Infidelity by Stacey May Fowles

Author:Stacey May Fowles
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781770411418
Publisher: ECW Press
Published: 2013-08-29T04:00:00+00:00

( CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO )

A few evenings later Ronnie called Charlie on his cellphone. She spoke before he even had a moment to say hello. “Charlie. Charlie. I miss you.”

She called from a filthy bathroom at a bar on Bloor, where she stared at a piece of black-markered graffiti that said, “You’re much better than you give yourself credit for.” Ronnie never called Charlie late in the evenings—it was too dangerous—but she had had enough whisky shots to break this rule.

“Where are you?” he asked quietly.

She leaned up against the wall, watching the room tilt ever so slightly and things get fuzzy. “I know I’m not supposed to call . . . because of your wife . . . but I am at a bar by myself,” she said quietly. “I am drinking and you are so close to me. I’m not angry, Charlie. I’m too tired to be angry. You are not far away. You should come watch me drink.”

“Ronnie.”

“Charlie. I don’t think I can get home by myself.”

“Don’t move. I’ll be right there. Okay?”

Even though they were still technically in an argument, even though she dropped a platter of cookies at his feet and threatened to bring out “the caterer,” even though he had been pawed at by girls half his age and he remembered thinking, Fuck Ronnie, she’s not worth it, he couldn’t stop himself.

He told his half-sleeping wife that he was inspired and was going to the office to write. She moaned a response and barely stirred. He put on his parka, scarf, and boots and walked to the bar on Bloor Street to watch Ronnie drink whisky shots in a shitty student bar with shitty students.

When he arrived he scanned the room and found she was seated at the bar by herself. She was wrapped in an oversized brown cardigan, her mascara smeared and her hair dishevelled. She threw her arms around him dramatically, clinging to him with a desperate surrender that made her body limp in his arms.

When she finally pulled away, she spoke without prompting, weeping while she did. “I don’t care about the twenty-year-old girls you spend your time with. I don’t care that you could have them all if you wanted. You’re so smart and funny and famous it’s no wonder they all want you—”

“Ronnie, stop it. It’s not like that.”

“But you are. You’re smart and funny and famous and—”

“Shhhh. Honey.”

Charlie rummaged in his pockets to find a Kleenex but came up with nothing. He grabbed some cocktail napkins from the other side of the bar and passed them to her. She blew her nose noisily and continued crying. “Considering what we’re doing I can’t judge you. How can I judge you? You can do whatever you want. All I care about is having you. I don’t care how I have you. I don’t care who else has you.”

“There is no one else, Ronnie. There will never be anyone else.” He cupped his hand on the back of her neck gently, resisting the urge to pull her in for a kiss.

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