To Marlin

Nowadays I wonder what awful thing I had done to Georgiana to make her so adamant that you and I “simply had to meet, Mia, my god. You’d be perfect together.”

I don’t know what was worse; the fact that she thought we were similar, or the fact that at the start I thought she was right. We met that night, at a stupid gala that was meant to be for some charity but I never got the name of it, much less what they did, because everyone was so busy talking about their most recent skiing holidays to ever bring it up.

You, Marlin, you looked good that night. You were draped against a column while people swarmed around you, and it was obvious whose admiration they all vied for as they prattled about fast cars and fancy watches and villas they’d built on stilts in some far-flung corner of the globe. Your eyes, a blue that was paling with age, were slowly sweeping the room in boredom while your mouth kept a half smile cocked so they didn’t grasp how uninterested you were. When those eyes fixed on me, and lingered, I’d be lying if I said a flush of pride didn’t burst through me. Your very interest was a compliment, and it would take me years to figure out that your interest was no more valuable than anyone else’s- you’d just turned it into a valuable commodity through scarcity. That was probably rule number one in your little black book- But that was an item I wouldn’t see until we had been together for nearly a year.

.

Scarcity was a word I didn’t know in the first few weeks of us. You liked your expensive wine and fast cars, didn’t you Marlin? I was your accessory as much as they were- don’t deny it, darling- but I could pay the piper, especially when he took me to Greece for the weekend and Japan for the winter.

I only caught quick glimpses behind your carefully curated façade that year, and my first real look was that evening we spent in Santorini. We had a late dinner, just the two of us, which was a rare occurrence- you didn’t like to spend money when people weren’t watching, did you Marlin? Jet lagged and groggy, we sat across from each other around a little table that looked over the water, the nighttime breeze ruffling my white dress and your half open shirt. To the staff and people wandering the beach below us looking up, we were as pretty as a picture. Which is why you shushed my whines for a night in with room service, right?

“I could live here.” I said, swishing my drink around in my cup. “Just think about it. Sell all the business buildings you have, and we could buy a massive one here and never leave.”

You sat back, and since I’m admitting so many things now, I’ll admit that moonlight was flattering on you. Sometimes I simply had to focus on how nice you looked so I didn’t have to focus on the things that came out of your mouth.

You were going on about market values, or something, and when you realized my eyes were glazing over- I really didn’t mean to, but Marlin, come on- you hit your fist against the table. “The point is you can’t put all your eggs in one basket. You can’t have just one place, Mia, just like you can’t have one investment, or one bank account, or one business, or all your money in one place. You have to be ready for anything.” You grinned to yourself. Thinking of your own intelligence again, I imagine. “And have things stashed away as… Contingencies.”

I tried to lighten the mood. “How many spare girlfriends have you got stashed away?”

You laughed and kicked my leg lightly under the table. “Seven. More wine?”

.

For all the things I could say about you, Marlin, I had to admire your consistency, and there was one thing that never failed to capture your attention- Yourself. Finally, as the years went on and your charade was too tiring to keep up, I clued on that you always had that same little black notebook on you so that you could jot down whatever asinine thought popped into your head, which you eventually seemed only to do so that you could then wave it around and proclaim, “This, Mia, this book! I could sell it for millions.”

Then you would become meditative, leaning your elbows forward on that too large mahogany desk you kept.

“But then,” you would muse, “Everyone would know how a man in my position thinks. And how to get to where I am today. Is that fair? To rob them of the chance of being self-made by handing them a blueprint?”

Once upon a time, I’d laugh at those self-congratulatory moments. “Maybe I’ll steal it.” I grinned at you. “And start a rival business.”

Back in the once upon a time place, you might have laughed at that. But now, your eyes darkened. “You shouldn’t joke about things like that, Mia.” You tucked the notebook safely into the recesses of your jacket. “It puts the thought in my head. It reduces trust.”

“Baby.” I stood from my seat to perch on the side of your desk. “I was kidding.”

“I don’t know.” You were in a mood now, your arm tightly wrapped into your side like you were scared I was going to snatch the notebook right out of your pocket. “The fact you’d even see that means you’re the sort of person who thinks things like that.”

.

“It’s always the spouses.” You said, wrapping your words around the mouthful of whatever protein filled, highly marketed junk you were eating. We were curled up on the couch of our third lounge room and I was hugging the blanket so you couldn’t touch me. “Someone gets murdered, boom. It doesn’t matter who the evidence points to. It was the freaking spouse.”

You would remember this conversation if I brought it up now, I’m certain. This was a few days after that Tuesday night. Things were tremulous. We breezed past each other in any rooms we both accidentally ended up in. We had been eating dinner separately. I was wearing too much eye makeup. Usually, you’d comment something along the lines of “What’s truly beautiful doesn’t need to hide, Mia.” But you knew what purply black monstrosity hid beneath it- you put it there, after all- and saved your snide comments for your notebook.

You were probably just trying to make conversation, to talk through the cracks of the new wall between us. I might have appreciated the effort if my face wasn’t still smarting with each blink- and if I didn’t think there were lines to read through in what you said.

“Yeah.” Was all I could offer. I felt that it was generous, all things considered. You gave me a sideways look, then took out your notebook to scribble something- a practice you had once hidden. Perhaps ‘A small mind produces small words’ or maybe the more vague ‘Forgiveness is divine.’

A month after, you asked me to marry you in a bid to make me forget what an excellent right hook you had. I said no.

.

Georgiana sits beside me, holding my hand through her black glove.

“You know,” She whispers, quiet so as not to disrupt the speaker, “They’ve got a good idea of who did it.”

“Really?” I say, morose, dabbing my eyes with a black handkerchief.

She nods. “I have a friend in the investigations team, and he says one of Marlin’s business partners was real shady.” She squeezes my hand. “He’s got nearly full control of the business now. It looks bad.”

“I thought they always looked at the partner first.”

“Well, they did look at you. But you two weren’t even so much as engaged, and since you weren’t in the will at all, and you two just were so damn happy together… They ruled you out fast. As they should.”

I nod silently and settle back against my chair to watch the funeral proceedings. You would have loved it, Marlin, really. It is so gaudy. Your coffin is heaped with so many flowers you can barely see the wood- Mahogany, as you always liked. It’s like I always said, babe- I noticed the little things about you.

“There is one strange thing they found, though.” Georgiana murmurs into my ear after the padre finishes another sermon that you would have nodded along righteously to. “They didn’t find that notebook you said he always had.”

“Didn’t they? He never let that thing go.”

“Yeah. Isn’t that strange?”

It would have been strange if your little notebook wasn’t in my handbag right now.

I’ve said it before, Marlin, I’ll say it again- you practiced what you preached. The police couldn’t believe how many different bank accounts and investments you had when they had to untangle the web of your finances. Your eggs were in so many baskets it was nearly impossible for them to deduce how much you were really worth- This obscurity must have made it easy for you to fool the tax office, and even easier for you to stash away some rainy-day funds in cash that no one would ever find.

Well. If they didn’t read the last page of your notebook, that is.

I do love some things about you, M, like how you can still make me laugh even when you’re dead. You hid twenty grand under the floorboards of our living room? The same one I shot you in? It borders on comedic, baby. You really were prepared for anything- Except for that, I guess.

Georgiana doesn’t leave my side as I spearhead the funeral procession.

“It’s just awful,” She laments, “That you had all those years together and just because of his stupid will, you don’t get anything.”

“It’s okay, G,” I muster a smile for her, “Thanks to everything he taught me- He was so smart, after all- I think I’m going to be okay.”