110: The Simone

October 31

Charlie was seated with her back in the far corner of the Upper East Side restaurant, her high-heeled toe impatiently tapping on the laminate flooring that had been waxed to a high sheen.  Using her left hand to fiddle with the white linen napkin, the right lifted a glass of red wine for another sip. 

The upscale French eatery was intimate, elegant and possessed every other stellar attribute one would expect from an establishment in this part of the city.  Even the arrangement of freshly cut flowers in the corner didn’t possess something as tacky as a wilted leaf or petal, and she knew from experience that the menu was equally flawless. 

All of that should combine for a delightful dining experience, but Charlie was pissed about the whole thing as she dusted a piece of fuzz from her simple black dress.  There must be at least two hundred authentic Italian restaurants in this city, but this little reunion dinner with her husband couldn’t take place in any of them because he didn’t “care for” Italian food. 

Sometimes she wondered how she’d survived twenty years with a man who was blasphemous enough to turn his nose up at pasta and red sauce.  By comparison, though, it earned her Italian-American boyfriend another gold star in addition to the five her mother had awarded last weekend for his meatball enthusiasm. 

She’d give anything to be sitting here with Jon instead of waiting for Owen’s sorry ass, but Jesse had come home for the weekend and they were going to a Halloween party.  He’d texted her a picture of them wearing Penguin and Joker costumes a little while ago, and asked if she’d be his Harley Quinn – without the baseball bat.

Considering that various circumstances had prevented the two of them from seeing each other or sharing a bed for several days now, her answer was a no-brainer.

I’ll be anything you want as long as it’s naked.

He planned to hold her to that – and him, and a wall, and a mattress – tomorrow night, according to the message she received about ten minutes ago. 

Ten minutes ago was, coincidentally enough, the time that her fashionably late fucking husband should’ve been here. 

“Narcissistic son of a bitch,” she breathed into the last of her cabernet, hating the sense of social decorum that had guilted her into spending the extra time pinning her hair and applying makeup for this shit.

“More wine, madam?”  The question came magically from behind her left elbow and Charlie readily accepted the offer, grateful when the rich alcohol tumbled into her glass.

It wasn’t as though she didn’t know this little command performance was coming.  From the time Owen revealed he was arriving in New York, his desire to see her was a given.   It was an opportunity to subtly exert his authority so that she would play her part for tomorrow’s festivities, and one that she’d been counting on. 

Looking up from the text message she just sent to Lilah, Charlie found that Owen had finally deigned to make his grand entrance.  He worked his way through the tables between the door and her, gracing each diner with a nod and a smile as though he were Jon Bon Jovi. 

With his mottled complexion, doughy jowls, imperfect teeth, monstrous ears, saggy jeans and the button-down shirt that bulged in the middle…  There was no mistaking him for Jon Bon Jovi.  The only feature that even came close was the tousled hair, but whereas Jon could make tousled look sexy, Owen merely made it look like bedhead.

Furthermore, Jon was more humble with the public than the wannabe musician who was now within spitting distance.  Never once had she seen Jon look as though he felt people should be kissing his figurative ring, and the contrast between the two men was a classic case of arrogance versus confidence.

“Charlie, darling.” 

It didn’t stop her from rising with her own smile, though, since this is how the game was played.  Lifting her cheek for a kiss, she laid light hands on his shoulders.  “Owen.  I see you made it back safely.”

“Of course.”  In his role as the perfect husband and gentleman, he seated her before taking the chair across the table.  Pale eyes lit approvingly upon her left hand and the thin gold band that scorched her flesh.  She hated wearing the damn thing, even in the confines of this role she was playing tonight.  “I do wish you’d let me get you something a little more fitting of my wife.  Perhaps we’ll go find a diamond anniversary band before the party tomorrow.  What better way to display our commitment for the next twenty years?”

“In your fucking dreams.”

He provided a drink order to the hovering waitstaff before chuckling darkly at her congeniality.  “I see you still have that cutting sense of humor.”

“Mm.”  She crossed her ankles beneath the table and rested her forearms along its edge, thinking that it would be a miracle if she didn’t stab him in the eye with a fork before this was over.  “Why don’t we skip the pleasantry bullshit and get to the real reason for this meeting?”

There was a sick twinkle in his eyes as he accepted the dry white wine that Charlie wouldn’t drink on a bet.  “What do you mean ‘the real reason’?  I’ve simply missed my wife.”

“You haven’t missed my salary, I’ve noticed.  How much is this farce at The Plaza going to cost me?” 

“Would you give us a moment, please?” he requested without looking up, and when the waiter deferentially dipped his chin and stepped away, Owen’s eyes went cold.  “I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you lately, but it would be in your best interest to remember what that ring on your finger means.”

“This ring?” Charlie asked, holding her left hand aloft and drawing his gaze above the menu he now idly perused.  “The one that signifies your success at blackmailing me and manipulating me for an embarrassing number of years?”

“Blackmail is such a dirty word.”

“Yet I can think of none more appropriate.”

Thin lips went tight at the corners.  “Must we go through this every five years?  You tell me I’m a despicable human being for lording your mistakes over you, and I respond with a reminder that you shouldn’t have made the goddamn mistakes in the first place.  Then you wouldn’t find yourself in such an untenable position.”

“Oh, but Owen…  You know how nostalgic I get when you detail all the horrible ways you’ll destroy my life if I step out of line,” she cooed sweetly over the rim of her wine glass and held her forefinger and thumb about an inch apart for him to see.  “And it gives you a teeny tiny hard-on, so don’t deprive yourself of the erection.”

The handwritten menu hit the table with as much force as a sheet of cardstock could.  “You’re a bitch.”

“Not exactly a startling revelation,” she snorted softly, beginning to enjoy this just a little bit.  It wasn’t often that she purposely rattled his cage, and he was overdue.  “Let me ask you a question I’ve always wondered, though.  That copy of the Bar Exam…  You remember it right?  The one you’ve threatened to destroy my career with by telling the Bar Association I used it to cheat?”

“What about it?”

“Where is it?”

“What difference does it make?” he countered smugly, sipping the swill wine he’d selected.  “It’s only relevant that I know where it is.”

“It makes a difference because I don’t think you have it anymore.”

She actually had no such reason to believe that, but the secret location of his blackmail material had crossed her mind a couple of times over the years. 

One doughy cheek crinkled with an arrogant half-smile.  “You only hope I don’t have it.”

Lifting a negligent shoulder, she countered, “I couldn’t care less.  I’ve been a lawyer so long that they wouldn’t blink twice, and you wouldn’t dare bite the hand that feeds you.”

“Touché.”  He tipped his glass to her in a toast.  “I would, however, psychologically fuck you up beyond repair and commit you to a rat-infested mental institution to rot while I collect your disability benefits and sell the brownstone I keep hearing about.  So you might want to keep that in mind.”

A sharp pain stabbed Charlie behind the breastbone as his words physically stole the breath from her body.  He said it all with such indifference, that for the first time, she believed that he may not have a conscience. 

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”  One palely mocking eyebrow arched in challenge.  “I’ve already laid the groundwork, darling.”

Her wineglass was set aside as Charlie swallowed the massive lump in her throat.  There was no doubt that he referred to the nervous breakdown tale he’d told the boys, but she needed to hear him say it.

“What groundwork?”

“I told the boys years ago that you were mentally unstable, and have been nurturing that notion ever since.  Why do you think I kept pinning responsibility for Joey’s death on you?  I knew that you’d eventually find someone to absolve you, but by then, it wouldn’t matter.  Your psychiatric history would already be established, and your adult sons will be just as willing to commit you as I am.  For your own good, of course.  All you have to do is go to them with that crazy abortion story.”

Jesus Murphy.  This had to be a delusion induced by bad clams or something equally toxic, because her life couldn’t possibly be entangled with this kind of psychopathic narcissism.  The man whom she’d been married to for almost twenty years wasn’t someone she liked, but for the love of God…

As badly as she wanted to get up and walk away, she couldn’t.  Charlie had to stay here and stick it out until the end.

“You’re sick,” she spat with rage coursing through her veins.  “You know as well as I do that ‘crazy abortion story’ is reality.  Why else would you spend fifteen years threatening to tell the boys about it just to keep your meal ticket intact?  Now they wouldn’t believe me if I told them.”

“I know.”  He looked so self-satisfied that her palm itched to smack the smirk from his face.  “Pretty ingenious, if I do say so myself.  You can continue to provide my financial support or spend your golden years in a straight jacket.  I win either way.”

Her molars clicked together, grinding loudly in her ears as she bit back the desire to tell him there was no outcome in which he won.  She oversaw his fate, and right now, there were so many shades of red clouding her vision that she couldn’t decide what would be most fitting. 

The only thing she was crystal clear on was that he wouldn’t be wearing that shit-eating grin at this time tomorrow.

She would.