Dear Nathan,
I am sorry to have to break this to you in a letter, but I have left you. Ralph came by in his convertible and we just took off. Into the wild blue yonder. It was exhilarating, that kind of reckless irresponsibility. Though much windier than I expected. It made a mess of my hair. Wisps everywhere. I tried pinning it but it didn’t make much difference. Then Ralph said it looked charming. No, natural and charming. That’s what he said. That, and that I should always wear it that way. So I took all the pins out again and here we are.
At a little motel, somewhere in the desert.
After dinner, we played The English Patient. I lay down in the sand and pretended to die. Ralph cried and cried. From the way he carried on you would think it was real. He is such a good actor.
Then he picked me up and carried me back to our room. It is nothing special. Modest really. But it has an enormous window overlooking the dunes. We stayed up all night so we could watch the sunrise together. Then we made love behind the thin, drawn curtains, the room flooded by a muted desert red.
We drained the minibar of all its spirits. Can you believe it? By five am there was only beer and orange juice left. I’m not usually one for beer, but this morning I was thirsty and the carbonation made it seem almost like drinking champagne.
It reminded me of that night, just after we were married, with the sparkling wine. Do you remember? Although this time nobody vomited. Just a touch of a headache. And a kind of lassitude. I wouldn’t describe it as tiredness. There was nothing that mechanical about it. More, it was an emptiness, the feeling of being consumed. Literally, of being exhausted. No surprise then that we spent the best part of the day in bed.
By three o’clock I was ravenous. Ralph wanted to go to the motel restaurant, but I didn’t feel like going out. Also, I noticed the night before that we’d passed a KFC not that far down the highway. It took a little canoodling, but I finally talked him into getting takeaways. He said it was the way I nipped him on the shoulder that persuaded him. He nipped me back. Just gently. Then he growled at me like a playful puppy dog before he jumped out of bed.
He’s been wearing that red scarf I like so much. That and the brown leather jacket. The combination is really wonderful on him. It flatters his skin tone. I have persuaded him not to shave as frequently, so he is now sporting a little growth. The overall effect is terribly masculine. Rugged, yet dashing. He worries that it looks slovenly. But as I’ve said, first, it doesn’t. And second, apart from me, who is here to see it?
He must have driven like a maniac because he was back before I could fully touch up my makeup. With a bucket of legs, coleslaw, mashed potato and gravy. He spread it out on the bed, along with serviettes, plastic cutlery and a couple of cans of Coke. I swooned (if one can swoon when applying mascara). ‘You are too much,’ I said to him. This appeared to make him very happy. He smiled at me in that way of his, then set about taking off his clothes. The two of us sat up in bed, naked, at four in the afternoon, and proceeded to stuff our faces.
I wonder who came up with the recipe for Kentucky Fried Chicken coleslaw? All those teeny little pieces, sweet and multicoloured, cradled in just the right amount of dressing. To me, it is a joyful mystery. As is Ralph. He dives into the salad with almost as much enthusiasm as I do. And the way he eats chicken, with such rigorous absorption. Yet, at the same time, managing to imbue the process with a certain delicacy. Or perhaps grace would better describe it. Watching him eat, I can understand why the practice of gluttony is considered a sport of kings. There is a ruthlessness to it, absolutely necessary, but also a compassion. And skill. To pry off a tenacious morsel, say, without getting gravy all down your chin. At the very least, one requires good teeth. A degree of strategic cunning also doesn’t go astray.
Ralph grins at me a coleslaw smile. The sight of the minute pieces of shredded cabbage peppering his teeth arouses me. I climb on top of him and let him feed me a chicken leg. Then I lick his chest. He pauses long enough to take a deep swig of cola. When he kisses me his mouth feels cold and slightly fizzy.
Sweetheart, I feel bad you had to find out about us in this way. I would have preferred to talk with you about it. In person. Face to face. But it just didn’t work out that way. For one thing, there wasn’t enough time (I didn’t want to have to wait around all day for you to get home from work). And now that I think of it, I probably wouldn’t have known what to say. But that’s the way life goes sometimes, isn’t it? It throws up these challenges and sometimes you’ve got to go with it. Yes, sometimes you’ve just got to say, ‘What the heck, why not. Let’s give it a whirl. Let’s try it on.’ Like a new jumper in a different style. Or a shirt, perhaps, in a different colour.
Anyway, darling, I hope you are okay. I want you to know that in my own way I really do love you. And the girls. But it’s not every day that a movie star appears at your front door and says, ‘I love you, I have always loved you, please come away with me so that we can be together, just the two of us, forever.’ I’m not saying I would have understood if it had been you and that Jenny girl. The one from that show you like. I know, I know, I’m not being fair. But...
Now I’m rambling. Anyway, I must finish up. Ralph will be back any minute, and I still haven’t finished taking out my curlers.
Please try to spend a little time with Olivia going over her homework. She really needs some encouragement with maths. And don’t let Heidi spend the entire weekend in front of the television. It’s not good for her. If you don’t get a chance to get to the supermarket, there are some meals in the deep freeze (the big one in the garage). They’ve got labels on the lids so it should be easy to work out what’s what. Just put on some Quikrice and throw the dinner in the microwave. Five minutes on high. That should do it. But don’t forget to rinse out the container afterwards. Tupperware really seals in the flavour, but it also retains the smell.
Your loving (ex) wife,