Dealing Flesh (23 page)

Flustered and bawling, throwing one hysterical fit after another, the road in front of me becomes visible only occasionally, blurred by floods of tears gushing from my eyes. The windshield looks like smeared Vaseline. I hear Ragelina assign Ken some of the most offensive names that my vocabulary database has to offer.

Reaching the house, I crawl into bed right away. The cover pulled over my head, I cry to exhaustion, sounding like a stranded whale on a shore. I hear the front door opening roughly fifteen minutes later. Ken rushes into the bedroom, takes off his clothes and lies down next to me, spoons me.

“Hey, honey. Listen, I love you. That woman means nothing to me. She’s just a friend. Okay?”

“You really hurt my feelings, the way you acted with her.”

“But I love you. You are the one that lives with me, not her.”

Ken maneuvers me into facing him. Too much in love with him to resist his efforts, I snuggle up to him, but keep sobbing until I eventually fall asleep in his arms.

The end of May, Ken attends yet another “seminar” at Katherine’s ranch, promising that I have nothing to fear. I believe him. Considering that my divorce from Ray will conclude in only a few weeks, I spend several hours in the fashion district downtown today, returning home with a white strapless princess-style dress, perfect for the day that Ken and I will marry.

My man gets in early this morning. We exchange brief but intense affection.

“Sorry, babe, but I’m late for work. Gotta go,” I say, giving Ken who acts extremely playful with me, another kiss. “I can’t wait to see you tonight. After the four days without you, we have some serious catching up to do,” I say.

“See ya’ tonight, babe,” he replies while holding me extra tight so that I cannot leave the kitchen.

I wiggle out of his embrace after a few more playful gestures, grab my things, and leave for the office.

Fantasia:
The things I’m gonna do to him tonight…Uhhmmhh.

As soon as I sit down behind my desk, the phone rings.

“Hello. How may I help you?”

“Hey, it’s me. Just wanted to let you know, don’t wait for me tonight. I’m going to meet with an old buddy of mine in Orange County, and we’re gonna shoot some golf balls together,” says Ken.

Ragelina:
He’s cheating on me.

Romy:
I’m definitely losing him
.

“But…babe. I thought we’d spend some time together tonight?”

“This just came up, honey. I haven’t seen this friend for such a long time. So I’m gonna have to give you a rain check.”

“Okay,” I say in the tone of voice that sounds a bit arrogant and detached while imploding with rage. I hang up.

The remainder of the workday crawls. When it comes time to leave, I schlep despairingly to the car. My thoughts run wild on the drive down the winding mountainous road. An avalanche of tears flood my eyes, causing me to creep down the highway at twenty-five miles per hour.

To be able to see at all, I keep my face in close distance to the windshield. I hear car horns honking from behind as enraged faces of people pass me by and give me the finger. It evokes no reaction in me.

Romy:
What a relief it would be to just let go of the steering wheel entirely, go over the ledge, and plunge straight into the abyss.

Getting to the house, Lustania has me go on a search for Mister V right away.

Lustania (growling):
Where is the fucking gizmo?

I frantically dig through the closet and the rest of the apartment.

Doubt Cloud:
I bet ya he took it to use it on someone else.

Lustania (smoldering):
Fuck
.
How dare he?!

Unable to track it, I drive to the store and buy a box of chocolate chip cookies. They take the edge off for a few minutes, but do not remotely do for me what a trip to Nirvana-Land could.

Whip Cracker (laughing):
Ahhh, I bet you remember my words now, hhhmmmh, telling you from day one that this Superman of yours is outta your league, but you wouldn’t listen, would you
?

My head feels like mush.

Romy:
Somebody, shake me, please. I need to wake up from this daunting nightmare.

Scaredy Cat:
What if Ken brings home a venereal disease, or even AIDS from sleeping around under the influence or in a possible blackout?

Enough already. Enough.

Dead People Don’t Sleep

2000

I get in late from work this afternoon.

Romy:
Can’t wait to see my baby.

“Hey, sweetie.” I lovingly pull Ken into my arms as he walks in. I sense resistance.

“I had a hard day, honey. I’m gonna head for bed right away,” he says, presses a shallow kiss onto my lips and recedes straight to the bedroom. I follow him like a little dog.

“We haven’t been able to spend any quality time lately. I got us a movie. It looks real good. C’mon, let’s watch it on the couch. I promise to rub your head.”

“You gonna have to watch it by yourself, babe. I gotta get some shuteye.”

He turns toward the wall, instantly disappearing underneath the comforter.

Hot Shot:
No, no. He’s not going to get away with that again. I’m sick of his unavailability.

I strip off my clothes and position myself behind him, tightly pressing up against his muscular warm body. He does not show any reaction; neither does he move one bit, not even now that I’m sucking on his neck.

Hot Shot:
What’s his problem?

I put my hand on his groin and caress him there.

“Babe, not now,” he says with annoyance in his voice, instantaneously removing my limb.

Hot Shot:
No one ever turns me down.

Whip Cracker:
It appears that even your sexual powers have left you, doesn’t it?

Avengelia:
I don’t need his ass to have a good time. Mister V never refuses me.

Once sensing that Ken’s asleep, I grab a blanket and the pleasure stick, and quietly move the enterprise into the far corner of the living room. Deeply submerged in the business of getting off, I pay little attention to my surroundings.

When I finally do open my eyes, I startle. Ken stands a few feet away, leaning against the doorframe while sending me his most reproachful look ever. A bunch of unkind words whack me, rendering me speechless. I watch him return to the bedroom.

Romy:
I want to die
.

I know dear, I know. There is only one more trump card I can think of that might get him to see what he is doing to me…to us. I must play it now. I get dressed and proceed to the other room.

“Honey, do you have a minute?” I say, my voice sounding loving yet assertive.

“What’s up?”

“There is something I need to tell you. Come sit with me on the couch, would ya’?”

Ken sinks onto the futon inside the living room. I position myself in front of him so that we are sitting face-to-face.

Scaredy Cat:
What if your plan backfires?

Romy:
It has to work. If he really loves me he wouldn’t dare to risk loosing me.

“You know, sweets…lately you’ve been so distant and cold. I miss the old you so much. It’s really hard for me these days to figure out if you are present or loaded.”

Virulent silence hangs in the air. Ken just stares at me without any sign of response.

“I love you more than anything, but I think it’s best if I move out.”

“You fucking cunt. You are going to regret this.” He irately stomps off and disappears inside the other room.

Romy (crying):
He doesn’t love me.

In my imagination, the sofa I am sitting on turns into a tiny ice float that is drifting in a giant ocean after the rest of the world just fell away. I hear noises from the bedroom that sound like Ken packing. Three minutes go by. I see him march toward the front door, a gym bag in tow. Immediately, I bolt to his side and hold on to his arm.

“Honey, please don’t go. I was bluffing. Really, I don’t want to move out. Let’s talk about this, pleeeaase!” I cry, but he brushes me off like a pestering fly.

“Where are you going?”

“I have a hundred places I can stay at, quite unlike you. You said you wanted to leave so that’s what you’ll have to do.”

“Pleeaase, dooon’t gooo,” I beg in my weeping despair, not ever having begged anyone. But he walks out regardless; slams the door shut with a clamorous bang.

Downward I go, tumbling onto a twirling ride through alleys of raven blackness.
Kaput
—that’s how I feel, absolutely
kaput
, destroyed, forever broken
.
I grab the phone; call a bunch of people who Ken could have gone to, but he is nowhere to be found. While spinning five hundred miles per hour back down the charcoal pit, I search for possible approaches that could have prevented my world from collapsing.

Scaredy Cat:
I can’t fathom ever going to sleep again unless I have Ken back.

Romy:
Dead people don’t sleep; they are just that: dead.

I think about food, but an appetite seems no longer to be an element of my existence. On trying to take a sip of water, I revolt. Even taking in liquids, no matter what kind, simply does not appeal to me anymore.

Romy:
Dead people don’t eat or drink; they are just that: dead.

I do not know how the next morning arrives, but it does. At seven sharp, I call in sick at work.

Romy:
Dead people don’t go to work. They are just that: dead.

In my zombie state, I think about bridges, but all are burned.

Romy:
I guess I’ll just lie here then, until they come for me to stick me inside a body bag.

The only thing that keeps me putting one foot in front of the other remains the teensy weensy ray of hope that Ken may reappear remorsefully.

The papers of “final dissolution of marriage” arrive in the mail today.

Romy:
This was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life…ha, ha, ha.

Maus comes over, meowing like mad and licking my face because I am coiled up on the floor, bawling deliriously.

Romy:
Wait a minute.
I think
I hear music coming from the front door…the music of a twisting key in the lock…. Yippee, I knew Ken would come to reconcile. See? I’ve never been surer about anything. I know he loves me.

I quickly jump into bed. Ken rushes into the bedroom, saunters in and out of the closet with cold and empty eyes that briefly meet mine. He remains silent like a tree trunk, struts from one space to the next with stoic indifference. I amplify to him again how much I love him, and that I truly don’t want to lose him, but he hand gestures me in a way I interpret as, “I don’t give a fuck.”

“I want you outta here as soon as possible,” he insists.

“Just to clarify, the rent money I gave you should cover me until the end of the month, two more weeks. I need at least that to get myself relocated.”

“Fine, but by the end of the month all your shit has to be gone,” he says, slamming the front door closed behind him, once more leaving me quivering inside the icicle-laden igloo at
Linden Street North Pole
.

Day four after wipe out, I show up at work for the first time since Ken deserted me, but Miss Winter sends me home within the hour saying that I’m of no use to anyone in my wailing grief.

Still not having consumed anything solid, taken in fluids, or slept in any meaningful way, my feeble body repeatedly shakes like a naked Chihuahua. I’m shocked seeing my reflection of protruding ribs and shoulder bones in the mirror. It reminds me of some of those people who live in third world countries.

Scaredy Cat:
Not having the slightest glimmer of how to stop the merciless mill of involuntary starvation, it looks like I’m going to depart from this planet real soon.

Romy:
I guess that wouldn’t be so bad now that Ken no longer loves me.

Whip Cracker (laughing sardonically):
Hell isn’t all that bad, dear. Well, no matter how pathetic you become, you can always work for me
.

Another day finds me. I pop in a cassette by
Lara Fabian
, play the song “I Will Love Again” over and over at extra high output, hoping it will ease the pain and empower me to move on. Ken walks in. I instantly crank up the volume by two notches so he can get a clearer picture of what it is that I am going through, not by my words, but hers, the artist’s. Then he’ll understand, or won’t he? He places his pager on top of the office desk and, with a superbly annoyed facial expression, disappears inside the shower. I hear the gizmo go off thirty seconds later. Its persistent vibration eventually drops it to the ground.

Enviola:
I bet ya it’s one of his sluts.

Romy:
I have to know what he is up to
.
I have to
.

With jittering fingers, I lift the device off the carpet, keeping my ears closely tuned to the sounds coming from the bathroom. The number on display shows an unfamiliar area code. I snatch the receiver off the landline phone rack and dial the digits anonymously. A woman answers.

Enviola (irate):
Sounds like that chick from Long Beach
.

I slam the telephone down, instantly digging for the stack of phone bills that I combed through just a few weeks ago. A couple of the earlier statements from the time when I had just moved in showed high activity to a number in Long Beach for about two months. After that, it eventually dropped away. My brain explodes in black, purple and green combustion while comparing the numerals.

Ragelina:
She’s back. Damned. I know he’s fucking her.

Ken comes out of the bathroom, not paying an ounce of attention to me. My chest tightens.

Romy:
I feel like such a fool…thought I knew his heart when in reality, he despises me.

Within minutes, Ken is dressed and out the door, pulling behind him a cloud of scented lotion…the one that used to tickle my senses many times before we made love. Ragelina sends a million poisonous darts after him sure that the bedazzling cream is intended to drive some bitch crazy. I watch how I blow my brains out over and over in my mind.

It’s 2:00 a.m., and I am wide-awake, repeatedly pushed over the edge by the unceasing mental pictures of Ken giving it to another woman. Hearing my stomach gurgle and growl, I stuff three pea-sized crumbs of a fresh blueberry muffin in my mouth, but they immediately crumple up like chunks in a batter that is missing liquid.