Valley of Ashes (38 page)

It always
still
sucked, only now you looked like shit into the bargain.

“Look at me,” Dean said.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because my eyes are all swollen and I probably have mascara down to my fucking chin.”

“I’ll lick it off.”

“Like hell you will.”

He cupped his hand around my far shoulder, trying to make me turn over.

“Stop,” I said.

“No.”

I felt him sit up, reach across me with both hands. I tensed up but he flipped me anyway.

“Please,” I said.

He took a corner of the duvet and licked it, then started cleaning my face with the little nub of fabric, gently as a cat.

“This is silly,” I said.

“No, it’s not.”

He rubbed a little harder at one spot on my cheek. “There. All finished. Now you’re perfect.”

The duvet corner was streaked with black.

“I brought that little plate of food up,” he said. “You should eat something. It looks delicious.”

“Not hungry.”

“I’ll feed you,” he said.

N
o more,” I said. “Please. I’m really not hungry.”

He popped a raspberry into my mouth, then ran his thumb against the corner of my lips.

“Cheese,” he said, licking it off.

“Don’t you have to go back to work?”

“Probably. Eventually.”

“We could use the paycheck, you know. I’m not making any money with this writing shit.”

“I have another job already, remember?”

“Oh,” I said. “Right.”

“By the way, what happened to our children?”

“Sold them to a passing circus. I’m sure they’ll be much happier. All that fresh air. Elephants. Ferris wheels.”

“Really, Bunny. Where are they?”

“At the child care center, up Mapleton.”

“Why don’t I go pick them up? I brought the car home.”

“Can you throw the wagon in the back? I left it up there.”

“Absolutely. Why don’t you sleep a little, until I get back.”

“That sounds like a really,
really
good plan.”

He got up from the bed, put his shoes back on.

“Oh,” he said. “I brought you home a present.”

“What?”

He leaned down to kiss me again. On the mouth this time. “It’s a surprise. I’ll show you when I get back.”

“It’s at least another month until Mother’s Day.”

“I know,” he said. “But what have I done for you lately?”

“Excellent point. Hurry back.”

I punched the pillows up into a downy cloud and laid my head down, closing my eyes.

Gum-cracking hairstylist… Fluffy. Insipid.

I was out like a light, but with a trace of a smile.

I could feel the happy, even in my sleep.

Dean woke me up a couple of hours later by climbing onto the bed with the girls. Giggling and cooing—all three of them.

“Ready for your present?” he asked.

“That’s a rhetorical question, right?”

“I’ll be right back.”

I sat up against the window, that trace of smile still on my face. Bigger, now.

I heard him jog down the stairs, then back up.

“Close your eyes, Bunny,” he said, before he came back into the bedroom.

“Okay.”

I could feel a gentle shift of weight as he put something on top of the duvet, right at the center of my lap.

“You can open them now,” he said, very, very pleased with himself.

So I did, expecting to look down and see a little velvet jewelry box. Black, probably.

That wasn’t it. Not at all.

There was just a pile of papers. Xeroxes, with streaky toner.

“Um, what is this?” I asked, trying not to sound disappointed.

“Cary’s paperwork. You told me to make you copies of everything this morning, remember?”

“You’re such a romantic,” I said. “Thank you.”

Three dozen roses already today. Lighten up, Madeline.

“Go back to work, Intrepid Spouse,” I said. “I can take it from here.”

He leaned down to kiss me, whispering, “Why don’t you take off your stockings and that little skirt, leave them folded up right here under the pillows? I’m thinking they deserve an encore later.”

“I’ve always heard the secret to a kick-ass opening night is a deeply crappy dress rehearsal. Wonder if there’s any truth to that?”

“Bet we can have a pretty damn good time finding out,” he said, insinuating his fingers slyly between my stocking-sheathed knees. “I can think of
several
things I’d like to open, starting right about here.”

“Mmmmm,” I said.

He pulled his hand out, then tapped my knee. “Break a leg.”

I called Mimi, back in my jeans again.

When she picked up, I said, “I have zee papers, old maaaan.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Madeline?”

“Cheech and Chong routine. Totally classic.”

“Cheech and
who
?”

“I’ll buy you the tape,” I said.

“You mentioned something about papers?”

“Thirty-two pages of hot piping fresh Xerox with your name on them. So to speak.”

“How should we arrange a transfer?”

“For chrissake, why don’t you just park in the alley behind our backyard? Come into the kitchen through the back door.”

She sighed, not happy with the idea.

“After dark,” she said. “Sun sets tonight around six thirty. Let’s say seven.”

D
ean came home so close to five I wondered if he’d commuted in a time machine with Sherman and Mr. Peabody.

“I haven’t seen you home this early since you were unemployed, in Pittsfield.”

“Seemed like a good day for it. Wouldn’t want you to think I’m, ah,
malingering
or anything otherwise untoward.”

“Thank you,” I said, reaching up to kiss him.

I poured him a glass of wine and started puttering around with dinner for Parrish and India. “Mimi’s supposed to drop by around seven.”

He pursed his lips. “Is that a good idea?”

“She’s going to park in the alley, come in the back door.”

“I don’t know—”

“Drink your wine. I want to give her the Xeroxes.”

“Want some more pâté?”

“Not quite hungry yet, but thank you for offering.”

He was still looking down into his glass, swirling the wine around a little. Hadn’t tasted it yet.

“It’s that kind you like,” I said. “Vendange.”

Not a vintage to write home about or anything, but the bottles were big and we could afford them. Better than Hearty Burgundy, but what wasn’t, really?

I still preferred beer, though I was trying to become a wine person. Kind of.

Well, okay, it was a totally half-ass effort. The kind of thing I resolved to do on New Year’s Eve, then promptly blew off.

What can I say? I was abused with cheap Liebfraumilch as a child. Mom liked it, she said, because it tasted like lychee nuts.

Maybe I’d drink
only
wine for Lent this year. If I hadn’t missed it already. I tended to do that with Lent.

“Do you know when Easter is?” I asked Dean.

“April sixteenth, why?”

“I might try drinking wine instead of beer for Lent. Try being more of a grown-up.”

“It’s totally fine if you want to drink beer,” he said. “Grown-ups drink beer all the time.”

“Later, maybe. When Mimi comes by.”

“Should I give the girls a bath, a little Spa Dad?”

“
Before
they eat?”

He laughed. “Right. Might as well get the broccoli off, too.”

“Not to mention the melted cheese. Quesadillas tonight.”

“Think they’re hungry now?”

“Why don’t you go hang in the playpen with them. Run ’em around a little and build up their appetites.”

He kissed the top of my head again.

“Do you ever get bored of being so tall?” I asked.

“Never,” he said, grinning back at me as he skipped out into the dining room.

I lit a burner under the skillet and got some tortillas out of the icebox.

Dean was apparently playing “tickle monster.” I could already hear the girls shrieking with glee.

I sat cross-legged on top of the toilet, lid down, while Dean finished up with the girls in the tub.

“Time for a little conditioning treatment, my darlings,” he said, breaking out the Suave.

“I’m going to start calling you Serge,” I said. “You’re a little too good at this.”

“I can do you next, Bunny—”

“We shall see.”

“Petunia,” he said to Parrish, “here comes the fun part…”

He rubbed a big sploodge of conditioner into her scalp, then got out a wide-toothed comb and started working it gently through her tangled hair, from the ends up. He was so gentle she barely noticed she was getting knots combed out.

Then it was India’s turn. “Ready to go, Puppy? Tilt your head back a little.”

She stared up at him—beatific—eyes wide in utter adoration.

“You’re so pretty,” he said. “Look at your beautiful little face. You’re destined to break hearts, sweetness.”

That’s what it should be like for little girls. Just like that.

“Time to comb you out, and then we rinse,” he said.

He didn’t get a drop of water in their eyes.

“Time to get out, Thing One and Thing Two,” he said, shaking out a big bathsheet.

He lifted India onto it, wrapped her up snug as a bug. Then it was Parrish’s turn.

When they both looked like fat white caterpillars, or maybe Q-tips, the phone rang.

“Why don’t you get that,” I said. “I’ve got diapers and pajamas. I can finish up in here.”

“Thank you, Bunny,” he said, standing up and drying his hands.

He walked out through the dining room, into the office.

I got the girls into their diapers first. Then the pajamas.

I finished by ruffling their hair up with a towel, then kissing them both loudly on each cheek.

“There you go, now you’re
gorgeous
—the pair of you.”

I tickled India’s belly through the soft fleece of her footie pajamas. Pale blue, with cows and moons all over, then put her down into the playpen with her sister.

Parrish had her plastic truck upside down again, ignoring both of us. She was very intent on spinning one of the tires. I stood up and turned toward the office, where Dean was still on the phone.

I wanted him to come upstairs with me and help put the girls to bed, happy to wait until he was finished with this call.

Then he made a heart-wrenchingly terrible noise, and I rushed toward the office doors to see what was wrong.

He was crying, with his free hand over his eyes. “Don’t
say
that. Please.”

I watched him hunch forward over the desk.

What the hell?

“Dean?”

He didn’t hear me over the sound of his own ragged breathing.

“No,” he said.

Then “No,” again.

Then another “Please,” the word wrenched out of his throat like it had razor blades all over it.

“You have to
promise
me.”

I felt really, really cold, all of a sudden.

I was about to reach out to him, put my hands on his back.

“Setsuko,” he said, sobbing, “I can’t do that. You
know
I can’t. We’ve talked about this. You
know
why.”

I dropped my hands. Colder still.

“Just,
don’t
—”

He listened for a while, hand over his eyes again.

“All right,” he said finally. “All right. I’ll come over. Promise me you won’t do anything until I get there.”

He listened again. “
No
… promise me. Right now.”

I hugged my arms around my chest. Tight.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes… in twenty minutes. And you won’t do anything until I get there? I have your word? All right then.”

He put the phone down.

“No fucking
way
are you going over to that woman’s house, Dean.”

He turned around, eyes wide. Hadn’t realized I was standing behind him.

“Bunny,” he said.

“Bunny
nothing
. No fucking way.”

“She’s threatening to kill herself.”

Give me a goddamn break.

“Seppuku, I hope?”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“Dean, it’s the oldest trick in the book. Mistress Histrionics One Oh One. She’s full of shit.”