Things a Wife Loves

Admiring his new office and massage chair, Vick combs his whiskery mustache with his right hand while slipping his left in his pocket. He kept the desk from his old office because his wife gave it to him for their anniversary. Finishing the last meeting of the day, he decides to take it easy. It was only his first day back after everything. As he sits, he opens a drawer and throws the comb inside. He looks at his new name plaque, business card holder, and gold stapler. His wife also bought the gold stapler. A large calendar spans the rest of his desk; he always thought it was more organized to hand write your tasks.

Today is Friday and also wacky tie day but cinched around his neck is a solid green tie. Under it a white button up, black matte leather belt and gray slacks. It was his dad, Mr. Franklin Reddenhurst’s idea for wacky tie day. Frank would always wiggle his arms about while he said, “It’s wacky tie day everybody, dammit you all better have wacky ties!”

Vick places his hands on top of his potbelly twiddling his thumbs and rotating melodically in his chair. To the right is an entire wall of windows. A window washer in a blue jumpsuit and blue baseball cap outside catches his attention and they meet eyes. Awkwardly, Vick tilts his hand in a shy wave. The washer notices and pinches the end of his cap and gives it a shake. He continues with his work.

Vick shakes his head in bewilderment at a thought. In chronological order: Franklin dies in his sleep of heart failure, 5 days after death the funeral, 7 days after death the overview of inheritance, 9 days after death late fathers’ office is converted to Vick's and now, he sits as the new CEO of Reddenhurst and Son Industries less than 2 weeks after his fathers’ heart stopped beating. Vick wasn’t ecstatic about inheriting the company. He started working for his father after high school. He didn’t give him any other option.

Vick stares at his reflection in the blackened computer monitor. Not staring at any one feature in particular. He turns his left wrist to see the time. He whispers under his breath, “7 O’clock, it’s about that time Vick.”

He adjusts the items on his desk, to make sure they’re evenly spaced, gets up and pushes in his chair. As he’s halfway out the door, he takes one last look at his new space, turns off the lights, and locks the door. He walks through a maze of gray cubicles. Both hands slip into his pockets as he heads for the elevator.

“See ya, new CEO,” a coworker wearing a confetti-decorated tie says. “Where’s your wacky tie?” he says as he pushes his tie out as an example.

“I forgot,” Vick replies as he shrugs his shoulders.

“Oh well, next time then. Hey, I’ll let you borrow one of mine,” the coworker says with a smile. With the ding of the elevator Vick releases the breath he was holding.

As he walks in, he replies, “Thanks, see you tomorrow.”

The elevator dings with each floor, and after 32 he reaches the basement parking structure. As the doors open, his eyes widen and his brows narrow. His new parking spot is right next to the elevator, and his gray Audi R8 GT Spyder is gone. He runs to the empty spot and examines the area. No broken glass, he thinks, that’s a good sign. He turns as he hears whistling, key jingling and footsteps coming closer. An orderly wearing a blue jumpsuit rounds the pillar and sees Vick standing in the middle of his empty spot.

“Hey you! My car’s gone!” Vick yells at the orderly.

The orderly heads for Vick and yells, “What?”

In frustration Vick screams again, “My car is gone!”

“Hey, I know you.” He replies.

“My car, my very expensive car, is gone. Did you see anything?” Vick asks in an increasingly high-pitched voice.

The orderly grasps his chin and looks up. He returns his gaze at Vick and responds, “No, sorry sir, I just got down here. You know how particular everyone is with their parking spots.”

Aggravated, Vick rolls his eyes, and points to the plaque on the cement wall in front of his spot and says, “I know, I get the closest spot to the elevator, because I’m the CEO. See,” he wiggles his pointer finger in the plaques general direction, “See it reads reserved for Mr. Franklin Redden…” He sighs, lowers his arm; leans his head back and releases a raspy exhale.

“You alright sir?” The orderly in the blue jumpsuit asks quietly.

Vick snaps his blackberry from his belt case and fumbles with the keypad. Without looking up he responds, “Yeah, fine,” and shoos him away with his hand.

The orderly walks off rolling his eyes. With the phone to Vick’s ear, he hears a click, then ringing. The other line picks up and he hears laughing, then someone saying, “I know, I know.” As he begins to say hello, a voice emerges. “Hello.”

“Hey honey, it’s Vick,” he says while fiddling with his Audi keys, pressing the unlock button.

“Hi, sweetie, I was just going to call you, I’m at Stacy’s, so I’ll be home la...”

Vick interjects, “My car was towed, they forgot to change the reserved plaque and they towed it. Can you believe it? I need you to pick me up.”

“Oh no, I’ve been drinking, can you take a cab?” His wife asks.

“Celeste, you know the cabs in the city rip you off,” he says as his bottom lip pushes out, “are you sure you can’t drive?” The other line is silent for a while. He starts walking towards the exit, because his mind found a cheaper solution and says to Celeste, “It’s fine, I’ll just take the bus.”

“Oh sweetie, the bus? Are you sure? I can maybe get…”

“No, it’s fine. Have fun at Stacy’s.”

He hears more laughing and the call ends. He clips the blackberry back to his belt, and walks out to the sidewalk. He pulls out his wallet and examines the old bus card he’s never used. His father always raved about taking the bus. You never know whom you’re going to meet. It’s the same route his father used to take, since they lived in the same neighborhood. He supposes it’s rather nostalgic he should ride the same bus home as his father after the first day taking over the company.

The bus screeches to a halt at twenty-first and Hawking. He still has three blocks to walk, and already the pain in his feet emerges as he steps down the stairs. He starts down Hawking. It’s a straight path to his gated mansion. As he walks, he notices the homes. Not as large as his, but large enough. They are all custom and each has their own driveway. It seems, as he nears his home the houses increase in size, which he never noticed before.

An echo of footsteps creeps in his mind. Then he realizes they’re real and turns to find a woman in sandals and a solid blue dress with a brown belt squeezing at her waist, behind him. She stops and they both stare.

She adjusts the strap on the large black portfolio she’s carrying, and scratches the outside of her arm, breaking the silence with, “I wasn’t following you. I live just up the road.”

Vick shifts his weight and says, “Oh, I uh, I just heard footsteps so I turned around. I obviously don’t usually walk home.”

She smiles and replies, “Yeah, I’ve never seen you on the bus before.” She takes a step toward him and extends her hand, which is marked with multicolored paint remnants. “I’m Heidi.”

He meets her hand and says, “Vick.”

She tilts her head, eyes searching his face and says, “It’s nice to meet you, Vick.”

They continue walking up Hawking exchanging introductions. Heidi tells him she’s returning from her art studio and that she doesn’t get a lot of time to herself, but when she does, she’s in the studio. Vick tells her about the mix up with the parking space, and his father’s old plaque and about his wife not being able to drive him. Heidi stops, and then gestures to the house to the right and says, “Well, this is me.” In the half moon driveway sits three sports cars. The house is white, with a front porch extending around. Four large pillars are evenly spaced connecting the roof to the porch. A classic old country home only Texas could offer.

Vick faces the house, “Quite a house you got there.”

She smiles, “Thanks, I fell in love with it right when I saw it.”

Vick chuckles to himself and says, “How funny, you living two houses down from me and us never meeting. My wife loves art, I’m sure she would love to meet you.”

“Oh, no it’s a hobby really, I doubt my work is any good,” she pulls up the strap and looks down. Her brown curly hair rests just above her shoulders, and her mocha complexion compliments her almost black eyes. She replies, “We could maybe get together for dinner?”

“My wife loves throwing dinner parties, I’m sure she could pull one together for tomorrow night.” Vick says in politeness.

Heidi examines Vick again with her eyes, smiles and asks, “What do you love?” Vick looks around. She continues, “I mean, this entire conversation you’ve been saying my wife loves this and my wife loves that. I’m sorry but I can only keep up with the pleasantries for so long. You know it kind of reminds me of someone I used to know. When we first met anyway.”

Vick’s eyes grew as wide as a little kid in a candy shop. He opens his mouth attempting to say something, but nothing comes out. He tries again but again nothing. He’s never experienced this feeling before. The pores in his face open up and blood rushes to the surface. After little noises from his throat, he’s finally able to say, “I’m sure you have a husband that you dote over, there’s nothing wrong with that,” he says while folding his arms together.

“I actually live alone, I’m not married.” Heidi says flatly.

Vick thinks, how could she afford all this, and asks, “Why do you take the bus?”

She smirks, almost like a mother would do to their naive child, and replies, “It keeps me grounded.” She crosses her arms. “It keeps me from turning into a snob,” she says sarcastically. She breathes deep and exhales loudly. She turns to the bushes separating her house from the neighbors and picks a pink hydrangea. “Here, give this to your wife.”

She hands the fist size bundle of pinwheel looking flowers, and turns to her house. Waving backwards, she yells, “You’ll have to let me know how much your wife loves the hydrangea!”

Vick stands in bewilderment at what just happened. What a strange person, he thinks. He turns and heads to his house. Shaking his head, he laughs at the thought of the past conversation and thinks, what a day. He looks at the pink bundle in his hand, recoils his arm back. Stopping midway, he looks at it again and shrugs his shoulders. His wife probably would like it.

He arrives at the front of the white gate that surrounds his property. To the left is a keypad and he punches in 1-0-2-7, his wife’s birthday. He knows everything about his wife; he’s known her since before she could talk and their parents always planned, they would end up together. He is ten years older than she. Two wealthy families merging as one, ‘what a dream,’ his mother would say.

The gates open and he walks through. A shiver reaches his core. The wind just became wet and cold. His shiny dress shoes clack against the cement driveway, as he passes the two tan SUV’s and parallel marble lion statues guarding the front entryway. He punches in the keypad to the front door 1-9-8-1, the year his wife was born. The 7 foot tall glass door opens. As he walks in, he inhales deep and says, “Good to be home.”

It’s dark inside. Walking to the small table to the left of the door, he picks up the remote and turns on the light. Twin curved stairways, a large chandelier, and a Victorian table in the center with a green glass vase and flowers dancing out the top are illuminated. At the base of the stairs sits an antique carriage wheel, which is his one contribution to the house decorations. Walking up the left, he passes photos from his wedding. He always thought he should have worn the green vest instead of the blue. He turns left and opens the double doors to their master bedroom.

The long tan carpet speckled with black and dark brown spots crunches under his shoes. An Alaskan king sits in the middle of the room, with a dark cherry wood frame, which was passed down through the family. Two matching armoires, and nightstands are on each side, and his and hers recliner chairs facing a large flat screen are on the right. He smells skunk and sees a haze coming from the bathroom. As he walks toward the bathroom on the left, he yells, “Honey, I’m coming in.”

An inaudible sound comes out of the barely cracked door. Inch by inch he opens it. A mass of smoke wafts in his face and he coughs. Fanning his face, he walks in, finding in their raised Victorian footed bathtub, covered in bubbles, his wife. On the high-top table next to the tub lays a half smoked joint and an empty glass of wine. Her wig lays sprawled on the floor, and lining her neck is a diamond-studded choker. She pinches the joint and takes an inhale; noticing Vick, she releases the smoke in a coughing fit then stands up out of the bath and says, “Honey!” She jumps up and immediately wabbles. “Whoa.” She places her hand on her forehead and collapses down in the water with a splash.

Vick runs over to her and kneels next to the tub. He caresses her head and asks, “You okay sweetie?”

“Oh yeah,” she hiccups, “Just got a…a little dizzy.” She gives him a smile of reassurance. She sets the joint down and touches his hand on the edge of the tub.

Vick asks, “Did Stacy’s driver take you home?”

“Yes of course but your poor car dear, I’m so sorry that happened. Was the bus just awful,” she asks.

He shrugged, “No, it wasn’t that bad.”

Celeste inquires, “Did anything crazy happen?” She asks with a chuckle.

“Nothing to write home about,” he says while he stands up.

“What’s that?” Celeste points to the pink bundle in his hand. He completely forgot. It is mostly smashed now. He turns his palm up and opens his hand to reveal the flower.

“Oh, it’s a hydrangea.” He pushes the flower toward her and she gasps.

With her hands placed on her cheeks she says, “Aw, honey.” She grabs the flower and smells it, then sneezes and squishes her nose. “Oh no, I think I’m allergic.” She throws the flower on the marble tiled floor and it explodes in a pink mess. Vick leans over and puts it in the trash under the middle counter separating the two waterfall sinks. He looks back at Celeste, her eyes are watery and she’s pushing out her bottom lip. Vick smiles and walks to her. Her face reads thank you, and I’m sorry. He stands behind her and unclasps her necklace, then pulls it off.

“You know you’re not supposed to wear this in the bath, it’ll rust,” he says as he opens the jewelry case opposite the table, next to the tub. He sets the choker around a neck shaped fabric holder. She sinks in the bath. He kisses her on the forehead, and walks back out to the bedroom. He undresses; folding his gray slacks, rolling his black belt, and folding his still crisp white button up with his plain tie still around the collar. His only accessories now are his white boxer briefs, white undershirt, potbelly, and a blond and gray mustache. He looks back at the bathroom, scratches his teeth and shrugs then walks to the bed.

“I’m heading to bed, had a long day.” He pushes up the covers and climbs in. Celeste yells from the bathroom, “Okay sweetie, you rest. I’m going stay in the bath a while.” He hears echoes of coughing through the open door as his eyes get heavy, and he falls asleep.

The sun warming up the left side of his face wakes Vick up. He doesn’t mind because it’s Saturday and he sits up. His arms open in a stretch, and he makes a noise like a grumbling bear. He grabs the green silk robe hanging behind the door to the bathroom. Coffee, and breakfast scents fill the air and his stomach growls. Slipping on brown-laced slippers, he ties his robe shut and heads down stairs, glancing again at his wedding photo. How beautiful Celeste’s hair was, straight sandy blond, reaching just under her breast. He walks to the kitchen on the right, past his wheel decoration. A large nook area contains the built-in double door fridge, stainless steel sink, oven, and stove all matching.

Celeste is at the stove, frying eggs, and potatoes. She’s wearing her blond wig, and pink silk robe. She motions for him to sit in the stool across from her and he walks over. She turns off the stove and skips to the other side of the kitchen, grabbing two plates and forks. She heaps eggs and potatoes on the plates, putting one in front of Vick and one on the placemat next to him. A ding makes her jump and she walks over to the latte machine. Tip toeing with the full coffee mugs she walks over and gives one to Vick and one for her. They look at each other and smile, then peck quickly and begin eating.

With eggs in his mouth Vick asks, “What’s all this,” while he takes a sip of coffee. He looks at the liquid in the mug and shakes his head.

“I thought I should do something nice. You’ve been so patient.” She drinks some of her coffee and smiles weakly.

“Oh honey, you don’t need to worry about that,” he says while he nudges her.

She replies, while swirling potatoes on her plate, “With your dad and the company and everything, now your car I just…”

Vick stops her and says, “Please honey don’t, you really shouldn’t worry.”

He clears his throat, and coughs. Grabs the coffee cup and takes a big swig. He keeps clearing his throat, with increasing energy. He looks in the mug again and his eyes widen.

Celeste looks over, in confusion and asks, “Goodness, are you okay, let me get you some water.” She walks to a cabinet and gets a glass and fills it. She walks back to him and hands it to him. He tries to clear his throat but his breathing becomes raspy. He swallows half the glass before choking and it drops, shattering on the ground.

With a rasp in his voice he screams, “What’s in the coffee?”

“Um, I don’t know, I don’t know!” Celeste says quickly. “Let me look.”

Vick waves his arms in frenzy and says, “No time, just get my EpiPen, hurry!”

Celeste runs up to the bedroom while Vick, collapses to the hard granite floor, his throat tightening up each second. He pulls himself up to the counter and grabs the house phone next to his plate. He sits back on the floor and dials 9-1-1, almost missing. Someone picks up and a familiar quote says, “9-1-1 what’s your emergency?”

Vick tries to talk, but only raspy breathing noises come out, his throat is almost completely closed. He breathes into the phone, and the woman on the other line repeats, “What’s your emergency?”

Celeste returns with the EpiPen and runs over to Vick, her wig now off. She grabs the phone, and yells, “It’s my husband, allergy attack, hurry, please help!” She opens the needle, and stabs his leg, then dispenses the medicine. She looks at him and exclaims, “Oh my God! God I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” She starts to cry. Vick lies on the ground in a fog, trying to understand what Celeste is saying. He can hear yelling, and soon darkness.

He wakes in the hospital, with an oxygen tube in his nose. He swallows then yelps in pain at the many blisters lining his throat. In his left hand an intravenous needle, and on the couch to the right lies Celeste curled in a ball. He pulls out the tube, his vision still foggy, and tries to call to Celeste. Nothing but rasp comes out. A figure enters from the door on the left, and a woman in a white lab coat, with curly brown hair hovers over him.

“Ah, ah, don’t touch that,” she says while replacing the tube in Vick’s nose. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon Vick.”

Vick feels like he knows her, then the fog clears for a moment and he sees its Heidi. Embroidered on her coat reads, Dr. Betson, MD. He motions to his wife on the couch, her bald head reflecting the suns early rays but Heidi shakes her head and says, “No, best not wake her. Why don’t you rest. I think you both could use some rest.”