{"id":2265,"date":"2012-02-01T08:06:45","date_gmt":"2012-02-01T13:06:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.gadflyonline.com\/wpblog\/?p=2265"},"modified":"2012-07-15T20:11:06","modified_gmt":"2012-07-16T00:11:06","slug":"something-stronger-by-marissa-fox","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/something-stronger-by-marissa-fox\/","title":{"rendered":"Something Stronger by Marissa Fox"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, could you say your name for me again, please?\u201d Mr. Grossman asked, not looking up from unscrewing the cork. It came loose with a pop and she watched the air escape for a moment before she answered.<\/p>\n

\u201cRaimy,\u201d she said. She watched more carefully than he did as he poured the wine in her glass. The bottle from her and Chuck sat idly on the counter, looking pale behind its label. The red, Mr. Grossman had said, would go better with the meal.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne more time, please.\u201d Mr. Grossman filled his wife\u2019s glass before moving on to Chuck\u2019s and his own.<\/p>\n

\u201cRaimy. Rye-me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRaimy,\u201d he nodded, still not saying it right, drawing out the \u201cA\u201d like he would in \u201cframe\u201d. Mr. Grossman sat down adjacent to her at the four-place setting and lifted his wine glass before taking a drink.<\/p>\n

Raimy glanced next to her at Chuck, who smiled at his new employer and followed suit.\u00a0 Raimy looked past Mr. Grossman to the window, where green curtains had been pulled back to reveal the first snowflakes of the Boston winter. Inside the Grossman\u2019s house was warm and bright, and the candles in the centerpiece smelled a bit like apples, making her hungry.<\/p>\n

Francesca Grossman, Mr. Grossman\u2019s second wife and younger by half, looked at Raimy with interest. She had set the dining room and prepared the meal herself. \u201cNow, where do you get a name like that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFrom a mother or a father, same as any other name.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chuck laughed and took Raimy\u2019s hand while she swallowed down a drink. The wine was too bitter for her taste, as she only ever drank white. \u201cRaimy\u2019s from the Philippines.\u201d<\/p>\n

Francesca nodded, her pearl earrings bobbing in and out of her hair. \u201cI thought you had an accent. Oh, I bet it\u2019s beautiful there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWarm,\u201d Raimy replied, thinking of the Boston cold and how unpleasant it had become to walk from her city apartment to work every day. She was feeling a bit uncomfortable to be sitting in between Chuck and Mr. Grossman at the square, four-person table. Francesca smiled primly directly across from her. Raimy thought of the card games she and Chuck used to play with their friends, and wished she was there.<\/p>\n

\u201cWere you born there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThink you\u2019ll ever head back that direction?\u201d Mr. Grossman asked with sharp eyes. He still wore his suit from work, the shirt buttoned all the way to the top and the tie fastened securely around his neck.<\/p>\n

\u201cHard to say. I am liking it here, so far.\u201d Raimy let go of her glass and touched the pendant at her neck, resting her hand on the swell of her breasts and pressing her fingertips in the points of the butterfly\u2019s wing. It was a habit she found comfort in.<\/p>\n

\u201cChessa\u2019s always wanted to take a trip down that direction,\u201d Mr. Grossman said, placing an arm over the back of his wife\u2019s chair. Between the candles and lights on the bar to his left, Raimy could see much more gray in his hair than brown. \u201cAnywhere you\u2019d suggest?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know of any places you might want to see.\u201d Raimy took a bit more than a sip from her glass. Her stomach was empty and the wine tasted better than the words. \u201cDinner smells good.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Grossman addressed Chuck before anyone could answer her. \u201cTalk to me, Charlie. How was your first week?\u201d<\/p>\n

Chuck\u2019s blush was not difficult to see in the candlelight. Raimy looked at him sideways; she had never heard anyone call him \u2018Charlie\u2019 before.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo business at the table,\u201d Francesca chided in round tones that reminded Raimy of a musical instrument that she had never learned to play. \u201cAnd in France, no one eats before you drink at least one glass of wine together.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d like to go there,\u201d Chuck said and Mr. Grossman laughed with him.<\/p>\n

—–<\/p>\n

The glass of wine before dinner left Raimy\u2019s mouth bitter and her stomach swirling. She hadn\u2019t much of a head for wine and did not drink it often. Her family had never had the money to spare. But around the table were relaxed smiles and easy talk. The meal was good and warm and Raimy wanted to eat, but Francesca kept the conversation going. The snow was falling harder now and Raimy did not mind looking at it through the safety of a window.<\/p>\n

Francesca twisted around to see what Raimy was looking at. She studied the window, looking at her reflection and the snow behind it. \u201cMy family used to ski in the Alps. The snow here is not so fun, I think. Do you ski?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI never have before.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere do you work, Raimy?\u201d Mr. Grossman asked, still careless with her name. Francesca frowned at him around her mouthful, but he shrugged. \u201cIt\u2019s not business; it\u2019s a question.\u201d<\/p>\n

She reached up to touch the butterfly again. \u201cI work at a tile manufacturing plant.\u201d<\/p>\n

Francesca\u2019s pretty eyebrows rose. \u201cA warehouse?\u201d<\/p>\n

Raimy pressed her fingertips harder on the butterfly and gripped her wine glass with the other hand. That was only one of her jobs, the other an early morning slot at a bakery. She had needed to help her mother pay her rent, and now she simply needed to pay her own bills. Much different than Chuck\u2019s job.<\/p>\n

Chuck\u2019s laughter cut over into Raimy\u2019s sentence. \u201cShe\u2019s a secretary. At a tile plant.\u201d<\/p>\n

Patrick nodded politely. \u201cHow long have you two been together?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust over a year,\u201d Raimy answered for them.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh,\u201d Francesca said knowingly. \u201cA lot can happen in a year. The first year is the hardest, I think.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy parents always said the first forty years were the hardest.\u201d Chuck laughed a bit too loud at his own joke and Francesca joined in.<\/p>\n

\u201cFrance has many of the best things, but not all of them. After all, I married American. Think you will, too?\u201d Francesca winked at Raimy.<\/p>\n

Patrick put his hand on his wife\u2019s arm and said, \u201cNot everyone wants to talk about their marriage.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFine, fine.\u201d Francesca sat back in her chair and smiled around the table.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnother bottle?\u201d Mr. Grossman asked, pushing out of his chair when he saw Raimy finish her second glass.<\/p>\n

\u201cSomething stronger, if you have it,\u201d Chuck said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf I have it,\u201d Mr. Grossman repeated with a laugh, striding to the bar.<\/p>\n

—–<\/p>\n

The air was warmer and more comfortable than Raimy could remember in months. Mr. Grossman \u2013 \u201cPatrick!\u201d Francesca told Raimy, \u201cYou<\/em> don\u2019t work for him. Call him Patrick!\u201d \u2013 had removed his tie and undone his top button, but still kept the jacket. Dinner sat discarded in the kitchen, no one bothering themselves with the dishes or leftover food. A decanter, half empty, sat next to Patrick, close enough to Raimy that a careless elbow may knock it off the table. The candles in the centerpiece had burned low, but Raimy could still smell the apples. They laughed, taking turns calling out subjects for the quickest mouth to answer. Politics and film and art and \u2013<\/p>\n

\u201cYour first love,\u201d Francesca laughed. \u201cWhat? We all had one.\u201d She laughed and kissed Patrick\u2019s cheek, leaving a bright pink smudge of lipstick that he didn\u2019t wipe away. She smiled at him. \u201cYou were not mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI married my first love,\u201d Patrick said, looking at the table.<\/p>\n

Francesca winked at Raimy. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t mean me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe<\/em> met on holiday in England,\u201d Francesca recounted fondly, twining her fingers with his. \u201cI was just learning to speak English fluently then. He laughed at my pronunciations. Still does.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were on holiday,\u201d Patrick said. He unhooked their fingers and refilled his tumbler.<\/p>\n

\u201cStop it,\u201d Chuck said, taking Raimy\u2019s hand when she reached for her butterfly again.<\/p>\n

Francesca pouted. \u201cOh, leave her alone.\u201d She peered in interest at Raimy\u2019s chest and fingered the pearl on the long silver chain hanging from her neck. \u201cI think it is pretty.\u201d<\/p>\n

Raimy\u2019s hand went to her necklace, pressing the pads of her fingers into the wingtips again. Her necklace was more than pretty. \u201cIn the Philippines, butterflies are special. They carry the souls of the dead come back to visit the living.\u201d She immediately felt silly, seeing the way Francesca\u2019s lips pressed into a line. Patrick looked hard at her. \u201cIn the Philippines, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy visit?\u201d Francesca asked, gesturing with her glass. \u201cYou are dead, move on.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chuck laughed. Raimy was used to him making light. \u201cSpy on your loved ones, see what they\u2019re up to?\u201d<\/p>\n

Francesca slid up from her chair and picked up a lighter from the bar. \u201cI am tired of dead things.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe don\u2019t smoke in the house,\u201d Patrick said, not looking when she lit up a cigarette anyway and sat back down at the table.<\/p>\n

\u201cEverybody smokes in France. You share a meal together, you smoke together.\u201d She exhaled languidly and broke into a winning smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, we don\u2019t mind,\u201d Chuck waved his hand through the smoke.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey don\u2019t mind,\u201d Francesca shrugged. Patrick didn\u2019t answer his wife, but finished off his glass of wine. Raimy had lost count, but knew they had opened up a third bottle for the women, who both declined the stronger stuff.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, love. Get yourself a cigar.\u201d Francesca stroked the underside of his chin as she pulled him in for a kiss. Then she blew Chuck a kiss in thanks. \u201cGet one for Charles, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t smoke,\u201d Raimy said; Chuck didn\u2019t either. Patrick went behind the bar again, and appeared with two cigars. He stopped to open the window before he sat back down and the cold air pushed against the sweet apple candle.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou used to, didn\u2019t you?\u201d Chuck said, taking the cigar Patrick offered and placing it between his teeth. He looked foolish with it.<\/p>\n

\u201cUsed to, Charlie.\u201d Not since she\u2019d taken a second job three years ago to help her mother pay the rent. She had never called him Charlie before, either, but he winked back at Francesca as though Charlie were the name he had always been known by.<\/p>\n

Francesca laughed and offered her a cigarette anyway, reaching out across the table with slender fingers and bright eyes. Raimy was suddenly aware of her breasts, how much larger they were than Francesca\u2019s, how much more covered. She accepted the cigarette and allowed Francesca to light it for her.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd when will you be getting married?\u201d Francesca\u2019s eyes were a little too bright.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo time soon.\u201d Chuck finished his drink with purpose. \u201cNot me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s ambitious,\u201d Patrick said, looking at Raimy. The heat in her cheeks was not just from the wine.<\/p>\n

\u201cTell me, then, Charlie.\u201d Francesca leaned in close to him, smiling in anticipation. \u201cYour first love.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy college girlfriend. I went home with her for Christmas break once. She had some kind of family. I didn\u2019t miss them after I left.\u201d Raimy tilted her head to the side, trying to listen, wondering why she had never heard this story before. \u201cHer dad worked all day, her mom spent all his money. Went out drinking, left their son at home. They fought all the time, all of them. She didn\u2019t care. We broke up after that. I don\u2019t want that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Francesca scoffed. \u201cNo reason not to get married! Her family doesn\u2019t mean it will be your family.\u201d<\/p>\n

Charlie shook his head. \u201cYou never met the woman. She was obviously just leeching. Getting married got her in America.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am from France,\u201d Francesca defended.<\/p>\n

Charlie pointed a finger at Francesca. \u201cYou could get on just fine if you didn\u2019t get married. This woman had a fifth grade education!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere was she from?\u201d Patrick asked but Raimy wanted to know as well.<\/p>\n

Charlie waved a hand as he thought. \u201cBrazil, Mexico \u2013 I don\u2019t know. She needed him more than he wanted her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Francesca made an offended sound. \u201cNot true. They were still married; he must have wanted something from her just as much.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do want kids, though,\u201d Charlie tried.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe children without the marriage? Good luck, Chuck.\u201d It was the first time all night anyone but Raimy had called him Chuck, and it made Raimy\u2019s stomach turn the way Francesca said it. She found it difficult to pull her eyes away from the way Francesca was leaning slightly towards Charlie.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you, Raimy?\u201d Patrick asked, catching her as she lowered her glass.<\/p>\n

\u201cI want kids,\u201d she answered quickly, trying not to appear lost in herself.<\/p>\n

\u201cI never have,\u201d Francesca answered, and Raimy wanted to point out that no one had asked her. \u201cPatrick says I would make a great mother, but I love myself too much, I think. That, and I do not know if my hips are wide enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t believe any of that,\u201d Charlie interrupted. \u201cI hear it all the time, but I still don\u2019t know what it means.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd your first love, Raimy?\u201d Francesca\u2019s smile turned inward as she answered her own question. \u201cA beautiful young man from before you left the Philippines? Dark eyes and dark skin? Long goodbyes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHis name was Ralph and we met at work. Before I worked at the tile plant. He was from Pennsylvania.\u201d She was thankful now to have accepted the cigarette. It made something useful for her to focus on.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh. My guess was more exciting.\u201d Francesca sipped her wine again. \u201cYou want to get married, though?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d Raimy laughed for the first time all night, and it was not a sound of happiness. \u201cThe marriage before the children. My mother wouldn\u2019t stand for anything else.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere \u2013 you understand. Charlie, take notes. Marriage is the purpose of a man and a woman.\u201d Francesca tapped her husband affectionately. \u201cPatrick liked it so much he did it twice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTwice?\u201d Raimy\u2019s head was cloudy but this seemed important. She touched her butterfly again, the last gift she had before her mother passed away.<\/p>\n

\u201cHis first wife died.\u201d Francesca frowned.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did she die of?\u201d Under the table, Chuck\u2019s hand was on her knee, squeezing too tight, but she had already asked the question and would have asked again, now wondering why Chuck had kept so much from her.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe had cancer,\u201d Francesca answered. \u201cIt was a difficult time. We do not like to speak about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d Chuck offered, touching her hand in sympathy. Patrick poured himself another drink.<\/p>\n

—–<\/p>\n

Raimy sat in the bathroom, breathing deeply. She closed her eyes and sank down, letting her head rest against the cool white back of the toilet. The alcohol was strong. She could still smell apples and now they made her want to vomit, but her gut clenched and she closed her eyes. Behind her eyelids she saw Charlie leaning in closer to Francesca, the way they had been all night, closer and closer together. Her fingers skimmed his arm and she imagined his hand under the table, touching Francesca\u2019s knee much more gently than he had hers. Charlie smiling when Francesca smiled and laughing when she laughed. Their laughter, real and thick, filtered in from beyond the closed door. She imagined them as they kissed and touched and Patrick watched and Raimy wanted to cry.<\/p>\n

The door handle jerked and Raimy opened her eyes, surprised at once to find a bathroom and that she had locked the door. She yanked the door open and turned towards the light of the dining room, embarrassed and inflamed. She needed to be there with Charlie.<\/p>\n

Raimy hit a body in the hallway, tall and warm. She grabbed his arm and pulled him close. She kissed him as she imagined Francesca would, touched him the way she had seen them do. Charlie, she said. Charlie.<\/p>\n

But he didn\u2019t kiss like Charlie and he didn\u2019t touch like Charlie. Strong and desperate touches of a man getting something that isn\u2019t his but that he can\u2019t yet seem to find. He kissed her long and deep and sad. She touched him frantically. It made perfect sense to her. Patrick, she said. Patrick.<\/p>\n

Patrick coughed at the taste of her and wiped his mouth. \u201cI stopped smoking.\u201d<\/p>\n

Raimy grabbed at the bookshelf behind her to stop the spinning world and said the only thing she could manage. \u201cFrancesca seems lovely.\u201d<\/p>\n

Patrick\u2019s voice was quiet and far away. He was looking at her breasts, something Charlie hadn\u2019t done all night. \u201cI was with her for a year before my wife died. No one else was there.\u201d<\/p>\n

He reached out to touch her chest and Raimy pushed herself up to meet him. Who was Charlie? No, not her breasts. Her butterfly.<\/p>\n

Raimy looked at him again and wondered if his eyes had always been blue and, if so, why she hadn\u2019t seen them blue before. They were the only things she saw now. The longer they stood together, smelling of each other\u2019s vodka breath and dinner after-taste, the less perfectly sensible they became. She could taste bitterness when she swallowed.<\/p>\n

Patrick turned and walked away, back towards the dining room and the sound of Francesca\u2019s laughter.<\/p>\n

—–<\/p>\n

Standing outside, Raimy looked up to see Francesca in the window pulling the green curtains shut. Her blonde hair was mussed and Raimy was certain she could see the woman\u2019s nipples through her dress. But the curtain closed and the lights dimmed on her and the ground looked dark even with a mounting layer of snow. They had said their goodbyes quickly, Francesca kissing Charlie on the cheek and Patrick not saying a word. Raimy knew instinctively that she had never met Charlie before tonight.<\/p>\n

It was still snowing but Raimy wasn\u2019t cold. She looked around at Charlie; the snow in his hair made her think of Patrick\u2019s gray. Charlie pulled the door of his car open and gestured half-heartedly. He sounded tired. \u201cGet in.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll walk.\u201d Raimy leaned against the mailbox and the snow melted against the sleeve of her coat, making her shiver.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll freeze.\u201d His tone was empty and dry.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t be driving.\u201d She still felt dizzy.<\/p>\n

\u201cI drive fine.\u201d He looked in the direction of the window, where Raimy had last seen Francesca and her smile and her breasts.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t be driving!\u201d Raimy lurched forward, grabbing Charlie\u2019s arm for balance. She snatched his keys and hurled them away from her, some part of her hoping to hear them crack a window of his car. But she didn\u2019t hear anything and hadn\u2019t looked which direction she\u2019d thrown them in. Charlie yelled something at her and kicked the side panel of his car.<\/p>\n

Raimy turned and walked away, grateful for the first time to find a healthy layer of snow on the ground. So different from home.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, could you say your name for me again, please?\u201d Mr. Grossman asked, not looking up from unscrewing the cork. It came loose with a pop and she watched the air escape for a moment before she answered. \u201cRaimy,\u201d she said. She watched more carefully than he did as he poured the wine in […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":15,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,200,219],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2265"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/15"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2265"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2265\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3213,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2265\/revisions\/3213"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2265"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2265"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2265"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}