)

And then I started to think, you probably figure you’re moving up, Barbara wearing suits and all since she’s a teller with her own window. And that makes me a little mad, Ronnie, because I’d like to remind you that she’s got nothing but high school, while I am a licensed cosmetologist by the state of Ohio and a D-cup, a little lower than it used to be but still a D-cup, and that’s a combination that’s hard to find. And it certainly beats somebody with no higher education stuck behind Plexiglas sporting an A-cup, if you can call that a cup. I don’t know where your mind was when you went with her, I truly don’t.

I really worry about you with Barbara, Ronnie. She’s got that skinny pinched look that says she doesn’t know much about making a man happy. Like if you asked her to tie you to the headboard the way we used to do way back in the beginning, she’d probably use clothesline instead of that cotton piping cord for seventy-nine cents a yard at JoAnn Fabrics that doesn’t bind or cut off the circulation. And she’d probably tie that clothesline too tight, and all the blood would leave your hands, and they’d turn white and blue and black and fall right off at the wrists, and she wouldn’t even notice when they plopped down there on the percale because she’d have her eyes shut tight since she probably doesn’t like to look at naked men like I do. That would be a terrible thing to have happen to you, Ronnie. It pains me to think about it. And I really can’t leave you to suffer like that with Barbara, even if, as Darla says, you are a son of a bitch to have moved in with her in the first place. You’re my husband, after all.

So I’ve been sitting here, thinking about how you need rescued, and I picked up my Victoria’s Secret sale catalog, and right now I am looking at the Lara demi-bra in black scalloped lace on page thirty-two, along with the matching black lace bikini and the black lace garter belt and the black spandex stockings, seeing as how I can get them all for only $39.45 plus shipping and handling. And I think Mama’s wrong about those hot lunches, but I think she might be right about you not getting what you need at home because I haven’t been getting it, either. So what I think I’m going to do is, I’m going to show up at the bowling alley at closing time a week from Monday when you’ve got back from Mackinac and you’re all alone doing the receipts in the office, and I’m going to be wearing that black lace and my Spiegel’s trench coat, and then I’m going to open my coat and show you my Lara demi-bra and garter belt. I know I’ve put on a few pounds over the years, but I still have one of the finest butts in Tibbett, Ohio, and I am a D-cup, as you well know. And I know what you’re going to do when you see that demi-bra with me in it, Ronnie, because I have known you for a long time, and I don’t care how old I am, I can still make you come crawling to me any time I want, don’t you think I can’t. And then later on, when we’re back together, and I know we will be, Ronnie Luterbein, I’m going to show you this letter just so you know I always had you the whole time no matter what you thought.

Still your wife,

Debbie Luterbein

PPS: I didn’t order that demi-bra, Ronnie.

I almost did, my hand was right there on the phone Wednesday night, getting ready to dial, but then I thought about you and that Barbara, and I started to cry again, and I couldn’t see to dial, so I got myself a couple of beers out of the fridge (and you know I don’t drink so you know how upset I was), and I took those beers into the bedroom, and I crawled into bed, and I decided I’d drink until I couldn’t see anything anymore.

But the thing is, Ronnie, after a couple of beers, instead of not seeing anything, I could see a lot of things. Yes, I could. I fell asleep seeing a whole lot of things, and I kept on drinking and thinking the rest of the week and the weekend, and now it’s Sunday night, and I’ve had a couple of beers for dinner, and I am seeing a whole hell of a lot more things, Ronnie.

For one thing, I do not deserve this. I am a good woman and a damn fine hairdresser, the only hairdresser in the tri-county area who can use a marcelle iron which is why Elizabeth Crider comes all the way in from Celina to have me do her hair once a week. That’s how good I am. And last week at the salon, seven different clients said, “Don’t you leave us and move away just because that rat skunk Ronnie ran out on you, Debbie.” They all said that because they need me to do their hair, and that’s important, don’t you think it isn’t, don’t you go making fun of me because I’m just a hairdresser because there’s no such thing as just a hairdresser, Ronnie. I listen to my clients, and I help them work out their problems, and I send them out of the shop looking real good, and there’s nothing better for a woman’s soul than looking real good. I do a hell of a lot more for people than any damn bank teller, I can tell you that.

And that’s not the only thing I can see now because now I can also see what a son of a bitch you are for leaving me. I’m middle-aged, too, damn it, and I’m not going around Lake Huron with bank tellers, am I? No, I am not. I am doing my job as your wife, which I have to tell you for the past couple of years has not been that much of a picnic, Ronnie, and if you had any kind of human being in you, you wouldn’t be doing that either. You think it’s tough being a middle-aged man? You try being a middle-aged woman who’s a D-cup. Gravity is a sin, Ronnie, it really is. I look in the mirror, and it’s like my whole body’s melting right off my bones. I can’t hardly believe it because I sure don’t feel old, but there it is in the mirror. And you’re no picture yourself, Ronnie, but all you do is slap your flab and say, “Just that much more of me to love, Debbie, honey,” and I swear, sometimes I just want to say, “I don’t need any more of you to love, Ronnie. I’ve got more of you to love than I want right now.”

But I never say that, Ronnie, because you’re my goddamned husband, and it’s till death do us part even if it means I probably never will find out about some of that stuff Darrin was talking about, and even if I have been sort of enjoying myself since you left. I got up about three one night when I couldn’t sleep and turned on the TV and watched Harrison Ford blow something up, and it was really nice, not having to listen to you explain things. And I had Cheetos and Diet Coke for dinner two nights ago, which is not something I want to do a lot, but it was pretty good just the same. And I’m liking not listening to you snort all night and not having to hear about how the Bengals are a great team every blessed minute. In fact, if it wasn’t for Barbara, I’d be glad you were in Lake Huron. But I don’t want to talk about that now because mostly I want to talk about what a son of a bitch you are. Which reminds me, I want you to stop calling me a dumb bitch. I know you think it’s cute or something, slapping me on the butt and telling me I’m a dumb bitch when I make a mistake, and I used to think it was cute, too, but I don’t anymore, and to tell you the truth, Ronnie, I don’t know why I ever did. So don’t do that anymore, goddammit. I am not a dumb bitch.

That’s what I told Darla this morning after church when she stopped by to see if I was all right and I showed her this letter. And she said, “Damn right,” even though she was a little upset that I’m drinking so much and writing you at all. But she said if I have to write you like this to put in that she called Lorena Bobbitt and sent her plane fare to Mackinac so you better brace yourself. She also says to tell you that she sent Lorena a magnifying glass to help her work once she finds you, but that’s just Darla for you. She also says that I should write “Ronnie Luterbein, I hope the world screws you good because I sure as hell never will again,” but I don’t know about that. She also said some other stuff, but then Darrin Mueller came over to mow the grass before football practice even though you just mowed it last week before you left, but I said, “That’s sweet, Darrin,” because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. And he said, “Glad to do it for you, Debbie,” and Darla sort of snorted but he didn’t hear.

And then Darrin went out to get the mower, and Darla said, “That man is after your butt, which normally I would be against but considering the sorry mess your life is in, I might be for it after all.” And I said, “Don’t be ridiculous, Darla, he’s just being nice,” but then Darrin came out with the mower, and he took his Tibbett High School Football Coach shirt off, and Darla said, “Well, he is something to look at, isn’t he?” And then Darrin sort of flexed his muscles pulling on the mower cord, and Darla said, “Merciful heavens, Debbie, this is all for you, although why he doesn’t just take it out and wave it around is beyond me. It’d be a lot quicker.”

Then Mama drove up with a tuna surprise casserole, the kind she keeps telling me that if I’d been making them for you regular would have kept you home where you belonged, and she said, “Deborah Jo, what is that naked man doing in your front yard?” And Darla said, “Warming up, Mama, warming up.” Then she told Mama that potato chips on a casserole were unhealthy because of the high fat content, and Mama said without the potato chips there wouldn’t be any surprise, and Darla said potato chips on a casserole hadn’t been a surprise since 1952, and Mama got so het up, she left. I do love Darla. And then we both got beers and stood at the window and watched Darrin mow the grass. There’s something very attractive about a man mowing grass, Ronnie. I must say that. And Darla said, “Debbie Jo, it’s time to forget that worthless skunk you married and move on,” and I said, “Darla Jean, I am thinking about it.” But I really wasn’t because I am married to you, Ronnie. Even if you are on vacation with a flat-chested bank teller, I am still married to you. But I did feed Darrin that casserole later, and he did remark on the potato chip topping so I guess Mama was right again. She does have a way of being right, damn it all anyway.

And then Darrin left, and about an hour ago Max called and said, “Debbie, Darla told me Darrin Mueller was over there trying to mow more than your grass, and I want you to know that you’ve got a brother over here so you don’t need that unless you want it. You need help, you call me.” And I said thank you and hung up and sat down and started to think. You know, Mama always liked you better than Max, but now here we are and look at us. Darla never had to get married, and Darla sure as hell isn’t sitting home right now with a beer in her hand wondering what Max is doing in another state, and you sure as hell would never have called her and told her you’d take care of her if she was. And I thought about their marriage, like how when Max gets out of hand, Darla tells him that if he doesn’t shape up, Mama will find out and they’ll never inherit her Hummels, and then Max tells her something awful he’s going to have to do to Mama because he hates those Hummels, and then they laugh. And I thought about how long it had been since we laughed like that, and I truly did wonder how they managed it, to still be laughing about those Hummels after twenty-eight years because to tell you the truth, that whole dumb Hummel joke stopped being funny to me a long time ago, but they still think it’s a stitch. And I’m thinking that maybe it’s not the joke, that maybe they just like making it together, and you know, we haven’t been making anything together, Ronnie, not for the longest time, and I think that’s sad when I’m not thinking about what a rat bastard you are. I mean, I’m really happy for Darla, but I’m really jealous, too. So I called Darla and told her that, and she said, “Hell, Debbie, Max isn’t perfect, the other day he brought home a damn
motorcycle
, can you believe it?” and I said, “Well, it could have been a lot worse, he could have brought home a damn
bank teller
,” and she said, “I hope Ronnie dies,” and I hung up and had another beer.

So now I am going to have one more beer and then go to bed because I have a full day tomorrow making the women of Tibbet feel good about themselves, and then I have to fix Darrin dinner because he’s going to take care of that leaky faucet in the downstairs bathroom after practice. I’m making green beans with mushroom soup and stuffed pork chops, which I suppose is the least I can do for him since he says he loves home cooking and he isn’t getting any. So I’m giving him home cooking, but he isn’t getting anything else because I am still your wife, even if you don’t deserve somebody as good as me.

Your wife who you don’t deserve,

Debbie Luterbein

PPPS. I got your letter yesterday, Ronnie. It was thoughtful of you to say you hoped I was doing fine, and that you hoped I’d understand that you just couldn’t face all the hoo-rah when everybody found out, especially Mama and Darla. I have to admit, I did get a little put out because I am the one stuck dealing with the hoo-rah, and I really did not need to know that you loved Barbara so much you just couldn’t help yourself, and I also could have done without the “PS” from Barbara saying she hoped we could still be friends. That woman must be dumb as a box of rocks if she thinks we can be friends, and where she got the “still” part I will never know because I have never been friends with anyone who wears that color of eye shadow that Darla has taken to calling “Bank Slut Blue” because a woman who’ll wear a color like that has no taste at all. Women who wear eye shadow like that look like they do it for nickels, that’s all there is to it.

Since you asked, Ronnie Jr. is doing fine at the alley, and Becky seems to be doing pretty good, too. She sent me some books yesterday,
How To Love a Difficult Man, The Angry Marriage: Overcoming the Rage and Reclaiming the Love, Ten Stupid Things Women Do To Mess Up Their Lives, and Sex for One
. I’m sure she meant well. I am also doing pretty good, although I would be a lot better if Mama would get off my case. She called yesterday and said she just wanted to remind me about how a woman needed to be married to be secure, and that you were a good provider and the father of my children, and that you and I had been together for twenty-six years, and we’d be together another twenty-six if I played my cards right. She also said I should remember that I was still married no matter if Darrin Mueller was hoping otherwise. I told that to Darla, and she said, “You should have told her that at least Ronnie stuck it out for twenty-six years; Daddy left her after only nineteen, hot dinners and all,” and I said, “Darla, what are you talking about? Daddy didn’t leave Mama, he died,” and she said, “Debbie, death is the only way any of us are ever going to get away from Mama.” And I said, “Well, maybe now that I’ve gone and lost my husband, Mama will stop speaking to me from the shame.” And Darla said, “If that happens, you let me know, because Max will be history.” And I laughed. First time I’d really laughed in ten days, but I laughed at that. And then she said, “You make sure that Ronnie gets custody of Mama in the divorce settlement, and he can have the Hummels, too,” and I laughed again.