Our Town by Kevin Jack McEnroe Read Free Book Online Page B

From this point on, he began to look at her with a certain level of disdain, in that he began to ask what if? This grass is always greener , he’d propose, often aloud, attempting to feel better. He didn’t want to feel this way—he wanted to be happy. Happy where he was—but he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d settled. If too early he’d settled. He loved her—or he tried to—but once this thinking—this termite—began to gnaw at the wood of his brain—began to feed on his foundation—he was unable to beat it. He was a winner—he wanted to win—but perhaps this match was already over. Perhaps what they’d been through, as large or small as it seems, to us, was simply too much to bear. Because, how could she? Just how could she? And so it is from here, henceforth, that it isn’t fun anymore. And he began to choke on his own resentment. Resentment is like swallowing poison and expecting someone else to die. And Dale’s particular poison is aged Scotch, and it seems to have gone down the wrong pipe. And now he chokes, and he chokes, until he’s finally forced to spit.

PAPICHULO
    B ut now it’s 1965. The kids are young but getting older. Things are rather prickly. Things are rather thorny. As their son and daughter grow, Dale and Dorothy began to enjoy themselves differently. I mean, if at all, really. Dale seemed rather perpetually annoyed. Dorothy tried as hard as she could to please him, but Dale begrudged her nonetheless. He felt as though she was taking his youth away. Like she was stealing from him. How could she? And almost every opinion she expressed he viewed as disrespectful. And so the space between them grew and grew. You could measure it with a yardstick. Eventually a first down. And they’d moved again. As Dale’s career began truly to bloom—movie offers and the like—he wanted to be closer to the studios. So they moved to Encino: 17801 Santa Rita Street, Encino, California 91316. Just off Ventura. Sometimes, though, when Dale looked at Dorothy, and he saw her shine, he wanted to be with her again, even though that feeling was fleeting. When he saw her glimmer, though, he sometimes attempted romance. He wouldn’t usually bring her places. In his eyes, she’d already begun to decompose, like a corpse would—moments away from rigor mortis. But today she looked shiny. They’d be dead, but then alive again. Alive again all over. But that didn’t usually last long. Until he fucked another hostess, say. But tonight they’d attend a movie premiere. And then the after-party, too.
    *    *    *
    Dorothy got ready by the mirror in the master bedroom. The house in Encino—meant to provide a dichotomy to the lush nature of the lot—was modern. Simplicity—bare—and materials meeting at ninety-degree angles abounded. It was colder than before. It was different. Dorothy didn’t want to move. She preferred antique. Something with character. But Dale liked this. It cost more. She’d at least promised herself she’d always, no matter what, have a vanity mirror. A vanity mirror was essential to her as a woman. Essential to womankind.
    She applied makeup in front of the bright-white round bulbs, patting a squarish yellow sponge across her forehead, from temple to temple ’til she reached her hairline. Foundation first. Coolly tinted, powder based. Only one thin layer. Otherwise she might break out. Then concealer. And mascara. Dark mascara. The more the better. Persian eyes. With a smoky finish. Like Cleopatra. Liz Taylor. She’d make a statement tonight. This was her chance. Maybe her last one. She’d have to be beautiful. She needed to pop, like the light in a chiaroscuro. So bronzer. And a tight pink lip line, just above the upper lip, which she’d recently gotten fattened. Her lower was full enough. As she finished, she stopped and rested her sponge and compact on the counter to the right of the sink. She looked her reflection up and down in the artificial light. She still had a