Well, it's supposed to.That guy still gives me the creeps. Especially now with that last name? Creepy. I don't know what to think of that whole situation, it just leaves me on edge.
I saw on the This and That thread that you didn't like that he wasn't sketching Maria, so I had a feeling this would make you happy.Ah ... the return of Michael the artist. I likey!
Rodney:
That just sounds really dirty when you say it.Hahaha I beat Lelia!! I'm on top of her
I also think she's going to push him till he's not even going to want to have sex with her.......as hard as it is for me to understand that.
Yes, as hard as that is for you to understand. God, every time I look at your icon, all I see is boob-age.BB:
I feel kind of bad about this, because I think Tess was unanimously one of the most well-liked characters at the end of 521, and now she's pissing people off. But . . . well, she has to in order for me to tell the story I want to tell.Oh please, have a serious talk. Except, evidence suggests it wouldn't be a serious talk it would be Tess refussing to listen to Kyle's concerns and railroading him into giving her what she wants when he clearly, clearly is having major doubts. She's pissing me off right now.
The Sex Sells auction is going to be quite eventful.I love, love, love the idea of Sex Sells. Kyle may actually just be a marketing genius.
Novy:
I don't think Maria would feel quite so sorry for Alex if she knew the extent of his bad parenting. She views him as the victim . . . which I don't really think he is.That chat Maria and Alex had was interesting. Appearance verses reality makes for some fascinating contradictions.
Surprise, surprise I voted for Isabel.
Me, too.Guel:
A few people have proposed this theory, and while I think it's a great one, it's not the right one. Augustus Monet has no pre-existing connections to any of the established characters.could this guy coming to the gallery be some relative? maybe marias father?
Leila:
Wherever you're going, I hope you have fun!I'll be away for a few days and I'll miss Wednesday's update.
She's just so good at what she does. Now it's just a matter of maintaining this job, because we all know Isabel has a problem holding onto a good thing when she has it.I'm surprised that Isabel didn't need to show more skin to get the job. It was easy for her to achieve her goal.
Gosh, I'm trying to think back and remember. I'm not sure if she will find out.Though I'm wondering what Isabel will do when she finds out that Alex and Maria talk to each other.
Krista: Girl, you snuck that comment in two minutes before I was about to post.
Thanks for the feedback.
I don't even know how to describe today's update. I've lovingly decided to call it a "plate full of crazy." Because that's basically what it is. You get one adorable scene at the beginning, and then just . . . crazy.
Again, I'm coming by with music. Today it's "Enjoy the Silence" by Anberlin, which is a cover of a song by Depeche Mode. I actually like Anberlin's version better, though they're both good. This is probably one of my favorite songs right now. Click on
when you see it to give it a listen if you'd like.Part 31
Being wrapped up in Michael’s arms had to be the best feeling in the world. He wasn’t a super-huge guy, but he was big enough to make her feel like a tiny butterfly when she lay next to him, and he was her cocoon.
Oh god, she thought, I’m waxing poetic. That meant the orgasm hadn’t quite worn off yet.
She nuzzled her face against his chest as he rubbed her bare back and shoulders. “I think Tess and Kyle are on different wavelengths,” she said.
“This is what you think about after we have sex, Tess and Kyle?”
“Well, at least I wasn’t thinking about them during,” she joked. “Besides, sex and babies . . . it relates.”
“True,” he acknowledged. “Does, uh . . . does their whole trying to have a baby thing make you wanna have another baby?”
That question took her a little by surprise. She moved backward slightly so she could look at him. “Well, yeah.” They’d always said they would have more kids. “Not tomorrow, obviously, but someday. Post-graduation, post-job attainment. Post-marriage would be nice.”
He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “How many kids do you think we’ll end up with?”
“I don’t know.” It was impossible to predict.
“Well, how many do you wanna have?”
“How many do you wanna have?”
“I asked you first.”
“Doesn’t matter. First is the new second.”
He laughed. “What? Who talks like that?”
Since neither of them seemed willing to offer the first answer, Maria quickly devised a solution. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do: I’ll count to three and we’ll both blurt out at the same time how many kids we wanna have.”
“How many more kids or how many kids total?”
“How many more—no, how many total,” she decided. “How many total kids we wanna have. Okay? On one, two . . . three!” She fell silent, as did he. They both laughed. “Okay, now we have to do it for real this time, okay?” she said.
“Alright.”
“One . . . two . . .” She drew it out for a long time. “Three!”
“Eight,” he blurted at the same time she said, “Four.” They both looked at each other incredulously.
“Eight?” she screeched. “You want me to pop out eight kids?” That wouldn’t have been so bad had they actually popped out.
“That’s only six more than we have now,” he pointed out.
“Only? Oh, spoken by a true man, I’ll tell you.”
“Don’t you wanna have a big family?”
“Yeah, but four kids would be big enough. Plus you and me and Frank. I’d be halfway there already. That sounds nice.”
“What about seven?” he proposed.
“Five.” She was willing to increase it to five, but no more.
“Six?”
“Five.”
“Six?” he kept on.
“Five. Michael! What the hell? You’re an only child. You’re not supposed to want a huge family.”
“I’m a rebel like that.”
She propped herself up on her elbow as she entered rant-mode. “Do you want me to be fat? Because there’s only so much baby weight a girl can lose.”
“More to love.”
“Do you wanna own a minivan? Because that’s what we’ll be driving. I’m serious. Do you wanna go into debt sending them to college? ‘Cause it’ll happen.”
“Child prodigies. Scholarships.”
“Michael.”
“Fine, we don’t have to have eight kids.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. “Although considering our track record, I’m not so sure we’ll have any control over it.”
She settled back down in the bed and snuggled up to his chest again. She coiled her legs around his beneath the covers and breathed in his scent. Mmm. She was calm again.
“But the thing is, we can’t stop until we have a boy,” he said. “You know?”
She smiled. “Yeah.”
“‘Cause I wanna have a son and teach him how to be a good man.”
“We can always use more of those in the world.” She had no doubt that Michael would teach his son not only how to be a good man, but how to be a great man. Because that’s what he was and that’s what his father was. Traits like that got passed down the family line. “What would we name him?” she asked. “Michael, Jr. would get so confusing.”
“Hmm, Marcus?” he offered.
“No, then people would call him Mark.” She’d dated a Mark in high school, and he was such a dumb-ass that he was still in high school as far as anyone knew. “Matthew?” she said. “I can handle Matt a lot better than Mark.”
“Matthew,” he said slowly. “I like it. Matthew Guerin. That’ll be his name, unless we think of something we like more. Matthew.”
“What about girls’ names?”
“Megan, Melanie . . .”
“I like Megan. Not Melanie. I had a Barbie named Melanie when I was little, and she was a slut.”
He laughed. “Okay. How about Molly?”
“Cute. Mandy?”
“Uh, not so much. Isabel’s middle name’s Amanda.”
“Oh. Then hell to the no.” The last thing they needed was another minute connection to that bitch.
“Plus, we’d just be setting her up for a lifetime of Barry Manilow jokes,” he pointed out.
“Huh, true,” she agreed. “What about Mira? Or Mahalia. Are those too exotic?”
“What’s Mahalia mean?” he asked.
“I think it means affection. But I think it’s too exotic.”
“Mira’s cool, though. What’d we do with that baby name book?”
“Oh, it’s around here somewhere.” She slipped one arm underneath him and draped one over his midsection, hugging him tightly. “I’m too lazy and comfy to look for it.”
“Well, we’ve got ideas.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Ooh, I’ve got another one,” she announced. “You know how some people are naming girls Michael nowadays? Well, I don’t like that. But what if we named the next little girl Michaela? It’s the female form of your name.”
“Yeah, that’d be cool. I’d like that. Let’s do that.”
“Okay, Michaela Guerin. But I repeat, post-graduation, post-job attainment, post-marriage. Got it?”
His hands traveled up and down her spine. “Got it.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Isabel had been on her way to Billy’s when she got the phone call from Arthur Miller’s temporary personal secretary. The temporary secretary told her she was the new personal secretary. Full-time, decent starting pay, and great health benefits. Fuck yes.
Billy was the first person she told the good news to. He kissed her a lot, and then they started getting drunk. Mostly beer, a little whiskey. The more Isabel drank, the happier she became. She started bouncing around the living room, singing at the top of her lungs, “I got a jo-ob! I got a jo-ob!” She wasn’t sure why she split the word into two syllables like that, but it was catchy. She bounced on the squeaky couch cushions, and when she tried to jump over the back of it, she crash-landed on the floor. It didn’t hurt, though, so she stood right back up and kept shouting. “Billy! I got a job!”
He sat on the stairs, watching her and smoking a cigarette. “I heard.”
“And you helped me.” She downed the rest of the beer in her hand, then said, “Take that, deadbeat, husband!” and threw the bottle at the wall. It broke.
“Yeah!” Billy exclaimed.
“You know what? We should celebrate.” She was going a mile a minute, couldn’t slow down.
“We are celebrating,” he pointed out.
“No, I mean the getting hammered is great and all, but we should really do something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, like stick it to the people who tried to hold me down.” There were, after all, so many of them.
“Alex?”
“No, he’s too easy of a target. Max! Yeah, let’s stick it to Max.” In that moment, that sounded like the most fun thing in the world. “All my life he’s told me I’ll never be more than a woman. Well, in your face, Max. In your ugly face, ‘cause now I have a job and you’re broke ass poor!” She cackled in delight. What could be more wonderful? “And let’s stick it to Liz while we’re at it ‘cause she’s a bi-itch!”
“What do you wanna do?” Billy asked.
“Something wrong and . . . outrageous.” Even though she felt light-headed, she was simultaneously raring to go. God, had that been one of Billy’s drug-laced beers? Or was the new job simply that good? Whatever. She didn’t care.
Billy went upstairs for a minute and told her to wait downstairs. When he came back down, he was carrying two bottles of spray paint in his hands. Isabel grinned and licked her lips. Perfect.
(
)By the time they had driven over to Max and Liz’s house, Isabel was on the edge of her seat, just dying to wreak some havoc. They parked across the street and she got out of the car, her eyes roaming over the growing weeds out front. Ha, Max had probably had to fire his gardener. Served him right, the jackass.
“Well, here we are,” she announced. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah.” Billy looked at the mansion in awe.
“But not for long.” Isabel squealed and darted across the street. Billy followed her up the giant staircase to the elevated porch and said, “They ain’t home, right?”
“No, they’re out house-hunting.” That was what he’d told Garret on the phone last night. She’d been listening in. You could never do too much listening.
“How you plan on getting in?”
She lifted a ring of keys out of her purse and held up the longest brass one. “I stole Liz’s keys once and made a copy for an occasion just like this.” She inserted the key into the door and smiled when she heard it click unlocked. “Let’s vandalize.”
She opened the glass double doors and walked inside, swaying her hips sultrily from side to side. Billy alternated looking at her and at the house. It didn’t look half as nice now that most of the furniture was gone. It was just ceiling and walls, but at the same time, so much more than that. It was a symbol of what she should have had.
“Damn,” Billy swore, impressed.
She dropped her purse on the floor, looped her arms around his neck, and plastered her mouth to his. Their tongues mingled, and his hands clawed at her sides, scrunching up her shirt. He had a rock-hard erection. She felt so hot.
She undid his shirt and left it hanging open, noticing a new tattoo on his left side: her name written vertically. Each letter was a snake. She tossed her head back and laughed, then stepped away from him and slid her denim skirt down over her hips. For some reason she didn’t quite understand, she wanted to run around this house in her panties.
Oh, she was deliciously drunk.
When she bent down to take the spray paint cans out of her purse, Billy came up behind her, grabbed her hips, and rubbed his cock against her from behind. Even though clothing was in the way, it felt so good. He really knew her, knew what she liked.
That was a little scary.
She turned around, nibbled on his ear, and whispered dirty words to him. She handed him the red spray paint can, keeping the blue one for herself, and then ran into the living room. Shake well before using. She jiggled the can in her hand and then let the paint fly.
She sprayed a huge S on the wall, moving her hips in the same lettered shape.
Billy put a huge red smiley face on the back of the white couch.
L.
They danced as much as they vandalized.
U.
Isabel felt so alive.
T.
SLUT. That was what Liz was. She skipped over to the adjacent wall and spray-painted Max’s name, then crossed it out with an X. She did the same with Alex’s name and her father’s name. Then she went to the last blank wall and wrote Michael’s name, drawing a heart around it.
In the kitchen, Billy hopped up on the marble countertop and danced from one side all the way to the very edge of the other side. He sprayed huge red dots on the ceiling and stole a beer out of the refrigerator.
Isabel dropped her spray paint and let it roll away. She danced around slowly in a circle and pulled her shirt off over her head. She ran her hands through her hair and let the sweat trickle down her skin. Max and Liz would know she’d done this, but she didn’t care. In that moment, she just didn’t care about getting caught. She felt invincible and welcomed it.
She danced up the stairs and Billy followed her. She gave him a show on the way, touching her body and moving her hips in circles. He slid down the staircase, then scrambled to the upstairs hallway. She fell on her way to the master bedroom and rolled around on the floor for a minute, laughing at her clumsiness. Billy lifted her up and set her back on her own two feet, and they tangoed towards the bedroom. Lord only knew what dirty things Max and Liz had done in there, but they were squeaky clean compared to her.
She jumped on the bed like a little kid who’d just found out it was a snow day while Billy took hold of the bedside lamp and threw it against the wall. She worked the canopy posts on the bed like stripper poles, swirling around, arching against them, sandwiching them between her breasts.
Billy salivated over her as he painted the word ‘fuckers’ on the wall. Except he spelled it wrong, so it was ‘fuckes.’ Still funny.
By the time she had dropped down to her knees, though, and was prowling across the mattress like an animal, whipping her hair around, sneaking her hand down between her legs, she had Billy’s full attention. He dropped his paint can and ran towards the bed, pouncing on her. He plunged his tongue into her mouth and pulled down on her bra, allowing her breasts out of their confines. She could feel his bare chest against hers, and she wanted sex. Oh, she wanted it. Right there in her brother’s bed. Her on top. Him on top. Didn’t matter. They were going to put it to each other good, and she was so high on the rush of this vandalism spree that she might not even have to think of Michael to get off.
All thoughts of sex vanished and they both froze when they heard police sirens. Some busybody neighbor had probably reported seeing them go in or hearing noise while they vandalized. Crap.
They both sprang from the bed and ran downstairs. Billy forgot to grab his spray paint can, but it was too late to go back for it. Isabel grabbed hers and her shirt and her shorts on the way out, but it was no use. Max would know she did this. The names on the wall . . .
They bolted outside. Billy launched himself over the porch and Isabel scurried down the stairs. For the first time since they’d shown up there, this seemed like a bad idea. The elation of alcohol wore off, and the feeling of impending doom set in.
They got in the car and Billy floored it, but it was no use. The police car zoomed up right behind them, and Isabel knew fleeing would do more harm than good. They were caught. She got caught behaving badly sometimes.
“Just pull over,” she told him, and he did just that. He shut off the car and raked one hand through his hair.
“Fuck,” he cursed. “This is bad. I already got a record. Now vandalism and DUI? They could put me away for awhile.” He looked at her pleadingly. “Isabel. What do I do?”
He wasn’t her responsibility, yet she felt the need to do something.
When the police officer walked up to their car and tapped on the driver’s side window, Isabel rolled it down, having just switched seats with her partner in crime. Switching seats with Billy would make things a little better for him, a little worse for her. Now she’d be the one facing the DUI.
She glanced at him worriedly, confused by her own actions. She’d never been the type to throw herself in the line of fire before, and she shouldn’t have done it now.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Jail was an uncomfortable place. Cold, dreary, and hopeless. Isabel wasn’t scared, though. She wasn’t scared of anything. But she had to admit, she was slightly worried. She and Billy had been separated after booking, and she’d ended up in a cell with three other women, two of whom looked like male truckers and one of whom was clearly a prostitute. She was simultaneously relieved and nervous when it was time for her to make her one and only phone call.
“Don’t take too long,” the guard said, escorting her towards the phone.
She picked it up and held it with shaking hands. It struck her that there was nobody she could call, at least not anybody who without a doubt would come to bail her out. Normally she would have called Billy, but since he was locked up, too, that left her two options: her husband or her brother.
She opted to call Max, even though it was his house she’d vandalized. Alex had been standing up to her lately, and she wasn’t sure if he would come through. There was at least a chance with Max. Blood was thicker than water. Or something like that.
When he picked up his phone, his voice was shrill and impatient. “What?”
“Max, it’s me.”
He laughed angrily. “Isabel. Isabel. Fancy you calling. Liz, Isabel’s on the phone.”
She heard Liz shout a few choice words from the background. Clearly they had arrived home and seen the spray paint. “Listen, Max . . .”
“You know, it’s the funniest thing,” he cut her off. “I came home fifteen minutes ago to find my house vandalized. First I thought it was probably an ex-employee, but then I saw the ‘Michael’ with the heart around it and I knew.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Jesus, Isabel, if you’re gonna vandalize something, don’t leave a design that’s so indicatively you. And since ‘fuckers’ is misspelled upstairs, I assume Billy the dumbass was with you. How am I doing so far?”
“Fantastic,” she muttered.
“You were probably smashed,” he went on. “You probably screwed in my bed.”
“No, we didn’t get the chance.”
“And since you’re calling from a number I don’t recognize, you must need me to bail you out of jail.”
She felt powerless asking him for such a favor, so powerless that she couldn’t even ask it out loud. She hated feeling that way.
“What else is new, right?” he said bitterly. “You know, I really need to savor this moment. You’re always saying how you’re so much better than me, yet here you are again, asking me for help. ‘Max, give my husband a job. Max, buy my house. Max, post my bail.’”
“It’s only three-hundred dollars,” she informed him.
“Only? Well, I’m sorry, dear sister. Somebody told a magazine I’m a rapist, and now I have no money to my name. Find somebody else to clean up your mess.”
“Max!” She stared at the phone in disbelief after her hung up. He really wasn’t coming. He had bailed out on bail. She was on her own.
“Alright, back to your cell,” the guard said, taking the phone away from her. He grabbed hold of her wrists and practically yanked her back to her confinement and tossed her back inside. There was a lawsuit in his rough treatment somewhere. She was sure of it.
“You got a pretty mouth,” he seethed as he locked her in.
She glared at him. Hell yeah she had a pretty mouth, but she wasn’t going to use it on him.
She gripped the bars tightly once he was gone, so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She refused to look as defeated as her cell mates. Somebody would come for her. Somebody had to.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Alex dumped the frozen broccoli into a pot of boiling water atop the stove. Garret stood beside him, complaining.
“I don’t like broccoli.”
“Too bad, because that’s what you’re getting.” It suddenly struck him that he didn’t know what his son’s favorite food was, and he felt alarmed. How could he not know something like that?
“Where’s Mommy?” Garret asked. Before Alex could tell him he didn’t know, Garret exclaimed, “Uncle Max!” and ran towards the front door. Max had let himself inside.
“Hey, stud.” He hoisted his nephew up in his arms. “How are you?”
“Broccoli.” Garret made a disgusted face and stuck his tongue out. “Yuck.”
“Yeah, I agree.” Max cast a sideways glance in Alex, and Alex pretended to be all interested in watching the broccoli boil.
“Listen, I need to talk to your dad. Why don’t you go upstairs and I’ll be up to play with you in a minute.”
Garret nodded excitedly, and Max set him down. He ran upstairs, and Alex kept his voice low when he asked, “What the hell are you doing here, Max?” Didn’t he understand that he wasn’t welcome there anymore?
“I thought you’d wanna know your wife’s in jail.”
He nearly stumbled backward. “What?”
Max shrugged as though this were a commonplace or anticipated event. “She vandalized my house. Cop said she was drunk driving, too. So you need to go bail her out. Or leave her in there. I really don’t care.”
Alex glanced back at the boiling pot. It was about to start boiling over. Isabel was a real piece of work. She accused him of being a drunk and then she went out and did the same thing, plus some? People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.
“Go,” Max said. “I’ll stay with the kid until you get back.”
Part of him—a big part of him—wanted to not run to Isabel’s rescue. She’d done nothing to deserve it. But she was his wife, and he felt obligated. So he went and hoped he wouldn’t regret it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When the guard came back down the cell corridor and bellowed, “Isabel Whitman!” Isabel sat straight up on her cot. “Evans-Whitman,” she corrected.
The guard rolled his eyes and unlocked the cell. “You’re free to go.”
“What? Max came through?” Her entire body shook with relief. “Oh, thank God.” She was not cut out for jail. Too confining, to demeaning.
“Come back soon.” The guard leered at her as she walked away. She felt like kneeing him in the nuts for that, but then she’d end up back in the slammer.
A second guard escorted her out into the police station. When she saw Billy and Lorenzo waiting for her, she was confused. Where was Max?
“He bailed me out,” Billy explained, motioning towards Lorenzo, “and I wasn’t gonna leave you here. Besides, it was the least I could do after you--”
“Shh,” Isabel hushed him. They were standing in a room full of cops. They really didn’t need to reveal who had really been driving the car in this place of all places. “Thanks,” she said. Billy always came through for her. He was surprising like that.
“So you’re an ex-con now, huh?” Lorenzo grinned and licked his lips. “That just makes you even hotter.”
“I really just wanna get out of here,” she said. “Can we go?”
“Yeah.” Billy put his arm around her shoulders, and they left the police station with Lorenzo. When they walked out to the parking lot, Isabel noticed that the sun was setting. She’d wasted half her day sitting in that cell.
“Tell her what you told me, man,” Billy said to Lorenzo.
“Right.” Lorenzo cleared his throat. “If you can convince your brother to not press charges, you could get outta this with a simple DUI. And they’ll just fine you for that, maybe suspend your license for awhile, make you go to some classes. No big deal.”
“So you gotta convince Max.” Billy rubbed her shoulder.
“Easier said than done,” she grumbled. “He wouldn’t even bail me out.”
“You should’ve called me.” Lorenzo tilted his head back to stare at her ass. “No way am I gonna leave a rump like that behind bars.”
Isabel laughed a little but stopped at once when she saw her husband making his way through the parking lot. “Alex?” She shrugged Billy’s arm off and stepped away from him. “Hey, what’re you doing here?”
“What’s it look like?” He held up a wad of cash that looked as though it were straight out of the ATM. “Max told me what you did. I came to bail you out.”
“Oh, well . . . good news, you don’t have to.” She felt completely and utterly flustered. Alex and Billy were standing face to face. She was standing in between them. She didn’t know what to say. “Uh, this man already did. Alex, this is . . . Bobby,” she lied, motioning towards Billy. “His son goes to preschool with Garret so . . . that’s how we know each other.” That was feasible, right? Yeah, that was feasible. “And this is Larry. His son also . . . goes there.” A little too much stuttering, but hopefully Alex would buy it.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Larry,” Lorenzo proclaimed, extending his hand.
Alex shook it carefully, almost as though he were afraid of contracting some disease from him. Which probably wasn’t an irrational fear.
“Yeah, nice to meet you, Alex,” Billy said. He was sweating like a maniac all of a sudden, and his hand was trembling as he held it out.
Alex didn’t shake Billy’s hand. “Let’s go,” he told Isabel, turning and heading back through the parking lot.
She breathed in sharply and followed him. That had been a close call.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They didn’t speak the whole ride home. Alex kept his eyes locked on the road, and Isabel kept her eyes locked on Alex. She hoped he hadn’t seen Billy’s arm around here. He wasn’t that observant, was he?
Max greeted them at the bottom of the stairs when they walked in the front door. “He wanted to eat in his room, so I let him,” he said.
“Great parenting, Max,” she muttered sarcastically.
“Well, I’m not his parent, now am I?”
“Would you two shut up?” Alex practically begged.
“I’ll be heading home now,” Max announced, slipping on his jacket. “To my vandalized house. That’s gonna look great when buyers come to look at it.” He left it at that and walked out.
Isabel shook her head and rolled her eyes. “He’s such a cry-baby.”
“He has every reason to be pissed at you right now,” Alex said. “What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking, okay? You should know a lot about that.” Hell, Alex had practically made a career out of bad choices.
“Don’t try to turn this back on me,” he warned. “You screwed up. You did a stupid thing. And then the icing on the cake is the DUI.”
“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “What’s your DUI count these days? Five? Six?”
“This is gonna be in all the papers, on all the news,” he fretted. “Your son’s gonna have to deal with this.”
“Well, he deals with you on a daily basis. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Would you stop?” he barked. “Stop and take some responsibility for what you did.”
“I’ll tell you what I did: I got a job,” she informed him. “I got a job. BAE Advertising. I’m Arthur Miller’s new secretary. He’s the A in BAE, in case you were wondering. It’s a good job. Pay starts at thirty-five thousand, and today I was celebrating. That’s all.”
“Celebrating,” he echoed. “By committing a crime?!”
“You don’t know what it’s like to play the housewife role for four years, okay? To keep everything bottled up inside, to devote your entire life to your child and your husband.”
“Since when are you devoted to me?” he roared. “Or to Garret, for that matter? We both know who you’re devoted to.”
“Don’t bring Michael into this.”
“I’m not talking about him.” Alex looked down at his feet and dug the toe of his shoe into the carpet. “You know who I’m talking about.”
“Who?” The only other person she even cared about at all besides Michael and her son was . . .
Oh, no.
“Billy,” he mumbled. “Or should I say Bobby?”
Her entire body shut down for a moment, and she couldn’t admit it or deny it. All she could do was stand there.
“Don’t play dumb,” he snapped. “I know. I know you’ve been cheating on me for a year now. I know whenever you ‘run errands,’ you’re fucking him. I know he probably helped you vandalize that house today, because he’s not only your boyfriend, he’s your best friend. You’re not as secretive as you think you are.”
Is he my best friend? She didn’t even have time to contemplate it. She was too busy trying to figure out how Alex knew about all this. There was only one person who had reason to disclose everything. “Max told you.”
“No, he—Max knows?” Alex threw his hands up in the air. “Son of a bitch.”
“Then how did you find out?”
“I got suspicious six months ago, so I hired the cheapest private investigator I could find,” he revealed. “He got it all: cell phone records, background information on Billy, even pictures of the two of you together. Here, you wanna see?” He made his way into the kitchen and reached up to the top left-hand cabinet. He’d had a lock on that cabinet for awhile now, claiming that there were important documents leftover from Whitman Software Development up there, but when he put in the code to unlock it, he took out a box full of black and white photographs. “Here you go,” he said, throwing them at her. “Real flattering.”
She caught a handful of them and saw that they were all snapshots of her and Billy. In one of them, they were dancing together at Grunge. In another, he was strumming his guitar for her in the living room. And in one particularly disturbing one, she was riding him in his bed. There were dozens and dozens, maybe even hundreds, of photos. She was semi-horrified that she hadn’t had a clue about this.
“I can’t believe you spied on me.”
“I can’t believe you cheated on me,” he shot back. “Actually, I can. You’re a bitch.”
She dropped the pictures back into the box. “You’re just jealous.”
“Of Billy?” He huffed. “Of a drug-addicted wannabe musician? ‘Cause that’s what he is. Am I right?”
He was.
“And I don’t know who that ‘Larry’ guy was, but you probably fucked him, too.”
There was no need to tell him about that. “I’m not a slut.”
“Billy Darden.” Alex went over to the refrigerator and took out a beer. “At the age of eighteen, he was accused of sexually assaulting a fifteen year old girl, but it was settled outside of court, so he got away with it. At twenty, he was busted for selling drugs, and he’s been busted for some kind of illegal possession every year after that. He graduated college with a solid D average and has two Radiohead covers on YouTube, both with only two-hundred views and more negative comments than positive ones.”
That private investigator definitely had done his job. All those things were true.
“If you’re looking for the next Michael Guerin, he’s not it.”
She wasn’t looking for the next Michael. There was only one Michael. “It’s not that serious,” she told him. “He’s just a guy I fuck instead of fucking you.”
“See, I don’t get this.” Alex unscrewed the lid to his beer. “You hate men, yet you whore yourself out without even hesitating. You say you’re so capable, but you probably went down on your boss to get that job.” He brought the bottle up to his lips and chugged.
“I got that job because I am capable.” She left out the part about the cleavage. “And you just watch how far I’ll move up at this company. Glass ceiling be damned.”
“Would you shut up?” he bellowed. “God, I’m so sick of hearing you talk!”
“I’m so sick of watching you drink!” she shouted back.
“I’m sick of being married to you!”
“I wish you weren’t.” The day she’d walked down that aisle towards him had been the biggest letdown of her life. “I wish you’d never gotten me pregnant. I wish I’d never given birth to your son!”
Alex opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something, but he glanced sideways, and when Isabel turned to see what he was looking at, she saw Garret standing on the second to bottom stair, clutching a blanket in his hand and blinking back tears in his eyes. Oh god, how long had he been listening?
“Garret . . .” she tried.
He turned and ran back upstairs. Isabel and Alex stood in silence, the argument still reverberating through the room. Their eyes met, and for once, they agreed on something: They hated themselves. They hated themselves for hurting their son.
TBC . . .
-April
It's just a bad, bad situation, isn't it? And this poor kid's caught in the middle of it. "The poor dear" as you would say. 
Or you can just read the lyrics. Or you can skim right over the lyrics. Whatever you like.