The Perfect Wife
“It is,” Jessie said. “We’ve talked about it for a while. There have just been some…hiccups along the way. But we’re hoping the change of scenery will help.”
“Well, I should warn you. The topic is likely to come up often among the women you’ll be meeting today. They love to talk about kids and everything kid-related. You’ll probably get asked about your plans. But don’t sweat it. That’s kind of the default, go-to conversation around here.”
“Thanks for heads-up,” Jessie said as they reached the end of the path.
She stopped for a moment to take in the view. They were at the edge of a cliff overlooking Balboa Island and Promontory Bay. Beyond that was the Balboa Peninsula, the last chunk of land before the Pacific Ocean. The deep blue water extended as far as she could see, eventually merging with the lighter cerulean sky, dotted with a few puffy white clouds. It was breathtaking.
Closer in, she saw the busy marina, with boats moving in and out in some unspoken system that was far more organized and beautiful than the freeway. People, small as ants from up here, were wandering around the pier complex and its many shops and restaurants. It looked like there might be a farmer’s market taking place.
The trail had given way to a huge rock staircase that led down to the complex. Despite the wooden railings on either side, it was mildly daunting.
“The trail picks up again about fifty yards ahead and winds down to the harbor,” Mel said, sensing Jessie’s reticence. “We could go that way instead of the steps but it takes another twenty minutes and the view isn’t as nice.”
“No, this is fine,” Jessie assured her. “I just haven’t been keeping up with my Stairmaster routine and suddenly I’m regretting it.”
“Your legs only ouch at first,” Daughton said as he leapt in front of her and took the lead.
“Nothing like being shamed into action by a toddler,” Jessie said, trying to chuckle.
They started down the long flight of steps, Daughton first, followed by Mel, Jessie, and Kyle, with Teddy bringing up the rear. After a minute Daughton had gotten well ahead of them and Mel rushed down to catch up to him. Jessie could hear the guys talking behind her but couldn’t really catch what they were saying. And with the tricky steps, she was hesitant to turn around to find out.
About halfway down, she saw a college-age girl walking up the stairs, wearing only a bikini and flip-flops, with a beach bag flung over her shoulder. Her hair was still wet from the water and beads of sweat were trickling down her exposed, tan skin. Her curves were impressive and the swimsuit barely contained them. She looked like she might burst out at various places any second. Jessie tried not to stare as they passed and wondered if Kyle was doing the same.
“Damn fine ass on that one,” she heard Teddy say a few seconds later.
Jessie stiffened involuntarily, not just at the crudeness but because the girl would have almost certainly been close enough to hear it. She was tempted to turn around and give him a scowl when she heard Kyle’s voice.
“Right?” he added, snickering like a schoolboy.
She stopped in her tracks. As Kyle reached her, she grabbed his forearm. Teddy stopped too, a surprised look on his face.
“Go ahead, Teddy,” she said, putting a plastic smile on her face. “I just need my man for a sec.”
Teddy gave Kyle a knowing expression before moving on without comment. When she was sure he was out of earshot, she turned to her husband.
“I know he’s your friend from high school,” she whispered. “But do you think you could not act like you’re still there?”
“What?” he asked defensively.
“That girl probably heard Teddy and his leering tone. Then you go egging him on? Not cool.”
“It’s not that big a deal, Jess,” he insisted. “He was just making a little crack. Maybe she was flattered.”
“And maybe she was creeped out. Either way, I’d rather my husband not reinforce the ‘woman as sex object’ meme. Is that a reasonable request?”
“Jeez. Is this how you’re going to react every time a girl in a bathing suit walks by?”
“I don’t know, Kyle. Is that how you’re going to react?”
“You guys coming?” Teddy shouted up at them. The Carlisles were a good fifty steps farther down the stairs.
“Coming,” Kyle yelled back before lowering his voice. “That is, if you’re still cool with it.”
He moved on before she could reply, taking the steps two at a time. Jessie forced herself to take a long, slow breath before following him, hoping she could exhale her frustration along with the air in her lungs.
We’re not even fully moved in and he’s starting to turn into the kind of asshole I’ve tried to avoid my whole life.
Jessie tried to remind herself that one lame comment while under the influence of a high school friend didn’t mean her husband was suddenly becoming a Philistine. But she couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that this was only the beginning.
CHAPTER THREE
Five minutes later, with Jessie still silently seething, they walked into the lobby of the Club Deseo, getting some much-needed air-conditioned relief from the already warm day. Jessie looked around, taking the place in. She couldn’t help but think that the name, which according to Teddy meant “Club of Wishes,” was a little grandiose, considering what was in front of her.
She’d almost missed the club’s entrance, a large, unmarked, weathered oak door attached to a modest-looking structure on the quieter edge of the harbor. The lobby itself was nondescript, with a simple hostess stand currently manned by a gorgeous, industrious-looking brunette in her early twenties.
Teddy leaned over and spoke to her quietly. She nodded and indicated for the group to pass through a small hallway. It was only when another, equally beautiful young blonde woman asked her to put her purse in a basket that Jessie realized the hall also doubled as a classy metal detector.
Once through the hallway, the woman returned her bag and indicated that she should follow the others through a second wood-paneled door that seemed to blend into the wall beside it. If she’d been alone, she might have missed the door completely.
After they stepped through that second door, all the modesty of the building’s lobby quickly faded away. The cavernous circular room she was staring at had two levels. The top, where she was, had tables encircling and looking down on the lower level, which was accessed by a wide staircase.
The lower level had a small central dance floor surrounded by multiple tables. The entire place looked to have been designed using repurposed wood from old sailing vessels. Planks right beside each other, which comprised the walls, had different grades and colors. The hodgepodge shouldn’t have worked but somehow did, giving the space a nautical vibe that felt reverential, not shticky.
At the far end of the room was the most impressive feature. The entire ocean-facing side of the club was comprised of a massive glass window, half of which was above water, half below. Depending on where one sat, the view could be of the horizon or schools of fish swimming below the surface. It was incredible.
They were led to a large table on the lower level, where a group of about fifteen people awaited them. Teddy and Mel introduced them around but Jessie didn’t even try to remember the names. She learned that there were four couples, with about seven children split among them.
Instead, she smiled and nodded politely as each of them pummeled her with more information than she could process.
“I’m in social media marketing,” someone named either Roger or Richard told her. He fidgeted constantly and picked his nose when he thought no one was looking.
“We’re choosing wall rugs right now,” said the woman next to him, a brunette with blonde streaks in her hair who may or may not have been his wife but who definitely had eyes for the tan guy across the table.
It went on like that. Mel introduced someone. Jessie made no serious attempt to remember their name but instead tried to glean something about their true nature based on their looks, body language, and speaking style. It was a kind of game, one she employed often in uncomfortable situations.
After the introductions, two more pretty young girls swept in and collected all the kids, including Daughton, to take them to Pirate’s Cove, which one of the wives told her was the name of the youth fun zone. Jessie assumed it must have been pretty great because every child left without even a hint of separation anxiety.
Once they were gone, the meal proceeded much as Mel had warned her. Two women who were either twins or looked so similar that they might as well have been, told a story about a religious summer camp that was primarily about the terrible singing voice of the praise leader.
“She sounded like she was about to give birth,” one of them said as the other cackled appreciatively. To the extent that she paid any attention, Jessie got lost as they interrupted and spoke over each interminably.
A guy with a shock of long curly hair and a bolo tie he was way too enamored with recounted the particulars of a hockey game he’d attended last spring. But there was nothing memorable about it. The entire five-minute story was comprised of who scored goals when. Jessie kept waiting for a twist, like when an octopus was thrown on the ice or a fan jumped the wall. But there was no twist.
“Anyway, it was an awesome game,” he finally concluded, which she knew was her cue to smile appreciatively.
“Best. Story. Ever,” Mel said dryly under her breath, giving Jessie her only happy moment so far and something close to a second wind.
Much of the conversation was consumed with discussion of various upcoming club events, including the Halloween Bash, the Bringing the Boats in Party (whatever that was) and the Holiday Ball.
“What’s the Bringing in…” she started to ask before being cut off by the woman two seats down shrieking when a waiter accidentally knocked a glass of water over, getting a few drops on her.
“Bitch,” she muttered way too loud after the server had left. Soon thereafter, all the men got up, kissed their wives, and said goodbye. Kyle gave Jessie a perplexed look but followed suit.
“I guess I’ll see you later?” he asked more than said.
She nodded politely, though she was equally confused. It felt like they were in that scene from Titanic, when all the menfolk left after dinner to discuss business and politics over brandy in the smoking room.
Jessie watched as the guys wandered among the tables until they reached an ornate wooden door in the corner of the room with a muscular, humorless man standing in front of it. He looked like a bouncer at a nightclub, only he wore a tuxedo. As the guys from their table approached, he stepped aside to let them pass. He seemed to give Kyle a skeptical glance until Teddy murmured something to him. The bouncer nodded and smiled at Kyle.
The rest of the brunch went by in a whirlwind. As Mel had promised, the conversation centered around children and children-to-be, as at least two of the women in the group were clearly pregnant.
“I’m just gearing up to bitch-slap the next barista who gives me a dirty look when I’m breastfeeding,” one named either Katlyn or Kaitlyn said. “I was way too accommodating after Warner was born.”
“Threaten to sue,” Brunette with Blonde Streaks said. “I did that and got a hundred-dollar gift certificate as an apology. The best part was that no one had done anything wrong. I just complained about an ‘environment of discomfort.’”
Jessie was the only non-mother at the table but tried to join in the discussion, asking polite questions about the local elementary school (“a dump”) versus the private one they all seemed to send their kids to.
As Jessie listened to the disagreements about the top daycare and preschool options and the general consensus about the best supermarket, she felt her mind wander. She pinched herself under the table a few times as opinions were voiced on good churches, the best local gym, and where to find a great dress for the Holiday Ball.
But eventually, she gave up trying to keep track of who was saying what, or even offering bland affirmations, and settled into the role of passive observer, as if she were watching the social behavior of some unusual species in the wild.
Is this the life I’ve committed to? Lunches with ladies that focus on which gym has the best spinning class? Is this the world Kyle has been jonesing to become a part of? If so, just kill me now.
At some point, she realized Mel was tapping her on the shoulder to let her know brunch was over and that she needed to collect Daughton. Apparently Teddy and Kyle would be meeting them in the lobby.
Jessie nodded, said gracious goodbyes to the women whose names she couldn’t remember, and blankly followed Mel to Pirate’s Cove. She felt disoriented and exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go home, take a bath, have a glass of wine, and go to sleep. She glanced at her watch and was stunned to discover that it wasn’t even 1 p.m.
*She didn’t get to decompress until hours later. After the walk back to the Carlisle house and the obligatory hangout there for a while, they finally headed back home. But not before a pit stop to Costco for essentials. Jessie imagined the disapproving faces of her brunch companions.
Later that night as she washed her face while Kyle brushed his teeth, they had recovered enough to debrief the day a bit.
“What happened in the secret room you went off to?” she asked. “Did they make you strip to your undies and give you ten lashes?”
“I was actually a little worried about what was behind that door,” Kyle admitted as they moved into the bedroom. “But it turned out to be essentially a really well-appointed sports bar. They had games on the TVs, a waiter walking around taking drink orders, and a few guys changing into or out of golf attire.”
“So no smoking room with brandy?” she asked, wondering if he’d get the reference.
“Not that I saw, although I did notice Leonardo DiCaprio wandering aimlessly through the dressing room.”
“Nice job, husband,” Jessie said appreciatively as she got into bed. “You’ve still got it.”
“Thank you, wife,” he replied, sliding under the covers next to her. “Actually, I heard there was a cigar room in there somewhere but I didn’t go looking for it. I think it’s hidden away in some corner that’s exempt from the club’s ‘no smoking’ rules. But I bet I could have gotten a brandy if I’d asked.”
“Meet anyone interesting?” she asked skeptically as she turned off the bedroom light.
“Surprisingly, yes,” he said. “They were all pretty cool. And since two of them were looking for potential investments, that made them interesting to me. I think that club could be a real resource for business leads. You?”
“Everyone was very nice,” Jessie said hesitantly, hoping the darkness of the room hid her furrowed brow. “Very friendly with all kinds of offers of help with anything I need.”
“Why do I hear a ‘but’ in there?”
“No. It’s just that not once in the time I was with them alone did one of those women talk about anything other kids, school, or family. No mention of their jobs or current events. It just felt very provincial.”
“Maybe they just wanted to avoid controversial topics at a brunch with someone new?” Kyle suggested.
“Jobs are controversial these days?”
“I don’t know, Jessie. Are you sure you’re not reading too much into an innocent gathering?”
“I’m not suggesting they’re Stepford Wives or anything,” she insisted. “But other than Mel, they were relentlessly narcissistic. I’m not sure that any of them ever give more than a passing thought to the world outside their windows. I’m just saying that after a while, it started to feel a little…claustrophobic.”
Kyle sat up in bed.
“That phrasing sounds familiar,” he said, concern in his voice. “Don’t get pissed at me. But the last time you talked about feeling claustrophobic was when—”
“I remember the last time,” she interrupted, annoyed. “This isn’t the same.”
“Okay,” he replied delicately. “But you’ll understand if I ask if you’re comfortable with your meds these days. Is the dosage still working? Do you think maybe you should schedule an appointment with Dr. Lemmon?”
“I’m fine, Kyle,” she said, getting out of bed. “Not everything is about that. Can’t I express some reservations without you jumping to conclusions?”
“Of course,” he said. “I’m sorry. Please come back to bed.”
“I mean, seriously. You weren’t there. While you were off chilling with the boys, I had a plastic smile on my face while these women talked about shaking down coffee shops. That’s not a medication issue. It’s a ‘these chicks are awful’ issue.”
“I’m sorry, Jess,” he repeated. “I shouldn’t have assumed it was the meds.”
Jessie looked at him, torn between wanting to forgive him and wanting to rip him a little more. She decided not to do either.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said. “I just need to decompress. In case you’re asleep when I get back, I’ll say goodnight now.”
“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “Goodnight. I love you.”
“Goodnight,” she said, giving him a kiss despite her lack of enthusiasm at that moment. “I love you too.”
She left the bedroom and wandered the house, waiting for her frustration to dissipate as she moved from room to room. She tried to put his dismissiveness out of her head but it kept sneaking back in, riling her up despite her best efforts.
She was just calming down enough to head back to bed when she heard the same distant creaking noise from the other night. Only tonight it wasn’t so distant. She followed the sound until she found what she thought was the source—the attic.
She had come to a stop in the upstairs hallway right below the attic access door. After a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed the string to the door and yanked it down. The creaking definitely sounded more pronounced.
She clambered up the access ladder as quietly as she could, trying not to think about how this sort of decision always ended badly in horror movies. When she got up the stairs, she pulled out her phone and used the flashlight feature to search the space. But apart from a few aged, empty cardboard boxes, the space was empty. And the creaking had stopped.
Jessie carefully climbed back down, replaced the ladder, and, too amped to sleep, resumed her restless wandering. Eventually, she found herself in the bedroom they anticipated using for the baby, when and if one ever joined them.
It was empty now but Jessie could picture where the crib would go. She imagined it against the far wall, with a mobile dangling above it. She rested her back against the wall and slid down so that she was sitting with her knees in front of her face. She wrapped her arms around them and hugged tight, trying to reassure herself that life in this new strange place would be better than it seemed so far.
Am I reading this all wrong?
She couldn’t help but wonder if maybe her meds did need to be tweaked. She wasn’t sure if she was being too hard on Kyle or if she was judging the Club Deseo women too harshly. Was the fact that Kyle was adjusting so easily to this place and she wasn’t a reflection of his adaptability, her brittleness, or both? He already seemed at home, as if he’d lived here for years. She wondered if she’d ever reach that point.
She wasn’t sure if she was just nervous because her last semester of classes started up tomorrow and she’d have to dive back into the world of studying rapists, child predators, and murderers. And she wasn’t sure if that creak she kept hearing was real or in her head. At this moment, she wasn’t sure of much of anything. And it scared her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jessie was short of breath and her heart was palpitating. She was late for class. This was her first time on the campus of the University of California at Irvine and finding her classroom had been daunting. After running the last quarter mile across campus in the sweltering mid-morning heat, she barreled through the door. Her forehead was beading with sweat and her top felt slightly damp.
Professor Warren Hosta, a tall, thin, fifty-something man with narrow, suspicious eyes and a lone, sad tuft of grayish-black hair on top of his head, had clearly been mid-sentence when she burst in at 10:04 a.m. She’d heard rumors about his impatience and generally churlish demeanor and he didn’t disappoint. He stopped and waited for her to find her seat, staring at her the whole time.
“May I resume?” he asked sarcastically.
Great start, Jessie. Way to make a first impression.
“Sorry, Professor,” she said. “The campus is new to me. I got a little turned around.”
“I hope your skills at deduction are stronger than your sense of direction,” he replied superciliously before returning to his lecture. “As I was saying, for most of you, this will be your final course before securing your master’s degree in Forensic Psychology. It will not be a walk in the park.”
Jessie unzipped her backpack as quietly as possible to pull out a pen and notebook but the sound of the zipper passing along every tooth seemed to resonate in the room. The professor glanced at her out of the corner of his eye but didn’t stop speaking.
“I will pass out the syllabus momentarily,” he said. “But in general, this is what is expected of you. In addition to the standard course work and associated exams, those of you who have yet to complete one will submit and defend your thesis. In addition, everyone—completed thesis or not—will have a practicum. Some of you will be assigned to a correctional facility, either the California Institute for Men in Chino or the California Institute for Women in Corona, both of which house a number of violent offenders. Others will visit the high-risk unit at DSH-Metropolitan, which is a state hospital in Norwalk. They treat patients commonly referred to as ‘criminally insane,’ although local community concerns prevent them from accepting patients with a history of murder, sex crimes, or escape.”
An unspoken current of electricity passed through the room as the students all glanced around at each other. This was what they’d been waiting for. The rest of the lecture was fairly straightforward, with a description of their course work and details on writing their theses.
Luckily, Jessie had completed and defended hers while at USC, so she didn’t pay much attention to that discussion. Instead, her mind returned to the odd brunch at the yacht club and how, despite everyone’s warmth and generosity, she’d felt unsettled by it.
It was only when talk returned to the practicums that she really focused back in. Students were asking logistical and academic questions. Jessie had one of her own but decided to wait until after class. She didn’t want to share it with the group.
Most of her classmates clearly wanted to work at one of the prisons. The mention of a community ban on violent offenders at the Norwalk hospital seemed to limit its popularity.
Eventually Professor Hosta signaled the end of class and folks started to file out of the room. Jessie took her time returning her notebook to her backpack while a few students asked Hosta questions. It was only when they were all gone and the professor himself was starting to walk out that she approached him.
“Sorry again for the late arrival, Professor Hosta,” she said, trying not to sound too obsequious. Over the course of just one class, she’d gotten the strong sense that Hosta despised spineless groveling. He seemed to prefer inquisitiveness, even if it bordered on rudeness, to deference.
“You don’t sound very apologetic, Ms.…” he noted with a raised eyebrow.
“Hunt, Jessie Hunt. And I’m not really,” she admitted, deciding in that moment that she’d have more success with this guy if she was straightforward. “I just figured I needed to be polite in order get an answer to my real question.”
“Which is…?” he asked, his eyebrows raised in intrigued surprise.
She had his attention.
“I noticed you said that DSH-Metro doesn’t accept patients with a history of violence.”
“That’s correct,” he said. “It’s their policy. I was basically quoting from their website.”
“But Professor, we both know that’s not entirely accurate. The Norwalk hospital does have a small section cordoned off to treat patients who have committed some horrifically violent crimes, including serial murder, rape, and assorted transgressions against children.”