The Belt Page 7

  The second time they met, almost two months later, John took Mickey to a hockey game and as they were walking out of the arena, Mick asked his stepfather where he was living. That was something John had failed to think through and it took him by surprise.

  “Here, or there, you know, nothing, um, nothing concrete.”

  “Well yeah, but it’s been like three months or something, you have to live somewhere.”

  “I do. I mean, a friend of mine is renting me his apartment.”

  “Paul?”

  “Yeah, Paul. He, um, he bought a new condo, I was helping him finish it up, and now I am living there, like, temporary.”

  “Cool where is it?”

  “Get in the car, Mick, it’s cold,” John said and opened the central locking. The car’s lights flashed and both men got inside.

  “I mean, come on, dad, we see each other only in the city,” he said as he was fastening his seat belt.

  “I know, I know; it’s only until I find myself something more stable, something permanent. Paul doesn’t like people coming to his place, hanging out, you know? He wants to sell the apartment, and he’s nuts about people walking around, touching things. He put a lot of money to finish the place, you know? He’s a bit crazy about it.”

  “Paul? I’ve always thought he was the coolest guy.” Mick laughed.

  “Yeah, me, too!” John exclaimed and laughed, too. “But you should see him! He’s like “John, you can use only the downstairs toilet, please make sure you touch the light switch when you turn it on, do not touch the freshly painted walls with your fingers, you do it once, it’s okay, you keep on doing it regularly and there will be spots all around it”.”

  “Seriously? Paul?”

  “Yeah! Imagine that!”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “I know.” John laughed. They were driving along the highway, heading east to where John and Margaret’s house used to be. It occurred to him it was the first time he was heading that direction for almost three months. And that he hadn’t missed it at all.

  Mickey was quiet throughout the way. They were just listening to a local rock radio station, and John was tapping his fingers on the driving wheel in the rhythm of some classic AC/DC tune, while his adopted son was just looking right through his window. John saw his face in the corner of his eye and it occurred to him the boy was sad; he had the look on his face that indicated some serious weight on his shoulders.

  “Was that a good game, or what?” John asked and turned down the radio a bit. Mick, who had his mind occupied by other things, looked at him, a bit confused having no idea at first what his stepdad was talking about.

  “Oh, yeah, that was awesome,” he replied and smiled.

  John had hoped the boy would say something more, but Mick just turned his head right and was looking at the passing cars and city lights visible from the distance. He clearly didn’t feel like chatting.

  Fifteen minutes later, John parked his car in front of Margaret’s home. The porch light switched on automatically and he was a bit surprised to see two of the lightbulbs working. The last time he left the place, there was only one. He also spotted light appearing in the bedroom upstairs.

  “Okay, dad, thanks for, um, the game,” Mick said.

  “No problem, we’ll see each other soon,” John replied and shook his son’s hand.

  “Yeah, sure we will.” Mick smiled and got out of the car. He turned around almost immediately and knocked on the window. John pushed the button on his door and lowered the glass.

  “What is it?”

  “I talked to Paul. He said you weren’t living at his place regularly and when you were, he was surprised I never visited you there.”

  “W-why would you?” John asked surprised.

  “The magazines you are subscribing are still being sent to our house. I wanted to find out where Paul lives so I could inform the press company to redirect them. Goodbye, dad,” Mick smiled sadly, straightened up and walked towards the house.

  John watched him walking up three steps to the door and, as he was about to push the knob, it opened and John saw Margaret greeting her son. The door closed, John turned the ignition key, put it in reverse and in a few seconds he was on his way back. In the rear view, he saw the porch light turning off as he left the neighborhood. He had no idea how to behave, if he was supposed to get out of the car and apologize, but for what, really? He didn’t want Mickey coming to his place. He was worried he would tell Margaret in what conditions her unfaithful husband lived and she would share that knowledge with her lawyer and the divorce would cost him much more than what he was imagining. It would be all right. John knew what he was doing.

  It was about 10:30 p.m., and John didn’t feel tired at all, didn’t feel like going back home, either, so he thought of calling Molly, of checking if she was home. After he had exited the highway, he parked his car in front of one of the fast food restaurants, took his phone out of his jacket and dialed her number.

  “Hey, there, Johnny,” she sighed.

  “Hey, how’re you doing?”

  “I’m not too good, actually.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I think I have a stomach bug, I’ve been feeling terrible all day,” Molly answered. Her voice sounded miserable.

  “Oh no, that’s awful.”

  “Yeah. Listen, since you’re calling, can I ask you to bring me some herbal stomach drops? I won’t be able to go out anywhere, and I think it might help me.”

  “Well, I mean, I would, of course, but, honey, isn’t stomach flu highly contagious?”

  “I suppose it is, but I’m not asking you to spend the night with me, you can just leave the drops on my doorstep, if you’re scared.”

  John looked at his watch. His plan was to visit Molly and perhaps spend some quality time with her. He could always tell Cindy he was with Mick. Driving forty minutes one way to her place, buying her the stomach drops, seeing her, or even not, for two minutes, and then drive another forty minutes back home. That was pointless. Not to mention it was quite probable he would get the bug, too.

  “Molly, it’s too risky, I don’t want to get sick.”

  “But, John—”

  “I’m sure there are 24/7 internet delivery drugstores, just check on-line.”

  “Listen, it’s no big deal, there’s a drugstore just outside my apartment block.”

  “Well, there you go, so you can definitely handle it, honey. You’ll see, you’ll be fine real quick.” John smiled and did his best to sound comforting.

  “Okay,” Molly answered, her voice seemed resigned.

  “Take care, baby, I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said and hung up.

  ***

  When he got home, Cindy was already sleeping. John made himself a drink, turned the TV on, and went to the bedroom about an hour later. In the morning when woke up, he spotted a leather belt lying on his side of the bed. He blinked a few times, yawned, and sat on the bed. Cindy was no longer there, she’d left him a note on her pillow with information there was breakfast downstairs waiting for him, and that she had to walk out a bit earlier that day. Of course.

  John rubbed his neck and looked at the belt again. It was the brown belt he wore the day before; he must have forgotten to put it into the wardrobe. Odd, since everything else he had on last night was either back in there, or in the hamper in the laundry room. John got up, put the belt on a hanger in the closet, and went downstairs to have coffee and eat breakfast.

  Chapter 7

  “I would like to call the first witness,” the Prosecutor said, “Mrs. Margaret Smith, the defendant’s wife.”

  The moment the prosecutor spoke, John heard steps on the stairs; someone was walking up. He was sitting on the chair in the middle of his wooden cage, looking in the direction the sound was coming from. There she was. Margaret. She walked up, the Prosecutor pointed at her seat, half-way between the judges and John, and she sat down; her husband’s cage behind her. John got up and leaned on th
e cage’s bars to hear better. He licked his lips. He was thirsty.

  “Would you please introduce yourself?” the Prosecutor asked.

  “My name is Margaret Smith; I’ve been John’s wife for seventeen years.”

  “Can you tell us about the beginnings of your relationship?”

  “I met John when I wanted to buy a second-hand car. He was a salesperson at the dealership I chose.”

  “How old were you then?”

  “I was twenty-five, and he was twenty-six.”

  John took a sip of water and put the mug down on the ground. The sound of the object touching the floor echoed and bounced off the walls.

  “How did you become romantically involved?”

  “John sold me the car. I remember it was a red Chevrolet, and about three weeks later, he called me and asked me out. I mean, at first he asked me how the car was doing; I thought he was simply concerned as a salesman, but it was just a pretext, he wanted to ask me out.”

  “Did you agree without any hesitation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even though he lied to you as a salesman?”

  Margaret licked her lips and answered quietly, “Yes.”

  “Your honor, I would like to show you a car workshop bill Margaret Allen paid only two weeks after she had bought the car,” the Prosecutor took out a piece of paper from a black leather file he got from under his robes. “It’s been copied three times for all judges,” he added. The three of them started examining the document thoroughly. “It states that the car’s gas pedal sank in, that there was not enough fluid in the cooling system, and that the odometer was falsified. Did you try to get a refund from the dealer once you paid your bill?”

  “I did, but I got nothing. The manager told me the car was sold as a special offer, and such offers were treated as a“take it or leave it” thing. It was cheaper, but I had no warranty.”

  The woman judge looked at John sitting in his cage behind Margaret.

  “Why did you lie about the car’s condition, Mr. Smith?”

  John swallowed loudly, sighed, and licked his lips. He thought he would have given anything for a cigarette. He looked at her.

  “Because—”

  “Get up when you talk to us,” the man sitting on the main judge’s right side said, “show respect to the institution.”

  John obediently got up. “Because I wanted to make the sale.”

  “But it wasn’t honest,” the Prosecutor said, looking at him.

  “The company demanded a certain effectiveness from us, and, we were working mostly on a commission. But I wasn’t the only one who acted like this.”

  “We’re talking about you, Mr. Smith,” the woman judge said, “you are the only person we have any interest in at the moment.”

  “I just want you to see the bigger picture.”

  “And I just want you to sit back in your chair, Mr. Smith,” the judge on the left said. John sat down.

  “Why did you decide to meet Mr. Smith even though, at that time, you already knew he wasn’t an honest person?” the Prosecutor asked Margaret.

  “I was twenty-five, and single, with a 3-year-old son. He was handsome, interested, and had a steady job. Any other woman in my place would have done the same.”

  “Did Mr. Smith know you had a son?”

  “Yes. When I came to buy the car, I came with Mickey. I had nobody to leave him with.”

  “How did your relationship evolve?”

  “We had been dating for six months when I got pregnant. John wasn’t happy about it, but we decided to get married. I’ll be honest, I was pushing him towards the decision, because I knew how difficult single mother’s life is, I didn’t want to be left alone having two kids to handle on my own.”

  “Did you suspect Mr. Smith was going to leave you should the circumstances were different?”

  “I knew he would. I had a feeling he had problems with commitment.”

  “And yet you pushed him to marry you?”

  “Yes. Like I said I was afraid of being alone. I’m pretty sure many women have made and are making similar mistakes all around the world.”

  “What happened next?”

  “We got married when I was four months pregnant, about a year after we’d started dating.”

  “But Mickey is your only child.”

  “Yes. The baby I carried in my womb died when I was six months pregnant. The doctors weren’t able to explain why it happened. It – it just did.” Margaret sniffed and dried her eyes with her palm. “I was told I had to give birth to the dead baby. I was taken to the hospital and given oxytocin. No woman should ever go through anything like that,” she cried quietly, “especially alone.”

  “Where were you then, Mr. Smith?” The Prosecutor turned around and asked John.

  John got up, looked at him, and at the judges, licked his lips, and said, “At a party.”

  The crowd listening to Margaret’s testimony groaned. A few apples and eggs fell on the wooden platform where the trial was taking place.

  “Silence!” The woman judge used the gavel. “Silence, or I shall have you all leave this place!” Within a few seconds no sound was heard above them.

  “What party?” the Prosecutor continued the questioning.

  “A friend at the dealership was retiring,” John said quietly, “it was something that was planned for weeks, a surprise party.”

  “Are you saying you chose a pre-planned party over the unexpected, yet scheduled birth of your dead child?” the woman judge asked.

  John looked at her, looked at the prosecutor, and then finally looked at Margaret. Even though he was able to see only her back, he knew what the look on her face was. It was that mixture of failure, disappointment, detest, sadness. Her specialty. The look he hated, the look that made him find her repulsive.

  “We’re waiting,” the prosecutor said.

  “Yes,” John sighed. “I realize what it sort of looks like, but the friend who was retiring, he was the person who had helped me get the job, he was my teacher, and somebody who taught me everything about sales. I mean, I thought I was only going to be there for a drink and then go to the hospital, but I lost track of time,” he said, leaning on the bars and closed his eyes.

  “Did you understand what your wife was going through while you were partying?” the prosecutor asked.

  “Y-yes.”

  The swoosh of voices was once again heard above them; some of the spectators were booing, others were commenting on what they had just heard, forcing the woman judge to silence them again.

  “Mr. Smith, how was it possible that you chose a party with your friends from work over being with your wife and supporting her while sharing the most horrifying experience parents can face?” she asked looking at him.

  “I-I guess I was afraid of going through it all. I think it was my way of dealing with the situation.”

  John saw one of the judges shaking his head in disbelief and felt his pulse skyrocket; he knew, deep down in his guts, his situation wasn’t good, and that it was, actually, becoming worse. He rubbed his head and tried his best to stay focused.

  “Mrs. Smith, what happened next? Marriage-wise,” the prosecutor continued.

  “John picked me up from hospital, and he hugged me once and we never talked about it again. I decided I didn’t want to have any more kids; he agreed, and that was it.”

  “Would you describe your marriage as happy?”

  “The first five minutes of it perhaps, yes,” Margaret scoffed and discreetly cleared her nose.

  “When did the situation change?”

  “Things have never been perfect, but about five years after we got married, he got the job as this travel organizer and he met new people, became a very social person. I mean he has always been social, but once the travelling thing started, he was practically never home. There were parties, meetings, seminars, courses, trainings, travels, friends, clients, colleagues, contractors, subcontractors, you name it. I was practically alone a
ll the time.”

  “How many times have I asked you to come with me, Margaret? How many times have I asked you to join me, travel with me, go to a party with me? You always preferred staying at home. What, was I supposed to give up my normal, socially healthy life over sitting at home with you, always miserable, usually drinking, full of complaints, unsure of yourself? Was I supposed to let you suck the life out of me, too?” John asked loudly. “You’re the one who decided to let me go, Margaret, not the other way around! You let me go, because you stopped trying!”

  “Is that true?” the woman judge asked.

  “No, not at first. You see, I have always had a steady, normal job. I worked as a shop assistant in a boutique in a department store. It was an everyday job, twice a month I also spent weekends there. It was dull, but stable. And apart from me, there was also Mickey, who needed stability. He was about nine years old when John got the job which, apart from everything else, has always been the source of fun. At first I thought it was wonderful, a great solution to our different lifestyles. But the truth is, he lost it. He lost control. I was simply too tired to go out with him that much, the baby sitter cost a lot, too, so after a while I just decided to stay home and give Mick the stability of having a parent around. I mean, I was the one to prepare dinner, make sure my boy did his homework, clean the house, and I had to combine it all with my work. John,” she sobbed and quickly dried her eyes with her hand, “he kept on repeating he was working, trying his best to support us, but he was mostly having fun. Not once did he resign from a party at work, not once did he come back home earlier to spend more time with us. He wasn’t expected to travel with his clients, but he never declined. I taught Mickey how to ride a bicycle, I was the one to watch his school plays and his basketball games. Christ,” she sniffed loudly, “I was a married single mother. I have always been.”

  Margaret hid her face in her palms and bent her head. She was silent, but her shoulders were moving, indicating she was sobbing quietly.

  “How about asking her about the drinking problem?” John asked suddenly and got up from his wooden chair. Margaret turned around and looked at him. Her mascara had melted a bit, her eyes were red and a little swollen. John knew immediately he surprised her, that she wasn’t expecting any complications during this sick, spectacle of a trial they were all holding against him. The feeling made him smile. What’s the matter, honey, suddenly you’re somehow short of arguments against me?