To no one’s surprise, Rusty is already heading to the bar cart to make himself a cocktail.
“Russ,” Melissa says, attempting calm. “Did you really go to a bar and start telling everyone that Carey does all my work?”
He burps into his fist, then gives a rumbling “Yup.”
Melissa picks up a glass from a side table and takes a long drink. If I didn’t know better, I would think there was booze in there from the way she inhales, trying to draw strength from the liquid. She sets it down carefully. “Why—why would you do that?”
“Because it’s true.”
Melissa’s face turns a bright, terrifying red. “It is not true.”
Rusty bursts out laughing.
I can feel my mouth pulling back in the Yiiiikes face, and beside me, Carey shifts awkwardly, waiting for Melissa to blow. I think Rusty is going to continue to give these short, off-the-cuff answers, but instead of pouring the scotch he’s holding into a tumbler, he recorks the bottle and sets it down again. “Isn’t it time we stop lying to each other?” he asks with sudden, calm clarity.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“For the past—how long now? Five years? Carey does all the design work, and everyone else gets credit.” He takes a step closer to Melissa. “We go on TV and talk about all of our ideas, but they aren’t even ours anymore.”
“Russell, that isn’t true,” Melissa says, glancing at me, voice thin and tight. I wonder how this conversation would be going down if I weren’t here. Would Melissa admit to what he’s saying? Is her denial a show for me?
“Sure it is,” Rusty says. “I used to build things based on my own designs—they were basic, but they were solid. And then she came along and I was building things based on her designs.” He pauses, staring at his wife like he’s waiting for her to say something. But she just stands there, red-faced, shaking. “Never yours, Melly. It wasn’t even like you pretended to be doing them. Why didn’t we ever talk about this?” He reaches up, rubs his forehead like he’s coming out of a fugue.
Melissa looks so angry she can’t speak.
“I didn’t mind,” he admits, “because at least I was still building. Maybe we were stealing her ideas, but at least I was having fun.”
Wow. I glance over at Carey and see that her discomfort over this conversation has started to shift into fury. She extends and curls her trembling fingers in front of her, and then wraps one hand around the other fist. I move closer to her and brush the back of her hand with mine, offering. She takes it, squeezing tightly; her tremors shake her hand in my grip.
“But now,” Rusty says, gesturing to Carey, “she’s still doing it all, and we’re just pretending. We’re not even sleeping in the same room. I flirted with Stephanie for months, and you had no idea because you were so damn busy with the show and the endorsements and writing a book on marriage, of all things.” He laughs. “I let things go too far, but I just wanted you to notice me.”
I want to point out that this seems like a very strange time for him to be drawing the line on all of this, but I think it’s probably better for me to keep my mouth firmly shut.
Melissa shifts on her feet, looking at me and then back to her husband. “We’re in a rough spot, but that doesn’t mean we’re over, Russ. Every marriage—”
Rusty cuts her off with a deafening bellow: “Have you been listening to me, Melly? It’s too late. I. Want. A. Fucking. Divorce.”
I don’t have a good handle on Melissa or her reactions, but I think it surprises everyone when she lets out a simple, quiet “No.”
“Honey,” Rusty says, in the most sugary, condescending voice possible, “it ain’t up to you.”
“Enough,” Carey says with tight, quiet rage. She looks at Melissa, at Rusty, and then shouts, “Can you even hear yourselves? How is this my job?” She looks at me, eyes on fire. “How are they okay having this kind of conversation in front of us?”
I give her a helpless shrug. “No idea.”
“Carey, honey—” Melissa begins, but Carey cuts her off.
“What happened to the down-to-earth couple I met?” she asks. “What happened to the two people who worked hard for a living, personally greeted everyone who came into their store, and took pride in their business?” She looks at them, but they only stare back; I’m sure neither of them has ever heard Carey speak this forcefully and they aren’t quite sure how to handle her. If I hadn’t had sex with the woman, I might be surprised, too, by this display of fire, but instead I’m just standing here holding her hand and feeling proud as hell.
“Rusty, you’re wrong,” Carey says. “Melly used to do her own work.” He starts to protest, but she shushes him. “She did. She decorated. It’s not the same, but she did. She loved putting together a room with your pieces, and you know it. Don’t trivialize that.”
Melissa starts to say something victorious, but Carey interrupts her again. “No, wait. I’m not done.” Carey turns to her. “Yes, you used to decorate, but you never designed, and you know it. You know I came in and designed the daybed and the coffee table. You know I designed the collapsible stairs, and the desks, and the tables, and everything else that came after it. You know the entire Small Spaces book is my work. You know it’s always been me, and you were happy to let the world think it was you, that paying me a lot of money meant that your conscience could be clear, but it’s not true. You took advantage of my need for insurance, for a job. You took advantage of my insecurity about growing up poor and not going to college or being good enough. You know you’ve been doing this, Melly, and it’s terrible.”
Melissa stares at Carey, and the color slowly drains from her face.
Rusty leans his arm against the fireplace mantel and reaches for a poker to stab at the burning logs. Carey walks over, takes the poker from his drunk hand, and gently shoves him away from the fire. “Russ, go sit down.” She sounds so tired.
“You quitting?” he asks, obstinately leaning an elbow against the mantel.
Carey nods. “Yeah. I’m quitting.”
Rusty lets out a long, slow whistle. “Isn’t that something? All this work. We get a TV show, we get books.” He points at me. “He gets a big promotion, and you end up quitting.”
My stomach drops out, and a hush falls over the room. Slowly, Carey’s eyes move from Rusty—who looks only now like he’s said something wrong—and then over to me. “A promotion?”
In all honesty, I haven’t thought about the promotion in hours and was going to tell her as soon as we got back home. What had once been the most important part of my life—the trajectory of my career—has slid down the ladder of priorities. I open my mouth to tell Carey that I’ll explain it later, but Rusty speaks first.
“Ted told me,” Rusty says, grimacing in my direction. There’s guilt in his expression, but if I’m not mistaken, I catch a subtly evil gleam in his eye, too. Maybe if he can’t get his way, no one can. The good ol’ boy has a darkness.
“What are you talking about?” Carey asks.