After many agonizing hours considering my situation, I finally forced myself to admit my hamster wheel of misery was no way to live. Since I was raised Catholic, deciding to ax my marriage to Ronnie Ray (one of my 3 ex-husbands, two of whom were musicians).
However, the last six months, if we weren’t arguing, we were pretty much silent. And for some odd reason, I thought our move to New York would help because he would have more opportunities with his music, but I was so wrong.
To his credit though, during the worst spats, Ronnie never spouted such degrading monikers as “ugly bitch” or “stupid cow” as some men do.
However, on the dark side, there were many nights characterized by a bawdy game of dodging the dishes that Ronnie lobbed in my direction. In fact, he once kicked the loveseat so hard, it rolled end over end during this conversation:
“Okay,” I said calmly, “If you spend our entire tax refund ($1700) on a new amplifier, then can I buy a new couch with our refund next year?” Sounded reasonable to me…but Ronnie did not agree…
“How dare you compare what I need for my music to fucking furniture! I’m an artist, a musician! What the fuck?!” he screamed, and there went the loveseat bumbling toward the dining room.
But, unfortunately, guilt is an unyielding witch. After a brief separation, Ronnie’s late night phone calls from New York lamenting his loneliness prompted me to try again. I feared he’d be back to punting furniture in no time, despite his promises, but like a dumb-ass, I caved.
The first few weeks after I moved to Brooklyn were better than any honeymoon, complete with roses, stolen from a nearby park, LOL. Until our 3rd anniversary a month later. We went to dinner at Salvano’s, his favorite Italian haunt, even though Ronnie had been sick with the flu all week. Jody, a friend of his from work, came over to babysit our son Tim, who was 8 months old and my son, Rory, who was almost 4.
Jodie was an odd duck, I thought. She was barely 5′ tall. She had unkempt light brown hair and the figure of a 12-year-old boy. And her nose occupied quite a bit of real estate on her face. But she was very pleasant, and she really fawned over the boys. So, she seemed like the perfect Nanny. Unattractive and crazy about my kids…right? Um, no…
Anyway, Ronnie was overly affectionate at Salvano’s, kissing my hand, laughing too loudly at my jokes, his eyes rarely straying from mine. However, in the middle of dinner, he asked if we could just go home instead of going to The Jazz Alley on the lower East Side, his favorite club, where we’d planned to hang out and check out a new Punk band playing there that night. He had been sick with the flu all week, so I didn’t think anything of it.
As soon as we got home, Ronnie called a cab for Jody, and I went to bed with a good book and a glass of wine, assuming he’d be along shortly. And he didn’t give me the wink, wink, caress my ass – I’ll be right in to harass you into having sex with me look (LOL), which I thought was odd. It didn’t matter to him if he didn’t feel well. He was still always in the mood for sex, but I dismissed that clue as well.
Anyway…at 1:00 A.M., I woke to the sound of rattling plastic. I hopped out of bed thinking maybe he was getting a snack in the kitchen. I tossed my black nightie to the floor – thinking I’d sneak in on him sans clothing, which he loved.
Grinning, I stepped out into the hallway where Ronnie walked out of the bathroom and was sauntering away – buck naked in the opposite direction. There was a condom in his hand. That’s what made the rattling plastic sound! He was going to FUCK HER, the ugly babysitter in our living room?! OMG! How could this be happening? How could he do this after begging me to take him back? WTF? And my heart splintered into a million pieces…
On gelatinous legs, I hobbled back into the bedroom and began trekking back and forth. I shivered from the cold November wind blasting against the windows, and I collapsed onto the floor, weeping quietly while praying to God that Ronnie and his BITCH-SLUT couldn’t hear me. I didn’t want them to know that I knew…not yet…
I was certain they would share a few belly laughs (naked belly laughs) over how they were so sly, and I was so blind that night. Above all, I didn’t want that atrocious ho-bag to see me cry.
I started to snatch my nightgown when I heard a soft moan. And the anger spiked. I couldn’t remain there one more second while he drilled another woman on that goddamned green couch where I nursed our baby boy – where we’d been sitting when he proposed to me, the fucking prick!
I struggled to my feet and turned on the light. I slipped into a pair of jeans and a sweater when I was hit with the realization that my boots were not in the bedroom. They were in the living room closet – 3 feet away from the fornicating fuckheads. There was two feet of snow on the ground. Tennis shoes wouldn’t do. And, oh, God, my purse was in there too!
I took a deep breath and stormed through the living room and beyond into the kitchen, not sure why. I was out of my mind, capiche?
Trying to block out their urgent whispering and the sound of blankets shifting, I opened the fridge and stared at the contents. What now?
I heard Ronnie’s beer bottles rattling on the door of the fridge, and I grabbed two bottles with a smile, trouncing back into the living room.
“Don’t mind me, you fucking assholes!” I screamed, turning on a lamp. “I just need my boots and,” I stammered, opening the closet.
“Kennedy, this is not what it looks like,” Ronnie mumbled.
I laughed. “Don’t give me that, you piece of shit!”
I looked over at them despite myself. All I could see was Ronnie’s sweaty forehead in the glow of the streetlight streaming in through the window. Yes. With HER sweat!
WHY? Does he hate me that much? It had to be premeditated sex because I heard shuffling sheets! There were no sheets on that couch last night, more evidence of his premeditation…
AND I SNAPPED.
“Here, you look a little thirsty,” I said, lobbing the first beer over Ronnie’s head. The crash of the glass was very satisfying as was the waterfall of beer that now soaked them and the horrific couch and the thrift store sheets :)! I hurled the second beer over her head and said, “Have a nice, fucking life!”
And what happened then? Stay tuned, boys and girls, there’s more sin and FUN to come…(not to be confused with cum – wink, wink)…
Until next time at the same bat time and the same bat channel…
~TENACIOUS BITCH and her truth-spouting psycho hippies! 🙂