Love's Illusions: A Novel (17 page)

“Jacqueline, no you can’t!” my mother exclaimed. “No one in our family has ever gotten a divorce, and you’re not going to be the first.”

“Oh yes, I am!” I snapped back, setting my jaw for the battle I knew was about to ensue. The façade of the perfect family talking about a problem was gone – I was used to the term ‘bitch’ – I knew these people very well, ‘bitch’ only meant they were paying attention, like a fucked up term of endearment.

My thoughts whirled – I stared at the pixie who had now moved to the end table next to the couch my parents were sitting on with her mouth hanging open.
What the fuck’s your problem,
I thought, and then realized that I had actually said the word ‘divorce’ out loud. It had been there, tucked in a back crevasse of my brain, long before I got to this conversation with my parents – most likely since this nightmare started – but it was no more than an elusive thought. It had never come out of my mouth as a statement before.

“Why… You still haven’t said why?” my father asked again. I was silent. “Let me make this easy on you then,” he continued taking a deep breath, “Have you been having an affair?”

“What… What the hell? Why do you assume it was me?”

“Well then did Stephen find another girl?”

“No, he didn’t find another…
girl
,” I stated, standing up looking around the room for my pixie for support – where had that little creature gone now? Panic set in as I realized the damn thing had up and disappeared, and I’d have to finish this battle on my own with no moral support. I turned to face my parents, “I knew you’d blame me, think it was my fault, and maybe it was, but I am not going to stay married to him. He left me! He has a new life. It’s over – it’s been over since last February.”

“Your mother and I have been married for 30 years, Jacqueline – it wasn’t always easy, but we worked our way through it. You can’t just walk out!”

“I didn’t walk out. He did! And I sure as hell wouldn’t hold your marriage up as some shining example to follow. You spend more time arguing than anything else. And how many times did you, mother, come to me when I was a kid asking who I wanted to live with when you left, so don’t…” I lashed out at them just wanting to inflict pain. Both of them reacted as I knew they would, yelling at me at the same time. My head felt like it would explode any second, I grabbed it, pulled my hair, pacing two steps in one direction, then two steps in the other then finally, painfully just screaming AAAAAAAHHH!

The sound was agonizing, even to my own ears – almost unearthly, like the noise of a person or large animal being slowly murdered. A trance-like state overtook my whole being. My mother was up trying to hold me saying “it’ll be alright Jackie, it’ll be alright,” but I wrestled away from her. It was my father whose eyes I was focused on.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you crazy screaming like that? Snap out of it – straighten up
now
!” He was using his military voice. “
Now
I told you!”

He stood and took a step towards me. I wasn’t afraid of him; I knew he wouldn’t hit me. He hadn’t done that since I was in grade school when I’d turned, and spit at him after a spanking. He was just standing there, close to me, looking at me with a profound sense of disappointment in his steel brown eyes. I was no match for that look, and had to fight with myself not to crumble on the spot; summoning every fiber of my body together, I managed to straighten my back, pulling myself up to my full height, our eyes never deviating from the other’s face.

“Get a hold of yourself and stop this nonsense,” he commanded. “Are you crazy? Do you want to get locked up? No - now pull yourself together.”

My mother was still trying to comfort me, but I was having none of it. I stepped back from both of them, trembling inside, breathing as deeply as possible, trying to push the panic away. I finally sat back in the chair. They both sat again too.

“We’re just trying to talk to you Jackie. Now tell us, why… What happened?”

I could see I was going to have to give them some reason. I did not want to say anything that would turn them against Stephen. They loved him like the son they never had, but shit, I had to say something. Goddamn it I didn’t feel stoned anymore – the stupid-ass fairy creature took my high with her. After breathing through my mouth for several minutes, I regained some control. Looking at them I said, “Stephen has decided he wants a different kind of life – one he can’t have with me.”

“And what kind of life is that? Stop talking in riddles. Just say it.” My father’s voice had come down several octaves, but he was determined to get a straight answer.

“He’s decided he prefers men,” I said still looking at them but with tears flowing down my cheeks.

They looked at each other – my mother looked away from us both. My father continued, “If he’s not a real man, then no, you can’t stay married to him, but if it’s you – if you refused him the pleasures of a wife and forced him…”

I had lowered my gaze, had leaned back in the chair, but my head bolted up at that remark. I jumped up out of the chair again and headed for the stairs. “That’s right, it’s my fault – it’s always my fault – I’m going to bed!” I retorted half yelling, half crying.

When I reached the top and turned toward my room I hesitated, calling for Satchamo to come with me. My mother yelled up the stairs to me, “Your father and I aren’t paying for a divorce. You’ll be disgraced for the rest of your life if you do that. You need to try to make it work – no matter what happened.”

“I don’t expect you to pay for it,
mother
!” I screamed back slamming the bedroom door.

I spent the remaining days leading up to Christmas sleeping, wandering around stores, shopping for presents, sleeping some more, and generally feeling like shit. My parents and I had only spoken about inconsequential things since that night, my mother had a hard time even looking at me. Christmas Eve I went to church with her. While driving there she told me she did not want me announcing a divorce to the relatives; she would handle it
if
the time ever came. I didn’t have the strength to object, and just asked what she wanted me to say about his absence. I was to say that his mother had become ill so he was spending extra time with her.

Every day, all day, I’d watch the clock as the hands stood still. Their comments were ringing around in my head. My own disdainful thoughts fed on theirs as I tried to figure out how to live with it all. By Christmas, I had a charming little scene playing in my mind that involved getting ahold of Uncle Hank’s shot gun that hung on the wall in his study – Did the damn thing even work? Oh well, no matter, this was just a fantasy – taking it into the living room in front of the huge, perfect Christmas tree that I knew would be there and blowing my brains out – then standing back, watching all the women trying to pick the pieces of my skull off the tree cursing me under their breath for making a mess. What I couldn’t figure out was why I was always so intrigued with my skull exploding? If I really wanted to kill myself, I sure as hell wouldn’t do it that way.

By the time Christmas Day arrived, I had smoked almost all the pot, finishing it off while taking Satchamo for a walk before leaving for Aunt Martha’s house. Once there, I spewed off the bullshit story about Stephen’s whereabouts to my mother’s satisfaction though no one seemed to give a shit. They were treating me like they treated my father: I was there, but not worth being concerned with – this was the first time I had gotten that reception,
Cool!
I thought. Each of them seemed to have their own more important concerns, like why the banana bread had turned out dry, did we have enough creamed onions or should they open another jar, or which of my younger cousins was going to grow up to be a lawyer, and earn all kinds of money. I amused myself by wondering which of the cousins would grow up to be a junkie or a waitress at the local diner (these kids were nowhere near the perfect angels their parents thought), and prayed for the day to be over as soon as possible. Once it was, I had only two more days to get through before leaving again for Chicago.

Round two with my parents came the next day. Christmas had been on a Saturday so of course, I was expected to go to church with my mother again the following morning. She was Lutheran. My father almost never went to church; as a child I was envious of his permission to stay home, and longed for the day I could do the same thing. The more my mother pushed religion on me, the more I balked. After suffering through confirmation classes, I announced I was an atheist or agnostic or Buddhist – she could take her pick – but I refused to be Lutheran. She was horrified, and I was promptly hauled off to every church event she could find. My mother was mistrustful of anyone other than Lutherans, or at least Protestants, especially anyone who was Catholic, telling me all the time that I should make sure I never married one because they would insist that the children be brought up in the Catholic faith. Stephen fulfilled this requirement: his family was Episcopalian, although in reality, they were nothing.

We had to drive past a large Catholic church on our way to the Lutheran church, and the resulting traffic jam never failed to piss her off because we were always ‘running late.’ One time I pointed out that the same traffic problem was happening in front of her church, and was told, in no uncertain terms, that I was wrong – it was different. This morning was no exception. I quietly looked out the window digging my fingers into the arm rest on the front door as she became frustrated at the Catholics…
You leave in the morning; just keep your big mouth shut
I told myself over and over!

That afternoon over a dinner of baked stuffed pork chops, green beans, and mashed potatoes – they brought up the subject of my marriage again. Since I didn’t want a reenactment of all the shit from our last
‘
discussion’, I just sat and listened. This time I was straight – no pot or pixie to help me get through it, just me. They loved me; they did what they thought was best for me; I had to try again; I couldn’t just walk away; they were sure Stephen loved me too; maybe he had made some mistakes; maybe I had made mistakes, but if we tried, they could be fixed; I had to talk to him; I had to pull myself up by the boot straps; but above all, I had to stop acting crazy – someone would lock me up. When it was over, I took Satchamo for a long walk in the cold and went to bed early.

Mary Beth and I drove straight through. Snow and ice be damned, both of us had had our fill of family and wanted nothing more than to be back in Chicago. I had contacted Michael from a truck stop letting him know about when we’d arrive. He would be waiting for me at The Canteen, and would come to the apartment as soon as I called letting him know I was home. Rick answered – I heard him call across the bar, “Hey, Mike, she’s back – time to go get laid!” causing a clamor of laughter in the background. Shaking my head as I felt myself flush red, I yelled into the receiver, “Give the phone to Michael,” but Rick just kept laughing saying, “Mike just gave me the finger – he’ll be there soon. I’m glad you’re back Jackie.”

Hanging up the phone, I raced into my bathroom, brushed my teeth and hair, ran a wet washcloth over my armpits, put on deodorant, a quick touch up of my makeup, and then ran to the bedroom pulling clothes off as I moved through the hall, to put on the black negligee, and then put Bob Dylan ‘s”Lay Lady Lay” album on the stereo. It wouldn’t take him long to walk three blocks; I had seen the Mustang parked on the street by the apartment when I was driving around looking for a parking space – smiling to myself I thought,
He planned ahead
. I was right: he was there in what seemed like a heartbeat. I jumped into his arms when I opened the door, feeling safe again with him wrapped around me – his lips kissing me so lovingly that it touched me in my soul.

He pulled back for a moment, stood me up, ripping off his navy blue down jacket and ski cap, throwing them on the floor, never moving his eyes from mine. The longing between us was palpable, and I felt that same surge of attraction that brought us together when we first met. We had not been apart for more than two or three days since beginning whatever this relationship was this past summer. The air filled with desire as he moved forward pinning me against the hallway wall. “God I’ve missed you,” he murmured in my ear biting the lobe and kissing my neck; his breath was warm, and I squirmed under his touch pushing his hips back enough for my hands to release his belt buckle, starting to lower his jeans. “Ahhh” he moaned.

In one swift move he helped me push down his pants, hiked up the skirt of the negligee, grabbed both of my arms forcing them over my head against the wall while he frantically kissed my entire face, and neck, and pushed forcefully inside me. I had been gasping and holding my breath, but feeling him enter me, and move inside me, I melted almost immediately. He felt my body give way to his. With a few hard thrusts he joined me, my arms still pinned to the wall over my head, his full body weight leaning against me. We stayed coupled that way, both of us overcome, our breathing slowing, synchronizing as he allowed my arms to drop. Pushing his weight back, a huge mischievous grin crossed his face, reaching for his jeans, pulling them up, but leaving them unzipped. “Hi… did you have a good trip?”

My eyes glistening with a combination of delight and tears, I pulled him in towards me again, hugging him. “No, but it’s okay now.”

We spent the rest of the night talking, but not until I made an adjustment to my attire. “I can’t concentrate with you looking like that,” he said. “I never thought you’d answer the door wearing it. What would Gloria Steinem say?”

“Nothing I want to hear right now,” I responded wandering off into the bedroom, coming back with a baggy sweatshirt pulled over the negligee. “How’s this for a compromise?” I asked.

I relayed the events of the trip in almost excruciating detail. “It was horrible. They don’t understand…We fought just like we used to when I lived there. But they backed down when I told them I was never coming back to that house again.”