Wasted Beauty (25 page)

THINGS ARE NEVER GOING TO RETURN TO NORMAL.
That’s just the way it is. What doesn’t kill you doesn’t make you stronger, it makes you weaker. Chop a tree down, split the wood, toss it in a fireplace, that’s it, it’s ashes. No way those ashes are ever gonna be wood again. Never going to get “better” because you have to be good to begin with and there never was a good. Never was a good. If you got nothing to grab hold of, well then, you fall, that’s all, you just fall. It’s just a question of how hard you want to hit the ground.

She’s talking with that Jew doctor. Figures. Think they’ll get me out and then who knows what trouble is up their sleeve? I should never have brought her to the city. That was my first mistake. Well, it’s too late to save her, but I can save myself.

Billy charted his course and executed it. First of all, he got the staff to like him. After upgrading his status through persistent good behavior, he began to participate in group activities and share in the group therapy and show real improvement. As the paperwork that Rick and Rena had initiated slowly percolated through the system, a kind of stalking horse, Billy methodically effected his plan. Because he had made headway, he was given more and more opportunities to show progress. The staff was pleased and proud that their work had paid off. Billy had been a hard nut to crack, his improvement reflected well on all of them. So he was invited to join a group on a day-trip. And while the meds-saturated gaggle of loonies wandered over smooth lawns, Billy walked away.

He has money in his pocket. Fifty-three dollars in coins and bills accumulated through minor pilfering and petty loans. With the money he takes a cab into the city. At Port Authority he grabs the bus at gate 303 and rides it back upstate. When he arrives in town, no one recognizes him. He shuffles along the two-lane to the farmhouse and arrives with the long shadow of early evening.

A water-stained notice of repossession greets him at the kitchen door. Billy balls and tosses it into the profusion of honeysuckle and bee balm that has flourished by the foundation since his departure. A galvanized hasp and a sheathed padlock bar the door. Peering through the glass Billy sees that someone has swept the kitchen. With the weather so warm, even if the heat is out, the pipes aren’t gonna burst for another six months. The place has been stabilized, dropped into suspended animation. Billy fondles the padlock. Stainless steel. Assholes. The world is populated by assholes.

Billy trudges down the back steps and finds the bulkhead around back. The hatch lifts with a squeal. A garter snake slithers into a crevice as Billy descends into the clotted spiderwebs. A stack of moldy wood lies where he left it two winters ago. In that stack, bigger snakes maybe, careful. Billy twists the overhead bulb, but the juice is out. Figures. At the bottom of the steps he finds the cellar door firmly shut, puts a shoulder to it and with a thump rips the hinges off the frame. Strength isn’t what it was, but I can still kick a door down. Stupid fuckers. Any kid could get into this place.

Billy pats his way through the dusty murk, pills rattling in his pants pocket as he climbs the basement steps. More pills, different pills. Pink, blue, white. Official pills. Pills to fix me. To make me feel like a moron. Life is stupid enough, why do I have to take pills to make it any dumber? Can’t throw them away. As shitty as they make me feel, what’s the choice? Unlimited mind-speed, overheated engine block, rods shooting through the hood, cams burning, no detour around the spiny chasm of pure fear. Can’t do it anymore. Too tired.

When Billy makes it up to the first floor he finds the kitchen dry and spotless. No mouse droppings. No bottles. Nothing. Like a room you see when you visit those historic buildings. Swept and still. A fork lies on the counter. Ate meals with that fork. So did Mom and Dad and Reba. It’s something we knew. But we don’t know it anymore and it doesn’t know us.

Upstairs, things are different. Someone has baited the house with warfarin and the musky scent of decaying mouse flesh hangs in the corners of the empty rooms. A squirrel has found a way in and didn’t find a way out. The mullions on every window have been gnawed flush to the panes and the dessicated body of the rodent lies flopped over Mom’s favorite armchair. Its flat dead eye is black and accusative. Yeah? Well, it’s your own fault. Fuck you, too.

In Billy’s old room, things have been neatened up by someone, but it’s all pretty much as he had left it. Good. On the floor of his closet, wrapped in a faded beach towel, Billy finds the Ruger 10/22. In the back of the shelf, a box of long-rifle shells. There aren’t many things you can count on. A firearm is one.

Since leaving the hospital this morning, since escaping the day-trip, Billy has been carrying a small knapsack. In it are two bologna sandwiches, an apple, and a small carton of Hi-C with a sipping straw. Back downstairs, he places all these items carefully on the kitchen table. He eats half a sandwich while keeping an eye on the rifle.

He also has his newly created archive. The orderlies took the old one. Probably burned it along with his clothes. Billy has patiently assembled a new one. Sorting and examining the torn bits of magazine every single day while he had been in the ward. Stupefied with medication, that was all he was up for. The scent of moldy magazine pages rises up from the scraps and in sympathy Billy flows up out of himself, unmedicated, uncorrupted, a phoenix rising up and out of the ashes. It is a bristling weird feeling, probably what the butterfly feels when it’s breaking out of its cocoon, but Billy wants it to happen. It’s time.

His tired eyes absorb her image in all its convolutions. Here’s Reba sitting by some large rocks on a beach. Here’s Reba walking a runway under a tent in Bryant Park. Here’s Reba applying face cream. Here’s Reba in jeans. In a vast parka, in an absurd boa, in an evening gown, in strips of colored tinfoil, covered in jewels.

Billy returns to the beach photo. In it Rena is wearing a homely bikini, gazing straight into the camera. Her legs are tucked under her, resting on the sand. Her manicured right hand rests lightly on her right thigh. The left is invisible, off the edge of the page, and her body is bowed just enough to form a small crease six inches to the left of her navel. Very little material covers her crotch, her smallish breasts. Her lips part slightly, only the tips of her teeth show. A breeze has caught her hair, which looks like it’s been washed in saltwater and left to dry. The sun rises behind her and lemony light caresses her shoulder and upper arm, illuminating the sweet fuzz there. Her eyes pour into Billy, fixed, eternal. They tell him how much she loves him and wants his forgiveness.

And now she adjusts herself, reaching behind her back, undoing the strings of her top. It falls forward and Billy thinks, I can see your breasts, Reba. I’m looking at you, Reba. I’m looking at all of you, Reba. And you want me too, don’t you? You do, I know you do. Show me.

She undoes a tie at her hip. The bottom falls away. She kicks it off. Now she’s completely bare-assed, in the sand. The grit is wet and cool under her bum. Her eyes limpid as she lies back, legs splayed gently. Billy brings his arms around her waist, feels his erection dip into her heat. She never breaks her gaze, beaming into him. He says, “I love you, Reba.” And she says, “I know, Billy. Shhhh. It’s OK.” And then he realizes, that this isn’t about him forgiving her, it’s about her forgiving him. And she does.

When he comes to, he wipes his hand on his shirt. Outside the sun is setting again. Can’t stop it. The apples are out there. Could check on the apples. No. No more apples.

Billy pops the magazine, presses three bullets into the clip and snaps it back into the stock. He thumbs the bolt, setting the shell into the breech. He flips the safety. Frozen in time, Felix the Cat says clearly, “Better hurry up.”

Reba beams at him from the beach as Billy clamps the barrel under his jaw, just above his Adam’s apple. Precision is important. His last thought is, I love you, Reba.

RICK FINDS A PAY PHONE OUTSIDE THE SUPERMARKET.
A kid who could be Eminem’s twin brother is smashing shopping carts into the queue beside a man-high pile of watermelons. Every time the kid passes the electric-eye door, it swings open. Rick figures he’s doing it on purpose. The phone rings on the other end. Rick prays for a live voice.

“Hi?”

“It’s me.” Rick always begins with as few words as possible. Ready to cut and run.

“Hey.”

“Can you talk?”

“Rick, I can always talk. You’re the one who can’t talk.”

“What are you doing?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.” Eminem passes Rick and spits.

“I’m in Calypso. I’m buying a pullover. Wait. Yes, these two, not that one. OK, I’m back. Hi.”

“Maybe you should finish what you’re doing and call me.”

“Where are you?”

“Pay phone in front of a supermarket. I don’t have my cell phone, I…whatever.” He gives her the number. “I’ll wait.”

An old couple, clutching each other, almost staggering, enter the supermarket. Eminem collects the carts. The sun bakes the parked SUVs. Rick thinks, what if this is the love of my life and I can’t see it? The love I’ve been waiting for forever? Edith said, “Maybe you’re afraid to take what you want?” The phone rings.

“Hello?”

“You sound tense. Are you angry about something?”

“No. I’m in a good mood, I think. I wanted to hear your voice.”

Rena says, “Yeah. I’m glad you called.”

“I feel a little nuts when I’m not talking to you. Though to be honest, I feel nuts when I’m talking to you, too.”

Rena says, “I was thinking about you last night. Thinking about being with you. Thinking about how you feel inside me.”

“Well, that’s nice. I think about you almost every second of the day. Even when I floss my teeth I’m thinking of you.”

“That’s gross.”

(silence)

“Sorry. Let’s start over: Hi.”

“Don’t apologize, there’s nothing to apologize about, Rick. Can I say something? I love you.”

“Rena?” If we ran far enough away, I could love her forever. It happens. Things like that happen all the time. The kids could handle it, right?

“Yeah?”

“I…” I don’t trust her. That’s the snag. I don’t trust her to stay. If you’re going to burn your whole life down, she’s gotta stick. It’s a gamble. Balls. It’s all about balls. Do I have the balls to take the gamble?

“Yeah?”

“Nothing.”

“Just say what you were going to say. Why do you stop yourself like that? What were you going to say?”

“I want to say, ‘I love you, too’ but I feel crazy when I say that kind of thing.”

“It’s not a ‘kind of thing.’ It’s a statement. It’s either true or it isn’t. And only you know, Rick.”

“You don’t have kids.”

“You’re avoiding the issue. You can love me and love your kids at the same time.”

“It has something to do with guilt.”

“I’m not inhuman. I know. The question is, do you love Laura? Really love her, with all of your heart?”

“Of course I love her. I can’t say I don’t love her. It’s just different with you and me.”

“Better?”

“I’ve never felt like this in my life. I feel like I’m drunk all the time. Like I’m losing my mind.”

“And what about me, Rick? If you love me, don’t you care about the pain I’m in?”

“Rena, you’re twenty years younger than me. More than twenty years younger.”

“I love you. It has nothing to do with age or anything like that. You. I love you. You. You. You. And that love is everything to me. I’m not going to treat it like some bullshit thing I can just ignore or walk away from. And being guilty about something as pure as love, what is that, Rick? That’s being guilty for being yourself. Not saying what you want, what is that, Rick? You have one life, here it is, happening right now. How can you deny the love in your life?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Don’t you know? Don’t you know how you feel? I know how I feel.”

“I just love hearing your voice. I love being with you. I want to touch you. I want to hold your hand. But there’s always all this other stuff going on. My life.” Eminem rolls by.

“I can come by the clinic.”

“No. Don’t do that.”

“I can make an appointment. You can examine me.”

The electric-eye door opens and Laura emerges maneuvering a laden cart. She blinks into the sunshine, searching the lot for Rick. She doesn’t see him standing at the phone. Because he sees her and she doesn’t see him, he feels a surge of pity. What am I doing to her. I am a monster. “I gotta go.”

“Don’t go. I want to tell you something.”

“I want to tell you something, too. I’ll call you in one hour. Can I call you in one hour?”

“One hour.” Rena’s gone.

Laura rolls the cart past Rick as he hangs up the phone. “Any emergencies at the clinic?”

“Uh, no. No, everything’s fine. I should check back in though, go over the schedule for next week.”

“I bought swordfish.”

“Great.”

“There’s still some corn on the cob. It looks pretty good.”

“Cool.”

“Did you get the wine?”

“No. Shit. I’ll get it.”

“That’s OK. I think we still have half a bottle of that Australian white from last night. No biggie. Come on, help me with this.” They sling the shopping bags into the back of the SUV. Laura lets her body touch Rick’s. “Hey there, big guy.”

“Hey there.”

“It’s pretty great about the play date. I didn’t think we’d have five minutes alone this weekend.”

“No, yeah. It’s nice. It’s weird but it’s nice.”

“Why’s it weird?”

“Because it feels funny to have the kids off somewhere. Doing something, but I don’t know what. Out of sight. It’s strange.”

“I’ve been with them all summer, Rick. Nothing wrong with them being out of sight. I need some serious non-kid time. Besides, you didn’t mind them not being around when you were here alone.”

“That’s different. You were with them.”

“Oh, I get it, me and the kids are a package, is that it?”

“No.”

“I hope not.”

“Hey. I just miss all of you, is all.”

“Let’s get home before the ice cream melts. Then we can fuck before the kids become visible again. Followed by a nice grilled swordfish, a glass of wine, some mindless cable. I have a serious cable jones. The TV at the Cape sucked.”

“It all sounds good. Very good.”

“The fish or me?”

“Shuttup.” She wouldn’t be joking with me if she knew. If she knew, she would never speak to me again, except through an attorney.

Rick and Laura stow the groceries. Rick wanders off and dials his cell phone. Rena picks up after one ring. “What do you want to tell me?”

“Actually this turns out not to be the best time. I’m…”

“What? Rick, don’t say you’re going to tell me something and then don’t tell me.”

“I’ll tell you when I see you in the city.” Why did I call her?

“Tell me now!”

“It would be better—”

“Rick, tell me. What?”

“It’s just that I’ve been thinking…” Say it.

“Did you start thinking again? That’s not good.”

“No. It is good. It’s important. It’s…Rena, look, I’m married.”

“That’s a stupid thing to say, Rick. Why are you saying that? You’re pissing me off.”

“I mean. I’m married. I have kids. I love my wife.”

“Jesus, Rick, what are you saying???”

“I think we should take a break. From each other.”

A beat. Then, “Oh. OK.”

“Rena?”

“No. That’s cool. I understand. You’re married. And you have kids.”

“No, you don’t understand. I don’t want to say this. I want to see you.”

“I understand.”

“You’re angry.”

“Angry? No. That’s not the word for how I feel. Sad. I feel very sad. But I understand. I gotta go.” A pause, no click.

“Rena? Are you there?” Rick can hear sounds. Sobs.

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

“Yeah. I know, baby.”

Laura calls down the stairs. “Rick, are you coming up or what? We have an hour at most.”

He calls out “OK!” No answer. “Rena, we’ll have to finish this conversation later. Hello?” Rick holds the dead phone in his hand. That’s it. Fallen away, like a stone down a well. Never. Never say never. But it is never, because that’s what women do. They go away.