Sharing Maggie

by KT Morrison

  “What’s up?” she said as he made to pass her at the corner of the bleached maple island with the granite top.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” he said and tried to continue but she put her hand in the inside of his elbow.

  “You're not coming?”

  “No.”

  “You came this weekend to see me.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’ll see you at dinner.” He kept an even expression, nodded to her and she let him go. He went upstairs.

  Her mother said, “Did you see the boys?”

  “No.”

  “Are they up?”

  “I don't know. I didn't see them.”

  “Didn't think to check? It’s getting late.”

  “We all have alarms these days.”

  “Your friend Cole looks like he’s one to enjoy sleeping late.”

  “He does. Max will wake him.” Carol couldn't argue with that one.

  Carol was dressed in razor sharp black and white, hair stretched back, showing off her smooth face and her diamond earrings. She said, “Your father’s in the car already.”

  “Good,” she said and filled a glass of water from the tap.

  “We have reservations at Aguillard at 8 A.M.”

  “It’s half an hour away,” Maggie said, looked at her watch. There was plenty of time.

  The distinct sound of two sets of Oxfords came down the steel steps and she was glad to hear them. They’d arrived and Cole was wearing proper shoes. She saw them then, winced without realizing it. Then, when she did, forced her face to ease itself to a relaxed manner. Her two boys came into the kitchen, clean and dressed in jackets and ties, hair combed back. Max had shaved but Cole had not.

  “Good morning,” she said, softly. So soft, her voice broke and the word morning was inaudible.

  Max came right to her and held her. He grabbed her hands with his and kissed her lips. Strange for Max to do that in front of her mother but it was exactly what she needed now. She kissed back. Maybe too intimate but it felt nice. She sucked his lips and pushed her tongue to him. He frightened and backed off, but he got her to smile. Then he did too. They held hands for a moment longer, squeezed, and then followed Carol to the door. Maggie let Max get ahead and fell back to walk by Cole’s side. Followed her mother out to the round driveway, wind coming from the bay and rustling Cole's hair at the back where his curls had been combed.

  “You look good this morning, Margaret,” he said.

  “Thank you, Cole. You clean up well.”

  They both stifled smiles and she felt good walking with him. Father was in the Range Rover, motor running, working on his iPhone. Warm exhaust puffed in the cold behind the SUV.

  Cole said, “Where's Ken?”

  Carol opened her passenger door and said, “He’s not coming today.” Like there was another day he might come.

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Cole said, “I was looking for a companion.”

  “There’s no room in the vehicle,” she said and got in.

  “Shit,” Cole said to Max, “we could have taken two cars.”

  Maggie said, “That’s inefficient, Cole. That’s how one loses control of a schedule. And what then? More control would be lost.”

  “Poor Ken,” he said, looking back at the house.

  “Not really,” Maggie said under her breath.

  Cole said, “Maggie's in the middle.”

  Max went around the driver’s side and climbed into the back seat. Cole extended his hand for her to get in and she did. He swept his hand over her ass while she climbed past him. She flexed her muscles and her belly jumped. She sat down without letting on that he’d done it. Sat in the middle of the Range Rover’s back seat, looking out between her father and mother with a wide-eyed expression. She stifled a laugh.

  When they were on their way, out of the winding and hilly woods of the southern coast of the island and past Jamestown, Cole said, “Were you a good girl last night?”

  Her wide eyes returned, and she said with a constricted throat, “What?”

  He said in a sultry voice, “Did you go to sleep when you were supposed to?”

  “Yes,” she said stiffly. Looked to Max. His face was blank but he looked towards Cole.

  Cole said, “You weren’t up late? Playing around when you promised you would be sleeping?”

  “No,” she said, a smirk tugging at her lips now. “I went right to sleep.”

  “That’s my good girl,” he said, and her scalp tingled. She looked to the rearview mirror, her father’s eyes were on the road.

  “Good girl,” Cole repeated and he put his hand on her knee.

  She scrunched her toes up in her loafers.

  Max put his hand on her other knee.

  Aguillard was a Michelin-star restaurant in a side-gabled Colonial Georgian. Clapboard siding painted Waller green with white trim and worn red brick stairs, arrow shaped pediment and fluttering American flag made this place holler Rhode Island. They were in downtown Newport, near Newport Harbor, down from White’s Wharf, nestled in a quaint street lined with cedar shingled cottages and boutiques. While everyone got seated Max ran back to the car to put the parking pass in the window. When he came back to the table Cole was sitting close to Maggie and they were going through the menu they shared together. There was an empty spot next to Maggie, but seeing her sitting at the table with her mother and father and leaning to read a menu together with handsome Cole made his insides tighten. He shrugged it off and took the spot next to her, held her hand. She gave it freely and offered a smile. He saw that Cole had his hand on her knee under the table. He shifted uncomfortably.

  Maggie came close to him and said, “We’re getting the Galloni prosciutto, grilled bread and fig jam—”

  “You are?” he said, eyeballing her, then Cole. The couple ordering together.

  She rolled her eyes without rolling them, a tiny fluttering movement, an exasperated breath. “We’re ordering the same thing but I wanted to try the duck eggs. I was hoping you would order them so I could try them.”

  “Yeah, fine. I'll order the duck eggs.”

  She set her menu in front of her and put her hand under the table, squeezed his thigh, her eyes on her parents as they silently went through their menus.

  She got his attention and mouthed, What’s wrong?

  “I’m fine,” he whispered.

  Martin waved to a waiter with authority and irritation. They ordered. When the waiter left he regarded his watch and said, “We have to meet Valerie at 9:30. At The First Presbyterian.”

  Valerie was the wedding planner the Beckers had hired. Max pitied the woman, considering how difficult normal weddings were, even his own sister’s. But at the scale and cost that Valerie was working at, and for clients like the Beckers, she must have nerves of steel.

  Carol leaned forward, said, “There is time.” Then to Max, “How are your father and mother?”

  “They’re doing great,” he said. The Beckers and the Miltons had met for dinner at a Manhattan restaurant in June. It had been cordial and light and the Beckers seemed to like his parents. In the days after, his dad had come up with funny nicknames for their coldness. Max thought they were funny but he knew his dad probably had worse ones he used around the house when Max wasn’t around, and sure his mother belly-laughed at them.

  “I was wondering this morning how your father fared in that case against VitoTech?”

  “Uh,” he stalled, trying to recall what his dad had told him, “They settled, I think.”

  “I thought they would,” she said. Then added, “Your father is a good lawyer.”

  It sounded like a statement but also a question and he wasn’t sure if or how he should respond. Max’s father was indeed a good lawyer. He also was a town comptroller. Max hated to admit it but the bulk of his money had come from carpet stores. Partnering with an Iranian businessman twelve years ago and spreading his one store to eight that dotted Illinois, Iowa, and Michigan. Max’s parent’s money came mostly fro
m people’s urges to have their feet walk on something comfortable. And the Milton family fortune was a fraction of the Becker’s. Practically on fumes, he imagined, with four kids going to good colleges.

  Carol moved her gaze to Cole, said, “Martin told me you were heading to Harvard Law.”

  “I am,” he said.

  “Max is going to Wall Street,” she said, “Winter-Oxbow. You’ll miss him?”

  “We’ll keep in touch, Carol,” he said, leaning forward and smiling for her. He kept his hand on Maggie’s knee under the table, then went into a long tale about his political plans that Max knew was bullshit he was making up on the spot.

  Maggie leaned to him, kept her legs still. She whispered, “Oxbow?”

  He shrugged.

  “I thought you wanted to go to Kohl-Kravitz.”

  “Your dad got me a spot at Oxbow.”

  “So you’re not going to KK? You were so happy...”

  “Maybe your dad knows something I don’t...like KK is going belly up, or under investigation...”

  “Maybe,” she said. Her face showed disappointment, she turned back to the table. She whispered, “Maybe not.”

  They’d visited two other churches that morning but when they walked into the Trinity Episcopalian they knew it would be where they married. They stood, hand in hand in the creaking nave, looking around in circles at the gleaming white-painted wood.

  “I told you,” Valerie, their wedding planner, said. Carol and Martin were stone-faced, having known this would be the church all along.

  A sea-coast church, three-hundred years old, a place where George Washington himself had attended services. Cathedral ceiling, the pulpit an intricate carved thing, massive, shaped like a chalice. The pews were elaborate numbered boxes. Brilliant ornate chandeliers, three of them, ran the center, all of them dangling slightly northeast. Hundreds of years of coastal wind had made the building lean.

  “This is it, Maggie,” he said quietly, wishing they were alone, rather than being watched for reactions.

  “This is it, Max,” she said. She put her shoulder against him, lay her head on him. She turned quick, kissed him, led him by his hand between the white box pews and headed to the tall stained glass apse.

  Valerie stopped her. “Oh, not so fast,” she said with a laugh. “You don’t want to take him up there.”

  “I don't?”

  “Not until the day, Miss Becker.”

  “Oh.”

  Cole stepped past them, hands in his pockets, eyeing the height of the church, looking up at the upper deck’s white balconies. “It is beautiful, guys,” he said. Took a hand out of his pocket and held it out. “Let the Best Man take you up there. They can all see how beautiful you’ll look on your wedding day.”

  Maggie stepped forward without hesitation and took his hand. He gripped her, pulled her to him and walked her up the aisle and the three steps to the first tier next to the pulpit. She struggled to keep a straight face. Standing high in the second tier of the apse she could see what it would be like on her wedding day. She imagined the pews filled with her family and friends. That mean little face that she loved, the one glowering at her and Cole right now, would be next to her. She would say to it, I do—right now, however, she was laughing at the effect she was having posing up here with his best friend.

  Standing in the wood-paneled grid below, was her mother and father, her groom, their wedding planner. All faces turned to her expectantly but only one smile and that was on Valerie. Looked up at the balconies, the huge organ sitting at the rear balcony, below that the sunlight streaming in from the opened doors. She would marry Max here, then she might not ever step foot in this state again despite how beautiful it was.

  Cole was nodding, holding her hand, smiling and taking in the beautiful church like she did. He leaned close, and still with a pleasant smile, he said next to her ear, “Did you wear any panties today?”

  He returned to standing, looking down to her parents and to Max. She laughed. Turned him to face her, like they were getting married today, took his tie and brought it out of his jacket, stroked her thumb along the patterned silk, ran her hand over its shine, said, “I like you with a tie.”

  He leaned in again and now he said, “I’m going to use it to bind your little wrists back tonight while I fuck your ass.”

  “Oh,” she startled. It turned to a laugh, performing for those watching. They couldn't imagine he’d whispered something so dirty. She wanted this to look very innocent, but those words just set a fucking flame off in her. Her stomach trembled and her legs shook. Wanted to be home, somewhere private, anywhere but here.

  “Well, did you?” he said, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Did I what?” she whispered.

  His eyes traveled her body, settled between her legs.

  Her panties. She said, “Yes.”

  His face moved towards hers and for a horrible second she thought he was going to kiss her in front of everyone watching, but his lips brushed her cheek and he whispered in her ear, “Down the nave, turn right, past the sacristy, left at the vestry, there’s a washroom. Go. Take your panties off and put them in my pocket.”

  He pulled back, face beaming with a performing smile. He nodded to the audience below while they watched, crinkled his nose, said, “I think she likes it.”

  Maggie’s eyes said a lot. Whatever Cole was whispering up there was not sweet and supportive despite what that plastered smile might convey. He was saying things that made her lips part. She didn't know what to think of them but Max could tell that she liked them. His best friend up there standing with Max’s fiancée in the spot where he would marry her—it was a violation.

  Carol and Martin were non-plussed but who knew what they were really thinking. They never let anything on. Two poker players who laughed at the winnings of the world’s greatest poker players. Martin earned or lost that in a day. They were on a different scale. Was it obvious to them? Did they wonder what their daughter was doing? They were smarter than anyone he ever knew. Surely they could pick up on this. But what was he to do? He couldn't make a scene. That would make it worse. Right now he felt himself diminishing in their esteem. Becoming less than a man. His own Best Man handling his woman in an intimate way. Fuck, yes, they were all friends. Yes, Cole touched Maggie all the time. Had done this for years. It's just that now Max knew for sure he was whispering dirty things to her. He knew Maggie had sucked his cock.

  But, shit, no one else here knew that. The fucking Beckers were always stone-faced. Maybe it was nothing. Valerie was cocking her head in an appreciative way, loving to see the bride-to-be up where she belonged, up in the spot where she would tie the knot. She didn't seem to let on that this was wrong. Maybe Best Men did this. Was this normal? Valerie had escorted couples through this procedure countless times, she wasn't bothered in the least. Maybe it was all in his head. He just didn't know anymore.

  “What do you think?”

  Max startled to hear Martin’s voice so close. While he was lost in thought Martin had moved himself to stand next to him, arms folded, eyeballing Maggie and Cole up on the pulpit.

  “I think she’s beautiful,” he said, words coming out ill-formed, just his truth tumbling out.

  “About the church, Max,” he said with an even tone, though his annoyance was implied.

  “This is where I want to marry your daughter,” he said, eyes still on her while Cole whispered something else in her ear, and she came away shocked.

  Martin said, “I knew it,” and he put his hand on Max’s shoulder, imbuing him with some strength and bolstering him suddenly.

  Yeah, Maggie was his. That wasn't going to change. She was Max’s bride.

  Martin squeezed Max once and this emotionless man handling him affectionately made his eyes well. He felt so welcome.

  Martin looked at his watch and said, “We have to go. We have to do the tastings.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Margaret,” he called, his strong voice e
choing off all the church’s old hard edges. “Come. We have appointments.”

  She stepped down off the stage and walked towards them along the nave. She was blushing. Her cheeks were bright with color. She passed Max, didn't say a word, but caught his eye and smirked, eyebrows raised, biting the corner of her lower lip. She went on and turned to cross behind the pews and disappeared under the archway that lead to the vestry.

  Cole caught up and he said, “She just has to go the washroom.” He stood next to Max, hands in his pockets, a smug smile on his handsome unshaved face.

  Carol took Valerie by her arm and led her out the open doors and into the September sunlight, already talking business. Martin checked his watch and left Max and Cole alone without a word, following behind Carol and Valerie but turning left when they were all outside.

  Cole said, “Have you ever seen a church like this? It’s so crazy, Max.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “What?”

  “Flirting with her in front of her parents.”

  “They don't notice. I’m not doing anything...I joke around with her all the time anyway.”

  “It's different now.”

  “Yeah, but her parents don't know that. As far as they—”

  “It looks bad, okay?” he said, his voice rising.

  “Max—”

  “You're fucking standing up there with my wife, Cole,” he said, his voice taking a firm tone. “That's my wife. You think I like seeing you two up there?”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “With me?”

  “With you, Max. It’s me. I’m fucking around. You think I’m trying to take her from you or something? We’re playing. Maggie and I are having fun. She’s into it. Fuck, I should have left last night. I knew this was going to be bad...”

  “No. Don’t go.”

  “Look, Max, you're fucking up here.”

  “I’m fucking up? I’m fucking up?”

  “You're fucking up.”

  “I'm doing this for Maggie, Max. All this...teasing. I'm not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to make her crazy.”