Tabitha was an enchanting socialite, a fragrant, status cum sex symbol. They met at a party. A critic introduced them. Tabitha fell for him. His detached and aloof personality was attractive. His constant self-engrossment was exciting. Curt was taken over by the meeting. Tabby invited him to dinner the following evening at her house. Curt was on Cloud #9. They got married the following week.
Tabby ran a boutique, and was well off. Curt wrote. The underground reckoned him. Magazines didn't buy it. It was too violent, too sadistic, and too farfetched, too much for the regular reader to grasp. Probably that's why the few critics thought of him as a possible future bestseller. But he got little money. On the other hand, Tabby was rich. They were ok, balanced. Tabby was always the first reader. She read it in one sitting and with full attention. It didn't matter if she wasn't interested how God could contract AIDS, or how "blood flew" as one of his characters claimed. It didn't matter. Curt was exotic. That's all that mattered. Besides Curt took care of the house in the mornings.
Tabby got pregnant soon. Curt believed now his work was attaining new highs in anticipation of his daughter. A whole human being out of a little of his sperm that usually adorned his bathroom tiles and slept-in bed sheets. Curt could now afford more highs. Tabby was there.
Juliet was born. Curt was in the hospital. He had a cardiac arrest, caused due to a drug overdose. It was the first time Tabby cried. How could Curt do this to her? Curt cried too, when he saw his Juliet for the first time. He composed a poem titled Juliet's Soil. The poem saw the light of the day in a local magazine, eager to cash in on Tabitha's page-three fame. The readers were outraged. It said something about Curt preserving Juliet's soiled diapers in an airtight jar and trying to build an honest museum of memories. Poetic license be damned.
Curt was shattered. But the underground never left his side.
Tabby was cross. Juliet was a demanding baby. Though Curt had cut down on dope, he still lived in his own world. Tabby was in the backseat, taken for granted, she would go wherever Curt drove her to. And in this world Juliet was the centroid. Tabby found the going difficult. It had been a year since Curt slept in the same bed as her. Curt rarely had lunch or a dinner with her, leave alone cooked for them. This was all going awry. She just couldn't bear being in this position. Something had to be done.
So Tabby talked to Curt. The response was: "whatever." That was bad. This was just before Juliet had her first walk. Curt was ecstatic. Each morning came with new gifts as far as he was concerned. But Tabby's boutique wasn't going great guns these days; something really had to be done.
Juliet fell from her crib. This had to bring Curt closer to Tabby. 'Coz Juliet would die or at least stay off home for quite some days. And Tabby would be with Curt, to console him. To reap out of what she had sown. Juliet had had a fall. Juliet survived. It was as the bespectacled doctor said "miraculous." It was the first… and the only time Curt hit Tabby. It was humiliating for her, standing there, all seducing in her new spandex, with a bust lip. Tabby cried.
A month passed. Juliet had just returned from the hospital when she had to be admitted again. She wasn't breathing. But as fate would have it (and would Curt), she made it. This time Curt was sure it was Tabby's doing. He got a divorce. Bitter fighting and even tear shedding couldn't turn the tide in Tabby's favor. She was devastated. A restraining order followed. Curt had to find a job. He had a daughter to raise. He couldn't find a job as a writer or small-time journalist. Not after Juliet's Soil. He washed dishes downtown at a Mexican restaurant. Life was tough. He was giving it his best shot.
Tabby returned. She was in the news. Driving under influence, she slammed her Porsche into a police patrol car which had tried to stop her. She stopped. She came out of her car and kicked the cop in the groin.
"DUI?" asked the judge. "A month. Next case."
Curt was aghast. What had happened to her? Juliet recognized her mom on TV.
"That's Mommy," said Juliet. Curt turned the TV off.
Curt now worked as a clerk at a gas station. He went to church. Juliet was in pre-school. Life looked upbeat, until fate made Curt encounter Tabby again at the gas station.
Tabby saw him sitting behind the desk through the glass door. She exclaimed, "Curt!"
"I'll call the police," said Curt, startled.
A frown suddenly appeared on Tabby's face. "I came up to you to say that every single day of this damn life I miss you, and you threaten me like I'm a criminal, a lowly piece of shit, huh?" She had not expected him to be so rude. Curt wasn't like that, she assured herself.
But Curt was furious. "What are you then? Go away or you'll go back to the very cell you came from."
This didn't make any sense to Tabby. She banged Curt's head up the door.
The police took her amidst cries of, "I didn't mean it Curt! I still love you, believe me, I would never hurt you."
Curt was all bandaged in the courtroom. His face was blank, devoid of any expression. She got 42 months, no parole. The judge declared a restraining order in Curt's favor.
Life was tough but it was dragging itself over every single day. More than three years had passed since Curt had seen the last of Tabby. In those three years he had graduated to writing for a local men's magazine. Juliet was in third grade and a bright child; Curt never stopped talking of how proud he was to have Juliet as his baby. Watching her grow and blossom was the biggest joy Curt could ever have. He and Juliet lived in a two-room rented flat in a middle-class residential area of the city. Life was something to look forward to. Thanksgiving came with a turkey. And all the comforts were taken for granted now.
Juliet had been looking forward to that day all week. She was to go on a camping trip with Clara and her family. Juliet and Clara was one happy pair of buddies. Curt would be spending the day at office and the night alone at home. The Smiths were trustable with Juliet. Besides these days he usually turned up exhausted, and would slump on the couch with the news on.
Curt looked at his watch. 9:30 pm. Juliet would be roasting marshmallows or playing Monopoly with Clara and her parents. He opened the door. Walking in, he felt uneasy today… Nothing in particular, but something inside him didn't feel all right. He couldn't tell what, but something was amiss. He peered into Juliet's room. He smiled… how much did he love reading her Peter Pan at bedtime, no matter how tired he was! And see those tiny, beautiful eyes slowly coast into deep slumber.
He didn't remember opening her door this morning. He shut it. The air in the living room suggested a faint fragrance. He turned on the TV, popped the beer and turned up the volume.
"…was all the Warden could tell us, but the number of convicts that might have escaped could be seven. Out of which three seem to have been apprehended. Keep watching for continuing coverage of this daring prison break. Jim Baker, at South Central Correction Center for Women, signing off."
Curt didn't realize he had stood up. He took a sip. The beer tasted like piss. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't swallow. His heart was telling him that Tabby was too meek to attempt an escape. His brain told him to shut his windows and call the Sheriff. Maybe she was on the list of the runaway convicts. Maybe he should have bought a gun.
Maybe he was plain panicking. He looked around… And there she stood. The beer can slid easily off his hand. She was in a slinky, black, figure-hugging dress, standing in the passage. She had not changed much.
"You haven't changed much, Curt," she said.
"It's not been that long," he replied, his mind refusing to take eyes off her, unsure of what to do.
"…Unconfirmed sources say only one of the escapees is still at large and the police is searching for her this very moment," the TV blared on in the background. "We'll be back shortly after these messages."
Tabby went into the kitchen. Curt followed. She was uncorking a bottle of wine.
"What are you trying to do?" Curt managed to ask her.
"It's been three years, one month and seven days since I last tasted any of this," was all she replied.
Curt stood there as she poured the wine into two glasses. She gave one of them to Curt.
Curt took the glass and said, "The Sheriff could be out just in the street tracking you down."
She laughed. This was unbelievable. "You aren't dating anyone, are you?" Tabby inquired. Her face had changed from a casual grin to a grim, tense composure.
"What's it got to do with you?" shot back Curt. All of this was warped.
Tabby's eyes turned moist. He saw her face slowly change expression again. "You don't appreciate me or my love or my feelings anymore, Curt. You are selfish. So selfish that you didn't even compliment me."
"Compliment you on what? Breaking out of prison? Go surrender this very…"
"Compliment me on my dress, on this damn wine for starters. You know, you don't get wine back from where I've jumped off. You don't know how difficult it's been since you went away. I still love you as I did the day we married. And I know that you love me too," Tabby said, gulping down the wine. She poured herself another one.
Curt threw his glass on the floor. He had to put an end to this. "I don't love you and we are not married. You get that? Get out this very moment or I'll call the cops." Curt was fuming. She looked at him with vulnerable eyes. "Don't tempt me, Tabby. I swear I'll call the cops. I've nothing to do with you. Get out, now!" Curt shouted at her.
Tabby started crying.
Mascara, which had been carefully applied, ran down her cheeks.
"Please don't shout at me… I need you, Curt, I love you. I'm sorry
that I hurt you that day really, Curt. I never meant to hurt you. I love you
Curt." She sat down on the floor with her back to the wall. "I wanna
be back with you. Give me a chance please."
Curt stared coldly back at her. "I don't want police in my home, Tabby. Leave. Now." Tabby's sobs didn't seem to stop. Her head was in her lap. She had started shivering.
Curt started for the phone. Tabby looked up. He had never seen a more piteous sight. Her make-up had run all over her face making her look like a little girl who had tried removing her mom's make-up before her mom showed up from the office. Curt was in a fix. He had once loved this very woman, made love to her. Life in prison was harsh. But, he had a life too.
Curt lifted Tabby by her shoulders. She was cold. She was still weeping. He heard a faint siren out in the street. Her palm was bleeding. The glass had broken in her hand. The sirens sounded louder and closer.
Tabby clung on to Curt. The phone started ringing. "Please don't let me go. Please."
Someone was climbing up the stairs.
Tabby looked in Curt's eyes. "Will you bring flowers for me in the prison?"
Curt was speechless. A feeble "Yes" followed.
Somebody rang the bell. It was the police. Curt opened the door. Cops came and handcuffed Tabby.
Tabby had now a faint smile on her lips. "I love you Curt. I hope you won't be mad at me anymore. I always did the best for us." Cops dragged her out of the room. "I'll look forward to your visit!" shouted Tabby.
The phone kept on ringing in the background.
One of the cops asked, concerned, "Are you alright, sir? Is everything okay?" He saw the wine and the broken pieces of glass on the floor and all the blood.
"Yeah," said Curt still looking at the door.
"You'll have to come to the station." Curt looked at the officer. "Not now… when you feel better, ok, sir?"
"OK."
The cops looked around and left. All was done with.
Curt finally picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
It was Clara's father. Curt thought about Juliet and felt calmness seep into him again. "How's my baby? Not much trouble to you, I hope."
"Mr. Wayne, you didn't happen to see the news, did you?" asked Smith.
"You bet," said Curt and breathed a sigh of relief. "It's over. How are things there?"
"I'm sorry you don't realize what has happened, Mr. Wayne. Your ex-wife shot Juliet today. She succumbed a few moments ago. We couldn't call you 'coz we had no phone around. I'm very sorry. Clara's hurt too. We are at the State hospital. Can you come in now? The authorities need you. Hello? I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne. Hello…? Mr. Wayne…?"
Curt's Cuts