Color Her Red (4 page)

Kate was speaking but I wasn’t listening.  I was staring at the small black and white photograph of our wedding picture in the upper left corner of the television screen as the news anchor continued to divulge my misery to the world.  We were so happy then, it was taken just after we had our first kiss as husband and wife.  It was on the cover of several magazines and
now it is in a corner of a television screen as a beautiful news anchor announced the demise of my marriage. 

“Are you okay?” Kate asked
as she grabbed my hand trying to force me to look at her. I must have seemed so calm to Kate.  I was standing there numb and lifeless. 

“Emma!  Let’s get out of here.” Kate practically yelled at me and pulled me by the arm to the freezing outdoors.  I stumbled on the sidewalk in my heels.  I was shocked and unable to comprehend what was going on around me, the only thing I could hear were my heels crashing hard on the cold concrete.  My heart was sinking down and further down into a painful knot at the pit of my stomach.

As we got into the car, Kate looked me dead in the eyes, and grabbed my shoulder, shaking me.  “What the hell is going on?  Did you know about this?”  She paused and looked at me bewildered.  What did she think?  That I knew and that it was some secret I was keeping from her?  Of course I didn’t know.  Who would know that their beautiful, kind, romantic, perfect husband was cheating? 

I tried to speak but I couldn’t.  I just looked at her with my mouth open, wordless.  “He-” That’s all I could say.  I kept repeating it, making no progress in forming a complete sentence or thought for that matter.  I was numb with disbelief.

“Oh my God, Emma.  Are you okay?”  Her hard look softened instantly.   Her voice was soothing and compassionate, finally realizing that this was a complete and utter shock to me.

I irrevocably burst into tears, releasing the
grief that was overwhelming me.  I covered my face and let the hard sobs out, gasping for breath.  Kate held me, rubbing my back and silently crying on my shoulder, “hush, hush, everything will be okay.” 

“Let’s go to my house okay?”  She talked to me like I was a child.  And just like a child I lifted my head and nodded back.

I had never even suspected that he had any desire for another woman.  He gave no hint at all that he was interested in any of the many women who constantly ogled and flirted with him.  They did it right in front of me, but he never seemed to notice or care.

“Oh!  Mr. Grant, we are so happy to have you here.  Let me know
if there’s anything at all that I can do for you.”  The umpteenth slut said.  I practically threw up in my mouth.

“My wife and I would like to start off with a bottle of
Shiraz Barossa 2008 if you have it,” he usually responded something to that effect, caressing my hand and not taking his eyes off me.

I did enjoy the pissed off attitudes and sheer disappointment when he ignored them and gave me all of his attention. 
Ha!  That’s what they get for hitting on my man.  Now go blow your boss for a raise, slut.

He only had eyes for me.  When I’d throw a hissy fit over the audacity of those women, that’s what he would tell me, “I only have eyes for you.”  He knew how to calm me down, he still does. 

But that was before all of this, before the news announced to the world that my marriage was over.

Bang! Bang! 
“Emma!  Open the damned door!”  The brash pounding grounds me to the present.  His tone is different, harsher, and almost violent.  He uses that stern monotone with his employees, when they have really fucked up, not with me.  He’s not sad or apologetic; he’s pissed.  This is going to be bad.  I brace myself, gripping the sofa. 

If he wants to get in, he’
s going to get it.  He always gets what he wants; why would this be any different?  My grasp tightens.  I stare at the knob waiting for it to move and then I see the padlock.  She didn’t lock the door.

Before we can move, the doorknob turns and the door flails open hitting the wall hard and making u
s jolt.  It feels like the entire room shakes.  Kate jumps up onto the back of the sofa and covers herself with the blanket; only her head is peeking out, as if it has some special invisibility or protective powers. 

I’ve
never seen her like this.  She’s always so calm and collected.  She’s the forceful, defensive one of the two of us.  Especially when it comes to Thomas.  She’s never backed down to him; she’s never been intimidated.  She even told him once that she would castrate him if he took advantage of me.  She was dead serious.  She had gotten wind of his reputation about a week after we started seeing one another and immediately changed from a schoolgirl with pompoms to a mother hen with a shotgun.  I remember the look on his face.  He was cold and not amused, but she just stared back, holding her ground. I don’t know if it’s her exhaustion, drunkenness, or shock that is making her behave like a meek little mouse.  Watching her makes me even more petrified. 

I
feel the pounding in my chest and the sound of my heart beating; it’s overwhelming.  My body is twitchy and unmoving at the same time. A ball forms in my throat suffocating me.  There is a stinging sensation throughout my body keeping me from making any kind of movement.  My tense fingers feel like stone.  

“She doesn’t want to talk to you!” Kate yells as her fists
slightly lower the protective blanket.  She looks terrified, but she sounds confident. 

He
finally enters the room slowly, cautiously, as if that was his cue.  He looks at Kate with resentment. This is not good, not good at all.  I wish I were with Kate, under her protective blanket.

I
can’t take my eyes of him as he rips his gaze away from Kate and stares at me. His expression changes from intense fury to something else, his face is hard to read.  He’s standing with the door wide open, breathing deep.  Slowly, he turns and shuts the door.  He gives it a hard push and slams his fists.  For a moment, he rests his head on the wall leaning all his weight into it and breathes slowly.  The room is silent; the only exception is his heavy breathing.

He looks like
my typical Thomas.  He’s wearing my favorite tie, also the one in the photograph.  I feel a sense of hatred towards the navy and white striped evidence on his neck.  A white shirt, tie, and black slacks, professional but relaxed. His clothes don’t match his expression or his tone.

“I had to come see you,
” he breathes into the door with his eyes shut. He pushes off the wall and moves his hands through his hair.  His mouth is in a hardline and then he looks at me.  The expression on his face immediately softens; I think it’s a look of relief. 

He waits f
or me to speak, but I don’t.
I feel my face change from disbelief and frightened to pissed instantaneously. 

“What the
fuck
are you doing here?”  The words come out viciously and I am shocked that they came out of my mouth.  Kate looks at me with wide eyes; I shocked her too.  Thomas tilts his head and narrows his eyes. The anger returns momentarily on his face and then it is replaced by frustration and hurt.  A moment passes and he says nothing, he just stares at me.  My breathing slows but my chest is still pounding. I’m confused by his reaction but still enraged. 

He finally speaks, avoiding my insult.  H
is low voice whispers, “Baby, why didn’t you answer me?  You saw the news?”  The last one is a statement rather than a question; the words are drenched with apprehension.  Anger brews inside me, making me feel heated. 

Why didn’t I answer?  Is he fucking serious? 
He knows damn well that I saw the news.  I don’t answer him.  I just stare at him with daggers in my eyes. I can’t hold back my disgust.  I’m no longer disabled by my sadness; the resentment has taken hold of me. 

“Did you listen to my messages?”  His voice is the sound of despair and he moves towards me. 

“Stay away!” I yell as I get up too quickly for my own good.  As I take a step back, I almost trip over a basket of magazines.  I stumble a bit and try to regain my balance.  I’m so drunk though; I don’t think I can keep this up.  I don’t even know what I’m doing.  My head is pounding and the room spins, jeering my drunkenness. I don’t want to see him.  I don’t want to talk to him.  I just want him to leave. 

I
violently reach for my glass, flinging wine across the espresso coffee table and onto the beige rug and throw it at him as hard as I can.  “How dare you!”  I scream at the top of my voice, it cracks on the last word.  He moves his arm up to block the glass and it breaks on his forearm.  The glass shatters onto the floor.  I’m not sure if it’s blood or wine running down his skin. I hope it is blood; he deserves to be in pain. 

“You cheating bastard!
”  I sneer at him, “You sicken me.”

He
doesn’t looks angry, only hurt and defensive.  I’m so confused.  He isn’t responding how I thought he would.  I feel dizzy and it’s getting more and more difficult to stand by the second. I wish I hadn’t had so much to drink and that I hadn’t gotten up so quickly from the sofa.  I do wish that I had something heavier and sharper in my hands though.  I want nothing more than to hurt him, to make him feel pain like I have been feeling.  I glance around looking for something to add to my artillery.  All I can see are floor pillows and a large chair.  I debate on whether or not it would be feasible for me to pick up the chair until I become conscious of the fact that I’m a drunken twig with no upper body strength.  I swallow hard and decide to stand my ground.  I’m surprised by my reaction.  I had pictured myself crying in the fetal position, not hurling dishware at him and trying to crush him with a tweed upholstered sitting chair.

I move
against my stinging, painfully hardened limbs, forcing my body into the corner.  He still hasn’t responded. I need to calm myself.  Tears are streaming down my face and I try not to blink and point angrily at the door. 
Damn it!  I don’t want to cry!  Be strong! 
I just let the tears run down my face, doing my best to ignore them. 

As the seconds pass, my body begins to ambush
me, wanting me to fall.  I feel like I will collapse and break into a million pieces if I lean against the wall.  My legs are weak and my body is rigid.  I think I’m shaking but I don’t look down to check.  I hope I’m not.  I want to appear strong; trembling legs are not on my side. 
I am a resilient, confident woman and I deserve better; I can do this.
  I repeat my mantra in my head and hold my ground, giving him a deadly glare 

“How could you do this to me?
”  My voice mutters rather than yells.  I sneer, “Leave!  Just get out.”  I stomp my wobbly leg as I point at the door.

I don’t know how much time has passed.
  Seconds?  Minutes? 
Say something!
He just stands unmoving, looking at me with confusion and pain. 
How did he think this was going to go down?  Did he picture me in the fetal position, balling my eyes out too?
  I calm a little and my fist eases up slightly. I reluctantly lower my heavy arm. 
Say something, please.
  I need him to say something. 

As if hearing my unspoken plea he answers me. 
“Emma,” his voice breaks and he reaches his hands out to me, “I didn’t cheat on you.” I move further away as he moves closer.  My heart beat picks back up.  I don’t believe him.  I saw the pictures. 
He’s lying to me. 

“Please listen to me.”  He puts his
hand down and looks deep into my eyes, pleading with me.

I can’t
hold his intense gaze.  I’m just staring at the dark, hardwood floors; the tears welling in my eyes blur my vision.

Is he telling the truth? 

Thomas moves slowly to the wing back chair across the room, further away from me, and sits with his elbows on his knees, face in his hands.
I look at him, to gauge my opponent.  He is shaking. 

I’
m so confused.  He doesn’t look like he wants to fight.  He looks beaten down already. 
Did he come to tell me it’s not true?  Does he still love me?
  I want to know but I don’t want to listen to him.
My emotions are out of control.  I really wish I hadn’t had so much to drink.  I don’t even know if I could handle this if I was sober.

“
I didn’t lie to you.  I’ve never cheated on you.”  His voice begins to break, and he looks up to meet my gaze.  Now I notice his eyes, red-rimmed. 

I look away from him
as my mind races. Has this really just been a horrific stunt for publicity?  Thomas isn’t a heartless adulterer; instead he has been a victim?  What harm have I done to him, ignoring him when he has been reaching out to me?  And here I am pushing the knife deeper into him, twisting it to cause him unforgiving pain.

“Emma, maybe you should listen to Thomas.”  I hear Kate from across the room.
  Her voice is hopeful once again.  I forgot she was even in the room.  She looks almost relieved, sitting on the back of her sofa, still a bit frightened and uncomfortable though.
Whose side is she on?
  She is always on my side.  I should listen to her, but that would require me listening to Thomas. I look at him and then at Kate.  I feel weak.  My balled fists finally release and I allow myself to lean against the wall feeling the cold on my stiff aching body.  I lean my head back gently, keeping my eyes on him.  I don’t know what to do.  My hands move to my head and I close my eyes to try to calm myself.