Dirty, Rotten Bastard

“You think I might be what!?” On reflection, Billie Joe realised he hadn’t asked his question in the most eloquent of ways.

“No I mean, I’m not accusing you of being irresponsible or anything and I’m not saying you are pregnant, I’m just… I want you to tell me it can’t be true?”

“It can’t be true. I know how to protect myself, asshole,” Bridget spat. Billie took a step back as he expected the door to be slammed into his face, but she seemed to calm down after a moment.

“I better go.”

“How’s your wife taking it?” Billie didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure if Bridget was being intentionally cruel or not. “Let me guess, you never told her?”

“I can’t tell her. She’s lovely and it’d destroy her.”

“And your fans, I guess.” Billie felt his chest tense up. She knew who he was. “I saw your picture in an online ad this morning.” Bridget felt the need to explain herself. It wasn’t as if she’d been stalking the guy. She was doing her daily job hunting when his face had popped up, advertising shows in the area. She never had the time to listen to music. She might otherwise have given his band a chance at some point.

“Are you threatening me?”

“What?”

“Are you threatening me?” Billie Joe repeated, annoyed that he let someone get to him like this. Even if she did happen to tell someone about it all, he was sure no one would believe her. That saddened Billie a little. He was supposed to be the punk turned family man. He was probably the worst husband in the world right now. Maybe he’d go buy Adrienne some flowers and a box of chocolates, and give her a nice massage.

“I’m not threatening you,” Bridget said, rolling her eyes. “If you’re going to be here all day you might as well come inside.” She stood aside to let Billie pass, who was hesitant at first to step inside. She wouldn’t admit it, but she wanted company. She needed company. She wasn’t feeling fussy as to who her company was at that point, and anybody would do.

“Do you want a drink?” she said, as she walked through to the kitchen and went poking through the fridge. Billie hadn’t been paying attention, so she got him one, anyway. She returned to the lounge room to find him snooping at her things. Her private, personal things.

“These are good,” he commented, putting down the piece of paper he’d been reading from exactly as it had been and turning to face Bridget. At least he’d said they were good, she thought, and began to relax a little over the idea of a total stranger having read her poems.

“Thanks.” She passed him a glass of water and they sat on the couch, the TV sounding quietly just in front of them. Neither of them were watching it. Brett had left it on as he’d left in the morning.

“Did you tell your boyfriend?” Billie asked her after a moment as he’d deduced that the man in question wasn’t home.

“I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m not an arse, Billie.”

“Well you were with someone the other morning and he sure seemed lovely…” Of course, Billie was being sarcastic. He couldn’t help the tone he’d taken to and Bridget couldn’t help her anger.

“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but Brett is my ex boyfriend of 2 years, and now we’re only living together to pay the rent. Which we probably won’t be able to do this month because I can’t find a fucking job to save my life.”

“What are you gonna do then?” he asked, suddenly feeling sympathetic for her. He’d been in that place before when he was younger. Being kicked out of home in the middle of winter sucked.

“We’ll find something to sell, I guess. He always finds something.”

“Is it always something of yours?” Billie knew by the sad look that swept its way across Bridget’s face that he was right in his assumptions. He felt truly sorry for the poor girl, and wished he could help.

“Usually. Last month he almost made me sell my mother’s necklace. I’ve had that since I was 8.”

“Why don’t you live back with your parents for a while?” Although Billie’s solution seemed reasonable to him, to Bridget, it was the last thing imaginable.

“I don’t even know where they live anymore. I lost contact with them when I was 13.” Billie’s questioning eyes almost threw her off as she raised her head to look at him. “It’s a long story.”

“Then perhaps for another time. Here, my mobile number, just in case something… pops up.” He looked to Bridget’s stomach then back to her very unimpressed face before taking the pen off her coffee table and scribbling a digit on the back of her hand. He sculled the glass of water and handed her the empty glass with a smile, before opening the front door to leave.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Brett asked, his hand still outreached as if to open the door himself. He’d finished work early he would tell Bridget but really, he’d been out with his girlfriend. Bridget didn’t know about her yet and she didn’t know about Bridget. At the most convenient time, Brett was planning to switch the ex for the currant. Bridget smiled awkwardly at them both as she walked up to them, standing almost between them.

“Billie was just leaving.” She nodded her head as some sort of parting, and Billie got the hint and left. She watched as he got into his car, checking to see if the way was clear before reversing out of her driveway.

“You can’t go inviting random people into my home without my permission,” Brett warned, also watching Billie’s car as it sped off up the street. “I won’t stand for it. In fact, the next time it happens, you can find yourself a new place to stay.” Bridget nodded, ignoring his sneer as he again won an argument before it began.

---

Billie Joe made it home just in time for dinner, which Adrienne appeared to have cooked from scratch. Billie cringed as he counted the dishes she’d used but was quick to turn it to a smile as she handed him his plate.

“This looks delicious,” he commented, and she smiled. She turned, and his face dropped upon noticing the rather large serving of broccoli she’d given him. He knew she’d meant business. They took their plates over to the dining table, along with a bottle of wine Billie grabbed at the last moment. He knew he was getting worse. It used to be just something he’d do out with the guys but now, he couldn’t even spend an evening sober with his own wife. His Adrienne. He noticed her eyes catch the bottle, the glasses, then saw through them as something broke into more tiny pieces. She looked down as she ate her food in silence, not at all drinking from the glass of red Billie had poured her. He thought it might have done her good. He thought she might relax a little. It was certainly what his intentions for himself had been, and now he simply couldn’t.

They finished and she excused herself, heading off to do the washing up that the dishwasher couldn’t be trusted with. Billie stood in the doorway as he watched her carefully drying off her mother’s old casserole dish. It had ugly tuna fish printed on the sides and a small scratch in the glass lid. They had many other dishes but this was the one she always used. She constantly complained about its heavy weight and those ugly, ugly tuna fish on the sides but Billie knew that deep down, she would never use another dish. Not once. Not until the day that dish broke to the point of uselessness. Billie wiped the stray tear as it fell from his eye.