Funeral with a View (28 page)

“Uh-huh. I thought I was
having a bad dream.”

You’re not the only
one, kid.

“Here, Pookie Bear. Let’s
get you back to bed.”

I stalked past them to
the front door.

“Daddy? Where you going?
Mommy, where’s Daddy going?”

“Ricky, please,”
Catherine called. “Let’s talk this out.”

“There’s nothing to talk
about, Cat. Not now, not anymore.”

Catherine covered
Celeste’s ear as she balanced the little one on her hip. Her next words were a
whisper.

“Don’t do this, Rick.
Don’t go. I know you’re hurt, but please, don’t leave like this.”

“Hurt? You don’t know the
meaning of the word.” Without looking back, I stepped onto the porch. “Be good
for your mother, Celeste.”

“Daddy? Daddy!”

Celeste’s pure, innocent
need broke what little of my shattered heart was left, but I had to get out of
there. I could no longer be in that house.

Painful though it was, I
walked out without so much as a glance over my shoulder.

I pounded on the door,
fresh waves of pain radiating through my hand. It hurt like hell, but I didn’t
care. I didn’t care about anything other than giving into my anger. Anti-Ricky
was in control. I was merely along for the ride.

“What’s going on out
there?”

Several doors down, a
short, bald man, peered at me through dirty glasses. It was the same person
who’d given me the stink eye the last time I assaulted Bill’s door.

Déjà vu all over again.

“Do you have any idea
what time it is?” he said as if nothing like this could ever happen in his
perfect little world.

“What the shit are you
looking at?” I barked. “Do I
look
like I care what time it is?”

He backed into his
apartment. “Hey, buddy. Calm down, okay? I don’t wanna have to call the cops.”

“Do whatever you have to
do.” I resumed knocking as the man melted into his condo and shut the door.

“What the … It’s nearly
ten. Whoever it is out there, you’re in for a severe ass kicking.”

The door flew open. Bill looked
directly at me, teeth bared and jaw clenched. His hair stood on end and he was
dressed in nothing but boxers.

“Rick? What the hell is
wrong with you?”

My fist connected with his
lantern jaw, sending him sprawling into the condo. He staggered, tripped, and
landed firmly on his ass.

“Dammit.” My hand was on
fire. I clutched it with my left and stepped over Bill, kicking the door closed
behind me. Screw that neighbor. Let him call the cops.

“Jesus Christ.” Bill
stood up and grabbed his jaw. “I’m going to fuck you—”

“Fuck me? Like you fucked
my wife?” That stopped him dead in his tracks. “Well, I see you at least know
what I’m talking about, don’t you,
buddy
?”

“Bill?” Angela walked out
of the bedroom, wrapped in a white towel that barely covered her nudity.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said.
“Was I interrupting something, Bill? Had I known you were entertaining, I’d
have called ahead.” While I had no problem with Angela, I felt elated that I’d
interrupted Bill’s Friday night boning activities.

“Is it true?” she asked
him, her high voice a combination of concern, annoyance, and uncertainty. Her
knuckles were white from clutching the towel around her chest. “Is it, Rick?
Bill … and Cat?”

“Maybe you should go,”
Bill said, rubbing his jaw where my fist had landed.

“No. I deserve an
answer.”

“You heard the lady,” I
said. “She wants an answer. What’s it going to be, Bill? Do you have one for
her? I’m interested in hearing it myself.”

Bill glared at me as he
took Angela’s shoulders in his hands. She trembled, but her look was defiant,
as if daring him to lie.

“Angela,
please
.
You shouldn’t be here for this. It doesn’t concern you.”

“If it concerns you it
concerns me.”

“Listen. I’ll explain it
to you later, okay? I’ll call you, I promise. But right now you should get your
things and go. Isn’t that right, Rick?”

I shrugged. “I don’t give
a damn either way, Bill.”

After a moment’s
deliberation, Angela nodded and retreated to the bedroom. Bill and I locked eyes
in a Mexican standoff while she gathered her things. Several minutes later she
reappeared, dressed but disheveled. Dark trails of mascara scored her cheeks.

I stood to the side as he
led her to the door, rubbing her back and whispering in her ear. She nodded,
but was clearly dazed and confused as to what to do. If Bill hadn’t walked her
to the door, I doubt she would have done so on her own.

“It’s best that you
leave, Angie,” he said, hugging her in front of the threshold.

The display enraged
Anti-Ricky. He writhed inside me, sickened by seeing Bill get off scot free
while my life was completely shattered. A sentence skimmed through my mind, one
that had been brewing but went unsaid. My darker side grabbed it, tasted it,
found it to his liking. He took control of my tongue and the words that came
out of my mouth were as shocking to me as they were to everyone else in the
room.

“Yeah, Angela,” I said.
“It’s best that you leave. Why would you even want to stay? Now I know why
you’re always breaking up with Bill. Who could blame you for not wanting to
stick around with a two pump chump like him?”

Angela gasped.

Bill’s reaction was more
extreme.

His left hook met my face
with the power of a jackhammer. Stars burst in my eyes, and I spun in the air
like an ice skater executing a triple axel while in the throes of a grand mal
seizure. I collapsed on the ground solidly, face first. Imaginary judges held
up score cards, and what deductions they gave me for the technical aspects, I
made up for in style points and sticking the landing.

I lifted my head, shaking
away the cobwebs.

“Bill, no!”

Angela’s frantic scream
earned my attention. I turned in time to see Bill reach for me. He grabbed me
by the shoulders, flipped me over, got down on one knee, and clenched his fist.
His face was craggy with lines of anger.

“Stop,” Angela screamed.

Bill jerked back his arm
as she tried to pull him off me. His elbow caught her in the shoulder, and she
stumbled and fell. If it weren’t for that, who knew what he’d have done to my
face? Hearing her squeal obviously cleared his head. He blinked when he
realized what he’d done and ran to her.

“Jesus, Angie,” he said,
kneeling down. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’m fine.” She batted
away his attempt to help her up. “Get away from me.”

“Let me help you.”

“I said I’m fine!” She
stood up and dusted herself off. Her earlier demeanor of confusion and
acceptance was gone. Angela was furious. She gathered her things and gripped
the doorknob.

“You don’t understand,
Angela,” Bill said, attempting to stand between her and the doorway, but she
was resolute. She nudged his considerable mass out of the way.

“I understand completely,
Bill. You’re not who I thought you were.”

From my vantage point on
the floor, I watched her peer over her shoulder then disappear down the
breezeway.

“Angela, please,” Bill
pleaded.

“We’re over, Bill. Have a
nice life.”

Bill closed the door and
leaned his head against it. “We just got back together.”

“Think I give a shit,
Bill?” I said, and crawled to the recliner, using it to get to my feet. My eye
was swollen. Bill had a mean left.

“We just got back
together and you ruined it.”

“You ruined it on your
own. You ruined it when you slept with my wife.”

His shoulders tensed as
he faced me. The fire had left his eyes, the fight gone.

“Don’t deny it,” I said.
“I know what happened, so I’ll save you the trouble of insulting my
intelligence by even trying.”

“How?”

“Cat and I had a fascinating
conversation tonight.”

Eventually Bill said, “It’s
not like it was planned.”

“So I heard.”

“It was an accident.”

My laugh sounded like a howl.
“An accident? You accidentally screwed my wife while I was away on a business
trip?”

“Angela dumped me.
Again
.
You know how much she screws up my head. I was a mess, and you were a total
jerkoff when I talked to you. I called Cat and went over to the house.” He
pointed an accusatory finger at me. “It was
your
suggestion. She told me
about the second miscarriage. We had a few drinks. Things got … out of hand.”

“Yeah, yeah. Save it, dickhead.
Just save it. I’ve heard this story already.” I paced, throbbing hand pressed
to bulging eye. “Take your piss poor excuses and stuff them up your ass.”

“I’m not trying to make
excuses.”

“No? Could have fooled
me. Everything you’ve told me, both of you, sounds like nothing but excuses.
Excuses and blame. ‘You weren’t there for me, Rick. You were mean to me, Rick.
You wouldn’t put your own life on hold to glue me back together, Rick.’ Blah.
Blah. Blah. Why don’t you go find your nuts and tell me the truth for a change,
Bill?”

“What truth?”

“That you’ve never gotten
over Cat. That you’ve been jealous that she chose me over you all this time.
That as soon as you saw a weakness you exploited it and moved in for the kill.”

“Say what? That’s
bullshit, and you know it!”

He could have said
anything to me that that point and I wouldn’t have cared. My dark side reached
down deep and found every single insecurity I’d ever had to use as ammunition. “The
strip poker night, always hanging around us like a dog waiting for a scrap of
food to fall to the floor so you could grab it up, going from one girl to the
next with as much thought as you’d give to considering a change of underwear.
And Angela. The breakups? Never being able to stay together for more than a few
months at a time? I’ve been such an idiot.”

“Rick, I know saying I’m
sorry won’t cut it—”

“You’ve got that right.”

“—but none of that’s
true. It was a fuck up.”

“Remember that night in
the park? When you begged me to keep my trap shut about me and Sandy?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I
remember.”

“You were guilty, plain
and simple. And I never saw it. I thought you were looking out for me, but you
were trying to cover up the fact that you’d slept with Cat.” I stopped pacing.
I was so, so tired. “All these years I’ve put up with your shit. I was nothing
but good to you. And you stabbed me in the fucking back.”

“Rick, come on, man. Do
you know how shitty I’ve felt all this time, walking around with this on my
conscience?”

“She’s not mine.”

“What?” Bill’s head
canted to the side. “Who’s not yours?”

“Celeste, you fuck,” I
yelled, pointing a bruised finger. “She’s not
my
daughter. She’s
yours
.”

His jaw went slack, his
eyes opened wide. In a daze, Bill maneuvered to the recliner and fell into it.

“You’re kidding,” he
whispered, head in hands. “You have to be. No way that’s true. No way.”

“Do I look like I’m
kidding?
”
I bore down on him, inches away from his slumped, still body.
“For five years, five
years
, I’ve been raising her like my own, only to
find out through blind luck that the daughter I thought was mine is my
supposed
best friend’s.”

“Oh my God oh my God oh
my God.” He repeated the phrase as if he were mentally disturbed, rocking back
and forth. Part of me was enraged to the point of nausea. The other part,
Anti-Ricky, savored his pained reaction. “No. You’re lying to me. Have to be
lying to me.”

“Our blood types don’t
match! And the only other person Cat was with at that time was you, Bill. You
know, I should beat the piss out of you. I should pick up a blunt object and cave
in your skull. But you know what?” I stalked to the door. “You’re not goddamn
worth it. You are fucking dead to me.”

“Ricky …”

“You and Cat. Both of
you. Dead to me. You want her? You can have her.”

The sound of the slammed
door echoed through the breezeway as I made my way to the parking lot.

Somehow I ended up on the
road. Can’t remember getting in the car or starting it. Can’t remember blasting
the radio to the point where it made my ears ring. I remember driving, cobalt
streaks of passing streetlights, and eventually parking on the street.

The house was dark.
Tentatively, I reached out and knocked.

No answer.

I knocked harder.

Still, no answer.

As I was ready to give up
and go somewhere else,
anywhere
else, I heard the clicking of the lock.

The door opened.

“Rick? What are you doing
here?”

“Hey, Sandy.”

Sandy stood in her
doorway, wearing a revealing black silk nightgown. Her damp obsidian hair
cascaded over her shoulders. A slight breeze carried a hint of lavender.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s
late.” I peeked into the parlor. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

Sandy shook her head.
“Well, no. But what are you doing here so late? Do you know what time it is?”

“That seems to be a
popular question tonight.” I stepped into the house. “No, I don’t know what
time it is. And I don’t care.”

“What happened to your
eye?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Sandy didn’t have a
chance to utter a follow-up to that. As soon as she closed the door I put my
hands on her face and pulled her to me, pressing my lips hard to hers. She melted
into the kiss after a moment’s hesitation, wrapped her arms around me, and ran
her fingers through my hair.

“Shit, Rick,” she said,
taking a breath of air. “What’s gotten into you?”

I laid a finger on her
lips. “I don’t want to talk about anything. I just want you. I just want this.”
My hand trailed down her side and I grabbed her toned ass.

We stumbled up the
stairs, shedding our clothes with each step. Our bodies were like one being
with four arms and four legs, joined at the mouth and hips, and one thought ran
through my mind as we made our way to the bedroom with only our scattered
clothes to mark the passing.

This was just what I
needed.

A good old fashioned
revenge fuck.

I threw Sandy onto her
bed. She was in her panties now, the nightgown nowhere to be seen. Her body was
even more  incredible than I’d suspected. I soaked up every detail with my
hungry eyes; her luminously tanned skin, how her taught stomach rippled as she
propped herself on her elbows and watched me remove my boxers; how her nipples
stood up in arousal. The silken skin of her well-muscled, lean thighs lead to
toned calves and perfect, high arched feet.

My tongue teased her
navel, and I worked it up her prone body to her collarbone, leaving a faint
trail. Sandy grabbed my hair and pulled me into another powerful kiss.

I was kissing her neck,
running my tongue in circles when she breathed, “Are you sure this is what you
want?”

Right then it was the
only thing I wanted.

“All I want,” I began, running
my tongue from her collarbone to her neck to her jawline, “is you,” I nibbled
her ear, “and me,” I drew my throbbing hand softly up along her inner thigh,
“and this.” My hand found its way to the small patch of hair between her legs.
I rubbed gently and she moaned deep in her throat.

The naked, unabashed need
in Sandy’s eyes was so powerful I felt lost in it.

Licking her lips, she grabbed
my ass and pulled me close.

~~~

“You’re buzzing.”

“You sure it’s not your
battery operated boyfriend?”

“Positive. I killed that
thing a while back.”

I leaned over Sandy and
picked up my phone. The light from her Zippo cast a shiny glow on her as she
lit another joint. My phone’s display was filled with missed call and text
notifications. I’d been ignoring it all weekend.

“You may want to check
them, you know,” she said, taking a long drag, holding it, exhaling. Sweet, smoky
tendrils drifted to the ceiling. “Want a hit?”

“Sure, why not? Not like
it’s gonna kill me.”

Smoke filled my lungs as
I read the bright phone display. It was a litany of missed calls, mostly from
Catherine. There was one from my mother as well. I wasn’t in the mood for them.
I wasn’t in the mood for much of anything. The only two things in my world
right then were Sandy next to me and the joint between my finger and thumb.

I scanned through the
texts, holding the smoke in my lungs and allowing the chemicals to get
entrenched in my bloodstream.

“I’m sorry. Pls come
home.”

“Where are U??”

“R U OK?”

“Pls let me know UR OK.”

“I’m scared. Not
answering UR phone! Know U hate me right now but let me know UR ALIVE?”

I rapidly entered
“I’M
FINE”
and tossed the phone aside.

Although I wanted nothing
to do with Catherine, allowing her to think I could be hurt or dead in a
roadside ditch in the middle of nowhere seemed cruel and unusual punishment. In
fact, letting her know that I was not only alive and well, but choosing to
ignore her held a certain twisted appeal. Petty? Yes. Did I give a shit? No.

Sandy examined me when I
offered her the joint.

“What?” I coughed,
finally letting the smoke exit my lungs.

“Are you going to tell me
what this is all about, Rick?”

“Do I have to?”

“Well,” she exhaled, “you
come here in the dead of night with nothing but the clothes on your back and a
black eye and throw yourself at me without preamble. After all these years of
keeping me at arm’s length?” She leaned on her elbow and scrutinized me. “Saying
it’s pretty odd would be an understatement.” Sandy placed the joint in a glass ashtray
then stroked her hand along my face. “What’s going on? Why now?”

“You sure you want to
know?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

As I once did a long,
long time ago, in a Mexican restaurant far, far away, I ‘puked’ my guts out.
Sandy’s face was a slideshow of emotion as I bared my soul. By the time I was
done, her mouth was slack, her eyes shocked. It was surreal. Sandy, next to me
in bed, sexy as hell and smelling of pot, staring with her mouth resembling the
Holland Tunnel.

“You can’t make this shit
up, Sandy,” I said.

“I can’t … Jesus Christ.
What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea. It’s not
like I had a plan when I came over here Friday night.”

“Are you going home?”

“I don’t know.”

Sandy sat up, took a deep
breath, let it out. “You can stay here if you like.”

“I can’t impose on you
like that. A few days is one thing, but indefinitely while I get my shit
straight? That’s an entirely different kind of flying—”

“Altogether,” she said,
finishing the joke for me. “It’s not an imposition. And I don’t want any
arguments, Rick. Where else would you go anyway?”

“I could always go to my
mom’s house for a while.”

Sandy stared at me. “How
old are you?”

“Thirty one.”

“And you want to go to
your mother’s house?”

I shrugged. “Maybe not.”

“Definitely not. You can
crash here with me.”

“I don’t want to use you,
Sandy.” Oh the irony. If showing up like a thief in the night with nothing but
sex on the brain wasn’t using her, I don’t know the meaning of the phrase.

“Rick.” Placing a soft
hand under my chin, she forced me to face her. “I’m not stupid. I know what
this is all about. I realize it and I accept it. Believe me, I’m not judging
you. I do not feel used. Not at all. You’re doing what you have to do, what you
think is best. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I really am sorry for
dumping all this on you.”

Her finger found my lips.
“Shhh. I’m
okay
with it, Rick. It is what it is. If this is what you
want, if this is what you
need,
I’m okay with that, for however long it
lasts.”

“I don’t know how to
thank you, Sandy. For everything.”

Her lips curled. “What
are friend-bosses for?”

I laughed. It felt good,
amazing even, to let go and forget the betrayal, the heartache, the bullshit.

“Now,” she said, getting
up off the bed. “I’m going to take a shower.”

I watched her taught ass
sway toward the master bathroom.

“You’ll have to pick up
some things,” she said as she ran the water. “What you came with was more than
enough for what we did all weekend, but we’re going to have to go back to work
eventually. And as much as I would appreciate you showing up at the office naked,
I’m not sure the rest of the office would feel the same way.”

“You’re the boss.”

~~~

I entered my house early
the next morning, hoping to swiftly pack a bag while Catherine and Celeste weren’t
home and get out of there. Sandy was right. I couldn’t stay at her place
without clothes.

I shut the door behind
me. Everything was still, quiet.

“Rick? Is that you?”

Catherine walked out of
the kitchen, startling me. She was dressed in an old, black Bon Jovi T-shirt I
bought for her at a concert I didn’t even want to go to but did because she
adored the band so much, and faded jean shorts riddled with holes. Her light
hair hung loose on her shoulders. Her feet were bare. God, she was beautiful,
so beautiful it almost tore through my anger. I made a good show of
nonchalance, and kept my racing heart from putting my lungs on overdrive. Years
ago I may have had the compulsion to chew my finger nails in the midst of such
an uncomfortable situation. The man whose feet were firmly planted on the tile
didn’t do that. Not anymore.

“Catherine,” I said,
voice flat.

“My God. Your eye.” She
reached out, and I ducked to the side.

“It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like
nothing. What happened?”

“I ran into an old friend
… and their fist.”

“Bill?” she said
incredulously.

“Who else, Cat? I’m
surprised you didn’t hear about it already.”

She ignored my snipe. “Here,
let me take a look at it.”

“No thanks.”

“Don’t be so stubborn,
Rick. Let me at least get you an ice pack.”

“I don’t need an ice
pack, Cat. I’m. Fine.”

She nodded, no more than
a slight dip of the head. “If you say so. So, are you okay? I mean, other than
the shiner?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m … I’m glad.”

“Uh huh.”

It was by far the most
awkward conversation we’d ever had. We spoke
at
each other, not
to
each other. Emotions were high, dander was up, hackles were raised. Catherine
and I stood our ground in the chilly atmosphere of a life once shared now torn
to pieces. A silence that dragged on and on took over, stretching into infinity.

“What are you doing
home?” she eventually asked, with a slight touch of hope.

“I needed to pick up a
few things.” My desire to extricate myself from the person who had hurt me so
profoundly roused me out of my temporary paralysis. I headed for the staircase.
She grabbed my wrist, and I saw the C&R charms dangling from her wrist. I
looked away quickly, not wanting to dwell on their significance. Reflecting on
the past would have only stifled my resolve to accomplish what I came to do.

“I’ve been worried sick.”

“I know. I got your
texts. I texted you back. I told you I was fine.”

“Rick,” her voice
trembled, “where have you been staying all weekend?”

“With a friend,” I said
plainly.

“A friend. What friend?”
Her warm fingers clasped more tightly, as if holding on to me would solve
everything, as if she could make it all go away with a simple touch and force
of will.

“It doesn’t matter.” Prying
myself loose of her grip, I went to the bedroom, where I retrieved my suitcase
and began packing.

“What are you doing?”
Catherine watched me, the pain on her face palpable. I fought the instinct to
comfort her, an internal war made easier by the hurt coursing through my veins.

“What does it look like
I’m doing?” I inhaled and collected myself. “I don’t want to fight, Cat. Let’s
not do that. I’ll grab what I need to, pack up, and I’ll be out of your hair
soon enough. Can you let me do that? Please?”

“Okay,” she conceded in a
tiny voice, nodding slowly.

“Thank you. I didn’t even
think you’d be here today. I wanted to avoid all of this.”

“Called out. I wasn’t
feeling up for work.”

“I know what you mean.”

Fifteen minutes of near
silence later I zipped my suitcase, as ready as I’d ever be.

“Going back to your
friend’s
?”
Catherine was no dummy. She knew exactly where I’d been and where I was going.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Celeste misses you, you
know. She’s confused and upset. Asks about you constantly. I’m running out of
excuses.”

I paused at the front
door, my black and blue hand gripping the knob. Words eluded me. In their place
I nodded.

“What am I supposed to
tell her, Ricky?”

“Tell her whatever you
want.”

Catherine’s presence was
a static electricity that tickled my skin and coaxed goose bumps on my arms. I
felt her behind me. I couldn’t see it, yet I knew her hand hovered in the air,
wanting to touch me, to connect.

The contact never came.
It both saddened and relieved me.

“I don’t even know where
to start,” she whispered.

“Me either. Maybe you
should ask her
father
for parenting advice from here on out. I’ll call
ahead of time if I need to come back for anything else.”

“You don’t have to do
that. This is your house, too.”

I paused. “It used to
be.”

Tears blurred the clouds
and sun as I walked to my car.