Marital Bitch (9 page)

(Brad)

My wife just declared war on me
.

I WAKE UP
to the buzzing of my Blackberry. The alarm clock says it’s four in the fucking morning. I twist around and grab it off the nightstand before it can wake up Colleen—not that much wakes her up—she snores as loud as a semi-truck coming down the turnpike.

“
Patrick,” I mumble into the phone, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

“I hate to wake you
up, Sugar, but you gotta get down here,” the soft voice on the other end says, sounding as beat as I am. I stretch and kiss the back of Colleen’s head before crawling out of bed.

“What’s g
oing on, Vicky, you back?” I ask. If Vicky’s calling that likely means she’s off suspension and back on the streets. It’s about damn time.

“I wish, Sugar. They got me on dispatch. Listen, a lady called in a 41-C on the 600 block of East Broadway around midnight, but then disappeared before our guys could get there. I just got a report of a D.B. at the same location. Caller thinks the vic was a pro. Could be the same vic.
James is already on his way.”

“
Shit. Good morning to you, too, Vicky,” I bitch into the phone. I hate getting a call like this. When I joined the academy, I never thought I’d be dealing with rape victims and dead bodies, but somebody has to do it. “10-4, L-30,” I say letting her know it’s going to be a good half an hour before I get to the scene.

“No time for a good morning wank, eh?” she laughs, knowing how hard my morning problem had been since
Colleen moved in.

“
Shut up, Vic,” I grumble and hang up on her. Goddamn women.

I WALK INTO
the lobby from the squad room, finding Vicky at the front desk. I yawn and plop down on the free chair beside her.

“I’m
gonna tell you how this is gonna go, okay? I’m gonna sit down here and play with the phones all day and you can go work the 10-16 I woke up to this morning,” I say. I let my head fall back and close my eyes.

“Nice try, Detective,”
Vicky laughs. “Now, get to why you’re really here. You only come to talk to me for one reason… so out with it—what’s your girl done now?” Now I’m laughing, because this chick doesn’t mess around. She gets straight to the point. Always.

“Nothing,”
I say and let out a heavy sigh.

“Bullshit
. You two are always fighting.”

“That’s just it. She hasn’t done anything and
it’s making me edgy,” I admit.

“So, it’s al
l marital bliss at home, then?”

“Yeah,” I whine in probably the least man
ly way possible. “And the messed up thing is that she’s playing June Cleaver or something. She’s always trying to help. And she makes me dinner; and even when it tastes like crap, it’s great, ya know? Or—she orders pizza that she knows I like; and if I’m not home for dinner, she puts it in the microwave for me to heat up. She’s being so damn nice and I don’t know what to do with it.”

“So, let me get this straight—,”
Vicky chuckles, “your wife is being nice to you and it’s freaking you out?”

“Yeah
?” I exclaim, happy that she’s getting it. “It’s like… I wanted Colleen for so long and now that I’ve kind of trapped her… and she’s being nice to me… it feels wrong. Like, unless she’s bitching at me, it doesn’t feel real.” I take a deep breath in an attempt to stop the verbal diarrhea that I’m spewing, but it doesn’t work.

“It’s just
wrong. She isn’t doing it for me, you know? She’s just happy to play house and it’s really screwing with my head,” I say. I wait for Vicky’s response for a few moments before opening my eye to find her silently laughing her ass off.

“Go ahead and laugh. Do you know how many times I listened to you bitch about
Joanne?” I remember back when Vicky had just met Joanne and it was all this girly bullshit of ‘do you think she likes me?’ and ‘what if she has a girlfriend?’ God, if I ever sound like that, I’ll ask James to shoot me with my own damn gun.

“Y
eah, but at least I have a vagina—you, Sir, just sound like one.” She sticks her tongue out and waves me off. Disgruntled, I head back to the squad room. I have to talk to the Chief and my dad about the case, anyway.

MY STOMACH IS
grumbling and all I want to do is to fall asleep eating a chicken wing. I know it sounds gross, but you just gotta have a plate nearby so you don’t get grease in the bed. I learned that the hard way.

“We should break for lunch,”
James says, putting an end to my thoughts of a chicken wing nap. I nod and look to the Chief and my dad who are flanking us, as we brief them on the dead Pro down on East Broadway.

When I look up, I see
Colleen standing before me. She’s beautiful. Absolutely stunning. She’s wearing a pair of faded jeans and an old Red Sox t-shirt. Her long blonde hair is down. It’s wavy—not straightened as she usually does it for work—but I like it better this way. She’s not wearing any make-up with the exception of a colored chap stick that makes her lips look really pink.

The weight of the day hangs on my shoulders and I can’t muster much of a smile. I do the only thing that I can bring myself to in this moment. I walk across the desk and hug her for dear life. Sometimes this job g
ets to me. It freaks me the hell out. I have nephews and nieces and sisters, a mom, and now… a wife. My wife has always been my pretty girl, but this is much more official. It’s more real. I’m responsible for her as much as I have always been. But this is different.

I don’t always sleep well—knowing what’s out there. I’ve busted enough people that someone is bound to be out there, aching for revenge. The thought sickens me, so I hold onto my pretty girl even tighter. I just need to know that she’s here and she’s safe.

“What’re you doing here, pretty girl?” I ask, hoping everything is okay. She pulls away from me and for the first time I see that she brought a basket with her. It looks like something Yogi took on a picnic or some junk. I wouldn’t know, I don’t picnic.

“I made you cookies,” she says. I kiss her forehead and look to the ceiling to buy myself a moment. My girl can’t cook and she sure as hell don’t bake, either; but it’s damn cute of her to try. “You should look in
the basket,” she whispers.

I start reach in and pull out an old Tupperware container. It looks beaten up from much use, but I don’t own anything like it and neither does she. I packed up all her kitchen shit personally. So, now I know she didn’t bake these cookies. On the plus side, that mean
s they’re probably safe to eat.

James
’s big hands grab for the container of cookies as I pull out a DVD copy of “The Notebook,” before quickly sticking it back in the basket and at the bottom is a box of tissues. And suddenly, the past week makes sense—I think. I don’t want to think Colleen’s such a bitch that she would try to tell everyone about ‘The Notebook Incident of 2004’, but then—I also never thought she’d mess with my girlfriend and she did that, too.

“Thanks,”
I mumble, embarrassed and agitated, but trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“There’s a note,” she says, her smile about the split her face in two. She’s way too eager about this. Something smells fishy.
James hears her and grabs the note before I can.

“
Bradley—,” James begins, trying to imitate Colleen. “—I wanted to replace your worn, but well-loved copy of “The Notebook—,” I reach for the note but the fucking hyena evades me. “—and the tissues are because I know that you can never make it through Noah and Ally’s reunion without tearing up—,” James trails off, hopefully realizing that I’m going to have to beat him senseless later on.

I glare at
Colleen who is playing the part of the poor, embarrassed little wife. Oh, she’s good, but not good enough. All week, Colleen Frasier has been acting like she’s got a thing for me… feeding me and shit. I should have known she was working on some kind of master plan. She must be pissed about me packing up her apartment or telling her how stupid she is for signing that goddamn performance policy thing.

Well played, but baby, you don’t know wh
o the fuck you’re messing with. My dad puts his hand on my shoulder and giggles like a fucking girl. “You know, son,” he clears his throat, “there’s no shame in liking those girly movies.” I turn away from my traitorous fucking wife and stare at the wall. It isn’t bad enough I’ve got a dead hooker on my hands, now I have to put up with this, too?

“
John’s right, kid,” the Chief says, “those movies keep Louise’s engine going strong, even with the on-set of menopause.” I block them out after that. They’re actually getting laid by their wives; all I’m getting is humiliation.

I turn to
Colleen and lean in close. I am not amused by this little stunt of hers. “So that’s your game, Frasier?” I quip. She looks sorry, so I look away. I don’t want to be deterred by crocodile tears.

“
Patrick,” she retorts, sticking her nose in the air like the snob she is. Had I called her Patrick, she would have responded that her last name is Frasier. I can’t win.

“Okay, then,” I grin, putting on my work mask—the one I use for a perp. “Game on,
Patrick.”

I walk out of the squad room, ignoring the guys as they quote “The Notebook” to me. I refrain from telling those
jerks that if they can quote it to me that means they watched it, too.

Meatheads.

I stomp to the lobby and sit down in the same chair I occupied earlier in the day. Vicky grins at me, a little too happily.

“I met your girl,”
Vicky says. I nod. “She’s kind of a bitch.” Normally, that would piss me off and I’d have to put Vic back in her place, but I’m too pissed to even argue.

“Yeah, she is,” I
agree, because really, she is.

“She pulled some
‘do you even know who I am?’
crap when she blew past here. Cute though. Really cute,” Vicky says nonchalantly. I decide not to tell Vicky exactly how insecure Colleen is and just let her think she’s a royal bitch.

Vicky
is hot—no doubt—but she’s also a lesbian and according to her, I wouldn’t be her type even if she did go back to men.
Whatever.
Her girlfriend, Joanne, is hot too; and she’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. They’re great for each other—and for my fantasies. Not that I ever think about them… naked… in the shower… washing each other. Okay. So, at least I don’t think about it often. As hot as it is in my head, the chick-on-chick thing always brings me back to Colleen and Heather and I lose it.

“Listen,” I say, “I’ve got an idea, so hear me out until you tell me I’m an idiot and it’s a stupid idea.” I look at her seriously and she nods. Thankfully, I don’t have to explain how our marriage came to be as I’ve already filled
Vicky in. “My wife just declared war on me and I need to hit her where it hurts. So, I think a little payback is in order, don’t you think?” I ask Vicky, drawing in her interest.

“Payback, how
?” Vicky asks. I smirk, reveling in the genius of my plan.

“I’m going to hit her where it hurts. You and I are going to start dating.”
Vicky looks at me like I’ve grown antlers. “Look—if there’s one thing that woman can’t stand more than anything, it’s another woman being more important in my life than she is. I need to know how she feels—and this is just the thing to draw it out of her,” I scheme proudly, my excitement replacing my earlier anger.

“You really want to
do this?” Vicky asks and I nod. I don’t even have time to ask if that means she’s willing to participate in this little game. With no warning, Vicky pulls me in and kisses me on the cheek. It’s not obnoxious or obvious as far as kisses go. But then I hear a voice clear behind me and turn to see Colleen. She looks angry and her eyes are bright red.

“Really,
Bradley,” Colleen hisses. “If you’re going to keep your little sluts then we’re going to need ground rules. I will not be made to be embarrassed in public.” I cock an eyebrow at her and lean forward.

“You mean like you just did to me?” I ask. Her face turns an off shade of purple and she lets out a muffled scream before stomping out of the station. I chuckle quietly, and
Vicky—God love her—has the decency to turn away and make herself look busy.

As the doors slam,
Vicky turns to me all wide-eyed and a little nervous looking. “Oh, that was awful. Did you hear her? She called me a slut.” She doesn’t seem offended, just baffled.

“I told you, she doesn’t like to share; and don’t w
orry about it—this is going to be fun.” I say, patting her head and walking off back to the squad room, ready to crack some skulls if anyone tries to be funny.

(Colleen)

That idiot is in love with you.

THIS IS WHY
I’ve never tried anything with Brad in the past. Aside from the fact that he is a smelly, loud, hairy, jackass; he is also an aloof womanizer who hops from bed to bed, sometimes before the condom even comes off. And to think I was about to have sex with that pig.

I hold the tears at bay as I rush to my car. I need a drink, or maybe… no, no. I haven’t done that since college when my stupid brother and stupid
Brad walked in on me and Lindsay and nearly arrested the both of us. I’ll give Dumb & Dumber one thing—they sure are a couple of goody goodies.

I hastily climb into my car and the tears fall. Before I know it, my hands are covered in snot, my eyes hurt, and I’m hiccupping. I choose not to analyze why I’m this upset. Is it over my gift gone awry or over that other thing—that amazon-looking Barbie in Blue? The station isn’t far from
Brad’s house, but I don’t want to go there just yet. My condo is empty, and the very last place I’d want to go right now is my mom’s house. I can’t very well explain the whole fake marriage fiasco and Brad practically dry-humping Vicky the Bimbo at the station to my mother. Okay, rationally I know that it was nowhere near dry-humping, but that’s how it’ll forever be burned into the caverns of my brain.

So, I drive to
Darla and James’s house. Not that any of us live very far from one another… I mean, Southie isn’t very big. I park my car in front of Brad’s house, happy to find a spot so close, and I walk the few houses down to see Darla. I just know she’ll see my side of things and we can sit and cry over how much boys suck.

The house is silent, so I use my key to get in; knowing better than to ring the bell if the kids are sleeping. I creep toward the living room.
Darla is on the sofa reading a book. She looks up and smiles at me, probably happy to have a conversation that doesn’t include boogers and Disney Princesses. I smile back through my red, puffy eyes and her expression changes. She sets down the book and looks at me solemnly.

“What happened?” she asks, moving her feet and patting the sofa beside her. I curl into her side and sniffle as I begin to tell her the whole story—sans
Brad crying at the theater. Okay, that part might be important to Brad’s reaction, but it feels like a major violation of trust—even if half of the station now knows about it now. That was a total accident.

“Oh, honey,”
Darla says, stroking my hair. Her tone is motherly and consolatory. I knew I came to the right place. She rubs my back and strokes my hair one more time and then she hits me upside the head. I shriek and lean away, horrified that she just hit me. Why did she just hit me!

“What the hell
, Darla?” I ask, huddling into the other end of the couch.

“Are you dumb or just plain stupid?” she asks,
her eyes boring into my skull.

“There’s a difference?” I say, honestly perplexed. Aren’t
dumb and stupid the same thing?

“Why in the world w
ould you do something so stupid?” Darla yells. Fitz starts making noise through the baby monitor. She quiets down immediately and scowls at the contraption. “I hate that thing,” she says, “makes me want to run away, but I’m sure the moment I turned it off flying monkeys will come and snatch him.” I stare at her like she’s got three heads; because did she really just admit to worrying about flying monkeys? I mean, really? Mothers are so weird.

I try to defend myself, but it’s no use—she is no
t going to let up. Not one bit.

“
Colleen,” Darla whines, “we’ve talked about this. Men and women are different. It doesn’t matter that you would have liked a gift like that at work… Brad is a guy. He is a man. Food is good. Personal notes about embarrassing events that you’ve kept secret are not okay, not ever! Not at work. Not in private. Not at work! Do you hear me, not at work!”

I hang my head in shame. Sure,
now
she tells me. Where was she when I had this bright idea?

“You want to know why you’ve had such tr
ouble finding and keeping a man, it’s because you don’t listen. You just go about doing what you want with no regard for how it’s going to affect anyone else; which, by the way, is how you wound up in a fake marriage to begin with! God, Brad gets enough crap at the station because of you!”

Ouch. And she’s back to yelling, but as least it’s not as loud… then again, if she does wake up the baby the
n I can probably play with him.

“Is nap time over yet?” I ask, changing the subject and doing my best to ignore what she’s just said; because my fragile ego can’t handle that
kind of honesty right now.

Darla
leans over and hits my leg—hard. I yelp and swat at her. Getting hit is getting really old. I’m not into that freaky crap and definitely not with my sister-in-law.

“Listen up, stupid,” she glares at me. “You are not going to wake up my kids. I finally got some time to myself. So if you wake them up, you take them with you for the night… all of them.” I cringe. My little monkey,
Alex, is bad enough on his own. Lilly is pretty well-behaved. All I’d have to do is hand her over to Brad. She prefers him anyway. It’s Fitz that makes it difficult. Don’t get me wrong—I’d lay down my life for that kid, he’s just so needy. I’m okay with just him, but with the other kids? Nope, I’m a goner.

“Now,”
Darla says, “did you hear me?” I nod my head unhappily. “I don’t think you did. I said Brad gets enough crap at the station because of you.” My ears perk up. My heart speeds up.

“Why?” I ask.
Darla laughs, a honest-to-goodness laugh. I smile at her sadly. I don’t know why, but I think she’s been waiting for me to ask this.

“It’s about time,” she says. “That idiot is in love with yo
u, but you’ve got your head too far up your own butt to see it.” I scoff, but she’s not laughing anymore. Not even a tiny little smile. She’s not joking. She really believes this. Darla wouldn’t lie to me about this. If she’s saying it, it’s because she believes it; but do I?

“You know what’s worse?” she asks. I shake my head, looking away. This conversation has not gone how I expected it to. We’re getting into some very serious territory here that I hadn’t planned on. “You’re in love with him, too. But once aga
in, your head is up your own butt and you don’t even realize it.”