Rotten Peaches Page 3

  “How come?” I asked. Janette’s Daytime Reveal was popular prime-time show in the U.S. that showcased familial dirty laundry for all the world to see. I wasn’t a fan but millions of others were and I wondered how JayRay had weaseled his way onto a slot.

  “My half-sister. She’s a big-time author in South Africa.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “South Africa. Bottom of Africa. You know.”

  “Just kidding. Of course I know where it is. But it’s too small to have big-time authors.” I was just trying to get a rise out of him.

  He shook his head. “She’s huge in the U.S. of A. She wrote a version of Eat, Pray, Love, called Bake Your Way to Happiness and it sold millions. Hers is more of a cookbook than Eat, Pray, Love; she’s got self-help strategies with recipes. You record your emotions and shit like that, and then you have to give the pie, or whatever you baked, to someone in need or someone sad, or share it with a friend, or some bonding crap. All that girlie feel-good shit, but a lot of folks loved it. After that she wrote another one, Bake Your Way to Good Health and it had exercises and fitness tips and healthy recipes. And then she did Bake Your Way to Self Esteem, Bake Your Way to a Happy Family, and Bake Your Way into a Fulfilling Marriage and she’s got a new one coming out next year, Bake Your Way to Mr. Right. It’s all on her website.”

  In spite of my reluctance to let myself enjoy being with JayRay, I laughed. “The world is such a mark,” I said.

  “Yeah. Thank god. Anyway, she is worth millions and she’s my ticket, baby, she’s my way out.”

  “How come?”

  “Because we’re blood relatives! Family should share the love! I’m entitled. You’d think she’d be happy to find out she’s got a half-brother. The only problem is she won’t acknowledge me. Won’t pick up phone calls, won’t reply to emails, not even real fucking handwritten letters, nothing gets a response. But I got Janette to invite her onto daytime TV. Her name’s Bernice. She thinks the show is to promote Bake Your Way to Mr. Right, but actually, it’s to reveal that this big-time author doesn’t give a shit about her own flesh and blood and, so, we’ll expose her for the hypocrite she really is. The downside is that the show’s a whole year from now. I just got confirmation today. That’s how long the lineup is, to get onto Janette’s show, plus we have to wait for Bernice’s new book to come out.”

  I was mildly curious. “How did you get to Janette?”

  “A buddy of mine made a video of me. It’s the only way to pitch Janette and get in. She wants to see your live camera charisma and I nailed it.”

  “You and Janette are lying to Bernice, telling her it’s for the book, and then you’re going to shame her? Like that’s going to make her love you,” I snorted, finishing my drink and pointing to the glass.

  JayRay waved the waiter over. “I’m going to help her sell even more books. She’ll owe me. You can’t buy this kind of publicity and I’m giving it to her on a stick.”

  “Bring another bowl of cherries,” I told the waiter who took our order.

  “A year’s a long time to wait,” I said.

  “I know. But it is what it is. Anyway, patience and timing are tools of our trade, not so? Patience is a saleman’s best friend. A year from now, I will be on TV. I will never come back! I am not telling anyone, only you.”

  “Why me? How did I get so lucky?”

  “You didn’t want to fuck,” he said and he sounded gloomy. “Fucking you would have defused the need for conversation, but no, you wanted to talk, so here I am, telling you all my shit. Don’t tell anybody. Oh fuck, whatever, tell people, who cares? But no wait, you can’t. Bernice might get wind of it and not show up.”

  His eyes were filled with the enormity of his mistake and before I knew what I was doing, I took his hands in mine and oh shit, talk about an electric shot to the crotch.

  I snatched my hands away and grabbed my fresh drink. I swallowed half in one gulp. Getting wasted wasn’t a good idea, but I couldn’t get off this train. “I won’t tell anybody. I swear to god I won’t.” I tried to forget how good it felt to touch him.

  “I believe you. I haven’t told my boss either. No one. It could all mean jack squat but I have to try, you know? This trade show shit, it’s getting old, man.”

  “How long have you been doing it?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno, like five, six years? You?”

  “Eight years. I started after I had kids. I couldn’t stay home. I nearly lost my mind. And I have a genius mind, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Maybe so but you talk like a trucker.”

  “To annoy my mother. I practiced talking like a redneck to piss her off. Now it’s my way, although I do try to tone it down when I’m home with my kids. But I’m the brains behind Ralphie’s SuperBeauty line.”

  He raised an eyebrow and I couldn’t help myself, I had to show off, just a bit.

  “People want to see immediate results, right? They don’t care if the effects are permanent, as long as they look in the mirror and see a younger-looking face staring back. The trick is moisture. That’s all. Plain and simple. But you need penetration enhancers to help drive the chemicals deep into the skin. Most moisturizers sit on the surface, and the skin doesn’t look refreshed. But add a careful combination of chosen ingredients and voilá, you have a product that makes the skin look younger nearly immediately, even if it doesn’t last beyond the next application. And that is what keeps them coming back for more.”

  “Aren’t you giving away company secrets?” JayRay asked and I smiled.

  “I’m not worried. You wouldn’t know butylene glycol from bisabolol, would you now?”

  He shook his head. I didn’t add that we mixed the creams in Mexico and that Ralphie’s brother-in-law brought them into the U.S. by the truckload. No one ever had cause to tally the percentages against the ingredients listed, which was a good thing for Ralph and me because, to put it mildly, they weren’t kosher. Which was why Ralph let me get away with the crap I pulled, like causing shit at work and being off the radar at shows. I created the formula and we were in it together. Ralph had been amazed by my results; sales quadrupled in a matter of weeks. I took Ralph’s mediocre but admittedly safe face creams, pumped them full of crap, and the results were astounding.

  Selling was a walk in the park. All I had to do was apply a small amount of formula to a woman’s face and tell her to walk around for ten minutes and check the results in the mirror. As sure as bears fucked in the woods, the women would rush back, panting to buy a stash of the miracle cream and sure, why not get into the business by selling it to friends and family too?

  Of course, when Dave asked me why I didn’t use the product that I spent so much time selling, I didn’t tell him the truth. Dave’s the kind of guy who’d call the cops, wife or not.

  I polished off my drink and JayRay called for another.

  “Are you drinking with me or just watching me get drunk?” I asked with suspicion and he shot me that killer smile.

  “I’m staying sober enough to carry you home. We’re on again tomorrow for one last day in case you’ve forgotten. How many kids do you have?”

  “Two. Two girls. Madeleine and Mackenzie. Kenzie’s ten and Maddie’s eight.”

  “You gotta thing for M’s?” JayRay said and I swatted his hand before I remembered the dangers of touching him.

  “How’d you get to be so fucking sexy?” I asked, trying to poke a pin in the elephant in the room and thereby deflate it. Actually, elephants weren’t helping. I tried to imagine a tiny mouse instead. A grey mouse. A floppy flaccid dead mouse.

  “Just born with it,” JayRay sighed. “But it hasn’t gotten me what I want. I want real money, baby. I want massages and spas in my house. I want an indoor swimming pool. I want my own chef. I want a warehouse of cars and bikes. I want to lie on a beach all day and play poker all night. And my so-called
good looks haven’t landed me anything but this endless fucking roadshow of signing up kids and old folk to be pretend-cops. There you go, that’s what it’s worth, my good looks.”

  “Why don’t you model? Calvin Klein, brands like that? I could see you on a billboard in your tighty-whities.”

  “I don’t shoot well,” JayRay sounded mournful. “For some reason, the camera hates me. Fucking hates me. No one can make me look good.”

  I looked doubtful but he shook his head and pulled out his phone. “Look,” he said, handing it over and I scrolled through a bunch of images. Professionally shot yes, but as boring as hell. The animal magnetism had left the building. Instead, JayRay was a Halloween dress-up of an eighties hair band.

  I handed the phone back to him without comment.

  “You see?” he said and I nodded. “I tried a bunch of photographers. But I’ll be a supernova on TV, the video showed it. Hollywood will come knocking, I’ll have it made!”

  “Yeah, you’ll knock ’em dead,” I said, feeling the quick pinch of jealousy with a question mark to self. What did I care?

  “I’m nervous about it,” he admitted. He studied his hands. “Look at me, sweaty palms even thinking about it. Disgusting.”

  Sweaty or not, I wanted to take his hands in mine but I finished my drink instead. “I gotta go.” I got to my feet and I swayed like a willow tree in a storm. Getting plastered in six-inch heels wasn’t a great idea.

  JayRay stood up. “I’ll see you to your hotel.”

  “You may well have to carry me,” I joked, but I managed to walk, holding myself stiffly upright. I allowed myself to hang onto JayRay’s arm and I desperately tried not to feel those shapely sculpted biceps under my fingertips.

  “I’m in the Howard Johnson,” I said and JayRay navigated me across the parking lot.

  Neither of us said a word.

  He got into the elevator with me and I watched the doors close with a sense of inevitability.

  The floral carpet shouted harsh accusations on the way to my room but I ignored it, inserted my keycard and opened the door. I turned to look at JayRay. “One night?” I said and he nodded. “What the fuck,” I said. “I deserve a little treat now and then.”

  “Nothing little about it, baby,” JayRay said and he somehow managed to put his tongue in my mouth, maneuver us to the bed, and kick the door shut behind us.

  ***

  And now I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, watching JayRay’s big moment on prime-time TV. We’re back at the Las Vegas Southwestern Women’s Expo and it’s our one-year anniversary.

  I’ve done the unthinkable. I closed my booth early and left for the day. If Ralph found out, he’d kill me. But my numbers are fine and this is an emergency.

  I wonder if I’ll see JayRay again, once he’s embraced by fame and fortune. I don’t believe for a moment that Bernice will prove to be a pot of gold at the end of his rainbow but I’m confident he’ll be nabbed for a reality show or TV series. I have every faith in his ability to come out a winner, I’ve seen him in action. My heart is heavy and I’m still annoyed by how excited he is at the prospect of making his world debut, particularly after we’ve been together this long. I should be enough to fill his world.

  I have never understood the chemistry of addiction, despite studying the molecules and the math. But I do now. I’m addicted to him. Hillbilly heroin has nothing on my need for him and the whole thing is a clusterfuck of enormous proportions, two freight trains of need and desire heading bullseye towards certain catastrophe.

  JayRay and I were inseparable after that first night. At least, in private. He texted me constantly whenever we couldn’t be together and if I didn’t have that contact, I would have lost my mind.

  My world has become one cliché after another. I sounded like a fucking Harlequin romance novel instead of a scientist with a loving husband, a happy marriage, and two good kids. The scientist part was true anyway. As for the rest, maybe it had always been a lie.

  But real love, as I had discovered, is nothing more than the worst kind of torture. When I watched him talk to other women, a feral beast gnawed at my gut. Not being able to wrap myself around him the minute I saw him, to have to hold back, to pretend to Dave and the kids that life hadn’t changed, the whole charade killed me. Standing behind my display and advising would-be beauty advisors on how best to sell and market their product was sheer hell. All I wanted was JayRay, in my arms and in my bed. From zero to the speed of light in a matter of hours. Hell, I fell into the black hole of unquenchable love and lust that first night we were together.

  The first morning we woke up together, we rolled towards one another, noses nearly touching. I didn’t try to play it cool; he knew how I felt and I knew it was the same for him.

  “It’s like I’m fifteen,” JayRay said. He took my hand and held it to his chest. “Feel what you do to my heart.”

  “How old are you anyway?” I asked.

  “Twenty eight. Nearly twenty-nine. You?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “Hey, Leo?”

  “What?

  “This is the real deal.”

  “I know.”

  We lay like that until the snooze button on my phone rang church bells and I snapped it off. “Up and at ’em,” JayRay said.

  “We’ve got time for one more,” I said, and I reached for him.

  The first time I had to leave him, I could hardly stand it.

  “You have to look on the bright side,” he’d said. “We’ve got each other now. We never had that before. I’m the secret happiness in your heart and you’re mine.” I realized then that I had watched him for some time, even although I had pretended to myself that I hadn’t, and it was clear that he had been watching me too. Yeah baby, your shoes belong under my bed and don’t you ever forget it.

  I didn’t want to be a secret. I didn’t want him to be a secret. I knew it was insane, how fast it happened, but he was the crazy happiness my whole life had been searching for. I just hadn’t known it.

  “We have to keep it under wraps for now. Trust me baby,” he told me repeatedly. “Things will be different once we nail Bernice. She’s going to have to play happy families. She’ll have no choice since that’s what she pretends to be all about. Then I’ll get her to pay me to exit her life or we’ll get her farm. Whatever, I’ll make it work, and I’ll play it by ear.” You have to stay in character for now. We both have to.”

  I understood, and I managed to somehow make it through the times we were apart. But it wasn’t easy. Dave noticed the change in me, of course he did. He said I seemed distant. And after a few months, when I got home from a trip, Kenzie followed me around. “Are you sick, Mommy?” she asked and I said “No baby, I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.” And I helped her make me lemon tea with honey.

  And then I got back with JayRay and the broken shards of my heart slid back into their rightful place.

  And now it is the moment we’ve been waiting for all year. I settle myself on the bed to watch it unfold. I want him to succeed but at the same time, I don’t.

  Janette makes her entrance with her usual song and dance and the crowd goes nuts. She lets them roar for a while, finally soothes them with a queenly hand. “Today,” she announces, “we have a wonderful show lined up for you! Celebrated author, Bernice Van Coller, who has written a series on baking your way to a better life, has recently released her new book, Bake Your Way to Mr. Right and she will be joining us!”

  Another roar from the crowd as Bernice walks onto the stage and I crane forward to look at her. I had studied pictures of her online to the point where Dave had caught me and he asked me why I was suddenly so interested in baking, when, to that point, I had shown little aptitude and even less interest.

  “Someone mentioned her to me at a show,” I said, which wasn’t exactly an untruth. “I thought it might be n
ice for me and the girls to do some baking together.” That got Dave all excited and he sat down and started searching for Bernice’s books, which wasn’t what I had in mind.

  “She looks like a skinny grasshopper,” he said of Bernice. “You think she’d take her own advice and eat something.”

  Dave caught me off guard when he ordered a copy of Bake Your Way to a Better Marriage and I looked at him warily.

  “Something you want to tell me?” I asked and a part of me was hopeful. End it, Dave, set me free. I’ll run to JayRay and I won’t have to pretend any more.

  “Nope. Except that why not? We could use a bit of fun, you and me. And the girls can help. Look, there’s a chapter for families: ‘The Family Who Bakes Together Stays Together.’”

  “Sure,” I said. “Sure.”

  “The book will be here by the time you get back from your next trip. Give us something to look forward to.”

  He was happy with his plan and I nodded, trying to look enthusiastic and not wanting to think about life post-Vegas, which could mean life without JayRay. And, upon my return, the calendar had me stationed at home base for a mind-blowing two weeks before I would be able to hit the road again. I had no idea how I would manage.

  “Because,” I say out loud to Janette on the television screen, who is still introducing Bernice, “JayRay might leave me and hook up with Bernice by the time the show is over. Not in any biblical sense, although I wouldn’t put anything past JayRay if it means closing the deal.”

  I focus on the TV. Bernice is talking. “Ja,” she says, and her voice is sweet and girly and upmarket South African. She rolls her r’s thickly but she articulates with precision. I bet she went to an expensive school. “My books are definitely a mix of self-help and cooking, which go hand-in-hand very nicely.”

  “Speaking of hand-in-hand,” Janette quips, “is there a Mr. Right in your life?”

  Bernice blushes and adjusts her bony body, which is more praying mantis than grasshopper, since even grasshoppers have more meat on their bones. “Well,” she titters and her face flushes an unflattering red-grey meaty colour, “I cannot say for certain. There is a current romance, ja, but whether or not he will become my forever Mr. Right, has yet to be seen.”