Bob motioned the bartender to bring her another one.
Roxanne was the name she gave, and she was not as loud as the younger girls. Her voice was husky, and she smoked. Bob hated cigarettes and women who smoked them. In fact, he didn’t like her at all. She sat there in the tight red dress, with her rough tanned skin, long legs, and her slightly overdone eye makeup looking at him like she was interested. She smelled of sickly sweet perfume and cigarette smoke. Bob did not have to look away, or close his eyes, or suppress any urges from under his folded overcoat as long as he focused on her.
They talked for a time, and Bob gave her his attention without listening. He did not allow himself to be distracted by the firm and blood-soaked bodies of the sorority girls on the dance floor. After her third drink, she leaned in close to make sure he heard her. “Honey, don’t take this personally, but you should know that I have bills to pay. We can take this party somewhere private, but it will cost you. I hope that doesn’t spoil the mood.”
A distant feeling of familiarity threatened Bob’s composure, but he remained calm. He ignored the blood that was now slowly dripping from the gash where Roxanne’s nose should be, and gazing into her mutilated eye sockets said, “No, not at all. In fact, I think you just said the magic words, Love.”
Standing in the bathroom, Bob washed the blood from his hands. The small apartment stank of stale smoke and fried foods. There was a litter box in the kitchen that stank, too. He dabbed at the sleeves of the overcoat, but there did not seem to be any blood on the wool. In fact, looking in the mirror, he was remarkably clean considering the past hour’s activities. He was certain that some blood had sprayed across the sleeve, but looking at it now, it was dry and soft with no trace of blood. He finished washing off the knife, grateful for the ingenious design that prevented it from holding water in any crevices.
He walked through Desiree’s bedroom one last time and saw her lying peacefully on the bed. Her hair was rumpled across the pillow. Her breasts and an ovary were arranged on her bedside table, beside most of the tissue from her face. Someone had already gotten to the other ovary years before Bob met her, it seemed. Her legs were splayed open, and the soles of her feet were pressed together, near her buttocks. He had taken his time, and treated the dirty whore with the care she deserved. He hated rushing.
He felt a vibration near his right hip. He reached down and noted with surprise that his cell phone was somewhere in his overcoat. Fumbling with a strange pocket he wasn’t sure he’d noticed before, he pulled it out. He was on full alert, as if Brenda might somehow know where he was through the phone. His voice was artificially cheerful, “Hey Sweetie. No, you didn’t disturb me; I’m on my way home right now. No, it’s okay, I’m just wrapping up here at work. You aren’t bothering me at all.”
Bob walked outside, talking quietly. “Say, did you sew a pocket into my overcoat? You did? That’s the sweetest thing, thank you. You’re becoming a regular little seamstress. Be home in a flash. Love you. Bye-bye.”
The kids rushed out the door to catch their various school buses. Bob was surprised to see Brenda come back in the house. She would usually hurry over to the school and sit there out of view, waiting to make sure David got inside safely before driving to work. She denied doing it, but Bob knew better. Bob did not discourage her paranoia. After all, there were a lot of sickos in the world.
But this morning, she was still there after the kids were gone. Bob noted that she was bringing a small armful of dry cleaning in from the minivan.
He drank coffee and read the local paper. There was a short article on the front page about another hooker who had been found murdered downtown. A redhead. She’d been dead a couple of days. No other details were released. Bob turned to the sports section.
“Honey?”
“Yes, Dear?” Bob set his paper aside and looked at his wife. Her brown hair was pulled back and she was wearing one of the dark blue and black dress suits that she wore when she was trying to hide her weight. She held her overcoat across her arm, stroking it absently as if she were on her way out the door. Her freckles were obvious this morning, despite the fact that she had actually used a little makeup today to cover them. Bob recalled her saying something about her boss having a presentation that she was helping with.
I’ll have to call and offer encouragement later this morning.
“Are we… are we okay?” she asked.
“What do you mean? Of course we’re okay.” Bob was genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”
There was a long pause as Brenda looked around, “It’s just that… I mean… I worry that we don’t do things together anymore.”
“What do you mean, Dear?”
Where is she getting this?
“Well, you’ve been staying out late a lot and coming home smelling like you’ve been in bars. And… well… I don’t have to tell you how long it’s been since we’ve made love.” The last bit was almost mumbled, but Brenda had momentum going and didn’t want to stop, “Bob-is there another woman?” she blurted out fearfully.
“No, of course not.” Bob said almost laughingly but without a trace of mockery.
“Well, it’s just that… well… sometimes I can smell the perfume, I think.”
“Dear, there’s no other woman,” Bob said dismissively and convincingly.
She offered him a weak smile. “I hate to say anything. It’s just that you’ve been so different these past few months. I mean, you’re more thoughtful, more… and you don’t even peek at other women when we’re out anymore, which is actually kind of nice, but…”
Bob shifted a bit uncomfortably at that. He felt like a kid who finally realized that his mother always kept a count of how many cookies were in the jar.
“But at the same time, we haven’t had… sex… for almost four months.” She ran through the speech quickly, with rehearsed speed, and kept going. “Cosmo says that these are signs that a husband is cheating.”
Smiling a bit, Bob repeated, “Dear, I haven’t had any kind of sex with any woman but you since we started dating. I’m sorry if I ever looked at another woman. The sight of most other women makes me ill compared to you, Dear, and I am grateful that your face is the one I wake up to in the mornings.” Bob’s words rang with surprising sincerity.
Relieved, but a bit unprepared, Brenda pressed an issue. “Where have you been going at night?”
Chuckling, Bob said, “I’ve been hanging out in bars and patrolling street corners finding hookers and eviscerating them for my sick pleasure, Dear.” Bob’s heart almost stopped.
Where the hell did that come from?!
Brenda chastised him, “Bob! That’s tasteless to laugh about those poor murdered women like that. Shame on you! I don’t care that they were prostitutes, they were still people.”
“I’m sorry, Dear, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
What in god’s name did I say that for?
“I love you just how you are, Brenda, and I like us the way we are. I’m not cheating on you.”
I told her… about the hookers. I can’t just let her walk out of here now.
“Don’t read too much into my behavior, Brenda. Midlife crisis, maybe.”
Now I have to keep her quiet!
Bob felt the tremor of fear grow into a knot.
Brenda smiled sweetly and came close. He could smell the fresh, clean scent of the morning shower and fabric softener. She was incredibly plain, and Bob felt absolutely no desire to have sex with her. He inhaled the scents again and remembered all the anger and hatred he had felt for her all these years. He summoned up the apathy and rage, building to a sharp, razor’s edge as he looked into her eyes.