Brooklyn. On the way to his building, she imagined that she was living with him. She knew she was getting way ahead of herself, but so what? It was fun to fantasize. Xan’s place was small, but it would be a good starter apartment, and with a little decorating and better use of the space it had a lot of potential. Living with a guy would be a blast, and she had a feeling that Xan would be very laid- back and easy to get along with. She had enough money to pitch in for rent for several months at least, and eventually she’d find some kind of job or go back to school or do something. When the timing felt right she’d gently persuade him to find a career outside of art. She wouldn’t really care what he did for a living, because to her who he was was more important than what he was. She’d never been materialistic. She didn’t want to marry some doctor and be miserable her whole life- she’d watched her mother make that mistake.
Xan buzzed her up to his apartment. Although it had only been a few hours since they’d seen each other, it felt like it had been days, and it was great just to be with him, to hug him, to feel close to somebody.
They got right into bed and lay side by side facing each other, kissing and giggling with their noses touching.
“So it sounds like it was pretty crazy over there, huh?” Xan asked.
“You have no idea,” Marissa said. “I walked into the kitchen, and they looked like they wanted to kill each other. My dad’s whole face was bleeding, my mother must’ve hit him or something, and then my dad said that he’s been cheating, too. When my mother comes home it’s gonna be a total disaster.”
She went on, venting, rehashing what had happened at the house. Xan didn’t say much. Occasionally he said things like “It sounds rough” and “I’m so sorry” and “Man, that sucks so bad.” But just having somebody to talk to, somebody who actually cared about her, made her feel so much better.
“I’m so lucky I have you in my life right now,” she said as they rubbed noses again. “I think I must be the luckiest girl alive.”
eigh teen
Dana was at the Starbucks on Austin Street in Forest Hills, into her second latte, contemplating her bleak future. It wasn’t the first time she’d tried to imagine a life without Adam, but this time the idea of winding up divorced seemed more serious, more imminent, and the alternatives were as scary and as unappealing as ever.
She had no close relatives in the New York area, and she didn’t want to burden any of her friends, so if she moved out she’d have to go to a hotel. She could stay there for a while, maybe a couple of months, then what? She knew that Adam would go all out, hiring Neil Berman, an old college friend and a high- priced, cutthroat divorce lawyer. Berman was as slimy as they came. She’d have to counter with her own pit bull, and she and Adam would wind up spending tens of thousand of dollars on nasty lawyer correspondence. She knew he’d fight like hell to keep the house and would probably be successful, given that the house had belonged to his family before they were married. She’d probably be able to get half their stock market account and savings- only a few hundred thousand dollars total, because they still hadn’t recovered the money Adam had lost during the dot- com bust. They both had IRAs, and Adam had a 401(k) or a 403(b), but she wasn’t sure exactly how much was in Adam’s retirement accounts or whether she would be entitled to any of it. She would probably be able to work out some sort of alimony agreement, but Neil Berman was such a bloodsucking prick that Dana knew it wouldn’t be much. And even if she was somehow able to work out a decent settlement, it wouldn’t be enough to pay a New York City rent and all her expenses. She’d need some kind of job, and she doubted companies would be tripping over themselves to hire a forty- seven- year- old woman with limited skills who’d been out of the workforce for over a de cade. Yeah, she’d try to meet another man, but would that even be possible? In a few years, she’d be fifty and single, struggling to pay her rent in some tiny, modest apartment.
Her future had never seemed so hopeless. Not only was she on the verge of being single, maybe for the rest of her life, but she’d also lost her best friend. Dana knew she’d never be able to forgive Sharon. This was a woman Dana had trusted, had confided in. Just the other day Dana had been over at Sharon’s house asking for advice about how to end her affair with Tony. Dana had been asking her for advice. And what had the cheating bitch done? She’d gotten all holier- than- thou on her, telling her that “affairs are wrong” and she had to “think about Adam’s feelings.” Meanwhile, that bitch had had Adam’s cock in her mouth. Dana had never been angrier than she’d been when she’d had her hands around Sharon’s neck. For the first time in her life she’d felt like she could actually kill someone, she could cross that line. It was an easy line to cross; it didn’t take much effort. You didn’t have to be crazy to kill. You just had to be a little thoughtless.
Dana was taking a long sip of her latte, finishing it, when her cell rang. It was fucking Tony.
“Son of a bitch, leave me alone,” she said, loud enough that the barista, a young black woman, heard across the store and looked over.
Dana couldn’t believe he had the balls to call her now, after leaving that note and trying to ruin her life. She was going to let the call go to voice mail; then she thought, Screw it, and picked up and said furiously, “What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you just go the hell away?” He started to say something else, and she said, “Just stay the hell away from me,” and hung up. A few seconds later he called back, and she said, “Are you some kind of idiot or something? Are you demented?” and he said, “I got no idea what the-” and she said, “Like hell you don’t,” and he said, “Don’t ha-” and she said, “Fuck you, and I mean it” and clicked off.
Of course he called again, and this time she didn’t answer. About a minute later her phone beeped, indicating a new voice mail. She was going to delete it but then thought about what Tony had just said, I got no idea what the, and for some reason she felt compelled to play the message with her thumb on the end button, ready to delete it at any point.
Look, I got no idea what the fuck’s going on, okay? All I know is your husband showed up and tried to attack me in the shower. I didn’t wanna hurt him, okay, but he spit in my face, and what do you want me to do, just take that shit? I don’t know what’s going on with you guys, if you told him about us or what, but I just called to make sure you were all right. I miss you, all right? Shoot me for saying that, but it’s true. You know how much I love you, Dana. Do what you wanna do, but do me a favor- tell your husband to stay the hell away from me. I don’t wanna have to hurt him again.
Dana deleted the message, deciding that Tony was officially insane and that she had to be insane, too, for getting involved with him in the first place. In retrospect he’d been unstable, obsessive, and prone to violence all along. The way he was rough in bed, the way he’d started telling her that he was in love with her when she’d let him know from the beginning that as far as she was concerned he was just a boy toy, the way he’d called her and texted her at inappropriate times, the way he’d sent flowers to the house, all should’ve been warning signs. He’d told her about fights he’d been in, people he’d beaten up at bars and clubs, and though she hadn’t said anything to him, she’d thought, Roid rage? Then today, he dropped off a note at the house and beat the crap out of Adam, and he acted like none of it was his fault. Worse, he was still telling Dana that he was in love with her when she’d made it incredibly clear that she never even wanted to talk to him again.
“Jesus Christ,” Dana said, and the barista looked over again. Dana shot the woman a look back that screamed, Yeah, I’m talking to myself. You got a problem with that?
As if Dana didn’t have enough to deal with, if Tony continued to harass her she’d have to look into getting a restraining order. It didn’t help that now Adam had some kind of crazy vendetta against Tony. Had he really gone over there and “attacked” him in the shower? That explained how he’d gotten so beaten up, and it was so like Adam to storm over to the gym and do something so insane. What had he been thinking, Gee, I think I’ll go beat up a bodybuilder? Yeah, like that would work. It was just like when he went into the closet to get the gun that night. The man never learned.
Wired on caffeine, extremely agitated, Dana needed air.
On her way out, she saw the barista eyeing her again.
“What the hell’re you looking at, bitch?” Dana said, not aware that she’d actually said it until she was halfway down the block.
When Dana entered, she braced herself, expecting Adam to lash out at her again, but the house was quiet. She went upstairs, and in the hallway outside her bedroom it suddenly hit her how much she’d lost. Her life had been so good, she’d had so much, and she’d given it all up, why? Because she was bored? Because she felt
