Fag Hag (Robert Rodi Essentials) (10 page)

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Natalie, you’re being morbid!”

“Yes, for heaven’s sake, Natalie,” said Peter, teasing her.

“For your information,” Sandy said, jabbing her finger in the air for emphasis, “I’m perfectly prepared for her to be a drug addict or a thief or an abused child, or even to have mental problems. Why do you think I signed up for the program? I’m sitting here in my big Oak Park home with my entire life in order, and I think to myself, I’m a success; I’ve pretty much lived the life I wanted to live. Now my labors are over, with you and Calvin grown up and on your own—and certainly neither one of
you
ever calls me for advice—so isn’t it time I taught somebody else how to achieve what she wants to achieve in life? Isn’t it only right that some poor, underprivileged, and perhaps deeply troubled young girl should be pulled away from a poisonous environment and given the benefit of all I have to offer? I don’t care if she deals heroin and carries a switchblade, I’m ready for her. I’ll make a lady out of her if it kills me. But anyway, enough about me. How are you two? Peter, darling, we didn’t get a chance to talk at the wedding. It’s been months since we’ve had a chat, hasn’t it? Probably since your last haircut. You look healthy and happy! You
are
staying to dinner, aren’t you? I’m uncanning a ham.”

Natalie parted her lips to decline the invitation, but Peter beat her to it with an acceptance: “I’d love to stay, Mrs. Stathis. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Natalie felt like dying.

S
ANDY WAS UNBEARABLE
during dinner. She was so happy to have her daughter at her table again that she broke out champagne, and that most magical of liquids succeeded in loosening a tongue already looser than it should be. Over mashed potatoes she turned to Peter and said, “Natalie tells me you’ve been unlucky in your romantic life. You’ve obviously never had the experience of loving a really good woman.”

“I certainly haven’t,” Peter said merrily, and Natalie kicked him under the table.

“Oh, that’s awful! But I want to caution you, don’t fall in love just for the sake of it. One day you’ll have a rude awakening, like I did. Natalie’s father, Warren—God rest his soul—I married him because I fancied myself in love with him. What I was really in love with was the idea of being in love. Well, of course it was an utter disaster. Like being in prison. Six months after the wedding I would’ve done anything to divorce him, but in those days you couldn’t—it was a scandal. Hard to imagine now, but it’s true. So I had to grit my teeth and just endure it. Then, about a year later, Warren went out with friends to shoot some deer, but the only thing that got shot was Warren. Suddenly I was free. I was a widow, with a baby in my arms and another on the way, but I wasn’t afraid, I was eager to move on. I resolved never to make the same mistake again. I vowed I’d marry for
true
love next time. And I did: I met Natalie’s stepfather, Max, whom I adored, which was lucky for him because if I hadn’t adored him I’d probably have killed him. He lied to me, cheated on me, stole money from me—but every now and then he’d bring me flowers and flash that roguish grin, and I’d melt. True love sails over a lot of inconsistencies, you know.”

Peter looked strangely somber. “I believe it.”

“We were an odd couple, but we lasted. Right up till the day he died, just a few years ago. Cancer of the pancreas.” Her eyes started to mist, and Natalie turned scarlet with mortification. “You’d think I’d have wished the old dog dead, the way he treated me, but to this day I don’t know how I get through a night without him. And you know what? At the end, he only wanted me in the room with him. Me alone. Just knowing that gives me the courage to go on.”

Peter, who’d had more than his share of the champagne, suddenly astonished everyone by bursting into convulsive sobs. Both mother and daughter leapt from their chairs and ran to him.

“Are you all right, honey?” Natalie cried, hugging his shoulders. “Mom, look—you’ve upset him! You and your inappropriate prattling!”

“Such a sensitive boy,” cooed Sandy, stroking his head. “Oh, isn’t he a sweetheart!”

After a few moments, Peter managed to compose himself. He dried his tears and apologized profusely.
“Jesus,
I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me. That was just such an incredibly sad story, Mrs. Stathis. I guess I just lost it.”

She sat down and beamed at him. “I know, dear. It’s very sad. And it’s so nice to have someone recognize that. My own children don’t see it. You’ve made me very happy, Peter. I feel a little less alone now.”

Natalie sat and toyed with her food, wondering if there was anywhere in the world she could take Peter that someone wouldn’t try to steal him from her.

“W
HAT ON EARTH
happened to you in there?” Natalie asked him the moment they left the house.

“I just got upset by your mom’s story,” he said, clearly embarrassed. “I couldn’t help thinking how fucked up it was for her.”

“You weren’t thinking about anything else, then?”

“No, no.”

The train ride back to the city passed in silence. Peter sat with his head resting against the window and stared at the landscape as it swept by. Natalie felt uneasy, as if there were something just beyond the range of her vision, something that darted away every time she tried to focus on it.

She accompanied Peter to his apartment; he didn’t object. Her heart began to race. He’d had an emotional day, plus a catharsis at her mother’s dinner table, complete with a shower of cleansing tears. Might he be open to the possibility of some gentle sex tonight? If it was ever going to happen between them, it would be tonight. After all, they’d slept together, platonically, many times; they were no strangers to each other’s bodies. That barrier was already down. She had a feeling that if she pressed her advantage, she could easily lead him to the next plateau. He was like a child tonight, fragile and manipulable.

He unlocked the door and let her in. The second before he turned on the lights, she saw his answering machine blinking.
No,
she thought;
no, no, no.

He hadn’t seen it, and the lights were on now, rendering it less obvious. She grabbed his arm and led him into the kitchen. “Got anything to drink, hon?” she asked. She opened the refrigerator, still hanging on to him with one hand.

He smiled wanly. “Come on, Natalie. It’s Sunday night. I have to be at work in the morning. Help yourself to whatever you want, but I’m not having anything.”

She shut the refrigerator and faced him. “Poor baby. Bet you could use a nice back rub.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”

She was thrilled by her success. “You just go and take off your clothes, doll. I’ll be right behind you.”
After I erase your messages,
she added to herself.

“Okay.” He edged away from her and out of the kitchen; she only released his hand when their arms had stretched to their limit.

From the kitchen she watched him as he walked to the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt. At the last second, however, he snapped his fingers, then backed up and peered at the answering machine.

Shit,
thought Natalie.
Christ almighty fucking SHIT.

He rewound the tape and played it.

“Peter, this is Lloyd,” the tinny recording began.

Natalie lifted her hands to her face and dissolved into tears.

“I’ve spent the whole day telling myself that I was right to do what I did, but I couldn’t convince myself. And I’m a pretty convincing guy.” Pause. “Then I tried being honest with myself, and I realized that the whole scene I created was just a way of dealing with my fear of being involved with you. Because I care about you such a—such a great deal.” Another pause. “Well, the thing is, I’m sorry, and I expect you to forgive me.” A moment of nervous laughter. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to insist on it. I can guarantee you I won’t behave in a psychotic manner again. I think you can believe that. For the record…” Another pause. “For the record, I think you’re—I don’t know how to put this.” A longer pause, then his voice came back with a little crack in it, as though afflicted by emotion. “I think you’re beyond ideology. I think you’re beyond ethics. I think—I think you’re a miracle.” Click. The hiss of blank tape.

Peter had held his hand over his mouth for the entirety of the message. Now he took a long, deep breath and exhaled voluminously; his breath shuddered as it exited his mouth.

He turned and approached the kitchen; he was already re-buttoning his shirt. Natalie turned to prevent him from seeing her tear-swollen eyes.

“You heard that?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

“Yes.”

He took a step forward, then stopped. “I’m going to go now.”

“Oh.”

He backed up and grabbed his jacket. “Lock up before you leave, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay.”

He slipped out the door and was gone.

She stood in the kitchen, listening to the hiss of the tape and to the pounding of her own heart, and the world was very still in spite of that; terribly still, as though awaiting a storm that was only moments away.

F
INALLY
, N
ATALIE BELIEVED
it. She believed Lloyd Hood was a threat, the worst ever.

She didn’t go home that night; she crawled into Peter’s bed and lay there, empty of feeling. Still no anger. She wondered where it could be. Didn’t she love him? Then why didn’t she feel the simmering rage that always bubbled up when someone new came into his life?

She wondered about it for hours, her head on his pillow, her eyes wide. Eventually she determined a reason: She couldn’t feel anger because, unlike Peter’s other lovers, Lloyd hadn’t taken Peter away—instead, he had changed him utterly. The Peter she loved wasn’t involved with a new man; the Peter she loved did not exist at the moment. He’d been battered into a new shape by Lloyd’s constant hammering.

She fell asleep wondering how she could bring him back again. It was so important that she do this. She might have no clear idea of the life she wanted to lead with him, but life without him was inconceivable—a vast expanse of misery, stretching on until her death. And if a romance with him sometimes seemed just as inconceivable, well—tough. She was going for broke. It was either the peak, the summit, the acme, or nothing. Whatever kind of love they could share—even the flimsiest, the least satisfying—even if she had to debase and humiliate herself to get it, that’s what she wanted. He was her highest value, the full realization of her image of perfect masculinity, of perfect humanity.

Except for that one little thing, of course. That one little damnable, immutable, excruciating exception.

At the crack of dawn she got up, dressed, and left Peter’s apartment, not wanting to be there when he arrived to change for work.

A few hours later he phoned her from his office. “Lloyd and I made love last night.” That was how he put it. Not “Lloyd and I slept together” or “Lloyd and I had sex.” It jolted her. She’d never heard him speak of “making love” to anyone.

“It was—it was—well, words fail me.” Words had never failed him before. “It was like the fulfillment of something I didn’t even know I’d been dreaming of.” He’d never spoken of fulfillment before. He’d never spoken of dreams before. “Such incredible intimacy. Such a powerful sense of, I guess I’d call it rightness.” These terms were all new to his vocabulary. “I’m in love with him.” He’d said that before, but now his tone was that of a different man.

“Oh,” she said, her voice dead of expression. “Congratulations.”

“I told Lloyd you were with me when I played his message. I told him it made you cry. He was really touched by that; he hadn’t realized how close we are. He wants to have you over. To his place, for dinner, just the three of us. He says he’s a good cook. Guess we’ll find out together. Friday okay?”

“Okay,” she said.

“You sound funny. You all right?”

“Fine. You’d better get back to work.”

“I know. Well—thanks for listening, doll. I love you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She hung up.

Still no anger. She felt dead of all sensation. Where was it hiding?

She walked through her week like a zombie. She smiled at no one, looked through them when their eyes met. On Wednesday, the head of the office where she was temping called her agency and asked them not to send her back; she’d given the other employees “the creeps.”

She ate lightly all week. She wasn’t hungry. Nothing so strong as an appetite or a desire was in her. Her meals were joyless, her sleep dreamless. She watched TV without laughing. She listened to music without pleasure.

On Thursday night, she found her anger.

She was at the Evergreen supermarket, picking up a few staples. Milk, bread, nothing colorful or exciting. She didn’t check the prices; she didn’t care. She’d pay whatever the clerk told her she owed. Nothing mattered.

She heard someone call her name. “Natalie!” It was Peter’s voice.

She turned. It had sounded as though he’d been directly behind her, but she didn’t see him there.

“Hey!
Natalie!”

Wait—
that
was him. The man she’d looked right past.

He came up to her and kissed her; she stared at him in horror. She thought she might be sick.

His hair was gone. It had all been shorn off. There was next to nothing left. Nothing to shake the water out of, nothing let blow in the wind, nothing to tousle, nothing for her to run her fingers through.

He noticed her shocked expression and self-consciously ran his hand over his scalp. “Oh, you noticed, huh? It was supposed to be a surprise when you came to dinner tomorrow. I know, I know—a little more boot camp than I wanted, but it’ll fill in. Lloyd likes it this way.”

“Th—that’s—why you did it?” she said, her voice shrill. “For
Lloyd?”

“Well, mostly. Tell you the truth, I was getting a little tired of it myself. So much
work.”

She was trembling. Tears popped out of her eyes. “My God—I’m really losing you, aren’t I?”