"Michael´s Tale: Chapter 3" by Garon E. Whited

It’s not a good feeling, seeing the almost-ex-wife of the body you’re occupying getting risqué with a handsome friend.  It means things are not going well.

So, what to do?  I reviewed Robert’s memories, searching for his usual class of behavior.  Admittedly, this was a little outside his experience, but I got a better feel for how he should react.  By all I could find, he should stalk over and make a scene.

But was trying to make the world a better place.  I didn’t think that was quite the way to go about it, so I tried another tactic.

I shucked out of my outer clothes faster than a milkman.  Once down to the trunks, I dove into the pool and started hunting for a female of the species.  There were lots—women are generally less shy than men—and the one that made strong eye contact reminded me of Rahab, only thinner.  She had a magnificent mane of dark hair and eyes of a deep green color.  I made strong eye contact back at her and we wound up playing drown-your-partner with time-outs for the occasional kiss.  I surfaced between rounds and shouted to Max.

“Max!  Great party!  Thanks for inviting me!”

He waved cheerily and went back to his conversation.  But it achieved my intent:  Clarissa noticed me. 

Max turned his attention to the brunette on his right arm and Clarissa was momentarily unattended.  She glared at me like a searchlight.  Her expression mixed equal parts astonishment and anger.  She didn’t intimidate me in the slightest; I’ve seen the wrath of angels.  Clarissa has nothing on them, but she was pretty good for a flesh-and-blood.

I grinned cheerfully and waved before being dragged under by my companion.  She grabbed my face and we practiced underwater breathing for a bit.  It’s interesting, breathing in time with another person, trading breath back and forth like that.  It can’t go on forever, but it’s still nice.

My companion vanished sharply upward.  I blinked, burbled a bit, and surfaced.

Clarissa was screeching like a wounded hawk and dragging my erstwhile playmate out of the pool.  Max was watching with amusement as the other guests cheered and catcalled.  The two ladies fought, each with her own objective.  Clarissa was trying to either drown her adversary or get close enough to the edge of the pool to beat in her head.  My momentary companion was only trying to get loose and get away.

That lovely hair made an excellent handle, I’m afraid.  I kept an eye on things to be sure neither of them would be seriously hurt.

The fight dragged on for a while.  I haven’t found human combat to be amusing since about two hundred B.C., but that’s just me.  Everyone else seemed to enjoy the show.  At the end, Clarissa—somewhat bruised—held the brunette under water for a while, long enough that she stopped struggling.  A moment later, Clarissa calmed enough to let go of her and back away, somewhat slowed by the water.  At which point, the brunette proved that her ruse was worthwhile; she moved, suddenly and quickly, heading for the edge of the pool and out of the water.  Clarissa took a step forward, then paused and let her go.

Applause came from all sides.  Clarissa stared wildly around.  Max half-swam over to her and gently escorted her from the pool.  I just stayed out of sight.

Now, the question on my mind was this:  Did Clarissa react so because she’s possessive, or because she still loves Robert?  It would be important to find out.

I dried off and mingled with the less sportive guests for the rest of the evening, a plan taking shape—perhaps a divinely inspired plan.

*   *   *

I wanted to talk to Max after the party, but he was upstairs with one or two or more of the guests.  I suspected that he’d invited me—that, is, Robert—for the express purpose of putting Clarissa in close proximity.  It suited his prankish nature, and definitely livened up his party.

Instead, I mingled with the other guests, feeling them out and seeing who I might need to know.  I also made sure to talk with Alisande—Alice to her friends—and apologize for Clarissa’s behavior.  She was very understanding.

“I didn’t know she was your ex-wife,” she stated.  “If I’d known, I would have kept a closer eye on her!”  Her smile was full of very white teeth.

“She’s almost my ex,” I explained.  “There’s some paperwork to sign.”

She glanced at my left hand.  “Let me guess—it was her idea, wasn’t it?”

I fiddled with the wedding ring.  “Yes.”

She frowned a little.  “Why?”

I rummaged in the brain for a bit, but Robert never knew.  He suspected that it was a conflict of ambition.  Robert wasn’t an ambitious sort; Clarissa was.  Her first husband, Charles, had been the driven, go-getter sort of man.  That had ended badly from their competitiveness.  She’d swung the other way on her second husband, Robert.  Now, rather than be held back by a “lazy” husband, she would rather leave.  I told Alice as much.

“Rob!  That’s terrible!  How can she do such a heartless thing?”

I shrugged.  “She’s not a bad person, and I think she really does care—she’s just more interested in getting ahead than getting close.  A lot of people are like that.”

“Well!” she huffed.  “If you ever need help in making her jealous again, call me.”  She gave me her business card and scribbled her home number on the back.  As she placed it in my hand, she leaned close and whispered, “Call me anyway.  You’re cute.”  She kissed me on the cheek and headed for her car.

It’s a side effect of being what I am.  Sensitive people can sometimes feel my vibes.  They either love me for it or hate me, depending on the person.  It just told me that Alice was a good person.

I went home and cleaned the place up.

*   *   *

Clarissa didn’t bother with the doorbell.  She opened the front door and came in with Claire.  Claire yanked her hand from Clarissa’s grasp and came pelting down the hallway at me, shrieking in delight, “Daddy!”  I picked her up, lifted her high, and swung her around a couple of times.  She hugged my neck like she wanted to pop my head off until I kissed her hello and set her down.

Clarissa was staring at the apartment.

When I’d Arrived, the place was a mess.  The trash needed to be taken out, laundry was in various places, and dishes were scattered like random ornaments.  When I was done cleaning the place, you could have used it for an operating room.  Even scratches and tears on furniture had been—ahem! —repaired.  The place looked like it belonged in a magazine ad for the complex.

I may presently be a man, but I’ve had practice at cleaning up.  You might say it’s been my job ever since I got promoted.

“Like what I’ve done with the place?” I asked.

Clarissa just nodded, wandering around the living room.

I knelt next to Claire.  “So, did you have a fun weekend?”

She shrugged.  “Okay.”

“What did you do?”

“Stuff.”

Well, that was a bad sign.  I got the feeling that she didn’t want to talk about it in front of Clarissa.

“Okay.  It’s nearly bedtime.  Go change and I’ll be in to read you a story.”  Claire nodded brightly and danced into the bedroom.  I turned to Clarissa.

“You never cleaned like this before,” she accused.

“I never thought it was important enough before,” I answered.  “I was more concerned about bigger things.”

Her expression clearly indicated her disbelief.  “You?  Bigger things?  You’ve never been one to notice the big things, much less concern yourself with them.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Name one,” she challenged.

“Oh, there are several.  Raising a daughter, loving my wife, being supportive of my wife’s goals and dreams—you know, the big stuff.”  I shrugged.  “I guess it was important to wash plates, as well as to be there.  But I’m learning.”

She flushed a bright red.  “It’s a shame you don’t learn faster!” she snapped.

“I learn as fast as I can,” I replied, gently.  “Nobody ever explained; I had to figure it out.  But that’s okay—I’m working on it.  Heck, I even learned how to dust and polish.  Like the coffee table?”

Involuntarily, she glanced at it.  I’d placed the family album there.  She looked away and headed for the door.

“Now that Claire is back, I’m going,” she said, voice trembling.  “I’ll be back again next Saturday to pick her up as usual at nine.  At nine.”  She fumbled in her purse for her keys.  “You will try to be more punctual than… you’ll try to have her ready by nine?”

“She’ll be ready at nine,” I assured her.  “She will.  You’ll see, sweetheart.”

“I’ll— what did you say?” she asked, not looking at me.

I sat down on the couch.  “I said that I’d have her ready at nine.  I promise.”

Clarissa nodded briskly.  “Good,” she said, and headed for the door.

“Oh, Clarissa?”

She paused, hand on the knob.  “Yes?”

“I spoke with Ms. Palmer last Saturday night.  Apparently, one of her daughters is a vice-president of marketing for a computer company—” a major computer firm; I told her the name and watched her eyes widen, “—and they’re looking for new representation.  I mentioned that you work for an advertising firm, and that you’re a genius.  Ms. Palmer is certain that you can handle an… aggressive?… marketing campaign.  And, since she has lunch with her daughter on Tuesdays; she invited me to join them and encouraged me to bring you.  I thought I’d let you know.”

She turned around and stared at me.

“You’re joking.”

I stared levelly back at her.  “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Where is this theoretical lunch?”

“Figaro’s, at eleven-thirty.  Shall I tell Ms. Palmer that you’ll be there?”

“Maybe.”  She wanted to be there.  She desperately wanted to be there.  I could see it.

“I need a yes or a no.  If you can’t make it, I’m bringing Claire.”

She glared at me.  “I’ll have to check my calendar.  I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Fair enough.  Goodnight, Clarissa.”

She blinked at me.  It was the first time Robert had ever encouraged her to get out.  Well, it was a weekend full of firsts.  He’d never found business for her, never told her that he supported her goals… It was a whole new Robert—moreso than she knew.  It made her curious.  She left reluctantly; curiosity is a powerful thing.

At the sound of the door, Claire peeked out of her bedroom.  I beckoned to her and she came out into the living room, climbed up on the couch, and snuggled up to my side.  I put an arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

“How’s my little goldilocks?”

“Tired,” she admitted.  “Daddy, can I have waffles?”

“It’s nearly ten o’clock.”

“But I’m hungry.”

I looked at her and tried to sound stern.  “You didn’t eat dinner, did you?”

She mumbled something vaguely negative.

“Why not?”

“’Cause I don’t like creepy Susans, that’s why.  An’ I don’t like Miz Phillips,” she added.

“Creepy Susans?” I asked.  “You mean crepe suzettes?”

“Yeah, them.  Icky mushrooms.”  She made a face.

“There are lots of different kinds of creepy Susans,” I told her.  “We’ll try some that you’ll like.”

“No icky mushrooms?” she persisted.

“No icky mushrooms,” I promised.

She squeezed me.  “Okay.”

“So who is Ms. Phillips?”

“A scary lady,” Claire answered, in her best Ooh-there’s-the-monster movie voice.  “She’s tall and thin and doesn’t like me.  And she never ever smiles.”

I hugged her, saying, “Oh, surely she likes you.  Everybody likes you.  You’re too cute not to like.”

“She doesn’t,” Claire insisted.  “She just tells me to sit down or be quiet.”

“Well, maybe we can fix that.  Does Mommy know?”

Claire’s expression went all woebegone.  “Mommy made me stay with her.  Miz Phillips works for Mommy.  She cooks and cleans and is mean to me.”

It sounded to me like Clarissa had hired a maid and part-time babysitter.  That would explain how she could come to Max’s party while supposedly keeping Claire for the weekend.

“Claire?  Honey?  Sweet little princess?”

She looked up at me, very seriously.  “Yes, Daddy?”

“You remember Daddy’s telephone number?”

“Yes.”  She rattled it off in a singsong voice.

“Next time Ms. Phillips is mean to you, you call my number and tell me.”

Claire put her head against my side and left it there.  “Okay.”

Maybe I should have put her to bed, but I didn’t want to move her.  Instead, I thought about a few things.  The idea of showing Clarissa a whole new Robert was going well.  I’m pretty sure she still loved Robert; the episode in the pool gave me a clue.  I was pretty sure I had her interest, too; a motivated, direct Robert is a huge improvement to her—at least, compared to the indecisive softie.  We’ll see how the lunch goes with Ms. Palmer.  The competent, helpful, charming Robert could be another step in the right direction.

Clarissa loves to be in charge.  Having a husband who could be a team player—and a valuable member of that team—might go a long way toward making this little chunk of the world a better place.  For Claire, at the very least, and likely for Clarissa as well.

The things that worried me, though, were the things I was missing.  To some degree, the things we are missing are always the things we worry about.  Where did I leave my keys?  What time was that meeting?  Have I forgotten anything? 

The things I was missing were more concrete absences.  Such as a complete lack of alcohol or alcohol bottles.  No pill containers, aside from some aspirin and the like.

And, worst of all, no memory in Robert’s brain of ever trying to kill himself.