Tales of the City 04 - Babycakes

lap.
“Did you spend the night down there?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
He stared at her with horror in his eyes.
“Brian … it was more … friendly than anything else.”
“Friendly?”
“I just mean … it wasn’t the beginning of something, it was the end of something.”
“Oh, yeah? How long have you two …?”
“No. I didn’t mean that. Last night was the only time.”
“Goddamn him, goddamn him!”
“Please don’t blame Simon.”
“You forced him, huh?”
“No, but … he’s your friend.”
“Yeah … and you’re my loving wife. There’s a name for this, isn’t there?”
“I don’t love him,” she said, feeling oddly disloyal to Simon.
“You’re just a slut, huh?”
“Brian …”
“Well, what possible reason …?”
“Come off it. They don’t have sluts anymore. I like Simon, that’s all. I didn’t plan for it to happen, but … it happened. It’ll only affect us if you make it affect us, Brian.”
“I get it,” he said. “I’m the problem here. Me and my quaint ideas about husbands and wives and sluts.”
He was wielding that word like a switchblade, trying to goad her into a fight. She regarded him in silence, then got up and went to the bedroom door. “I’m taking a shower,” she said. “If you want to discuss sluts, I suggest you talk to that woman who’s so hot for your ass in Hillsborough.”
When she saw his expresston, she realized she shouldn’t have said it. “Maybe I’ll do that,” he said. “Maybe I’ll just fucking do that!” He sprang to his feet, grabbing his keys off the coffee table.
“Brian …”
“Take your goddamn shower. I’m sure you need it.”
“Brian, you can’t …”
“I can’t what?”
“Drive in that condition. Look at you. Your eyes are bloodshot….”
“You think I’d stay here?”
“Please … just get some rest first. Do what you want later, but don’t get back on that freeway in that …”
But he was already out the door.
    Nuptials
I T WAS ALMOST DARK NOW AND MICHAEL HAD WITHDRAWN to the folly on the hill above Easley House. From this duncecapped pavilion he could see the twinkling cottages of three villages and the backlit stained glass of Easley’s family chapel. Headlights crisscrossed a field adjacent to the manor house as the guests began to arrive on the road from Easley-on-Hill. An unseen organist struck a few exploratory chords. A woman’s shrill laughter reverberated in the courtyard. Here he sat on a hilltop overlooking Wales and somewhere below him—probably cursing her fate—Mona Ramsey was about to be married.
He felt absolutely nothing.
A cog in his emotional mechanism had ceased to function. He didn’t care anymore. His heart had been kicked around enough.
He would wait here until it was over. Then he would find Wilfred and they would ask for a ride into Moreton-in-Marsh. They could stay at the Black Bear, catch the first train to London in the morning.
The organ in the chapel plunged into an unidentifiable Anglican hymn. Almost simultaneously, Mona’s wholly identifiable voice cut through the encroaching darkness. “Mouse! Where are you, goddamnit?”
She was standing in the courtyard, looking from left to right, much as she had done that day on the heath. This time, however, she was decked out in a peach-colored wedding gown. “I’m not standing for this shit, Mouse!”
He hesitated a moment longer, then shouted: “I’m up here. At the folly.”
She swung around, fixing her gaze on the pyramid, then hiked her gown above her knees and sprinted up the slope. Her curses exploded like cherry bombs as her heels dug into ground that had been booby-trapped by moles. When she finally reached the folly, her chest was heaving violently. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
He didn’t answer.
“Wilfred just told me. I can’t believe it! What is the matter with you? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“You’re getting married,” he said. “It’s hardly the time to …”
“Fuck that shit, Mouse! I had a right to know!”
“You never once asked about …”
“All right, then! I’m a self-centered asshole! What do you want me to say? Christ, Mouse … you rigged it so I would hurt you! You deliberately …” She didn’t finish. There were tears streaming down her face. “He can’t be dead!” she said in a much weaker voice. “How can that beautiful man be dead?”
He felt himself crumbling. “I don’t know,” he said, reaching out for her as his own tears