Innocent Monsters (16 page)

The sun was out but it wasn’t as warm as it appeared from the other side of the glass in the kitchen; one of those sunny January mornings when cold wind keeps blowing away the sun’s heath.

The nearest food store turned out to be about a mile from William’s place. It was an expensive looking store in a quiet street, the kind opened exclusively for rich customers, where a loaf of bread, a carton of milk and a piece of cheese cost the average person half a day’s wages. Jessica walked along the shelves with an empty basket for at least fifteen minutes trying to decide what to buy, wondering what William would enjoy, what he might hate, and her own indecision irritated her even further.

After a few more minutes wandering through the isles, she grabbed some fresh vegetables and leaves for a mixed salad, fresh egg pasta, tins of chopped tomatoes, parmesan cheese and a couple of bottles of red wine —she would use some of it for the pasta sauce, the way Kaitlyn had taught her to.

The dark-skinned young man at the till wore a green t-shirt matching the interior of the store and a nametag pinned to his chest —
Ray
, it declared. Unexpectedly, Jessica remembered about a Ray she had known a very long time ago, a young Spanish boy called Raymon who looked just as dense as this one. They were both in second grade. She remembered about the time he followed her home from school and stopped her just as she was about to open the front door. When asked what he wanted, Raymon opened his hand without speaking a word and produced a small wooden star attached to a silver chain, motioned for her to take it, then ran away. Jessica kept the necklace for a few weeks hidden in one of her socks in a drawer, afraid anyone would find it and make fun of her for keeping it. Then one evening after dinner, she took the sock and buried it in the kitchen bin, under a pile of potatoes peelings.

She had not thought about the necklace for years, the memory so old now it seemed to belong to someone else, to another lifetime. What had happened to Raymon? She tried to remember if she’d ever known. Could she write about him? Could this dim looking man be that same person?

Ray scanned her shopping with a huge grin on his face and a golden front tooth shining in his mouth.

“Paper or plastic, ma’am?”

“Paper’s fine, thanks.”

He packed everything for her in two paper bags then pressed the total button on the till. “That’ll be thirty seven dollars eighty three cents, please.” The smile even broader across his face.

“You didn’t go to Longfellow school, in Crocker Amazon, by any chance, did you?” she asked as she passed him a fifty-dollar bill.

“Sorry, ma’am?”

“Crocker Amazon, did you grow up around there? You look familiar, I was wondering if we could have gone to school together.”

“No, Ma’am. I’m from the Mission. Been there all my life.”

Ray gave her the change and the receipt, then handed her the bags still smiling. Just at that moment, a shabby looking woman walked in the store mumbling to herself. She was wearing a thin, buttoned-up summer coat, black leather slippers and skin coloured tights so frayed at the heels, almost all of her cracked feet were exposed to the winter cold. Her hair was greasy, most of her teeth missing. She talked loudly, hissing through the gaps in her mouth, yet Jessica could not follow what she was saying.

Ray shook his head. “Cigarettes,” he whispered. “She comes in here for cigarettes. Always gives the wrong change.”

The woman approached the till with a crumpled dollar and a dime in her bony hand, which Ray grabbed looking around nervously and exchanged for a packet of
Slim Cuts
. The woman’s rumbling was loud and clear as she walked out of the store and disappeared across the road.

“I swear, she’ll have me fired one of these days.” Ray spoke to the till.

“Just stop giving her the cigarettes. She’ll stop coming.”

“I can’t do that. That could be
mia madre
. It could be me. Who knows what’s waiting around the corner. Y’know?”

She knew it was something Kaitlyn would have said, something she would have done, risk her job to help a lost soul, look through the madness to see a person in need.

During their sessions, Lorna had helped Jessica to recognise altruism was something she herself lacked; it was another one of the seeds her father might have planted by ignoring everything about her. While she had grown up in many ways selfish, Kaitlyn’s sense of responsibly towards her younger sister had turned her into someone beautiful and helpful. Jessica had often felt uncomfortable about this knowledge over the years, whenever Kaitlyn’s selflessness appeared obvious. Now she simply missed it.

Ray smiled at her again. “You have a nice day, now.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Could she write about him? About an honest man with a golden tooth helping a lost woman? Could she write about these small happenings of everyday life?

BY THE time she got back to the house, it was already lunchtime. The doors to the balcony were open despite the cold and William stood outside wearing a thick oversized knitted jumper, facing north. Children’s laughter came from the playground nearby in waves, soft, relaxing. Jessica stepped behind him with the bags still between her arms, her head facing the same direction as his, her eyes on his same line of vision, trying to look at things the way he did.

“I’m back,” she murmured and he didn’t flinch, only his hair moved, waved past his shoulders.

“See those kids on the slide? I see them every morning. They’re twins. I used to be a red head when I was a kid, like that. Hard to imagine, uh?” He sniggered. “When it’s sunny all you can see is their heads running around the playground.” He turned to look at her, “Don’t you love them?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know them.”

“I mean kids, don’t you love kids?”

Jessica shrugged again. “Let’s put it this way, I’m sure I would love my own. If it ever happened.”

William took one of the paper bags from her, studied her with an exaggerated expression of bemusement on his face. “That bad?”

He was referring to her mood, and she knew it. She liked the way he was able to sense it and smiled, despite herself. “I’m here now. It’ll pass.”

“Let’s go in. I’ll help you with lunch. I’m starving.”

They spent the early afternoon in the kitchen, cooking and picking at the food. William opened the wine and they started drinking before they got to eat. By the time the pasta was ready they had finished one bottle and opened a second.

Jessica was in a good mood again; being with him, in his kitchen, cooking for him, eating carrots and tomatoes from his hands was a kind of intimacy they had not experienced yet, and she was happy. She was happy with him, with him only. Away from him she was nothing.

William was everything she needed, the only person who understood, the only one who recognised the insane pleasure, the comfort she was able to find in her own sorrow. He had walked into her life and somehow slotted into the space Kaitlyn had left. It was as if it was always meant to be, as if he had been waiting for this opening all his life. Would she feel this close to him had Kaitlyn still been alive? Would her suffocating relationship with her sister have allowed her to feel this strange happiness with him?

Music was playing from the stereo in the sitting room. William sat close to her, rolled the fettuccine around the fork for her, cleaned her lips with his tongue. They drank more wine. And she thought about drinking from his mouth, what it would feel like to smear tomato sauce on his legs, between his thighs, sucking his fingers, biting his neck, biting his shoulders, licking the palm of his hands, and she couldn’t close her eyes anymore because if she did the room would start spinning. She wanted his cock, she wanted to watch her fingers around it, her lips, her tongue, feel it disappear inside her mouth.

William lifted her sweater, undid her bra and kissed her where the ribcage opens, above her stomach. The music stopped in the sitting room. Jessica stood up from her chair, unzipped his trousers and kneeled down between his legs.

“WE HAVE to do this again.”

William sat on the floor facing the french doors in the kitchen smoking a cigarette, behind him Jessica was washing the plates that had been left on the table throughout the afternoon while they were in bed. She was wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxer shorts. The central heating was blasting.

He felt serene and he knew it was thanks to her, she could give him the peace of mind he struggled to find, somehow it seemed possible to absorb calm from her, the same tranquility only his sister had ever been able to give him before.

“Why don’t you stay for the weekend?” He asked turning to her smiling. “You can go back home on Monday.”

Jessica dried her hands on the kitchen towel. She looked apologetic, not happy, not excited but sorry.

“Oh, William. I have to meet my editor tomorrow, someplace called the Phoenix, downtown... I really need to go back to my place.”

The smile disappeared from his face, his eyes seemed to turn grey. “Your editor,” he said toneless.

“Roger...”

“I know who your editor is.” The asshole who had just wiped away his serenity. “Why do you have to meet him tomorrow?”

“We arranged for a meeting days ago, I’m sorry, I had no idea it would be inconvenient... I can’t cancel it again. God, he’s really gonna kill me if I do. I can stay next week.”

“I wanted to spend the day with you tomorrow, not next week. But tomorrow you’re going to meet
Roger
and you’re not staying with me.”

William got off the floor and stood in front of her with his arms crossed, his eyes almost black now.

“Believe me, there is nothing I would rather do than spend another whole day with you. I would cancel if I could but I have to go. It is work, I’m not going out on a date. Can we do it Monday?”

She waited for an answer, but he stood silent for minutes staring at her until the silence became embarrassing, worse than any word he might have spoken. Than she saw his lips arching in a crooked smile.

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

He walked past her and left the room.

He barely spoke to her for the rest of the evening. And he didn’t look sorry at all.

8 January 2001

THE PHOENIX was a large elegant bar downtown, lined with stainless steel pillars and chocolate brown sofas. Ceiling lights with red satin lampshades gave the whole floor a intimate feel, relaxing, which was exactly what Roger needed. He had just sat himself down at one of the tables close to the door when he saw Jessica walk in.
Deep breath
, he thought.
Deep breath
.

Roger had been trying to set up a meeting since the day the shabby looking detective had walked into his office announcing he had been looking into his whereabouts, but Jessica had been masterfully avoiding his calls. The thought of someone looking into his affairs because of her, trying to jeopardise the reputation he had worked hard at within the company had made Roger angry; having to chase her had made him absolutely furious, caused him more sleepless nights. He had even driven to her place one evening, sat outside her empty house trying to decide whether to wait for her or not, feeling stupid and intrusive. But now he could see it had all been for the best, it had given him time to collect himself.

Roger did not perform well when he lost his temper.

Jessica sat down opposite him. She was tired, he could tell, but still looked fabulous. She was the kind of woman who doesn’t need make-up to look beautiful. Just like her sister.

“Glad you could make it.” She nodded at him without the trace of a smile on her face. “Drink?”

“Yes, thanks. I think I’ll have a White Russian.”

Hopefully sweet enough to wipe away the bitter taste in her mouth, make things a little easier to swallow.
Here’s the medicine, there, good girl, and a teaspoon of sugar
.

“White Russian, uh? Feeling sophisticated?”

“Yeah, well, I get this feeling every time I notice how cheap you look, Roger.” He laughed.

“That’s good, real good. You’re starting to talk sarcastic, I like that.”

Roger lifted his hand still chuckling and a girl dressed in black approached their table. He ordered the cocktail for Jessica and a double whiskey for himself, shamelessly staring at the girl’s breasts.

“So, how’ve you been? How was Christmas in Frisco?”

“Fine, thanks. How about you? Good?”

“Usual, not too bad. Went up to see my parents in New York, spent a week there with my sister and her spoiled kids. It was cold. We had turkey. Came back.”

He should have stayed longer. He had organised to celebrate New Year’s Eve with a group of old friends from Brooklyn, but things had gone terribly wrong with his family and Roger had found himself on an afternoon plane back to San Francisco eating a cold turkey sandwich and sipping champagne on his own.

Going back to see his parents was not something Roger did out of pleasure but out of duty, out of respect for his father. If he did not go back home over the holidays, who would be there to stand up for an old man incapable of doing much else other than moan and look defeated? Who would soften his wife’s ugly remarks? Everyone else seemed to have forgotten how hard Daniel Wither had worked for his family when health was not an issue; how strong and proud he had stood in his small convenience store in Bergen Street, day in, day out; how he had paid for two university educations working weekends and every given hour behind that counter.

Everything had changed the day his father had been diagnosed with emphysema and advised to move out of the city to avoid the pollution. The city air might not have made a massive difference to his worn out lungs, the doctor had told him, but moving somewhere else, where air was purer, might have increased his chances of maintaining his condition rather than aggravating it. Daniel Wither was only fifty-two then and still felt strong enough to believe he could stay in the same neighbourhood he had grown up in, where everyone knew him and his family. But his wife could not bear him getting worse. If inhaling New York’s polluted air could somehow contribute to his decline, they would have to move out. The thought of having to look after the man she had married had been enough to rush Sofia Wither into selling the business and their huge family home in Brooklyn to move to Putnan County, in the lower Hudson River Valley, where nothing ever happened and nobody knew who the hell they were. Gone was the community they had been part of all their lives, gone were their friends, Daniel Wither’s convenience store and everything that had kept him going.