Girl in the Arena - Lise Haines [13]
—What’s that supposed to mean?
—It means you should leave some things alone.
—You don’t understand, she says, and starts to turn away again.
—Then make me understand.
—If Tommy dies, I become this thing, this widow for life. I’m not even supposed to fraternize with men once he’s gone.
Tommy is the seventh and seven is the limit, I know. That’s it on this earth, according to the bylaws. No woman is allowed marital congress with more than seven gladiators, Bylaw 116. And Gladiator Sport Association Widows, GSAWs, are not permitted to fraternize with common men, Bylaw 118. Allison knows she could lose her GSAW Financial Remuneration Fund if she goes against the rules. Each year she’s been in the GSAW, and with each Glad husband she’s married, her share has grown. But the fund can be demolished by flagrant misbehavior, mine as well as hers.
—Tommy’s not going to die, I say.
She begins to pace back and forth in front of the photo gallery she’s made of our hallway. Most pictures are groupings of Glads, like swarming class pictures, and in each, one of her husbands is to be found.
—Okay, worst case. You petition Caesar’s Inc. and you challenge the bylaws, I say.
—You don’t get it. I read through the new bylaws again last night. Petitioning isn’t allowed. And if I’m out making a living , who’s at home with Thad? And God knows you’ll probably take off.
—I’m not taking off, I say. Because right now, we just have to get through this match. She seems to calm a little and she puts her hands on her hips and looks back toward the bedroom.
Now. I’m not taking off now, I think.
—I was only testing to see if Tommy’s Living version is anything like him. I meant to just turn it on for a minute.
She looks at me with an almost timid expression.
—Did you see? I had him wave at you, she says. —I think he was nice and sharp, don’t you? But I’m not so sure about his expression. I think he’s missing some quality. I don’t know what it is.
—Humanness, perhaps? I hate to tell you, but Living is intended to be a game, something people do for entertainment, for fun. You can’t have a virtual husband. That’s just not right. And even if that’s what you want . . .
—I don’t, she says, looking contrite.
—Well, even if you did, you can’t tell me that would be good for Thad.
—I could turn the volume down, she says.
I hope she’s deadpanning me.
—You want him to have a quiet father who vanishes if we blow a fuse? I ask.
—Someday when you’re a mother, you’ll get it, she snaps.
—I’m going downstairs, I say.
I get why she’s so crazy right now, but I don’t have to stand around in the line of fire.
She calls after me. —Virtual reality is very successful in treating trauma victims! Burn patients! Look it up.
I trudge down the blue carpet of Allison’s grand staircase.
—You’re not a burn patient! I call over my shoulder.
—You shouldn’t be so hard on me! Your father was always hard on me! she calls back.
—Which one?
—All of them! All seven! They’ve all been hard on me like you!
CHAPTER
5
By now Tommy’s stepping into his competition gear in the locker room of the amphitheater. But his family is having a later start than planned because my mother kept changing her outfit. Now we take the surface streets, hoping to avoid the afternoon rush hour. The sun is too bright, the heat without letup, and I know just how nervous Allison is because she keeps sliding her fingers off the wheel to dig her nails into her scalp. We’re all just nerves and we almost hit a brown Audi that swerves at the last second to avoid us.
The driver, a man with thin gray hair, looks pretty rattled. Allison’s hands shake as she lights a Marlboro, trying to calm down. She stays put in the car. The man and I get out of our respective vehicles and look at how close we’ve come. Our front bumper is less than an inch from the Audi. Like that space between God and Adam. The man looks at the decals on our bumpers and windows.
—Goddamn