A Rum Runner or a Banana Banshee?
Braedon Ramsey lived with his wife and two-year-old twin daughters in a modest three-bedroom home in South Orange Bay. He’d spent the past twelve years working in journalism, while his wife taught in the second grade of a local public elementary school. They’d been married for almost a decade.
After he returned home from the luncheon, he slipped into some casual clothes and sat down on the reclining chair in the family room and kicked back. He could hear his wife cleaning in the kitchen not far away and could smell the scent of the lasagna that she’d prepared, baking in the oven.
He’d grown disinterested in his marriage, resenting his wife’s lack of self-control and the weight she still hadn’t lost since she’d gotten pregnant. She was a kind-hearted woman, though, and he didn’t want to hurt her. He knew he was supposed to be a good father, husband, and provider.
He watched her as she entered the room in her all-too familiar moo moo housecoat, which she called a sundress. Playing the martyr, she swept the crumbs from the floor around his chair and the couches next to him into a dustpan. No words came from her mouth, but something about her movements exuded a hint of bitterness.
Appearing as an old, weary housewife, she’d pulled her mousy, brown hair into a tight pony tail, leaving no hair to frame her roundish face and her pale, tired-looking hazel eyes. She’d already removed the little bit of eye makeup that she’d applied that morning before school and had traded in her somewhat trendier school outfit for the moo moo. That’s what he got to look at every day; a tired looking cow with a ponytail in a moo moo. So unfair.
And he was in better shape than he’d ever been in. Didn’t she notice that? She used to compliment him daily, but now she rarely said anything about his physical appearance. The only compliments he’d heard in a long time were about the way he treated their children; she appreciated it when he took them for walks and to the park. That was about it.
He enjoyed doing those things, though, as Kaylee and Haley meant everything to him. They’d been a blessing in his life since the day they were born just over two years before. He wanted to give them a good life, a prosperous life.
But they were struggling financially. The daycare was expensive and he barely had enough to pay his bills each month. He was glad for the times when his mom could help out by watching the kids; but she had a day job, so the only time she could take care of them was on the weekends or at night.
They rarely needed her on the weekends, though. They never went out to eat anymore and rarely entertained their friends. Rarely entertaining was fine with Braedon as his friends had good-looking wives who kept themselves in shape and looked great at all times, while his wife was a slob. But she was a loving mother.
He checked his watch and figured he still had about fifteen minutes to relax before she’d be picking the kids up from the daycare. Quiet time. Time to reflect on the day. Soon the house would be filled with noise and chaos, and that was okay; the girls were a delight to be around and he loved them.
Unlike his wife. And he didn’t blame himself for that. What she’d done to her body was her fault. She knew how he felt about extra weight, and how his mom’s obesity had embarrassed him to no end when he was young. She knew he expected her to remain thin. Very thin.
Covering the fundraiser at Catherine O’Brien’s house would be a treat. He knew where she lived as he’d checked the tax records and mapped the route to her house a couple of weeks before. In his old Toyota Camry, he’d driven by a few times and had admired its opulence.
Catherine O’Brien had become something of a celebrity in Orange Bay since her promotion to the CEO role at Fox ‘n Fields. She’d replaced a CEO who’d been at the helm for twenty years, but whose ideas had become stale, contributing to the company’s slump of late. Catherine had been profiled by many of the local newspapers and business periodicals, but he hadn’t seen her in person until the luncheon. She was impressive. And thin. Hopefully she hadn’t noticed his wedding band before he thought to remove it.
He considered the contrast between his wife and Catherine. Tricia was Catherine’s opposite. She was frumpy and worn out, sporting either moo moo housecoats or shorts and worn t-shirts when home. And her shorts were often too tight and were always too short, exposing her chunky legs.
He cringed. “Her legs. Ugh. Why doesn’t she cover those things up? The cellulite makes them ripple like jello when she walks.”
He looked down at his own legs as he sat on his favorite reclining chair in the family room of his house and flexed his muscles. Flawless. The workouts had paid off. He glanced at his right arm and flexed his muscles, which tightened the sleeve of his long-sleeved fishing shirt. Shirts and shorts couldn’t hide the muscles he’d accumulated and maintained over the years in his magnificent castle of a body. Women, aside from his wife of course, appreciated his body and his regal, proud ways; they lusted over him. Who wouldn’t lust over perfection?
Again he thought of his wife’s legs and felt a twinge of anger burning inside of him. He called out to her, “Tricia, how about joining me at the gym this weekend? They’re running a family membership special.”
“No thanks. How about joining me at the church with the kids?”
“Ha! Good one.” He cringed, “Not even interested in fixing the problem.” She was beautiful when he married her, when she was twenty-five pounds lighter at one hundred and ten pounds. At five foot eight, that was the perfect weight for her.
Then her doctor told her that she needed to gain weight if she wanted to get pregnant, so she gained a quick ten pounds and got pregnant. He thought, “That must’ve been the last time I slept with her. She still looked good. But she doesn’t now, and I’m not sleeping with a fat chick.”
“And she doesn’t even realize she’s fat.” He shook his head in disgust, recalling the times when she had tried to sell him on her ‘normal’ weight and her ‘naturally pretty’ features. Sure, she had a pretty face. Just too hard to see it with the extra pounds that were framing it.
“The lasagna smells good. Let’s remember portion control tonight.”
He waited for her response, but heard nothing.
The pregnancy caused this problem, but it also produced the twins. Kaylee and Haley were his little strawberry delights with their strawberry blonde curls, freckles, button noses, and sunny dispositions. Tricia dressed them in a multitude of girly outfits with Paddington bear types of hats. Expensive outfits.
He thought of the debt. Their credit card debt had become unmanageable and he could barely make the minimum payments anymore. He’d complained about money to his wife, and had lashed out at her for giving some of it to the church, but things didn’t change much.
The church. What a scam. She spent way too much time at the church volunteering in Bible studies, choir practices, Sunday school and the choir. What a waste. He never accompanied her there. It was silly that she’d even asked him; she knew how he felt.
Then he thought of Catherine. She was slender and wore just the right amount of make-up, which appeared to be professionally applied. Everything about her exuded wealth, from her straight white teeth to her immaculate clothing and professional haircut.
Wealth. He was living paycheck to paycheck and doing odd jobs to make ends meet. Pressure cleaning the neighbor’s driveways, washing his friend’s boats, and painting houses all helped to supplement their income. His wife should have been making money in her spare time too instead of volunteering and spending time at the church. Catherine got it; she didn’t volunteer and she had tons of money.
What would he do with that kind of money? He pictured himself at the wheel of a yacht as it cruised along the bay in front of all the mansions. Or perhaps it would be a Cigarette boat? He started to envision himself at the helm of a Cigarette boat, racing along the beach in the Gulf of Mexico. He’d take the boat to Anna Maria Island, then to Sarasota, then to Sanibel Island where he’d fuel up before finishing his trip down to the Keys. There he’d proudly dock the boat in a marina, where he’d showcase it for a few weeks.
“I’ll take a rum runner,” he’d say as he ponied up to a local bar. Or perhaps a banana banshee? A rum runner or a banana banshee? Or both? Such decisions would be common after marrying Catherine. He chuckled.
His thoughts returned to his wife and their money, which was no money. And the struggles, the bills, the credit card debt, and her appearance. He was sick of it. “Thank God for the twins,” he thought.
“Oh, and I’ve made a decision. I’ll take the banana banshee with a rum floater.”