Love Square

LOVE SQUARE

'For God's sake, Adam, put the fucking turtle down!'
Adam grinned. The grin seemed to suggest that its owner wasn't aware of
it. His right arm - the arm holding the turtle - reached back again,
like a pitcher about to let fly, and David ducked.
It shouldn't have happened like this. Adam had been riding the edge of
a deep depression for weeks, but David would never have believed things
could have gone this far. Earlier that day, for instance, Adam had
seemed fine. He'd been happy for the first in a long time. He'd driven
round to David's in his red '68 MG with a lottery-winner smile, wearing
a pair of faded denims and a multicoloured Hawaiian shirt that he'd
inherited from one of his work mates at the brewery. The customary
bulge of a Marlboro pack showed in the top pocket. David had been
mowing the lawn, a somehow middle-aged affection that he'd always been
shy admitting to. He'd approached Adam with his own, rather confused
smile. His friend hadn't mentioned he'd be calling round, but then his
visits, like most of his mistakes, almost always stAdamed on a
whim.
'Hey, Adam, how's it going? What're you so happy about?'
Adam had frowned but somehow retained the smile. 'You don't see the sun
smiling? Don't you see this beautiful day?' He'd tipped back his head,
and closed his eyes, savouring what was indeed a beautiful day. 'No,
Dave, 'cause you're wasting it all on your garden.'
David rubbed grass-stained palms against his bare thighs then extended
one. Adam took it. 'You want to come inside for awhile?' David asked.
'Get a drink?'
Adam released David's hand, looked back at his car, then to David
again, 'Why not? I've got to be at the clinic by two.' The shadow of a
frown crossed his brow. 'But why not? A couple of drinks or
four.'
'Just a second.' David disconnected the mower cord from the extension,
and coiled it a couple of times around the mowers bar. 'Go right in,
I'll pack this away.'
Adam nodded, remained still for a few seconds anyway, then said,
'Jesus, David, you really should mow this shit more often.'
David looked up, then - noticing the playful smile - grinned back. 'Up
yours, my friend. Now go get me a mAdamini.'
Adam stuck his thumbs in the loops of his jeans and let a slow,
childish amble take him to the front door. He looked the street up and
down: Big, mock-Tudor houses with lawns like green tongues inclining to
the road. No traffic. No people besides him and David either. Only the
sound of birds, and the grumble of another lawnmower, maybe two. And
God said, let there be lawns so that the rich might have something to
do, Adam thought with a smile, and turned back to the door. He twisted
the polished silver handle, smiled at the anti-canvasser message nailed
below, and entered.
The living room was bright with sun. Framed mirrors lined the walls,
accentuating the light, throwing it in all directions. No dust. A
gentle orchestral piece filtered similarly sunny accompaniment from the
CD player beside the widescreen television. Adam had once joked that
the set must have cost more than the wedding ring he'd bought for
Bridget. David had laughed back, missing the subtext of the joke. He'd
been missing the subtexts of Adam's jokes since 1998, when he'd made
his first million.
Adam shuffled through to the kitchen, not really taking in his
surroundings. Whistling an improvised tune he crouched down, and pulled
open the revolving shelf unit which housed the drinks. He located the
MAdamini, brought it out, selected two different sized glasses from the
adjacent cupboard, and poured both to the brim. Something caught his
attention as he glanced past the white lace which clouded the kitchen
window, and he looked back. A smile lifted at the sight of Catherine -
David's wife - sunbathing topless in the back garden. The plastic
recliner upon which she lay was at the extent of its lowered
inclination. The table beside her didn't seem capable of accommodating
the many varieties of suntan lotion arranged upon it. Her long legs -
so long the heels of her cork espadrilles extended beyond the end of
the recliner - gleamed like waxed oak from their most recent
application. She was wearing a pair of black sunglasses, but the
overall message of her posture was, Adam decided, that of someone who
is asleep. He took the opportunity to register the glistening layer of
oil upon her breasts, the way they swelled and shone with each shallow
breath. Now, now, Adam, he thought. Dave's your best friend.
'How's that drink coming?' David said, stepping up behind him.
Adam snapped his eyes from Catherine' form, fixed a smile on his face.
David didn't notice; his head was covered by a large blue towel, with
which he was palming away sweat.
'Here you go,' Adam said, and handed him the taller glass. David took
it blindly, removed the towel, frowned at the measure, and tipped half
into his throat. Adam used the moments distraction to remove himself to
a position less apt to be linked with topless-wife-watching, and
drained his own glass. He removed the Marlboro reds from the front
pocket of his shirt, plucked one, offered the pack to David then lit
them both with a bic. David took a large circular glass ashtray from
the sink rack where it had been drying and set it on the marbled
surface between them. Both men inhaled, exhaled. David was the first to
speak: 'So, how's it going with the shrink? Made any progress, or does
Bridget still think you're a lying, cheating wanker?'
If Adam harboured any anger at the statement he didn't show it.
'Nought-percent progress. And she's not a shrink, she's a marriage
guidance counsellor. We're both on the couch.'
'How's Bridget coping with being in the same room as you?'
Adam sneered. 'She still doesn't believe me about Eileen. She says if
we split up she's getting ninety percent of what little shit I
currently take home. And I don't get to keep the home, since my name
isn't on the contract. Fucked up a bit there, didn't I? Oh, and she
also says Andrea's going with her.'
'Christ,' A sympathetic frown creased David's forehead. 'What the
hell's that analyst, or whatever, doing to patch things up then?'
'Gui-dance coun-se-llor,' Adam said, and took another drag from his
cigarette. 'As far as I can see she'd a hundred-percent behind the
ninety-percent proposal. She stAdamed telling me I was the one who had
to make the sacrifice. She says, get this, I've got to treat Bridget
like "the remarkable individual she is" . . .' He broke off, and made a
denouncing gesture with his hand. 'Told you I wasn't happy about going
to a woman guidance counsellor. And Bridget refuses point blank to go
to a man.'
'Shame there aren't more hermaphrodite counsellors,' said David, hiding
a smile with his glass.
'Yeah,' said Adam, but he hadn't really heard him. He settled his
almost emptied glass upon the surface beside the ashtray and plucked at
his brow. 'I just don't know, David. I mean, I think I love her, and on
days like this I don't even think it, but she's so bloody -' He made a
circular motion beside his mouth with his cigarette hand.
'Possessive?' David volunteered.
'That's it!' Adam shouted with excessive satisfaction. 'She won't let
me go, won't give me any slack, or head for that matter. She's got me
like one of those stupid baby-walker bungee things we hauled Josie
around in when she was two. Why'd you think I stray when I get the
chance?'
David nodded, reserving himself from total agreement. 'You've got to
understand, after what happened with Lucy -'
'That was three years ago,' Adam sighed. 'At least I can still let her
out of my sight.'
'Take Catherine for example,' David said, aiming his cigarette at the
lace-clouded window. 'If such a thing was to happen to her, god forbid,
if we had another kid say, I think I'd be prepared to allow her a
little need, a few little obsessions.'
'She's not obsessed,' Adam said, unable to conceal the threat in his
voice. 'She's been through a hell of a lot. She's not crazy.' Ash
gathered crookedly at the end of his cigarette.
'I know, I know,' said David. 'I didn't mean -'
The front doorbell gave a harsh, echoing chime.
'Dina,' David said, in response to Adam's questioning frown, and left
the kitchen.
Adam reprised his earlier whistle - softer this time - and twirled his
fingers around the stem of his glass. The ash fell from the end of his
cigarette, and landed with a fizz in the residue of water in the sink.
Adam stared at it, then - since his attention had fallen in that
direction - permitted himself another look at Catherine's semi-naked
form still glowing in the mid-afternoon sun. She had altered her
position on the recliner slightly. Her right arm now lay folded over
her eyes, as though even the sunglasses could not afford sufficient
protection from the glare, and in doing so had pushed the curve of her
right breast higher, accentuating the already prodigious size of the
appendage. Adam licked his lips without being aware of it. The reaction
came out with the seediness it deserved.
'Hello, Mr Elderkin,' said a flat, disinterested voice.
He turned to see Dina - David's daughter - standing in the doorway.
Fourteen going on forty, Adam thought, as he did every time he saw her.
Only her size, the unmarred smoothness of her wide, nondescript face,
the dark frayed ends of a ponytail creeping over her shoulder, and the
clean pressed blue of her school uniform betrayed the fact that this
was, after all, a little girl. 'Hi Dina,' he smiled back, wondering if
she'd caught his appraisal of her mother, then noticed she was holding
something in the crook of her folded arms. 'What the hell's
that?'
She pursed her lips, and raised the object for him to inspect. 'It's
Ralph.'
'Who's Ralph?' he said, backing away.
'He's my turtle,' she proclaimed, as David re-entered the room behind
her.
Adam vented a half-amused, half-derisive snort, and stuffed the
cigarette in his mouth.
'He's not your turtle, honey,' David said, laying a palm upon his
daughters shoulder. 'He belongs to sch -'
'He's my turtle,' Dina repeated, laying the emphasis on 'my' this time.
Again she proffered the creature to Adam, and again Adam backed away.
As if in accordance with the act the creatures head burrowed out of its
shell like some slow, phallic jack-in-the-box. Adam wondered how such
small dark eyes could be capable of sight, let alone intelligence. He
took his own eyes away to concentrate on the cigarettes final gasp of
white paper.
The phone beside David began to ring. Adam could just make out the
shrill, modulated ringing of the other phone in the living room. David
lifted it from its cradle, said 'Yes?' and gave an exclamation of
recognition. He was silent a few seconds, his eyes set on Adam, then he
said, 'Sure, I'll pass you over,' and did so, a puzzled line dividing
his brow. Adam set the cradle on the surface beside him, freed a tangle
in the umbilical, pressed the receiver to his ear, 'Ha-llo?'
'It's me.'
'Bridget?'
'Who else's going to call you up at David's?'
Adam held the phone away from his ear, and frowned at it, like a man
who's just gone to sniff a flower and discovered a bug in the shell.
'What's the problem?' He watched Dina pass between himself and David,
and set the turtle called Ralph with delicate concentration upon the
counter.
The voice on the other end gave a brief, incredulous laugh, and bawled,
'What's the problem? You ask me that? I haven't got time to list you
all the problems . . . I've got to make this brief, so you'd better
listen.'
'I'm listening,' Adam said, and he was. David, judging by the way he
was shuffling closer, seemed eager to listen as well.
'We've got to split up. I'm - I'm going to leave you.'
Adam smiled, and said, 'What?' His voice was amiable, reasonable,
having never heard it put quite like that. David shuffled closer. Dina
was tapping the turtles rear end, trying to elicit movement with
limited success. By the expression on her face, she didn't really
care.
'I'm leaving you, and you heard me the first time. Things have become
too . . . well just too wrong.'
'You can't,' Adam said, struggling with the words. David, upon hearing
this, ceased his advance and took a step back instead. Adam looked up,
his face convoluted with disbelief. Dina said, 'Come on Ralph,' and
gave the turtle another prod.
'I can't. I can't? You have any idea how long that's been true, you
idiot? I can, I am. I have. Josephine's with me.'
'What about our appointment?' Adam said, aware how weak and redundant
it sounded.
'Let me tell you something, Adam. One other thing. One secret in
payment for all the secrets you've kept from me all these years. I did
it just for you.'
'Did what?' Adam asked, wafting David - who had resumed his approach -
away with his free hand. 'What did you do?'
'I did David,' came the amused reply.
Adam laughed, the laugh faded into a smile. The smile faded.
'What?'
'I fucked David.'
David held out his upturned palms, and mimed 'what?'
Adam kept the phone at his ear for a few seconds. Bridget was still
talking, but for him the connection had been lost. His hand began a
slow decent onto the surface.
'What? What's she say?' David demanded. Dina poked Ralph a little
further along the surface; one of his stubby, clawed legs touched
against Adam's fallen hand.
'Move, Ralph,' Dina insisted.
Adam looked down at the creature, registering its presence for the
first time. From the perforated earpiece of the upended phone Bridget's
voice could still be heard, bleating faint but persistent. A smile grew
on Adam's face, but there was no humour in it, it looked like the smile
on a dead man's lips. Staring at David he drew his hand away from the
turtles paw, and knocked the ashtray onto the floor. Chunks of glass
strew across the tiles with a bang that made all of them, apAdam from
Ralph, jump. Adam tucked his fingers beneath the fossilised creatures
belly, and - despite Dina's immediate protestation - lifted it from the
surface. The phone cord still dangled between the fingers of his other
hand.
'Adam, what?' David said, taking an urgent, baffled step back.
'Ralph!' Dina cried, real dismay in her voice. 'Daddy! Ralph!'
Adam's smile betrayed no sign of faltering; his arm lifted up, drew
back, made a brief hiccuping motion forward, then retracted again as
David raised a warding arm, backing towards the kitchen door.
'For God's sake, Adam, put the fucking turtle down!'
Adam grinned. The grin seemed to suggest that its owner wasn't aware of
it. His right arm - the arm holding the turtle - reached back again,
like a bowler about to let fly, and David ducked. The turtle itself
didn't appear too enamoured with the situation: It's mouth was yapping
silently, the small, pink, pointed tongue flickered in then out, as did
its wrinkled head into the shell. Dina was pale with terror. With
intense revulsion, Adam saw that veins were beginning to stand out upon
her forehead.
'Adam, please,' David said, still protecting his face with his arm.
'We've got to take her back to school tomorrow.'
'No, Daddy,' Dina protested. 'Ralph's a he.'
'You bastard!' Adam screamed, his throwing arm quivering. 'You cheating
bastard!'
'What the hell?' David pleaded.
'Sleep with my wife!' Adam concluded, and threw the turtle. The living
projectile hurtled across the kitchen - narrowly missing Dina's head as
she jumped to intercept - and collided with a loud smack against the
left side of David's temple. While he went down, the turtle continued
its trajectory into the wall, and shattered. Dina screamed. She rushed
over, then stood in weeping disarray, unable to decide which pieces to
tend to first, ignoring her father, who's forehead was now creasing
with blood.
Adam emitted a jubilant laugh, more out of the fact he'd hit the
intended target, than out of malice. Even his mother had once told him
he threw like a girl. The phone slipped from his hand. It struck the
lip of the sink, spun, continued its decent, slowed bungee-like by the
coiled wire, and cracked in two, still connected by the tangled
circuitry of its innards. Bridget's voice persisted through the
mouthpiece. Adam stared at the sound for a few seconds, then - seized
with curiosity - reached across to the cradle and hit the 'speaker'
pad.
'. . . you're doing to each other you both fucking deserve it. I mean,
you must really value each others friendship.'
David groaned from his slumped position beside the kitchen door. Dina
was tearfully collecting the shattered portions of her turtle from the
floor around him.
Adam leaned toward the shattered mouthpiece: 'Still there?'
'Of course, you bastard! What'd you cut me off for? I heard screaming.
What have you done to David?'
'I didn't do anything to him,' Adam said. The smile had lost some of
its manic quality, and was now bordering on plain weary. 'It was all
Ralph's fault. He was -' He broke off as a click sounded behind him,
and turned. Catherine stood in the doorway to the garden. The
sunglasses remained fixed across her eyes but the rest of her face
betrayed the concern that was beneath them. The top half of her bikini
had been hastily applied, and lay skewed across her large, oiled bosom.
She took in the situation without moving, then looked at Adam and said,
'What did you do?'
'He threw Ralph!' Dina wailed, not looking up.
'I threw Ralph,' Adam nodded. He began to laugh.
'Who's that?' said Bridget.
'Adam?' David groaned. His eyes cracked open.
Bridget shouted something which was distorted through the speaker by
its own volume.
'What the hell's going on?' Catherine said, removing her sunglasses.
Her large green eyes formed into appalled ovals at Adam's hysterics.
She stalked across the kitchen to her husband, stilettos clacking on
the tiled floor.
'What good timing,' Bridget said, her voice calmer now. 'Welcome to the
finale, Caroline . . . Adam, you tell David about all those other women
you fuck, so why don't you tell him about the good time you've been
having with his wife?'
Adam stopped laughing. Catherine froze with her hands extended to her
husband.
'I found the letter, you bitch,' Bridget continued. 'Got it here. I'll
read a little. I'd read it all, but it gets a little boring. Here's the
gist, "I hate this being a secret. I'm past caring who knows. I just
wish you could understand that you're never going to get her back now,
the same as I'm never going to get David back" . . . You taking this
in, David?'
David was. The skin around his eyes was growing tight. For a few
theatrical seconds Dina's sobs cut the air, and nothing else, then
David let out a growl, and lumbered forward. His hands skittered for
purchase on the tiles, and hit upon one of the larger remaining pieces
of the turtle. Curling his fists around the chunk of bloody scale, he
staggered up. Dina let out another pleading sigh, but it was ignored.
David's eyes were wide, a predatory smile was forming upon his lips. A
dead man's smile.
'Adam,' he said with measured rage.
Adam began to back away. From the phone came the distorted sounds of
laughter, then a deadtone. Adam reached the door to the garden, then
turned, and said the only thing which he could possibly have said,
under the circumstances: 'For God's sake, David, put the turtle
down!'
David didn't appear to have heard him.