Ravenous (11 page)

Because he couldn't stop thinking about Vanessa Peterman.

He could look at his wife in bed upstairs, knowing she'd been through the worst experience imaginable, a horrible rape right beside the street—and at the same time, he would be thinking about Vanessa in some other part of his mind, thinking about what her breasts felt like under his hands, what her neck smelled like when he nibbled it. He might think about the amazingly sexy lingerie she wore for him, or about finding her smooth and shaven when he went down on her one day. She'd done it because he'd mentioned it in passing once, that he thought it might be fun, and she thought he might like it. It drove him insane. He did not want to stop kissing and licking and sucking on that perfectly smooth, soft, plush flesh. Even with his wife in her current condition, Hugh could not get his mind off Vanessa. On the one hand, Vanessa pleased him, preoccupied him—on the other, he felt disgusted with himself for it, and the guilt had gotten into his bones, deep, like arthritis.

He went to the kitchen sink, ran the cold water, splashed some over his face, then rubbed his hands up and down from chin to forehead. He turned off the faucet, tore several paper towels from the role above the counter, and dabbed his face dry.

I'm going to burn in hell,
he thought.
Sure as shittin', I'm going to burn in hell.

 

 

 

11

 

First Time

 

 

Andrea was washing loads of laundry and ironing Jimmy's shirts; before that, she'd scrubbed the toilet and tub and damp-mopped the kitchen floor—she was tired. Her right eye was still swollen and dark. She'd held ice against it for awhile that morning, but it hadn't done much good. Her lower lip was slightly swollen, too, around the small cut she'd received that morning.

Andrea had put Marnie and Jenny down for their naps, and the house was quiet. At a quarter after three that afternoon, she poured herself a glass of chilled red wine, went to the living room, sat down in Jimmy's recliner, and put her feet up with a long sigh. Even though she seemed to do nothing but work around the house all day, Andrea enjoyed her time alone—without the kids, and especially without Jimmy. She felt so relaxed when he was gone. The moment he left the house, she could feel the tension flow from her body, but the moment he came back into the house, she tensed back up—her chest and throat felt tight; she would jump at the slightest sound—and she remained that way until she went to bed. Even then, it always took her awhile to get to sleep. She could not sleep until he started snoring, until she knew that
he
was asleep and no longer a threat.

She took a few sips of the wine. It felt warm in her belly and she relaxed even more. She picked up the remote and tried to find something on TV. She settled on an old black-and-white movie that was just starting.

The doorbell rang and she put her wine on the end table. She opened the door to find Jason Sutherland standing on the porch. He wore black pants and a blue jacket over a plaid shirt, and he held a hardcover book in his right hand.

“Hi, Jason,” she said, smiling. She enjoyed his company and was always happy to see him. He was a curiously sad young man. She suspected he was lonely—he had no siblings, and as far as she could tell, he didn't seem to have many friends, either. He was always pleasant, and he made her smile, even laugh sometimes. Most of all, he listened to her like no one ever had. She felt like she could tell him anything, and she practically had. She had not known him all that long—a couple months now—but she already felt with him an intimacy that she'd never achieved with Jimmy, an emotional rapport that existed beneath the surface of their conversations. “Come in.”

He came inside and she closed the door.

“How are you, Andruh—oh my g
od
!” he said. “Your eye! And your lip!”

“It's nothing, Jason, really, I don't want you to—”

“What do you mean, it's
nothing
? It's a black eye, is what it is. And a cut lip. Did ... did your husband—”

“Just ignore it, okay? Please? For me? Just pretend it's not there.”

Frowning, he slowly nodded his head.

Andrea placed a hand to the side of his face. “Thank you,” she said. She nodded at the book in his hand. “What's that?”

“It's for you.” He handed her the book.

Her face opened up with a big smile as she took the book in both hands. “Oh, a
new
one! Thank you, Jason, thank you so much. Let me pay you for it.”

“Oh, no, it's a gift.”

“A ... gift?”

“I know how much you enjoy his books, and that one just came in today, so I—”

Andrea could not help herself. Her chest swelled inside, her throat burned, and suddenly, she was sobbing.

“I'm sorry,” she said as she turned away quickly. “Come in and sit down.”

“Andrea, what's wrong? What did I—did I say something that—”

“I'm sorry, really, just ignore me, it's just
me
, that's all.” She fought to get herself back under control. She went to the recliner, picked up her wine, and took three quick gulps, emptying the glass.

Something about Jason's kind gesture tore her up inside. It was the kind of thing she'd once imagined her husband doing for her. But of course, she never got any kind gestures from Jimmy—never any gifts or flowers or even a card now and then. Jason's gift reminded her of that in a vivid way and it just tore her up, made her wonder how she got here, where she stood today, in this marriage, and the thought felt so big, so massive, that it completely filled her head and threatened to make her skull explode. Andrea shook her head back and forth a couple of times and sighed, trying to get rid of that smothering, overwhelming thought.

“Sit down, Jason,” she said, her back to him. She sniffled as she wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, the book tucked under her arm. “Can I get you something?”

“Andrea, what's wrong?” He was standing right behind her. He put a hand on her shoulder.

Andrea turned around and stepped forward, put her hand on his soft chest, her head on his fleshy shoulder, still clutching the book in her right hand.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “It was just so nice of you to give me this book. It just ... it reminded me how ... I don't know, I'm juh-just ... I'm sorry.” Her body shook with sobs.

Jason slowly lifted his arms and put them around her cautiously. He tried to say something, but only stammered, and finally fell silent.

Andrea took a few deep, steadying breaths. The sobs subsided and she sniffled a few times. After some initial hesitation, Jason squeezed her warmly in his arms. Not unlike his gift, the hug reminded her of affection she never received. Even when they had sex, it was all for him, Jimmy did nothing but take, and it was always a violent experience. The hug reminded her of that, but at the same time, it made her feel good—it made her feel like she was really being
hugged
.

“Oh, boy,” she said with a smile, “I can't remember the last time I got such a great hug.”

Finally, they pulled apart a little.

“Okay,” Jason said. “What happened to your eye?”

“Can't leave it alone, can you?” she said with a humorless chuckle. “I could tell you I ran into a door, but ... you probably wouldn't believe me. Would you like a glass of wine? I'm having one. I'll get you some.” She stepped away from him, took her glass from the end table, and went into the kitchen. She put the book on the table, got a second glass from the cupboard and poured some wine into it, then refilled her own. When she turned around, he was right behind her again, and she handed it to him.

“Thank you,” he said. “He hit you, didn't he?”

She nodded, still sniffling. “Again.”

“Why do you stay with him?”

“Let's go back into the living room.”

She sat down in the recliner. Jason put his wineglass on the end table, but did not sit down. He stood in front of her, his hands closed into loose fists at his sides. His lips worked in and out of his mouth, as if he were trying to get the feeling back in them after a shot of Novocain. He slowly shifted his weight back and forth from foot to foot.

“Why do you stay with him, Andrea?” he said again, finally.

“Where would I go? I don't have any family here anymore. My parents moved to the Bay Area. My brother lives in San Diego. I have a baby, a little girl, and—”

“Where are they?”

“Napping. I've got friends who could put me up, but me
and
the girls? I couldn't ask them to do that. Besides, Jimmy would ... he'd find me, no matter where I went. And boy, would he be pissed.”

“I ... I heard the shouting this morning. I hate it, Andrea. It kills me to hear ... well, when I think of you over here being hit, being knocked around ... well, it makes me
sick
. And angry. I don't like it.”

She wiped tears from her eyes again with the backs of her hands. “That's very sweet of you, Jason, really, but ... well, I have Marnie and Jenny to think of, and they should have a daddy.”

“But ...
him
?”

“If I left Jimmy, I'd be alone. I'd never find anyone again.”

“
What
? What are you talking about? You're a beautiful woman, Andrea. You'd have no trouble finding someone. I'd ... I would ... “

He stopped, looked at his feet a moment.

“What?” Andrea said, head tilting to one side.

Without lifting his head, he whispered, “I'd marry you in a second.”

Andrea felt more tears coming, but fought them back. She was touched by his words, and she put a hand flat to her chest, tucked her lower lip between her teeth. She stood slowly, went to him, put her hands on his shoulders. His head was still bowed, so she hooked a finger under his chin and lifted it.

“That's so sweet, Jason. Thank you.” She kissed his cheek, pulled back, and smiled.

Something happened then. The very air between them changed, became suddenly charged with sharp, crackling electricity. Their eyes locked and the tiny pale hairs on Andrea's arms and at the back of her neck stood up straight.

Jason lifted an arm, put a hand to the left side of her face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but could say nothing. Instead, moving suddenly, clearly determined to do it before he lost his nerve, he leaned forward and put his mouth over hers.

Andrea could not remember how long it had been since Jimmy had kissed her. For a moment, she considered pushing Jason away, but then ... it was such a nice kiss, so warm, so sweet. She let it continue, and it went on for awhile, became more intense. She lost herself in the kiss, fell over backward into it like a big, fat feather bed into which she sank down and down until she disappeared in all its softness.

Finally, Jason pulled back suddenly, as if he'd just become aware of what he was doing, and said, “Oh, I'm sorry, really, I'm—”

“Don't apologize,” she said, her voice hoarse, her heart pounding. Her hands still on his shoulders, she lifted one and buried the fingers in his hair as she pulled him to her, and they kissed again.

It was something she was doing for herself. Jimmy never kissed her, not even a peck on the cheek now and then, not even during or after sex. He used to at least kiss her
before
 sex—Jimmy's idea of foreplay used to involve him sticking his tongue down her throat while he stuck his hand between her thighs. But that was back when he made any effort at foreplay whatsoever—that had been before they'd gotten married. After the exchange of vows, sex became little more than an exchange of fluids for her. And kissing had not been a part of it in a long time. Instead of kissing her, when he reached orgasm he liked to spit in her face. He'd just get on top of her, pound away until he came, and as he came, he'd spit in her face, maybe call her a cunt, then roll over and go to sleep. No tenderness, no affection. So this was Andrea taking something she never got from her husband, something she hadn't had in a long, long time—a little warmth, a little affection, some human contact. Was that asking too much? Andrea did not think so, and she refused to feel guilty about it—she just had to make sure she did not get caught.

After standing there in the living room and kissing for awhile, Andrea took Jason's hand and led him to the bedroom. She rushed back and grabbed their still-full wine glasses and took them back to the bedroom with her. For afterward.

 

 

 

12

 

Doris Spots A Romance

 

 

Doris enjoyed watching as many of her neighbors as she could see from her window, but this afternoon, it was the Norton house that intrigued her most.

Oprah
 was on, and Tom Hanks was her guest. Doris liked Hanks. He seemed like such a nice man, so unlike most of today's movie stars who were sluts and whoremongers and homosexuals and drug addicts. But even Tom Hanks was having difficulty competing against the Norton house for Doris's attention. Something was up.

On the one hand, Doris could understand the Norton woman straying from her marriage, breaking her vows. After all, the man beat her, and that was never good. Doris often thought that if any of her husbands had beaten her, just once, she would've been gone before the next sunrise. There was also a very good chance she would crush her husband's testicles in his sleep before leaving. For some reason, the Norton woman stayed around for it. She was one of
those
.

Taking a lover would be understandable, but it was unseemly for the Norton woman to start messing around with the Sutherland boy. She probably wasn't that much older than Sutherland, but the boy seemed so immature—still living with his parents, still carrying around all that baby fat. What was she doing bedding
him
, of all people? That was what Doris suspected was going on over there.