The end of an era

Collapsing

When Rufus Woodbead woke on that crisp April morning, he found that once again Florrie's side of the bed was unruffled. He supposed she had found solace on the creamy white sofa that resided in their living room, clutching a bottle of Merlot.

He reached towards the top drawer of his bedside table for his Silk Cuts, and withdrew an empty packet. Shit. He did not at all fancy walking the half mile to the off licence. This walk would inevitably lead to his face being plastered on the cover of tomorrow's issue of The Daily Mail. However, the thought of being in the same house as Florence without the comfort of nicotine was frankly unbearable.

As he dressed he caught a glimpse of himself in Florrie's vanity. He looked sunken. His brown eyes were bloodshot and bulging. His beard was no longer stylishly overgrown but straggly and speckled with grey hairs. His hair was coated with grease and cling to his scalp. Good, he thought. It would be a better headline if they saw him pitiful and harrowed. If they saw what they were doing to him. Imagine the papers if he was seen healthy and well groomed amidst all this.

As Rufus descended the carpeted staircase that led to his kitchen, he could hear the stylishly vintage radio that resided in his kitchen. An unfamiliar voice was reading out the daily news, although it could have been yesterday's news, or last weeks or every day for the past six months. It was always the same story, but sometimes the names changed.

"A legal defence fund is being developed to help less privileged women protect themselves against sexual misconduct.." Rufus hurried down the stairs to turn off the radio before she could continue her tirade.

When he pushed open the kitchen door he saw Florence perched on the black marble counter next to the red vintage radio, sipping from a mug that he suspected did not contain coffee. Her head shot up when he entered, but her eyes did not quite meet his own. She looked beastly. Her slim frame had become skeletal. Something behind her eyes had dimmed. She sat on the counter, motionless.

How dare she. How dare she sit and listen to these self proclaimed crusaders as they ambushed man after man on a daily basis. And how dare she believe the inventions created by bitter, unsuccessful actresses who had selected her own husband as their newest kill.

"Turn it off." Rufus said, in a hushed tone.

Florence was seemingly distracted with a blank piece of wall behind Rufus' left shoulder. Her lips pursed as he spoke.

"I said," Rufus growled, "turn it off." He took a tentative step towards her.

In one swift movement she reached her bony fingers around the red radio and threw it at the stone floor, were it made a loud crash and shattered. The voice of the broadcaster fell abruptly silent.

"Do you think that changed anything?" Florence croaked.

The loud crash of the radio had dissolved into a ringing silence.

"Do you think that because we can't hear it that nothing has changed? That we can now go back to breakfast at Selfridges and gushing over your upcoming projects?" She spoke in a cutting but cantered voice, but he could she that she was close to spitting her words at him.

"You know that, those women, what they said I did, the accusations they are making are completely fictitious. I mean for one the timing is convenient, just before Running with Wolves was to premier. And why come out with these years and years afterwards. Why not report me right after? I mean, none of it makes any sense." But he trailed off because Florence was not listening and had instead become fascinated with a piece of loose string in her leggings.

As he turned to leave she spoke once more, and he halted. ,
"You think that I didn't know. You think I was an idiot for all these years." she started again in that harsh tone and inhaled and it was clear she had held onto the upcoming lecture for the past week. "I knew what this was, I knew that you were a flirt, and that you had women in your room. I even knew that you fucked them. And I held my tongue through that because I had always known that about you. I knew that before I married you, I knew the life I was signing on to. What I didn't know was that I would have to hear every fucking day that my husband is a..what was the word they used?" She picked up the nearby copy of Time Magazine and flipped through it, "ah yes, here it is, habitual predator." She looked up at him, finally meeting his eyes. Her face was beet red and beads of sweat fell from her forehead.

"This is not what I agreed to."

And with that, she got down from the counter and swiftly left the room and Rufus stared for far too long at the swinging kitchen door.

**********************************

The following day, Rufus and Florence stood together on the stone steps situated at the front of their house. If anyone had witnessed the fight that had taken place the day before, they would not have recognised the couple today. Florence's blonde hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail and her face was gently made up. Her husband stood by her side and his hair was combed neatly and he wore a clean, navy blue suit.

Microphones and lenses encircled them and the silence was broken only by the sporadic click of a camera.

"The sexual misconduct allegations that have been made against me in the past week are baseless and harmful. The failure to exercise due process is immensely worry some to me and should be to all of you. I have spent years building my career from the ground and this week I have watched it fall at my feet as a result of these rumours. My wife has been very supportive of me throughout this difficult week and we ask that you respect our privacy in this difficult time."

Reporters began yelling their questions from every direction and bulbs flashed blindingly at him. The couple stood next to each other and Rufus took Florence's hand in his own, and found it lay limp against his palm.