by JA Huss
I hear footsteps approach and the door opens to reveal Alexander holding a snifter and the strong scent of a well-made cognac fills the air. He smiles at me. It’s a small smile, perhaps even a disappointed smile. Like he didn’t figure I’d show up. “Come in,” he says, opening the door wide.
I step in and look around. The ceilings are high, but not very high. This building is old. Probably built in the Thirties. Like maybe the designer was a contemporary of Wright and this was his stamp on the world of modern architecture at the time.
The ceilings are coffered, much like the ballroom ceilings in my own house, and the floors are a rich, dark hardwood that looks original. The view of the city is spectacular. Seen through an entire wall of windows, the Denver skyline is already lit up, a silhouette against the setting sun that hangs just over the top of the mountains.
“This is lovely,” I say, just as I notice Augustine over in the kitchen. Someone obviously renovated this apartment because it’s an open-concept layout. She’s wearing a white dress and a light blue apron. She has yellow oven mitts on her hands and she’s holding a baking dish. “And you look lovely as well.”
I don’t know why I say that except that it’s true. She looks… softer somehow. I’ve never seen her in domestic mode. I only remember the wild girl in cut-offs and tank tops.
She is someone else now. Someone I don’t know.
But I guess that’s true for anyone you lose contact with and reconnect with later.
Now I smell the food and my stomach grumbles. I never did eat that sandwich at lunch.
“Thank you,” she says, smiling at me.
“Want to take off your coat?” Alexander asks me. His hands are already on my shoulders, ready to help. I let him slip the suit coat down my arms and then he walks over to a closet near the front door and hangs it up.
“I hope you’re hungry. I made way too much. But I’m glad you came.” She pauses to laugh. “Because I made way too much.”
“I am, actually.” It’s all I can think of to say. I don’t know them anymore. This is clear. When we were last together it was something altogether different. They’ve been living as a couple for almost eight years now. Married, separated, back together. A lifetime apart is what this feels like.
“Sit down,” Alexander says, pointing to the dining room table. It’s small, which is surprising. And round. Seats maybe… four? But there’s only three chairs there now. I look around the room, trying to find the missing one. No one buys three chairs. But it’s… missing. If they have a fourth chair, it’s hidden and out of view.
“Do you want a drink?” Alexander asks.
“Sure. What you’re having is fine.” I say it as I watch Augustine place a rack of lamb onto a large white platter, take off her oven mitts, and then look up to find me staring. She smiles, reaching behind her back to untie her apron. She hangs it up on a hook inside the pantry and then picks up the platter and walks towards me. “Sit,” she says. Because I’m still standing.
I do. Taking one of the chairs just as Alexander returns with my snifter of cognac and she places the platter in the center of the table. She smiles at me one more time and then Alexander holds her chair out and pushes it in for her before taking his seat.
She’s on my left, he’s on my right.
They have thoroughly planned this evening, I decide.
“What did you do today?” Alexander asks.
I look over at him, thinking he’s talking to me, but he isn’t. He’s asking his wife.
“I took meetings,” she says quietly. “With contractors.”
“Contractors?” I ask. “For what?”
“The building,” she says.
I look over at Alexander, who just shrugs. “I don’t know either. She’s been playing coy with me about the whole thing.”
“My building?” I ask.
She meets my gaze and says, “It’s not your building.”
“But you’re selling it to me. I’m here, playing your game, so in three weeks you’re selling it to me. That’s what you said.”
“These arrangements were already in place. It’s just… motions, Jordan. Going through motions.”
“What arrangements? What motions? You’re not tearing shit down in there, are you? I mean, for fuck’s sake, Augustine—”
“Don’t bother,” Alexander says, interrupting me. “She’s trying to rile you up.”
Augustine makes a face at him then turns to me. “I’ll keep my word. And nothing’s been changed yet. I’m just making plans.”
“What plans?” I ask.
“If everything goes the way it’s supposed to then you won’t need to worry. So just… eat. I made a lot of lamb and it’s never good the next day.”
She nods to Alexander and he carves the meat, dishing a portion out to each of us.
I’m suddenly not hungry. I’m suddenly ready to go home and order pizza. I’m suddenly filled with regret for even coming over here tonight.
“We had a nice kiss today,” Alexander says, bringing me out of my thoughts.
I look at him, but he’s looking at her.
“How nice?” Augustine asks him. They’re acting like I’m not even here.
“Full mouth,” he says, taking a bite of lamb. Then he pauses to chew. Slowly. And swallows. “I made him hard.”
Augustine beams a smile at me. “Well… we’re making progress. Want me to tell you what we did last night?”
Alexander nods his head. “Please.”
I don’t say another word through dinner. She describes our sex in explicit detail. Like we were recording it and then she took that recording home, watched it over and over on repeat, and wrote down and memorized everything she was going to say tonight.
“You’re making me hard,” Alexander says, standing up so we can see his proof. “Feel me,” he says, walking towards her and taking her hand. He places it over his cock and she squeezes him through his pants.
I can’t stop watching.
He grabs her hair. Hard. Rough. Augustine lets out a small yelp and I am immediately on my feet.
The deal we have—the one Augustine offered—is back, front and center, in my mind.
Alexander glances over at me. Aware that my reaction is one of challenge. “What?” he growls. “What will you do?”
I tilt my head at him, unsure if this is an act or if it’s real. I don’t allow myself to look to Augustine for clarification. That just feeds his power. “You know damn well what I’ll do.”
“Pretend I’m obtuse, Jordan. And spell it out.”
“Keep you under control. Keep you from losing control.”
He yanks Augustine’s hair, jerking her head so she’s looking up at him. “Do you trust him?”
I’m thrown for a moment. Because she doesn’t look scared. “Yes,” is all she says. And she says it in a tone that lets me know this is just business. A contractual negotiation.
“You must be sure,” Alexander whispers. “Absolutely sure.”
“I am,” she says, placing her hand over his, which is still gripping her hair so tight, it’s pulling on her scalp.
What the hell am I witnessing?
“I’m sure,” Augustine repeats, staring up into Alexander’s eyes. “Please. It’s the only option we have left.”
I squint my eyes, trying to fit those words into what I know of their relationship.
This is what I come up with:
One. They love each other. Perhaps they’re even soulmates. Although if you had asked me that before this moment, I’d have laughed. But maybe I’m wrong. Because this is a lot of trouble to go through in order to save a dying marriage. Most people just assume failure is inevitable. That this was never a soulmates connection. Thus, they get a divorce. But these two are convinced they can work things out. Alexander truly is overly aggressive during sex and I truly am the only one who can control him to Augustine’s satisfaction.
Two. They’ve separated before. Got back together. Then upended their l
ives in LA and moved here. For me. I’m still discovering the details behind that, but my assumption is that they equate their happiness with the time in LA when the four of us—me, Ix, and the two of them—were together. And since Ix bailed out first and has since found someone he loves and cares about, I’m the only missing piece in the puzzle that is their collective unhappiness. If they can get me, they get that love back.
Or three. Which is the big one. They’re playing me. They never forgave me for what I did back in LA and they want to hurt me the way I hurt them. Perhaps they even blame me for their crumbling relationship. Perhaps they spent weeks, or months, even years of sleepless nights and endless fights over what happened. And how I just… left and moved on. Left them to pick up the pieces and put themselves all back together.
Alexander pulls Augustine right out of her chair and I take two steps towards them before I get myself under control and stop in my tracks. She’s on her knees in front of him now. Looking up into his eyes like he is her fucking master.
He slaps her.
Her head doesn’t move.
Was the slap just playful?
I don’t think so. It was loud and there’s already a red mark on her cheek. She just knows how to control herself. Her eyes never leave his.
He slaps her again—the other cheek this time.
“Stop it!” I say, crossing the distance between us. “What the fuck, Alexander?”
He looks at me and smiles. Lets go of her hair, tugs on his jacket like he’s pulling himself together, and walks around the table to take his seat again.
“Get up, August,” I say. She reaches for me and I help her to her feet. Her face is red, both cheeks. I pull out her chair and she sits, allowing me to push her back in. The same way Alexander did before this little display of dominance upended our roles.
I walk back to my chair and sit. Let out a long breath of air and look Alexander dead in the eyes. “This is who you are?”
He shrugs and breaks off a small piece of the roll on his plate. I glance at Augustine, who is watching him, not me, and then I look back at Alexander to find him spreading butter on the bite-sized piece of bread. He puts it in his mouth and chews, watching me thoughtfully, the anger—or whatever you call that emotion inside him he just showed us—gone.
“If you can’t handle it, we’ll understand,” Alexander says.
Once again, I find myself looking to Augustine for… something. Clarification or, I dunno, something. “Do you like this?” I ask her.
She nods. Then clears her throat. “I love it, Jordan. And he won’t do it anymore.”
“Why?” I ask, sensing there’s more to that. “Why did he stop?” She just shakes her head so I look to him. “Did you hurt her? Crossed a line and then promised never to do it again?”
He shrugs. “You’re perceptive,” he says. “Which, I suppose, is why she trusts you.”
“How bad did you hurt her?” I ask. I feel hot all of a sudden. Anger coursing through my body. “Break her arm? Give her a black eye? Rape her?”
“Come on,” Alexander says. “I love her. I wouldn’t do any of that.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Jordan,” Augustine says. “Let’s talk about that later. Let’s just—”
I stand up, pounding the table with both hands. Augustine startles, jumping with the silverware. “Tell me,” I growl. “Or I’ll walk out right now. I won’t participate in bullshit like this. I won’t become you, Alexander.”
“That’s precisely the point,” Augustine says. Too loud. Not a yell or shout, but too loud. “You’re not him. You’ll never be him,” she snaps.
And for some reason I take that as an insult. That he is somehow better than me. This asshole who likes to hit her to get off is better than me.
And she allows it. She wants it. He stopped and she dragged him here. Made him leave LA and come to Denver to find me. So they can continue this… this sick version of love they’ve cultivated since I left.
“Look,” Alexander says. “I can’t help what I like. I’m sorry I ever started doing it with her. Because—”
“Because I love it,” Augustine says. “It’s fantasy. It’s pretend, Jordan. You of all people, the fucking game master himself, should be able to see this for what it is. A game.”
“A lifestyle,” I correct her. “This isn’t a game. This is a top-bottom lifestyle.”
“Not really,” Alexander says, then takes a sip of wine. He swallows, puts his glass down, and then continues. “Because I don’t want her to submit to me. I want her to fight me.”
My brain is on fire, doing an internal search for a memory of any such game. I cannot recall ever hearing about this. “Who gets to win?” I ask. Because it matters. And I need to make sense of this.
“We both win,” Augustine says. “When the game is over and we’re satisfied and happy.”
“So… so you don’t want to be tied down and… you know. Kinda forced?”
“No,” Augustine says.
“And you don’t want to force her?”
“God, no. It’s not a rape fantasy.”
“But you want her to fight you?”
“Yes. But she won’t fight back,” Alexander says.
“If I fight back, he stops,” Augustine says.
“Because I lose control,” he clarifies. “And I don’t want to lose control.”
“OK.” I put up a hand. “Hold on here. You want her to fight you?” I look at Alexander and he nods. “You refuse to fight back.” I point to Augustine.
“Because he’ll stop,” she says again. “I will fight back,” she says, looking at Alexander. “But only if we keep going and see it through to the end.”
I think about this as we all sit in silence. Then I say, “I have to admit, you guys, I’ve never heard of this one. I… I don’t think it has a name. I’m gonna have to get some advice first. I can’t—”
“No,” Augustine says. This time it’s her pounding her fists on the table, making the silverware jump. “No. Tonight.”
“Tonight? No. Fuck that. I… I… I don’t even know what this is.”
“Well,” Alexander says, placing his napkin on his plate. “We can show you.”
They get up at the same time. Eyes locked. And they nod.
And once again I get that feeling about them. That they are truly connected. That they know each other so well.
He walks over to her and says, “You invited this asshole into our house?” Before she can answer he slaps her across the face again.
This time Augustine is instantly breathing heavy. Like that excites her. Which is normal, I’ve seen that before.
But then… but then her arm is in motion, her hand connects with his face, and her slap is much louder than his.
He grabs her wrists and I’m on my feet. My heart pounding too, my head spinning at what I’m about to witness. He pushes her backwards until she bumps into the back of the couch. He pushes her again, hard, and she falls backwards, legs in the air. Alexander has his hands up inside her dress, pulling on her panties. She either lets him get them off, or it’s possible he’s just that quick, I’m not sure. But as soon as her panties go flying over his shoulder, she connects a flat-footed kick to his chest.
I know that hurts. I can feel it from here.
He grabs her legs, spreading them open. Augustine is still upended. Head and shoulders on the couch cushions, knees bent over the back of the couch, Alexander’s hands on her ankles.
She begins to kick and grunt, but he reaches down and grabs her long hair with both hands, pulling her back up so she’s now sitting on the back of the couch, her eyes level with his chest.
Her fingers go to his shirt, ripping it open. Buttons go flying and Alexander tries to back away, but she holds tight, refusing to let him.
I’m… I dunno the word for it. Stunned? Mesmerized?
“That’s enough,” he says. “That’s enough.”
“No,” Augustine begs. She’s on her f
eet, still holding the two flapping ends of his open shirt. Leaning up on her tiptoes, trying to kiss him.
He shakes his head, pries her hands off him, and then backs away, breathing heavy and hard as he turns to me. “There,” he says. “That should give you an idea.”
“Don’t stop!” Augustine says. “Come on! He’s here. He’s—”
“He’s got no fucking clue, August!” Alexander practically shouts. It’s loud enough to stop her begging. She lets go of his shirt and sits down on the back of her couch, twirling her body so she can flop down onto the cushions.
“Uh…” I say.
“Yeah,” Alexander says, taking off his suit coat and throwing it over a dining room chair. He takes off his shirt too. And I get a little stuck on the perfectly sculpted physique of his chest.
“Ahh,” I try again. “I think you two are fucking crazy.”
“Fuck you,” Augustine spits. But she’s not looking at me. She’s truly pissed off this… whatever it was just ended.
Alexander looks at me, then shrugs. Like he’s with me, but… a girl wants what she wants. And, well, what can you do?
Get another crazy player is their answer, I guess. “Look, you guys. I don’t think—”
“Then get out,” Augustine snarls.
But when I look at Alexander he gives me a little shake of his head. Like… maybe this is all part of the game?
I suddenly understand how Issy Grey felt when I set her up in a game she didn’t ask to play. I might need a poster slogan to help me make sense of this.
At the very least, I need to talk to Lucinda. And Chella. Because… oh, yeah. This is one for the books.
And then he… he mouths something. “What?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes at me. Then mouths it again. Slower. Exaggerated. Fuck her.
Fuck her… like she can fuck off? Or he’s telling me to fuck his wife?
“I need to go.”
“Jordan!” Augustine says, scrambling to her knees and peeking her head over the couch. “No. Stay. Come on. You know this interests you. You know you and I have something good. And you and Alexander—”
I shake my head. “No… I don’t think—”
