How to Kill Your Husband (20 page)

“I got a
hypo-medical
question,” George Jr. announced as soon as she sat down.

“What did I tell you?” Claire snapped.

“Oh yea.”

“What?” Nikki asked.

“Nothing,” Claire said.

“Mama asked George what he would do if Daddy didn't come home,” Stacy blurted.

Claire couldn't believe her ears.

“Daddy's not coming home?” Nikki asked.

Rather than exit the parking lot, Claire pulled up the emergency brake. She turned in her seat so she could look at all three of her crumb-snatchers at the same time.

“Your father will be home in
four days
,” she told Nikki. “He's not dead,” she told Stacy. “And I was just making conversation,” she told George Jr. “If I would've known it was going to turn into this, I wouldn't have said anything. So we're going to drop it, okay?”

Everyone nodded.

“I'll let you guys call him as soon as we get home.”

“I wanna talk first,” George Jr. shouted, and that seemed to settle things.

* * *

Unfortunately, none of Claire's children rode the short bus to school. Nikki crept into her mother's room a little after eleven that night. Claire was lying down, but she wasn't asleep yet. She was actually daydreaming, thinking about her two-timing husband. She wondered if he was making love to Ms. Pate at that exact moment, or if they were simply in bed together snuggling and spooning.

Nikki sat on the corner of her mother's mattress wearing the long Scooby Doo shirt she slept in. Claire sat up and studied her forlorn features.

“What's going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Why aren't you in bed?”

“I wasn't sleepy.” Nikki always looked somewhat depressed, but she appeared to be on the verge of tears now.

“Come here.” Claire patted the spot next to her. Nikki got up and sat closer. Claire put an arm around her and touched her cheek with the back of her hand. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I'm not sick,” Nikki said.

“So what's going on?”

“Are you still mad at Dad?” she asked, and Claire knew she should have kept her mouth shut earlier.

“Is that what's bothering you? You still thinking about what your brother said?”

“Why'd you ask him that?”

Claire hated to be dishonest with her children. She didn't think she could even pull off a lie of this magnitude. “Is Stacy still tripping about that, too?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then why are you?”

“Stacy's still a kid,” Nikki informed. “She doesn't understand things.”

“Oh, and you do?”

“I'm
fourteen
.”

“Really?”

Nikki frowned at her.

“Listen,” Claire said, “I know you think you're a big girl, but you're not so old. You've still got a lot of growing up to do. Take your time and enjoy it.”

“I will,” Nikki promised, “
after
you tell me what's going on with Daddy.”

“Your father's fine,” Claire said.

“Are y'all getting a divorce?”

Claire almost choked on her own tongue. “Uh, ahem—where did you get
that
idea?”

“If there's nothing wrong with him, why else wouldn't he come home?” Nikki asked.

“He
is
coming home,” Claire said. “I told you that. You talked to him just today.”

“Tell the truth, Mama. I know you and Dad have been mad at each other. And then you asked George how he would feel if Daddy didn't come home.”

Claire wondered if she had a child psychology book in the office somewhere. If so, she should have read it before free-styling with such a delicate subject. “Married people don't get divorces just because they're mad at each other sometimes,” Claire said. “Your dad's fine, and he's coming home, and I wish I never said anything. It was just a hypothetical question that got blown all out of proportion.”

“
Hypo-medical
,” Nikki teased.

“Right, hypo-medical,” Claire said with a smile. She pulled her daughter close and held her tightly. “It's time for you to go to bed. You feel better?”

Nikki nodded, and it broke Claire's heart to comfort her child with a fib. This wasn't Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy. This was a real live grown-up lie that was going to bite her in the ass within a month. She wondered if her daughter would hold it against her when the bottom finally fell out from under them.

“I love you, pumpkin,” she said and kissed her temple softly.

“I love you, too, Mama,” Nikki said and squeezed a little tighter.

* * *

The next four days without George were nothing special to the kids, but Melanie's prediction took hold and became an actuality for Claire. It was nearly impossible to get her adulterous husband off her mind. Claire wondered if Ms. Kimberly Pate cooked big breakfasts for George. She wondered if Kim liked to jump on him after his morning push ups like his real wife used to.

During the sunlight hours Claire was able to occupy her mind with trivial things, like work, cooking and child-rearing. But at night she tossed in her sheets like a ship lost in a storm. Claire knew exactly what George's mistress looked like, and that travesty helped her imagine awful, horrible things. When she closed her eyes at night, Claire not only saw them making love, but she saw candle wax, rose petals and satin sheets.

Before George gave her the wrong anniversary gift, he could make Claire smile with just a goofy look or a simple gesture of kindness. It broke her heart to know that he was making another woman smile with his silly antics. George used to play with Claire's toes when they were spent and exhausted but still caught up in the raptures of love, and she wondered if he bonded with Ms. Pate in this way.

Imagining the sex was torment enough, but it was the little things that set Claire's soul on fire.

* * *

She didn't think it was possible to literally
hate
her husband, but by the time George returned from
California
, Claire wanted nothing to do with him. He came in at dinnertime wearing tan shorts with a white shirt and a brown Cuban fedora. He had his suitcase in one hand and a large paper bag in the other. The kids left their seats and rushed to him like he was returning from war.

“Daddy!”

He picked up his son with one arm and threw the other one around his daughters. He smiled brightly and passed out kisses like candy. “Heh, hey! You guys miss me?”

“
Yes
!” they screamed in unison. “What'd you bring us?”

“Whoa! I thought y'all missed
me
!” he said with a big grin. “Well, come on over here and let's see what we got.” He moved to the dining room with three monkeys hanging on his arms. “Hey, baby,” he said to Claire. “I got something for you, too.”

He put the bag on the table and the kids crowded around like it was Christmastime. “These are for my
middle child
,” he said, producing a pair of leather sandals with large soles and long straps. Stacy grabbed the shoes and pirouetted like a ballerina.

“Thanks, Dad!”

George Jr. got a remote-controlled Hummer, and Nikki got a new journal, complete with pens, bookmarks, and a small locking mechanism. Claire made a mental note that none of those gifts necessarily came from California, but George didn't pull off a decade-long affair by being foolish. The next item he retrieved from his big bag of treats was a plastic bottle filled with sand, just as Claire had requested. The sand was layered and colored blue, yellow, purple and pink.

“Here, baby. I don't know what you want this for, but I'd do anything for you.”

Claire took it and forced a smile as best she could.

“I got something else for you,” he said, still digging in the bag. He produced a jewelry box this time, and it suddenly struck Claire that George
always
brought her a nice gift when he came back from his long business trips. He opened the box for her, but the glimmer from the gold bracelet was all but lost in a fire that raged behind Claire's pupils.

This asshole's trying to buy me off
, she realized. Just like the husband who brought flowers after giving his wife a black eye, George was trying to lessen the guilt he felt for living with his second family for the past week. Claire felt like an idiot for letting him do this to her for so long. How many times had she run to mirror with a new trinket while Kimberly Pate's perfume lingered on his lapel?

“Thank you,” she said.

“What's wrong? Don't you like it?”

“I do. It's fine.”

“Well, I'm glad I'm home,” George said with a hearty grin. “Shouldn't have to go back for a week or two.”

“That's fine,” Claire said numbly, knowing that if everything went the way she wanted it, the next time he went to Irving it would be a permanent move.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A NIGHT AT MILLE FLEURS

George returned from his bogus California trip on a Tuesday. After spending six
full days with his mistress, Claire thought he might want to give his
real
family a little quality time, but no such luck. He worked late the following Wednesday and Thursday. When he called from the job on Friday and said he was playing poker with the guys that night, Claire nearly lost it. She didn't care about his attention personally, but their kids certainly deserved better. No way should those bastard twins get top-billing.

“What do you mean you're
playing poker
?”

“Today is Friday, baby. I always play poker on Friday.”

Claire was in the process of making eggplant parmesan for supper. She had to put her steak knife down because it was shaking in her hands, and the large vegetable was starting to look like George's face.

“No, you don't,” she grunted. “You didn't play last week.”

He chuckled. “That's 'cause I was out of town.”

“So you don't
have
to go,” Claire said. “It's not going to kill you to bring your ass home.”

“What?”

Claire had to catch herself because none of her reasoning could be revealed at this time. She had no cause for anger as far as he knew.

“You got back in town Tuesday,” she said. “And you haven't eaten dinner with your children since.”

“I haven't played with the guys in a while,” George countered. “Maybe I haven't eaten with the kids this week, but I do see them
every day
.”

“They can pull out a photo album if all they wanted was to
see
you.”

“What is it with you?” George asked. “You've got to be the most wishy-washy woman I know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Claire, I don't know what your deal is, but you haven't been very happy to be around me lately. When I got back Tuesday, you looked like you wanted to put me right back on the plane.”

Plane, my ass.

“What's that got to do with the kids?” she asked, and the words rang in her ears with a backwards déjà vu quality. Rather than feel like she'd asked that question before, it felt like a phrase she was destined to repeat many times in the future.

“Why don't you tell me what's wrong with you,” George offered. “Let's start there.”

Claire couldn't imagine being more aggravated. So many things were on the tip of her tongue; so many devastating, tragic, and life-altering sentences were just
begging
to be screamed, but she couldn't voice a one of them.

“Nothing's wrong.”

“
Mmm-hmm
. You've been saying that for quite awhile. I guess nothing was wrong last night, either.”

“What about last night?”

“I massaged your back,” George reminded her. “I tried to get your pants off. You don't remember any of that?”

Claire did remember, and it caused her a bit of revulsion to think about it now.

“Do you want to tell me what the deal is?” he asked.

“There's nothing wrong with
me
,” Claire said.

“Good,” George said. “Then I'm playing poker tonight. If you decide maybe you want to tell me what's going on, let me know.”

He hung up and Claire slammed the receiver on the counter so hard she hurt her hand. She stood over the sink fuming, rubbing her sore digits. There were a lot of people she could call for support at a time like this, but neither Melanie nor Becky had what Claire needed right then. Instead, she went upstairs and fetched a business card from her purse.

* * *

George got home from work at six-thirty. He headed straight for the bedroom to change for his poker night. By then the kids were already fed and Claire was on her way out. She wore a white cocktail dress that flashed a lot of skin about the chest and back. The gown stopped right at her knees, and her stockingless legs were smooth and alluring. She had her hair down in lose curls. She wore mascara and peach-colored lipstick. Her fragrance was soft, and she exuded confidence.

The look on George's face when he saw her almost made up for his whole affair.

“
Claire
? Buh-baby, you're looking real good.”

“Thanks.” She stood before their bathroom mirror putting on the journey pendant he gave her for their anniversary. This was the first time she ever wore the thing. She couldn't think of a more fitting occasion.

“You, you didn't call back,” he said. “I'm going to play poker tonight. You know that, right?”

She rolled her eyes at his reflection. “I know you're not going to be here. I heard you just fine.”

“So what's with, where…”

“I'm going out, too,” Claire said.

“With who?”

“
Becky,
” she said with no hesitation. It was uncommon for Claire to lie about her whereabouts, but she didn't feel guilty at all.

George stepped into the bathroom with her. Claire turned and tried to slip by him. He grabbed her arm when she passed, and Claire jerked it away roughly.

“Let go of me.”

They stood, staring at each other for a moment, and then she stepped past him again. She scooped her purse from the bed without stopping, but George sprinted ahead and cut her off at the stairs.

“Baby, stop. Tell me what's going on.”

Claire couldn't believe he had the nerve. This was like the fox asking the hen, ‘
What did I ever do to you
?'

“You're going to play poker,” she said. “What do you care what I do?”

George never faced such opposition in his marriage, and it showed. He looked stressed and flustered. His wife was
easy
to manage. He didn't know what to make of this woman.

“Is that what this is about? I can stay home, Claire. If you want to be with me, I won't go.”

Kim won't like that
. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them down. “It's too late,” she said instead. “Becky's meeting me, and she already left her house.”

“Who's gonna watch the kids?”

“Nikki's fourteen,” Claire said. “We have to stop treating them like babies. She's old enough to look after them.”

George reached out and grabbed her wrist again. “I said I'll stay home,” he said more sternly.

Claire was about to tell him what he could do to himself, but their oldest daughter stepped into the hallway. Nikki was already suspicious enough. Claire smiled and embraced her man.

“I'm sorry,” she said close to his ear. “I already made Becky get dressed, so I have to go.”

George smiled, too. He wrapped his arms around her and palmed her butt unabashedly. “You're not doing this 'cause you're mad at me?”

“I'm not mad at you, baby. I love you.” She poked his stomach playfully. “Now stop that. Nikki's standing right behind you.”

He let go of her and turned to grin at the curious girl. “Hey, hey! I hear you're going to be holding down the fort tonight.”

“I'm almost fifteen,” Nikki announced with a bright smile.

“
Fifteen
?” George sounded truly surprised. “Girl you're old enough to get your
own
babysitting jobs. Wouldn't that be nice, honey, if she could start bringing some money in every once in a while?”

“That'd be great,” Claire said, but she was halfway down the stairs by then, and she didn't stop. “I'll see you later,” she called over her shoulder.

* * *

Mille Fleurs was the hottest French restaurant in the city. There was a lot on the menu Claire was unsure about, so she ordered
magret de canard roti
, which turned out to be a delicious roasted duck breast over raspberry vinegar sauce. Trevor had
pave de boeuf Rossini
, which was a sautéed beef filet with
foie gras
(goose liver) and truffles with
Madeira
sauce. Claire thought he was making a big mistake when he made the order, but he let her taste some of it when their plates arrived, and she had to admit it was scrumptious.

For his date this evening, Mr. Smiley wore a black suit with a red shirt and a black tie. His tie clip was gold, with one diamond in the center. His cufflinks were gold as well. They glistened every time he brought a forkful to his mouth. His eyes were bright and glistening. His smile was fresh and confident. His briefcase was nowhere to be seen.

Claire took a dainty sip of her wine and dabbed her lips with a cloth napkin. She looked up at her date and smiled, and her heart fluttered slightly. Trevor seemed to be watching her every move. He took a sip of his liquor and cheesed pleasantly.

“I like your lips,” she told him.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

She smirked at him. “You heard me.”

He smiled. “I did, but if I'm not mistaken, that's the first compliment you've ever paid me.”

“It is,” Claire agreed.

“Well, I feel grateful.”

“You should.”

He chuckled. “So, to what do I owe this honor?”

“George, of course,” Claire said. “Every day I despise him a little more.”

“Then let's not talk about him,” Trevor said. “Tell me something else you like about me.”

Claire giggled. “You never struck me as the insecure type.”

“I'm not asking because I want you to feed my ego,” he replied. “I just want to know if you really like me, or if you're running to me because you have something terrible at home.”

“I like you,” she said. “I wouldn't be here if I didn't.”

He leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “Okay, then tell me what you like about me.”

Claire stared dreamily into his eyes. “Well, you know you're a handsome man.”

“Oh, please go on…”

She giggled. “I like your eyes,” she said. “I like your skin tone. I like the waves in your hair. I think about touching them all the time.”

“See. I definitely didn't know that. Would you like to touch them now?”

“Not in a restaurant,” she said flirtatiously.

“Maybe I could let you do that later,” he said suggestively.

Claire knew she should shoot him down, but she didn't.

“Maybe.”

“Is there anything else you like about me?” he asked.

“Are you sure you don't have low self-esteem?”

“Do you like it when I compliment you?” he asked.

Claire nodded and blushed a little.

“Should I feel any different because I'm a man?” he asked.

“No. I guess not.”

“Then stop giving me a hard time,” he said good-naturedly.

“Okay,” Claire said. “You're smart and professional. I like that about you. I like the way you dress. I like your smile. You're smooth and self-assured.”

“I work out at Bally's, too,” he kidded.

“I was getting to that,” Claire said, but the thought of his physique embarrassed her even more. “Trevor, you know you're fine. You don't need me to tell you you've got it going on.”

“You're the one who's got it going on,” he said. “Shall
I
elaborate?”

“You'd better.”

He smiled. “Well first off, you're pretty in the face, a natural beauty. And you're definitely the sexiest woman to ever step foot in my office. That first time you came in with your legs showing…” He looked up to the high heavens. “I almost lost it right then. And I'm not even a leg man.”

“What kind of man are you?” Claire asked. That was bold for her, but Trevor was good at disarming. He made her feel like anything goes.

“What do you mean?”

She frowned. “Don't go getting all tight-lipped now.”

He looked around nervously, and then pulled at the collar of his shirt. He looked around again, and his glance paused on her breasts for a second. Claire laughed at him.

“All right, you don't have to say.”

“Either way,” he said, “you've got it. No matter what kind of man I am. That's why I don't understand your husband's motives.”

“I thought we weren't going to talk about him,” Claire reminded.

“I think you're a strong woman,” Trevor said. “You remind me a lot of my mom. She raised all of us by herself. She worked, but she made sure she was there for us most of the time. She had to get government assistance to cover the bills, but she was still proud. She made sure all of us did well in school. Of her eight children, six of us graduated college. The other two dropped out, but at least they went.”