by JA Huss
What does that mean? I wonder. Like he’d have been into a threesome with me and Augustine if they didn’t start that professional relationship together with the production company? Or… if Alexander wasn’t in the picture? If it was just the three of us, and not the four of us? Or—
“Don’t waste your time, Jordan,” Ix says. “It doesn’t matter what it could’ve been. This is just what it is now. And it’s good, ya know? It’s just fine.”
I reach over and grip his shoulder. “I will never forget what you did for me, Ixion.”
“I’m calling it even.” And then he smiles, stands up, and says, “Don’t let them drag you into the past, Jordan. If you want to play their little game then reinvent it. Play on your own terms. Don’t let them ruin what you’ve got going. Because you built something good here, brother. I’m proud of you.”
And with that, the conversation is over.
Because he gets up and walks out.
Play the game if I want. But play it on my own terms.
In other words, be the goddamned game master.
My next stop is Lucinda. She’s not your typical psychiatrist at all. For one thing, she’s got this little side business going called What Are You Afraid Of? She fixes people’s fears and most of her games—no, they’re not games, I decide—most of her patients are cured with sex therapy. Not all of them, but Lucinda maintains that almost all our hang-ups go back to some kind of sexual dysfunction.
I was sort of a silent partner in that little business with her. Just a front man. She had these business cards printed up. They were the size and thickness of a drink coaster you’d find in Oaklee Ryan’s Bronco Brews bar, with fancy engraved lettering, and all they said on the front was What Are You Afraid Of? On the back she had her contact info and one small sentence. We will conquer your fear together.
I dropped the cards off to local businesses and paid them a flat fee to keep a stack next to their cash registers.
That’s how Evangeline found her. I don’t really know the whole Total Exposure story, because I didn’t really start that game. I just set it up for Lucinda. She asked me to set up the “game” after Evangeline made contact asking for help getting over her completely debilitating fear of being watched by people. I guess that stemmed from the fact that she was a violin child prodigy and her parents dragged her all over the world as a kid making her perform like a circus dog.
Anyway, Lucinda is a sexual fetish expert in my opinion. She’s the one who’ll understand what this fight shit is all about.
I call ahead, of course. Sometimes she sees patients at the hospital and she’s real busy, but she says she can fit me in, so I go over to her offices and take a seat in her small, private outer lobby to wait for her closed door to open.
You don’t knock. She buzzes you in from her office and then you wait until she’s ready to see you. Kinda pretentious, but whatever. It’s her system and I respect it.
After about five minutes she opens her door, says a few soft words to the patient leaving, and waits for the lobby door to close before she looks at me and says, “Come in, Jordan.”
I follow her in, take a seat in a chair in front of her desk and wait for her to sit at her desk.
“So what’s going on?” she says.
“You know Augustine and Alexander are back.”
“Yup. Are they talking to you yet?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say.
“Great,” she says, beaming a smile at me.
“Uh, no. Not great. You see… they’re having marriage problems and for whatever reason they figure bringing me in is the cure.”
“OK,” Lucinda says, steepling her fingers under her chin, like she’s thinking hard about this. “Not conventional,” she says, and lets out a small laugh. “But I don’t judge.”
“That’s not even the half of it,” I say. “They have a really weird fetish. One I’ve never heard of.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“It doesn’t have a name as far as I know. But they get off on… like… fighting each other.”
“Like S&M-type stuff?”
“No. This is the confusing part. There’s no top and no bottom. Neither of them is in charge. So it’s not S&M and it’s got nothing to do with dominant-submissive stuff either. It’s just… fighting turns them on. Like he slaps her face, but instead of wanting her to take it, he wants her to hit him back.”
“Hmmm,” Lucinda says.
“Weird, right?”
“Well… maybe. I think the way it’s manifesting is… interesting. I’ve never heard of that one either. However, their relationship problem-solving—while unorthodox—is mature. They see a problem and think they have a solution.” Lucinda shrugs. “It makes sense.”
“But what is it? This Fight Club shit?”
“It’s not about the fighting, Jordan. It’s the push-pull dynamic. The adrenaline and dopamine release that occurs when they feel the excitement of… violence, I guess. Which is slightly disturbing. But I think it falls over on the ‘normal’ side of things. It’s chemical, that’s all.”
“So listen. The reason they want me is because apparently Alexander is afraid of losing control in these fights. Or possibly had lost control at one point and hurt Augustine. So now he’s afraid he’ll do it again and he refuses to fuck her. Like at all, Lucinda. Last night, when I was there as their… buffer, I guess… that was the first time he’s fucked her in years. And we did her together.”
“Hmmm,” she says again. “This is a complicated one. But they have come up with a clever defense mechanism to protect each other. So they have a good chance of surviving.”
“Should I play this out with them?” I ask.
“Do you want to?”
“No.”
“Then why do you need my advice?”
So I explain the part about the building and how I want it back, as well as how Augustine is holding it over my head.
“Sexual blackmail,” Lucinda says. “That’s not right.”
“No,” I say. “It sucks.”
“So you can’t walk away but you don’t want to participate either?”
“Correct,” I say.
“Well,” she says. “It wouldn’t be the strangest game we ever played, would it?”
“What?” I smile.
“You came here for help. Do you want it? Or not?”
“You think we should play a game with them? Take their power away and give them what they want at the same time?”
“Why not? I think we can make everyone happy in the end. You get your building, they keep their marriage together, and no one gets hurt.”
I agree and we spend the afternoon coming up with their treatment.
But those words echo in my head.
No one gets hurt.
They don’t ring true.
Because when you play a game like this everyone gets hurt. It’s the only way past the roadblock. It’s the only way forward. You have to rip it all apart and put it back together again.
And that always hurts.
My phone is oddly silent the rest of the afternoon. Which can only mean one thing.
I’ve overplayed my reluctant participant card and now they’re angry at me. Gonna wait me out and make me go to them. They’ve laid all their cards on the table and now it’s my turn.
Which is also bullshit. No one puts all their cards on the table. They always hold something back
I leave work early and text Alexander as I walk to my car.
Drinks at my house tonight. Eight-thirty.
The title notification says delivered, then changes to read. I check the screen one more time as I get in my car, just to see if he’ll reply, but he doesn’t.
I don’t care if he answers me. I don’t even care if they show up. If they suddenly decide, Yeah, we’ve had enough of Jordan’s bullshit, I’d be pretty OK with that.
But that’s not how it’s gonna go. You don’t upend your whole life for a gamble like this and then suddenly pull
out at the last second.
You fuck that bitch hard and come inside her before you finish.
I make three stops on the way, and when I finally get home I make an effort.
Candles. Dozens of them. Pillars, not tapers, because even though I know I own some fancy fucking candelabras, I have no clue where they are at this moment.
Wine for Augustine. Good stuff. A 2007 Sequoia Grove Cambium that comes in a beautiful black bottle with gold lettering.
And of course, a nice whiskey called Hedonism Quindecimus for Alexander and me. Chosen for the label (though it does taste nice too) because it features a very detailed illustration of a dark-haired woman.
And the name. Because… hedonism.
That’s pretty much what this whole game is all about. The pursuit of pleasure and sensual self-indulgence.
I change into a fresh suit. Not one I wear to court, even for the most important trials. But one I wear to… things. A gallery opening. A new ballet. The symphony.
Because this is a performance. This entire setup has always been an act, but up until now it has been their act.
No more.
I find a playlist called Deep Dark Moods that has about forty songs you can fuck to and stream that through the speakers hidden in the ceiling.
Talking with Lucinda this afternoon has given me a whole new perspective. A new goal to aim for. A new possible outcome.
And, of course, a plan.
A plan, I have found, can fix almost anything in life. A good plan can turn a shitty outcome into an opportunity. And a great plan can turn your whole life around.
This plan might be spectacular.
I take a seat at the desk, one ankle propped up on one knee, and sip from my cut-crystal glass of Hedonism as Portishead pours out of the speakers like smooth waves of velvet.
The gate opens and my eyes are trained on the driveway as I peer through the window. They’re late—almost twenty-five minutes—but they show.
I knew they would.
Let the game begin.
“Welcome,” I say, watching them come up the front walk through the open front door.
They are holding hands and I catch a slight tightening of their grip as Augustine says, “Sorry we’re late. I’m hopeless when it comes to being on time.”
Which is a lie. But I don’t care. This whole fucking thing is a lie.
“Let me take that,” I say, letting my fingertips brush against Augustine’s soft skin as I drag the black silk wrap down her arms. Underneath she’s wearing a tight red dress. It hugs her hips and breasts like skin. Silk, like the wrap, and soft, I can tell just by looking at it. I admire the choker of diamonds she’s wearing around her neck, the matching cuff at her wrist, and… her rings are back. Wedding band and the obscene rock Alexander gave her when they got engaged.
Well… I smile at Alexander as the shawl comes loose and then pivot to hang it in the foyer closet.
“Come in, I hope you had a nice evening. Did you dine out tonight? Or eat in?” I direct my question to Alexander. He’s wearing a charcoal-gray suit with a light gray shirt and a deep blue tie. And the first thing that occurs to me is they don’t look like a couple. Not that couples should color-coordinate, but there is no cohesion here. A definite line of separation happening.
“We went to that new place over on Stout. The Italian one,” he answers.
“Sure,” I say. “I’ve seen it but haven’t yet stopped in. Was it all you hoped for?” Now I’m looking at Augustine.
“It was good.” She shrugs.
“We weren’t going to come,” Alexander says.
I smile and wave him into the office. “Then I’m delighted that you did. Wine, Augustine?”
“Yes,” she says, rubbing a hand down her arm.
“Are you cold?” I ask, placing my hand on her hip and pulling her into me. I lean down, inhale her scent, then whisper in her ear. “You won’t be cold for long. Don’t worry.”
She backs away from me. Not startled. She won’t startle that easy. But put off a little. They both have that vibe to them.
There was an argument tonight. And it was about me.
“I have a special whiskey for us,” I say, motioning to the Hedonism Quindecimus as I open the bottle of wine and pour a glass.
Alexander picks up the whiskey bottle and studies the label. No doubt admiring the beautiful woman on the front. Or maybe wondering if it’s supposed to remind him of his wife.
“What’s this all about?” Alexander says.
This is the kind of game I love. The one where tables are turned. Game pieces scattered on the board. And the rules, such as they were, are thrown out and new ones made up as we go.
“Your invitation, of course.”
“You put up a fight all this time and now you’re what?” This is Augustine. “Just going to play along?”
Ah. God, I really want to say something like, Well, playing is my speciality, right? But what’s the point of hinting at things to come? It will come whether I hint or not. “You have something I want. I have something you need. We’re making a business deal, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” Alexander says. I slide his glass over to him on the polished bar. He looks down at it, then back up at me.
“And some fun,” I say, shrugging. “Don’t tell me you two are getting cold feet?” I direct this to Augustine, because she’s the instigator of this whole fucked-up plan, not Alexander.
“We know you well,” Alexander says. “And when you suddenly come off as over-accommodating it’s a flashing red warning sign.”
I don’t remark on that. Because they’re right.
Instead I hold up my glass and say, “To the new us.”
And smile.
CHAPTER NINE
I sip, but they don’t. And hell, even though the drinks tonight were put out as prop pieces in the game, the Hedonism was a damn good choice.
“Come on, Jordan,” Alexander says. “What’s this about?”
“It’s me, seeing clearly.”
“Why the sudden change of heart?” Augustine asks.
I mean… I should be asking them this question, right? Have been asking, actually. So it feels really good to have them on the defensive.
This is where I belong. On this side of things. The instigator. The master.
The light in here is low. Not because I planned it that way with candles, but because several of the wall sconces have burnt-out bulbs that I was too lazy to change over the past few months. So there’s only two working behind the desk on the other side of the room, and the chandelier over the wet bar. This lighting complements her the way an illusion tricks the eye. Because it makes her look soft and soft was never something Augustine ever was.
The fight can’t be erased. Not by something as fragile as light. So even though her skin is glowing and all her angles are smooth, she is still very hard.
“The change of heart,” I say, repeating her question. “Well, let’s just say I see this game for what it is. I talked the whole thing through with a friend this afternoon and she gave me the insight I needed.”
“Such as?” Alexander asks.
“Look, I get it. You need me to save your marriage. Fine. I’m here to do that. In return”—I look at Augustine now—“you give what I need back.”
“The building,” she says.
“The building.” As if it needs confirming.
“But that was the original deal,” she says. “So what’s different?”
Perceptive, Augustine. “That,” I say, pointing at the camera on the fireplace mantle. “And that one too.” I point to another one on a shelf behind the desk. “I have seven in here. So I want a token of faith.”
“A video,” Alexander huffs. “Didn’t you learn your lesson back in LA?”
“Didn’t you learn yours?” I quip back.
“Why? To use against us?”
“If I have to,” I say, taking a sip of my drink to let that sink in. “I mean… trust, right?
It’s a hard thing to come by. And I don’t trust you. And I’m sure you don’t trust me. So… I’m gonna make the movie of us and when you sell me the building, I’ll give it back to you. No copies will be made. I’ll sign whatever you want to make sure no one ever sees it. But that’s my new condition. I need insurance.”
They both inhale. Exhale. Look at each other. Look away.
“Fine.” Augustine shrugs. Then walks over to the leather couch and sits daintily. Which I love. Because it’s an act. Her legs are long and they fold up and tilt to the side a little. A very sexy sitting position, if I do say so. “What do you have in mind tonight?”
“Sex,” I say. “What else is there between us?”
She and Alexander exchange another look. These looks, they only come from a couple when they know each other so well, words go unspoken.
Then Alexander says, “There’s some rules first.”
“Shoot,” I say. “Games always have rules.”
“First,” he says, “she’s mine. We’re here for us, not you.”
“Harsh.” I laugh, hand over my heart like I’m wounded. “But OK.”
“Second,” he says, “you’re here for me.”
“What’s that look like?” I ask. “Seeing as how you’re the one out of control and I’m the one here to control you.”
“It looks exactly like that. You back off unless I need help.”
“You need help?” I ask, squinting my eyes at him. “Or she needs help?”
“It’s the same thing,” Augustine interjects.
“You two are combative tonight. Which is surprising since you’ve been pursuing me for weeks. What’s that about?” I ask, mimicking Alexander’s earlier bluntness.
“It’s caution,” Alexander says. “This turnaround of yours is unsettling.”
“Why? Because you suddenly feel out of control? Well, here’s a fucking newsflash for you, Alexander.” I change my tone now, the words coming out like a snarl. “You’re already out of control. That happened when your wife upended your life and dragged you here. So I can tame you. Shape you into something she can deal with.”
“That’s not true,” Augustine says, voice raised.
