Stupid, fat, ugly cow! You're worthless, do you know that? Get in there and get dressed!

William's words ring in my ears, drown out my thoughts. I shove them deep, struggle to close the door in my mind, to contain his hateful bile for another night. God, I am grateful if I can keep belief at bay for even an hour. Somewhere, deep in the quivering center of my soul I know I am not what he sees in me, not what he says of me, but it is hard not to believe when the lesson is driven home so forcefully, and so often.

I stare at my reflection. My face is strained, twisted from the struggle not to cry. Even with a closed door between us, I know he is waiting, listening for the sounds clamped tight behind my teeth, to escape.

If you start crying, you stupid bitch, people will ask what's wrong, and what will you tell them? That you walked into a door? Tripped down the stairs? What happens between us is none of their business. Keep it that way.

I won't cry. I don't dare. William's fists are so very hard.

The angry throb between my shoulder blades tells me there will be a bruise in a few hours, if not already. Older bruises mutter in chorus with this new voice, but the pain in my back is the worst. I'll have to wear my hair down after all.

I hear William's heavy tread on the hardwood floors as he walks away from the door, and I breathe a small, quiet sigh of relief. It doesn't matter that my respite is short lived. For now, it is enough.

I put on my make-up quickly. 'War paint', Mama used to call it, and I stifle a giggle.

You have no idea how right you were, Mama. I love you.

I imagine her solid, comforting presence beside me, tisk-tisking me for the situation I am in, yet still not judging me. Mama never berated me, even when I was being particularly stupid.

Stupid, fat, ugly...

No. I won't listen! I am beautiful. Mama always said so. But if she could see the bruises, the dark circles under my make-up... Mama help me be strong!

“Best get on with it, dear.” Mama's smoke tortured voice whispers in my ear. “What cannot be cured, must be endured.”

“I know, Mama. I remember...”

I choose a backless evening gown from my closet and slip it on. The deep green velvet is heavy against my skin, sensual. It is a risk because of the bruise I cannot see on my back, and the swelling makes it difficult to raise my arms, but I know that William will be pleased if his colleagues comment on me tonight. And if William is pleased...

I decide not to wear panties. Only a thong, which makes me feel horribly exposed, but there will be no lines. Nothing to mar the smooth curves of my dress.

“It's only for a time, dear.”

God... Please bless Mama for me.

I look in the mirror, add a little more concealer, and twitch my dress into place. Satisfied, I step into a pair of stiletto heels and cross the room. I need armor.

William's steps are somehow lighter, less threatening as he approaches our bedroom, which means he poured himself a drink. Maybe two. It was only when he got to four or five that he got mean.

He opens the door, and peers around the edge, scanning the room until he sees me. He gives me his sheepish 'I'm sorry' grin and I want to scream. This is the part of William I hate the most. The part I fell in love with when I was young and stupid, and didn't listen to my mother.

“What do you think, honey?” I hold a large, heavy necklace to my throat. It is made of beaten copper squares linked by rings, and accented with bright green lapis. It's a touch too gaudy, but the ruddy metal and green stones would set well against the green of my dress and besides, William gave me the necklace on our honeymoon. It meant something to him back then. Maybe it still does.

“Want me to put it on you?”

I feel a horrible stab of fear as I realize he would see the bruise-- Is it showing yet? when I moved my hair out of the way, and William doesn't like to be reminded of his mistakes. I hold the necklace out to him, smiling as I cross the room, swaying my hips and letting the slit in my dress reveal glimpses of my long legs.

“I don't know, baby. Do you think you can, while I am kissing you?”   I put a slight purr into my voice as I speak, and draw my long lashes coyly over my eyes.  Thank God for Maybelline.

William takes the necklace and I am horrified to see his smile widen. The look in his eyes says I might have gone too far.

“Are we still on time?” I gather my long hair into my hands and hold it away from my neck, careful to keep facing him.

“Yes, barely.” William says as he opens the clasp and wraps the cold metal around my throat. I let go of my hair, letting it fall across his wrists as I wrap my arms around his waist and lean in to his inadvertent embrace, kissing his neck.

I smell the Scotch on his breath. Scotch is his drink of contrition, which means I still have time.

“Damn. That's too bad.” I pout prettily.

William locks the clasp together and I take a step back, flipping my hair over my shoulder before I turn beneath his frankly admiring gaze.

“Am I good enough?” My words are carefully chosen, calculating. Mama would be so proud of me.

“Yes.” William breathes the word, then shakes himself as if he were coming out of a trance. “We'd better get going.”

“Shall I get your coat?” I have learned my subservient role well.

“Yeah. I'll start the car.” William pauses at the door to look at me.

“Earrings.” I smile, snapping one of the copper strips to my left ear lobe. I had all my earrings converted to clip-ons years ago when I learned how very foolish it was to wear pierced earrings around my drunken husband.

William nods and leaves the room. I am overcome by a wave of dread so strong my knees threaten to buckle and I am forced to clutch at the dresser for a few moments to keep myself upright.

I can't do this!

“Nonsense, dear. You can do anything.”

“But...”

“That's just something to sit on,” Mama says. The joke is old between us and I smile.

The feeling of dread passes, replaced by Mama's comforting presence and I quickly fasten the other earring, then grab William's coat, and a wrap for myself. I open a dresser drawer and find what I need. I put a few small items and something larger into my purse, then hurry to the car.

William does not open the door for me, despite the awkwardness of my heels on the rough concrete. We are long past that stage in our marriage.

“Still on time?” I ask, as I pull the door shut.

“What took so long?” There is an edge in his voice and I wonder if was mistaken about the Scotch.

“I couldn't find my other earring.” My lie is smooth and innocuous.

William grunts as he puts the car into gear. He pulls away from the curb too fast, hopefully thinking only of the award he is to receive tonight.

I wonder what it would be like to burn endlessly in Hell and I tell Mama I would rather that fate than go to this banquet. Mama snorts in her no nonsense way and I am chastened.

We drive to the ballroom in silence.

*****

William's hand is low on my back. He caresses my skin with slow circles until we reach the tall gilt doors of the ballroom. As we pass through the threshold into the bright light and the crush of beautiful people, his hand stills and his fingertips press, too hard to be anything but a warning.

Oh, yes. I know that warning all too well. Doctor Daniels has a stack of X-rays in his office. Photographs of my foolishness when I did not pay heed to William's warnings.

“William, this is beautiful!"  I gush and he smiles, knowing his reminder is well and truly received. “Can we get something to drink?” Alcohol is the last thing I want, but I need to know what he will choose. Please God, let it be Scotch.

“Of course, darling. Right this way.” His hand, still on the small of my back, presses gently, leading me as he once did when we were new and the music played.

I nod and smile at the sea of faces as we weave our way to the bar. I most especially smile and nod whenever someone greets William by name. My head feels like a sunflower on a stalk, endlessly bobbing.

“William!” An impeccably dressed man with a thick shock of snow white hair beams as he reaches for William's hand. A woman, equally resplendent and coiffed to the nines, stands to his left and slightly apart, smiling and nodding her head. Sunflowers, I think again, and bite the inside of my cheek to keep from giggling.

“We're very proud of you, boy. You know that, don't you?" His voice is smooth and mellow, like Cognac warmed over an open flame, but I feel William stiffen beside me. He hates to be patronized.

“Thank you, sir. I'm honored. May I introduce my wife, Eleanor?”

I hold my hand out demurely, not quite meeting the eyes which sparkle beneath that thick wave of white hair. William's CEO takes my hand and kisses the back of my fingers. His lips are dry and papery, and the woman beside him slaps at his arm.

“Stop mauling the poor girl, you letch.” Her voice is animated, but her words have the easy familiarity of a well rehearsed script. “Men are such beasts, aren't they?” The CEO's wife stage whispers conspiratorially, woman to woman, as though we were equals. In what lifetime? I wonder.

“I don't know about that. William is a perfect gentleman,” I say as I press against his body and bend one knee while gazing up into his face. Only my years as a dancer allow me to hold the pose, and the effect is not lost on my audience. William's CEO drops his eyes, down, then further still. His wife rolls hers dramatically.

“Beasts,” she mutters, and tugs her husband's arm. “Come on, Alvin.” They wander through the thinning crowd. Just more pomp in a sea of circumstance. Where had I heard that line? I couldn't remember.

“We'll be starting in a few minutes, my boy.” Alvin calls over his shoulder before they disappear behind a curtain of shifting bodies.

“Pompous old goat.” William scowls, then turns to the bartender. I feel a chill at his words, which are uncomfortably close to my own thoughts.

William orders whiskey-- Oh please, no. Not whiskey!   for himself and a white wine spritzer for me. The bartender, a handsome, thoughtful looking boy, hands me my drink with a smile, then falters as I barely shake my head no. I am supposed to make colleagues and bosses appreciate me, not mere boys. I peek through my lashes as I take a sip, but William is looking elsewhere and does not see the boy's gaffe.

I turn away, unable to bear the confusion in the bartender's face, and lay my hand on William's arm. He looks down at me, seemingly almost surprised to see me and I smile up at him. He leads me across the rapidly emptying floor as guests take their seats. I hear faint strains of Tchaikovsky follow us. Music from a time when we danced upon floors like these, and I had not yet learned to bleed silently.

William's stride is measured, determined, and he is perfectly aware of the eyes which follow us as we approach the dais set up along the length of one wall. An usher guides us to a table adjacent to the lectern at the center of the stage. On the other side of the podium, Alvin beams and his wife stares.

Mama laughs in my ear. “Looks like a weenie roast to me.”

I bite another hole in the side of my cheek to keep from laughing with her.

William looks at me carefully, but I smile and sip my wine. The blood in my mouth makes it taste like vinegar but I swallow it down. My back aches, and older, less intrusive pains echo the sentiment.

“Never mind,” Mama says. "It'll all be over soon enough.”

I look up as a man in a tuxedo, presumably our host, taps experimentally on the microphone bolted to the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Eclipse Strategies awards presentation.”

We all applaud the announcement. Of course we do. It's almost culturally ingrained into our...

“Pay attention, dear. You're woolgathering again.” A whisper, loud despite the clapping. Mama always did make sure I paid attention.

The host continues to speak, announcing the planned events for the evening. He cajoles the audience, manipulates us, tells funny anecdotes, and like the puppets we are, we laugh in all the right places.

Waiters bustle unobtrusively, setting our preplanned, prepaid meals before us while the ceremony drags on, and I grow restless, picking at my food which would be exquisite under any other circumstances. William notices and puts a hand on my leg.

It is such an innocent gesture, a caressing hand, and a gentle squeeze. Husbands and boyfriends have been doing it since before dinner parties were ever invented, but when I feel William's fingertips dig in, I straighten in my seat, smile brightly at no one in particular, and eat with relish. His fingertips speak a language impossible to ignore.   Nothing out of the ordinary, Eleanor.

*****

“And now, without further ado, I'd like to present our newest junior vice president, William Anderson!” Alvin the CEO gestures grandly, and the spotlight sweeps across my face, momentarily dazzling me before it settles on William. He smiles, holds up one hand, and swallows the last of his whiskey in a comic gesture of nervousness. Laughter ripples throughout the room, but I do not laugh. I recognize the signs which say that I have lost track of how much he had been drinking, and I mentally kick myself for my stupidity.

Stupid, fat, ugly cow...

William stands, straightens his tie, and steps toward the podium. He puts his hand on my shoulder as he passes. Whether it is meant to be a brief squeeze for assurance, or perhaps another reminder, I will never know because his foot catches on something-- Oh God, was it my chair? Did I cause this?  and he stumbles. He grips my shoulder automatically, trying to stop his fall, but his unexpected weight yanks me over and downward. I try to brace myself, brace him, but the bones between my shoulders, already stressed by his fists mere hours before, shift with an audible pop and I cry out from the sharp, agonizing pain. I bite back another cry as he recovers his footing and releases me.

Ever the showman, William asks if I am all right. His hands caress my cheek as I nod and smile gamely, but his eyes ask nothing. They are a warning, their intent perfectly clear.

You embarrassed me, Eleanor. You know better than that.

I tilt my face into his cupped palm, and sharp stabs of pain ricochet along my neck. I ignore them as best I can because I do not want to see his eyes.

I turn my face to his, and reassure him that I am fine, just fine. Don't worry. You're such a considerate husband...

Mama's smoky laugher rings in my ear. “Oh, very good, dear. You do that so well.” She knows, as I do, that any woman in an unhappy marriage learns to be an actress.

William takes his place at the podium, and like our host before him, taps the microphone. “Well. Nothing like a little drama to liven up an event.” William grins and the puppets laugh. I laugh too, of course.

“I am sorry about that, honey,” William says as he looks at me. “I promise I will make it up to you when we get home.” His eyes still do not laugh.

“He's going to hurt you, baby.”

“I know, Mama.”

“He might even kill you.” My Daddy's voice is new in my ears..

“I know!”

“Best not let him, don't you think?” Mama is as pragmatic as always.

I nod and smile, and the audience oohs and ahs, thinking William's words are an endearment, but I know better, and beneath my actress face, I shake with fear.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my wife, Eleanor.” William extends a hand in my direction, and the spotlight follows, pinning me with it's baleful, bright glare. I stand and nod to the audience as the pain between my shoulder blades threatens to lock me in a vice.

“Now is as good a time as any, dear.” Mama prods me. She never did let me shirk a task.

“Are you sure, Mama? People are watching us.”

Mama answers my question with one of her own. “Haven't I taught you never to do anything half way?”

I nod again as the audience applauds and reach for my purse. I take out a .22 pistol, fully loaded. “Hardly better than BB's,” Daddy says, repeating a comment from centuries ago when he taught a much younger version of myself to shoot.

“Leave her be.” Mama's tone is no nonsense.

“I know, Daddy. But at this range it's all I need.” I whisper to my lively ghosts as I aim the small pistol at William, and fire.

*****

My court appointed attorney says I must be strong to survive in prison, that it is a hard and dangerous place, and I cannot help but laugh in his face.

After living with William, prison will be a piece of cake.