Paula Bomer - Inside Madeleine

She yanked the curtain open, the water sloshing forward and then she sat back heavily, her arms covering her breasts. A light film of bubbles covered the surface of the faintly blue water. It smelled of jasmine. Her mouth was open, her face covered with sweat and she said, here I am. Now you can look at me.

What’s wrong, baby. Why aren’t you eating?

Mark pulled his T-shirt over his head and dropped it to the ground. He was sweating.

I’m going to have to pick up that T-shirt you know.

Well what should I do with it?

You should put it in the hamper. That’s where I’m going to put it later.

It’s not dirty.

Then I’ll have to put it in your drawer, instead.

Madeleine abruptly dropped her head under the water. When she came back up her cheeks were swollen and she spit out a stream of water like a fountain.

That was lovely. The bubbles must taste nice, he said.

Again she went under, quickly, again her cheeks ballooned out, but this time she spit the water at Mark, hitting him on his hairless chest.

Thank you, he said.

Anytime, she replied. She closed her eyes and let her tongue drop out to her chin.

Mark slid off the toilet seat and sat pressed against the sweating tub. His hair was wet now, his face dripping like hers. He put a hand in the water. He wanted to touch his wife, who seemed to be disappearing. He wanted to get in the tub with her. The water scorched his hand.

Jesus, Maddy, this water is hot as hell.

I like it that way.

Can I come in with you?

Oh, Mark.

Please? It’ll be fun. We haven’t taken a bath together in a long time.

We haven’t for a reason.

Let me come in. You could show me one of your tricks. You never do your tricks for me anymore. You used to do them extra well in the tub.

Neither of us does tricks for the other. Neither of us does anything for the other anymore.

Don’t say that. That’s not true. Let me come in.

Maddy looked away and Mark decided that this was a yes. He took off his pants and tried dipping a toe into the water.

This is impossible. You have to let me run some cold water.

Absolutely not, she said, and ran her hands over her bright face.

He put a foot in. It burned. Slowly, painfully, he managed to squeeze into the tub with her. His legs pressed against the sides and hers lay in between his, their backs against each end of the tub. The water rose to the edge and began draining through the hole underneath the spout.

Jesus, this water is so hot I can’t breathe.

Then get out.

Mark stared at his wife.

Maddy, stop being such a bitch. We have to stop being this way to each other, he said, and grabbed her calf.

Let go of my leg.

No.

Get out of my bath.

No.

He grabbed her other calf.

You’re a bastard.

You’re a fucking bitch.

Maddy stood up and he tried to pull her back down, still holding onto her legs. She slipped and steadied herself by holding onto his shoulders and he let go of her legs and held her wrists there, held her against his shoulders.

You’re going to kill me, she said.

She sat down again, shaken, plopping down directly on his lap.

I almost cracked my head open in my own bathtub and this is my only day off and you’ve ruined it.

I’m sorry.

You are not.

When was the last time we fucked, Maddy?

They sat together now, uncomfortably, their arms around each other.

I don’t know, Mark. I don’t know.

15

Mark tried. He tried talking to her, he tried touching her, he tried doing things for her like buying flowers that would sit hopelessly in a vase on the kitchen table. She wouldn’t even notice them. He tried kissing her, smiling at her, watching TV with her. He tried to take her out for dinner, but she wouldn’t let him, no way, she said, I don’t want to spend money at some stupid restaurant. I’ll pay, he’d say, and she just shook her head, no. You used to like going out to restaurants. Leave me alone, she’d say. She was so thin he was frightened of her.

Miraculously, she stopped cooking for him all the time. At first he was relieved; her behavior had been so fierce. Then she stopped cooking altogether. He’d make himself a sandwich and ask her if she wanted anything and she’d say no. He knew she hadn’t been eating much for a long time. But now she didn’t even try to hide the fact that she didn’t eat at all.

If she wasn’t working then she’d watch TV, her eyes glazed from hunger, her hair brittle around her head, deep blue bags under her eyes. Who was this? He bought her chocolates, he bought her lingerie that would never fit her anymore, he rented her favorite movies. Thick tongued, haggard, half dead, she’d ignore everything, sitting on the couch, a tense corpse, coughing hollowly, chain-smoking cigarettes. The thinner she got the more power she had over him. The smaller she was the more he feared her.

The smell of her changed, the shape of her changed and her face, her energy her everything became more extreme, more out of control. He cared about her still but he had to give up and he knew he did the right thing. For him, anyway. No, for both of them. They had nothing anymore but fear and avoidance. He thought sometimes, drunk, driving home from Nathan’s, a useless half-mast hard-on in his pants from a porn movie, that she had given up something, everything — not just her hardness — her everything the minute he kissed her in his car and it just took him this long to figure it out.

He ran because he was scared because he couldn’t stand her anymore. He walked through the mall where he worked and a petite, dark-haired woman walked by. She wore a nice dress that came down to her ankles and small gold earrings and he knew who she was. She worked in the clothing store next to the computer store where he worked. He saw her almost every day after that. Getting an Orange Julius and a hot dog her thin little feet in flat navy shoes making a wisp-wisp noise as she shimmied back to the store. He looked at her really closely, really looked. She knew he was looking at her and she remained composed. She was cool, never blushing, never fidgeting. He imagined her breasts. Round and small, beneath his hands. Fleshy breasts, the skin moist and bouncy. Not deflated, not dry, not flat and sad. He imagined the girl’s pussy tasting like wet, fresh cut grass. How could he not think of these things?

He knew something true and solid about this girl. This woman who worked at the clothing store, a respectable store, a nice place, would struggle with him always. Would push against his hands with her knees, just enough to make him harder, as he spread her legs apart. She’d protest and her breath would quicken. Her muscles tense. And although he is not a big man, far from it, he is bigger than her and he would feel that way, feel himself truly overpower her. She would never beg for it. She would never give in completely.

He watched this girl for a while. No boy picked her up after work ever. She walked to her dainty Japanese car, a black purse hanging from her slim shoulder, car keys in her hand, and drove off steadily, her seatbelt fastened and the radio turned on at medium volume. She was not taken. But it wasn’t her that was made for him. Someone like her. He’ll leave here, go out West. He’ll start over and get away from it all. And that’s when he’ll find her.

16

What’s wrong with me?

Nothing’s wrong with you.

How come you don’t want to be with me anymore?

It’s not that I don’t want to be with you.

What is it then?

Jesus, Madeleine.

What? What is it. You have to tell me. You have to. You owe me that much.

I don’t know.

Look at me.

I am looking at you.