[2013] Note to Self- Change the Locks Read online

  “That douche,” Jim practically shouted. Louis Vuitton woman turned around and glared at him while she covered the ears of her school aged son sitting next to her.

  “Exactly.” I finished off my coffee and stared at the lid of the cup. “Man, I wish that there had been Bailey’s in that.”

  “You poor…oh my God.” Jim shook his head, at a loss for words.

  I smiled sarcastically. “And the jerk—”

  “Douche,” Jim interrupted, pointing his finger at me sternly. “He is not a jerk. He is a douche.”

  “Okay, I agree. Anyway, the douche even tried to deny it…”

  Holding up his left hand, Jim stopped me. “Wait. How did you find out? Cell phone bill? Strange panties in the bedroom? Lipstick on the glasses?” I think perhaps Jim watched a little too many soap operas.

  I scoffed. “Ha! The son of a bitch got caught in the act.”

  Jim wrinkled his brow. “Caught in the act? But you were in the hospital.”

  I reached into my satchel for a bottle of water. “Exactly why he thought he could get away with it. But Nora was not.”

  “Okay, I’m really confused now. Nora was not what?” Jim was practically scratching his head.

  Opening the bottle of water, I replied, “In the hospital.” After taking a swig of the lukewarm water, I explained. “I called Simon about ten o’clock that night to ask him to DVR my show.”

  I glossed over the fact that “my show” was The Bachelor. Most of reality TV was scripted drivel. But The Bachelor was my guilty pleasure show. Yes, I know it was stupid, but I was an emotional wreck and the frigging show was all I had at that point. It made me feel smug and superior that I didn’t have to go to those lengths to get a husband. Well, at least at the time it made me feel that way. I bet it’s no surprise that I don’t watch it anymore.

  “The house phone rang and rang and rang. I called his cell and it was off. So I was so desperate for my little piece of sanity—I called Nora to ask her to go to my house and DVR the show. Or wake up Simon to DVR the show. Being the good friend that she was, she told me she would rush right over there since she was out anyway.” I took another sip of the water, hoping that it would be better than the first. It was worse. I really needed to remember my ice pod for water bottles in July. “Nora had recently gotten divorced and was out trolling the clubs most nights,” I offered as an aside.

  Jim nodded. “Hold that thought. I need another scone. You want something?”

  “You never had a scone! It was my scone!” I called to him as he grinned devilishly. “I’ll have another coffee. Iced this time.”

  Jim glanced at his watch as he headed toward the counter with the warning, “I’ll get it, but it’s after noon! I can’t be held responsible if you’re up all night!”

  I watched as he weaved his way through the undecided tourists crowding in front of the menu board like they were trying to decipher a Sudoku puzzle. It was a coffee shop for God’s sakes. Order your coffee and move to the left. Tourists were one reason I was dying to leave this city.

  Well, it was one of the reasons Simon and I had discussed before…the incident. Both of us were kind of fed up with the city and part of me was homesick for Jersey. Amazing. My whole childhood I wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of Jersey and when I had the chance, I wanted to run right back with my tail between my legs.

  Austin and I never discussed anything like that. Hell, I didn’t even know where we were living after our wedding in eighty-six days.

  Jim reappeared with my coffee, a scone and an apple turnover and placed both in the middle of the table. “I thought you could use a sweet treat,” he remarked as he folded his hands.

  I smiled gratefully, ready to carry on my tale. After two years of silence, it was a relief to get this off my chest. I could actually feel my chest and shoulders relaxing, as if I had been carrying a heavy backpack and someone just removed it.

  I took a bite of the flakey pastry and chewed carefully as Jim waited patiently, hands still folded in anticipation.

  Finally, I continued, “Nora went up to my apartment for me so she could record the show and I didn’t hear anything else from her the rest of the night. I assumed she went out to a club right after.” I still don’t know what she did afterwards, but that’s irrelevant now.

  “The next day, Simon came to pick me up when I was discharged and his demeanor seemed strange. I dismissed it as he was concerned about me and blah, blah, blah. When I asked him if Nora woke him up to record my show, he got flustered and told me, she’s full of shit, Elizabeth. Don’t believe a word she says! There was panic in his eyes, like an animal cornered by a predator.”

  I bit into my apple turnover again, mimicking Jim who was chewing intently, captivated by my tale of woe. “Of course I was confused, but still groggy from my overnight stay, so I shrugged it off and Simon took me home. When I got home, Simon was especially attentive. He propped me up on the couch, got me books to read, laid the remote next to me, asked me if I wanted tea…the whole nine. I didn’t really think anything of it. Simon was usually thoughtful and I assumed the extra attention was because of the situation.”

  Just then, Jim’s phone started playing the theme song to The Golden Girls, interrupting my flow of storytelling. He quickly hit ignore and glanced up to see me covering my mouth with my hand. I was trying hard not to laugh at his musical selection.

  “What?” he asked, tossing his hands into the air. “I had a crush on Betty White growing up. So sue me.”

  I giggled as I pointed out, “She’s old enough to be your grandmother.”

  “Actually,” Jim pointed his finger at me, “Great-grandmother. My great-grandmother is a year younger than her.”

  “Ah ha, so I see how it goes. Hot British men, little old ladies. Ooo, you really must have it bad for Agatha Christie…” I laughed, appreciating the break from the intensity of our conversation.

  “Eww, I’m not a necrophiliac. She’s been dead since 1976.” Jim wrinkled up his nose and pretended to vomit. “But if she was alive…I’d totally want to hit that.”

  I shook my head at my companion thinking it was too bad he was gay. I felt completely at ease with him. There was no lull in our conversation and even a discussion of such emotional magnitude like this one didn’t seem as painful as it might be with someone else, say Austin. Sipping my coffee, I was reminded of the similar banter that I would have with Simon. Jim was gay and Simon had fucked up. Good thing I had Austin. He wasn’t gay, nor had he fucked up. Yet.

  “So continue your sordid tale of woe,” Jim was saying, interrupting my thoughts. “How did you find out what Simon had done?”

  Ah yes. Back to reality. Lowering the cup, I explained, “Well, I slept on and off most of that day. I had gotten no sleep in the hospital. Nurses wake you up every hour it seems to take your blood pressure or temperature. But if you need to use the bed pan, God forbid, it’ll be a shift and a half before one is around.” Jim nodded and waved his hand in my direction, acknowledging my diversion.

  “Simon wandered around the apartment all day on eggshells. I woke up from one of my many naps and he was sitting in the arm of a chair, staring out the window in a daze. All I did was say his name and he was so startled he almost fell off the chair. I guess I thought it was suspicious at the time, but not enough for me to ask what was going on, so it couldn’t have been that weird. I guess hindsight is twenty-twenty.

  “After dozing all day, at ten o’clock at night I was totally wired, so I reached for the remote to watch the show I asked Nora to record. When I went through the DVR menu, I couldn’t find it. Simon was passed out in the armchair and I didn’t want to wake him, so I called Nora.

  “At first, she didn’t pick up, which was really strange for her. So I called two more times and she finally answered. She greeted me with her usual, what’s up bitch, but she sounded guarded and distant. She asked how everything went and all that and I told her about my day in la la land. Then I asked her if
she ever came over and recorded my show.” I paused and took another sip of my coffee.

  “Nora was silent for a moment and then she asked, What did Simon tell you about last night? I considered her question and remembered that Simon had said Nora was full of shit. I relayed this information to her and I heard nothing but silence on the other end of the phone.” Fumbling with my half full cup, I explained to Jim, “Her silence made me nervous. Nora is never quiet.”

  Jim nodded. “I’ve met Nora. I know.”

  “Finally, Nora says to me, I really didn’t want to have to tell you this over the phone. I wanted to wait until I saw you in person, but there’s something you need to know about Simon. So I told her to come on over since Simon was here and she could talk to both of us. She interrupted and said that she couldn’t do that, she wouldn’t be able to look at him. At that point in the conversation, I stared at my slumbering husband on the chair, mouth open, drool pooling on his collar. For some unknown reason, I thought she was going to tell me he was sick and dying. Ha! When she told me what happened, I wished he was dead.” I turned away from Jim for a moment, watching the people speeding by the coffee shop window. They all looked like they were in a rush to get somewhere.

  We’re all in a rush to get somewhere, it seems. But what happens when we don’t like it when we get there?

  “So what did Nora tell you?” Jim broke my reverie.

  “Oh, yeah. Well, she said came to the apartment to record my show as I had asked her to do. She rang the bell, but there was music coming from inside, so she thought maybe that was why Simon hadn’t heard the phone when I called. So she let herself in with her key and found that the living room and kitchen were completely dark, but there was a light on in the bedroom and that’s where the music seemed to be coming from. She said it was really strange music for Simon, like stripper, 80’s hairband music and we all know Simon is not a rock type of guy. He’s more of a Michael Bolton kind of guy.

  “Poking her head into the bedroom to make sure Simon wasn’t possessed by aliens, she saw him, completely naked, tied to the bed with silk scarfs and some bleached blonde bimbo with a bad perm and big tits straddling him and bouncing up and down on his dick. Nora said she screamed and the whore jumped off of Simon, who had a look of panic on his face. Nora told me that he tried to explain, begged her not to tell me, cried, the works. Nora stormed out of the apartment and that’s why she forgot to record my show.” I folded my hands neatly and leaned my chin on them. I gazed at my tablemate, waiting for his reaction. Jim face was screwed up as if he were deep in thought.

  “Well, he was tied up! Maybe it was against his will!” Jim finally suggested optimistically.

  I pursed my lips. “Nope, being tied up is one of his perverse fantasies. He had a million that I tried for him. Always for him.” My voice wavered slightly. “I guess that wasn’t enough. I always thought I was his world. At least, that’s what he used to tell me. I guess he lied and he wasn’t who I thought he was.”

  Jim patted my hand sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. It’s definitely rough when you think you know a person and they disappoint you. It’s one of the worst feelings in the world.” Jim was quiet after he spoke, playing with one of the sugar packets on the table.

  “You sound like you’re speaking from experience. You had your heart broken, I guess?”

  “You could say that. I was dating this guy Nick for a few months, right after I came out to my family and friends. We even talked about moving in together. Turns out he was married. To a woman. And he had a family in Ronkonkoma.”

  I winced. “Ouch.”

  “He wasn’t ready to be honest about who he was so…” Jim shrugged. “As angry as I was, I could appreciate where he was coming from. It’s hard to stay true to yourself when other people expect you to do something else. Hey, I disappointed a lot of people when I decided to stop living a lie. Mainly your brother Sonny. I paid for it with his friendship.” Jim looked at me with a gloomy expression. “I miss him a lot. He was my best friend for a long time. It’s difficult to lose someone who you’ve known forever.”

  He was definitely right about that. I felt like Simon and I had known each other always, and even when he had done something unforgivable, my heart ached for him all the same.

  “You never told me what happened when Nora went to your apartment last night,” Jim reminded me while slyly reaching for the last piece of my pastry.

  “Oh, yeah. I got a little sidetracked,” I replied, swiping at his hands and grabbing the crumbs. “Nora was pissed that I was sending her. I think she was kind of hoping he was dead, though.” I paused and shook my head.

  “I’ve moved past it and have almost gotten to the point of forgiving him, but she won’t stop hating him for hurting me. It’s difficult to completely exonerate his sins with her clucking about them in my ear all the time.”

  “Well, she was the one who caught him, so maybe she feels sort of a responsibility to you. You know, like not letting you make the same mistake again,” Jim reasoned with me.

  “I guess. Well, anyway, she went to the apartment and she said he was sleeping, so she stayed in the living room after making sure he was breathing. When I got home, they were sitting in the living room together, one on the couch, the other on the chair, looking like they had just faced off in a cage match. Nora’s face was blotchy and her eyes were puffy, and Simon, well, he just looked like death. Actually, he looked like that before I left, but it was worse.”

  “Ah, so they had words I suppose?”

  “I assume so. When I walked in Nora snatched up her purse and stormed out without a goodbye. And then Simon turned to me and said, why on Earth would you send that cunt to come check on me?”

  The woman behind me gasped and quickly gathered her son up to shuffle him out the door.

  “Wow. He used the C word, huh?” Jim looked impressed.

  Nodding, I replied, “Yup. I guess the hate is mutual. I think in his eyes, it’s her fault we’re divorced. He doesn’t understand he’s the one who did the deed, not Nora. It’s his fault.”

  Jim leaned back in his chair and tucked his hands behind his head. His shirt sleeves strained against the immense pressure of his biceps.

  Stop looking at his biceps you, you…ho.

  “So then what happened?”

  “I screamed at him. He screamed back. As best as he could under the circumstances. I cried, he stopped to throw up.” I shrugged indifferently. “The usual.” He promised me he’d be out by August 1st.”

  “That’s something then. Only two days away,” Jim pointed out.

  Ha,” I snorted. “He told me he’d be out by July 15th and before that it was July 1st. Not to mention he promised me he would only be staying for a week to begin with. He’s been there for almost four months. He’s never going to leave. He’s just going to make my life a living hell. Forever.”

  “Amazing that Austin hasn’t found out,” Simon observed.

  I groaned and slumped back in my seat. “You had to remind me?” Some days it felt completely natural that Simon was in my apartment and Austin didn’t know. No strain at all, no big deal. Other times, the idea of Austin finding out about Simon’s residence reduced me to a chest crushing anxiety attack.

  “Needless to say, I’ve tip-toed around him for the last two days while he was sick in my bed. He got up to go to work this morning finally.”

  “I hope you fumigated the room,” Jim added.

  “He didn’t have bed bugs, he was just sick,” I corrected.

  “Huh?” Jim wrinkled up his large nose. It was kind of attractive—I was used to oversized noses. My family was Italian. It was Simon’s diminutive nose that completely threw me off. With my full features and his patrician ones, we either would have made some really cute looking babies or some really mismatched ones. I sighed with melancholy at the thought. That will never happen. You don’t want babies with Simon. What’s more, he doesn’t want babies, period.

  “Fumigate means
to get rid of bugs,” I explained to Jim.

  “Always a writer. Sorry, the rest of us are so pedestrian,” Jim remarked with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Ah ha! That’s good!” I laughed as I handed him my newest work. “This is what I wrote this week. I was doing well until I hit a brick wall after the wedding.”

  Jim accepted the copy. “I will read it over later. Star Dancing isn’t on tonight.”

  I groaned, “I can’t believe you watch that.”

  “Believe it, sister,” Jim snapped his fingers at me and rolled his neck.

  “Okay, now you’re just being flamboyant.”

  Jim laughed. “You know it. Of course I don’t watch Stars Dancing. I hate reality TV.”

  I exaggerated wiping sweat off my brow. “Whew. Thank goodness. I get enough reality TV with Nora. She makes me watch endless hours of crap that puts me to sleep.”

  “I think it’s scripted,” Jim remarked as he stuck my “manuscript” in his backpack.

  “Me, too!” I squealed, thrilled that someone felt the same way I do. “I try to explain that to Nora, but she just tells me to be quiet.”

  “Maybe her life isn’t interesting enough. That’s why she lives vicariously through others in her life,” Jim observed as he tugged at the zipper on his backpack.

  I considered this for a moment. “I’ve never actually thought about it. I’m usually being analyzed by Nora, not the other way around.”

  Jim’s green eyes sparkled. “Analysis is good for the soul. You should try it sometime. It’ll give you ideas for a book.”

  I snickered. “A book about Nora? Ha! She’d kill me. It would probably be a bestseller, though.”

  “Have you talked her since she stormed out of your apartment?”