by Genna Rulon
“New guy here. You lost me, Thia.”
“Ah, I forgot you weren’t around when these two seemingly exemplary men lost their women and were too blind or stubborn to put it all on the line and win them back,” Thia explained before muttering ‘idiots’ under her breath. “Can you imagine Hunter without Everleigh or Griffin without Samantha? Not a pretty picture, I assure you. Hunter would never find another woman who challenges him like Everleigh and inspires the same level of friendship and passion. And Griffin…I don’t even think he’s capable of loving a woman other than Samantha. It’s like he’s hardwired exclusively for her.”
“I can see all that,” I said, wondering how we veered so far off course into relationship territory. This is what happens when women play poker. We should still be talking about balls or calling each other names.
“It’s true,” Griffin seconded. “If I hadn’t given Hunter a kick in the ass, he would never have gotten Everleigh back. He was too busy whining about missing her and worrying that she would never forgive him after he lied to her and pushed her away. It was pathetic. It took a month and regular injections of common sense before he finally manned up,” Griffin shared.
“And you’re one to talk,” Hunter countered. “You were too busy singing sappy breakup songs and beating yourself up to win your woman back. Sam had to come herself to knock some sense into you. Left to your own devices, you would still be sitting on stage, lamenting the one that got away…not your best cover, by the way,” Hunter said, shaking his head as if Griffin was a disappointment to all mankind.
“I did not cover that song,” Griffin defended.
“Might as well have,” Hunter returned, then exchanged a high-five with Thia.
“Back to my original point,” Thia said, reclaiming the conversation, “you two lummox came exceedingly close to losing the grand prize because you were playing it safe. I don’t generally associate with feeble-minded wimps—unless they pay me…a lot, and then let me whip their asses into shape—so don’t start regressing on me.”
I leaned toward Hunter and quietly asked, “Is Thia a professional dominatrix?”
He doubled over, laughing so hard his entire body shook. When he finally sat up, he was wiping tears from his eyes.
“Holy shit! I needed that. I owe you one, man. Although my appreciation is offset by the mental image you just conjured—I could have lived without that.”
“I’ll take that as a no,” I said, feeling ridiculous for having asked but still believing it was a possibility.
“Nah, she’s a teacher at Hensley, which is how we all met.”
“That is decidedly less exciting than my guess,” I said chuckling.
“But now that you’ve mentioned it, I wouldn’t put it past her,” he said with a wink.
“What are you two laughing at?” Thia asked.
“Nothing,” we answered in unison, sounding like schoolboys caught talking in class.
She gave us a skeptical look but changed topics, “What are the girls doing tonight?”
“Lo and Ev were helping Meg get ready and then going to see a chick flick,” Griffin answered.
“Get ready for what?” I asked before my brain could stop my mouth.
“Umm,” Griffin stalled, shooting Hunter a ‘help me’ look.
“Don’t look at me…you opened the door, now you’re the one who’s walking through,” Hunter said unsympathetically.
“And the plot thickens,” Thia chimed in dramatically.
“She was invited to an office holiday party, so the girls were helping her get all dolled up. Lo was excited to have a human Barbie and Ev was in charge of keeping Lo in check,” Griffin answered, obvious in his efforts to subtly steer the conversation from Meg to Sam and Ev.
“Whose office party?” I asked, annoyed.
“Just that lawyer she goes out with sometimes…oh, the other lawyer, not you obviously,” Griffin added sheepishly.
Something in the ‘aw shucks’ delivery pinged my radar. Tonight was a set-up after all, just not the type I’d been anticipating. The relationship talk, the betting analogies…it was all crystalizing in my mind. I would have called them on the ploy immediately, but their trap had sprung and it was effective. I couldn’t drop the line of questioning until I had the answers I sought.
“Which lawyer?” I asked.
“Mark, from the DA’s office. Oh, that’s right, you probably know him from work. He seems like a good guy…treats her right and all that.”
I ignored the bait. “How often do she and Mark go out?”
“I’m not sure exactly,” Griffin said evasively. “I know they’ve been out several times. It’s usually just dinner and a movie. This party is the first real ‘couple’ type event.”
It was getting harder to ignore the worm wriggling on the hook in front of me, but I persevered. ”Were they dating while she and I were together?” I asked through clenched teeth.
“No,” Griffin and Hunter said in unison without hesitation. I looked expectantly from one to the other, knowing there was more to the story.
“He invited her the day after she saw you with your new friend,” Griffin said, shaking his head, clearly disappointed in me. “It had been several months since their last date and frankly, I was surprised she said yes. I’m guessing she needed a distraction.”
“Men!” Thia interrupted. “She didn’t need a distraction…that’s a typical coping mechanism for men after a breakup. Meg needed someone to make her feel desirable and sexy after coming face to face with her replacement.”
Thia was not helping. My temper was rising from simmer to boil.
“I think you’re right, Thia. Sam did mention she was going to stay here tonight so Meg could have the house to herself,” Griffin said, winking in Thia’s direction.
I was clinging to sanity by a thread, unable to speak as angry as I was.
“Yeah, Ev made me stop at the drugstore on the way to Sam’s to get supplies for Meg, just in case. You know Ev, always the mother hen.”
5, 4, 3, 2…
“You know what they say, the best way to get over a man is to get under a new one,” Thia said, striking the final blow.
1—blast off!
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re all sitting there joking about Meg screwing someone—who I know, I might add—like it’s no big deal. What the hell? And PS, Mark-freaking-Stuart is a two-faced sleazeball who would sell his mother if it benefited him.”
“Is it a big deal?” Thia asked. “You broke up with her and have been seeing other people. She’s doing the same. I don’t see the problem.”
Who the hell was this woman and how did she know everything about me? I looked to Griffin, who was studying the table intently, then to Hunter, who was equally enthralled with the ceiling. Son-of-a-bitch! These two were worse than women—I should buy them a jumbo-sized box of tampons and a collection of chick-flicks.
“You don’t see the problem? We have unresolved issues! There are still conversations to be had and decisions to be made. She can’t just go and sleep with that shmuck before we have a chance to talk.”
“You’ve had two weeks to talk, but you haven’t. Furthermore, you slept with someone else while trying to figure things out. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,” Thia said, further enraging me.
“I did not! I couldn’t get it up before Meg saw the barfly pawing me, and I took her home as soon as Meg left,” I said, pausing to catch my breath. “Whatever you may think of me, I’m telling you…Mark Stuart is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. If he’s set his sights on Meg, then he has an angle—something that benefits him, and trust me, it will be at Meg’s expense. In the end, Meg will gain nothing.”
“Other than an orgasm?” Hunter asked flippantly.
I lost my mind. It flew away to a remote locale, where it could enjoy a siesta.
“Don’t you dare talk about Meg that way! You have no idea what you’re saying, motherfucker. Christ, you’re supposed to be
like a brother to her. I can’t even stand to be in the same room as you right now,” I shouted my reprimand. “You know what, screw you guys—I’m going to find Meg and warn her, since you all are too busy enjoying her impending suffering.”
“Griffin, where’s my twenty? You know the rules—all bets must be settled immediately upon completion,” Thia said with a smug look on her face.
“You’re betting on what? My reaction? Did you make that shit up so I’d be forced to admit there are unresolved issues? Twisted pricks. You had me going for a minute. I actually believed you,” I said, my relief palpable.
“Unfortunately, no,” Hunter answered with genuine regret. “I confess we brought it up to test the waters—see if you two were really over—because we all agree you and Meg need to have a conversation, but we stuck to the truth…for the most part.”
“We may have over-embellished Meg’s enthusiasm, and I don’t think she intends on sleeping with Mark,” Griffin added hastily.
“Her intentions are irrelevant,” I replied hostilely.
“Are you saying he’d force her?” Griffin growled, jumping to his feet.
“No, I don’t think he’d use force, but he wouldn’t need it. He’s a manipulative parasite who will do or be whatever it takes to get what he wants. He’ll find her weaknesses and insecurities and exploit them. I’ve seen him do it before, professionally and personally.”
“Then what are you still doing here?” Thia asked. “Go crash the party.”
“That’s the best advice I’ve heard in a long time,” I said as I walked out the door.
"No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.” -Nathaniel Hawthorne
Meg
Worst. Date. Ever.
I walked into Sam’s and set the alarm while kicking off the heels she had crammed my feet into despite being a size too small. With a sigh of relief, I headed to the kitchen to grab an unopened bar of chocolate. Oh yes, I planned to eat the entire bar tonight—I’d earned it. I had, after all, endured the…
Worst. Date. Ever.
As I headed for the couch, I caught a glimpse of myself in the window—what a waste. Sam and Ev had outdone themselves transforming me from a duckling to a swan. And hours of effort for what? A disingenuous hypocrite who thought I could be bought like a two-bit hooker and used to further his career. One thing was for sure, Mark Stuart learned a lesson tonight in the dangers of manipulating the wrong woman.
The evening started well enough. He arrived on time with a dozen roses and a pocketful of compliments. We drove to Taglio’s on the Sound while exchanging pleasantries without incident. He helped me from the car and walked me into the restaurant like any proper gentleman should do. And that was where ‘well enough’ ended. From our arrival at Taglio’s until I climbed in a taxi to return home, it was a steady descent into hell.
I’d always believed Mark was a nice guy—albeit a bit dull—and after several dates I thought I knew what to expect. I failed to take into account the Jekyll/Hyde effect when surrounded by his coworkers and boss. In the new environment, his mask came off and I had my first opportunity to see what lay beneath, which was repellent to any sane human being with even a modicum of social consciousness.
The passive-aggressive elitism and bigotry was shocking from a representative of the state sworn to uphold the law with blind justice. Blind, ha! All the man saw was color, religion, socio-economic status, gender…hell, any method of generalizing or stereotyping was welcome. His holier-than-thou attitude and self-righteous diatribes verged on delusional.
What was most astonishing was how quickly the mask slipped in place when local lobbyists, charities, or community outreach organizers came to introduce themselves. It took everything in my power to bite my tongue and persuade myself not to kick him in the shins. I succeeded admirably until dessert, when his commentary degraded beyond my ability to remain silent.
While I was treated like an accessory throughout the night, very little of his negativity was directed at me. However, when dessert was served and I requested hot chocolate in lieu of coffee, he nudged me under the table before advising the waiter to give us a moment.
Apparently, Mark wasn’t satisfied I had received his message, so he then proceeded to patronize me in front of our tablemates, “Meg, sweetheart, it’s best to order one of the options provided. These poor waiters have a job to do, and it would be a shame if your special request distracted them from their other responsibilities and ultimately cost them their position. Remember, low-wage workers are often more susceptible to errors and distraction as a result of their shorter attention spans. Why don’t you relax and I’ll order your dessert.”
My nails dug into my palms with such force I was certain there would be crescent indentations visible for days. Still feeling the urge to scream, I bit my tongue until it was numb with pain. Despite the many indignities of the evening, I was determined to maintain my composure. Just because my date was an embarrassment didn’t mean I had to embarrass myself.
My resolve nearly crumbled when the waiter returned and Mark ordered me a trio of berries with vanilla ice cream. Vanilla! We had been on at least five dates and each time I’d ordered the chocolatiest item on the menu for dessert. Did the man pay attention to anyone other than himself?
When the conversation turned to the ‘where are they now’ of previous co-workers, I knew trouble lay ahead. As I suspected, the conversation eventually turned to Wes.
“Westly Black,” Mark said with disgust, “is still over at Cauldwell, Rueger & Stein, which is exactly where he belongs. Lou, you do you remember what it was like when he was at the DA’s office? Every day was a waiting game to see what stunt he would pull next. Rumor has it he left because they were about to fire him…something about losing a motion that nearly freed a pedophile. There should have been an investigation into his conduct as I suspect he was accepting bribes from the defendants’ families all along.”
“Really, did he lose that often?” I asked with mock innocence.
“No, his win record was the highest in the office—that should tell you something right there,” the man across from me answered spitefully.
“That he was good at his job?” I asked flatly.
“A little too good—impossibly good,” the man replied, heavy with implication.
“There are many intricacies in our profession,” Mark condescended, “It’s possible for an unscrupulous person—such as Black—to twist evidence, coach witnesses, or manipulate the system in various other ways in order to guarantee a conviction. On paper, everything might look clean, but behind the scenes, we see the manipulation.”
“So which is it? Either Wes is selling out to help the defendant avoid conviction or he’s abusing the system to gain a conviction. You can’t accuse him of both…one results in a win, the other in a loss,” I argued calmly.
Mark’s face reddened with anger—or possibly embarrassment—at my critique before his peers. Tough shit! The self-righteous ego mongers had spent the entire night flaunting their compete lack of social conscious and absence of principles. None of them knew anything about Wes beyond their jealousy of his success.
“Wes?” Mark asked suspiciously. “Do you know Black personally?”
When I refused to react to his inference, he offered me a demeaning smile.
“Now I understand…you think you know him. You’ve spent time with the snake and took a bite of his apple.”
It would be more accurate to say that the snake took a bite of the apple—specifically, my apple—but I didn’t bother to correct him.
“Meg, I hate to be the one to tell you this,” he started, the callous fervor in his eyes contradicting his words, “but you deserve to know to truth. You are but one in an exceptionally long line of women Black has deceived into his bed. Despite what he has led you to believe, Westly Black is a depraved narcissist who will discard you once you’
ve fulfilled your purpose—the only purpose he has where women are concerned.”
“Oh, thank goodness. I was only using him for sex or else your character assassination would be very distressing,” I tossed out casually as I stood. “It has been an enlightening evening, if not a pleasant one. I’ll see myself home...and Mark, don’t bother calling or showing up at Higher Yearning. I won’t be serving you anything.”
The last square of chocolate dissolved in my mouth as delicious and necessary as the first, removing the residual bitterness from my tongue left by the…Worst. Date. Ever.
It was hard to believe the Mark I was with tonight was the same man I’d broken bread with previously. There was a definite possibility he suffered from multiple personalities. The only other explanation was that the Mark I’d dated previously was an impostor, and tonight’s Mark was the genuine article. Who’d have guessed that the bumbling, gentle—though somewhat boring—attorney I’d known was a ruse that masked a self-important, ignorant, and ethically bankrupt manipulator?
Experience had taught me this type of man was the norm rather than the exception, so I didn’t know why I found it surprising. Men, or people in general—but men especially, in my experience—were apt to project whatever image gained the confidence of those around them in order to secure their own interests, regardless of the destruction left in their wake. They were masters of manipulation and deceit, bending those around them to their will until the unsuspecting victims eagerly submitted, always to their detriment.
Perhaps that was what most appealed to me about Wes—his willingness to project an image that colored him in the worst light in order to achieve goals that were to the benefit of others. Ultimately, the only person suffering from Wes’ deception was himself.
Wes…I couldn’t escape him. He had already occupied copious amounts of my mental hard drive over the past two weeks, tonight only proving how profound a mistake I had made and how great the cost. I’d sacrificed my first taste of happiness for secrets that only brought me sorrow.
