Marriage Made Me Do It Page 8

  Seems my drunken mind nailed Roxy’s New Rules Six and Seven! Check!

  I need to stop drinking because, apparently, too much booze turns me into a sadistic killer. Wait, give up my Moscato? What am I thinking? No way! Besides, I was sober when I whipped Carl’s ass. Alcohol had nothing to do with releasing my inner monster, so why punish myself by depriving my screwed-up brain of wine?

  I’d yet to tell Liz, even when she called the day after Carl’s punishment, expecting a load of details about the experiment in the bedroom. I sidestepped the conversation, telling her I had numerous things to accomplish, including taking over ownership of Mom’s house, sending out thank you cards to those who’d attended Rachel’s service, etc. Liz prodded, but backed off after I promised to spill the details over coffee a few hours before book club.

  The truth was I had been busy the previous week. I had spent one entire day going through all of Rachel’s belongings in her apartment which, thankfully, didn’t take too long. Rachel didn’t have much since she bounced from one job to the next. I packed up all her clothes and took them to Goodwill, called a donation company to come pick up the minimal furniture, and brought one box home full of memorabilia from our childhood, and a few pictures.

  God, that day sucked, and ended with too many bottles of wine.

  Plus, I changed cell providers for my phone and Carol’s; opened a new bank account in only my name; called all the utilities and removed Carl’s name. I stood by and watched a fat, crack-showing representative install new locks on the doors. My days were filled with lots of new tasks, and my frazzled mind soothed at night with copious amounts of wine. At the current pace I was drinking, I needed to go work at a liquor store just for the discount.

  Looking at my watch, I grimaced. Liz would knock on the door any second and I wasn’t sure I could pull off lying to her face and getting away with it. Liz knew all my facial expressions better than her own. She’d sniff out a fib in seconds.

  If she noticed anything amiss, I’d simply blame my sour demeanor on my visit with Mom. That part wasn’t a lie, for every time I went to see her, I’d mope around for at least twenty-four hours, heartbroken and reliving the days when Mom’s mind was still sharp.

  ***

  My thoughts wandered to the earlier visit with Mom. Inside her smelly room, my body crammed into an uncomfortable chair on the other side of the plastic table, I’d told my mother the news of my impending divorce. Of course, since she had no clue who the hell I was, the sordid tale didn’t faze her in the least. Since she wouldn’t remember the visit, or the words spoken for more than three minutes, I spilled my dark secrets and told her everything.

  Every. Single. Detail.

  Her response when I finished baring my soul? “That’s quite a story, ma’am. Sounds like the poor woman deserved every bit of her revenge. Hope she gets all she wants out of life now that the awful husband is out of the picture. You know, men are like that. They use us up, taking, until we’re unable to give another drop, and then toss us aside like a dirty towel. You should take my advice and do like I did: Never get married, uh, oh, I’m sorry. What was your name again, sweetie?”

  I’d choked back tears when she patted my hand, her eyes revealing not one hint of recognition of who I was, or the fact she’d been married to my amazing father. Knowing she’d dismissed me from her mind was one thing—knowing the memory of my beloved father had been completely wiped away from her mind made my chest heavy with sadness. I’d given her a fake name, one I can’t quite recall, hugged her neck and then fled the facility as though someone was chasing me with an ax.

  ***

  The doorbell rang and I jumped, spilling water all over my dress. Dandy. Oh well, at least the distraction kept me from thinking about Mom. Snatching up the journal, I headed to the kitchen to grab a dish towel and hide my murderous ramblings in the drawer. “Come on in, Liz. The door’s open.”

  Liz walked down the hallway and into the dining room while I wiped up the water. From the corner of my eye, I noticed she took in the visual of my messy house.

  Demerit!

  “Hey, sweetie. You should have told me you’ve been sick. I don’t mind helping out around here. Can’t count how many times you’ve done the same for me over the years. God knows we can’t rely on our husbands or children to lift a finger. Did you catch the flu or something?”

  Joining her at the table, I forced a smile. “Do I look that bad?”

  Studying every inch of my face, noting the disheveled hair and lack of makeup, Liz grimaced. “Don’t hate me for saying so, but yes. Have you been to the doctor?”

  “Yes. He gave me a clean bill of health. I’m not sick, just tired.” Again, another tidbit of truth, mixed with a lie. I did go to see Dr. Critchon, but only to have him draw blood and test me for every possible STD on the planet. I counted the negative results as a miracle, considering Carl’s fifteen years of sticking his dick into strange pussy.

  Bastard! I should have gone ahead and castrated him and kept the small piece of flesh as a trophy. It would have been fun to wear the shriveled piece of skin as a reminder of how I took care of business!

  “Of course you are, given the last few weeks. Sorry. It was rude of me to assume you’re sick, rather than in mourning. Did you go see Claire today, too? I know visiting with her knocks the wind out of you.”

  “Yes, and it certainly does. I really miss talking to her and knowing she’ll answer me back as my mom, not a stranger.”

  Liz didn’t respond, she simply stared at me with her huge brown eyes. Yes, she could read my emotions, and I had the same ability to recognize hers.

  She knew, and my best friend waited with the patience of a saint for me to come clean.

  Sighing, I stood and went to the liquor cabinet. After setting two glasses and a bottle of wine in between us, I whispered: “You know, don’t you?”

  A few tears glistened in Liz’s eyes as she nodded.

  Pouring us both a glass, I sat, unwilling to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, I just couldn’t. Needed to wrap my head around it first and help Carol deal with the news before telling others.”

  “Oh, honey! Please don’t apologize. God, I’m so sorry, and frankly, stunned. Out of all the couples I know, you two seemed so, I don’t know, made for each other?”

  “People grow apart. Hit enough speed bumps in life and eventually the car falls apart.”

  “Glad your sense of humor is still on target. Jesus, Roxy. What are you going to do? Is Carl trying to get the house? Weasel out of alimony?”

  “What I’m going to do is let him go. He wanted a new life, he can have it. In terms of our assets, Carl’s being quite liberal with things. Since it was his choice to leave, he decided to take what he could carry in his car and call things even.”

  Liz’s eyebrows popped up in shock. “Are you serious? What did you do? Drug him and make him sign something? I don’t recall you two having a prenup!”

  I almost told her the truth, eager to see the look of shock on her face, but I wasn’t ready to let others see the new, darker side. “No, nothing like that. He wants a clean slate to start a new life with, and to keep things amicable between us. You know, for Carol’s sake? Though sad, the process has been rather easy.”

  Thanks to a sharp knife, my stellar planning skills, and a riding crop. Whack! Whack! Whack!

  “How’s Carol taking the news?”

  “That girl is tougher than aged leather. She almost sounded, I don’t know, relieved? Mentioned she’d no longer be the weirdo with parents married to their original spouses. I found that rather sad. Suburbia is changing so fast.”

  “No doubt. Us old dinosaurs are a dying breed,” Liz sighed, taking a long drink of wine. “So, I assume the reasons you had me occupy Carol’s time last Friday were false?”

  Okay, pull off the lie, Roxy. Sell it like you sold fake orgasms for years. “No, I had every intention of doing what I told you over the phone. Something in the back of my mi
nd urged me to spice things up, sensing trouble brewing. Instead of an erotic, romance-filled evening like expected, our marriage broke in two.”

  “No wonder you didn’t want to talk about it and brushed me off! What an asshole! He dumps you the very next day after Rachel’s funeral? Argh! I could strangle him for being such an insensitive prick!”

  Join the club, sister. Join the club.

  The urge to tell Liz the truth was driving me crazy. I decided to throw her a bone, thereby releasing some of the pressure from my mind. “I did get a bit of payback.”

  A devious grin spread across Liz’s full lips. “Do tell! Hope you slapped the fire out of him. No, better yet! Kicked him in the crotch! Oh, who am I kidding? That’s not your personality at all. You talk a good game sometimes yet you don’t even step on spiders!”

  Way more than that, dear friend. Way more. Whack! Whack!

  “No, nothing like that. I was, uh, in the middle of cooking dinner, all dressed in a sexy outfit, ready to spice things up when he dropped the bomb. I started crying, and he went to pour himself a drink. So, while I had the chance, I altered the meatloaf.”

  “With what? Rat poison?” Liz laughed.

  “Dog food. Beef Medley, to be exact. Carl ate two platefuls!”

  Both of us burst into loud cackles. God, it was so nice to enjoy a good belly laugh.

  “That’s hysterical! I can’t believe you did that, though part of me wishes you’d kicked him in the nuts, too.”

  Liz’s phone and mine buzzed several times. Someone was hitting us up. We exchanged knowing glances, fully aware the freak circus of my life was the subject matter.

  “Sasha and Denise just heard,” Liz muttered.

  “Yep, they both sent texts to me, too.”

  My phone rang and I winced at the number. “Excuse me for a second, Liz. I’ve got to take this call.”

  In a rush, I opened the sliding glass doors and stepped out onto the back deck. Walking far enough away that I knew Liz wouldn’t be able to hear me, I answered the call from Dr. Critchon’s office. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Davenport?”

  “Yes,” I responded as a shroud of worry settled over my chest. If he was about to tell me they read a test wrong and I did have some sort of STD, I feared what my response might be.

  “I’d like to schedule an appointment with you during the next week. We need to discuss some—”

  “Is this your PC way of trying to tell me my vagina is going to rot away soon?” I interrupted.

  “No, Mrs. Davenport. As I told you before, you are free and clear of any sexually transmitted diseases.”

  “Then why in the world do I need to come see you? Is it my heart? High blood pressure? Diabetes? Worse? I’m pregnant?”

  Now that would be the real icing on the cake! Perhaps my ovaries woke up unexpectedly.

  “It’s not something we should discuss over the phone.”

  My heart skipped three beats and I felt dizzy. There was no way I could wait days to find out exactly what the cryptic words meant. “I’ve got a lot going on, as you know, so tell me now. What’s wrong with me?”

  In stunned silence, I listened to Dr. Critchon prattle on about what the blood tests revealed about my health. After all I’ve been through, I certainly didn’t think things could get worse yet they just did. My mouth went dry and my entire body started to shake.

  “Mrs. Davenport? Are you still there?”

  “Uh, yes. Sorry. Just trying to digest the news.”

  “I still would like for you to come to the office so we can discuss the ramifications and treatment options in person before the disease progresses. I have an opening on Monday at three.”

  “See you then,” I responded then disconnected the call.

  This. Isn’t. Happening.

  Numbed from shock, I stared at the pool, trying to pull myself together before going back inside. Too bad the human brain can’t react the same as a computer to Cntl-Alt-Del. Damnit! Why now? The cosmos just rained a pile of shit balloons over my head and they all popped at the same time.

  I heard the sliding glass doors open and Liz step out, followed by the flick of a lighter. Suck it up, Roxy. Think about the news later.

  “You look like you need one,” Liz whispered while handing me a cigarette. “Was that your lawyer with bad news like Carl’s changed his mind and wants a dirty fight?”

  Taking the smoke, I inhaled long and deep. “Something like that, yes. God, I don’t think I can handle book club tonight, Liz. Facing them will be too much.”

  “Bullshit. You have nothing to be ashamed of, Roxy. I won’t let you cower inside this house like a whipped dog. Come on—you get in the shower while I rummage around your closet for the sexiest outfit you own. Then, I’ll help you with hair and makeup, and you’re going to strut your hot body into Sasha’s house, a smile on your face, and prove to those grousing harpies you aren’t wallowing in a pit of sorrow. Then, after it’s over, we can sit down and figure out the best plan of action for the divorce. Okay?”

  “I don’t know, Liz.”

  Grabbing my hand, Liz forced me to stand. “I do. Trust me on this. You’ll lean on me until strong enough to stand alone. I’ve got your back. Promise.”

  God, what would I do without my Liz?

  I’d keep the old Rule Number Seventeen about a best friend.

  No doubt.

  Touching my head, I grimaced. There was so much product in my hair it felt like the Eighties all over again. The days of carrying big purses stuffed with—at a minimum—two cans of Aqua Net and mousse. Bam, I just stepped back in time. The only thing missing to recreate the times Liz and I did each other’s hair and makeup was a stereo blaring “Controversy,” by Prince (my favorite song—ever!) in the background.

  My God, I wore every one of his albums out. The man was a musical genius, though, during my younger years, I gravitated to his music for the beat. As I aged, it was all about the deep meaning behind the words. Liz was more of a headbanger. We did alternate musical choices sometimes, though only if we were at her house getting ready. Liz loved “Looks that Kill,” by Motley Crue. Her father, the oh-so-serious brain surgeon, Dr. Gelmini, was another story. He’d yell “turn that racket off!” from downstairs.

  Staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I couldn’t help but laugh. “It looks fantastic, Liz. Truly. But, when I get home later, it’s going to take an entire bottle of shampoo to get all this out. I appreciate you not caking six layers of makeup on me, though. I like this minimal look. Very dramatic, plus it makes me look younger. What’s this lipstick color again?”

  “Video Vixen.”

  “Ha! Guess it’s true—styles from the past always resurface. Thank God, the jelly shoe trend hasn’t re-emerged. I hated those uncomfortable things!”

  “Me, too. I’ve got scars on the back of my heels from blisters. Between us, I think we owned at least twenty pairs! Now, stand up and let me take a good look at you.”

  “Fine,” I muttered, blushing. I never liked to be ogled, which was another reason I worked out at home. My boobs bouncing around tended to make men run into things.

  “Holy shit, you’re smoking hot! God, if my tits looked half as good, Roger would never let me leave the bedroom. If I was a carpet muncher, I’d take you home with me and lick you dry.”

  “Uh, thanks? Wow, that came out of nowhere. I thought I was the comedienne out of our duo. Don’t confuse me. I’m the funny one and you’re the serious one.”

  “Come on, it’s time to go show off the masterpiece that is Roxy Davenport! Turn those plastic faces green with envy. Here,” Liz said, holding out a pair of black stilettos. “Put them on. You’re quite the imposing sight at nearly 6’ 1” in these babies.”

  “I can’t walk all the way to Sasha’s in these things! I’ll fall and bust my ass.”

  Liz rolled her eyes. “No, you’ll roll those hips and sway that ass. A few catcalls and beeping horns will boost your self-esteem. Hurry.”


  Sliding the painful shoes on, I followed Liz downstairs. Carol looked up from the book she was reading in the living room, giving a low whistle. “Whoa, sexy Mama!”

  Blushing, I laughed. “We’re heading to book club, sweetie. Be back in a few hours. Dinner’s in the fridge. I want to hear all about school when I get back. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, Mom. Show those uptight bitches what’s what.”

  “That’s the plan, girl. Between the two of us, we’ll keep your mom afloat.”

  Smiling at Liz and Carol, appreciative of their support, I strutted with purpose out the front door, Liz right beside me.

  “Give me your arm before I fall,” I whispered.

  “You won’t. Just keep your head high, shoulders back, and gaze straight ahead. Own it. Work it. Pretend you’re Sasha, just higher-class.”

  We strolled down the sidewalk toward Sasha’s, smiling and laughing as whistles and shouts from our neighbors greeted us.

  “Oh, Roxy! You look great! That’s the way to do it—show that bastard what he’s missing!”

  Sasha gave me a light hug, blowing air-kisses in my ear. Her stinky, cheap perfume made my eyes water. Sasha was married to a former pro athlete and lived on the good side of town now, but all the money, clothes, makeup, fancy car, and house still didn’t hide who she’d been prior to marrying up.

  You can move the whore uptown, but she’s still a whore at heart. Sasha was living proof.

  Denise piped up from behind me. “Carl’s a fool, Roxy. A damn fool. His loss, not yours. With that body and face, you’ll snag another man in no time! Wow, you’re such an inspiration. Lost your sister and husband in the space of one week, and look better than all of us put together. Bitch!”

  Sasha ushered us inside to the living room, pausing once to hand us both drinks. Liz beamed as we took our usual seats on the plush couch.

  For the next fifteen minutes, as Sasha’s home filled with book club members, the topic of conversation was me. The room of women I’d dreaded seeing surprised me with their support and gushing words, even though most of it was sprinkled with underlying jealousy about the way I looked. Sasha even asked at one point if I’d had a chemical peel because, she said, I was radiant.