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PART II
ELEVATOR TO THE GALLOWS

42

“MARINA.”

She groaned and batted the hand away, snuggling deeper into her sleep.

“Marina, Sugga, c’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

“Mmrrmph.”

“You’re gonna have a crick in your neck to beat the band.”

Her mind, now disturbed out of its unconscious bliss, noted the humor in his voice.

She did, indeed, have a crick in her neck, once she decided to check and see. She opened her eyes. It was dark in the room, dark outside. It had been an overcast late afternoon when she’d settled into this chair crying and now it was dark. “What time is it?” she asked, then cleared her throat.

“Six.”

Six a.m. Decent people didn’t come home at six a.m. stinking like a distillery, stale cigarette smoke, and rancid perfume.

Then she remembered: Trey wasn’t a decent person and neither was she.

“I close at four. I do books and inventory before I go to bed.”

“You stink,” she blurted.

“I own a speakeasy,” he said dryly. “Bathroom was occupied an’ I got a nice quiet shower in a nice quiet house with a nice quiet bed to come home to now.”

With that, he was gone, leaving the remnants of his wicked life lingering in the air.

She moved carefully, glad he was gone so he couldn’t see her struggle with her aching joints and muscles, couldn’t see her stumbling because her legs were so weak and trembly, couldn’t see her tripping across the unfamiliar floor over the corner of an unfamiliar rug, bumping into the unfamiliar table, and slamming into the doorjamb of the unfamiliar kitchen. She barely managed to find and turn on the lights—which blinded her painfully—before getting to the sink and upchucking. There was nothing in her stomach but bile, which was as fitting as a thunderstorm on her wedding day in a funeral chapel, wearing a white wedding dress that made her look ill. That was about three cruel jokes wrapped up in one.

“Aw, hey,” came his voice, then his hand on her back, his other hand smoothing her hair. She was thoroughly mortified. Husbands shouldn’t see their wives in any state but perfectly dressed. They certainly shouldn’t be helping their aching and pregnant wives upchuck in the kitchen sink. She hoped Bon Ami was in the cupboards.

“There you go,” he crooned at her, wiping her mouth with a cold wet towel. “’Mon over here’t the table, right, good.” He shoved the towel in her hand and opened the refrigerator. He opened a bottle of pop and put it to her lips. “Ginger ale,” he murmured. “Take a sip, now, there’s a good girl. Hold onto the bottle now an’ I’ll get you some crackers.”

Marina sat slouched in the ladder-back chair and hung her head. Husbands didn’t do such things. They weren’t supposed to, and that she couldn’t take care of herself without letting him see her weakness proved she was not decent.

“Try this,” he muttered, tipping her chin up and tapping her bottom lip with a cracker.

It took a while to get herself situated enough he could pull up a chair to supervise her recuperation.

“Why—” She cleared her throat. “Why are you doing this?”

“Ain’t nobody else here,” he said simply.

“You aren’t supposed to— How do you know what to do?”

“I ain’ no stranger to holding a puking woman’s hair.”

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked hoarsely.

“Only about how delicate nice women think men should be.”

What an odd choice of words. “Delicate? You?”

“Yeah, that distracted you. I knew it would. Men have to be sheltered from any hint that their women are just as disgusting as they are.”

Marina whimpered.

“Ain’ nothin’ to be ashamed of. Humans are animals. We’re disgusting. You ain’ never gonna be worse’n what I see at work every night.”

“Even,” she asked in a small voice, “um, that?”

“What that?”

“Um, the … indecent … thing. That, um, we, um … How I got in the family way.”

“It ain’t the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.”

“What was?” she asked before she thought.

“Babies born,” he said resolutely. “That is disgusting.”

“You’ve seen—”

“Sugga, I have personally caught two babies. Now, you together enough to let me help you get into the tub? Got a cool bath waitin’ for ya.”

That sounded like the most wonderful thing in the world right then, right after knowing this person was willing to take care of her in ways no other wives got taken care of. She had borne all this in silence and secret because that was what strong women did. Even Sister Albright said that. But Sister Albright had had a hard life and she still did in different ways what with Bishop’s job and church. She was used to being self-sufficient, whether she wanted to be or not.

“’Mon now.”

She let him help her to her feet, up the stairs with her arm draped around his shoulders and his arm around her waist, into the bathroom where he began to take her dress off.

Her wedding dress.

It occurred to her that this was her wedding night. It hadn’t gone at all the way Sister Albright said it would.

“This dress is pretty, but it ain’t you,” he muttered as he worked the buttons in the back.

Marina couldn’t decide if she was more embarrassed at the fact that she was being undressed by a man or relieved that someone was helping her. She couldn’t unbutton all those herself.

“I don’t like it either,” she blurted.

“Didn’t give you a lotta time to make anything, did I? I know that ain’t your work; it’s too sloppy.”

That was one of the nicest things anybody had ever said to her.

“Lift up.”

Marina raised her arms dutifully so he could pull it over her head. He tossed it into the hallway, then helped her out of her underthings until she was nude and trying to shield herself.

“You don’t remember,” he said matter-of-factly while he helped her into the tub. It was, indeed, nice and cool. The breeze through the window didn’t help; it was hot and humid. “But I’ve seen, touched, kissed, and licked damn near every inch of your naked body.”

Marina choked and dropped her face in her hands.

“I don’t know how anybody could tell you was pregnant through those trousers when you don’t look too much different from before. But even if you were big as a house, I could still look at you all day long.”

He’d change his mind once she got big as a house.

“I’mma leave you to soak. I’m beat, my dogs are barkin’, an’ I’mma have to trust you not to drown yourself and get to bed on your own, got me?”

Marina would like nothing more. “Yes.”

“An’ if you feel like goin’ back to sleep, don’t go back downstairs or make up a pallet in the other room. Rule number two: You sleep with me.”

 

43

TREY SIGHED IN utter bliss when he sank down into his brand new mattress in his brand new bed, the one he hadn’t slept in yet. It was heaven. He didn’t examine why he wanted her to sleep with him, but right now he didn’t care whether she came to bed or not. He just wanted his first good night’s sleep since he was twelve years old.

* * *

When he awoke, the room was dark and he immediately panicked, rolling to his feet and casting about for his clothes. That was when he saw the sliver of sunlight on the floor. It was bright. Since the bedroom window faced west, that meant it was mid-afternoon. He stilled his thumping heart and flopped back onto the bed, reaching to the nightstand for the alarm clock. Three p.m. She must have drawn the drapes so he could sleep.

If getting married and taking care of a sick and heartbroken wife was the price he had to pay for this night’s sleep, it was worth it.

He looked over at her side of the bed, but he couldn’t tell if she’d slept in it because it was a small bed and he slept sloppy. Now he was getting a whiff of bacon, biscuits, and coffee.

Oh, God, he couldn’t be that lucky, could he?

Again he rolled out of bed and pulled on the trousers he’d discarded last night. He used the restroom in peace—twenty-four hours of marriage and his life was already a hundred times easier—then padded down the stairs to see Marina at the sink washing dishes, dressed in Levi’s and a sleeveless top in pink gingham, her cute short permed hair covered by a matching bandanna. All that pink made her skin look rosy. He was so shocked he blurted, “Your mama let you wear those?”

She jumped and turned around, her hand to her heaving chest. “Golly, Trey, you scared me.”

He gestured at her. “Levi’s? Lot tighter than usual. An’ that shirt ain’t your style.”

She shook her head. “Sister Albright wears these. Different color top for which day of the week and that day’s chores, although she only wears colors that flatter her complexion. She calls it her uniform. You don’t have to worry about getting dirty no matter what you have to do that day, the tops aren’t so loose they get caught in anything—well, mine are because … well—pockets everywhere. You don’t have to wear an apron, and they never wear out. I did a lot of housework and cooking for her while I was there, so she got me my own set.”

Trey nodded, impressed. “Good thinking.”

“You don’t mind?” she asked hesitantly, not looking at him, her face flushed. “They’re men’s trousers so some of their congregation look down on her for it.”

“Wear the right clothes for the job,” he said absently as he sauntered to the table and plucked a piece of bacon off a plate piled high. “Use the right tools for the job. Wouldn’t fry bacon in a sauce pan, wouldja?”

“Um, if I had to.”

“But you don’t and by the way,” he added, stuffing the bacon in his mouth and grabbing a fluffy biscuit. “This is pure heaven. Goddamn, Marina, you keep this up, I’ll forget my budget and let you spend me blind. No cat in town would blame me.”

He didn’t miss the pleased little smile she tried to hide.

“Thank you.” She turned back to the sink, and damn him if he didn’t mind the view, her ass in those jeans which clung to it the way her modest trousers didn’t.

He approached her and slid his arms around her, pressing his mouth to her cheek.

She stiffened, but he should’ve known she would. “Just a hug. We didn’t do that when we were courting. Or kissin’ either.”

“But,” she said in a small voice, her body tense, “we did … that. Thing.”

“It don’t count,” he said. “Far as I’m concerned, you’re a virgin. You got spiked and didn’t know no better.”

She slowly relaxed.

“But someday, we gotta become man and wife. I mean, if you want more babies, ain’t no gettin’ around it. I don’t mind.”

“All right,” she said amiably.

But instead of being reassured, Trey was suspicious. He pulled away from her. “Not sure what that means,” he said abruptly. “The way you said it.”

She looked over her shoulder at him, confused. “It means all right. That’s what good wives do … ”

She trailed off as his temper roused immediately. “I am not gonna be a chore, Marina.” Her expression was so confused it was painful, but he didn’t care. “Fucking me better not turn into a goddamned chore.”

She gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth at his profanity. Through her fingers, she whimpered, “What … That word? I know it’s bad, but … ”

“‘Fucking’ is having sex,” he said flatly. “Makin’ babies, makin’ love, bein’ indecent, birds’n’bees, beast with two backs, nookie, hundred ways o’ sayin’ it.”

She was clearly horrified by his language but confused by why he was angry, so she probably didn’t know what questions to ask. He shoved his fingers through his hair and started to pace. “Tell me,” he growled, “exactly what you’ve been told about sex.”

“Uh … I … Sister Albright said it’s something good women do for their husbands.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe she said that,” he said flatly. “Albright ain’t a cat who’d tolerate bein’ a chore and her history ain’t clean. Try again. What exactly did she say?”

She took a deep breath and looked away in thought. “She really did say that, that’s what good women do.”

“Context,” he snapped. “What’d she say all the way around that?”

“She said a good husband would be considerate and make it not horrible. She said she thought you might be that kind of man, but couldn’t guarantee it. Since I don’t remember.”

“‘Not horrible,’” he repeated, wanting to strangle Liz Albright for her delicacy. “A good husband makes it so his wife won’t lay there like a dead fish.”

Marina’s face scrunched up. “That’s exactly what she said.”

“‘Not horrible,’” he insisted, “ain’t the point.”

“Trey,” she said with a sigh, “I don’t remember anything about what we did together. I only know what Sister Albright described.”

“I wish you’d remember when you said, ‘Oh, God, Trey, harder’!”

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open and her color fled, looking at him as if he’d stabbed her in the heart.

“Aw, Marina, I’m sorry,” he groaned. What was he thinking? He didn’t want that Marina anyway! “I … just— Marina, I know what it’s like to make love with you when you’re—and—” He needed to stop talking before he argued himself right into her point. “But you weren’t in your right mind and I don’t wanna be—” He shut his mouth, took a deep breath and tried again. “Marina. I’mma say somethin’ that’s gonna hurt your feelin’s but you gotta know.”

She looked like a scared bunny, but she nodded slightly.

“I can have any woman I want any time I want without payin’ for it. Know why?”

“Because you’re handsome?” she said hesitantly.

“That, and I have a reputation as bein’ good at it. I ain’t never had a woman who thought I was a chore. At worst, I’m a good lay. At best, I’m a goddamned drug. I ain’t gonna have my wife—who I know is a bearcat in the sack—”

She whimpered again, but he didn’t care.

“—thinkin’ o’ me as a goddamned chore. It busts my image up, y’see?”

“Yes,” she said carefully. “You aren’t saying anything different from what Sister Albright said. You’re just using different words.”

“Oh, God,” Trey groaned. He’d just made it worse. “No, no, no. Women wanna fuck me for how I make ’em feel, the way I made you feel.”

“Maybe wives aren’t the only ones who think it’s a chore.”

“Huh?”

“Sister Albright said there’s a thing that happens to your body when your husband is being considerate. I forgot the word—”

“Orgasm.” Her lip curled in distaste. “You had plenty o’ those ’cuzza the sweet tea.”

She flushed, then cleared her throat. “Um. She, um, said some women pretend to have that so the man will get off of her when he’s done and go away, but it won’t hurt their pride. She said some women are so good at pretending, the men think they’re good at—that—”

Trey gaped at her.

“If … I mean, could that have happened with some of the women who were … indecent … with you?”

“No!” he barked. “If I pay for sex, it’s ’cuz I need to let off steam and too lazy to do it myself. She’s doin’ her job an’ I don’t give a shit if she comes or not. Has an orgasm, I mean. Anybody else, I wanna fuck ’em and they wanna fuck me.”

“Not just because you’re important?”

“Women want the same thing men do,” he snapped, “an’ don’t let anybody ever tell you different.”

“All women?” she asked softly. “Or just loose ones?”

“Loose ones!” he yelled before he thought.

The last of Marina’s sweetness and light slipped out of her soft brown eyes and told him everything he needed to know about how badly he’d just fucked up. She didn’t cry. Didn’t so much as flush.

“Marina,” he croaked.

She gave him a dutiful smile devoid of any emotion. “You’ve given me everything Mother could’ve dreamed for and more,” she continued matter-of-factly, “and I appreciate it. I’ll do my best to earn it.”

“You don’t have to earn it!”

“I was brought up to be a good caretaker. Since I won’t be doing that for Mother, I will do whatever else you need me to do too, because that’s what I was taught. I don’t know if I’ll want more children or not, but when this baby comes, I will do my best to be a better mother than either of mine. I don’t want to give you any reason to regret marrying me.”

He stared into her completely blank face and saw the rest of his miserable little life turn into hell.

42-43

If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.

Speakeasy staff.