I was done for. That was clear.
Nothing mattered, not anymore. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing at all. I should stop using the wood "nothing" so much but nothing else (oops, I said it again!) works as well. I was a failed husband, a failed lover, and a failed assassin. That pretty much sums it up, so please let me have my weak attempt at humor because, as you can see, I had ... nada. There are millions of happy people in the world, I'm sure, maybe billions, just not here. I mostly lay around the house, wouldn't take my calls, didn't eat.
What I could do was mourn. I could do that. I could mourn what Alice and I had had -- or what I had thought we'd had -- before Richard took it all away. And why wouldn't I think that? There had been no signs until right at the end. Even then it was a mystery. I knew almost nothing except that she'd gone to him -- until the photos. Sure, Richard had boasted, but I hadn't completely believed him. Until the photos arrived, I'd held onto this hope that she'd flee him and return and throw herself at my knees, and we could salvage something of our marriage. You don't just walk away from a decade together, not just like that. Anyway, I don't. It was the photos that clarified things.
Every day was the same. I sat in an overstuffed chair and listened to the CD of Richard's first call to her. On every occasion I focused on the part where she resisted him at first -- not very well or for very long, but she'd actually made an effort. And I'd think, "Hang in there, Alice." But she never did. Even so, I was frankly glad I hadn't shot her.
He
was a different story -- the evil genius behind it all. She was just a pawn, a luscious pawn to be sure, but certainly not the queen Richard must have convinced her she was. It would have been enough for her to have seen his head blown off, and then mine, and then have to live with it all. Well, I'd blown it all right. Sorry. Another weak joke.
I went through the sex photos, but mainly I replayed the scene in my head of Alice doing Richard in front of me. How proficient she had become with her mouth! Yes, my mind was just like that old hamster's wheel, spinning around so I saw the same actions and heard the same sounds in a never-ending cycle of my wife's acting out a pornographic script. Like an ear worm, only much, much worse. I couldn't get away from it no matter what I did, and I did all the traditional things of betrayed husbands. I threw things. I punched holes in sheetrock. I cried. I took pills, drank until I threw up. Even with that I couldn't sleep and I couldn't get the energy to do much but sit in that chair and review events. Oh, occasionally I had to go to the office. There was still business to attend to. At least I hadn't given up my career like Alice. That stupid bitch. But I tried to go in mainly at night, when no one else was around, and let my office manager handle everything as best she could. I took long drives in the desert, in the night air.
And did I tell you? I got another DVD in the mail from Richard. It had the entire last scene from his den on it, in the blurry black and white of a surveillance video, and he had written "Enjoy!" on the jewel case. After that I didn't have to imagine it.
That very afternoon I filed for divorce. At least I didn't have to give Alice some easy, no-fault, quickie, Vegas divorce. Oh no! I wanted it to be on grounds of infidelity, mental cruelty, and abandonment. I filed a civil suit, to get as much of her property as possible. Hell. Nevada is a community property state, but it was worth the effort. The only problem was they couldn't locate her, so she couldn't be served papers right away, but my attorney said there weren't going to be any big problems. I had plenty of documentation. He even somehow got me a court order, giving me complete temporary control over the house. I did the cool things people think about doing -- mainly closing our joint accounts and credit cards. I didn't know if I could legally keep all the money, but it didn't matter. I felt better afterwards. I sold the gun and the used cars, cleaned up the place. My place. I changed the locks, threw out things of hers I didn't like -- just about everything -- trashed her photos, boxed up her clothes and sent them to charity, and did everything else I could to remove her from my life. This was so much better. The dreams stopped. I began working again. Time passed. I decided it wouldn't be possible to ever trust another woman, but I did think of dating.
Then Alice showed up.
* * * * *
Alice showed up. Listen to it. It's only three words, but oh, the meaning. She wasn't there, and then she was. She was announced by the doorbell. The damned doorbell again! I should have heeded its warning. One minute things were just beginning to look up and I was getting finished with that part of my life. The next minute Alice was standing in the doorway, looking straight at my chest, silent, like a ghost or a zombie or something. No! No, no, no, no, no! Not again!
"Get the fuck out of my life!" I slammed the door.
The doorbell rang again. I didn't answer it, but I was already hyperventilating. Is this how it's going to be? You can't be prepared for it. You can't guess what it will be like when she reappears.
She rang for an hour, every few minutes, and she knocked and called to me through the door, "Please. Henry. Please talk to me. Please." She was hoarse, but I could hear her well enough through the door. I stayed away from it. I paced as quietly as I could. Don't let her hear you. Maybe she'll go away. I thought of her as a vampire. She couldn't rip my chest open if I didn't invite her in. Yes, she could. But she didn't look like a vampire or zombie or ghost. I tiptoed back to the door and looked at her closely through the viewer. Her blouse looked drab, her hair unkempt. There was a bruise on her arm. She was the living Alice, slightly used, and truth be known she didn't look that much different than she had at Richard's house. "Henry, please. Please, I'm so sorry. Please talk to me."
Finally she grew quiet. After I'd looked out and not seen her, I decided it was safe to leave. I opened the garage door and backed the car out. It was explosively hot. Spring in Las Vegas. It felt like Hell, and to make sure I knew it was Hell, there sat Alice, on the porch, beside the front door, in a patch of shade, not looking at anything. I made sure to close the garage door, staring at its white panels moving down through the sunlight and urging it on. Hurry, hurry! By the time it was down I saw spots. Alice had raised her head and started to rise, stiffly, using the brickwork for support, but I was quick. I lowered the car window: "You aren't welcome here! If you want to talk, see my lawyer. If you're still here when I get back I'm calling the police."
She stood up and said something, I think it was "please," and took a few steps toward me, but I didn't give her a chance.
Fuck. How to get rid of her? Fuck. The police would probably side with her. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Go away you Richard-sucking slut! I stayed the night in a motel.
The next morning I told my office manager to call security if Alice showed up there. "Don't you think you should talk to her?" she asked.
"Maybe you'd like to look for a new job, Sherrie!"
She stiffened.
"Look, okay. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Really. But you don't know everything she did. I can't tell you the details without it being sexual harassment."
Sherrie was quiet much of the day, canceling appointments for me again, while I sat in my office and stared out the window. About 4:30 she came in and shut the door. "Look, Henry, you can fire me if you want, but I've known you for a long time. You need to clear the air. Talk. Then you can go your different ways. You don't know all of why she did what she did, and it's time you stopped letting that asshole Richard control your life! That's all I have to say."
What had I done for weeks -- months? -- but try to talk with Alice? She wouldn't consider that while she had
him
. When I walked over to Sherrie she flinched like she thought I was going to hit her. I gave her a kiss on top of her head. "I know you mean well, but I just can't do that anymore."
All the way home I thought please don't be there. Please be gone. Please don't do this to me. I can't take it.
Alice was still sitting in that patch of shade.
* * * * *
Hadn't she moved? Was she going to sit there until she died? It had been an afternoon, all night, and most of the next day. She could have died already. Was she even conscious? Maybe they really
would
find a desiccated body in the desert, but it would be on my front porch. When she heard the garage door she got to her feet again, very slowly. So she was alive. I didn't know if that was good or bad. I pulled in and closed the garage door.
