Family Dynamics: Pam of Babylon Book #5 Read online

  “Wait, Mom! Look, let’s talk this out,” Brent said. Pam wasn’t sure if it was the threat of getting cut off that was frightening him or if he really cared about her. One thing was for certain—she was calling her attorney first thing in the morning to make sure no trust-fund money was available to either child any time soon. God! What a bitch! Is that the only way I can garner any respect from my children? By threating to take their money away? What the hell am I doing? But as much as Pam knew she had crossed a line, she wasn’t going back. Her children had lived a life of luxury and privilege, and if they wanted to be angry at Jack for his reprehensible behavior, so be it. But she was not going to be their whipping boy. She’d apologized to them already, over and over and over again. If they didn’t want to see her again, just say so. But to invite her to fly three thousand miles from home after her sister just died and treat her like this? No way.

  “Lisa, tell her you’re sorry,” Brent demanded. Pam had to hand it to Lisa—she did look worried.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. Don’t leave,” she said. “I know I’m acting like a spoiled brat, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I’m pissed! I can’t move beyond it like you can. C’est la vie! I want to rehash it, Mom. Brent wants me to just let it go, but I can’t.”

  “You don’t have to let it go yet. But don’t take it out on me. We have to try to get beyond your father and what he did. If we can’t, the anger will destroy us. He’s gone, so it’s not going to hurt him.” Pam wished there were a way she could force her daughter to move on. She wanted to go to Disneyland with her kids, walk on the beach, cook for them again. Next time she visited, she’d stay in a hotel. What was the point of this place on the ocean? “Look, can’t we do something together today? I feel like going to Knott’s Berry Farm. Or Disney. I want to laugh.” What a simpleton.

  “Mom’s right,” Brent said. “We only a have a few days together, so let’s do something fun. Anyone feel like learning to surf?” Pam was game; what was the point of preserving her hairdo? Her heart wasn’t it in the visit anymore, and she was rather sick and tired of her kids, but some fun might switch things around for them. She had nothing to lose.

  Chapter 7

  Steve Marks and Carolyn Fitzsimmons had worked together for years before their company was bought out and they made the switch as a group to the midtown office where Marie Fabian also worked. Every morning when Steve kissed his daughter, Miranda goodbye and said goodbye to Nelda, he thought of one thing: If he hadn’t pursued Marie, none of this would’ve happened. Not that he didn’t love Miranda with all of his heart and soul. She was the only child he would ever have. It wasn’t even that having her meant he would have to continue working and trying to keep his alcoholic head above water. It took all of his resolve not to share a bottle of scotch with Nelda every night; she was more than willing.

  “We should try to stay sober in case the baby wakes up,” he used to say. Now it was “in case Miranda wakes up.” He didn’t want his kid exposed to a drunken parent and grandparent so early in her life. And Steve was lonely. What woman would be interested in him now, with a kid? They were barely looking his way without one; Marie was the perfect example. He had to stalk her to even consider him. God, was that a mistake. He was a ripening piece of fruit, bordering on becoming rotten, when he noticed Carolyn.

  They’d worked together all those years, but she was happily married and raising a family. Her aged parents lived with her and her husband in a duplex in Queens. It was about as middle class as you could get, and to Steve, about as foreign. And then one day a few weeks earlier, Steve noticed that Carolyn had lost weight. She had a great figure for a woman her age. But there was something else—she was pale and disengaged. Steve built up the courage to approach her. She’d been great when Marie got sick, taking over her work load when it became too much for Steve to handle. Now he wanted to be supportive of her as well.

  “Knock, knock,” he said as he pushed her door open slightly. “Can I come in?” Carolyn looked up from her desk with that glassy-eyed look of hers. She smiled when she saw Steve.

  “Sure, come in,” she answered. “What can I do for you?”

  “I just wondered how you were doing,” he replied. “I never really thanked you for what you did for me last year, and you seem like you could use a friend now.” He decided he had nothing to lose by being forward. She could always tell him to get out, like Marie used to do with regularity. She got up from her desk and walked around it to close the door.

  “Have a seat,” she said, pointing at the chair in front of her desk. “You are going to regret asking.” Steve had a hot flash. What if she was pissed at him about something? She sat back in her desk chair and folded her hands in front of her on the desk.

  “Did you ever meet Mr. Fitzsimmons?” she asked. It took Steve a moment for it to register that she was speaking of her husband. He nodded.

  “We met a couple of years ago; maybe ten years ago, at the office Christmas party we had at Ali Baba’s.” He didn’t mention that he remembered her husband getting up and dancing with the belly dancers. It was a highlight of the party. Very un-Christmas-like.

  “Right. Ali Baba’s. Anyway, he moved out. We’ve been together since high school, and he is in love with someone else. Just like that.” She didn’t look like she was going to cry, but Steve thought it might be much worse. With her eyes wide and eyebrows spiked up into arches, he thought she might start screaming. But she was pulling it together. She took a deep breath. “So, yes, I could use a friend. I’m over fifty years old, counting the days until I can retire, and now this. To make matters worse, our boys want to live with him!” She gave out a yelp and then started laughing. “They’re old enough to decide where they want to live, and of course, they’d rather go with their dad and his new cool girlfriend. I guess I should be happy, unless I get a summons that he wants me to pay child support.” She exhaled, and her shoulders dropped. Steve’s heart went out to her.

  “Well, that sucks,” he said.

  She smiled at him, knowing that he’d recently been through much worse and was so generously validating her. “I guess I can ask you to go for a drink now. My mother-in-law is starting to look forward to me coming home too much. It will be good for her to have to wait around for me.”

  “Wow, I guess I didn’t realize you and Marie had gotten married,” Carolyn said. Steve had a hot flash.

  “No! No, no, no. We didn’t. It’s just easier to call Nelda my mother-in-law rather than my babysitter and offend her,” Steve explained.

  “I’ll meet you for a drink. It would be nice, a change of pace and all that,” she said. She looked tired, and she felt worse. If only she could tell him what she was really feeling—that she would rather Frank die than be with happy with someone else. What the hell? What kind of loving wife thinks such a thing?

  Carolyn suspected something was going on. They’d been faithful to one another for all those years, and suddenly he was critical and demanding of her. He’d hurt her feelings more than once, making unkind comments about her body in the middle of sex.

  “You need to tone up your thighs,” he said one night. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but they were swung over his shoulders, and he grabbed them and gave them a squeeze. It was too much for her. She pulled her legs down and rolled away from him.

  “You never need to touch my legs again,” she cried. “Fuck you!” And reduced to a screaming bitch, she’d launched into a tirade like she hadn’t had since they were in their thirties and he’d stayed out all night one night. “I’ve had it with you, Frank! What’s going on? Don’t blame it all on my thighs, either. You’re up to something!” It was a louder version of a repeated dialogue they’d had over and over again during the past months. She just felt it in her gut that he was messing around on her. No matter what she did, it was never enough. She’d lost weight and added a gym class to her already packed schedule, and he still criticized her body. After the thigh remark, she was sure they would never have sex again. She’d
started hiding in the closet to undress at night when he’d commented on her underpants.

  “I’m not a big fan of those big, white old-lady panties you wear. Get something more stylish, why don’t you?” She was in the middle of pulling her jeans down when she looked at him, a frown on his face.

  “Since when do you care what kind of underwear I have on?” she asked. And then, sadly, he said the words that would break her heart.

  “Every time I look at you, I’m reminded of how old I’m getting.” He walked out of their bedroom after he said it, either suddenly mortified that he could say such a cruel thing to someone who had devoted her life to him or frightened that, since he’d found the courage to tell her how he really felt, he would back down. For months he would approach her for sex and she thought he wanted to show her how much he did really love her. And then when it was over, after he came, she began to worry that he was using her and not even thinking about her, that it was just better than jacking off.

  The coup de grâce was the thigh comment, but trouble came to a head when they went to the garden center together. They were standing in line at the checkout with garden supplies piled up in the basket when suddenly, out of nowhere, he pushed the cart into her side and left the store. The woman standing behind her grabbed her arm and asked if she was OK. It hadn’t knocked her down, but it knocked some sense into her. He hated her because he was held captive. There was no other reason. They hadn’t been fighting; he’d been cordial throughout the shopping trip, if not distracted. She composed herself and paid for their purchases, and when she went out to the car, he was waiting for her with the engine running. He popped the trunk latch when he saw her but didn’t get out to help load. She struggled with a fifty-pound bag of potting soil and a five-gallon bucket of weed killer, pulling them out of the cart and getting them into the trunk. She got a tissue out of her purse to wipe the perspiration off her face and any dirt marks off her hands. They were going to have to figure it out right then, not take it home where they couldn’t talk in front of the kids. She pushed the cart into the corral, taking her time so she could gather her thoughts. He was like lightning; if she didn’t choose her words carefully, they would end up in a screaming fight. Frank was probably getting pissed off at her for taking so long. Opening the door to get in, the blast of cold air rushed out at her, giving her goose bumps.

  Before he could yell at her, she spoke.

  “I’m sorry it took so long. They couldn’t find a price for the potting soil,” she said, a lie. “Can we sit here for a bit? I want to ask a question.” She could see he was angry and her request unwelcome. But he’d been mad at her for weeks. Another hour wouldn’t be difficult to take.

  “What? What now?” he asked. He turned to look at her, and she tried to arrange her features so she’d be moderately attractive to him.

  “I know you have someone else, Frank. I’m not stupid. I can see you’re miserable with me. So why are we doing this? You don’t have to get defensive because I found out. Just admit it, and let’s try to deal with it, because this shit, whatever it is we are doing, has to stop. The kids are starting to notice, and it’s taking its toll on my job.” She didn’t add, “Your salary can’t support two households.” His rigid posture slowly seemed to relax; she could almost see him decompress. Finally, he took his hand off the shift stick and sat back in his seat, looking out his side window.

  “What do you want me to say?” he asked.

  She thought about it for a minute before she answered. What indeed? “Why not tell me what you want? Neither of us can go on like this much longer without doing some real damage,” she said.

  “I don’t know what I want,” he said, afraid to admit that it was to be with someone else. But his determination not to get caught and his defensiveness that resulted from being in the wrong were starting to dissipate. She could feel it.

  “Do you want to talk about her? I’m beyond anger if that what you’re worried about,” she said, which was not exactly true. But she would pretend if it would get the truth out, and Frank would love to rub her nose in it—“it” being a slightly younger, prettier, smarter, nicer version of Carolyn. He turned his head to look at her. They had been high school sweethearts, both virginal, gawky teens who discovered they were comfortable with each other as they hadn’t been with anyone else. He could relax around Carolyn, forgetting the things about himself that made being with girls torturous. She didn’t seem to care that he was so skinny his mother thought there was something wrong with him. He was a mediocre eastern New York student to her Cobble Hill honor roll. Being with her elevated his status at school, although her friends wondered what the attraction was for her.

  All of that was forgotten now; his new girlfriend, June Brooks, didn’t know about the skinny, awkward boy with the bad skin and bad grades. Frank Fitzsimmons was successful, handsome, and fit. June didn’t care that he was married because Frank told her it was a rocky union, headed for divorce. He didn’t tell June much about Carolyn because there wasn’t much negative to tell, outside of her slightly chubby, soft body that he’d one time loved with all of his heart.

  He’d almost fainted the first time he saw June naked. She was in fabulous shape for a woman her age; she wasn’t a young girl like Carolyn thought, but in her late forties. She’d never had children, so her belly was flat and taut. But she worked out like a maniac, and it showed. Her legs were amazing—long and lean and as hard as rocks. She liked to sit on him backwards when they were screwing around, and he came just looking at the muscles in her thighs flexing, his penis looking bigger next to her lean ass. It was a coincidence that later that day he would watch his wife undress and snicker out loud when he saw the back of her thighs. It was all he could do not to say “Yuk” out loud. The snicker was bad enough; he could see he’d hurt her, and all that did was make him angrier. He exhaled a deep breath in the car.

  “I’m in love with another woman,” he said flat out. “She’s in her late forties, so she’s no kid. I’m sorry I hurt you. I want a divorce.” He looked right at her face. “There. That’s the truth.” She’d asked for it. She didn’t realize the pain hearing the words “I want a divorce” would have. He didn’t love her anymore. It was pretty cut and dried. She thought for a moment what her response should be, but none was necessary. He was in love with another woman. She decided it would be safe to look at him. Her thoughts ricocheted between wanting to scream at him, “You nerd! I hate you!” and laughing out loud. She purposely thought of all the things about him that bugged the hell out of her: his bathroom habits and dinner table manners, his ratty undershirts with the grubby underarms. She’d wondered at one time if that was also the wife’s responsibility, to ensure that the husband had nice, neat underwear. And long ago she’d decided no. She wasn’t his mother. Did the girlfriend ever use the bathroom after he’d taken a dump? Or did she even notice the condition of his underwear? The thought of his less-than-Godlike mannerisms defused her anger and pain long enough to address him and hopefully get home without losing her composure.

  “Well, I guess ‘Wow!’ is in order. I didn’t see that coming.” She looked over at him. They’d been friends for a long time. When did that end? “I’m happy for you, Frank. Sad we’re over, but happy you found someone you love.” She knew that her reasonableness may be short-lived, that she may scream “I hate your guts and hope your girlfriend has acid thrown in her face someday.” But right that second, she could be kind to him, the father of her children, the guy she’d grown up with. “Let’s get home,” she said. “I want to get my garden started before it rains.” The clouds were rolling in thick and gray. It would bring some relief from the heat. She closed her eyes as he reached for the shift to put the car in reverse. His look said about the same thing to her: “We can be kind to each other for the time being.”

  A wave of regret washed over her, goose bumps rising on her skin again, her bowels rumbling. If she could just get to Point B without the drama of a divorce. It was that journey to
becoming single again that scared her to death. But being divorced, being free of a grumpy, dissatisfied, and critical husband sounded wonderful. She had worked all her life anyway, so what was another ten years? Her parents lived with her, and they were well-off. Money would not be an issue. Could she just tell him to do whatever he wanted? Could she be that reasonable? The path of least resistance would be to give him everything. To want nothing from him. Not part of his pension, not healthcare, not child support—nothing. But the reality would be that the boys would love June Brooks. They would ride bikes together, go inline skating at the park, parasail, ski, hike, all the stuff twelve- and fourteen-year-old boys loved. Having to see their mother on the weekends would be torture. Carolyn didn’t anticipate not having her boys. She didn’t have the strength to fight for them, either. If they wanted to live with Frank and go off with him and June on vacations in the summer and on their trips to warmer climes in the winter, why would she stop them?

  Now in the office with Steve, Carolyn thought of the recent time her sons stayed with her. They’d been miserable. It wasn’t worth it. Secretly, she would grow to hate her visits with her kids. It was demeaning and worse—boring. She didn’t have anything in common with her sons except what she was able to do for them, and now that was precious little. Fucking brats.

  Steve Marks would be a convenient diversion. He was attractive in a blackjack-dealer kind of way. He had his hands full with a toddler and an aging mother-in-law. He might make demands on her, but she doubted it. It would be nice to have someone to lean on while she was going through a divorce. “Do you want to go next door after we are through here?” It was a dive bar they often frequented after work. He wanted to have a drink with her but was not sure if Nelda would appreciate extra time with Miranda. He stood up to go back to his office.