Don't Cry Now (14 page)

Sam moved to the stereo, turned the volume down to a more acceptable level. “Sorry.”

“No problem,” Bonnie told him, wishing she knew how to reach him, to get him to open up, to talk about his mother. Their relationship had obviously been something less than loving. Witness his strange reaction after he'd been told of her death. Where's her car? he'd asked.
Ding dong, the witch is dead
. But surely he'd been in shock then, surely he had to be feeling something now other than the total indifference he continued to display. “It doesn't bother L'il Abner when the music's that loud?” Reluctantly, Bonnie's eyes traveled to the snake.

“Not at all,” Sam said. “Snakes are deaf.”

“Really?”

“He can feel the vibrations, but he can't hear anything.” Sam walked over to the tank, tapped his fingers gently against the glass.

Warily, Bonnie approached the tank. The snake stretched toward her, as if on alert. Bonnie swallowed, forced herself to look closely at the reptile. “He's really quite beautiful,” she admitted.

“I think so.” Sam's voice filled with almost parental pride.

“How big did you say he'd grow?”

“To about twelve feet, fifteen if he were living in the wild.”

“Amazing.” Bonnie wondered if she was talking about the snake or her close proximity to it. “What's that on the bottom of the tank?”

“Western African coral,” Sam said. “Or you can just use gravel.”

Bonnie pointed at the other assorted paraphernalia in the tank. “And what's all this stuff for?”

“The thermometer is so I can regulate the temperature inside the tank. It shouldn't go higher than ninety-five degrees. Are you really interested in any of this?” he asked skeptically.

“Yes.” Bonnie realized it was true. “Please, tell me.”

Sam's face grew instantly animated. “Well, the warmer snakes are, the faster they grow. At night, I turn the temperature down to seventy-two, but no lower than that, because snakes are cold-blooded and they wouldn't be able to metabolize their food.” He pointed at the large rock to the far left of the tank. “That's a heating rock. See the plug?”

Bonnie nodded.

“I keep the rock at eighty-five degrees. And these lights here are also for warmth.” He indicated a flood light on the top of the tank. “This one here's a hundred watts, and this long one that runs the length of the tank is a vita light
that mimics the sunlight and gives him vitamins. That's his drinking water,” he said, pointing to a plastic red container filled with water. “He loves the water. Sometimes, he curls up inside it. I keep it at ninety degrees. And that log is for shade, and when he wants to play.”

“Play?”

“Boas are very playful.”

Boas will be boas, Bonnie thought, but didn't say. “And the cardboard box?”

“He likes to crawl in it to go to sleep.”

The snake's head banged at the top of the glass. Bonnie took an involuntary step back. “He can't get out, can he?”

“Not yet. But when he gets bigger, I'll have to put weights on the top so he won't be able to lift it up. Right now he only weighs about ten pounds, but boas are unbelievably strong, and when they're full grown, they can weigh up to two hundred pounds.”

“Jesus.”

“Do you want to hold him?”

“What?”

“He won't hurt you. He's really very friendly.” Sam was already pushing the glass top aside, lifting the snake out of the tank.

“No, Sam,” Bonnie protested. “I don't think this is necessary.”

“There's nothing to be afraid of.” Sam stretched the snake out for her to admire. “Isn't he magnificent? See that iridescence. He's almost purple in places. In the sun, he's almost green. See how the colors get stronger and the pattern gets more concentrated closer to the tail.”

Bonnie's eyes traveled the length of the snake's body, then watched in horror as Sam brought the snake's head to his mouth.

“See, he won't hurt you.” The snake's tongue flickered toward Sam's lips.

“What's he doing?” Bonnie forced her feet forward.

“Snakes sense heat with their tongues. Their tongues
are always moving. Look how long his tongue is.” He turned the snake's head in her direction. “See this dark strip that goes right through his eyes.”

Bonnie looked closely at the eyes on either side of the snake's head.

“Snakes don't have eyelids, so they can never close their eyes,” Sam explained, clearly the teacher here. “Why don't you touch him? He feels great. Like silk.”

“Like silk,” Bonnie repeated numbly, her arm stretching toward the snake as if it had a life of its own. Her fingers touched the snake's body, as gently and as carefully as a lover's caress. Sam was right, Bonnie thought, stroking the snake's long body with growing assurance. It did feel like silk.

“Do you want to hold him?” Sam offered.

Oh God, no, Bonnie thought. “All right,” she heard herself say. Was she crazy? What in God's name was she doing? “What do I do?”

“Here.” Sam guided one of her hands toward the back of the snake's head, the other toward its tail.

“What if he starts squeezing?”

“We could get him off. We're still stronger than he is. Just don't drop him,” Sam warned. “He hates to be dropped.”

Bonnie held on tight, felt the snake strain against her grip, amazed at the power she felt undulating in her hands. I must be out of my mind, she thought. “I've been terrified of snakes all my life,” she said.

“You're doing great,” Sam told her.

The snake twisted its head toward her, its tongue flicking into the air. He really was magnificent, Bonnie thought, temporarily mesmerized by the sight of him, by the fact she was actually holding him in her hands. Her body swayed, as if under hypnosis. If someone had told her a week ago, an
hour
ago, that she would be standing next to a boy with blue-black hair and an earring in his nose, holding onto a four-foot-long boa constrictor, she would have said they were crazy. And yet, here she was,
not only holding the damn thing, but actually enjoying the sensation, the transference of power from the snake's body to hers. Undoubtedly,
she
was the one who was crazy.

Suddenly, the snake stiffened, shifted coils, like one of Amanda's slinky toys. He strained against her fingers and palms, threatening to spill out of her grip, to topple onto the floor. She couldn't drop him, she reminded herself, struggling to maintain her grip. Hadn't Sam just told her that he hated to be dropped? “Maybe you should take him now,” Bonnie said, wondering what she would do if Sam refused, if he were to simply laugh and walk out of the room. Oh God, of all the stupid things she had done in the last few days, this was by far and away the stupidest. Did she really think this was the way to reach Sam? To get him to open up, talk about his mother? Did she really think that the way to a boy's heart was through his pet boa constrictor?

“Sure,” Sam said, easily lifting the snake from her arms, returning him to the tank in one fluid motion, fitting the lid tightly in place.

Bonnie felt suddenly light-hearted and giddy. She heard laughter, realized it was her own. “I did it.” She laughed. “I did it.”

Sam laughed with her. “You were terrific,” he said.

“Yes, I was,” she agreed.

“My mother would never go near him,” Sam mumbled, then ran a hand across his mouth, as if erasing his words.

Bonnie held her breath, desperate to bombard the boy with questions, but aware she had to tread very carefully. “No?” was all she said.

“She said he was slimy and disgusting,” Sam continued, eyes on L'il Abner. “But he's not slimy at all.”

“No, he isn't.”

“She wasn't interested.”

“Yet she let you keep him in the house. My mother would never have done that,” Bonnie said, knowing this
was true. She hadn't been allowed any pets as a child. Her mother's allergies, she was told, remembering the puppy that Nick had brought home one afternoon, only to be told he had to take it right back to where it belonged. “It belongs with me,” he'd begged, to no avail.

“I guess.”

“What was your mother like, Sam?” Bonnie ventured, softly.

His familiar shrug returned. “I don't know,” he said, after a brief pause. “We didn't spend a lot of time together.”

“Why was that?”

“You'd have to ask her.” He laughed, a strangled and truncated sound, and rubbed the side of his nose with his hand.

“That doesn't get in your way?” Bonnie pointed to the earring in his left nostril.

“You forget about it,” he answered, a shy smile briefly illuminating his face, then immediately disappearing.

“Talk to me about your mother,” Bonnie said, watching him stiffen, his body swaying, like the snake now stretching toward the top of the tank.

Sam said nothing for a very long time. “You think I should be sad that she's dead,” he said finally.

“Aren't you?”

“No. Why should I be sad?” His eyes challenged hers. “She was a useless old drunk. She never loved me.”

“You don't think your mother loved you?” Bonnie repeated.

“It was only Lauren she loved,” Sam continued. “She didn't have any use for me.” Again, he scratched at the side of his nose. “And I had no use for her. That's why I'm not sad she's dead.”

“It must have been very hard for you.”

“What?”

“Growing up with a mother who drank, who had no time for you, who never showed you any affection.”

“It wasn't hard.” Defiance laced unconvincingly through his words.

“You must be very angry with her.”

He sneered, raised his hands into the air. “She's dead. How can I be angry with her?”

“Just because people die, doesn't mean our anger dies with them.”

“Yeah? Well, it's no big deal.”

“What about your grandmother?” Bonnie asked, switching gears.

“My grandmother? What about her?”

“I saw her today.”

“Yeah? She know who you were?”

“No.”

Sam laughed. “Didn't think so.”

“What did you say?” a voice asked. Bonnie turned to see Lauren, ashen-faced in the doorway. “Did you say you saw our grandmother?”

Downstairs, a door opened and closed. “Bonnie?” Rod called. “Bonnie, are you home?”

“Upstairs,” Bonnie called in return, her voice filled with surprise. “I thought you were going to be late.”

“I told Marla, enough was enough,” Rod said, his footsteps on the stairs. “I have a home, I have a family, I have a beautiful wife I'm not spending enough time with.” He approached the door to Sam's room, stopped when he saw Bonnie with his two children. “What's going on?” he asked.

T
hey were sitting on the end of the bed. “I have a surprise for you,” he said.

Bonnie smiled at her husband. “You're full of surprises tonight,” she said, listing them silently in her mind. For starters, his early arrival home, followed by his seemingly unflappable good spirits, his lack of anger when he learned of her trip to see Elsa Langer, his insistence on putting the finishing touches on dinner, on serving it, on helping Bonnie with the cleanup. He'd even sat and watched while Lauren read Amanda a bedtime story and then put her to bed, then spent a half hour more alone with his older daughter. “I think Lauren really appreciated the time you spent with her tonight,” Bonnie told her husband.

“I enjoyed it,” Rod said. “She's really a very lovely young lady.”

“I wish there was something more I could do for her.”

“Just be yourself. She'll come around.”

“What did you two talk about?”

“Marla, mostly.”

“Marla?”

“You know how kids are impressed with celebrity.” He shrugged, dismissively. “She wanted to know what she was really like, if she was involved with anyone, that kind of thing.”

“Is she?” Bonnie recalled vaguely that Marla was between husbands at the moment.

“I have no idea,” Rod said. “I'm her director, not her confidant. But I guess we'll find out soon enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dinner on Saturday night.”

“What dinner on Saturday night?” Bonnie asked. Had she missed part of the conversation?

“Dinner at Marla's house this Saturday,” he told her. “Did you forget?”

“Forget? This is the first I've heard about it.”

“I told you a month ago about this dinner,” Rod said, “although I'm hardly surprised it slipped your mind in light of all that's happened.”

“Rod, I don't think I'm up for an evening with Marla Brenzelle. Besides, we don't have a sitter.”

“We have two teenagers.”

“We can't do that,” Bonnie protested. “You know how Joan felt about us using her kids as baby-sitters.”

“They're my kids, too,” Rod reminded her. “And I think they'd enjoy it. They love Amanda, and she's crazy about them. Besides, I think it'll make them feel more like part of the family. Isn't that what you're always talking about—becoming a real family? They're good kids,” Rod added quietly, sounding somewhat surprised, as if he'd just been introduced to these strangers who were his two older children.

And perhaps this was the case, Bonnie thought, knowing that, much as she was loath to admit it, Caroline Gossett's assessment of Rod as a father hadn't been too far off the mark. The truth was he'd never spent much time with any of his children, including Amanda. At first, he claimed she was too little, too delicate, for him to hold. He was uncomfortable around babies, he'd explained, although that scarcely accounted for his discomfort now that Amanda was three years old.

Bonnie had always rationalized Rod's aloofness from his daughter as a fear of losing her. He'd already lost one
baby girl to a tragic accident and his older children to divorce. He was afraid to get too close, afraid to allow himself the luxury of loving Amanda unconditionally, afraid of being hurt again. At least that's what Bonnie had been telling herself until Caroline Gossett told her otherwise.

Perhaps all that was motivating Rod now was a desire to prove Caroline wrong. Whatever it was, if Bonnie's visit to Caroline Gossett accomplished nothing else but to get Rod back on track as a father, it had been worth it, she told herself, taking her husband's hand in hers. “What's my surprise?” she asked, banishing Caroline Gossett from the room.

“Close your eyes,” Rod instructed.

Bonnie did as she was told, feeling like a little kid, starting to giggle. She felt him leave her side, heard a drawer open, followed by the crinkling sound of a plastic bag. A hot pink plastic bag with a big red heart on its side.
Linda Loves Lace
, she read silently, trying to arrange her features into an appropriate configuration for surprise.

“Okay,” he said. “You can open them.”

Bonnie opened her eyes, saw her husband standing in front of her, his hands tightly gripping the pink plastic bag. “What is it?” she asked.

He dropped the bag gently into her lap. “It's been a while since I got you anything,” he said, sheepishly. “I thought this might jog a few pleasant memories.”

Bonnie feigned intrigue, then mild shock, as she withdrew the sexy bra and panties from the bag, followed by the garter belt, stockings, and scarves. “My, my, what have we here?”

“You always looked great in lavender,” he told her. “And out of it,” he added. “Are you going to try it on?”

“Now?”

“Unless you have other plans.”

“I have no other plans,” she said, standing up, Rod blocking her way, surrounding her with his arms, drawing her into a tight embrace.

“I don't think you have any idea how much I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.”

“I've been a jerk.”

“No, you haven't.”

“I've been burying myself in my work, trying to ignore everything that's happened, not taking your concerns seriously enough, not being here for you and the kids….”

“You're here now.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more,” Bonnie said.

“I can't wait to see you in this.”

“The bra looks a little ambitious.” Bonnie held it to her breasts. “Oh well. What is it they say? More than a handful is a waste?”

“I always thought it was mouthful,” he told her.

Bonnie felt her heart quicken. “I like the way you think,” she told him, and he kissed her again, this time his tongue probing the insides of her mouth. Bonnie thought immediately of the snake, its forked tongue stretching toward Sam's lips. Instantly, she recoiled.

“Something wrong?” Rod asked.

Bonnie shook away the unfortunate image with a toss of her head. “Let me slip into something less comfortable,” she whispered, sliding out of her husband's arms, and hurrying toward the bathroom, closing the door behind her, fumbling with the buttons on her blouse.

In the next minute, her blue skirt and white blouse were on the floor, along with her white cotton bra and panties. She stared at her naked body, immediately sizing up its faults: her breasts could be bigger; her butt could be higher; her stomach could be flatter; her arms could be firmer. Her face would no longer be mistaken for that of a teenager. She lifted the flesh at either side of her eyes, thinking of Marla Brenzelle. A little nip here, a little tuck there, a few pounds of well-placed plastic here, a few acres of discarded fat there.

She stepped into the bikini panties, pulling them over
her slender hips. They were sheer and fit high on the hips, dipping into a deep V above her pubic hair. She sucked in her stomach, twisted at the waist. Why couldn't she have one of those tiny little waists, like the models in the latest edition of
Vogue
and
Bazaar
? “Could I have one of those, please?” she asked her reflection.

Maybe, she heard a voice respond. Who's asking?

“Oh God, don't start thinking about that crazy old woman now,” Bonnie said. Not when her husband was waiting for her in the next room, feeling sexy and loving. Her hands fumbled with the garter belt and stockings, wondering what she was supposed to do with the scarves. “Something tells me they're not for my hair,” she said, taking a last look at herself, thinking that, objectively speaking, she didn't look all that bad. So what if the bra was a little big. It wouldn't be on for very long anyway. It had been a while since she'd dressed up for her husband this way. Would he be disappointed? She took a deep breath, opened the bathroom door, and stepped into the bedroom.

Rod had turned off the overhead light, and the room was in darkness, the moon providing only a sliver of light through the curtains. “Don't move,” Rod directed, a disembodied voice in the dark. “I want to look at you.”

Bonnie stopped, her breathing coming in short shallow bursts. “What if someone comes in here?” she asked.

“No one's coming in here.”

“Sam's still awake. I can hear the stereo….”

“No one's coming in here,” Rod repeated. He sat up, his face now clearly visible, his eyes slicing through the darkness, like a knife through butter.

“Rod…”

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

“Tell me.”

“Come here,” he directed. “I'll show you.”

In the next instant, she was beside him on the bed and he was all over her, his hands and lips competing for inches of her flesh, his fingers delicately caressing her on
top of the flimsy fabric, ultimately unhooking, unsnapping, and discarding everything until she lay naked beside him.

“I didn't know what to do with these,” she confessed, opening her fists and releasing the chiffon scarves. They expanded upon contact with the air, like a sponge in water.

“I can show you what these are for,” he whispered. “How adventurous do you feel?”

“Adventurous?”

“You always loved adventure,” he teased.

“What…?” she asked, afraid to finish the sentence.

“I'll show you. Give me your hands.”

“My hands?”

“Ssh. Don't speak.”

“What…?”

“Don't speak,” he said again, kissing her gently on the lips. “You'll like this. I promise.”

In the next second, a scarf was wrapped around each wrist, and each wrist was secured to a bedpost above and behind her head. “Rod, what are you doing?”

“Relax,” he told her. “Close your eyes. Enjoy.”

“I don't think I can relax.”

“There's nothing to be afraid of,” he told her. “I'm not going to do anything you don't like.”

“But I'm not sure I like this.”

His response was to kiss her. Again, she felt his tongue deep inside her mouth. Again, she thought of the snake, tried to banish it from her brain. Why couldn't she just relax and enjoy herself, the way her husband was directing?

Because it's hard to relax when your hands are tied behind your back, a little voice said.

Not when you know nothing bad is going to happen, she admonished the voice. Not when all you have to do is lie back and let yourself go. Not when your husband is merely trying to spice up your lovemaking.

When had their lovemaking ever required spicing up?
Hadn't this part of their relationship always been the most natural? Hadn't they always fit together like a hook and eye, two conjoining pieces of a puzzle?

A horse and carriage? the little voice added playfully. Two peas in a pod? A hand in a glove?

What was she doing? Was she trying to wreck everything?

Maybe, a distant voice cackled. Who's asking?

Bonnie closed her eyes tight, forced her mind to go blank. She wouldn't think of anything but what was happening right now. And right now her husband was tracing a series of tiny lines across her naked body with his tongue, moving down between her legs. Her body arched to accommodate him, her hands struggling to touch him, to caress him, but unable to reach him.

When had tying her up become part of his fantasies? Certainly, he'd never shared such impulses with her before. Maybe it had been something he'd decided at the spur of the moment, standing in
Linda Loves Lace
. Perhaps Linda, herself, had suggested it. Perhaps he'd been too embarrassed to refuse.

Or perhaps it was Rod who'd suggested the scarves. Perhaps he'd been inspired by a movie he'd seen, or more likely, by something someone had confided on his TV show.
Do you have a secret sexual fantasy you'd like to share with our millions of viewers? Call 1-800…

Everybody had fantasies, Bonnie told herself. Just as everyone had secrets, a little something of themselves hidden from others. You couldn't possibly know everything about everyone else. So what if Rod had never shared this fantasy with her before? He was sharing it now. She was its prime beneficiary.

Instantly, Bonnie thought of the insurance policies Rod had on her and his children, policies of which she hadn't even been aware until so recently. How well did she really know this man? she wondered, this man who was on top of her, who was pushing his way inside her, to whom she'd been married for five years? “
You don't know my
husband very well
,” she'd said to Caroline Gossett.

“
Maybe you're the one who doesn't know him
,” Caroline had replied.

“You're beautiful,” Rod was saying. “So beautiful. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Bonnie said, tears running down her cheeks. What was the matter with her? Where were these ridiculous thoughts coming from? Of course, she knew her husband. He was a good man, a kind and wonderful man. They had a good marriage. She had no reason to be suspicious of him. If she wasn't careful, she could end up letting other people's petty and jealous suspicions ruin everything. If she wasn't careful, she would end up like her mother.

Oh great, she thought, her arms straining at their delicate ties, inadvertently tightening the knots at her wrists. It wasn't bad enough that she'd allowed Caroline Gossett and that crazy old woman from the Melrose Mental Health Clinic into the room—now her mother was in bed with them too.

“Are you ready?” Rod was asking, sitting back, lifting her legs over his shoulders.

Bonnie nodded, focusing on her husband's handsome face, as he plunged toward her, like an image in a 3-D movie, pounding into her over and over again, his lips fastening on her lips, his arms stretching toward the bedposts, his fingers intertwining with hers, locking in place.

“I love you,” he said again. “I love you. I love you.”