Poison

by Galt Niederhoffer

  Cass neither declines nor accepts. She says she will consider. And they part with plans to speak in the coming days in a more private setting.

  Cass watches Ryan leave through the restaurant window. He resumes a quicker pace as soon as he is out of earshot, as though he is rushing to make a pressing commitment. As he descends into his car and peels out into the drizzle, Cass cannot shake the feeling that she has just witnessed a brilliant performance, that she, not he, has been taken in, has suspended disbelief for faith in a falsehood, that she has been outsmarted.

  The day ends as it often does with Cass alone in her bedroom, the endless chill of the bay beyond seeping in through her window. But tonight, a text arrives that opens like a colorful parachute in the surrounding darkness.

  “Cass, I love you. Please give me another chance. Just love. Just love. That’s all we have to do. I promise you won’t regret it.”

  Cass cannot help but smile as she reads his message, but there is no room for pleasure now. Smiling, laughter, sweetness. These are frivolities of the past. Luxuries she cannot afford. These are lies, performances. Now she must be impervious, unmoved by emotion. She must maintain her resolve. She must put pleasure and sweetness behind. That life is over. This is her life now. A war in which losing is death and winning is safety for her children.

  They meet again the following day. This time in the hotel room where Ryan has been staying, a hotel he seems to frequent. Cass takes some pleasure in the week’s reversals, not only her transformation from mouse to cat but from the realm of wife to mistress. The door is ajar when she arrives. Inside, the sound of running water.

  “Be right out,” he calls out.

  She pauses for a moment, sets her bag down, surveys the lush setting. Plump pillows. Cream-colored bedding. Then she lifts her dress over her head, slips her underwear to the floor, unclasps her bra, and walks into the bathroom. She steps into the steaming shower, faces her husband, and guides him toward her. Slowly first, then with increasing force, he thrusts himself inside her, holding on to her ass for balance, leverage, power. Both Ryan and Cass forget themselves for the moment, forget who is predator and who is prey, who is victim and who is aggressor, and instead they are merged in the abject pleasure of bodies that fit together. The pleasure is blinding, as intense as the poison is toxic, and she wonders for a moment if all drugs dance so dangerously between ecstasy and torture, or only just before the dose reaches a fatal level.

  Just as quickly as she stepped in, she exits the shower, leaving him breathless and covered with her, slumped against the wall like some sort of dying Greek hero, post-arrow. Satisfied with her decision and its side benefits, she returns to the bedroom and sits down at the edge of the bed in the most proper posture.

  “There’s a Christmas shindig at work,” he says, returning in his towel. “Hors d’oeuvres and ice sculptures.”

  Cass smiles in spite of herself. “Sounds fun,” she says. “I’d love to.”

  “Good,” he says. He lies down next to her. “I’d like you to be there.”

  She considers now a reason for Ryan’s invitation: he wants to be seen with her at this party, wants to be seen in public. He wants a public record of him playing the good husband.

  “I apologize in advance,” he says. “I gotta put my time in.” He puts his arm around her waist, pulls her toward him. “You make me look good,” he says. “Looking so sexy in your dress, chatting up those boneheads about their vacations.”

  “Happy to be of service,” she says.

  He pulls her down to the bed and wraps his arms around her. She can’t deny how good this feels, the perverse pleasure of being captive to her husband.

  “Are you going to get your hair done?” he says. His hands are on her tits now.

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” says Cass.

  He pins her by the shoulders. “You’ve been through a lot lately. You deserve to treat yourself, babe. Do you want me to make an appointment?”

  Cass pauses now before responding. Suspicion is alight again. Ryan is planning something. “Yeah, you know, maybe I will. I could use a little touch-up.”

  But whatever she plans to say next, whatever theory, resentment, or intention, is quickly eclipsed by the force of his weight as he pushes himself inside her. And she knows that she knows nothing in the face of this pleasure.

  He holds her neck while he fucks her, his fingers curled around the back, his thumbs touching.

  “Don’t do that,” she says.

  He does not stop.

  “Stop. That hurts. Don’t do that.”

  He moves his hands to the back of her head and massages her temples, making tight circles.

  “Ryan, what are you doing?” she says.

  “It turns me on while I’m fucking you,” he whispers.

  “Why are you rubbing my head like that?”

  “Cass, please shut up. You’re so fucking sexy right now. Be quiet and try to enjoy this.”

  * * *

  For the party, she buys a festive silver cocktail dress with a clean neckline. A haircut and highlights work their simple magic on her mood, reminding her of her beauty, and the power that comes with it. With her hair freshly cut and newly golden, her lithe figure displayed by the tailored silver, she looks something like a metallic Christmas ornament. By the end of the morning, she feels a measure of refreshment. And so she is somewhat deflated when she arrives back at home after school pickup to find a small shopping bag on her doorstep—blue tissue paper, black ribbon—and, instead of the usual delight she might feel for an unexpected gift, she feels something altogether different.

  She opens the bag to find a sexy silk thing, low back, high neckline.

  She holds it up to her body.

  “You’re so beautiful,” it says on the card. “I can’t wait to take it off you.”

  And playing the part—it seems only fair with a gesture like this—she sets aside her own purchase and instead hurries into the shower to change into the dress Ryan envisions.

  * * *

  An hour later, she stands in this dress at Ryan’s office party, a surprisingly lavish affair for Portland. She stands alone at the buffet table, the sweat of the meatball caddy blurring her vision. A colleague of Ryan’s she has met before approaches. Allen is coming to say hello, or does he simply want his own meatball?

  “Hi!” he says. His apparent rush decelerates sharply. “How have you been?” He tilts his head in a way designed to signal something she can’t pinpoint.

  “Great,” she says. “Really well.”

  “Good,” he says. “I’m so happy to hear that. Ryan mentioned you’ve been going through something.”

  Cass pauses. What has Ryan told him?

  “Thanks.” And then, to put him at ease, “It’s been a rough patch, but we’re muddling through it.”

  “Nothing to be ashamed of,” he says.

  “Of course not.”

  “So many suffer silently,” he whispers.

  “It’s such a shame,” she says, “that there has to be such a stigma.” What diagnosis did Ryan give her? Mental illness? Cancer?

  “Anything we can do to help.” He spears a meatball with a toothpick.

  “That means a lot,” Cass says. Who is “we”? she wonders. It’s only the two of them talking. Does he have a wife, a husband?

  “We have it in our family too,” he adds. “Nasty illness with no regard for age or gender.”

  She nods. “I appreciate your saying that,” she said. “Hardship reveals friendship.”

  He smiles, apparently pleased with how he’s handled the situation.

  “Have a great time on your trip,” she says. “Ryan tells me you’re going back to the Amazon. It’s so wonderful you spend your own holiday giving back to less fortunate people.”

  He shrugs, smiles, bashful.

  “You guys are amazing.” This is what he wants to hear. It’s all anyone wants to hear, that he is heads above the average asshole.

  “Least
we can do,” he says. He smiles, looks down, shrugs again, takes a step backward.

  Cass is enjoying herself now. “There are two kinds of people in the world. People who run from others’ pain and people who run to them. Something tells me you’re one of the good ones.”

  “You would know,” he says. He takes another step away, but she is happy to see him go. She wants to find her husband and figure out what lie he has told these people.

  Allen smiles again and gives one last look of self-congratulation before he turns and makes a hasty, relieved exit.

  Cass scans the room now for her husband. She locates him near the bar, cornered by another man in a suit, likely talking about a surfing trip to benefit the marine creatures. She flinches as the vapor of meatballs wafts upward even while she is chilled by a new realization. Her conversation suggests a wider scope to Ryan’s campaign. For the first time since his return, she wonders if she has made a fatal error. They are in a game of cat and mouse. But who is the cat and who is the mouse? He, not she, may have the upper hand now. She considers now that Ryan, ever the planner, has planned for all of this—her missing him, her taking him back, even her plan to prove his crime—and that he has confined her in a straitjacket of her own purchase.

  They part ways after the party on their own doorstep. Ryan kisses Cass good night like a high school suitor.

  “Can I book the tickets?” he asks.

  Cass inhales, demurring.

  “It will be good for the kids,” he says. “It’s good for them to see us make up. To learn that everyone makes mistakes and has the capacity for forgiveness. Besides, I made them a promise. I’d really like to keep it.”

  Cass pauses. His words are so convincing, but she reminds herself there is no truth in his words, only two incentives. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll talk to the kids.”

  He kisses her again. “You won’t regret it.”

  Cass heads back inside alone and relieves Jean, the sitter, then returns to her bedroom, her haven and headquarters. She pulls the sheets up to her neck and recounts the events of the evening. As she lies awake, she is roused by a new vibration, a message on her own phone, a text from her neighbor with an urgent request to do laundry.

  “Mind if I come over now?”

  She cannot help but feel he is trading on his recent kindness, milking Cass’s goodwill, compelling her to return the favor even though the field of reciprocity has already been leveled. She picks up the phone to better understand the nature of his request.

  “Rachel is going to kill me if I don’t finish her jeans before tomorrow.”

  “Can you come in the morning?”

  “I would,” he says. “But that might end my marriage. Unfortunately, she’s telling me she needs them for tomorrow.”

  Cass stares at her phone, considers his insistence. Then, softening, she says, “My husband is weird about laundry too.”

  “Wouldn’t have pegged him for that.”

  “I thought you knew each other,” she says.

  “I barely know the guy. We’ve never even had a full conversation.”

  She rises reluctantly, leaving the comfort of her bedroom.

  Aaron is waiting outside by the time she turns the doorknob. She can’t help but feel a pang of concern as he makes himself comfortable inside, dropping two large bins of clothes on the floor and smelling like a plume of marijuana.

  “Thanks,” he says.

  “No problem.” She takes some pride in the fact that she has kept her promise, that she has made this a policy, made kindness her religion.

  Aaron laughs, then closes his mouth, then laughs again as though responding to a prior statement.

  “What?” she says.

  “Nothing. It’s just…” He trails off, reluctant to continue.

  She smiles to offer encouragement.

  “It’s just that, to someone watching, say from a neighbor’s window, it might look suspicious, you know. Like we’re up to something.”

  Moments pass before Cass understands. She smiles, then frowns, eager to shut down the idea and its visualization.

  “We’re going away next week,” she says. “You can use the washer while we’re out of town. Maybe I’ll just give you keys and you can watch the place while we’re gone. Water the plants. Feed the cat.” She pauses, feeling suddenly guilty that she has turned a selfless act into something with a kickback.

  “Where are you going?” he says. He seems not to have registered this as an imposition.

  “Same place we usually go. To the beach. Just the family.”

  “Sounds like a fun vacation.” The sarcasm is blatant.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” she says.

  “I wouldn’t want to be in your bedroom.”

  Cass issues a look designed to convey several things to Aaron: the conversation has gone too far, well beyond her comfort level, and the relationship has gained a level of intimacy she no longer wants and never intended.

  “Look, I just don’t get it,” he says. “Last week, you were telling me this man was trying to kill you. Now you’re going away with him on some cozy beach vacation.”

  “With all due respect,” Cass says, “it’s really none of your business.”

  “Look, I get that,” Aaron says. “Like I said, I’m just your weird neighbor. But neighbors aren’t neighbors if they don’t speak up. When I see something that’s not right, I can’t sit by in silence.”

  Cass looks at Aaron with new awareness. She knows it is her fault he feels entitled to an opinion. She ostensibly consented to this when she went to him for help and shared so many details of a private situation. This knowledge—and frustration—compels her to share an even greater confidence.

  “I’m faking him out, if you must know.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Collecting a war chest.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Proof of the crime, witnesses, physical evidence.”

  “Oh, wow,” he says, “I get it now. How Hitchcock of you. How incredibly romantic.”

  His sneer, Cass now realizes, is not the sneer of disapproval. It is the sneer of jealousy, a man who has developed feelings, the strength of which neither he nor she realized until this minute. But Cass understands the perils of desire better than anything, far better than the perils of friendship. Every woman knows what happens in the next instant: the moment when a man’s desire turns to shame, how shame turns to rage, and how quickly rage, unexpressed, turns to violence. With this in mind, she changes her tone and redirects the conversation, trying to impart, in the same breath, both compassion and distance.

  “Better get the laundry in,” she says. She starts up the stairs, heading to the washer and dryer.

  Aaron follows her up the stairs, subdued. The energy between them has changed from the easy rapport of two friends to something more like child and parent. They stand in silence in the laundry room while he empties the first bin of clothes into the washer and Cass, by default or instinct, helps him sort his whites and colors. Something about this simple act, sorting laundry with a man in a quiet house after midnight, instills trust again between them, dulling Cass’s concerns with the sense that her mind has a broken circuit.

  “I need you to do something for me,” she says. It is a concession, a request for renewed confidence between them. She says this before she can weigh the costs and benefits of her question.

  “Anything.” He pours detergent into her machine, as though this is his home and she is the neighbor, or as though she is the wife and he is the husband.

  “I need you to put cameras in my house,” she says. “You know. Those cheap ones you can get now. So I can watch the house while we’re away. I think you can buy them anywhere now. Tiny cameras to monitor your house. So I can watch what’s going on from the privacy of my cell phone. I think this woman, the bogus nanny, is going to come into my house to do something for my husband, and I need to prove it. Is that possible?” she says.

  �
�Anything’s possible.” He stares at her for a long moment. “Why would you take him back?” he says finally. “If you don’t trust him.” This is as much a plea as it is an assertion. “Why not spare the stress and expense and throw the bastard out of the house? There’s no camera in the world that can protect you from this kind of trust issue.”

  “On the off chance that he’s innocent,” she says. “And the likelihood that he’s guilty.”

  “Which is it?” says Aaron.

  “I’m not entirely sure,” she says. It may be the first honest thing Cass has said in weeks.

  He stares at her intensely, then shakes his head in resignation.

  Cass turns away and places his wife’s jeans in the dryer. He puts his hand on her hand. She looks up, surprised, shaken.

  “Delicate,” he says.

  “What?” A million possibilities occur to her in this moment.

  “Delicate for denim.”

  Cass nods and exhales, understanding his cryptic assertion. Aaron seems to have made a choice, reconciled a trade-off. He will take Cass’s credit card number, will do this favor for her, purchasing and installing cameras to monitor the movements in the house, any intruder or shadow, until the Connors are back home, safely returned from paradise.

  TWENTY-ONE

  School gets out on Thursday at noon for the holiday vacation. Cass meets the kids outside and greets them with a surprising announcement.

  “Remember that trip we were talking about?”

  “Yes,” says Alice. “What about it?”

  “I think we may go after all.”

  Pete bursts into spontaneous applause. Alice studies her mother.

  “Are we going to the reef?” Pete asks. He is nearly shouting.

  “I thought we’d go back to the Dunmore. We’re due for a little sunshine. And some of those chocolate milk shakes.”

  “When would we leave?” Alice asks. She pauses, watching her mother.

  “After Christmas,” Cass says. “We’ll go for a week and stay for New Year’s Eve.”

  “Can I stay up till midnight?” Pete asks.

  “I’ll think about it,” Cass says.