Wasted Beauty (21 page)

A LONG ORANGE TONGUE SLIDES FROM THE MOUTH OF
the bottle and swirls into the gushing bathwater. Naked and spent, Rick tracks the creep of the burgeoning foam, frowning as the water rises. He places himself on the edge of the tub and considers the liquid heat. Cecilia Bartoli’s “Chant D’Amour” echoes through the cottage.

Disengaged from the usual bone-gnawing worry Rick’s mind floats freely and aimlessly. Usually, his thoughts crunch into each other like subway cars at rush hour. Usually, his thoughts live inside of one another, like those nested Russian dolls, each more intensely painted with anxiety than the last. Now yawning gaps have grown between them, and in those gaps is nothing. Simply a feeling. And the feeling is all about Rena. A kind of high. It’s a place he can settle himself with, return to again and again, savor.

The night before, he had driven up to the Cape and neglected to eat. In the morning he had one egg, no lunch, and salad for dinner. Swam all day. Now he checks out his reflection in the mirror. Looking very tan and thin. Face uncharacteristically lean, eyes crystalline. In the two weeks since I’ve met her, I’ve changed.

Does Laura notice? The sex was great this morning, under the covers while the kids watched cartoons, but she didn’t seem to notice. Spending all this time with Rena is making me miss Laura more. Obviously the girl is getting me wound up. I’m becoming a love junkie. My heart hurts. My heart is an itch I can’t scratch.

Rick spins the roaring taps shut and the only sound is the crackle of bubbles expiring. He carefully lowers himself into the water, letting the heat cook his ass, his balls, his thighs. He dips his shoulders and the tension flares through his muscles. Why am I so tense?

The bubbles caress his face and the heat flows into his limbs, healing him but making him a bit jumpy, too. The water’s too hot. I’m a cored apple baking in the oven. I’m dead. No. Not dead at all. I’m alive. I haven’t been this alive in a long time, have I?

“Rick, what are you doing in there?” Laura senses a vacuum, Rick is here, but not here. Where is he?

“Taking a bath.”

“Is that tub clean?”

“I was feeling sore from the workout, so I thought I’d take a bath. I’m happy, leave me alone.”

“Did you scrub it out first?”

“Don’t worry about the tub.”

“You don’t know who’s been in that tub.”

“It’s not dirty! It’s fine. I’m fine.” She has a sixth sense and a seventh sense and an eighth sense. She knows when I’m thinking about another woman.

After a silence: “Are you going to be in there long?”

“It’s a bath, I’m not going to jump right out. I’m bathing.”

“But I wanted to wash my hair.”

Maybe if I turned off the lights, I could conjure Rena. Hey kid, what are you doing right now? Are you thinking about me?

“Rick!”

“What?!”

“Did you use some bubble bath or something?”

“Yes, go away.”

Rick floats in the hot water weightless, no thoughts, nothing to tie him down to earth. Everything has dissolved. Life has dissolved. Everything is gone, except for Rena’s spirit, infusing him.

“Because you’ll get a ring if you don’t.”

“I used the bubble bath!”

“Which bubble bath?”

“I don’t know. The bubble bath that was in here.”

“That’s not bubble bath.”

“Whatever. There’s bubbles.”

“That’s bath gel, Rick!”

“Laura, I have a headache.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to talk right now, I’m trying to relax in here for god’s sake!”

Silence. Rick listens. Is she outside the door? The bubbles clear and a submarine landscape becomes visible. Penis and scrotum float pale and lifeless, like the pickled fetuses back in med school. Slightly buoyant, a little cooked.

Rick pinches his penis. Wags it. The ur–bath toy, the dick. Something I used to do when I was little. Let the little guy’s helmet come up from under the water. The submarine conning tower breaking up through the foam. All sorts of games you can play with your dick when you’re small. Of course at six you have no idea what kind of trouble playing with this little monster is going to cause. The little popgun. The little soldier. Fucking troublemaker.

Still quiet outside. Rick wags his penis again. Kicks up a little wave. Flip-flop. Deceptively playful. Enjoys all the attention. “You like that, fella?” Never talked to my dick before. Never named it, either. Don’t really think of it as part of me or not a part of me. One thing for sure, you and I are in this together, pal. And let’s face it, if I didn’t have you, my whole life wouldn’t have happened. A person can be missing a finger, a leg, an eye, a person can still fuck around. But if you don’t have a dick you can’t fall in love, can’t have kids, can’t cheat on your wife. Well, maybe you can fall in love. Hopefully I’ll never find out the answer to that one.

“It’s just you and me, guy.” And of course Rena’s pussy and Rena. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Pussy on the radar screen. Going on a mission. Playing the sensitive helpful uncle, the good listener, get her interested, then reel her in. Right? As if I know what I’m doing.

Rena’s like someone I knew long ago, an old friend who’s returned. And it’s like we have that and we know we have it, that old memory. We can feel it. It flows between us. With Laura, there’s always that separateness, that invisible borderline between us. And borders are where wars take place. That’s the problem, war can break out at any time. Laura and I don’t trust each other. That’s the way it is with being married, there’s always the threat of going our separate ways. But that isn’t how it is with Rena. Is it? With Rena, even if I never saw her again, she’d still be part of me. Because she was part of me before we met.

Wait a minute, Laura’s a part of me, too, what am I saying? And no one’s a part of anyone. That’s just an illusion. We’re alone. I’m alone.

Rick massages his penis. Firmer now, just thinking about Rena makes me hard. It’s a different kind of erection, isn’t it? I don’t consciously think of being horny, it just shows up. Like something straight from my viscera. No, not viscera. Soul. I don’t even have to visualize Rena. Just open my heart and I go hard.

The heat is making me sleepy. There she is. There are her eyes. I’m nuzzling her neck, touching her soft breasts. Pushing into her. She’s digging her heels into my back, pulling me into her, harder and harder. Her mouth…

“Rick?”

God!!!

“Rick, what are you doing in there? Are you all right? Rick?”

“Yes.” Too weak. “I said, yes, I’m all right. I’m fine. I was, uh, meditating.”

“I want to rinse some underwear, are you going to be in there much longer? I can do it in the kids’ sink, do you want me to do it in the kids’ sink?”

What is she going on about? “What?” Silence again. Still hard. Conjure Rena back again. Smell her. That perfume she wears. She’s here with me right now. She’s in the room, she’s squatting down on top of me, her gentle hands, bringing my face up to hers, she’s kissing me. Kissing me…

“Oh
shit
!” Rick clutches himself and curls into a fetal position, the hot water filling his mouth, his ears. When he opens his eyes everything is defused, shimmering with orgasm. The twisted white worms of his cum float in the hot water. He can’t help but think: denatured protein. He moans, “God.”

“Rick?”

Rick recalls seeing a building once that had been set with hundreds of dynamite charges so that when they exploded the building collapsed in on itself. That’s me. Imploded. There are no words, now, only sensation and color and Rena. Rick lets himself slip down into the foam. I could drown this way. Boiled alive. Why not? I’ve lost my mind, it makes no difference.

“Rick?”

Don’t move. Just die.

“Rick? Answer me! Are you OK?”

Rick yanks himself up, clutching a towel which falls the wrong way into the water, instantly heavy with wet. He brings the sopping cloth up and smothers his face.

“God,” he murmurs. “God.”

“Rick, are you all right?”

“God.” He whispers to a cluster of bubble foam, to the tiles on the wall.

“Answer me, Rick.”

“No. I’m not fine.”

“What?”

“Go away. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Rick carefully places the soaking towel on the edge of the tub, presses his face down onto it and listens to his heart beating.

RENA WOULD TUG ON THE BRANCHES UNTIL THE WHOLE
tree shook and the apples fell like summer hail. It was the only way to get at the ones too high up to pick. Pull and shake until the vibration ran up through the applewood into the twigs, and the fruit, swinging like mad pendulums, would have no choice but to fall.

That would be around this time of year. End of the summer. The apples wouldn’t be quite ready, but I wouldn’t mind. The sweet cider running over my teeth and tongue. One minute the fruit’s on the tree, then it’s in my stomach. As simple as that.

From where Rena sits at this moment, it would be impossible to know the season, let alone the time of day because she’s sitting in the pale olive waiting room at Billy’s hospital. There’s been an “incident.” This time the nurse doesn’t seem so friendly. She has Billy’s folder on her desk. She scans it, and without looking up, announces, “I understand you want to transfer your brother out of here.” She jots something down, pockets her pen and closes the folder.

“I was looking into that option.” What opiate is this nurse on? Vicodin? Percodan? Thai white?

The impassive black woman glances up at Rena, brown eyes impenetrable. “Well, you can look into whatever you like. But right now, Billy isn’t going anywhere.”

“What do you mean, ‘right now’?”

“Last night, he decided to act out. He smashed the TV with a folding chair. Threw an inmate into a wall. Did a lot of screaming. Screamed his head off. Fortunately no one was hurt. If someone gets hurt, Miss Cook, there will be consequences, no matter what his status.”

“I understand.” Get me out of here.

“Do you? I think you had better inform your brother that he can’t afford these tantrums. I don’t care who his sister is. Billy may not like our ward, but take my word for it, Miss Cook, solitary lockdown is an even more difficult place. Some people go in and never come out. Mental health is not a precise science.”

“That sounds threatening.”

“We took the straitjacket off him this morning. Increased his meds, so he’s sedated but aware of what’s going on. If we have to, we will continue balancing the medication to prevent any more outbursts. That’s for the benefit of the other inmates, as well as for Billy’s. Most of the people in here want to get better.”

“Let me see him.”

“You’ll see him.” The woman stands and and walks out of the room. In the ward, the nurse turns to Rena before leaving her. “You say he’s a good guy. It’s not my concern whether he is or isn’t. My concern is his mental health in the context of this institution. You’re his sister. Tell him he’s got to get with the program. If he isn’t getting better, he’s getting worse. That’s just the way it is, Miss Cook. He listens to you. He likes you.” Rena turns to go as the woman keeps talking. “You can have all the money and connections in the world. It’s still my job to approve a transfer. And I will only do that when he’s showing improvement, I don’t care how many lawyers call me.”

The nurse walks off and Rena thinks, how does someone like that decide to be a caregiver? So she can be a patronizing asshole? So she can have power over all these poor fuckers? If you control the crazies, does that prove you’re sane?

Billy’s door is ajar, dark inside, as usual. “Billy?” Nothing. She steps inside. He’s moved his bed to the diagonal. Sheets and pillows are scattered on the floor. He lies on his back, palms upward, eyes open, facing the ceiling. The mattress is bare. He lies here, like the radiant core of a nuclear power plant.

“Billy? It’s me, Rena.”

Nothing. His eyes are open.

“Billy? Hi?” He doesn’t blink. The eyes examine the ceiling. He taps the mattress with an index finger, jaw in flux as if chewing cud.

“I brought you some cookies.” She places the tin of cookies on the table next to the teal blue water bottle and cup. Box of tissues. Lotion. The smells. Any energy Rena possessed as she entered drains away. “Billy? Can you at least say hello to me?” No, he’s not going to say hi or move or sit up or do anything. His eyes rotate in their sockets. He glances at her, looks away.

“If you’re going to be like that, I’m gonna go.” But this is stupid. To come all the way out here and then just leave. It’s not his fault. He’s sick. I have to have patience. She pulls a heavy armchair out from the wall. “Why don’t I sit for a minute. See if you want to talk.”

He’s staring at the ceiling again, his lips no longer chewing an invisible stick of gum. Instead he’s forming inaudible words with his lips. Tapping his finger like a machine part. Robotic. A song in his head, maybe?

“Billy, I know you can hear me, they told me you can hear.”

He shuts his eyes and opens them again. As if in assent. Or to signal absolute fatigue. Or as a sign of dismissal.

“Hey, Bill. Guess what happened? I got a renewal on the bebe contract? Cool, huh? It’s been so much harder to get work lately. Marissa says the business is in a slowdown, so I was pretty amped about getting this job. We shoot next week, so I won’t be able to come when I usually do. But I know you’ll understand.”

Billy turns his eyes on her. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t tap. Doesn’t chew. “Billy. I know you’re on special medication, so you’re probably not up for conversation. But…but, listen, I’m trying to get you out of here and throwing shit around isn’t helping, you know? I mean, I’m doing my part and I know it isn’t easy, but you have to try. I know you’re frustrated. We’re all frustrated. That head nurse is a bitch. Still, you’ve got to control yourself. Even now what you’re doing and I know you’re doing it, is not easy to deal with. You can talk to me, at least.”

Billy begins to chew and tap at the same time.

“OK. OK. Don’t get all agitated. You’re in a bad mood. Listen, I’d hate it too if I had to stay here. But why don’t you just hang in, don’t do anything bad for a week or so and then you can go to a much nicer place. OK?”

The tapping stops. Resumes.

“I’ve been working with this very nice doctor, the one who admitted you? Do you remember him? The night you were in the fight? Well, he’s going to help me get you out of here.”

Billy closes his eyes. This time they remain shut.

“I guess that means yes. OK. OK.” Now she knows why the tissues are on the table. She takes one and wipes her eyes. “Hey, you know what I was thinking about before I came in here? I was thinking about the orchard. There must be apples on the trees right now. It’s almost September. I can smell them. Can’t you? So why don’t you think about that, OK? Think about getting out of here and getting back up to the farm. OK? I will drive you up myself. I can’t stay there, of course, but I’ll visit. It’ll be fun. OK? Think of the orchard. Whenever you get upset, think of the orchard.”

Billy begins to snore. His breath is labored. He looks so much like Daddy. It’s like watching Daddy coming back to life. And dying all over again.