Get out of my face.
You should apologize to me and ask me how you can help me. You should ask me what you can do around here.
You’re being a bitch, Maddy, do you know that?
I’m pissed.
Calm down.
You fucking calm down. You don’t do shit in this house. I do everything.
He said, I’ve asked you before what can I do around here and you always say, oh nothing sweetie. And now for whatever reason you want to yell at me. So fucking yell at me.
He got up and tried to walk out of the room but she stood in the doorway, blocking him. The skin on her face drooped strangely. He said, I’m going out until you calm down.
She said, you’re not leaving here until you do those goddamn dishes.
Get out of my way, he said and pushed her out of the way. She followed him into the kitchen and watched him put his shoes back on. Fuck you and your dishes, he said.
You’re not going anywhere, Mark, she seethed, standing in front of the door.
Get out of my way, Maddy, I’m serious.
What are you going to do, hit me?
Is that what you want? That’s probably what you want, you sick bitch. I’ll do it, Maddy. I’m not scared of you.
You touch me and I’ll beat the living shit out of you.
Mark grabbed her arms, saying, you’re not that tough anymore, Maddy. Look at you. You’ve lost so much weight you can’t even lift a bag of groceries.
She shook free of him. It’s not that I can’t lift a bag of groceries, Mark, it’s that I won’t lift a bag of groceries. I’m sick of doing everything here.
Get out of my way, I’m leaving, he said and pushed her out of his way again. She stumbled and caught herself on the kitchen counter.
Where are you going?
None of your fucking business, he said as he walked out the door and down the stairs.
Mark, damn you. Mark, wait, come back. I’m sorry. Come back. I’m sorry, Mark. I’ll cook dinner.
13
If she didn’t yell at him about the dishes then she yelled at him about the floors. If she didn’t yell at him about that, she yelled at him for not paying attention to her, for never buying her flowers or chocolates or taking her out to dinner. He’d say, Maddy, you’d throw the chocolates out, you’d sniff them for a day and then throw them out. It’s the thought that counts, she’d say. If I took you out to dinner you’d order a salad and then not eat it. You’d move it around on your plate. Then take me out and let’s get drunk, she’d say. He’d say, you’d get drunk after two beers because you’re so goddamn skinny and then you’d start yelling and crying at me. She’d say, what’s your excuse for not buying me flowers? He’d say, last time I bought you flowers, you threw them at me. I can’t remember why. But you were angry at me. Fuck you, Mark, she’d cry. You just don’t love me anymore. That’s not true, Maddy, he’d say. I love you like crazy, you’re being impossible.
Or if he tried cleaning — and their place was too clean, she was always cleaning — but if he tried to help out then she’d be behind him in a second, grabbing the sponge from his hand, saying, you’re not doing it right, you stupid fuck. So he’d try and do things when she was at work, which wasn’t difficult because she was always at work. It didn’t mattter. When she came home she’d clean the entire apartment, banging everything around, swearing under her breath and Mark would just leave the apartment. What was he supposed to do? He’d buy her a pair of lacy panties. And she’d thank him. But that was it. Nothing else. No wild fucking. No panting and grabbing. Not even a kiss. Thanks, Mark, and a brief, forced smile. Did she wear them ever? He would never find out. She changed in the bathroom or in the dark and walked around with a thick terrycloth robe pulled defensively over her body. I’m so tired from work, she’d say and pull the blankets over her. It felt useless, every effort made. Is this because of the abortion, he’d ask, again. No, Mark, things were weird before that. Don’t you think so? And he’d have to agree. She was right. But what should we do, how do we get over this, how do we get back to being crazy about each other? I don’t know, she’d mumble, annoyed. Just don’t worry about it so much. Things will get better. Maybe it’s the stress of moving in together, she’d offer. We’ve been living together for almost a year, he’d say. Oh, Mark, drop it, I’m tired.
She pushed him away and then screamed at him for not being close. And then he just had to get away. So he went over to Nathan’s house more and more. Sometimes he’d go there straight after work.
Nathan lived in a seedy neighborhood a few blocks from downtown. His apartment was on the ground floor, and there were big windows facing the street so Mark could drive by and see if the lights were on, see if Nathan was home. Which he almost always was. He sold pot out of his apartment and he did this mostly at night. He was in his thirties, had long, stringy hair and a goatee and there was something very greasy about him. He didn’t wash often. He had no girlfriend or wife. He constantly made fun of Mark for being married. Nathan frequented whores and watched pornography nonstop. He had a library of movies and stacks and stacks of magazines. Stoned, drinking cheap beer out of a can, they’d sit around with some of his other friends and watch pornos. He had gang bangs. He had girls getting fucking by Great Danes. He had it all. All the new glossy ones and all the twisted underground and amateur ones.
Mark drove over and saw Nathan’s lights on. He saw Larry’s car parked out front. He went in, carrying a six pack, and sat down with the two of them. They passed around a bong. Mark bought a bag of weed from him. They smoked some more.
Your little woman drive you out of the house again? Nathan asked.
It’s like she’s on the rag all month long.
I’m telling you, you should get the fuck out of there. Fuck living with women. Just have them over to suck your dick once in a while, he said, coughing out a big bong hit. He said, whores are where it’s at. There’s a reason why it’s the oldest profession.
I married a whore. I don’t have to pay for one. But she’s changed. She’s not as fun as she used to be.
Larry said, that’s cause once you marry her, she can’t be your whore anymore. Now she’s your wife. That shit’s different.
Mark said, she’s still a whore. She’ll always be one. That’s why I love her.
Larry said, man, I can’t understand how you can call your wife a whore. That’s fucked up. No wonder you have problems.
You guys don’t get it, Mark said. They all looked quietly at the TV. A woman was getting fucked by three guys. One in her mouth, one in her ass, and one in her pussy.
Your wife do that shit? Nathan laughed, pointing to the TV.
My wife does anything.
Larry said, see you can’t talk about your wife that way. He shook his head.
What rule book is that from? Mark asked sarcastically.
No really, it’s common knowledge, Larry said. You can’t think of your wife that way. You got to have respect.
We’re special, Mark said, cracking open another beer, settling in for a long evening at Nathan’s. We’re not a boring, old fart couple. Ours is special. We’re just having some problems.
But he went over to Nathan’s more and more. Sometimes Nathan would have a whore or two there. And he’d always ask Mark if he wanted to. Big women, little women. Hispanic, white, black. No, thanks, Mark would say. Even though he wasn’t getting any at home. But he just wanted Maddy, or so he thought. He was heartbroken.
14
He came in and saw his wife standing at the sink in the kitchen, her back toward him. And as if seeing her for the first time in weeks, he noticed that her shoulder blades protruded almost grotesquely. Of course, he just saw her this morning and the morning before and the morning before and on and on and he wondered why he did not notice her shoulders until this moment.