Monsters (30 page)

“It certainly worked because as much violence as we're subjected to, the movie doesn't seem to be about violence so much as it's about what leads to violence and what then comes out of it.”

“Mm-hmm, and it's not just the effect on the victim, but what the violence does to the perpetrator, and, more subtly, what it does to those of us who witness it.”

“It's interesting, isn't it, to watch this character attempting to reconstruct herself, quite literally, in the midst of this chaos?”

“I love that you use the word ‘reconstruct.' You know, Stacey and I argued early on over whether our speaker is an unreliable narrator, and of course, Stacey thinks more like a poet than a novelist, so she kept dismissing the point, saying, ‘She's a persona, not a narrator,' and I said, ‘You can call her whatever you want, but she's still a liar.'”

“What do you mean ‘liar'?”

“Well, like you say, this character is constructing herself, reconstructing herself, building this persona to use Stacey's words, and she's doing it deliberately. She's leaving a lot of the truth out.”

“That's such an interesting reading. I have to tell you, I just didn't read it that way.”

“I don't know that you have to, but I think you miss a certain understanding of the character if you take her at her word.”

“My guest tonight is Tommy DeMarco. His new film,
Monsters in the Afterlife
, which he produced and starred in, has been nominated for seven Oscars. We'll talk more after a break.”

•   •   •

Phillip wants to take me to dinner on Friday, and when I open the door, I feel like I'm underdressed. I'm just in jeans, but he's got on these black slacks, a tailored shirt. At least he's not wearing a jacket, but I feel like I should change. I feel like we should match.

“Should I put on something different?” I say.

“No, of course not, you look beautiful.” He presses his lips against my cheek.

We drive down to Dundee and hit this very elegant, very French café, and Phillip orders this expensive-as-hell Bordeaux. It's like two hundred bucks a bottle, which is something I've never done outside of L.A. He smells the cork, he takes the obligatory sip, and then he nods to the waiter.

“Stacey,” Phillip says as the waiter moves away, “I think you know how I feel about you.”

The table we're sitting at is tiny, so we're already knee-to-knee, but I press my calf into his. I rest my hand on his wrist.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another of those little silver boxes and sets it on the table, but when he opens it, it's totally empty. “I want to fill this box with anything you want,” he says.

I think this is supposed to be a romantic gesture, but I don't like jumping to conclusions, don't like the possibility of being wrong, so I don't actually say anything. I just raise my eyes from the empty box to him.

He says, “Marry me, Stacey,” and I take a deep breath. It's the right thing for me to do. I know that.

“Okay,” I say. “Yes.”

•   •   •

What he puts on my finger finally is this huge round-cut diamond that's so clear it's almost blue, and it's circled with these tiny diamonds around the edge and down the band. It's set in white gold. It looks like winter against my skin.

“Oh my god,” Jenny says, holding my hand in both of hers.

We'd asked them to meet us out for drinks.

“Congratulations,” Todd says, and he claps Phillip on the shoulder. He looks at me. “That's a hell of a rock.”

“It's pretty heavy,” I say.

The bar is crowded. The place has these happy-hour deals, and there aren't many places to sit, but Phillip spots a couple stools in the corner, and he ushers Jenny onto one, holds the other for me. I sit sideways and rest my arm over the back, and when Phillip stands behind me, I lean against his chest and feel him step forward just a bit to brace me. He slides his arm down to my waist.

“What do the boys think?” Jenny says.

“We haven't said anything yet. We've got plans to take them to the arcade tomorrow. We'll tell them between rounds of laser tag.”

“Ease the blow?” Todd says.

“I just want to warm them up to the news.” I turn my head back to look at Phillip. “They like you, they do, but this will be weird for them.”

“Okay, well, we need something to toast with,” Jenny says. “I don't think the waitress is coming.”

“I'll go up to the bar,” Phillip says.

“White wine.” Jenny waves her hand between the two of us, though I'd hoped for something stronger. “You should go with him,” she says, fixing her gaze on Todd.

“Subtle,” he says. He winks at me.

She watches them move through the crowd, then leans toward me. “So I'm guessing he hasn't found out?”

“Found out about what?”

“Don't play dumb, Stacey. You haven't told him about your . . .” But there isn't really a word for it, is there? “You haven't told him about Tommy yet.”

“I'm not going to tell him. He doesn't need to know.”

“No,” she says. “He doesn't. Not if it's over and done.”

I shrug. “Okay then.”

“So is it over and done?”

“Jenny, please,” I say like I'm brushing her off.

“Because if you fuck this up,” she says. She jabs one finger down at the table. “This guy is real, and he's good, and he wants to make a life with you. And if you fuck this up because you're still in love with some daydream . . .”

“I'm not . . . I didn't say . . .” I shake my head. “Jenny, please,” I say again, this time just whispering.

Todd's just a few steps away, two glasses in his hands. He sets them on the table. I don't really trust myself to talk, so I just smile a thank-you. I smile, and I mean
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

•   •   •

Phillip drops a lot of money on the arcade. Stevie must blow through fifteen dollars trying to get a stuffed dog out of a claw machine. It keeps slipping out of his grasp. I put my arm around Phillip, rest my chin on his shoulder. “You'd be better off just buying him one.”

Ben finishes the racing game he's been playing and stands up. He's about twenty feet away, but when he turns to face us, I can see he
doesn't like the way I'm standing. He comes toward us, but he's kind of dragging his feet.

“You out of money?” I say when he gets close enough.

“No. I just don't know what else to play.”

Phillip raises an eyebrow, and I say, “I'll talk to him.”

As I walk toward Ben, I hear Phillip say, “You want some help with that?” and Stevie says, “Yeah. I really want the green one.”

“What's going on?” I put my arm around Ben and we walk a few steps away.

“Nothing,” he says. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I want to call Tommy,” he says.

“What?”

“I want to talk to Tommy.”

I crouch down in front of him, take his hand. “Honey, I don't really talk to Tommy these days.”

“Because of him,” he says.

“Because of Tommy,” I say. “Because Tommy is just, he's just very far away.”

He kicks his foot against the floor, the tile squeaking beneath his sneaker, and he pulls his hand out of mine. He turns just as Stevie and Phillip walk up. Phillip has his hand on Stevie's shoulder.

“Look, Mom!” Stevie says. He has a new stuffed dog in his hand. “I like this one better anyway. Orange is my third favorite color. But if they had a blue dog, I would really want that.”

“You guys want an ice cream cone?” Phillip asks.

Ben just shrugs, but Stevie says, “Yeah!”

The place only has soft serve, so I tell Phillip to get them the chocolate and vanilla swirls.

“You want one?” he says.

I shake my head. “I can share yours.”

I think Ben makes a face, but I ignore it and send the boys to wash their hands. While they're gone, I pick out a table at the edge of the food court. No one else is in it, so it doesn't really matter where we sit. I drop one knee onto the bench and sit on my foot. I brace my arms against the edge of the table. The boys come back first, and they sit on the bench across from me. Stevie has his new dog tucked under his arm.

When Phillip gets there with the ice cream, Stevie says, “Ice cream!” and Ben says, “Don't be such a stupid nerd.”

“Ben,” I say, “don't talk to your brother like that.”

He doesn't say anything. He just looks at the floor.

“So,” Phillip says, and he looks at me.

I don't know if I can do this. The timing is shit. The ice cream is clearly not smoothing things over, but Phillip is looking at me expectantly.

“Well, boys,” I say, “you know Phillip and I have been spending a lot of time together.”

“So now you're going to get married or something?” Ben says, and because he's such an idiot, Phillip says, “Yes.”

It's like he's never met a pissed-off kid, and mine is eleven now. He's good at it. Ben just glares at him, and Stevie looks confused.

“Eat your ice cream, honey,” I say, touching Stevie's arm, and then I turn toward Ben. “Well, we've been talking about it, sweetheart.”

“Do we have to come live with you?” Stevie says to Phillip.

“I think Phillip will probably come live with us.”

“Or we might buy a new house,” Phillip says, and I look at him like,
Really?
because now Stevie looks like he's about to cry.

“I don't want to leave my house,” he says.

“Yeah,” Ben says. “We like things the way they are.”

“We're not doing anything like that now,” I say, and I put my hand on Phillip's arm to let him know he should keep his mouth shut. “We're not selling our house. This would just mean that Phillip would be around more, and we could spend more days together like this.” I sort of hold my hands up toward all the games like,
Isn't this great?
but clearly they don't agree. They don't think it's great at
all.

W
HEN
I
SEE
the phone number, I think about not answering. There is no reason in the world I would want to talk to Tommy, except curiosity. Curiosity makes me pick it up.

“What?” I say.

“Have you heard from Sadie?” He almost sounds out of breath.

“No. Why?”

“She was supposed to be on a seven a.m. flight out of New York, nonstop, but she missed it or something. She switched her ticket and then she had a connection in Chicago.” His words are a jumble, everything is off tempo. “She didn't get back on. I don't know where she is.”

“Have you called her?”

“Yes, I've called her. She's not fucking answering.”

“Don't yell at me, Tommy.” I don't need this shit at all, but I say, “What about tracking her phone?”

He's taking these deep breaths through his nose. “She must have turned it off.”

“You call the Chicago airport? Try to page her? You have people looking?”

“Yeah.” He sounds like he's talking through his hand. He sounds like he's going to cry.

“Look, I don't know what I can do, but I'll send her a text, and maybe if she turns her phone back on, she'll call me.”

“Yeah, okay.” He doesn't sound like he's going to hang up. For a minute, I just listen to him breathing, and then I say, “Look, I'd better go, but I'm sure she's going to be okay.”

When I hang up, I send her a text that says,
Please call me, honey. You're killing your dad.

•   •   •

Sadie does call me, but she hasn't gotten the message. She's afraid to turn her phone on, so she's calling from a security desk at the airport. They let her use it when she tells them that she's lost. It's a local call anyway. She's in Omaha.

“Can you come get me?” she says.

“Jesus, honey, what are you doing here? You're scaring your dad to death.” But then I'm afraid she's going to hang up. “Never mind, just stay put. I'm coming to get you.”

Phillip is supposed to be coming for dinner, but I call him. I say, “I have to cancel. It's an emergency. It's a kid thing.”

“Are the boys okay?”

“Yeah, no, it's my friend's kid. She's stranded. I have to pick her up.” I don't know why, but I take the ring off. I tuck it into the cabinet above the kitchen sink.

“Should I come over later?”

“No. I don't know how long all of this is going to take. I'd better
go.” I say this like I'm not going to be taking the phone with me, but Phillip worries about me talking and driving anyway.

I yell for the boys to put their shoes on and get in the car.

“Where are we going?” Ben says.

“We have to get Sadie.”

“Tommy's Sadie?” he says.

“Tommy's here?” Stevie says, peeking over the railing.

“No. Just Sadie. C'mon, hurry up.”

I grab my keys, turn the alarm on, lock the door. I almost hate to call Tommy until I have her in my sights, but the airport's thirty minutes from here. That seems cruel.

He picks up on the first ring. “Have you heard from her?”

“She's in Omaha. She called me from the airport.”

“Jesus. Shit. Are you going to get her?”

“Yes, of course. I'll have her in half an hour.” I pull onto Dodge. There's not much traffic. I should be on the interstate in maybe five minutes.

“Okay, yeah.” I can almost see him pacing, pushing his fingers back into his hair. “Did she sound okay?”

“I don't know, Tommy. She sounds like a kid who's running away.” Which is true, but I know he needs more reassurance. “She didn't sound hurt. I'm sure she's fine.”

“Stace, I don't know what I would do.” His voice cracks.

“Look, she's fine, and she's here, and I'm going to get her. Just start thinking about how you're going to get her home.”

“Yeah, no, of course. I'll come and get her. I'll get a plane tonight.”

“You know what, just let her stay here till tomorrow. She'll be fine with me. You wouldn't even get in here until late. Just come tomorrow.”

“She's my kid, Stacey. I can't just sit back and have dinner. I've been out of my mind all day.”

Great.
Tommy's coming to Omaha. That's just what I need.

•   •   •

I have to park in the quick park so I can go in and get her, which is annoying. And I have to take the boys with me, which makes it even worse. Seriously, I could wring her little neck for this, but when I see her sitting by the phones in the baggage area, I pick up my pace crossing over to her, and I wrap her into my arms. Her eyes are red. I can feel her shoulder blades through her coat.

“What happened, honey?”

Her eyes fill up and spill over, down her cheek, off her lip. “I don't want to go home.”

I sit down next to her. The boys are standing a few feet away. Stevie is staring. “Hey, why don't you guys go count how many red suitcases you can find on the big conveyer belt.” Ben just looks at me, but I say, “C'mon, I need you to take care of your brother.”

“Fine,” he says under his breath.

I hold Sadie's hand. “Honey, I want you to tell me all about it, but first you're gonna have to call your dad.” I hold my phone out to her. Tommy's number is already set.

“You probably already called him,” she says.

“Sadie, you knew that I would.” I squeeze her shoulders. “Don't you want him to come get you?”

She cries a little harder because of course she does. She wants him to swoop in and pick her up and make everything better, but he can't anymore, and that's why she's so pissed. That's why she says, “No.”

I hit
dial
and hold the phone up to her. I can hear his voice when he
answers. She doesn't say anything at first, but then she says, “Daddy?” and she wraps her fingers around the phone, takes it out of my hand.

•   •   •

By the time Tommy texts me that he's landed, Sadie's sleeping in my bed. I'm leaving the guest room open for him. I fed her black bean soup for dinner, which I let her watch me make, but when she went to the bathroom, I blended a few avocados in it, and she didn't seem to notice. She ate almost a whole cup. I sit in the front room to watch for Tommy, and when the lights of the taxi pull into the driveway, I go to the door. I don't know how I feel about opening it. Bear comes running, but I don't let him bark. I don't want him waking up all the kids.

“She's upstairs, first door on the right.”

Bear tries to follow, but I grab his collar before he can slip past. I walk down the hall to wait in the kitchen. It's a few minutes before I hear Tommy's footsteps on the stairs, and Bear jumps back up to go and greet him. I hear a thud in the hallway that tells me Bear has flopped down at his feet. Tommy must have stopped to scratch him.

I pull down a bottle of bourbon and set it on the counter with a glass, and when Tommy finally walks in the room, I nod toward it. “You want that?”

Tommy doesn't go for the bottle. He crosses the room and pulls me tight against his chest, his arms wrapped around me, his chin by my ear. “Thank you,” he says, and we just stand there for a few minutes. My nose is pressed against his shirt. I breathe in the smell of him, and I hold my breath.

“I don't really know how to make this apology,” he says.

“It doesn't matter.” I try to pull back, but he doesn't loosen his grip.

“God, Stacey, how'd we even end up like this?”

“We drink too much, and we're both a little slutty.”

He laughs, and now he does let me go, and he reaches for the bourbon. He pours a little in the glass. “You having any?”

“I have an open bottle of red, but I thought you might need something stronger.”

I open the cupboard for a glass, and there is Phillip's ring. I don't take it out. I leave it where it is. I take a glass down and pull the cork back out of the bottle. I pour it nice and full. I pour it like I mean it.

“So what did Sadie tell you? What made her pull this stunt?”

I turn to look at him. He's sitting on one of the stools along the island. This is where the boys sit to eat their cereal. I hope it's not sticky. I lean back against the counter, my arms crossed, the glass in my left hand. “Well, for one thing, you need to stop giving her so much money. What kind of sixteen-year-old can pay cash for a same-day ticket?” and I give him this look like,
You're stupid, Tommy.
“She didn't say much though, just that she's sick of being shuttled back and forth. And she says she hates New York.”

Tommy shakes his head. “I can't really fight her mom on that.”

“It doesn't sound like she'd care. Sadie says she's never even home.”

“Doesn't matter. If I ask, she'll just say no. She's fucking vindictive.”

“Because you're probably an asshole to her.”

He rubs his thumb across his bottom lip. “Maybe. I mean, there have been times when I have been.”

“If Sadie wants to live with you, you need to make it happen. She needs some attention, Tommy. She wants to be taken care of. Why do you think she set you up for this big rescue?”

He drops his elbows on the counter, holds his head in his hands. He looks worn down.

“Did you get any dinner?” I say, and he shakes his head. “I'll heat you some soup. It's really fattening though. Don't tell Sadie.”

When I set the bowl in front of him, he wraps his fingers around my wrist. “I know I've been an asshole to you,” he says.

I think about pulling my hand away, but I don't. “We've both been assholes. Let's just drop it.”

“I don't want to drop it, Stacey. I never really did.” He looks at me with those stupid green eyes of his, and he moves his fingers a little farther up my arm, and I just think,
Fuck me,
I mean, not like
Fuck me
but like,
This isn't good.
I pull my hand away and move back across the room to retrieve my wine.

He smiles, so I know he's going to say something shitty. “It's mostly my fault. I should have expected you to flip out at some point.”

“I didn't flip out.” I shake my head.

“No, you did,” he says. He rubs his face with his hands. “But I know I handled it like a dick, and then”—he makes a dive-bomb gesture with one hand—“we went off the cliff.”

“I don't really think we need to rehash all of this, Tommy. I think you just need to eat your soup.”

He narrows his eyes a little dismissively, but he does take a bite. “That's really good. How does she not know this is fattening?” he says. “Anyway, I think your strategy of just not ever saying a thing out loud so that you won't have to deal with it isn't always the most effective. I get that it's how you live your life, but, you know, it's fucking annoying, Stacey.”

I take a sip of my wine. “Seriously, Tommy, just eat the damn soup.”

He takes a few bites—seven actually. I know because I'm counting, and I'm counting because it helps me not think about how the
spoon fits against his tongue, how it slides from between his lips. I feel like the wine is going to my head. Then Tommy stands up, and he walks toward me and reaches his arms around me, rests his hands on the counter behind me. He ducks his head toward my mouth, but I turn my face to the side.

“Phillip asked me to marry him.”

Tommy freezes. He's totally still, and his mouth is so close to my face. “Are you joking?”

I don't say anything. I look at the floor. I can see a few black dog hairs along the corners of the white cabinets. I think about getting a paper towel.

“This guy doesn't even know you. He can't make you happy.”

“He makes me happy.”

“Then we have different definitions of what that means,” he says, and he steps back finally.

“We make sense,” I say. “He fits in my life.”

“Don't you want someone who's going to make your life bigger?”

“No,” I say. Because it doesn't matter what I want. Because he doesn't mean it as an offer anyway. So I say “No” again. I say, “I don't.”

Tommy just stares at me, and then he says, “Fuck. Christ. It's your fucking life.”

•   •   •

By midnight, I've finished the red and opened another bottle, and Tommy has switched over from the bourbon because
flying with a whiskey headache is a fucking nightmare,
he says. And we've moved into the living room, where I'm tucked into a corner of the couch, my feet pulled up. I've pulled my end of the coffee table closer so I don't have to unwind
myself to reach for my glass. Tommy still seems on edge, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees. He's not acting like himself. I try asking him about work, about new projects, but it doesn't take.

“I've read a lot of scripts,” he says, “but nothing I want.” He kind of shrugs. “I've got a small part coming up, but it's mostly a favor.”