He pulled back and looked at her, his hazel eyes sleepy with lust. “Kelly? No way. She was boring and uptight. You were always the one I wanted. Like I said, the hottest thing on the planet. Why do you think I married you?”
“Steve, there’s more to marriage than just sex.”
“Yeah? Who says?” He pushed her down onto the bed and climbed on top of her, nudging her legs apart with his knee. “When the sex is this good, who needs anything else? Not me.”
Well, I do, she thought, but she couldn’t speak with his tongue in her mouth. Okay, so maybe she’d wait and tell him that afterwards.
“Oh!” she moaned.
“See, baby? Told ya.”
SHE HAD TO STOP HAVING SEX WITH HER HUSBAND. Not only was it confusing but it made her feel cheap. Though how could that be? she asked herself, looking at Steve after he rolled off her. This was the man she’d married, in the eyes of God and the law. The father of her child. She was doing exactly what she was supposed to do, trying to work things out with him, wasn’t she?
Steve started to snore.
“Hey!” She poked him. “Wake up!”
“Wha’?”
“Wake up. We need to talk. Then you need to go. GO, go.”
“No way. I’m too tired. You wore me out, Mel.”
“I’m not kidding about the separation, Steve.”
He sat up and looked at her.
“Why? Because of that musclehead creep in the trashy car? I got a look at him. He has ‘fling’ written all over him, Mel. You’re rebounding. I understand, and I’m prepared to forgive. Provided you never see him again, of course.”
“You’re assuming all I’m after is sex because that’s all you’re after. Dan happens to be a very substantive human being. He’s caring and a great listener-”
“Oh, and since when does shit like that even matter to you?” he asked angrily.
“What?”
“Look, I’m not criticizing you or anything. But intimacy is not your strong suit. After the childhood you had, who can blame you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“If you don’t get it, you ought to take a long, hard look in the mirror, Mel. Think about it. You work all the time. You have no close friends. And you and me-we have fun, and we’re really compatible. But this isn’t one of those relationships where we sit around blabbing about our innermost feelings. Like you’d ever get that from Mr. Musclehead anyway. Gimme a break!”
She got up and pulled on a bathrobe, then walked over to the window, not speaking, more troubled than she cared to admit by what he’d said.
“You know they never caught the man who shot my father,” she began tentatively. “Sixteen years ago, and he’s still out there somewhere. That’s why I work so hard. To stop other people from suffering what I suffered.”
“Hey, like I said, you have your reasons. I’m not blaming you, and I’m not complaining. I’m crazy about you, just the way you are. You’re gorgeous and smart and fun in bed. You’re an amazing mother. But it doesn’t ring true for you to go all psychobabble on me, Mel.”
“If it’s really like you say, doesn’t that mean we need to work on our relationship? And work on ourselves?” she asked, turning away from the window and looking at him.
“No! We’ve got a good thing going here, baby. Let’s not overthink it, okay? The best solution is just to forget this ever happened. I cheated with Samantha, then you fooled around with Mr. Universe. Fair’s fair. Let’s just call it even and put it behind us. I mean, what more do you want?”
More than that, she thought. I want more than that.
Steve sighed and rubbed his eyes. His stomach rumbled. “I never had dinner tonight,” he said. “Want to order some Chinese?”
She walked over and picked up his pants from where they lay on the floor, handing them to him. “The diner on Madison is open until eleven. You can still get something if you hurry.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Steve, you may be content to live your life in the kind of relationship you just described, with the kind of partner you seem to think I am. I’m not willing to settle for that.”
He sighed, looking down at the pants in his hand. “Fine, if you insist, we’ll go back to that marriage counselor. If that’s what you need to feel better.”
“Don’t say that just because you want to sleep over tonight. You need to be sincere. Look, I really think we need some time apart, to figure out how serious we are about fixing this marriage.”
He studied her for a moment, then stood up and pulled on his pants.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll indulge you for a little while longer, Mel. I guess you’re more upset about Samantha than I realized. But I’m warning you, there’s a limit. I’m getting tired of sleeping at my parents’. And if you see that guy again, I am not going to be happy.”
She followed him to the foyer to lock up behind him. As he left, she automatically kissed him good night. The kiss made her sad, but it wouldn’t have felt right to let him leave without one either. Old habits die hard.
AFTER STEVE LEFT, SHE GOT THE MUNCHIES something awful. It must be stress. Or all the sex. Lucky Steve was gone, because if he were still here, they’d probably wind up doing it again. Food was a safer option. She’d rather have her stomach full and her mind clear of her husband, so she could think.
She went hunting through the cabinets to find it. The small, square box with the blue-and-gold label that hadn’t changed since her childhood. Flan from a mix, her favorite dessert as a kid. And yes, she was an assimilated, mainland Puerto Rican whose mami didn’t know how to make the real thing from scratch. So what? That’s who she was, and she should stop being so down on herself.
That was what she ultimately decided, as she stirred the creamy yellow mixture, savoring the delicious caramel scent that rose from the pot. She needed to think better of herself. In her heart she’d never made it out of Bushwick. She was still the girl from the block, child of violence and divorce, whose father never came back home after that one awful night. Up until now she was grateful to take what Steve offered and not ask anything more.
She poured the sweet molten liquid out into small bowls and stuck them in the freezer to speed the cooling process. She ate two and a half of the bowls before she felt sick to her stomach and dumped the rest in the trash. ¡Qué estúpido! What was she thinking? She could feel those calories going straight to her hips. Now she’d have to fast tomorrow to make up for it.
She went to her bedroom and turned off the lights, lying on top of the covers and watching the blue shadows move across the room, thinking about what Steve had said. She didn’t want to be the person he described. She wanted to jettison all that old baggage from her childhood, so she could be better and braver and take her rightful place in the world.
Now all she had to do was figure out how.
37
BILL FLANAGAN SNAPPED HIS CELL PHONE SHUT, A satisfied smile spreading across his broad red face. He hadn’t expected this gig to amount to much. But whaddaya know, a phone call out of the blue, and here he was looking at twenty-five grand. Fifteen, that scumbag offered him first, but he negotiated it up. Think Wild Bill Flanagan didn’t know the street price for a hit? Think they were dealing with a fucking amateur? Think again, my friend. The timing was good, though. Frankie Bricks was coming after him for that wad he dropped in Atlantic City. He needed a payday if he didn’t want to wind up kneecapped.
He’d have to think it through real careful, though. It was such an easy setup, what with him in the room anyway, it was tempting to jump the gun. She’d been sleeping when he left. He could walk back in and take care of it right now with the old pillow-over-the-face routine, then string her up with some rope or, better yet, a torn bedsheet. Make it look like a suicide, the man said. Twenty-five grand for a couple minutes work-not bad. He’d enjoy it, too, big-time. That snotty little bitch waking up terrified when she couldn’t breathe, trying to fight him off, writhing under him while he pressed the pillow down harder, then going limp. Wow. Just thinking about it, he got a hard-on for the first time in as long as he could remember. But if he decided to go that route, he’d have to set up his alibi real careful, or he’d get caught.