She's Good as Gold

I am the second Mrs. Roberts. I have decided to become her, after reading an interview with Mr. Roberts in a certain magazine that I like to peruse in search of my kind of love. He said he has finally moved past the death of his wife and is looking for a new companion, someone to share his twilight years with, and I thought, sure, I can do that. Just one problem: I did not expect Mr. Roberts to be so virile and healthy at his age. I thought that he was putting on an act while courting me and would exhaust himself with the effort once we’re married, but the smelly prune really is in perfect health.

*****

After weeks of incessant research I have devised a plan of getting what I thought I signed up for with my “I do” - a husband who leaves me in peace to spend his obscene wealth however I please. Ideally by resting in peace himself, but I’ll take violently ill and bedridden if dead is too much to ask for. He planted the seed of the plan himself by taking Mrs. Roberts to this super happening and ridiculously expensive restaurant where they cover every meal in gold leaf.

*****

It took me months to get what I needed for my plan to work, partly because it is something really difficult to come by and partly because I insisted on getting a very large amount all at once - I need to leave as thin a trail as possible and multiple supply runs would only increase the chances of it being traced back to me. I struggled to make any kind of progress at all for a very long time and was close to giving up at the three month mark, but every time he slobbered all over my hand or called me “his little songbird” in demonstration of the old school gallantry that only a withered raisin of a human could display, my resolve hardened anew. But having it is just the start, I have to steel my nerves for the long game in order to make it seem like this is just an old man finally starting to act his age.

*****

Mr. Roberts has diarrhoea. Which can be one of the early symptoms meaning my plan is working or, it is just an aftereffect of all those green smoothies he keeps guzzling every morning. Either way this works just fine for me: I spend my days by the pool, which is the furthest point from any bathroom in the house, so he never lingers around me for long. Sometimes he makes a feeble attempt at getting me inside by offering to play cards or watch a movie, but Mrs. Roberts always just says something about it being such a lovely day to spend outside in that singsong softened Stepford wifey kind of voice of hers that the old coot seems to like so much and he usually backs off not able to find a good enough justification for why we can’t just do whatever he suggested right there by the pool. His old fashioned version of manly pride would never allow him to admit to his wife that he’s got the shits so he just finds an excuse and shuffles back inside in the direction of the nearest bathroom.

*****
In order for my plan to work, I need to take some of the stuff myself. My own dose is less than half of what Mr. Roberts unwittingly ingests every day, but some side effects are inevitable. Recently I have been getting quite itchy, so my moisturising routine has become even more vigorous. I also had to exchange my lovely almond shaped nails for square tipped monstrosities, which get me into a foul mood every time I look at them. Once this is all over, I will get myself the prettiest and most expensive manicure I can.

*****

The wrinkly sack has been moving a bit more gingerly these past few days, I think things are starting to progress. He is trying to hide it and Mrs. Roberts, the ever chipper and bubbly young wife of his, does not notice the slight change in her husband's demeanor and flutters around him energetically. It makes him smile but I can see that it is tiring him out, he starts retreating into his study more often, usually starting to grimace in pain just as he is turning away.

*****

We’ve been sleeping separately for two weeks now. He eventually was no longer able to hide his growing discomfort and Mrs. Roberts, the greatest role of my life, got all worried and distressed and started researching the best clinics in town, telling him he needs to see a doctor immediately. Mr. Roberts argued against it fervently and would not entertain the idea for even a second. Having accumulated most of his wealth through business ventures related to health and fitness, he believes himself to be quite the well-being expert. And in an extraordinary stroke of luck for me, the withered plum has an intense distrust in doctors and the whole medical system, saying things like: “I know a businessman when I see one and doctors are in the business of keeping people sick for as long as possible”. This enrages Mrs. Roberts, she yells and cries and threatens, she calls Mr. Roberts a fool and slams the door of the biggest and sunniest guest room saying “I’ll be sleeping here until you come to your senses.”. The same argument echoes through our mansion at least once a day and always ends up with me sleeping blissfully and peacefully alone.

*****

It is the second anniversary of the day we met. Mr. Roberts is desperate to make Mrs. Roberts happy, so he showers her with gifts and makes a concentrated effort to seem healthy, he chirps about all the new age bullshit he is doing to improve his health and Mrs. Roberts smiles at him gently and says that she is less stern only because it is a special day. He takes me to the gold leaf place where my plan was first seeded, Mrs. Roberts absolutely loves it and he takes her there on every occasion, even if the occasion is Wednesday. I sit quietly inside, letting the ever graceful Mrs. Roberts steer the ship. At night I really wish I could escape my own head into sweet oblivion when Mrs Roberts is at the helm, evaporate into nothingness like she does when I am in charge. But I do not, so I endure whatever she accepts him doing to our shared body.

*****

After a few weeks of truce the dried toad gets a bit more sickly than usual and Mrs. Roberts picks up the war hammer once more. He’s as adamant as ever, making excuses and bumbling about this miraculous herbal tea that one of his associates will be dropping off at the end of the month. The war is back on and Mrs. Roberts chooses a smaller and less sunny guest room this time, the one furthest away from our shared bedroom, to show him what she thinks of such plans. The only way she could get further away would be to move out. The notion does not seem to be lost on Mr. Roberts, I can see him glance at the list of clinics she printed on her favourite lilac scented paper for him the next time I make my way into the kitchen.

*****

Mr. Roberts is at the hospital. He collapsed a few days into his miracle tea course which was supposed to fix everything. Mrs. Roberts called 911 all tears and distress. The ambulance took 20 minutes to arrive which gave me hope that the shrivelled pear may be too far gone to be helped, but alas, no such luck! He is squeezing my hand in his leathery talon whispering sweet promises to take care of himself more so I would not have to get scared like that again. I am so exhausted I find it difficult to change gears and it takes all I have in me not to recoil at his touch. I have gotten so used to Mrs Roberts, she’s become my shield against having to participate in this absurd relationship.

*****

It seems he’s been humbled by his hospital visit. He agreed to see a few specialists and do some general tests. I am getting slightly anxious, it is imperative my special addition to our diet is not discovered too soon, I need him well and sick before that happens. I myself am feeling quite sluggish these past few weeks and getting random aches and pains here and there which makes me hopeful. If I am starting to feel discomfort with my tiny dose, the fossil may be well on his way to the afterlife.

*****

Test results are in, there was protein in his urine which may point at issues with his kidneys. This is amazing news, organ failure is on the top of the list of outcomes I expect my little project to produce. Kidneys is good, but not great, not immediately life threatening. I ponder upping the dose just briefly, but decide against it, any sudden change may raise suspicion. Mrs. Roberts is in the drivers seat while I’m thinking all of this through. She is crying at the doctor’s office, calling Mr. Roberts an old stubborn ass and telling him she’ll kill him if he ends up dying because of his stupidity. The doctor starts talking of next steps and Mr. Roberts sits and listens obediently, not a hint of his former cock-sureness.

*****

The last few months passed uneventfully, Mr. Roberts is still wary of doctors, so constant pushing is required in order for him to take medical advice instead of trying to apply diet, herbal teas and acupuncture to all his issues. I allow Mrs. Roberts to get concerned and argumentative, but keep a bit of an eye on her so she’s not too convincing, the last thing I need is him getting actual treatment.

*****

It’s our second wedding anniversary and we are once again at the same restaurant which insists on covering every meal in gold leaf. I am absolutely sick of their bland pretentious sparkly food, but Mrs. Roberts is delighted by it every time and frequent visits are essential for my plan, so we keep returning. Time comes for desserts and they are out of Crème Brûlée - the only half edible dessert in this taste forsaken place, so I go for Panna Cotta and steel myself for eating more bland shit and putting on Mrs. Roberts to feign enjoyment when, to my utter delight, Mr. Roberts drops out of his chair like a sack of potatoes. I am deep in character within seconds, yelling and crying, fumbling with my phone before noticing someone’s already calling an ambulance, wailing and saying stupid shit like “he seemed fine just this morning”.

*****

It’s been a week at the hospital, Mr. Roberts is being run through every conceivable test and with each result the doctors' brows furrow just a little bit deeper. They ask me a lot of questions about our home, my husband's health history, habits, dishes he eats from, things he wears and other minutia. I put Mrs. Roberts on, all worry and care, she makes sure to answer each question meticulously sprinkling in a cute anecdote or a fond memory relating to a particular item she’s listing upon their request. The doctors allow her to gush, which I take as an excellent sign, if they aren’t in a hurry to diagnose it hopefully means that knowing what caused it will make precious little difference by now. Mrs. Roberts finally interrupts herself mid sentence and asks what does the silverware they are using have to do with her husband’s illness and the cards are finally on the table - all signs point to heavy metal poisoning, hence the questions, they need to pinpoint the source of it. The doctor then sighs and admits that they have major concerns about Mr. Roberts’ liver and needs to biopsy - it will tell them more and hopefully will help identify exactly which metal is at fault here. Mrs. Roberts cries and rushes across the room towards her sleeping husband, kneading his hand and brushing his hair from his forehead.

*****

The results are in and, to my indescribable joy, Mr. Roberts’ liver is fried and there is nothing they can do about it except hope for a transplant. He is put on the list, but given his advanced age and an array of issues with other organs, the chances of him moving up the list are slim to none. Mrs. Roberts is inconsolable, she makes several unsubtle offers for obscene amounts of money in exchange for a bump in the list, between bouts of weeping. The doctors treat her gently as a hysterical widow in waiting and sympathetically shake their heads at her offers. They wait for her to calm down before proceeding to reveal that the metal in question is gold. Mrs. Roberts freaks out, she really likes gold detailing, she asked for more of it during the bathroom remodel and she got new sets of gold rimmed glassware just after the wedding since the ones Mr. Roberts had were terribly inelegant and… The doctors stop her tirade assuring her that gold is only dangerous when it is in a very certain form, injected or ingested so she is completely faultless here. She blinks at them and starts to bawl, telling them about her favourite restaurant where they wrap everything in gold-leaf and how Mr. Roberts takes her there at least a couple times per week since she loves it so.

*****

I am in the most immaculate outfit you can imagine, designer head to toe, well rested and fully pampered. I smile looking at my pristine, shiny almond shaped nails - I got tested, diagnosed with a milder case of gold toxicity than my husband and treated, making a full recovery. Mrs. Roberts called our lawyer from her hospital bed weeping and shaking and demanding to sue the restaurant as there was no other way we could have gotten this condition. The lawyer ate it up with relish, unusual, scandalous and unprecedented cases involving extremely large amounts of money are always good publicity. The lawsuit is going well and Mrs. Roberts is doing spectacular, the jury is eating her up.

*****

Mrs. Roberts is weeping into a black silk handkerchief watching the coffin go down. She has just a few final performances before becoming redundant. I must admit, I am going to miss her a little, we got quite attached and I sort of liked the way people looked at me when they thought I was her, nobody has ever looked at me that way. But I am not too distraught, I will consider the ten figure inheritance her parting gift.

Image by Igor RanD