THE KIND YOU FEED WITH A LONG-HANDLED SPOONA Short Story He Bears Watching

Was someone trying to frighten her or trying to kill her?  Was he in on it?

***

She’d learned early on not to expect too much from life.   At four feet eleven, she was accustomed to being overlooked.  Then one day, Reed looked at her.  His eyes settled on her as though, in a room full of women, she was the only one worth seeing, and something warm blossomed in her chest. 

Because beneath the body she'd spent years agonizing over was a woman who was deeply sensual, uninhibited, and hungry for love.  Reed seemed to see the woman no one else had bothered to look for.

 

But her family didn’t like him.  Although they never told Yvette why.  They simply looked at him, then glanced at each other.  He bears watching, their looks said.  He's the kind you feed with a long-handled spoon.



Reed was not only swoon-worthy handsome; he was also very charismatic.  A man's man.   But it was the women who competed for his attention wherever he went.  The guy had swag.   It was the way he carried himself.  Cool, confident, charming. 

He had everything, and to show it off, he was always impeccably dressed.   Whether in jeans and a T-shirt or formalwear, he turned heads.

 

Once in a while, Yvette caught one of the old people giving him a sidelong glance.  She dismissed it.  All that mattered was that Reed wanted her.  So, when he asked her to marry him, she happily said yes before fear could make her question it.

 

Reed was as ambitious as he was handsome.  An alderman who planned to become mayor.  But he understood that ambition alone wasn't enough.  A politician needed a story people could believe in.  He'd always been good at fabrication, So, he began constructing one.



The image would be of an honorable, dependable man.   A church-going family man with a beautiful home and two children playing in the yard.   Yvette would be part of the picture.  And Reed would sell the picture to every media outlet in town.

 

He loved church, so he became a youth minister at the church Yvette attended.  Then, he announced that they would wait until after they married to have sex.  Yvette accepted that as evidence of his character.



They’d buy a condo, furnish it, and make it their first home together after the wedding.   But for now, he said, they’d live separately.   So, they began collecting the beautiful things that would make their new lives comfortable.



A voluptuous dream of a sofa.  A dining table large enough for twelve.  Soft towels and expensive sheets, which Yvette folded carefully and put in the linen closet beside scented sachets.  Dinnerware.  Fragile stemware.  Lamps.  

Thick, plush throw rugs.  Pictures waiting to be hung.  Yvette began to see the life she'd dreamed of but hadn’t dared to hope for.  For once, she thought, life had thrown the midget girl a break.

 

***

 

The first warning came by telephone.  Then another.

Yvette was Head of Programming at the TV station, and reaching her at work was nearly impossible unless someone knew exactly how to get through.  Soon, there were reports of calls from people she didn't know.   

Security turned away strangers seeking her.   One day, a messenger delivered a gift.  She screamed when she opened the box.  Inside was a small coffin containing a little doll, an exact replica of her.



Then came the night she almost died.  She was driving home when headlights filled her rearview mirror.  The car behind her surged forward.  Closer.  Its bumper nearly touched hers.  Then the driver swerved violently into her lane.  

Yvette screamed and jerked the wheel.  For one terrifying second, she thought she'd lose control.  She glanced at the other car.  Its windows were so dark she couldn't make out the driver.  Then the car accelerated and disappeared into traffic.

 

She drove the rest of the way home, her hands trembling.  Reed was there waiting for her.  As she stumbled through her story, he pulled her against him.  “You’re safe now.  You probably ran into some idiot.  Don't worry, Baby, I'll keep you safe.  I'll always protect you."   Yvette pressed her face against his chest.

"Reed, what about the coffin?"

"Obviously some fool playing a macabre joke.  Could have been anyone.  Even someone from a competing TV network."

She wanted so much to believe him.




A few weeks later, she and Reed arrived at their condo, each carrying a box of kitchenware.  When he unlocked the door, Yvette stepped inside and froze.  The place looked as if a tornado had torn through it.



Someone had slashed their beautiful sofa, its white stuffing spilled across the floor.   All their beautiful linens were ripped to shreds.  Plates and bowls were smashed, and the lovely crystal stemware glittered across the floor like ice chips.



Yvette looked toward the bedroom.  The mattress had been ripped open, its white foam spilled across the room in enormous mounds.  It was an unmistakable message.  The box slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor.  She turned to Reed.

"You tell me what's going on this instant." 

Cornered, Reed said, “It’s an old lover; she’s obsessed with me."

"Who?"

“It doesn't matter."

"What the hell are you talking about?  She just tried to kill me.  And if I had been here this time, she would have tried again.  Of course it matters!"

"I'll take care of it."

"Reed, she destroyed our home."

"I'll take care of it."

Yvette stared at him.  "This is hate, Reed.  Not love.  What is she going to do next?"

"We'll call the police."

"You promised me you'd protect me."

"I will."

But Yvette saw something in his eyes.  It wasn't fear.  Something else, but she couldn't put her finger on it.  No matter how hard Reed tried to convince her to come back to his apartment, she wouldn't.  She went to her best friend Kendria's house and stayed there for a week.

 

***

 

Reed had promised to call the police.  He didn't.  Instead, he made another call.  "Listen, you catty bitch," he said.  "Stay away from me.  If you do anything to ruin my chances of becoming mayor, I'll see you in hell.  Do you understand me?"



Three weeks passed before Yvette agreed to see him again.  Reed didn't start with explanations.  He was too smart for that.  He held her and quieted her fears.  And for the first time since they'd met, they made love.  It was tender.  Slow.   Loving.  And he held her all night.



Soon, Yvette convinced herself the attacks had been nothing more than jealousy run amok.  Someone trying to poison something beautiful.  When Reed asked her not to leave him, she snuggled close and agreed.   She wanted the dream.  She needed it to become her reality.

***

 

But the calls continued.  And now she was getting them not only at work but also at home.  At first, they were only hang-ups.  Then a young woman's voice spoke.  She knew where Reed had been.  She knew what he'd been doing.  

She knew things Yvette didn't want to know.  But against her will, Yvette listened, then hung up.  She never told anyone.  Only Reed.



And Reed always had an explanation.  The more frightened Yvette grew, the more wonderful Reed seemed.  He dazzled her, took her to places she loved, brought home flowers for no reason, and planned nights out under the stars with a bottle of wine, cheese, fruit, and a blanket.



He even helped with her wardrobe.  He knew which styles made her look taller and slimmer.  And something extraordinary happened.  Yvette began losing weight.  For the first time in her life, she was enjoying being alive.

Then, as suddenly as the calls had begun, they stopped.  Yvette relaxed again.  After they were married, they bought a magnificent house.   Soon they had twins—a boy and a girl.   Their life had begun.

 ***

The first year of marriage was almost perfect.  For her birthday, Reed took her to a luxurious hotel for the weekend.   They danced, dined, drank champagne, and laughed.   

But of the two nights they spent in that big, beautiful bed, only one ended in lovemaking.  Yvette felt a flicker of warning.    But her mind turned and scurried away from the thought.



The following year, Reed repeated the birthday ritual.  And the year after that.  Every year, it was a grand performance of romance and carnal delight.  But between birthdays, he was cold or indifferent.  

He began leaving their bed before dawn, always returning before Yvette’s alarm went off.  When she questioned him, he had answers.  He always had answers.

 

What disappeared was sex.  Then affection.  Whenever Yvette tried to talk about it, Reed grew angry.  Once, his anger was so explosive that she wondered whether he might actually kill her.  That was the night she finally admitted something was wrong, and it'd taken only fifteen years.



She began seeing a therapist.  But when the woman got too close to the truth, Yvette stopped going.  Instead, she pasted on a smile and carried on, burying everything that frightened her deep inside.

 

***

 

Since he'd thrown his hat in the ring for mayor, people scrutinized his personal life, and Reed wanted it to look beautiful.   And beauty was expensive.   The house grew more lavish, the cars more expensive, the vacations more decadent.

Soon, creditors began sending sheriff's deputies to Yvette's office because everything was in her name—the house, the income property, the cars, the credit cards—everything.  She drained her savings to pay them off.



On Sundays, Reed heaped lavish praise on her from the pulpit.  Yvette smiled, but inside, it felt less like praise and more like water closing over her head.  When the church announced a five-day women's retreat, she signed up immediately.



Five whole days without pretending.  Five days of refreshment.  And she slept deeply for the first time in a long time.  By day four, she felt almost like herself again.  She couldn’t wait to get back home to Reed.  

So she left a day early because she still felt there was something worth saving in her marriage and wanted to share her thoughts with him.

But at home, Reed was nowhere to be found.  So, Yvette had an early night.  Around midnight, she heard him come in, but he didn't come into their bedroom.  She rolled over and went back to sleep.  We'll talk in the morning, she told herself.



Morning brought the smell of bacon and freshly brewed coffee, and she followed the aroma downstairs.  What she saw made her stop dead in her tracks.  

A woman with a straight, blunt-cut bob stood at the stove, wearing the beautiful lingerie Yvette had once bought to entice Reed.  Reed stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her body.  Lovingly.  Intimately.



They both turned at Yvette’s scream.  It was a sound she’d never made before, the cry of an animal caught in a trap.  Everything she'd spent years refusing to see was now staring her square in the face.

 

The nights he'd left their bed.  Avoiding sex with her.  The phone calls.  The warning bells.  The old lover.  The people who had looked at Reed strangely yet stayed silent.  Kendria's hesitation.  

All of it.  She had known.  Somewhere beneath all the denial, she had known.  But knowing and accepting were different.

Her fury boiled over.   Yvette lunged, blind with rage, throwing her entire weight into the woman.  They crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs.  Yvette screamed, her fists pounding mercilessly into the woman’s chest, shredding the delicate lace of her own lingerie.



But as the fabric tore away, Yvette’s fists froze.



The chest beneath her hands wasn't soft. It was broad, flat, and hard with muscle.



Before her brain could process how wrong it was, Yvette grabbed a handful of the woman’s hair and yanked.  The scalp gave way with a sickening, synthetic snap. The sleek blunt-cut bob came away entirely in her grip, leaving behind a cropped, masculine haircut and a sharp, masculine jawline frozen in rage.




The young man didn't scramble to hide; he went feral. He scrambled up and kicked Yvette with his bare foot.



She gasped, sprang to her feet, and attempted to run, but a pair of heavy arms locked around her waist from behind, pinning her arms to her sides.




When Reed came into view, Yvette looked up at him, her eyes begging.  This was Reed, the man who once held her through the night.  Her breathing hitched, waiting for him to rip the attacker off her.




Reed stopped inches away.  He didn't look at the man holding her.  He looked down at her.  His face wasn't twisted in rage—it was cold, smooth, and empty.  His right hand pulled back, his fingers locked straight and rigid.




The first strike caught her square across the face—an open-handed blow that echoed through the room.   Each slap stung her, rattled her teeth, and degraded her, his palm connecting with her flesh again and again until the room tilted into blackness.

***

 

When she came to, the house was empty.  She gathered what was left of her life and went back home to her parents' house.  The news spread quickly.  Everyone wanted to know what had happened.



But Yvette only sat in her bedroom, staring out the window.  Then one evening, Kendria came.  She opened the windows to let in cool, fresh air, made a pot of coffee, put on some smooth jazz, lit a cigarette, handed Yvette one, and sat quietly with her friend.

Eventually, Yvette spoke.

"Keni."

"I'm here."

"He slapped me until I passed out." Her voice was flat.  "He could have killed me."

Kendria didn't answer.

"I thought he'd pull that boy off me.  I thought he'd apologize.  I thought he'd beg me not to leave him."

She stared at the window.  "But he didn't."  A tear rolled down her cheek.  "He helped him."

Kendria reached for her hand.

"Yvette—"

"He hates me."

"No."

"I saw it in his eyes.  Remember when someone tore apart that condo he and I had?   I caught a glimpse of it back then, but I didn't realize what it was."

Kendria was quiet for a moment.   "I don't think he hates you."

"Then what?"

"I think he hates himself."

Yvette turned toward her.   "Why would he hate himself?"

Kendria looked at her.

"You tell me."

Yvette shook her head.  "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yvette."

"What?"

"Why did you stay?"

"I loved him."

Kendria's voice softened.  "So, you didn't realize he was gay?"

Yvette looked at her.

"Did you?"

Kendria's eyes filled with tears.   "Baby Girl." She took Yvette's hand.   "Everyone knew."

The room went still.

Yvette stared at her.   "Then why didn't somebody tell me?"

Kendria didn't answer immediately.

Finally, she said, "Because we were afraid you wouldn't listen."

"That's not an answer."

"I know."

"You all knew?"

"Yes."

"Everyone?"

"Everyone."

Yvette looked down at her hands.

"Then why did you guys let me marry him?"

Kendria sighed.

"Because you once told me God put you here to love Reed."

Yvette looked up.

"And when I asked you who God put here to love you, you nearly bit my head off.”

Yvette remembered.   She had forgotten the conversation.

"After that," Kendria said, "I knew better than to say anything against him."

Yvette looked away.

"I imagine he's been through hell."

"Good.  But what about me?  You have no idea what I've been through."

Kendria nodded.  "No, I don't." She paused.   "But I think you both suffered."

Yvette said nothing.

"Reed suffered because he couldn't find the courage to be who he really was."

Silence.

"And maybe he hated himself for that."

Yvette stared at the floor.

Then, very quietly, she said, "You asked why I stayed."

Kendria waited.

Yvette looked at her.

"Look at me."

Kendria's eyes filled again.

"I thought no one would ever love me."  Her voice broke.

"And when Reed asked me to marry him, I was so proud.   Someone had finally chosen me." She swallowed.   "I leaped at the chance."

Then she stopped.   Something occurred to her.

"Oh, Keni."

"What?"

Yvette covered her mouth.  "He never said it."

“Said what?”

She began to cry.   "He never said he loved me."   Kendria squeezed her hand.

"Not once.   Oh, God, not once."

"Why did he turn on me?"

Kendria stared at her.  "Only Reed can answer that."

"But you have a theory."

Kendria sighed.  "I think marrying you was part of the life he had planned."

"He needed the wife.   The house.  The church.  The family.”  Her voice grew quieter.   "And when he realized the life he'd built wouldn't give him what he wanted, all that anger had to go somewhere."

Yvette looked at her.  "And it went to me."

Kendria nodded.

Yvette closed her eyes.  For years, she had believed Reed had saved her from a life in which no one would ever love her.  Now she understood something even worse.  He hadn’t saved her; he’d used her to save himself.

***

After three months, Yvette still had not returned to work.  She rarely spoke.  She barely ate.  And sometimes she thought she’d never return to work.  Most days, she sat at the window in her bedroom, watching the world go by without her.



Then one morning, she woke before dawn.  During the night, she had reached a decision.  For the first time in months, she felt good and somehow knew everything would be all right.  After showering, brushing her hair, and getting dressed, she climbed into her car.  

With the windows open, she let the soft morning air brush her skin.  She felt strangely peaceful as she drove straight into the concrete wall at the rear of a nearby big-box store.  She died at the scene.

***

That evening, the old people gathered on the large wraparound porch overlooking the lake.  They rocked in their chairs and sipped lemonade or iced tea.  Their voices were low in the twilight.

"We've all been in denial," one said.

"We knew he was gay.   But I don't think Yvette ever admitted to anyone that she knew too."

"Probably not.   Ever since she was a little girl, whenever reality became unbearable, Yvette solved the problem by withdrawing rather than confronting it."

"Well.  All Reed wanted was a beard."

"He wanted everything," another said.  “He wanted to have his cake and eat it too."

"Yeah. Yvette made bank, and he wanted that too.  He liked living large."

An uncomfortable silence followed.

Finally, one of them said, "It wasn't that he was gay.  It was that Yvette refused to believe what her eyes were showing her.   She knew he didn't want her.  She was in denial."

"She chose to stay."  Another voice answered quietly.

"Yes."

"But he didn't have to destroy her."

"No." The old woman lowered her eyes.  "He didn't."

Silence.

"We thought we were protecting her."

No one spoke.

"But we weren't."

Someone shook his head.  "We should have told her."

"Would she have listened?"

"Maybe not."

They fell silent again.

Then someone whispered the words that none of them could escape.

"But we should've tried.

Thanks for Reading.

 Fade to Black—Metallica (1984)

"Things are not what they used to be; Missing one inside of me"

                                                         

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