“You can’t do this, Jake.”
“What?”
“You have to stop going to Draeger’s.”
“What?” I’m confused and embarrassed. Has she seen me and said nothing? “I have so many questions—”
“Look, I shouldn’t have said those things. My mistake. Just forget it. Pretend it didn’t happen.”
“I can’t. Can we just talk?”
“No.”
“Please.”
“Not here. Not now.”
“When?”
She hesitates. “Hillsdale food court, across from Panda Express, next Friday, eleven A.M. Make sure you’re not followed. Seriously, Jake. Don’t fuck it up.” She walks away without looking back.
Outside, Neil is still watching the basketball game. Dave has wandered off, and Neil is alone, sitting on the concrete wall, his legs dangling over the side. Something about him strikes me as familiar, but I can’t put a finger on it. Alice is still talking to Chuck and Eve. Chuck is telling the story of how they came to have Gene design them a vacation house. Chuck has a slight accent, maybe Australian. “It was a while back, before we were established. He offered to do it, so we scrambled to find the funds to buy a piece of property. My friend Wiggins told me about a lot adjacent to his spread in Hopland. It was cheap, so we snagged it. The whole thing is glass and concrete, views everywhere. Gene is a magician.”
“You guys have to see it,” Eve says. “Want to join us for a weekend?”
I’m fishing through my mind for the appropriate excuse to decline the invitation when I hear Alice say, “Sure, that sounds fun.”
Before I can protest, Chuck is already on to picking a date. “We’re family,” he says, “so this will count for one of you toward your trips for the year.”
Alice blurts out, “Dibs.”
“We have a pool,” Eve adds, “so bring your suits.”
Just before midnight, the party clears out. In an instant, it goes from thirty people standing around talking and drinking to a nearly empty patio, with just me, Alice, Gene, Olivia, and one other couple. Alice obviously doesn’t want to leave. I’m very surprised. While she has always been more social than me, and while we haven’t really gotten out much lately other than our required date nights, I figured we were on the same page with The Pact. My simple logic was that if it didn’t look like there was any way out, and it didn’t, the best thing to do was to minimize the amount of time we spent with the members. The less we see them, the less they see us, the less likely we are to get into trouble. More time together means more risk. Has Alice forgotten this?
We say our goodbyes, and Gene sees us to the door. All the way down the long path to where we’re parked, neither of us says a word. I open the car door and wait as Alice maneuvers herself, collar and all, into the passenger side. Once in the car, I relax. We have, as far as I can tell, survived our first quarter in The Pact.
“That was fun,” Alice says, no trace of sarcasm in her voice.
As I pull out, I notice Gene and Neil standing at the top of the driveway, watching us.
47
On Tuesday, Vivian calls Alice and asks her to meet for lunch at Sam’s, an old-time Italian restaurant in the Financial District. All day, I’m nervous, wondering what they’ll talk about, what bizarre new punishment or directive Vivian will pass down from on high. Or maybe we performed well at the party, and today will bring good news. Does The Pact ever deliver good news? Could this be the end of the collar?
I get home from work at five-fifteen and sit at the window, reading, watching for Alice. At six-fifteen, her car pulls into the driveway. The garage door opens, then I hear her steps on the side stairs. I’m in the kitchen waiting when she opens the door, and the first thing I notice is her posture: more relaxed, more easy, more Alice. The scarf she wore this morning is gone. Her blouse is open at the neck. She does a little spin for me and grins.
“It’s gone,” I say, taking her in my arms. “How does it feel to be free?”
“Great. But strange. I guess I wasn’t using my neck muscles, and now I’m paying the price. I think I need to lie down.”
We go back to the bedroom, and Alice lies on top of the sheets. I fix up her pillow so she’s comfortable and sit on the bed beside her.
“Tell me everything.”
“Vivian was already there when I arrived,” Alice says. “She was sitting in one of the enclosed booths. I went in, and the waiter closed the curtain to give us privacy. There was no small talk. She didn’t even mention the party. She told me she’d received the directive to remove the collar. The removal directive was set for one o’clock, though, so I had to wear it during lunch.” She sits up to readjust the pillow. “I asked Vivian if I could keep it.”
“Why on earth?”
Alice shrugs and lies back down again. “It’s hard to explain, but I wanted it as a souvenir, I guess. Vivian just said it was against protocol.”
The next morning, after Alice has left for work, I’m in the kitchen making coffee when there’s a knock at the door. It’s a bike messenger, a kid of about twenty, carrying a large envelope marked with the telltale P in the upper left-hand corner. He’s out of breath, so I offer him a glass of water and invite him inside. He follows me into the kitchen, filling the room with his nervous energy, answering questions I haven’t asked. “I’m Jerry,” he says. “I moved to San Francisco from Elko, Nevada, three years ago, chasing a job at a start-up. The start-up folded a few weeks after I arrived, and I landed this gig.”
I hand him a glass of water. He downs it in one long gulp. “You guys live way the fuck out here. I’ve got to get a new job. If these Wednesday packages didn’t pay so much, I would’ve a long time ago.”
“You deliver others like this?”
“Yep. They’ve got me on retainer—Wednesdays only. Sometimes I’ll have two or three, other days I have none.”
“Where do you pick them up?”
“This tiny office on Pier Twenty-three, always the same guy. He tells me I’m their only messenger, I’m the only one they trust. The application process was a bitch. Background check, fingerprints, the works. Although I didn’t apply, exactly. They called me with some story about how they’d gotten my name from my former employer, although my former employer was already in Costa Rica by then, spending the VC’s money. Anyway, as soon as I’d passed their test, they sent me out on my first delivery. It’s been every Wednesday since then, just about.”
“Always in San Francisco?”
“Nah, I cover the East Bay, the Peninsula all the way down to San Jose, and Marin. I bike it when I’m in the city, but otherwise I have to drive. I don’t know who they are, but I know they have deep pockets, ’cause I make more money on Wednesday deliveries than I do during the entire rest of the week. Yikes, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to tell you any of that. We’re good, though, right?”
“Yes, we’re good.”
He sets his glass on the counter and checks his wristband—an activity tracker. “Gotta go. I’ve got one last one in San Mateo.” As he’s putting on his helmet, he asks, too casually, “Do you know who they are?”
If this is a test—and isn’t everything with The Pact?—there’s only one correct answer: “Not a clue.”
Before I can ask him any more questions, he’s out the door, back on his bike.
The envelope has Alice’s name on the front, so I text her: You just got a package from The Pact.
She replies with one word: Shit.
I shower and get dressed for work. I stare at the unopened envelope, the large P printed in gold ink, Alice’s name in an elegant script. I pick it up and hold it to the light, but I can’t see anything. I place it back on the table and walk to work, vowing not to think about it. Of course I think about it all day.
When I get home that evening, Alice is sitting at the table, looking at the package. “I guess we have to open it,” she says.
“Guess so.”
She breaks the seal and car
efully pulls out the document. It’s just one page, divided into four sections. She reads each one aloud. Under the heading Rules is a paragraph about the yearly weigh-in. The footnote says that the paragraph is “excerpted from the most recent amendment appendix.” That would be the amendment appendix Vivian failed to include in our manuals.
The second section is “Infraction: You have exceeded the allowed weight gain by three pounds, six ounces.”
“It was the beers,” Alice groans. “The ones I drank right before the weigh-in. Also, it was a couple of days before my period. Women should be allowed a higher fluctuation than men. You’d think Orla would take that into consideration.”
The third section, Mitigating Circumstances, states, “It has come to our attention that your Handler may have omitted this appendix from your manual. This issue will be addressed separately.”
Alice looks up and grins. “Looks like Vivian may get a taste of her own medicine.”
“What else does it say?”
She reads on: “While the Rule must still be applied, due to the failure of the Handler to provide proper documentation, in addition to this being your first weight-related offense, you will be offered a Diversion Program.”
Then she falls silent, her eyes scanning the page.
When she puts the paper down, she’s close to tears.
“What the hell have they thought up this time?” I ask, worried. She’s very pale.
“No, it’s not the punishment. It’s—oh, Jake. I feel like this whole thing is a test, and I’ve failed.”
“Sweetheart.” I take her hand. “None of these rules are real. You realize that, don’t you?”
“I know,” she says, pulling her hand away. “But still, you have to admit that if I were to follow all of the rules, I’d be a better wife.”
I shake my head. “That’s not true. You’re perfect, exactly as you are.”
I pick up the document and read the fourth section, Punishment.
You have been assigned a daily workout regimen. You must report to the corner of Taraval and the Great Highway every morning at five, including weekends. Your trainer will be there waiting for you.
48
I wake abruptly from a deep sleep. I was in the middle of a nightmare, though I can’t recall the details. Alice is asleep. I pause for a moment to watch her. Her hair is a mess. In her Sex Pistols T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, she looks like the woman I first met.
The details of the dream come to me: the desperate kicking, the endless ocean stretching on for miles. A water dream. I’ve had them off and on for years, and I do what I always do when I awake from one of these dreams: wander down the hallway to the bathroom. Then I peer into the kitchen to check the time: 4:43 in the morning. Crap.
“Alice!” I yell. “It’s four forty-three!”
I hear her flop out of bed in a panic, two thuds as her feet hit the floor. “Holy shit! What happened to the alarm?”
“I’ll give you a ride. Get your workout clothes on. Fast.”
Panicked, I race around looking for the keys and my wallet. I throw on pants, hurry down to the garage, get the car started, pull out of the garage. Alice comes running out of the house, holding her shoes and sweatshirt. She jumps into the car and I take off down Thirty-eighth, then left at the Great Highway. I pull up onto the side of the road, right at the Taraval intersection. There’s a guy standing there. He’s thirty-five maybe, impeccable shape, stylish workout gear in Euro colors—army green and pale orange. Alice jumps out. I roll down the window to wish her luck, but she’s not even looking back.
“Four fifty-nine,” the guy says, looking at his watch. “Nice timing. I was starting to think you weren’t going to make it.”
“No way,” she says. “I’m here.” Within seconds of their introduction, he has her doing high kicks. I turn the car around and head home. Feeling too wired to go back to sleep, I sit down with my laptop.
At 6:17, Alice walks through the door, sweaty and exhausted. I offer to make her a smoothie. “No time,” she insists, “I’ve got to get to work.”
“How was it?”
“Sorry, I’m late; we’ll talk about it tonight.”
But that night we’re both beat. We eat takeout in front of the TV, watching Sloganeering. I mute the TV when a pharmaceutical commercial comes on, a forgettable florist smilingly greeting her forgettable husband. “How was the trainer?” I ask.
“His name’s Ron. Lives in the Castro. Nice guy, very gung ho. Lots of jump squats.” She reaches down to massage her calves. Sloganeering comes back on, and she nudges me to turn up the volume.
The next morning, the alarm goes off at four-thirty. I roll over to wake Alice, but she’s already up. I find her sitting on the couch, dressed in workout gear. She offers me a smile, but from the puffiness of her eyes and the look on her face I think she may have been crying. I fix her a quick cup of coffee. “Want a ride?”
“Yes.”
We walk down to the car in silence. On the six-minute ride to the beach, Alice falls asleep. I wake her when we get there. I see Ron jogging down Taraval toward us. It’s possible that he has run all the way here from the Castro.
The following morning, my alarm once again goes off at four-thirty. I sit up just in time to hear Alice pulling out of the garage.
The next morning, when the alarm wakes me, Alice is already gone.
49
My new clients, a couple from Cole Valley, smile as they walk through the door and sit side by side on the small sofa. Neither even seems to consider the big, comfy chair. Their marriage will survive; I know this already. Nonetheless, we’ll talk. We’ll probably meet three more times before they come to the same conclusion.
During our last meeting, I asked them to think about a good memory they have together. In response, the wife has brought pictures from their wedding. “You have to see the bridesmaids’ dresses,” Janice says. “I’m surprised my bridesmaids still talk to me.” I laugh when I see the photographs of Janice in a simple white dress, flanked on both sides by girls covered in green taffeta, and lots of it.
“Did you know that bridesmaids’ dresses were traditionally white?” I say.
“How could anyone tell the bridesmaids from the bride?” Ethan asks.
“They couldn’t. It’s the whole reason the concept of the bridesmaid came about. In tribal times, the bridesmaids, clad in white bridal dresses, served as decoys. If the wedding was raided by a neighboring tribe, the hope was that the invaders would be confused and would accidentally kidnap a bridesmaid instead of the bride.”
It’s an easy session. They clearly like each other but have begun to drift apart. We talk about some strategies they can implement to spend more time together and liven up their conversations. It’s not rocket science, just the usual fixes, which actually work pretty well. I nearly laugh when I catch myself suggesting that they should make it a goal to get away on one trip every quarter.
Occasionally, a couple will show up for counseling and I won’t be entirely sure why they’re here. Janice and Ethan are like that. I feel a little guilty for accepting their money, because they don’t need me at all. Still, I’m encouraged by their commitment to making it work. I find myself envying the natural ebb and flow of their marriage, existing in peace far from The Pact.
After Janice and Ethan leave, I place my phone in a sealed envelope and go over to Huang’s desk. “Why don’t you take a long lunch?” I suggest.
“How long?”
“Maybe go to that place you like in Dogpatch. My treat.” I hand him a couple of twenties and set the envelope on his desk. “And, while you’re at it, would you mind keeping this with you? Just put it in your pocket and forget about it.”
Huang stares at the envelope. “You mind telling me what’s in that?”
“Long story.”
“It’s not going to explode or anything, right?”
“Definitely not.”
He feels the envelope and frowns. “If I had to gues
s, I’d say you stuck your cellphone in here.”
“You’d be doing me a big favor,” I say. “Just hold on to it, and when you get back from lunch you can leave it on my desk. And if you don’t mind, don’t mention it to Ian and Evelyn.”
“Mention what?”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
I walk home, get my car, drive downtown, and park in a lot on Fourth Street. I walk over to the Caltrain station and buy a round-trip ticket to the Hillsdale station in San Mateo.
I haven’t told Alice that I set up this meeting with JoAnne. I thought about telling her this morning, but then I ended up leaving before she got back from her workout. Anyway, I didn’t want to bother her with it. She’s got the workouts with Ron every morning and has resumed seeing Dave once a week in the afternoon as part of her probation; and her job just keeps getting more demanding. Alice is overwhelmed, and I don’t want to add this business with JoAnne on top of everything else. And okay, if I’m honest, I have to admit maybe I don’t really want to tell her. I know she’d have all kinds of questions about JoAnne, and I don’t necessarily want to answer them. She wouldn’t like the idea of me meeting another woman for lunch, a woman who isn’t a colleague. Of course, lies of omission are against the rules of The Pact. But as I’m walking from my car to the station, I convince myself that this obfuscation is a noble act. If anyone were to discover my lie of omission, it would be on me, and I’d be saving Alice from committing yet another felony, one that The Pact claims to take very seriously: jealousy.
One way to look at it is this: I’m trading Alice’s future crime for my present one. Turn their attention away from Alice, JoAnne urged at Draeger’s that day.
The Marriage Pact Page 18
