The Wicked: A Love Story

Marabeth was up early the next morning, and walked the five blocks to Jim’s apartment. It was closer to downtown at Case and Washington, on the other side of Buren, the street that ran south and north toward downtown and divided Germantown from what once had been Little Hungary. She was going to buzz, but someone coming out let her in, and it was a treat coming to Jim’s place, an expensive and well kept apartment that not even he spent much time in. When she knocked on his door, she wore a perfect poker face as Seth Moore, shirtless, opened it.

“Good morning,” Marabeth said while Seth was pulling his dress shirt on. Always a dress shirt, she noted, just like Jim. “I could come back.”

“Not at all,” Seth ushered her in.

Jim was coming out of the kitchen and he looked a little surprised, but not at all embarrassed, much to his credit.

“I could go,” Seth said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jim said. “You didn’t drive.”

“Well, I’ll take a trip to McDonalds then and give you some time. I’m probably going to hit up those curio stores too.”

When Jim opened his mouth to protest, Seth opened the closet by the door and took out his coat.

“I insist,” he said. And then he said, “Remember what I said.”

“About?” Jim began. Then, scratching his head. “Ah, yeah.”

“Yeah,” Seth said, and was gone.

Marabeth looked after Seth, or rather looked at the door through which Seth had gone.

“I like him,” Marabeth said.

“Yup,” Jim said. “They’re a good family. What the fuck did they do to get mixed up with us?”

“Look,” Marabeth said. “I won’t take up much of your time.”

“Fuck that. Let me get you some coffee.”

“I was surprised,” Marabeth said.

“By?”

“Mom’s blessing,”

When Jim looked at her, Marabeth said, “It’s just, me and Mom haven’t always got on. I wished we did,” she said to Jim. “But we haven’t.”

“She was afraid for you,” Jim said. “She didn’t understand you is all.”

“And I don’t really understand her either,” Marabeth confessed. “I think I’ve always felt bad about that. Us not being on the same page. Not understanding each other.”

She was quiet for a while, then she said, “I wonder if I wasn’t a little jealous of you. Not in that angry way. Not in a hateful way. No,” Marabeth reconsidered this. “Not jealous, but just… wistful. I wished I could understand Mom the way you did. Love her like you did.”

“You love your mom,” Jim said. “Come on, everyone knows that. Even Peter, no matter some of the things he’s said.”

“Yes,” Marabeth agreed. “But not the way you do. And, I have to admit, none of us makes her smile like you do, Jim. You have a way about you.”

“Well, you know, gay men have to be pleasing.”

“Is that really a thing?” Marabeth said.

“Sometimes,” Jim said. “I had to talk to a shrink about it. It’s like, once you’re accepted you feel so grateful you’ll do anything. And it’s not like I told everyone in the family. But… ” his brow had furrowed and Marabeth said, “What is it, Jim?”

“It’s just, you know how you say you wished you’d gotten on with your mother? I wish I’d had a sane mother. I wish she hadn’t been so… you know? I wished my mother hadn’t killed herself.”

“Oh, fuck,” Marabeth said, putting down her cigarette, “I’m such a fucking cunt.”

“No,” Jim said, “I didn’t mean it that way. I wasn’t trying to make you feel like that.”

“I know, but—”

“It’s just, I wish that a lot. And the truth is, I felt anger and jealousy too. I was angry, and I was jealous, and you know what? Part of it was I though it was my fault.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

He lifted his head and sighed, not able to talk for a minute, not quite able to get to his words.

“But, it’s like, what did I do to have a mom who killed herself and a Dad who probably did the same thing too?”

“We didn’t do anything, Jim,” Marabeth said, fiercely. “We didn’t do anything but be born into this nuttiness.”

“Mara, I need to see the journal. I need to read it. It’s my family, I need to know about it too. Especially if Peter—”

“Of course,” Marabeth told him. “Is that what Seth wanted you to talk about? I am a fool. I should have asked you immediately. Peter made a second copy, and I don’t want to read it by myself, and God knows Kris won’t touch it. Maybe you and I can make something of it together.”

Jim blinked at her and Marabeth said, “What?”

“I just… I don’t know… I was looking for more of a fight.”

“Why?” Marabeth frowned. “I mean, if Peter read it, Peter who I cannot believe is fucking my best friend, then…”

“I don’t know,” Jim said. “Maybe it’s because I never knew my Dad. Maybe it’s because the whole reason I’m in this family is because… my granddad was your granddad’s best friend.”

“Our granddad. Grandfather. James Strauss was your grandfather too. That’s why you have his name, dufus.”

“But,” Jim shook his head, “I don’t know… Why do I always feel like some stepchild?”

“I don’t know,” Marabeth said. “Because it’s me who feels like the stepchild.”

“How in the world?” Jim demanded. “You’re the artist. You’re… You’re Nathan’s daughter. You’re Pamela’s heir.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Marabeth said. “The heir of a sketchy, shadowy old aunt who had no children. Except… that’s not even true.”

“What? Aunt Pam had kids?”

“She had one,” Marabeth said. “But… See, you really do need to read the book. Yeah. I’ll bring it to you. Knock yourself out with the craziness.”

“Will I regret it?”

“Probably.”