“Sure,” I said. A pain in the ass to the end, I thought. I reminded myself it was almost over. I copied the directions on a legal sheet and added, Love ya, your babycakes. Between his ego and my eagerness to please, I hoped he didn’t suspect a thing. I couldn’t wait to show him the real world when I gave him my ultimatum.
I got up in the morning and packed him a few clothes and set the bag by the door. I called to him in the bathroom. “Your ticket receipt is in the side pocket. Don’t forget to give Penny my love.” I knew he really hadn’t told her a thing.
He came out and took a hard look down my body. His eyes glinted and I could see satisfaction in the upturn of his lips, despite their being pressed together hard. I knew there was some macho thing mixed in with the caretaking for his sister. In a twisted way, he was doing this for me too, proving how he could protect a poor, weak woman from men like himself.
I thought he was going to kiss me, so I brought on a coughing fit and waved him away. He thumped me on the back a few times, gave up, and went on out. He paused a second at the bottom of the steps, turned back, and grinned, showing all those white teeth. For a second, I thought he was reading my mind. Instead he said softly, “You’re my right arm, dollface.” He went on.
I shivered. I watched his car all the way down the street. I was scared, even though I was sure he had every intention of doing the deed, and I was betting on success. He was smarter and stronger than Ray, and had surprise on his side. Then I would hold the cards — with his record, a simple tip to the cops could put his ass in a sling.
I was tense all day at the office, wondering what he was thinking with that grin. Too, I hoped he’d remembered his knife. I went straight to his bureau when I got home and took everything out of the sock drawer. The boot knife was gone. I pictured him splashed with blood, standing over Ray’s body in a dark alley. I felt relieved. He was set up good.
I went to the grocery and got myself a six-pack, a bag of mesquite-grilled potato chips, and a pint of fudge royale ice cream. I rented three videos so I wouldn’t have to think. I started to crack up laughing in the car. I was between joy and hysteria. I couldn’t stop worrying, but the thought of peace to come was delicious.
Carl was due home around noon on Saturday, and I realized I didn’t want to be there. I got a few hours sleep and woke up early. I did his dirty laundry and packed all his clothes and personal stuff into garbage bags and set them by the door. I put his bicycle and tools there. I wrote a note on the legal pad and propped it against one of the bags. Basically it said to leave Fort Lauderdale that afternoon and never come back — if he did, I’d turn him in. I wrote that I didn’t care if we ever got a divorce or not, and he could take the stereo and TV — everything. I just wanted to be left alone.
I packed a bathing suit, a book, and my overnight stuff, and drove down to Key Largo. Carl was obsessed with me in his lurid, controlling way. The farther away I was when he read the note, the safer I’d feel.
I stayed at a little motel and read and swam most of Saturday, got a pizza with mushrooms, like Carl hated. On Sunday morning I went out by the pool and caught a few more rays before heading home. I stopped for a grouper sandwich on the drive back, to congratulate myself on how well I was doing, but I could barely eat it. Jesus, was I nervous. I got home around four, pulled into the parking lot, and saw Carl’s empty space. I sighed with relief. I looked up at the apartment window. I’d move out when the lease was up. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The clothes and tools were gone. I shut the door behind me, locked it, and set down my bag.
The toilet flushed. “Eh-eh-eh-eh.”
I jumped. My chest turned to water.
The toilet paper rolled. Carl came swaggering out of the bathroom. “Eh-eh-eh-eh,” he laughed. The sound was deafening.
“Where’s your car?” I asked him. “What are you doing here?”
“Car’s around back. I wanted to surprise my babycakes.”
I looked around wildly. “Didn’t you get my note? You’re supposed to be gone — I’m calling—” I moved toward the phone.
He stepped in front of me. “No. You don’t wanna make any calls — and I’m not going anywhere. I love you. We’re a team. Two of a kind.”
“You didn’t do it.” I spat the words in his face. “You chickened out.”
He came closer, a cloud of alcohol seeping from his skin and breath, a sick, fermented odor mixed with the bite of cigarettes. “Oh, I did it, babe, right behind Doe’s. Stuck that seven-inch blade below his rib cage and gave it a mighty twist. I left that bastard in a puddle of blood the size Texas could be proud of.” He winked. “I let Ol’ Ray know why he was getting it too.”
He took my hair and yanked me close against him. He stuck his tongue in my mouth. I gagged but he kept forcing it down my throat. Finally, he drew back and stared into my eyes. “I did some thinkin on the flight over,” he said, “about you and me, and how your attitude isn’t always the best. I figured I could use some insurance on our marriage. You know? Penny’ll remember you askin her about the bars if she’s questioned, and she wouldn’t lie to the cops. Also, the directions are in your handwriting, hon. I rubbed the prints off against my stomach, balled up the sheet, and dropped it right between his legs. Cool, huh?” He licked his lower lip from one side to the other. “Oh, yeah, I found one of your hairs on my T-shirt and put that in for extra measure.”
My skin went to ice and I froze clear through.
“A nice little threat in the works, if I needed it to keep you around. Guess I saved myself a lot of trouble at the same time.” His eyebrows went up. “Where I go, you go, baby girl. Together forever, sweetheart.”
He grabbed my T-shirt and twisted it tight around the chest. All the air wheezed out of my lungs, and he rubbed his palm across my nipples till they burned. He lifted my hand to his mouth, kissed it, and grinned with all his teeth showing. He slobbered kisses along my arm, while I stood limp. “Eh-eh.”
Like the snap of a bone, his laugh shot chills up my spine and the sorry truth to my brain. I was the same as Carl, only he’d been desperate all his life. My damned arm would be second to go — I’d already handed Satan my soul.
Washington Avenue
by Carolina Garcia-Aguilera
Washington Avenue
(Originally published in 2001)
One
Tommy MacDonald and I were sitting at a terrace table at Oceana — one of the outdoor restaurants that line Ocean Drive on Miami Beach. We were sipping mojitos and enjoying the sunset on the horizon. It was a wondrous sight, the fiery red ball going down over the palm trees and bathing the wide stretch of sand across from us with a golden orange glow as it made its final journey into the deep waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
It was late summer, my favorite season in Miami, when the town was deserted. Only the bravest Miamians stayed in town during the hellish three months of summer. Locals who could escaped to cooler climates, and the season was too risky for tourists who feared they would lose their vacation deposits if a hurricane hit. For me, it was perfect. I don’t believe there’s such a thing as too much heat and humidity. Maybe it’s my Cuban blood, maybe it’s my contrarian nature.
Tommy and I were trying to ignore our discomfort and make the most of the dismal, pathetic breeze that was struggling to break through the ninety-plus-degree, eight p.m. heat. Our bodies were sticking to the repellent cream-colored canvas that covered our chairs. I was wearing a white linen sleeveless dress, so I was a little cooler than Tommy, who was in his tan poplin suit. I had had the luxury of going home to shower and change after work. Tommy had come straight from a court appearance.