Fault Lines. Nicolas Billon

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СКАЧАТЬ ginger ale every time you’re out. So I made him promise me to start drinking – just a little bit, you know, to loosen up. Alcohol, after all, is the fuel of spontaneous combustion, right?

       Takes a long drag from her cigarette.

      Boom.

       Judith smiles.

      On the plus side, having a boyfriend who doesn’t drink means there’s no argument about the designated driver. But. But. There is a significant lack, a significant absence, a significant dearth of something very important: drunk sex. Sure, it can work if only I’m hammered, but let’s say there’s a certain abandon that comes when both partners are drunk.

      Because what would happen is, we’d come home, I’d be three sheets, my hands are practically down his pants, I am, as they say, I am throwing myself at him, I am begging him to let me do certain things, I am implying in no uncertain terms that he can have his way with me, and he, he takes me by the wrists and says, ‘You are drunk.’

      This is what I get for marrying a scientist. Such keen observations! To point something out that, clearly, must have escaped my notice … It’s a little bit like the non-smokers out there. I mean, thank you.

      But I’m not about to be brushed off like that – okay, sure, we can play hard to get, and if I’m not exactly subtle when I’m sober, when I’m liquored up I make Louis C. K. sound like a Sunday sermon. He’s all, ‘Okay, let’s get you to sleep,’ blah di blah blah blah. I say, ‘Fuck! Me!’ because I am not letting him off the hook, I am working my magic …

       Wiggles her fingers.

      … and finally he relents, ‘Okay, okay!’ and he takes me up to the bedroom …

       Judith rolls her eyes.

      … and I can’t get my clothes off fast enough, he’s fucking folding his laundry, whatever, we get into bed and he …

       She laughs.

      He … he goes down on me.

      Now normally, I wouldn’t object, but COME THE FUCK ON. I don’t want to be romanced, I don’t want to be wooed, I want to be fucked, okay?

       Judith sighs.

      I only tell this story to illustrate a point about Jonathan and me. Which I’ve forgotten.

       Takes a long drag on her cigarette.

      So this is how I punish him. My petty little revenge. He knows what I’m doing. He’s got a bloodhound’s sense of smell.

       She takes a last drag on her cigarette then puts it out.

      Okay. I feel a little bit better.

      The only time he tries, he attempts to communicate is to talk to me about ice. Ice. Or Greenland. Who gives a shit?

       Judith shakes her head.

      I am being, as my sister would say, ungenerous at the moment. And I suppose, yes, there is some truth to that.

      I have one memory about Greenland. My sister and I had a subscription to National Geographic – it was our dad’s idea – and one day, I guess I was about nine and my sister was about Tanya’s age, thirteen–fourteen, an issue came in and on the cover was a picture of this mummified child they’d found in Greenland. We were terrified. Neither of us would even touch the damn magazine. I had nightmares, okay? It was the creepiest thing I’d ever seen. My dad was so upset he wrote to National Geographic and cancelled our subscription.

      I’m sure that’s why I want to be cremated. I don’t ever want to look like that.

      She takes out another cigarette, but doesn’t light it.

      Let me explain something to you. I’m a working actor, and that’s no small feat. The ‘working’ part. But take a good look at me and ask yourself, ‘Is this a Juliet?’ and the answer is … no, of course not, I’m not pretty enough, you see? I am what is referred to as a character actor, which is the polite way of saying I’m technically proficient but I don’t make teenage boys come in their pants. Fair. But I can be the best friend, I won’t threaten anyone, yes? I can play the Shakespearean bawds. But my name will never go above the title.

       She smiles.

      Jonathan and I started dating when I was twenty-nine. And today, I might ask myself, ‘How did you ever fall for this man?’ But back then, my thirties were just up ahead, looming on the horizon, louring … Two things happened: first, I realized that if I wanted more than half-hearted fuck friendships with other character actors, I needed to start looking for a relationship. And second – ladies? – my ovaries were aching in a vicious kind of way. I mean, by that point I was spending lots of time with my niece and nephew, and my sister kept telling me, ‘Children are wonderful, children will change your life,’ blah blah blah. So she introduces me to her husband’s friend, Dr. Jonathan Fahey, a leading expert in glaciology – so says Google. And, okay, he’s maybe not the guy I’d pick out in a lineup, but then again …

       Points at her own face.

      And he’s lovely, he’s reliable, he’s good with the twins, they love him, he wants a family, he’s stable, everyone’s like, ‘He’s such a great guy,’ yadda yadda yadda … So the sex isn’t earth-shattering …

       Judith shrugs.

      After all – and I’m quoting him here – ‘hedonism is the purview of our twenties.’

      I mean … ‘purview?’

      There are days when I wonder what he saw in me. I think I was exotic. Artsy. Maybe the one thing we have in common is that we have no idea what the other one does for a living.

      I marry him because I will finally have some stability in my life. We buy a house, fix it up, I start to ‘nest.’ I talk to my menstrual blood, I make promises: ‘It won’t be long now.’

      And then, my sister and her husband are driving home one evening and they’re about to go under an overpass when – for absolutely no good reason – a giant piece of the overpass cracks off and crushes them both.

      Boom.

      And it’s tragic because – well, yes, because they’re dead – but also because no one dies like that. That’s how the Road Runner dies, okay? It’s a fucking cartoon death. People don’t die like that, right? Wrong.

       Judith lights the cigarette.

      It’s the coyote that dies. Not the Road Runner. The Road Runner always gets away …

      Meep meep.

       Takes a long drag from her cigarette.

      Of course we adopt Tanya and Thomas. Of course. Jonathan loves them, they love him, it’s easy. Well, as easy as it can be under the circumstances. СКАЧАТЬ