Paula Bomer - Inside Madeleine

She pushed him away and then screamed at him for not being close. And then he just had to get away. So he went over to Nathan’s house more and more. Sometimes he’d go there straight after work.

Nathan lived in a seedy neighborhood a few blocks from downtown. His apartment was on the ground floor, and there were big windows facing the street so Mark could drive by and see if the lights were on, see if Nathan was home. Which he almost always was. He sold pot out of his apartment and he did this mostly at night. He was in his thirties, had long, stringy hair and a goatee and there was something very greasy about him. He didn’t wash often. He had no girlfriend or wife. He constantly made fun of Mark for being married. Nathan frequented whores and watched pornography nonstop. He had a library of movies and stacks and stacks of magazines. Stoned, drinking cheap beer out of a can, they’d sit around with some of his other friends and watch pornos. He had gang bangs. He had girls getting fucking by Great Danes. He had it all. All the new glossy ones and all the twisted underground and amateur ones.

Mark drove over and saw Nathan’s lights on. He saw Larry’s car parked out front. He went in, carrying a six pack, and sat down with the two of them. They passed around a bong. Mark bought a bag of weed from him. They smoked some more.

Your little woman drive you out of the house again? Nathan asked.

It’s like she’s on the rag all month long.

I’m telling you, you should get the fuck out of there. Fuck living with women. Just have them over to suck your dick once in a while, he said, coughing out a big bong hit. He said, whores are where it’s at. There’s a reason why it’s the oldest profession.

I married a whore. I don’t have to pay for one. But she’s changed. She’s not as fun as she used to be.

Larry said, that’s cause once you marry her, she can’t be your whore anymore. Now she’s your wife. That shit’s different.

Mark said, she’s still a whore. She’ll always be one. That’s why I love her.

Larry said, man, I can’t understand how you can call your wife a whore. That’s fucked up. No wonder you have problems.

You guys don’t get it, Mark said. They all looked quietly at the TV. A woman was getting fucked by three guys. One in her mouth, one in her ass, and one in her pussy.

Your wife do that shit? Nathan laughed, pointing to the TV.

My wife does anything.

Larry said, see you can’t talk about your wife that way. He shook his head.

What rule book is that from? Mark asked sarcastically.

No really, it’s common knowledge, Larry said. You can’t think of your wife that way. You got to have respect.

We’re special, Mark said, cracking open another beer, settling in for a long evening at Nathan’s. We’re not a boring, old fart couple. Ours is special. We’re just having some problems.

But he went over to Nathan’s more and more. Sometimes Nathan would have a whore or two there. And he’d always ask Mark if he wanted to. Big women, little women. Hispanic, white, black. No, thanks, Mark would say. Even though he wasn’t getting any at home. But he just wanted Maddy, or so he thought. He was heartbroken.

14

He came in and saw his wife standing at the sink in the kitchen, her back toward him. And as if seeing her for the first time in weeks, he noticed that her shoulder blades protruded almost grotesquely. Of course, he just saw her this morning and the morning before and the morning before and on and on and he wondered why he did not notice her shoulders until this moment.

The door closed behind him and she did not turn around to say hello. He remembered a time when she would run from whatever it was that she was doing and kiss him wetly. Squeal for joy. Say, I missed you, Mark, and bury her face in his neck. Stick her hand down his pants and get on her knees. Of course, those emotions never last. But aren’t they supposed to be taken over by a deeper, more mature kind of love? Where was that?

He decided to say hello and be affectionate. It was a conscious, deliberate decision. It was not how he normally greeted her anymore. Something in the angles of her shoulder blades prompted it. It was not his normal way of approaching her when he came home. He walked toward her, approaching her boney back and slipped his hands around her waist. She turned her head around and looked at him with a grim curiosity. He had wanted her to turn around and kiss him or smile sweetly and the suspicious glance she gave him, the raised eyebrow, disheartened him. He slowly unwrapped his hands and sighed loudly. He pulled a beer from the fridge and went into the living room and watched TV.

What’s wrong with you, she said, standing in the doorway to the living room with her arms crossed.

I just tried to be nice and you didn’t care.

This is my only night off work this week. I’ve been working too hard.

Is that an apology?

I guess so.

Will you bring me another beer?

Yeah.

She came back with two beers and sat next to him on the couch.

You look really thin.

I’ve lost some weight.

Every time I set foot in this house you’re in the kitchen cooking.

She smiled widely at him — a strange grin, one he found unsettling. I like to cook, she said. She filled up a bowl with pot and smoked. Mark smoked. They stared at the TV.

Madeleine went into the bathroom and shut the door. He heard the water run in the tub. He walked quietly up to the door and ever so softly, leaned his head against it. He heard her pee. He heard her brush her teeth. He heard the mirror cabinet open. He thought he could hear her clothes drop to the floor, the wisp of cloth against tile. She shut the water off in the tub and Mark tensed against the door, fearing she could hear him listening in on her. He slid down and crouched.

He heard her toe break the water and she said oh and then made a hissing noise. Then she said ah aha. Her body dropped in, bit by bit and she moaned when she was all the way in. The water sloshed. Was he imagining he could feel the steam come out of the crack at the bottom of the door? He put his hand out to see if he really could. It felt warm and damp. He put his hand to his face and it felt wet.

He heard her move around, heard the water moving around. He heard her breathe deeply, exhaling loudly. He stood up and decided to knock.

Hey, Maddy, can I come in?

What for?

Brush my teeth. Take a piss.

The door’s locked.

Why the fuck is the door locked, he said and turned the knob and indeed, the door was locked. What the fuck is your problem, he said. I’ve got to take a piss.

He heard her get up out of the tub, the water making a sucking noise and seconds later she stood there, a large pink towel wrapped around her dripping body. Her face was bright red and her hair lay in wet strands around her face.

Come in.

Why’d you lock the door?

I wanted to take a long, peaceful bath and not be disturbed. That’s it, she said. She dropped the towel and stepped gingerly back in the tub and Mark noticed her skinniness acutely now. Her hipbones jutted out. Her chest bone was pronounced. Her breasts lay against her body like pancakes. With one forceful move, she pulled the shower curtain shut.

Mark sat down on the toilet and said, baby, you look really skinny.

Maddy sighed but said nothing.

Can I open the shower curtain? he asked.

She put her head outside of the curtain. One hand grasped the pink plastic material and she was angry now and he could tell by her jaw hanging stiffly. I just want to take a goddamn bath in peace, she said, something I like to do. Something I do with regularity and you aren’t letting me.

Maddy, pull the curtain and let me look at you.