Messalina: Devourer of Men (18 page)

            “So how’s old Jared these days?” Tony asks.

            I shrug. “I haven’t had a chance to speak to him since last weekend.” But I quickly add, “He did call and leave a message on Monday.”

            “After he took her to Dallas,” Ana supplies. Tony’s jaw hits the floor again.

            “Stop it, Tony.” I point my fork at him. “You’ll be catching flies in a minute.”        

“I thought you just met,” he says.

            “They did,” Ana says, “last week.”

            “Yes, thank you, Ana-Marie. Tony, I’ll let our friend give you the details, but he comes home tonight. I’ll talk to him later.”

            I look up to see Ana and Tony watching me in that knowing, but extremely indelicate way, as if I’m the new girl in the bordello.

            “What?” I ask, impatiently and they only smile. “Oh, shut up.”

* * * *

            I get home at eight o’clock and, despite their behavior, Ana and Tony are always a good time.

            After parking in my reserved space, I wave to Hank, the security guard, and rush to the elevators. The journey to the fifth floor seems slower than usual and by the way I shift from foot to foot, anyone would think I had to go pee.

            The only thing I want is to hear Jared’s voice. My self-restraint can take a vacation along with my sense of decorum. I close my eyes, wrapping my arms around myself, remembering the way Jared’s body covered mine, blocking any means of escape.

            The bell signaling my floor wakes me from my dream and I rush to my apartment. Grabbing the wireless extension, I make myself comfortable on the couch, grinning like an imp. I’m about to talk to my man. Someone who can make me act out the Divinyl’s song “I Touch Myself” without shame. I press the button—already programmed with Jared’s home number—and wait to reconnect with him.

            On the fourth ring, I panic, but I let it ring two more times.

            “Hello?”

            The drowsy, yet curt female voice on the other end makes my insides churn. I swallow. Maybe I programmed the wrong number. Or the man
gave
me wrong number. The fucking bastard! I take a deep breath before saying, “Ahh . . . hello? Is Jared home?”

            “He is asleep right now. May I take a message?”

            Asleep? At eight o’clock at night?  Texas time is only an hour ahead of Colorado. His reaction to jet lag must be strong—and contagious. This is a woman who was not expecting a wake-up call and certainly not from another female. Meanwhile, I can feel the ice travel through the phone line and I hope I sound composed in return.

            “Sure. Could you please tell him Evadne called? And you are?”

            “I’m Sarah. His girlfriend,” she says and there’s no mistaking her agitation. “Anything else?”

            “Nope. I think that’s all I have to say.”

            Immediately, the connection ends and a dial tone fills my ear.

            Coldness washes over me. It starts in my fingers, travels up my arms, spreads down my torso and to my legs until it finally envelops my feet, freezing me in place. The dial tone is now that obnoxious siren sound. I turn off the phone and let it drop on the sofa.

“He played you, Eva. Played you like the stupid, gullible—
cunt
—you are!”

I feel a stitch in my side and looking down, I catch a glimpse of the bandage covering my tattoo.

“Fuck!”

At least I didn’t tell Tony and Ana about the tattoo. I don’t think I could ever live down the shame right now. If humiliation were a physical feeling, it would be deep, like a knife carving inside the gut.

Or a multitude of sharp, painful pinpricks from a tattoo gun.

I can even taste the blood coming up from the wound—but it’s really just from me biting my lip to keep from crying, screaming, or throwing up. I look down and see the newspaper lying on the coffee table

I wonder what’s playing at The DeLuxe.

* * * *

            “Plan to live the lush life, Eva?”

            Ana stands in my doorway with the requisite bottles of Jack Daniel’s and Absolut.

“I would’ve gone to the movies, but I’m too late for the last showing. Where’s Tony?”

“He had a date, remember?” She steps through the door and closes it behind her. “Went to it after dinner.”

“What about Frankie?”

“Hell, he can fend for himself. He’s not helpless.” She brushes past me and goes to the kitchen to deposit the bottles. “It’s a good thing I’m off tomorrow or we’d have to cut this party short.” She gives me a hard look. “Damn, woman, you look horrible.”

            “Thanks, pal.”

            “I’m sorry, honey, but really.” She takes me by the arm and we go to the den. “I haven’t seen you this upset since you had Minette put to sleep.” Ana steers me to the sofa and sits me down. “I’ll pour you a double.” She looks me over. “Even though you don’t really need it.”

            “Oh, yes, I do.”

            Ana’s methods are circumspect. She’s not going to press the issue. We make ourselves comfortable and I turn on the stereo that I’ve already loaded with CDs to reflect my mood. When I’m ready to talk, she’ll listen and by the fifth whiskey sour, the grizzly details flow as easy as the alcohol. She gasps.

            “Sarah answered?”

            “I don’t need this, Ana.” I shake my head. “I should’ve known when he started acting funny in Dallas.”

            “But what about this Talley Monroe woman? You and she got along. She said you were perfect for him.”

            “Yeah, but that’s just her opinion, isn’t it? Dating briefly in high school over twenty years ago doesn’t mean she knows everything about him. Plus, she’s his ex.” I sit up. “Anyway, I’m sure she’s a lesbian . . . or bi. Hell, I maybe I should be, too, so I wouldn’t get so worked up about some man.” I rub my hands vigorously over my face. “God, I’ve been so fucking stupid.” I look at my best friend.  “We’ve known each other most of our lives. You’re like my sister. Would you ever guess I’d let a man take me out of state on our first date?”

            Ana purses her lips together. “No. I must say you shocked the shit out of me when you told me. But Eva, control yourself. You could go out tonight and get any man.”

            I shudder at the thought. Ooh, little does she know. 

“I don’t want any man,” I whine.

            “You just want Jared,” she finishes, mocking me. “Well go get him.”

            “Ha! Easy for you to say.”

            “Eva, please.” She moves beside me from the opposite sofa. “What have you to lose? Your virginity?”

            “You think maybe I should ice this Sarah bitch?” I take a swig of vodka.

            “No, you’re not listening.” She puts her hands on my cheeks and makes me look at her. “Go  . . . get . . . him.”

            I try to focus on her mouth and what she’s saying. It finally clicks. “Oh, hell, no!”

            The music stops as the last track on the CD has played out. Ana does the honors, Jack Daniel’s bottle in hand, and rummages through my collection for more discs to load. She takes a swig.

            I don’t like simpering, Lilith Fair, vagina rock and won’t give it space in my home let alone my stereo.  I need something with an edge. I need to hear something by someone who is angrier than me at the moment. “Put in Rollin’s Band,” I tell her. “I’m still in a don’t-fuck-with-me mood.”

            Ana starts putting away the CDs when she spots something on top of the player. Standing, on shaky legs, she opens the sheets of paper. “Holy shit!”

            When I realize what she holds, I sober up quick.

“Gimme those!” Unfortunately, my legs refuse to support me and I slide off the couch.

            Ana is now studying the drawings Jared did of me in various stages of sleep and recovery. She whistles. “This man has talent. When’d he do these?” She returns to sit by me.

            I rub my face and groan. Then looking through my fingers, I reply. “That first one was the morning we got to Dallas. The other three were done the day I left.”

            “And you posed for him?”

            “You could say that.” I grimace. “I’m not gonna lie. He wore me out. It was all I could do to sit up.” My laugh dissolves into a sob and Ana puts her arm around me. I wave her off.

            “Throw those things away.”

            “Fuck no. You look beautiful in these, Evie.  I’m jealous.”

            “But I can’t stand it, Ana! They’re just gonna remind me of the jackass I’ve made of myself.”

            “Will you cool it,” she says, looking at me. “Has it ever occurred to you that Sarah’s being at his place is more fire than flame?” She blinks. “Or is that more chains than clank? Whatever. You know what I mean. Damn, come on now. The man takes you away, spends
hundreds
of dollars on your crazy ass, and fucks you ’til you’re disabled. That must add up to something in the ‘I’m interested’ ledger.”

            “Oh sure, and Sarah was just there for convenience because Jared didn’t want to tell me to piss off. Talley told me he was like that. Shit! Why didn’t I think of that before? She could’ve been setting me up too.”

            Ana frowns and strokes my hand. “This isn’t like you, girl, but I know what is.”

            “What?”

            “Revenge.”

            “ . . . I’m listening. Such as?”

            “Oh, I don’t know.” She leans back into the sofa and takes another drink. I copy her and put my personal bottle of Absolut to my lips. “What say we go wake those lovebirds up and tell ’em about it?”

            “Yeah.” I giggle. “Grab ’em by the short and curlies.”

            “Show ’em we mean business,” she says, then finishes the last of the whiskey.

            “I’ll change their definition of the word ‘pussywhipped.’” I take another drink. “No one screws me over without getting some part of his anatomy put in a sling.”

            “From what you describe, that’d be a mighty big sling.”

            Vodka fountains from my mouth as I do a spit take and we howl with laughter. After a few minutes, we settle down. We look at each other, both of us knowing that to carry out our plans would require movement and eye-hand coordination.

            “In the morning,” Ana says. “We’ll get ’im in the morning.”  

Chapter Nine

“aftermath”

It’s almost noon when I roll onto my side and slide face first off the couch. My injured groan makes Ana stir from where she sleeps on the opposite sofa under a chenille throw.

            “Oh, Jesus.” I breathe slowly to prevent my belly from making any sudden moves. This is my first deadly hangover in years. Not even my night of debauchery at Trish Stevens’s New Year’s party compares to what I feel now. Something has to give—but not before I get to the bathroom.

            I make it just in time. Fortunately, I don’t end up worshiping the Porcelain God, but I do sit and think for a while.

            It will take some doing, but I will do it. I will banish Jared from my thoughts and leave this part of my life to pass without remark. I have to. I’ll even save up for tattoo removal. I’m not cut out for relationships and high drama. I just need to focus on my career and get tenure.

            When I emerge from the bathroom, I’m totally prepared never to let the name “Jared” pass my lips again. Ana’s in the kitchen making coffee.

            “You have messages on your phone.”

            Sure enough, the red light is blinking on the handset. I press the button for the loudspeaker.

            “Evie, it’s your mother. Don’t forget to be at the store at seven. I’m making Mexican cornbread for dinner.”

            Normally, the thought of Mama’s Mexican cornbread has me licking my lips. Not today. The next message is from Tony.

            “Hey, girl. I just got your message. I’m sorry, hon,” he coos sympathetically. “I’ll talk to you later. Ivor says hello.”

            “Nice to know one of us got laid last night,” I say with a smirk. Ana smiles and places a mug of strong brew before me.

            “Hello, Eva? It’s Jared.”

            I choke on my coffee and the burning sensation brings tears to my sore eyes. Ana, on the other hand, leans closer to hear.

            “Um, it’s a quarter to twelve and I thought you’d be at home.”

            I click my tongue in disgust. He has the nerve to sound disappointed, the motherfucker.

            “I’d like to see you, if possible, at about one o’clock. Call me if you can, otherwise, I’ll just stop by and hope to run into you . . . ’bye.”