Act VII
By Micki L. Bailey
Maggie couldn’t have described later what went on in her head as she walked towards him that afternoon because it was mostly chaotic murmuring. Static noise with a furious hum.
He was still watching, never removing his sullen, piercing eyes from her face, never making any expression whatsoever with his own. He wore, she could see immediately, shades of gray and black – as if he were attending a funeral.
She didn’t try to smile either. Or to hide anything. It was far too late for that. For a moment, she wondered if Shannon might be lurking around somewhere in the background. But then she decided against it. Too late for that too. This was the script’s famous final scene. The dénouement.
Gingerly, she sat down on the seat beside him and asked Patrick, the bartender, to bring her an Absolut over ice. Then she slowly swallowed and took a deep breath.
"So you wanna talk ‘bout things now?" she asked him quietly.
Roger picked up his glass of scotch and took a sip. Only when he set it back down did he answer. "From where I sit, looks like you’re the one with some talking to do, Maggie."
She smiled, but he didn’t notice. "Oh, I see. Let’s just forget about any indiscretions YOU may or may not have committed and concentrate solely on me."
"Am I supposed to know what the fuck you’re talking about?" His voice, she noted, was steady and calm. Even hushed. He looked over at her with pursed lips.
She sighed. "I’m not gonna play games with you, Roger……….I kissed him………several times……..and I enjoyed it."
While she watched, his faced altered itself – shifted from expressionless to cold nothingness. His eyes registered a dead and empty stare, and color seem to drain out of his skin. But he held her stare.
"Is that what you want, Maggie? That hoodlum?" He spit the word out viciously.
"I want you, Roger. I’ve wanted you since I can remember…….but you hardly give me the time of day anymore since you met The Crown Princess of Congeniality and Good Looks."
He smirked, and her heart turned over. "Great, baby. So what’s next on the agenda?"
Her temper flared, but she checked it. "Ya see? You can’t even talk to me about her, Roger! Why the fuck can’t you just admit that she came between us before Nick ever showed his face, huh?"
"Between us, Maggie?" He glared at her and then turned up his glass. Setting it down on the bar loudly, he said, "I think I’ve heard enough."
Before he could get up, she grabbed his arm. "Honey……We always talked before……Talk to me now…….I was honest with you. Why can’t you come clean with me? She does something for you, doesn’t she?"
He smirked again. "Baby, I’m not gonna play games either and tell ya that she’s not attractive……..and that I don’t like her……..I’d be lying if I said that. I’m a man……But…….."
"But what?"
Then he looked around the room casually. When his eyes reached hers again, he gave her his most amused smile. "But you’re the entrée, sweets."
This time her stomach turned over. "Yeah, after you get your appetizer somewhere else, hmm?"
"You’ve got some room to throw ‘round your accusations, Maggie. Does any of that justify what you’ve done?"
She grimaced. "I’m not looking for justification, Roger! I just wanna get to the bottom of all this shit! And you’re stone-walling me as usual! Why do you havta be so damn cavalier and cold?"
He stood up. "I’m leaving. I got places to go."
"Roger!" She tried again to make him stay, but in vain. He picked up his leather jacket off the back of the chair and sauntered out the door.
She sat at the bar long enough to finish her vodka and long enough to decide what exactly to do next. Then she told Patrick that she had an emergency to attend to at home and wouldn’t be staying around. Could he alert everyone else?
Back at the loft, she found Roger in the bedroom. He was packing a bag. Oh, no.
"Where’re ya going?" As hard as she tried, her voice betrayed her. The panic and pain burst through. Don’t let this be in the script.
He glanced up, expressionless. "Business trip. Gotta see a man ‘bout a car."
"Don’t go, Roger. Please. Let’s just spend this evening together. Just you and me alone. We can work it out. Please don’t leave now."
He zipped up the bag resolutely and turned. As his body angled around to her, she saw that he was twirling a silver switchblade in his left hand. The look he gave her knocked her down onto the bed. But his voice was gentle.
"No, Maggie. Here’s what we’ll do………While I’m gone, you can cleanse your system and decide which direction you want things to go in……..And when I come back, you can let me know what you came up with..……..I’ll accept whatever you decide…....Okay?"
"Why is all the deciding up to me?" She was crying now and didn’t even know when it had started.
"Because I made my decision a long time ago, baby……….way before you even knew I had designs on you……..Now the ball’s in your court, buckwheat." He whirled the switchblade around dramatically with his fingers once more, closed it instantly, and shoved it into his pocket.
She couldn’t get out anymore pleas for him to stay, but she knew it wouldn’t have done the least bit of good. He snatched up his bag and his jacket and turned to her once more.
"Keep the door locked, Maggie………..and page me if there’s an emergency."
"This is an emergency, Roger," she managed, choking on the tears.
"I’m giving you some time, baby………..time to think ‘bout things." Omigod. "Time to think" is exactly what she’d asked of Nick.
Then Roger left as her cheeks burned with the acid liquid that streamed from her eyes. She wanted to call out to him one more time, but she feared that if she opened her mouth, a wail would escape. A feeling of falling, of icy desolation, engulfed her. The sound of the loft door slamming shut was the most horrid and the most hollow she could ever remember.
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