Lies You Wanted to Hear

by James Whitfield Thomson

  When I got to my house after work, Mrs. Stansbury was in the front hall sorting through the mail. I said a cheerful hello, but she scowled and handed me a catalog and a few envelopes. Her snub took me a little aback; she’d become much more amiable since Matt the Light Bulb Changer started coming around. I glanced through the mail as I walked up the stairs to my apartment on the third floor, happy to see that one of the envelopes was a blue aerogram, a rare letter from my brother Mark, who was working in New Zealand.

  “Hey, babe,” a voice above me said.

  I looked up, so startled I dropped Mark’s letter and nearly lost my balance.

  “Oh my god, Griffin, what’re you…?”

  “Sorry.” He stood on the landing, grinning, the apartment door open behind him. “I didn’t mean to make you jump out of your skin.”

  I picked up the letter and charged up the stairs, pushing him aside as he tried to put his arms around me. He followed me into the apartment and closed the door. His parka was lying on the coffee table. Through the doorway of my bedroom, I could see my half-packed suitcase sitting on the foot of my bed. Matt was coming to pick me up in less than an hour.

  I spun around. “Griffin, this is insane. You can’t come barging into—”

  “Lucy, I’m sorry.” He lifted his empty hands. “You’re right, I should have called first. I tried ringing the bell, but you weren’t home, and I still had my key so I…” He gave me a coy shrug. He’d grown a short beard, more red than blond.

  “This is unbelievable. What do you want? What are you doing here? You’ve been gone for eight months. Then all of a sudden you show up and what? We pick up where we left off? Or are you just passing through, looking for a quick fuck?”

  He seemed genuinely hurt, a look I was unfamiliar with. “I came back to see you. I just want to talk.”

  “Talk? Really? What was that clever little maxim you used to say? The more time we spend talking about us, the less us-ness there is to talk about.”

  “Come on, baby, just listen. I’ve had a lot of time to think since I’ve been gone, and there’s one thing I know for certain—no matter how fast I run or how far I go, every road keeps leading me back to you.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I know you’re skeptical,” he said. “Hell, you should be. But here’s the simple truth. I love you, Lucy. I love you and I need you in my life. I tried a hundred different times to say that over the telephone, but I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me. Afraid I wouldn’t believe it myself. I had to come here and say it face to face. If it’s too late, I…” His head drooped in desolation.

  I would have given a queen’s ransom to hear him say this six months ago. But what did it matter now if his words were true?

  “I’m sorry, Griffin. You need to go.”

  “I don’t want to lose you, Luce.”

  “Please, go.”

  He stared at me for a moment, then nodded and held out his hands. “A kiss for the road?”

  “Go.” I took a step backward; I didn’t want him to touch me. “Get the fuck out of here!”

  He nodded, then angled his head toward the doorway of the bedroom. “Looks like you’re going somewhere for the weekend?”

  I shrugged.

  “What’s his name?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Just tell me his name.”

  “Matt. His name is Matt.”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  “He’s everything you’re not, Griffin. Gentle, reliable, honest, faithful.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “Yes, I’m in love with him.”

  He took out a cigarette and offered me one. I shook my head, and he shrugged and lit his own. “What time is he picking you up?”

  “In about forty-five minutes.” There was a ripple of panic in my throat. “I want you to go.”

  “No, I think I’ll hang around and meet this fellow. Congratulate him on winning my girl.”

  “Please, Griffin, don’t do this.”

  “Lucy, I came back for you. I’m not going to turn around meekly and walk out of your life.”

  I was on the verge of tears, my voice a whisper. “Please, you have to go.”

  “All you have to do when he gets here is look me in the eye and say, Griffin, this is Matt. This is the man I love.” He took a drag on his cigarette. “That’s it. You do that and I promise you’ll never see me again.”

  “Get out of here, you asshole!” I put my hand on my head and clutched a fistful of hair. I felt like I was in a high school play, gesticulating, overacting, saying my lines all wrong. I wanted to walk offstage but I didn’t know which way to turn. I had a feeling I was about to do something incredibly stupid—maybe screw up my entire life—and nothing could make me stop.

  Chapter 12

  Matt

  All the stars were aligned for my weekend with Lucy in New York. I had the tickets Sandor had given me for Annie, a late dinner reservation at Sardi’s, a room booked for two nights at the Plaza, which cost me nearly a week’s salary. Lucy had a thing about the Plaza where her grandmother used to take her for tea, so I tried not to be concerned about the money. My mother’s insurance policies had left me sitting pretty. Time for me to quit worrying about every nickel and spend a little on the woman I loved.

  On the way home from work, I stopped in the lingerie department at Jordan Marsh and bought Lucy a short silk negligee, off-white with embroidered blue flowers. I pictured Lucy coming out of the hotel bathroom in the negligee with her hair falling across her shoulders. Tomorrow we’d take a ride through Central Park in one of those horse-drawn carriages. Go to the Museum of Modern Art, which Lucy was always raving about.

  When I got to my apartment, Kreider was sitting on the couch drinking a beer and holding the telephone to his ear. He made a conciliatory grunt into the phone, then looked at me and mouthed, Women. I went to my room and put my gun in the safe. I took a shower and dressed and packed my suitcase. Double-checked my wallet to make sure I had the theater tickets. Kreider was still on the phone as I headed out the door.

  Traffic was heavy on the way to Cambridge. I never liked being late, but Lucy wouldn’t mind. She considered punctuality a minor character flaw. I climbed the rickety porch steps and rang the bell, waiting for her to buzz me in. She’d been saying she was going to give me my own key but still hadn’t gotten around to it. I assumed that was a line she wasn’t ready to cross, but I didn’t want to make an issue out of it. I rang the doorbell again. Mrs. Stansbury from the first floor appeared in the hallway and opened the front door.

  “Hello, Mrs. Stansbury.”

  “She isn’t up there.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I saw her go out.” Her words were terse. “She left about a half-hour ago.”

  I looked at my watch. Twelve minutes late. Maybe Lucy’s doorbell was on the fritz. I said, “You mind if I go up and check?”

  Mrs. Stansbury stepped aside. “Suit yourself.”

  I went up the stairs two at a time. There was an envelope thumbtacked to the door with MATT written on it. I tore open the envelope.

  Dear Matt,

  I’m SO SORRY, but my mom’s gone off the deep end AGAIN. She’s really outdone herself this time, and I had to rush home and help my dad. I called your house, but the line was busy. I’ll try to catch up with you tonight or tomorrow morning and give you all the gory details. Sorry to spoil the weekend. I was REALLY looking forward to it.

  xoxo,

  Lucy

  I leaned against the wall and read the note again. Lucy had left bowls of cat food and water for Rory in one corner of the landing. I folded the note and put it in my pocket. She had told me stories about her mother—the affairs and car accidents, drunken scenes at the country club. This was obviously something serious, but I was hur
t and confused. Why not wait another half-hour for me? We were driving through Connecticut anyway. I could understand why Lucy might think the circumstances were too touchy and embarrassing to bring me into the mix since I hadn’t met her parents yet. For all I knew, she hadn’t even told them about me. But we could have talked along the way. I could have stayed in a motel in case she needed me.

  Still, if she and her father got things under control, maybe I could still drive down tomorrow and take her to Annie. Not the weekend I’d planned, but it might give her a break from the drama. The only thing for me to do now was to go home and wait for her call.

  When I got to the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Stansbury was standing in her doorway.

  “Thank you,” I said, smiling. “She left me a note. Have a nice weekend.”

  As I started down the porch steps, she opened the front door and said, “Did the note mention who she left with?”

  I was on the sidewalk before the words registered. I stopped and turned around.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Lucy. Did she tell you she went off with her old beau?”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “She took off with her ex. I forget his name. Skinny blond guy.”

  “Griffin?”

  “That’s him. Something about him always rubbed me the wrong way.”

  “Did she…?” My words trailed off, my worst fears confirmed. It wasn’t that I had guessed that Lucy had run off with Griffin. But from the moment I first read that note, I had a feeling it was her way of leaving me. I had been deluding myself for months, trying to make myself believe she could love me. Maybe not as much as I loved her, but enough—something more than xoxo. I stood there trying to come to grips with the situation. I knew I had lost her. But how can you lose something you never really had?

  Mrs. Stansbury said, “You seem like such a nice young man. Fine-looking police officer. I’ll bet there are a million girls dying to go out with you. Don’t waste your time on that tramp.” She put her knuckles to her lips. “I’m sorry. That was a horrible thing to say. What you do is your own business.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair.

  She said, “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

  ***

  I sat in Mrs. Stansbury’s living room while she made coffee in the kitchen. The room looked like something out of a magazine, stylish and modern and virtually unlived in. There was a black leather sofa and a white shag rug. Copies of Gourmet were fanned out neatly on the chrome-and-glass coffee table. A red enamel gas heater sat on the hearth in front of the bricked-over fireplace.

  Mrs. Stansbury brought a tray with bright blue mugs and a matching sugar bowl and creamer. She handed me a mug. I put cream in my coffee and three spoons of sugar.

  “Have you lived here long?” I said.

  “Nineteen years. My husband Johnny and I moved in when he came home from the army.” She stirred her coffee and held up the mug. “Cheers.”

  “Guess you’ve seen a lot of other tenants come and go.”

  “Not as many as you might think.” She sat down in an armless rocking chair that appeared to be made from a single piece of red lacquered plywood. “We had the same three couples here for years. The Sizemores and their daughter on the second floor, Professor Wertz and his wife on the third. We were all so friendly back then. Now everyone keeps to themselves.”

  “Are those your sons?” I pointed at the photograph of two dark-haired boys on the mantel.

  “My nephews. My brother’s boys. Unfortunately, my husband and I couldn’t have children. That’s me and Johnny on our honeymoon in the other picture. Salisbury Beach.”

  In the photograph she looked lovely in a sleeveless summer dress. The man was wearing white pants and a flowered shirt. He had one arm around her waist, a cigarette in his hand, and a white Borsalino cocked over his eye.

  “Weren’t we dashing? Well, he was anyway. Could have had any girl he wanted.” She bit one corner of her lip. “Which is exactly how it turned out. Now Johnny lives elsewhere. He has friends as he calls them. Pretty, young friends. I’ll say this for the man though, he still pays the rent. I run into him on the street sometimes and he gives me a big hug. He used to beg me for a divorce, but I’m Catholic, so I never would. Now I’m the best excuse he’s got. It wouldn’t surprise me if he showed up on the doorstep tomorrow, asking to move back in.”

  “Would you let him?”

  “Of course, he’s my husband. I might make him sleep in the other bedroom for a few nights though.” She grinned. “I hope I haven’t shocked you, being so frank. Young people think they invented love, which I suppose they did. Trouble is, it’s like smoking. Once you get started, it’s hard to stop.”

  I sipped my coffee. “Has he been coming around much lately?”

  “Johnny? No, he never…Oh, you mean Griffin? Here I am blabbering on and on, and you, poor thing, you’re dying by the minute. No, to answer your question. As far as I know, he showed up this afternoon for the first time in ages. I can’t remember the last time I saw him. Tell the truth, I don’t think Lucy knew he was coming. I could hear her yelling at him all the way down here.”

  “Do you think…? Maybe she didn’t want to go with him.”

  She shrugged, willing to let me believe whatever I wanted. “You and Lucy seemed so happy together. I think that’s what made me angry, the thought of her going back with that creep again. I probably shouldn’t’ve said anything and let the two of you work out things for yourself. I never paid one bit of attention when people warned me about Johnny. Resented it, actually.”

  “No, that’s okay. I’m glad you told me. It’s always better to know the truth, right?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Sometimes I think I’d be a lot happier today if I’d’ve just kept the blinders on. A lot of women do.” She stopped to consider the possibility. “More coffee?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Maybe you need something a little stronger?”

  “No, I think I better be on my way.” I stood up. “Thanks for everything, Mrs. Stansbury.”

  “Please, call me Ida. You know, I don’t even know your name.”

  “Matt. Matt Drobyshev.”

  “Well, Officer Matt Drobyshev, it’s a pleasure to finally have a chance to talk with you. I wish we could’ve had our little chat under different circumstances, but…Say, would you like to stay for dinner? I’ve got some nice lamb chops in the fridge. I’m a great cook, but I rarely get a chance to entertain.”

  It didn’t occur to me until that moment that she was making a pass at me. Her eyes left no doubt. Maybe this was what she had in mind all along. I met her gaze frankly. I didn’t want to diminish her by playing dumb. She had a voluptuous figure and a bold, inquisitive mouth. For a moment I let myself indulge in the fantasy, her full, creamy breasts spilling out of the negligee I’d bought for Lucy. Why not stay? Perhaps it was the perfect twist in this soap opera, each of us finding a way to debase ourselves.

  “Thank you, Ida, but I need to go.”

  She walked me to the door. In the hallway she kissed me on the cheek.

  “For luck,” she said.

  Chapter 13

  Lucy

  Griffin and I drove north in my car with the radio playing; he was driving, neither of us talking. He insisted he wouldn’t leave the apartment till Matt came. I grew frantic, not wanting a confrontation, and said I’d spend the night with him if we could go somewhere else. We were on 95 just south of Portsmouth where we’d gotten our tattoos when I suddenly felt hungry. Griffin pulled off the highway and stopped at a diner. We sat in a narrow booth with green vinyl seats and a jukebox mounted on the wall. Griffin put a quarter in and punched some buttons, but there wasn’t any sound.

  The waitress said, “Sorry, it’s broken.”

  Griffin shrugged and gave h
er a grin. “Maybe you could sing something for me instead.”

  “Not till I get off work, hon.” She was about fifty and plain as a spoon.

  I ordered comfort food: meatloaf with mashed potatoes and string beans, applesauce and warm dinner rolls on the side. Griffin began telling me about his travels, including a hilarious story about a commune in New Mexico where a bunch of hippie holdouts who thought nothing of dropping acid or smoking peyote referred to refined sugar as “white death.” When I asked him if he had ever made it to Hollywood, he said he’d managed to get a few interviews with agents but quickly realized the place was mostly smoke and mirrors. I ate heartily as he talked. When the waitress asked if we wanted dessert, I ordered peach pie with vanilla ice cream, and she gave me a smile as if she knew my secret. Jill had gained sixty-eight pounds during her pregnancy; maybe I could match her and end up just as happy. I took a cigarette when Griffin offered, my first in over a week. I was determined to stop smoking, to quit drinking too, but this wasn’t the time to try to hold the line. The nicotine gave me a buzz.

  Back on the highway, we lost the radio station we’d been listening to. I scanned the dial, but all I could find were talk shows and country music. I finally got a station out of New Brunswick that played big band music, Count Basie and Duke Ellington, Sarah Vaughn singing “How High the Moon.” Griffin and I hadn’t talked about where we were going. I just got in the car and told him to drive, a million thoughts spinning around in my head.

  What are you supposed to do when you come home, having just learned that you are officially pregnant, and find your ex-boyfriend in your apartment? Then the ex, whom you haven’t seen in eight months, tells you he wants to make a life with you, which is probably complete bullshit but exactly what you’ve been hoping to hear him say since the day he left. And, of course, he gets jealous when he realizes you have a new boyfriend, who (minor detail) happens to be the father of the child you are carrying—something neither he nor the ex knows anything about. So you say you’re in love with the new guy, though you’re not at all certain, but you want to hurt your ex for abandoning you, only he turns the tables and tells you all you have to do is say the word and he’ll be gone. Which may or may not be a bluff, but you don’t want to risk losing him again, so you leave a note for the new boyfriend, who may be the sweetest man on earth, hoping he’ll be stupid enough to believe your lies. But all you’ve bought is a day’s reprieve at best, because tomorrow you’re going to have to make some hard decisions, which, let’s face it, has never been your strong suit.