Chapter 3
Bill leaned back in his recliner and let the soft leather push against his skin. He was content, and smiled broadly. Little Billy ran into the room and hugged his father, looking up into his face with eyes filled with wonderment. Bill laughed and set the pipe he was smoking between his teeth, then rustled his son's hair. Thel came out of the kitchen. "Supper's ready, honey!" she said with a smile. God damn, she was sexy in her tight black pants and homey old red sweater. Nothin' sexier than domesticity, Bill thought with a laugh.
"We're havin' roast beast!" Dolly exclaimed. Bill smirked. Another one of her Dollyisms.
"Here comes the airplane!" Thel waved the small spoon about in the air and accentuated her game with P.J. by blowing a raspberry while the small child chortled away.
---
"Shit!" There was a sudden jolt of pain to Bill's temple. His eyes opened by reflex and he groaned from the invasion of sudden light. He was lying on the sidewalk, covered only by a newspaper he'd found in a dumpster last night. A man and a woman looked down at him, obviously concerned.
"Jesus, I didn't see you there, buddy—hey, you're alright, right?" the man looked about nervously and fumbled in his pockets "Look, here's a twenty." The crumpled paper passed between them. "Get yourself something nice to eat; I didn't see you there, guy, Hey, again man, I'm sorry. Your head's alright?" Bill nodded and the man turned to his companion—obviously his girlfriend.
Bill glared at her without meaning to, but out of sheer animal desperation. He needed to feel the touch of a woman. He licked his lips, imagining what it would be like to slide his hands, caked with grime and dirt and funk as they were, up her silky little blouse, to just grab onto those tits and to root around her neck, draped in sweet-smelling auburn hair, covering it in shameless kisses; biting, then ever so gently at her earlobe, bringing his hands down across her belly, lower…
Noticing his perverse leer, she started and looked back awkwardly at him, obviously disgusted but too polite to show it. She grabbed for her boyfriend's hand and the couple walked away briskly. Bill looked down at the 20 dollar bill in his hand. It was more than enough to get him plastered.
---
Thel looked out the window and felt bitterness in her heart. It had been a long time coming, her kicking Bill out. So long pretending to be a happy family. She'd known about his indiscretions and said nothing. What's more, he'd always been lousy in bed. Too over-eager, too quick and to-the-point, no sense of romance or sensuality. They just fucked. She laughed a little to herself. She should look up one of those young girls and swap stories about Bill with them. Doubtless they hated him as much as she did. But she was afraid. What if they got to talking, and she found out he was an excellent lover to them? What if the problem lay with her after all? "That would just be more reason to hate him," she whispered aloud.
Drawing up her legs she felt a pang of guilt. She knew she was neglecting the children, but she couldn't look at them without seeing his features in them. Isn't that why she sent them over to their grandmother's tonight? She couldn't stand the sight of them. She saw the cruelty in it, the monstrousness of a mother who could not bear to acknowledge the fruits of her womb, and yet she couldn't help it. That's why she had known so many men after she kicked Bill out: to forget what he felt like, what he looked like. But she couldn't. She couldn't forget him. Was it because she still loved him? No. The opposite. She felt nothing but a deep-seated hatred for the man who had robbed her of so many years of her life—the hypocrite who expected perfection from her and none from himself. Losing the baby wasn't the problem. It was just the match that lit the keg.
---
Bill shambled along the street, his mouth puckered when he felt the taste of copper on his tongue. What the fuck was wrong with him? Whatever it was, drinking would make him forget. He followed the sound of trashy blues wavering in the air from a distant bar somewhere and held his arms deep against his own chest, jealously guarding the twenty he held crumpled up in a death-grip. He spat at the ground to exorcise the sickness in him and walked on.