All the Pretty Lies

by Marin Montgomery

  The television reporter, Laura Lancaster, is a natural.

  An inaudible gasp escapes my lips when I see her, a ringer for Talin. Same whitish-blonde hair and piercing green eyes. On television they appeared to share similarities, but the spooky reality in front of me takes its toll as I see just how much they resemble each other.

  I try not to stare, picking apart a stranger by leering at her.

  My parents and I take turns on the couch in front of her watchful eye, just a normal family perched on their fifteen-thousand dollar Pottery Barn couch, pretending we’re talking to a reporter like it’s a normal weekday.

  First I’m front and center, alone, at least on camera, letting her lead me on with questions, playing up the fact I’m a perfect Texas housewife that had no idea my husband was enthralled with another woman.

  Owen sits beside me, panned out of the interview, there for moral support and to object to any questions he deems ‘inappropriate’ or ‘unhelpful to our plight’ as he calls it, trying to paint us in a softer light than the Bishops that have been shown as money-hungry and cutthroat.

  Laura starts by addressing the open marriage we claim to have.

  Swallowing, I admit I lied to protect our family. I woodenly say into the cameras what I practiced earlier. “I grew up believing that vows meant something and weren’t to be taken lightly. Divorce, sure, we’d considered it. Who hasn’t gone through rough patches? But I was still committed to him and had never strayed.”

  She talks about how hard it must be to realize my husband is a monster, and she starts to imply Talin’s a floozy, a homewrecker that’s destroyed our family.

  I yell “stop” and pull off the microphone pinned to the lapel of my Rebecca Taylor dress. Owen’s face twists in confusion as he turns to me.

  “What’s wrong?” Laura’s puzzled.

  “Can we not?” I squint at the bright lights.

  “Not what?” Owen asks.

  “Paint the victim in that light?”

  “I’m not understanding.” Laura wrinkles her nose. “The woman in question is dead. She was having an affair with your husband. Am I missing something?” She looks to Owen for confirmation that she’s done her due diligence and is as great a reporter as the ratings show.

  “You’re absolutely accurate.” I knead my fingers together. “She’s a person. A young girl. She made a mistake, but she’s dead, I don’t want to drag her name through the mud.”

  Laura looks at me like I have two heads. “So you want me to go easy on her?”

  “Just eliminate the floozy part, please.” I rub my temples. “Everyone knows she’s a homewrecker. It doesn’t need to be spelled out.”

  “Got it.” She crosses her tan leg. “Okay, roll,” she tells the cameraman. Owen leans back out of the frame, his wrinkles amplified under the spotlights.

  We finish our interview.

  Next, my parents speak. My father wipes his brow, sweating, as he talks about his family company, the loss, the cost of this on our family both mentally and emotionally.

  He’s good at garnering sympathy, I think.

  My mom speaks, but she’s a woman of her era. Women should be seen and not heard, she always drilled into me. Her concern is for her only daughter and grandchildren.

  Cringing, the final wrap-up is all of us sitting at the dining room table, pretending to act natural. We don’t bring their daddy into it, just talk about our day while the boys are asked silly questions.

  Laura kneels before she leaves to give the boys a hug. Rolly tugs on her blonde strands as Henry shrieks, “You look just like her.”

  “Who?” She’s perplexed.

  “Like the other girl.” They’re impatient. “You have the same hair.”

  My eyes drop in horror, ashamed. I feel Laura staring at me, my forehead burning in embarrassment. I don’t hear her response, just the click of her heels as she turns to leave.

  Finally the door shuts behind her and the crew. I lock the door behind them and rest my head against the glass, a headache starting to pound at the base of my neck. My father and Owen disappear into Reed’s office, ostensibly over the family togetherness now that the cameras have drifted back outside.

  I sneak into our garage and climb into my car, enjoying the first moment of silence I’ve had this morning.

  I need to reach out to Riley to confirm she can babysit but more so, I need to mentally prepare myself for a tough conversation I don’t want to have.

  She responds quicker to text, especially if she’s in class, the preferred method of Generation Z.

  My phone chimes, a text from her saying she’ll call me in five, as my message emphasized this wasn’t a text conversation.

  “Hiya Meg.” She’s cheerful. Overtly so.

  “Hi Riley, can I ask you a question?”

  “Um, sure, I guess.” She’s nervous, probably scared I’m going to drag her into our family drama.

  “The boys were just talking about how much they love when you baby-sit. Can you on Friday night?”

  She’s relieved. “Yes, totally love to. Haven’t seen those cuties in a while.”

  “Also, they said they had fun last time with you when I was out of town and Reed was home with them.”

  “Yep, we watched movies, played with cars and trains, the usual.”

  “Do you know where Reed went that night?”

  “Mrs. Bishop…” she stammers. “I don’t want to be involved in what happened. I feel terrible for you and the boys.”

  I try to remain upbeat. “I just wondered if he mentioned where he was going.”

  “Nada.” Riley is quiet. “But I saw the girl.”

  “Who?” I play dumb.

  “The one he…I mean, the one who died.”

  “In our house?’

  “Yes.” She stops, uncertain if she should go on.

  “You can tell me. I won’t be mad.” I hold my breath.

  “I saw her at the top of the stairs, in your doorway. At first, I thought it was you. I didn’t expect to see…you know, another woman coming out of your bedroom.”

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  “Yeah.” She sighs. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bishop. We still on for Friday?”

  “Sure thing.” I hang up, a lump the size of Texas in my throat.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Meghan

  Looking at a calendar, I scan the last couple months until I find the right dates.

  I log in to Reed’s Uber account and see a ride for that night.

  It’s not an admission of guilt, and Reed knew that.

  So what if he went out? I never would suspect he’d bring a woman into our house.

  Maybe he was honest about one thing.

  That he didn’t give her my necklace. If she stayed in our bedroom, I clench my hands into balls, then she had ample opportunity to lift it from my jewelry box.

  And here I’d been defending her all along.

  Why hadn’t the boys spoken up earlier? They can’t keep even the slightest secret.

  Daddy probably bribed them.

  My eyes drift down to the drop-off point from our house. They go to an address that’s familiar.

  I think…yes, it’s the Hanky Panky.

  They went to Jarrett’s bar that night?

  There’s a photographer that takes photos of happenings around Houston. A lot of times they come to the Hanky Panky since there’s live music on the weekends and it’s considered the ‘hip’ place to be, a trendy spot in its infancy.

  Logging into Facebook, I ignore the hundreds of unread messages.

  Typing in Hanky Panky, I find the business page.

  Scrolling back through dates, my eyes drift down to the page until I get to March. Spring Break. There’s a plethora of pictures, one night was a J-E-L-L-O contest, another night a singles bachelorette type event with ten eligible guys and girls.

  I find Saturday night.

  The theme was a ‘sexy pajama party’ with the tag line - bring your
one-night stand or partner in crime.

  My heart races as my fingers click through the seventy-seven pictures that night.

  Picture Thirty-Seven is Reed Bishop and Talin Forrester.

  Except they use the names Reed Eisenberg and Tally Forrest.

  I can’t breathe. She’s wearing a tight black corset, fishnet tights, and a pair of ridiculously small panties that leave little to the imagination. Her burgundy heels are at least six inches, her white-blonde hair pulled into pigtails that curl around her shoulders. She looks playful in bright vixen red lipstick and dark blue nails. Her toenails are a metallic gold color that peep out of her pumps.

  Reed’s wearing a bathrobe - silk, a Hugh Hefner wannabe, black with red embroidery. He’s wearing pajama pants underneath, part of the striped Tommy Bahama set I got him for Christmas.

  Acid gurgles in my stomach.

  My mind doesn’t even register the other people - their faces and costumes pass in a whirl.

  Until picture seventy.

  It’s all three of them. Talin’s in the middle, front and center, between Reed and Jarrett . The caption says, “Jarrett Mackenzie, owner of the infamous Hanky Panky, hosts his first ever sexy lingerie party. Pictured next to him are Tally Forrest and Reed Eisenberg.”

  Would Jarrett really not remember meeting her?

  A gut feeling tells me to keep looking through the posts, the last few months a consistent barrage of photo ops.

  Reed’s in multiple photos. With his real name.

  I find three more pictures of him.

  My face goes ashen as I click on one picture of him and Jarrett. This one was taken a year ago at another bar in town, the Aggressive Pitcher.

  The caption sends a shiver down my spine.

  “Reed Bishop and Jarrett Mackenzie put on their aprons for charity for the Aggressive Pitcher’s 3rd Annual Dress Like a Cowboy or Cowgirl Gala. Both men have made their marks on Houston. Reed Bishop is part of the Bishop oil dynasty, married to Meghan Bishop, the daughter of oil tycoon Henry Bishop. Mackenzie is a venture capitalist who owns this bar with two silent partners.”

  I have to re-read the description again. And again.

  Reed and Jarrett knew each other a year ago? They act like they hate each other, or more so, Jarrett’s ambivalent and Reed looks like he wants to clobber Jarrett every time he sees him.

  Did they have a falling out?

  My fingers grab at my phone, starting to dial the bar.

  Jarrett answers on the second ring, but I hang up.

  Putting my head in my hands, I take a couple deep breaths, my ire rising.

  I need to see him face to face, see his reaction, those eyes that see through me. Not how Reed looks at me, like I’m invisible, a hint of surprise on his face as if he ‘forgot’ he had a wife, his shoulders brushing past me like I’m an aggravation, a distraction from the life he could have.

  No, Jarrett stares through to the core of my being.

  I tap my fingers on the steering wheel.

  It’s logical he wouldn’t have known it was my husband and his girlfriend. He sees lots of patrons. Why would Reed and Talin stand out any more than another couple?

  My eyes flicker. It takes them a moment to adjust as I pull open the heavy metal door. The bar is meant to look like a contemporary garage, floor-to-ceiling glass and aluminum. Half of the bar is shrouded in dark lighting and feels like the archetypal bar, the other side is reminiscent of a four-seasons room, the weather outside dictating the kind of mood the bar reflects.

  Randy’s busy sweeping, his head down and ear buds in, heedless of my presence.

  I don’t know why, but I tiptoe towards Jarrett’s office in the back.

  His door is shut but his voice resonates, his tone patronizing. Weird, since he’s even-keeled when he speaks to me. I lick my lips, suddenly uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other.

  I’m rooted to the spot, aware I’m eavesdropping, but nevertheless, I pause with my hand on the door. A snide remark echoes through the aluminum. “I will have it, I just need some time.”

  There’s a thump. I assume he hung up the phone, his footsteps stomping across the bare concrete floor.

  The door swings open at the same time my mouth drops.

  A look of surprise crosses his face. “Meg, hey, what are you doing here?” He’s flustered, brushing past me as he strides to the bar area.

  “Hey, is everything okay?” I ask tentatively, staring at his stern posture as I follow him.

  We’ve never had a fight, never raised our voices. His temper’s in check as he grabs a shot of whiskey and downs it. His eyes flash with a glimmer of anger, as if he’s holding it in tightly, a small shift and there will be a sizeable transformation.

  “Yeah. Talking to one of my silent partners. No big deal.” He shrugs. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” He’s casual as he leans on the counter. “How long have you been here?”

  “Only for a sec. I wanted to talk to you about something.” I bite my bottom lip, nervous.

  I’m unnerved by the long stare he gives me, searching my eyes. “What’s up?” He settles onto a stool.

  I follow suit, fiddling with the straps on my purse as he reaches for my hands.

  I’m suddenly shy, the weight of my words heavy as I consider how much I want to ask, how much I want to know.

  We stare at each other in silence for a few seconds.

  He breaks the lull. “You decide you want to marry me after all?” He breaks into a stupid grin.

  “Marry?” I’m floored.

  “Yeah, you marry me,” he says without hesitation. He sees the startled look in my eyes and adds, “Just joking, Bishop, calm down.”

  “You wouldn’t want to marry me anyway.” I try to keep the mood light. “My husband cheated on me for a reason.”

  His eyes shrink in his head as he chastises me. “Don’t you ever say that. Your husband had a one-in-a-million classy lady and didn’t know what to do with that. His fault for letting someone like you go.” He pauses, his hands reaching for mine. “I hope one day we can be more than friends. I’d like nothing more than to show you how you deserve to be treated.”

  “I have a lot of baggage,” I stammer.

  “I have a big suitcase.” He squeezes my hand. The door bangs shut and he clears his throat, signaling someone’s intruded on our presence.

  It’s Randy, coming in from emptying the dust pan. Jarrett reluctantly drops my hand as he walks towards us. Randy acknowledges us, saying, “I’m going to go unload some crates from the back.” He leaves again, his feet shuffling on the concrete floor.

  Jarrett’s expressions turns serious. “I know this isn’t a social visit. I wish it were, but I can tell there’s a purpose.”

  “Yeah, I’m on my way to my father’s office to drop off some mail.” I shrug. The last thing I want is to sound accusatory, so I go for casual. “Have you ever met the girl?”

  “Which girl?”

  “Talin.”

  He’s puzzled. “I’ve seen her on the news and in the papers daily.”

  “I mean in here. The bar.”

  Tilting his head, he considers my question. “Not that I know of.”

  “I found an Uber ride to the bar.” He raises an eyebrow at me, and I continue. “When Talin was with him.”

  “She was in town?” He’s incredulous. “He brought her here?”

  “He introduced my kids to her.” I purse my lips. “I think he was testing out step-mom status.”

  “Okay…when?” He’s dumbfounded. “I see a lot of people, Meg. Hard to remember them all.”

  “You seemed shocked when Reed came up to me that one night…” I mention. “Like you didn’t know I was his wife.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you knew he had a girlfriend?”

  “Meghan, you don’t wear a ring. I didn’t know you were married.” His tone has an edge.

  I sigh.

  “Where is this coming from?” He trie
s to stroke my hand. “I’ve seen him around, but I don’t remember her.”

  Pulling away from his touch, I lean my elbows on the counter. I study the aluminum top, the small scratches that penetrate the surface. “I saw the picture.”

  “Picture of who?”

  “You, Reed, and Talin,” I spit out.

  His face twists. “What are you talking about?”

  “Facebook. At this bar.” I tap the counter, “and with Reed a year ago. You’ve known my husband a year and never said anything?”

  “I know he’s a womanizer.” He fixes his eyes on a spot behind the bar. “That’s my extent of knowing him.” He pushes his stool out, and it scrapes across the floor like nails on a chalkboard. Standing, he looks at me. “I didn’t know his girlfriend, and I can’t believe you would insinuate I secretly hid his mistress from you.”

  Grasping my chin in his palm, he adds, “You think I don’t want you? That one bad deed doesn’t cancel out another? I’d have told you so I could start jumping your bones.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious you were with them?” I spit out. “Acting as if you don’t know a Bishop when you see one?”

  “I know you’re acting like a Bishop.” He glares at me. “Entitled and spoiled, as if the world owes you something. Stop drowning in your own head and look around you.”

  Making a point to glance around the bar, inch by inch, I turn to him. “You know what I see?” I don’t wait for him to shake his head or acknowledge my question.

  “I see another man who just lies to get what he wants, toying with my feelings, pretending he cares about my needs.” I rise. “I’m sorry I ever walked into this dump.”

  He looks as if I slapped him, his face turning a shade of crimson as our sullen faces focus on each other. His eyes are hooded as he grabs his phone off the counter.

  “I have to make a call.” He’s bitter, acid dripping from his tongue. “You can show yourself out.”

  Silently, my eyes plead with him, but there’s nothing to say in this moment. I struggle to hold back the tears threatening to stream down my cheeks.

  Slinking out of the bar, I sit in my car as I unleash a torrent of tears.