15

In the bathroom, Marcus, a towel around his waist, brushed his teeth. Yesterday, all day, he’d waited for a message from Karen, a summons to return. All is forgiven. Why had she gotten so angry? Because he needed her, wanted her? Was that so wrong? Was that potbellied artist better than him?

He stuck out his tongue—ugh!—and brushed that. In the other room Wendy was talking to Sally. Wendy was here—good. Maybe he’d streak through the living room, and cheer everyone up.

Pants on, shirt tucked in. Grab some bills from the bureau. He was ready to fly. “Wendy, you coming?”

“What’s your rush?” Sally said. “I haven’t seen you all week.”

“No time for small talk. Gotta fly, Sally. Wendy, let’s go.” And he was out of the apartment.

“How do you feel, Marcus?”

He put his finger to his head and pulled the trigger.

“That bad?” Wendy’s hair stood out around her head like a halo.

Marcus crossed the highway to the Donut Shoppe. Forget Karen … forget her.… How could he have begged her? He’d pretended his feelings were so pure and elevated. Love and adoration. But all the time the beast in him had wanted to put his hands on her breasts. Marcus the Beast. That’s what he was. He could feel the skin tighten around his mouth, his lips twist cynically. The lips of cynicism, burned into his face forever. Cold, disdainful lips, a face that made women tremble. He checked his sneer in the window of the Donut Shoppe. A little too theatrical.

Inside, a cute girl in a pink uniform waited on them. She had a fat little mouth, a fat, hot, greasy little mouth. He ordered a headlight, a taillight, a cinammon, a Dutch apple, a chocolate-covered donut, and two Bavarian cremes. “What’ll you have, Wendy?”

“Indigestion.”

He took the donuts in a white bag, and then they jogged toward the park, where he threw himself down on the grass and looked up at the sky. “Wendy B., you are patient, kind, and good to put up with me.”

“You’re telling me.” She broke apart a Bavarian creme and gave him half.

“You know what I’d like to do with this donut?” Marcus said. “Push it into Karen’s face.”

“You act like she did something to you.”

“She did. She made me want her. She made me want to kiss her.”

“That isn’t what you told me before.”

“Wendy, whose side are you on?”

“Is this a war? You grabbed her. She didn’t grab you. You attacked her.”

“Attacked!” Marcus sat up. “So now I’m a criminal.” He threw the donut down. “Jesus, Wendy, I kissed her, that’s all. Is that a crime? In the total order of crimes, from swiping a kid’s lollipop to murder, where does stealing a kiss fit? Where would you put it, Wendy? Is it high crime or low? If you want to know what I think, I did her a favor kissing her.”

“If you want to know what I think, you took what you had no right to take.”

He looked off. Past the trees, some men were playing baseball. “You sang a different tune the other night.”

“You were in pain then.”

“I’m still in pain. Am I that awful? I brush my teeth every day. Do I smell, Wendy? You’d tell me if I did, wouldn’t you? What makes her so perfect, so much better than me that she can abuse me?”

“Abuse you? I don’t believe this.”

“She hit me with the teddy bear. Don’t laugh. Nobody likes to be hit with a teddy bear. What if I kissed you? Would you hit me with a teddy bear?” He reached over and pulled her toward him.

“Marcus!” She raised a donut.

“Do it.” He thrust his face forward. “Right into my mouth, mash me.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Come on, just mash me. I’ve always wanted to be hit with a jelly donut.”

“I can just hear you crying to the police: ‘That woman just assaulted me with a jelly donut.’ They’ll file it with your other report of assault and battery with a teddy bear.”

Marcus fell back on the ground, put his hands behind his head. “I don’t want to talk about Karen anymore. I’m sick of the subject. You’re right, Wendy, I shouldn’t have touched her. I know it, but I still hate her.”

“You ought to stop thinking about her.”

“Aren’t you still thinking about Alec?”

She shrugged.

“See. You’re still thinking about him.”

“No, I’m not! Not much, anyways.”

Marcus ruffled her hair. “You can always cry on my manly shoulders, Wendy. I’ve been crying on yours enough.”

Tuesday, Bill came home, looking brown and fit, and there was a lot of excitement. Bill grasped Marcus’s hand, gripped his shoulder. A muscular male greeting. It was good to have Bill back.

Sally brought out the liquor bottles from the bottom of the cupboard and put them on a serving cart in the dining room. She never drank when Bill was away. Bill poured wine for each of them.

“Oh, before I forget,” Sally said, putting down her glass. “There was a phone call for you, Marcus. The woman you work for wants you to stop by.”

Marcus sat down, worked the drink around in his hand, then put it down. “I’m going out,” he said. “There’s something I have to do.” He hooked his bike over his shoulder and hurried out.

At Karen’s house he rang the bell, then stood back. Don’t act too eager, he told himself, but he was sweating. He heard steps on the stairs. Then the door opened a crack and a girl squinted at him suspiciously. “What do you want?”

“Where’s Karen?”

“Out. Who are you? Are you Marcus?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, I’ve got something for you.” She ran back upstairs and returned. “Here.” She handed him a white envelope. “She said to give this to you, if you came.”

He folded the envelope in half and put it into his breast pocket. “Did she say anything else … about coming back?”

“No.”

He nodded and turned away. When he was around the corner he opened the envelope. There was money inside, the exact amount she owed him for baby-sitting. Not a word, not even his name on the outside. He pocketed the money and threw away the envelope.