Monsters (28 page)

He cocks his lower jaw out at an angle, narrows his eyes. “Thanks for the offer, honey, but I can think of better ways to pass the time.”

I think,
Why are you doing this?
I think,
Why are you so fucking mean?
But I don't say anything. I wouldn't know what to say. I don't even know who I'm talking to.

“What's the matter, Stacey? You at a loss for words? You want me to write you a fucking script?”

“You're the actor, asshole. Here's Tommy DeMarco being
charming. Here's Tommy DeMarco blowing off another girl. And isn't he gorgeous? Isn't he just fucking great? Your whole goddamn life is a fucking performance piece.”

“Not all of it, honey,” he says. “I think you're the one juggling all the roles, aren't you?” He's close now. He's got his finger in my face. “Why don't you go home and act like a good mother? Why don't you go act like some sweet little doctor's wife? Role of a lifetime, huh? You probably want to lock him down before he finds out what's in that pretty little fucked-up head of yours.” He stands there, glaring at me, and everyone is staring, and for once I don't even care.

“I hate you.” I say it quietly. I say it like I mean it.

He says, “Get the fuck out then,” and he turns like he's looking for someone, and he yells, “Get her out. Get her fucking out.”

“I don't want to be here anyway, Tommy. I never did.”

But there's nowhere to go. Everyone's pressed in to watch, and we're stuck in this tight little circle. We're locked in.

•   •   •

I feel a hand wrap around my elbow, and I turn to see Sarah. “C'mon,” she says, “let's go.” She's all business now, pulling me out toward the back. A few people try to talk to her, but she just shakes her head. When the crowd thins enough, she pulls me even with her, locks my arm tight against her, and under her breath she says, “When were you going to tell me you've been fucking Tommy?” She doesn't wait for me to answer. She says, “This is a mess.”

I duck my head. I feel sick.

We go out the back, and John is already there waiting with the limo. He holds the door open, and we slide in. The seats run in an L the length of the car, and I end up in the corner. Sarah's in front of
me, and across from her is the bar. John sits next to me. He pats me awkwardly on the leg.

“Pour us a drink,” Sarah says to him as the car pulls out. She's got her arms crossed tightly. She's pursed her lips. She turns her head like she doesn't want to look at me.

“Here.” John hands her a flute of champagne, and she narrows her eyes at him. “What is this?” she says. “Are we celebrating?”

I drop my head into my hands. I don't even know what to say.

“Sarah,” John starts, and he sounds reasonable, calm. “I'm not seeing how this is all about you, so maybe you could bring it down a notch.”

She sighs. “I know.” She reaches out to grab my hand. “I just don't know what you were thinking.”

“Oh, come on,” John says. “It's Tommy. He's a very seductive man.” He pats me on the back. “I know my night with Tommy really threw me for a loop too,” he says, but he says it so straight that I barely hear him. It takes me a second to look up, and by then Sarah's laughing, and she says, “Oh, go to hell. Pour Stacey a glass too.” Then she smiles at me and raises her glass and says, “Well, here's to fucking Tommy DeMarco.”

•   •   •

There's a special entrance to the hotel. We get right into an elevator from the car. There's a man in it, like an actual operator, except that he's huge and more of a bouncer.

“Good evening, Ms. Nixon, Mr. Grim,” he says, and he slides a pass card across a scanner and takes us all the way up. The doors slide open onto this enormous living room with ceilings that are at least two stories high. My room is just a few floors below, but it looks
nothing like this. The room is full of flowers, all these ridiculous bouquets. Sarah clearly has a lot of admirers.

We step off, and Sarah immediately kicks off her shoes. She just leaves them by the door like someone will obviously pick them up, and I think,
Jesus, Sarah, you're just like my kids.

“What are we drinking?” John says, walking to the bar.

I say, “What have you got?”

Sarah drops into one of the couches, curls her legs up beside her, and leans back against the armrest, her arm balanced just so. She looks like something out of a painting, and I don't think she means to, she just moves like this, so sure of her place in the world.

“So how did all of this happen?” she says.

“Really, Sarah, is it any of your business?” John says.

“Well, I'm sure Stacey wants to talk about it.”

“If she's smart, she won't talk to you.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at him and then turns to me. She pats the seat beside her on the couch.

I sit, but I don't lean back. I cross my left leg over and behind my right. I rest both elbows in my lap.

“Well?” she says.

“There's nothing to tell,” I say, and I shake my head. John hands us each a glass of white wine. I take a sip. It's very dry, very crisp. “Thanks,” I say.

Sarah is still just looking at me. She raises an eyebrow. I smile. “Fucking Tommy,” she says.

John sits down across from us. “The question is,” he says, and Sarah turns back to face him, “where do we go from here? How does it affect the movie?” Of course. He has a lot of money in this.

Sarah waves her hand. “Who cares? Tommy's always fucking somebody on a movie, and they always sell.”

John gives me this look like,
Sorry. She's an asshole.
“The point is that it doesn't usually blow up like this. I mean, I've seen Tommy lose his cool, but not in public. This is different.”

“I'm so sorry, John,” I say. “I shouldn't have started that fight.”

John makes a dismissive face. “Don't worry about it. Tommy deserves it. The guy's an asshole. I love him like a brother, but he's an asshole. We just, we need to think about how we can put more space between the two of you.”

I say, “Yeah. You're probably right.”

“You know what?” Sarah sits forward, her eyes wide. “I'm just going to call him. Have him come here, and we'll talk this out.”

“No,” John and I both say.

She's not letting go of it. She gets up and starts looking for her phone. She's got a little bounce in her step. “It'll be fine,” she says. “What's a little sex between friends? You just need to clear the air.”

But I feel like there's no air left inside the room. I feel like I'm in a vacuum, like there's no gravity, and I grip my knee tightly with both hands. When I open my mouth, I feel like there's nothing in my lungs to push the words out, but I say, “Sarah, if you call him, I will leave. I swear to god, I will leave.”

She just stares at me for a minute, and she looks from me to John, but John is looking at the floor, and she looks back at me, and her mouth goes very round, and she just says, “Oh.”

•   •   •

When I land in Omaha, I just get a cab, which is hard to do, because the whole fucking city only has like two. But I don't exactly have
Phillip to pick me up, and Jenny's got the kids, and I honestly don't want to see anyone anyway.

It snowed while I was gone, but they've cleared the streets. It's piled up along the curbs, and it's mixed with sand. Jenny had texted,
Snow day!
but there's nothing festive about this shit. It just looks cold and unclean. The cab drops me at the house, and I go straight to my car to go pick up the boys. I know Jenny is going to want to hear all about the premiere, and I've been prepping. I've picked out plenty of stories I can tell.

“The movie was so good,” I say as she hands me a cup of tea. “I mean, they did an amazing job.”

“This is so exciting. Tell me everything,” she says.

“There was an awful lot of champagne,” I say, “and some very nice dry white. And you should have seen the room that Sarah was in.” I tell her about the elevator and how Sarah worked the red carpet. I tell her about the crowd at the restaurant party. I even tell her about the tequila and having breakfast by the pool, how beautiful the weather was, how the sun was so bright. I manage to talk for more than an hour, and I don't actually tell her much of anything. By the end of it, she really thinks I had a wonderful time.

•   •   •

The boys want to put up the tree, but to be honest, I don't know if I can. We skipped it the last two years and just went home to my parents'.

“Please, please, please,” Ben says. “We'll do all the work.”

They obviously can't drag the boxes up from the basement, so I have to do that part, and then I have to assemble the tree, but I'm sure they're going to do all the rest after that.

I'm watching them try to untangle a strand of lights when the doorbell rings.

Stevie yells, “Package!” and runs after Bear for the door, but then he calls back, “Mommy, it's Dr. Keller.”

“Hi,” he says when I open the door, and he's holding flowers, lilies, and they're quite lovely, so I let him in.

“I'm so sorry,” he says. “I was stupid and jealous.” When he puts his arms around me, I actually start to cry. “Stacey,” he says.

He kisses me right in front of the boys, and I let him. I feel guilty and grateful too. I don't know which I feel more. I don't know that it matters.

•   •   •

“I went online and bought our tickets for this weekend,” Jenny says when I pick up the phone. “We even got a sitter.”

“I can take your kids. You don't need a sitter.”

“You're coming with us. You and Phillip. We'll all see it together.”

“Oh, I don't know,” I say. I don't think I can watch it again.

“We've already got the tickets, so I guess you have to,” she says.

“Great,” I say.

“What is wrong with you? This is the most exciting thing that's ever happened to you and you're acting like it's some kind of chore to celebrate it.”

“No. I just, after that fight with Phillip, I worry it'll be weird for him.”

“Well, you're worried for nothing. I called him, and he's thrilled. He's happy for you. He's genuinely happy for you. You know, I don't even think that fight was about Tommy. I think that fight was about
you not really letting him into your life.” She sighs. “I know you don't like me to say it, but Michael would want you to be happy. He would want you to find someone.”

•   •   •

It's honestly almost more than I can take. I close my eyes for a lot of it, but then I feel like Tommy's voice is too big. I feel like he's right in my ear, and that just makes it worse. Phillip keeps trying to hold my hand, which is just pissing me off. I think,
Can you not see that I am overloaded here? Can you not see that I don't have anything left?

The movie is all building toward this one scene with Sarah where Tommy—not Tommy, Frederick—pins her down and cuts out her heart. It won't kill her though. That's the thing about this character. She's already dead. I think I'm not going to be able to watch it. I think maybe I could make an excuse to step out. But then I don't time it right, and Jenny grabs my arm, and she whispers, “Oh my god, Stacey. Oh my god.” She has tears streaming down her face, and I try to look at her instead of the screen, but then she gasps, and I can't help it. I look up, and I see Tommy, and I think this is probably how I will always see him from now on, and I start to cry. I break down right in the theater. It's okay though, lots of people are crying. This movie is really sad.

•   •   •

The babysitter lives two blocks away, but it's dark out and cold, and Phillip offers to drive her home.

“Should I swing back after?” he says, and I say, “Of course.”

The boys are already in bed, so I just peek in on them, check to see
if they're sleeping. And then I walk down to the kitchen, open a bottle of red. I'm feeling sober, very sober. I'm feeling like I need a drink.

There's a tap on the glass of the sidelight, and Bear springs up from the rug with a low growl.

“Easy,” I tell him. I make him sit, and I just wave Phillip in from the hallway. “Wine?” I say as he's closing the door.

“Sure,” he says. He takes his coat off and folds it over the banister, and then he follows me into the kitchen. “So, I have a confession to make.”

From his tone, it doesn't sound serious though, so I smile as I hand him his glass. “You didn't like the movie.”

“I liked the movie,” he says. He frowns. “You know I have your book.”

He does. I signed it. He bought it the night that we met.

“You didn't like my book?” I laugh.

“I should read it again,” he says. “You know, I didn't really get the Frankenstein connection.”

“You didn't get . . .” I shake my head, but I'm smiling. “That's sort of the whole book.”

“Yeah, I can see that now.” He shrugs. He gives me this sheepish grin. “I'll read it again.”

“I'm starting to think you're not so smart for a doctor,” I say, but I set my glass down on the counter and move toward him.

“You do know you can still be a doctor even if you graduate at the bottom of your class.”

“You didn't?”

He's still got his glass in one hand, but he wraps his other arm around me.

“Let's call it high middle,” he says, and then he kisses me.

“Are you staying the night?”

He does sometimes, though I always kick him out before the kids wake up, and tonight I really don't want to sleep alone.

•   •   •

I am in charge of Christmas pajamas, and all of the cousins have to match. It's one of our traditions, or one of Jenny's traditions anyway. I put it off too long and now when I find cute ones, they don't have all the sizes I need. I grab what I can and hope I can order the rest online. I don't have time to keep messing with pajamas. I still have the boys' Christmas lists to run through, and now I feel like I have to get something for Phillip. I'm leaning toward cuff links.