Dirge: A Novel

1

Too much is never enough.

I lie in the darkness, her light brown hair smoothed over my shoulder, the music from the bar still echoing through my skull.

The fruity smell of her perfume lingers in the air. I stroke my fingernails over the knobs of her spine. She doesn’t wake. Who are you? Who are you, really? I push the sheets off my naked body and move to the end of the bed. Across the room a digital clock tells the time—2:47 a.m. Not a wink of sleep. The last embers of drunkenness wearing off. I run my hand through my hair and pass it over my face then pull on my pants and shirt and walk to the window.

Headlights carve out paths in the streets below. An occasional person ambles up the sidewalk. Hazy clouds drift back and forth before dull stars and a slice of moon. The faint sound of an ambulance adds a brief soundtrack to the night. Where are you, Lilly? A dull throbbing pounds its way into my brain.

‘What are you doing?’ she says behind me.

‘Nothing,’ I say.

‘Come back to bed.’

I move to the bed and sit beside her. Only hours ago we met in the neon-lit darkness of a bar, two strangers groping in the night to feel something, anything. Isn’t that why I’m here? Or am I trying to forget Lilly, trying to disremember everything about her by burying myself in other women? I don’t know anymore, may never know. What was your name again? I want to say, but suddenly it comes to me like a bullet through the brain—Christine.

‘Why are you dressed?’ she says.

‘Couldn’t sleep.’

‘So just lie here with me.’

You’d think we knew each other…knew anything about each other besides the warmth of our bodies twisting together beneath the bedsheets for a night. I lie on my side and pull her close, my hands sinking into her doughy flesh. This is just another lie among many we tell ourselves. I’m only playing the role that was laid out for me. I play it all day long until I’m finally alone and then I play it some more. Maybe what I’m avoiding is aloneness, I don’t know. Every time I’m by myself I grow restless, like feet are running through my head and I have to follow suit or I’ll go crazy. And soon enough I’m running through the night or scouring the internet for someone to help me escape from the person trying to emerge from within me, that stranger clamoring to be known.

When Christine’s fast asleep, I carefully remove my arms from around her and slide off the bed. I stand over her in the darkness, my long shadow covering her. I wonder who she is for a minute, then realize it doesn’t matter. I was inside her for a brief moment in time, and we’ll have that, but she has secrets she’s trying to keep buried beneath the makeup and perfume and feminine wiles. And maybe I’m trying to hide my own beneath a flashy smile and vetiver cologne and smooth talk.

I reach down and slide the sheets off her body. Take a mental picture. The roundness of her ass, the wideness of her hips, her strong calves. Strands of hair cover her face. I bend down and lick her skin, taste the unique saltiness of her, different than all the others, then I slowly move to the doorway and don’t look back.

Outside I stuff my hands in my pockets, take in the warm autumn air of downtown Poe, Texas. The smell of oil drifts through the air. The sound of a bus’s motor idles. On the other side of the street a cat skulks up the sidewalk, its shining eyes on me, and disappears within the darkness of an alley.

I stand there till a ribbon of sunlight paints the sky a pinkish orange, then I walk to my Cadillac coupe and slide inside, sink into the leather seat, turn on the radio and listen to music on the way to the office.

2

I stride into my office with sunglasses covering my tired eyes, close the door behind me and sink into my ergonomic chair, wake my computer from its sleep.

I surf the internet for about an hour then begin to hear coworkers shuffling up the hallway. I’m so tired I don’t want to talk to anyone. I just want to sit here and wait for the night to fall, when everything takes on a shade of intoxication, when people are looking to escape from their useless lives and drown in the darkness…but I have to take a piss.

I take off my sunglasses and set them on my desk, stroll up the hallway. I pass Dave’s office and hear my name called. I press my lips together and squeeze my eyes shut. Shit. I backpedal till I can see inside his office. He’s talking on the phone, stroking his mustache, a fake smile plastered on his face. He waves me inside.

I walk inside and sit in the chair opposite him.

‘Yeah, let me call you back. I got someone in my office. All right. Have a good one.’ He hangs up the phone and motions toward the door. ‘Close that, will you?’

I reach back and shut it and cross my legs, withhold a sigh.

‘So how’d things work out with that hottie last night?’ He fingers his wedding ring, twisting it around, sliding it up and down. ‘Did you…?’ He raises his eyebrows.

I clear my throat. ‘We had a few drinks, that was it.’

‘You’re so damn modest, Sterling,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘So damn modest. Depending on the day, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘You think if I gave it a shot one night I’d be able to pull a hottie like that?’

‘How would I know?’ I shrug. ‘You’re married anyway.’

He jerks his head back. ‘The hell does that have to do with anything? I’m giving you a hypothetical.’

I have a sudden vision of Dave alone in some corner of his house with a few precious minutes to himself, his tie thrown over his shoulder, furiously beating off to obscure porn. I laugh to myself, try to push it down, but it comes bellowing out.

‘What’s so damned funny?’

‘Nothing.’

He leans forward and places his elbows on the desk. ‘Go on, tell me.’

‘I’m just tired is all.’

He taps his thick fingers on the desk, takes a sip of coffee. ‘You think everything’s a big joke, but your sales numbers are sliding off. Don’t think I’m stupid. I know exactly why. I’m all for a guy having a good time, but you’re out there every night—’

‘It’s not every night.’

He speaks slowly. ‘It’s every damned night.’

‘Because you were with me last night, you automatically assume—’

‘Don’t play dumb with me, okay?’ He gives me a one-cornered smile and taps his temple with his forefinger. ‘I’ve been there before. It’s just when you’re married, you forget…’

‘Forget what?’

‘Whether you still have it.’

An image of Dave in the bar last night flashes through my mind. He stands with his elbow on the bar, a stein of beer in his hand, his belly falling over his belt, his eyes shifting from one woman to the next. When I finally land Christine, he watches us make out from a corner, sipping his beer. Is he jealous or curious? How long has it been since he’s lain down with his wife?

‘If you ever had it, you don’t lose it,’ I say. ‘It just needs polishing every once in a while.’

‘Like my cock,’ he says with a laugh.

Typical chest-puff bullshit. ‘Something like that.’

‘I’m gonna go out there one night with or without you, and I’m gonna get me a blonde.’ He wets his lips. ‘I’ve wanted to taste a blonde for years now.’

I want to say, What about your wife and kids? But I know his mind is already made up. He’s probably been thinking about this for a while. Our Thursday after-work soirees have nothing to do with it. Maybe I’d do the same thing if I were relegated to back-room masturbation and porn surfing. I’ve been in his office when his wife calls to bitch him out—an almost daily occurrence—and have heard him yelling back at her as I left him sitting there to fend for himself. You don’t like any of my suggestions, he’d say. No, you’re a liar. Wait a second here. Just shut up. You’re the liar. I swear his voice becomes more nasally by the day.

‘Are you even listening to me?’

‘Yeah, you’re gonna cheat on your wife,’ I say. ‘I guess it’s not my business, but—’

He smirks. ‘Come here.’ He motions with his forefinger. ‘That stupid bitch…’ He flinches, as if recalling some vile memory. ‘That stupid bitch has been cheating on me for a while.’ His voice cracks. ‘You’re my friend, right?’

A heat rises in my chest. ‘You know I am.’

He clenches his fat fist in a ball. ‘She’s lucky I don’t kill her.’ Puddles of tears gather above his lower eyelids. ‘I’ve gone home during the day, and there’s this boy with her in my bed. I can hear them behind the door, can smell the sex in the air. She picked him up from the gym, I know it…You wanna know something?’

I start to splay my hands but don’t get that far.

‘She was asleep one night, right?’ he says.

‘Right.’

‘I couldn’t sleep, was just lying there staring out the window, wondering whether I’d ever known this bitch, how I’d come to marry this woman in the first place. It all seemed hazy. And then I had the clearest thought. It was just like, pow!’ He spreads his hands as if mimicking an explosion. ‘Clear as day. I’ll kill this bitch.’ He sips his coffee. ‘So I go to the closet and take out the nine-millimeter and grab a pillow and carry it to the bed. I stand over her for what must have been hours, just waiting for her to wake up. For some reason I wanted her to see my face just before I did it, like I know what you did, bitch, you know?’

I don’t say a word, feel as if I’m sinking into the chair.

‘But she never opened her eyes.’ He takes a deep breath and strokes his mustache. ‘So I can compromise with a blonde a night or two a week. We’re just two people living under the same roof anymore. There’s nothing between us. Only time she talks is when she’s bitching.’

I nod.

‘This is between you and me.’

I make the motion of closing a zipper on my lips.

His phone rings. He points to the door. ‘Now get back to work. Make us some damned sales.’

I go back to my office and close the door and sit in my chair, put on the sunglasses. My phone rings. Liz down the hall.

‘Got a minute?’ Her voice is soft and sensual.

‘Sure.’

I stroll up the hallway toward Liz’s office. The door is ajar. I knock lightly.

‘Come in,’ she says.

When I do, she immediately says, ‘Shut the door.’

I close it behind me. She’s sitting on top of the desk, her black-and-silver-striped skirt pulled up to her juicy hips. Her highlighted black hair falls across her rouged cheeks and around the nape of her neck. I approach her and smell the scent of her sex commingled with sandalwood-and-plum perfume.

Her phone rings. She ignores it.

‘Come on,’ she says.

We try to do this once a day. It makes the job bearable. I look at the shining diamond on her ring finger. We barely know each other. Never really talk. Her husband is a pushover, a fat guy with a reedy voice who married her to show her off. I know, I’ve met him. But what does that make me?

My hand slides up her thigh till I’m touching her wetness. No panties. Soon her warmth wraps around me and a soft sigh fills the air. I close my eyes and lose myself inside her.

3

After work, I stop by Pete’s Pub.

I stand in the back, watching the crowd gather, drinking one beer after another. This is the way it’s done. In the darkness. Alone. Nobody to drag you down, to ruin your game. My cell vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and look at an unrecognizable number.

So what’re you doing tonight?

I start to text back then stop myself. Is it Christine? Did I give her my number? Or is it some girl I’ve damn near forgotten trying to reemerge in my life? I erase the message and listen to the music playing on the sound system. Under Your Spell by Desire.

Once it’s crowded enough, I work my way from one woman to the next. Fat, skinny, blonde, brunette, tattooed, nerdy. They’re all a means to an end. By the time I get to the right girl, I’ll be the best conversationalist she’s ever met. Meanwhile, the other guys sit around with baseball caps lowered over their eyes and their dicks in their hands waiting for something to happen. I was never one of those guys. I’d rather step up to bat a thousand times and strike out every last one than sit on the bench watching the game pass me by.

Eventually I’m sitting next to a blonde with shining green eyes shaped like a cat’s. Her cleavage is bursting out of her low-cut shirt. Her name is Fiona.

‘Buy me a drink,’ she says.

‘I don’t buy women drinks, but you can buy me one.’

She tilts her head back and looks me over. ‘You think that’s gonna win me over?’

‘I’m not trying to win you over,’ I say, watching my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. ‘I’m trying to have a good time. Whether you’re a part of that or not is up to you.’

‘If you leave, another guy’ll take your place in that same spot.’

‘He won’t be me.’

‘What’s special about you?’

‘What’s special about you?’ I say. ‘Sure, you look good. But what’s behind those eyes? What’s inside that heart?’ I point my finger at her bosom, my eyes locked on hers. ‘Looks are a dime a dozen.’

‘Then why’re you talking to me?’

‘You were there.’ I shrug. ‘And I’m here. Do I need a better reason than that?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Maybe you’re playing a game you can’t win.’ I touch her wrist. ‘I see a girl who thinks nobody can see past her looks, but I’m looking right through them.’ I lean closer to her. ‘You feel like nobody knows you, like even when you’re with someone you’re alone.’

‘How’d you know?’

‘You’re the type of girl who knows a lot of people, but only has a few close friends.’

‘You’re not from around here, are you?’

‘I am.’ I turn away from her and look around the bar. ‘It was nice talking to you.’

I get up and stroll around the bar, make conversation with one woman after another. Neon signs light up the darkness. Music continues thrumming through the speakers. After a while, I’m sitting on a sofa with a woman on each arm. One young and dumb, glitter sparkling at the corners of her eyes, dark lipstick shading her thick lips. One middle-aged and intelligent, wearing almost no makeup, her almond eyes like stars in the dark.

At the bar, Fiona is talking to a man in a cowboy hat but staring at me. After making out with each woman on my arm for a while, I make my way to the bathroom and take a piss then wash my hands and look at myself in the mirror. Other men piss behind me. They all wish they were me. At least one of them was staring at me out in the bar area, probably wondering what I was saying to each woman as the words left my mouth.

I emerge at the bar and Fiona’s looking right at me. I make a beeline for her.

‘Were you gonna leave me all alone?’ she says.

‘I was thinking about it.’

‘It’s getting a bit late for thought.’

‘You’re right.’

I lean forward and peck her lips then pull away. She follows my lead and I wrap my hand around the nape of her neck and slide my tongue inside her mouth.

4

It’s around 3:00 a.m. when I leave Fiona’s place.

I hop into the Cadillac and drive through the night toward Lilly’s. When I get to her small house on Cedar Avenue, I sit in the car for a while staring at the windows, remembering the times I’d been inside with her in my arms, smelling her flowery scent. Those were the few times in my life when I felt like I had everything, when I didn’t need anything else.

A pain courses through my chest and I step out of the car and take out my cell and stare at the single lit window. I dial her number and she picks up.

‘Hello.’

I say nothing.

‘What is it, Sterling?’ Her voice grows stern.

I press my lips together, searching for words I haven’t said before, but I come up empty.

‘You can’t keep calling me like this.’ A pause. ‘I’ll call the cops…I was sleeping.’

No you weren’t, I think.

‘Aren’t all those other girls enough for you?’ she says, sounding exasperated already.

They don’t mean anything. None of them ever meant a thing. They’re always to forget about you.

‘I’m hanging up if you’re not gonna say anything.’

Don’t hang up. Just let me listen to your voice till morning. Just let me hold you one last time, and I won’t screw it up. I promise.

She sighs and hangs up. I hold the phone to my ear for what must be at least ten minutes, the last notes of her voice still tingling in my ear. What I wouldn’t give to be in her bed with her.

5

When I arrive at my house in the early morning, the first strands of sunlight are stretching across the horizon. Red hues tinge the sky. A musky odor traces through the air.

My house is off by itself in a woodsy area of Poe. It’s a two-story white colonial with oak trees on either side of the yard. The closest house is a few blocks away. I don’t know any of my neighbors, don’t know anyone at all in the neighborhood. To be truthful, I don’t have any friends, just acquaintances, people I see from time to time. But it doesn’t feel like I know them. It’s like we’re all just showing each other the outermost surface of ourselves, hiding whatever’s inside to keep from getting close to each other.

Squirrels traipse through the yard, spinning around, hopping onto the trunks of trees, chirping to each other. A cardinal drifts to the grass for a minute then flaps its wings and wheels away. I stand in the middle of the walkway for a second, lost in a memory. I’m holding Lilly, wanting to tell her I love her, that she’s the only one for me, but it’s like the words are caught in my throat, like if they come up I’ll start choking on them and they won’t seem real. I can see her blue eyes through the dark, waiting for me to say something, anything.

Inside, everything is laid out perfectly. Fashionable paintings hang from the walls. A dark brown leather sectional is situated in the center of the living room. Arabic rugs line the parquet floor. A high-end, high-definition television is mounted onto the wall, a top-of-the-line surround-sound system hooked up to it. Vetiver and lavender scented candles are situated everywhere. Thirty-three years old and all of this is mine. I know friends from high school who still haven’t made it out of bunghole apartments and shitty paying jobs. Too many times to count I’ve had all the candles in here lit and some nameless woman lying naked on my couch, waiting for me to slide inside her. I can almost see an ethereal woman lying there now. Her arms lifted in the air, waiting to hold me. But her image fades.

My stomach