Watermelon
Page 81
"But I do think that we should meet this evening anyway," he continued efficiently, ever the professional. Time is money, isn't that right, James! But in fairness he did have a point. We had to meet anyway. We had so much to talk about. It made
284
sense. I obviously wanted everything sorted out as quickly as possible so that I could get on with my new life.
I didn't have any other motive, did I?
I wasn't pathetic enough to think that, if he saw enough of me, he might realize that he still loved me?
Maybe I just enjoyed his company.
Maybe hell!
But I had to admit that I was fascinated by the fact that he no longer loved me. You know, in the same sort of way that people always look at the blood on the road and the mangled vehicles being towed away after a car crash. I know that it's horrible but at the same time I'm so drawn to it. I know that I'll be upset afterward but I still can't stop myself.
Or maybe I just wanted the chance to beat the shit out of him. Who knows?
"Well, what should we do?" he asked. "I would come out to your house but I'm not sure I'm particularly welcome."
I could hardly believe my ears.
How dare he!
He had no right to feel welcome, but at the same time, I had treated him with the utmost good manners.
Which is more than the way he could be said to have treated me.
Hadn't I made him coffee?
Hadn't I not set the dogs on him?
Not that we had any dogs, but that wasn't the point.
Worse still, I could have set Helen on him.
Just what had he been expecting?
The roads from Dublin Airport to be lined with cheering natives, waving Union Jacks? Brass bands and red carpets? A national holiday to be de- clared? Me greeting him at my front door, wearing a sexy negligee, smiling and saying huskily "Welcome back, darling"?
Frankly, I was baffled.
I wasn't sure what I should say.
Sorry sir, but we're fresh out of fatted calves.
He sounded as if he was sulking. As if he wanted me to say something like, "Oh, don't be so silly, James. Of course you're welcome." But James didn't sulk. He was far too grown
285
up for that. And no man in his right mind could have expected me to wel- come him back with open arms.
But what was I going to say?
"I'm sorry you feel that way, James," I managed to say humbly. "If my family or I have behaved in any kind of inhospitable fashion, then I can only offer my apologies."
Of course, I didn't mean a word of it.
If my family had offended him in any way--if, for example, Helen had attracted his attention when he left the house by making horrible faces or gestures at him from an upstairs window or mooning him or something even worse--then I would personally offer rewards.
But I had to humor James.
Although I was gagging on my polite words, I always had Kate in the forefront of my mind. Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to tell James just how unwelcome he was, but that would be cutting off my nose to spite my face. I didn't want Kate to grow up without a father, so telling James that he wasn't unwelcome (I'm afraid that that was as far as I was prepared to go) was the price I had to pay.
"Well, should I come over then?" he asked grudgingly.
What was wrong with him?
He was behaving like a manipulative child.
"Oh, James," I said kindly, "I wouldn't want you to come over here if you're not feeling particularly welcome. We both want to be relaxed. Per- haps we should meet in town instead."
There was a long pause while James digested this.
"Fine," he said coldly. "We could go for dinner."
"That sounds nice," I said, thinking, that does sound nice.
"Well, I've got to eat something," he said ungraciously. "So you might as well come along."
"You always were a silver-tongued devil," I said, forcing a smile into my voice. But I felt suddenly so sad.
We arranged to meet at a downtown restaurant at seven-thirty.
And the preparations were, if anything, even more elaborate than the ones that morning.
I wanted, naturally, to look beautiful.
But I decided that I wanted to look sexy also.
286
James had always loved my legs and loved it when I wore high heels, even if they made me nearly as tall as he was.
So I wore my highest pair, with my shortest dress, black, of course and the sheerest pair of stockings I could find.
As luck would have it, hadn't I shaved my legs only the previous even- ing? When I was preparing to have sex with Adam, actually. But let's not talk about that right now.
I put on piles of makeup.
"More mascara," urged Helen from the sidelines. "More foundation."
The subtle approach had been, shall we say, less than successful this morning. So now we were going for overkill.
As I applied the stinging stuff that I put on my lips to keep my lipstick in place, it struck me how terrible this all was. So awful. I used to apply my makeup with that kind of care when I was going out with James first. And now here I was dolling myself up, trying my damnedest to look beautiful for the Grand Finale of our relationship.
It was all such a waste.
Failed relationships can be described as so much wasted makeup.
Forget the laughs, forget the fights, forget the sex, forget the jealousy. But take off your hat and observe a moment's silence for the legions of unknown tubes of foundation, mascara, eyeliner, blusher and lipstick who died that it might all have been possible. But who died in vain.
I looked at myself in the mirror and, I had to admit it, I looked good. Tall and slim and nearly elegant. Not a watermelon in sight.
"Jesus," said Helen, shaking her head in undisguised admiration. "Look at you. And it's such a short time since you were a fat old bitch."
Praise indeed.
"Put your hair up," suggested Helen.
"I can't, it's too short," I protested.
"No, it's not," she said, and came over to me and swept it up onto the top of my head.
Goddammit, she was right. It must have grown a bit while I completely neglected it over the previous two months.
287
"Oh," I said, delighted. "I haven't had long hair since I was sixteen."
Helen busied herself with slides and clips while I grinned like a lunatic at my reflection in the mirror. "James will be sickened," I said. "He'll be so sorry that he can't have a beautiful babe like me. I'll have him on his knees begging me to take him back as soon as I walk in the door."
284
sense. I obviously wanted everything sorted out as quickly as possible so that I could get on with my new life.
I didn't have any other motive, did I?
I wasn't pathetic enough to think that, if he saw enough of me, he might realize that he still loved me?
Maybe I just enjoyed his company.
Maybe hell!
But I had to admit that I was fascinated by the fact that he no longer loved me. You know, in the same sort of way that people always look at the blood on the road and the mangled vehicles being towed away after a car crash. I know that it's horrible but at the same time I'm so drawn to it. I know that I'll be upset afterward but I still can't stop myself.
Or maybe I just wanted the chance to beat the shit out of him. Who knows?
"Well, what should we do?" he asked. "I would come out to your house but I'm not sure I'm particularly welcome."
I could hardly believe my ears.
How dare he!
He had no right to feel welcome, but at the same time, I had treated him with the utmost good manners.
Which is more than the way he could be said to have treated me.
Hadn't I made him coffee?
Hadn't I not set the dogs on him?
Not that we had any dogs, but that wasn't the point.
Worse still, I could have set Helen on him.
Just what had he been expecting?
The roads from Dublin Airport to be lined with cheering natives, waving Union Jacks? Brass bands and red carpets? A national holiday to be de- clared? Me greeting him at my front door, wearing a sexy negligee, smiling and saying huskily "Welcome back, darling"?
Frankly, I was baffled.
I wasn't sure what I should say.
Sorry sir, but we're fresh out of fatted calves.
He sounded as if he was sulking. As if he wanted me to say something like, "Oh, don't be so silly, James. Of course you're welcome." But James didn't sulk. He was far too grown
285
up for that. And no man in his right mind could have expected me to wel- come him back with open arms.
But what was I going to say?
"I'm sorry you feel that way, James," I managed to say humbly. "If my family or I have behaved in any kind of inhospitable fashion, then I can only offer my apologies."
Of course, I didn't mean a word of it.
If my family had offended him in any way--if, for example, Helen had attracted his attention when he left the house by making horrible faces or gestures at him from an upstairs window or mooning him or something even worse--then I would personally offer rewards.
But I had to humor James.
Although I was gagging on my polite words, I always had Kate in the forefront of my mind. Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to tell James just how unwelcome he was, but that would be cutting off my nose to spite my face. I didn't want Kate to grow up without a father, so telling James that he wasn't unwelcome (I'm afraid that that was as far as I was prepared to go) was the price I had to pay.
"Well, should I come over then?" he asked grudgingly.
What was wrong with him?
He was behaving like a manipulative child.
"Oh, James," I said kindly, "I wouldn't want you to come over here if you're not feeling particularly welcome. We both want to be relaxed. Per- haps we should meet in town instead."
There was a long pause while James digested this.
"Fine," he said coldly. "We could go for dinner."
"That sounds nice," I said, thinking, that does sound nice.
"Well, I've got to eat something," he said ungraciously. "So you might as well come along."
"You always were a silver-tongued devil," I said, forcing a smile into my voice. But I felt suddenly so sad.
We arranged to meet at a downtown restaurant at seven-thirty.
And the preparations were, if anything, even more elaborate than the ones that morning.
I wanted, naturally, to look beautiful.
But I decided that I wanted to look sexy also.
286
James had always loved my legs and loved it when I wore high heels, even if they made me nearly as tall as he was.
So I wore my highest pair, with my shortest dress, black, of course and the sheerest pair of stockings I could find.
As luck would have it, hadn't I shaved my legs only the previous even- ing? When I was preparing to have sex with Adam, actually. But let's not talk about that right now.
I put on piles of makeup.
"More mascara," urged Helen from the sidelines. "More foundation."
The subtle approach had been, shall we say, less than successful this morning. So now we were going for overkill.
As I applied the stinging stuff that I put on my lips to keep my lipstick in place, it struck me how terrible this all was. So awful. I used to apply my makeup with that kind of care when I was going out with James first. And now here I was dolling myself up, trying my damnedest to look beautiful for the Grand Finale of our relationship.
It was all such a waste.
Failed relationships can be described as so much wasted makeup.
Forget the laughs, forget the fights, forget the sex, forget the jealousy. But take off your hat and observe a moment's silence for the legions of unknown tubes of foundation, mascara, eyeliner, blusher and lipstick who died that it might all have been possible. But who died in vain.
I looked at myself in the mirror and, I had to admit it, I looked good. Tall and slim and nearly elegant. Not a watermelon in sight.
"Jesus," said Helen, shaking her head in undisguised admiration. "Look at you. And it's such a short time since you were a fat old bitch."
Praise indeed.
"Put your hair up," suggested Helen.
"I can't, it's too short," I protested.
"No, it's not," she said, and came over to me and swept it up onto the top of my head.
Goddammit, she was right. It must have grown a bit while I completely neglected it over the previous two months.
287
"Oh," I said, delighted. "I haven't had long hair since I was sixteen."
Helen busied herself with slides and clips while I grinned like a lunatic at my reflection in the mirror. "James will be sickened," I said. "He'll be so sorry that he can't have a beautiful babe like me. I'll have him on his knees begging me to take him back as soon as I walk in the door."
