The Ex

28

While David was doing bench presses, Molly was at her desk working on the architectural manuscript, coping with split infinitives and flying buttresses, wondering at the deterioration in the use of language among academics.

A shrill cry of pain made her drop her pencil.

It had come from Michael’s room, where he was down for his nap.

She jumped up and ran.

Michael was out of bed, jabbing at a cornered Muffin with a toy rifle equipped with a bayonet. The rifle and bayonet were obviously plastic, but the bayonet was still sharp enough to evoke screeches of pain and rage from the cat, who was trapped in the angle where the bureau met the wall.

Molly was sickened that Michael would do something so blatantly mean and aggressive. She was more sickened by the expression on his face. He was staring intently at the cat, his eyes brightening with each lunge with the bayonet. It was a look she recognized; she’s seen it often enough on grown men. At that moment, Michael might have been thirty instead of three.

“Michael! Stop that!”

Immediately he dropped the rifle and looked guiltily at her, three years old and innocent again. Muffin gave a final Yowl! and bolted for the propped-open window. Molly watched as he made his getaway via the fire escape, wondering briefly if he’d return after the cruelty he’d suffered.

She was trembling, fighting to control her temper. Temper mingled with fear. Michael’s transformation had been so sudden and unexpected; she’d had no idea he could harbor and display such sadism.

“Why were you doing such a thing?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level. “Where did you get that toy gun?”

His lower lip quivered and he began to cry. Molly’s anger rushed from her and she went to him and held him close, telling him she loved him, trying to soothe him into silence.

“It’s okay…Okay, Michael. Mommy isn’t mad at you, really…”

But she couldn’t console him.

“Who gave you the gun?” she asked gently.

“Aunt Deedray,” he managed to say between sobs.

Molly stood quietly, bent over slightly and hugging him to her hip and thigh, her anger building hotly deep within her as she felt his warm tears penetrate the thin material of her slacks.

After a few minutes, she picked him up and stalked from the bedroom.

Aunt Deirdre! Jesus Did the woman think she was a fool?

By the time she’d taken the elevator up to Deirdre’s floor and was knocking on her apartment door, Michael had calmed down and was quiet. He lay against her limp and watchful, his head tucked in the curve of her neck and shoulder. He was getting heavy, but she barely noticed.

Deirdre opened the door and smiled out at them. She’d been busy trying to get her new apartment in order and was glamorous even in work clothes. She was wearing tight jeans with a button fly, and a black T-shirt. Though she had a paisley bandanna wrapped around her head, her makeup was flawless and the protruding lock of red hair had to have been calculated. There was a smudge of dirt strategically placed on her nose and she was holding a dust cloth. Molly wondered whom she might have been expecting.

“Hi,” she said brightly. “Sorry it took me a while to come to the door. I’m trying to get things organized in here.” She reached out and touched the tip of Michael’s nose with her forefinger. “Hello, Michael, darling.”

Molly tried to rein in her anger as she brought the plastic bayonet-equipped toy rifle out from where she’d been holding it behind her back. “Why did you give him this gun, Deirdre?”

She widened her eyes in surprise. “Why, he’s a little boy. Boys like guns.” She winked. “You know, it’s not like with us. It’s some kind of phallic thing.”

“I found him trying to stab Muffin with the bayonet.”

“Muffin? Oh, the cat.” She smiled at Michael. “Well, Michael’s not a cruel boy. I’m sure he won’t do it again.” The red-enameled nail came forward again to touch the tip of his nose. “Isn’t that right, Michael?”

Molly knew this confrontation hadn’t taken Deirdre by surprise. It was part of a pattern. She was determined not to be sucked into this scenario in a way that fit Deirdre’s script. The problem was, she didn’t know how this was supposed to play out. Her anger rose.

“Don’t you ever give him any kind of toy without checking with me first!”

Deirdre stepped back, shocked that Molly was so upset over such a trifle. “Hey, I’m sorry. It really isn’t a major thing. I found the gun here in the apartment and thought he might enjoy it, that’s all.”

“An elderly couple rented this apartment before you,” Molly said.

“Well, maybe they had a grandson. Or were into some kind of kinky sex with toy guns. Anyway, I certainly wouldn’t have given the gun to Michael if I thought it might do him psychological harm, or for some reason he wouldn’t enjoy it the way other little boys play with guns without it ruining their lives.”

“The cat didn’t enjoy it,” Molly said.

Deirdre considered that for a second, biting her lower lip somberly. “No, I suppose not. You do have a point there.” Then she brightened, smiling again. “Okay, no more guns or knives when I baby-sit you, Michael.”

“There won’t be any more baby-sitting.”

Deirdre looked astounded. “Don’t you think you’re over-acting about this, Molly?”

“You mean ‘overreacting.’ And no, I don’t think I am.”

“Would David approve of this?”

“That’s no concern of yours. My child is no concern of yours. My husband is no concern of yours.” Molly tossed the toy rifle past Deirdre into the apartment, harder than she’d intended. It clattered noisily on the wood floor. Probably it had broken.

“Overreacting, then,” Deirdre said with maddening composure.

Obviously, on a certain level, she was amused by Molly’s rage. Was this how she’d planned their encounter?

Molly stalked to the elevator and slapped at the Down button. The elevator was still at floor level, but it seemed to take forever before the door opened.

Deirdre stood watching as Molly, clutching Michael to her, stepped inside.

“Bye, Michael,” she said with a smile, as the door glided shut.

As the elevator descended, Molly swallowed as if to relieve pressure. The entire building was full of pressure since Deirdre had moved in. Molly was holding her breath as if she were dropping toward the ocean floor in a diving bell. She released it and set Michael on the floor, trying to calm herself. But her anger continued coursing through her blood like a disease.

When she’d stepped forward to fling the toy rifle and Deirdre had moved out of the way, Molly had been aware of a scent she’d noticed without realizing it, as soon as Deirdre had opened her apartment door.

Back in her own apartment, Molly got Michael settled in the living room with television and some toys then went into the bedroom. Cartoons were on TV, featuring cavemen and dinosaurs, and probably, Molly admitted with an infuriating thrust of doubt, more violence than Michael had perpetrated on the cat.

There was an argument to be made that violent childhood entertainment-including toy guns-was as much of a catharsis as a cause or predictor of violent behavior. It was a valid argument, Molly knew, but she didn’t believe it enough to take a chance with her own child.

She stood at her dresser and examined the neat and glittering row of cosmetics bottles. Then she lifted a slender glass bottle shaped like a candle with a plastic cap made to resemble a flame. Elaborate red vertical lettering on the bottle spelled out Flaming Fixation. She removed the cap and sniffed at the bottle’s contents.

She knew now without a doubt. It was the perfume Deirdre was wearing.

Molly thought it should have been named Apropos.