Dirty Love (16 page)

“Me too.”

He went to the bathroom first and Marla lay there in the dark. She patted the bedside table for the box of tissues, Dennis’s seed swimming freely inside her. What if it found what it was heading for? She heard the shower turn on, the jerk of the curtain, Dennis washing himself off.

That night she dreamed she was sitting in a rocking chair on a screened-in porch overlooking deep woods, sunlight coming through in brilliant patches; there was something warm and soft in her lap, a puppy, she thought. She looked down at it and saw a baby—a baby with fine black hair and a sweet pinched face.

The next day was Sunday, and on the way home from the matinee of a spy movie she hadn’t wanted to see, she told Dennis her dream. She studied his profile as he drove, the way he nodded slightly, his eyes narrowed as if he were listening to the radio report of news in a distant country. She took a breath. “Think we’ll ever have a baby, Denny?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Marla felt slapped. She looked out the window at large houses, one with raked piles of leaves, a swing set in the yard. She felt like crying, not because of what he’d said but how he’d said it, his voice adamant and final. Then his big hand was on her knee and she wanted to push it away.

“You know I love you, Marl, but do you know how much kids cost? How much attention they need? It’s nothing personal, hon. I just can’t be bothered with that.”

“
Bothered?
You make it sound like one big nuisance.”

“Well, isn’t it?”

“Did your mother think so?”

He smiled. “I know she did.” Then he chuckled and began to reminisce about him and his brothers always destroying the house, chasing each other from room to room. He seemed to be done with the real conversation, but it had cleared a cold dead path through her head; it was the first time he’d ever told her he loved her, but hearing him talk this way about what she had always viewed as the highest gift God could give, his paw resting too heavily on her thigh, the sickening smell of vanilla air freshener in his car, another Sunday afternoon wasted at a movie where men shot or impaled or blew up each other, she began to suspect she was nothing more than an easy addition to his life, one he could penetrate half-asleep or go out with on the weekend, but that’s it—no one to start a family with, nothing like that. Her seatbelt was pushing into her hip, and she began to feel the possibility of an end ahead of them, the way the light of an August afternoon could sometimes cast the shadows of October.

T
HE WEEK BEFORE
C
HRISTMAS,
Dennis invited her to fly to Cleveland to spend the holidays with one of his brothers and his family. He asked her this before work as they were walking to their cars in the cleared driveway Dennis paid a man to plow. The air was cold in Marla’s lungs and her breath was a thin cloud in front of her.

“What do you say, Marl?”

She opened her car door and glanced over at him standing at his Nissan, his tie loosely knotted beneath his overcoat, his beard glistening in the harsh sunlight. “I don’t think so; I need to visit my parents. It’s been a year.”

He nodded and looked only mildly disappointed, as if he were imagining the good times ahead of him anyway. “Well, think about it.”

He backed out of the driveway first, and at the end of the street waved in his rearview mirror at her before he turned left and she turned right; and she didn’t want to think about it. How could she be the woman he was going to bring home to his family? All the smiles and gifts and polite passings of gravy would feel like one big lie, which is what she was beginning to feel like—a liar. Somehow she was becoming the kind of woman she didn’t like, somebody who felt one way but smiled it off in a mask of cheerfulness, the kind of woman who got very good at small talk.

As she drove past all the identical ranch houses of their neighborhood, Marla’s face still felt swollen from her cold. If it weren’t for the Christmas rush, everybody in the world waiting in line to get their money, she’d call in sick and go back to bed. But again, it’d be
his
bed. Her comforter was on it, but that wasn’t enough. She missed her old apartment; she missed the bathroom that only had her things in it; she missed Edna curling up with her on the sofa in her living room with her framed prints on the wall—and no illustrations of perfect parallel lines; no dustless bookshelves full of paperback spy novels; no pressure to keep things clean and just where they belong at all times; and not this lingering feeling that her life was really no better than it had been before when she was alone, an earlier unhappiness that now seemed preferable to this one.

T
WO DAYS BEFORE
C
HRISTMAS
Marla drove Dennis to the airport. He hugged and kissed her and told her not to get sunburned in Florida. She watched him hurry toward the gate and lift his suitcase onto the conveyor belt for the X-ray machine. He waved to her and she waved back. Her flight left the next day, but for the past week she hadn’t been able to picture herself on it. Whenever she visited her mother and father she always felt like a teenager again, a time in her life when she had no friends at all; she couldn’t bear feeling that way now, and just last week at the vault Nancy asked her to spend the holiday with her and her family if she wasn’t going anywhere. Marla watched Dennis’s back get smaller and smaller. Why not? It probably wouldn’t cost too much to change the ticket. When she could no longer see him in the crowd, she began thinking what she’d tell her mother on the phone, that she had the flu and would have to come see them sometime after New Year’s.

Christmas Eve after dinner, Marla and Nancy sat on throw pillows in front of a gas fire under the lights of the tree. Carl and his sons, Luke and Kyle, were downstairs playing a new video game called
Blood Conquest
, a gift from Carl to his boys that he insisted they open that night. Nancy and Marla wore sweaters and slippers, and they sipped eggnog with just the right amount of bourbon in it. On the stereo Bing Crosby and David Bowie were singing “Peace on Earth.” Nancy sat with her eyes closed listening to the music, her pretty face tilted slightly. Marla could still smell the glaze from the ham they’d baked, the homemade rolls. Outside there was very little snow, but there was a cold wind, and the bare branches of the trees made a cracking sound as they swayed.

They had stuffing and three pies to make for tomorrow, but Nancy just wanted to sit and rest awhile in front of the tree and its mountain of wrapped presents, four from Marla: slacks and a cashmere jacket for Nancy, a case of vintage red wine for Carl, matching wool sweaters from Ireland for the boys. She was looking forward to giving them their gifts tomorrow morning, though part of her felt like an intruder into this family’s Christmas. Dennis didn’t even know she wasn’t in Florida, and she could still hear her mother’s disappointed voice on the phone.

Against the fireplace were two tall boxes wrapped in gold—skis for Kyle and new lacrosse sticks for Luke, Nancy had whispered to her earlier. Now Marla stared at them; they looked to her like oversized bricks of gold, and she thought about the huge vault she and the girls put their cashboxes into every night before the bank’s doors closed, all the stacks of new currency that were absolutely worthless without the real gold in Fort Knox they stood for, or at least used to. She and Dennis planned to give each other presents after their trips, but she didn’t have one for him yet. She wondered what he was doing right now at his brother’s house, but there was no pull or ache in this wondering, and she knew she did not miss him. She didn’t. Her throat began to close up and her face felt too hot. She looked into the gas fire, at the steady, controlled flames beneath the stone logs. A new song began, strings and bells.

“Marla, honey, are you
crying
?”

Marla covered her face.

“What, sweetie. What’s the matter?”

Marla shook her head, felt Nancy’s hand on her shoulder. “What is it, hon? Tell me.”

“I don’t think I love Dennis, Nancy. I really don’t.” She’d said it, so she must mean it, and now it was out, and there was just her heaving shoulders and wet face and running nose beneath her fingers, Nancy handing her a tissue, her friend’s soft, motherly voice saying, “That’s it, let it out. It’s okay, honey. Just let it all out.”

N
ANCY LET HER CRY
for a while. She patted and rubbed her back. “Are you sure about this? You both look so happy together every time we go out.”

“That’s because we have a good time with you guys.” Marla sniffled and blew her nose. “You’re fun.”

“Yeah, but I see how you both look at each other. There’s something real there.”

“Then why do I feel so lonely?” Marla began to cry again. “I just don’t feel like
me
anymore.”

“Everybody feels like that sometimes, honey.”

“You feel lonely with Carl?”

“Yes.”

“All the time?”

“No, and I bet you don’t either, Marla.”

“Most of the time.”

“That’s just ’cause you’re new to all this.” Nancy raised her glass and stared at the lights of the tree. Her face looked tired and sweet and vaguely superior, and Marla remembered being new at the bank and not knowing anything. But this was different, and she didn’t like seeing Nancy look that way right now.

“It’s been six months, Nancy.”

“What’s your hurry? It took me a year to get used to living with Carl. I mean, what do men
do
anyway? They work, eat, drink, and play games. Sex for them is in the sports-and-recreation category. You can’t live with a man and not be lonely.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. Besides, once you have kids it all changes anyway. Everything seems to make more sense then.”

“Dennis doesn’t want any.”

“How do you know that?”

“He said he didn’t.”

Nancy seemed to take this in a second, then waved her hand in front of her face. “Have you ever met a man who did? Honey, it’s not in their nature. They don’t even think about it. Just get pregnant and he’ll rise to the occasion. It makes them feel more like a man, you know.” Nancy laughed. She looked back at the tree and sipped her eggnog.

For a moment Marla had a hard time swallowing. “You’re afraid I’ll lose him, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m afraid you’re expecting too much from him and you’ll give up too soon. Which wouldn’t be fair to Dennis, by the way.”

“Is it fair to pretend around him?”

“There are worse things than pretending, Marla.”

“Like what?”

“Not trying hard enough.” Nancy smiled at her, her eyes patient and loving behind her gold-rimmed glasses. Marla sipped her eggnog, felt the bourbon flash down her throat, like medicine she wasn’t sure she needed.

S
HE WOKE
C
HRISTMAS MORNING
to the smell of cinnamon rolls and coffee. She could hear Carl’s deep voice coming from the kitchen, then Nancy’s, high and cheerful. No sound of the boys yet, though even teenagers would probably get out of bed early today. A weak light came through the curtains, and Marla pulled the covers to her chin. Her mouth was dry and her head ached slightly behind her eyes. Her stomach felt queasy too. It was the bourbon eggnogs, staying up late in the kitchen, helping Nancy with stuffing, rolling out pie dough and pinching it into pie plates. The last thing they talked about before bed was Nancy’s New Year’s Eve party next week, how this one would be formal. Black tie and gowns. Champagne and lobster bisque.

Against the guest room wall was a dressing table and mirror. Marla had had one like it when she was a child, though she’d never sat at it the way pretty girls probably did, staring gratefully at themselves, doing things with their hair, trying on new shades of blush and eye shadow and lip gloss. If Marla ever used it at all it was for a desk when hers was too cluttered, and she’d prop a textbook against the glass so she wouldn’t have to see what she already knew. And that’s what Nancy really meant last night, didn’t she? That some people have to try even harder at love than others, and she was one of them. She felt old and tired.

From down the hall came the muffled sounds of music, high voices singing in a chorus on Nancy’s stereo. It made Marla think of white flowing robes and baby Jesus swaddled on a bed of straw. There was a soft knocking on her door, then Nancy standing there in her robe and no makeup, holding two cups of coffee. Marla smiled at her friend and Nancy smiled back. “Merry Christmas, Marla.”

M
ARLA WORKED
the short week between Christmas and New Year’s. Business was slow and when customers did come in, they seemed vaguely ashamed of themselves, as if they’d spent too much money over the holidays and all the bank tellers knew it. There were long stretches when Marla killed time counting and recounting her drawer, restacking her deposit and withdrawal slips, walking to the coffee room for water. At night, at home alone on Dennis’s Naugahyde couch with Edna, she watched television she didn’t really see or listen to; in the kitchen, her dirty dishes from supper sat in the sink. When she finally went to bed it felt too wide and empty, and she missed Dennis’s big warm body beside her, but little else. She kept hearing his voice when she’d called him from Nancy’s Christmas day after dinner, told him she hadn’t gone to Florida, that she’d decided at the last minute she didn’t want to put up with flight delays and crowded airports and not enough sleep.

“Oh.” He’d sounded hurt. In the background children were laughing, his niece and nephews, and Nancy’s kitchen began to feel small and airless and Marla was sure she must not love Dennis at all; how could she? Lying like that?

Then she lied again and said she had to get off the phone soon to help out with the dishes. “Have a good Christmas, Den. I’ll meet you at the airport.”

N
OW
M
ARLA LAY AWAKE
in the dark in Dennis’s bed. His smell was in the pillowcase and sheets. She imagined leaving him, renting a U-Haul and moving her things out of the garage, Dennis inside somewhere—doing what? Feeling what? She didn’t know, but she would have her own room again, her own kitchen and bathroom, her solitude, her sharing her days and nights with no one but her cat, just herself, just Marla, the way it had always been. She began to cry, and it was as if she were falling backwards into a dark hole, for how could she have forgotten she was a dull, round woman who’d been a dull, round girl, lucky enough now to have found anyone at all? That for all Dennis was not, for all she didn’t feel for him, he was better than a lifetime of nobody. She thought of Dorothy and her sad eyes, all that dark melancholy covered with a bitter gloss of indifference, the two of them for decades to come standing side by side at bank outings talking about work, picking at their food and looking out at all the families, acting as if they weren’t completely alone when they were. And now Marla cried harder, turning her face into her pillow.