The Social Affair: A Psychological Thriller

by Britney King

  I see something in her demeanor shift. She falters momentarily, lets her guard down. Josie Dunn wants somebody to save.

  She narrows her gaze. “That reminds me,” she smiles. “Do you go to church? ”

  Later in the day, after I have an invitation to attend church with the Dunns, well technically just Josie Dunn, but still. It’s more than I could have hoped for, even just this morning. Fine, I’ll admit it. The invitation has taken me a quick minute to reconcile— I’d hardly taken them for the religious type— but I guess it’s nice to be surprised every now and then.

  I go back to work, and all the while, I hope Josie will change her mind and take me up on that coffee. Every time the bell rings, I pray I’ll look up and see her standing there. Every. Single. Time. I don’t know what it is about her. I just know I have to see her again. And soon.

  As I make my billionth latte of the afternoon, I hope she misses my face as much as I miss hers. She’s not here though. So I guess she doesn’t. But it’s okay, I guess. Luckily, I don’t have to miss her for long. Josie Dunn posts a picture of her and some leggy blonde woman at lunch with the hashtag #herestofriends. I study the photo carefully. I wish I were at home, where I could see it on a bigger screen than just my phone. Oh, well. At least this gives me something to look forward to.

  I zoom in. She’s changed her clothes and fixed her hair. The two of them look smug, smiling at the camera. They’re dressed casually, in flowy tops, tight jeans and kitten heels. Also in a way that tells you their brand of casual is one that you could never afford. When I get a closer look, I can see they’re enjoying the most gorgeous salad I’ve ever seen with the hashtag #NewHope #blessed. The post gets 837 likes within an hour. This bums me out. I was wrong. I could never actually be Josie Dunn. One, I’d have to land a man like that, one that cares about surprises and shoes, and two, I don’t even think I know 837 people.

  I breathe a sigh of defeat. Maybe if I can’t be Josie, I can at least be her sidekick. Anyway, it shouldn’t be too hard to assume the position. Her friend has nothing on her in terms of charisma. But even I have to admit, she is beautiful. I flip the camera on my phone and study myself. I tussle my hair. With a bit of money and a little work, you could be that.

  I wasn’t going to eat anything for lunch but suddenly a salad sounds good. I zoomed in on their food, and I did my best to replicate what I saw. In fact, I’m eating it, forcing myself to like the taste of lettuce and health, when the doorbell chimes. I look up and just like that, my unspoken prayers have been answered. It’s not Josie Dunn.

  It’s better.

  It’s her husband.

  I don’t know how I do it, but it seems the more I familiarize myself with them online, the more they seem to pop into my life when I least expect it. It’s like magic. Only not fake.

  “Hello.” Grant greets me with the enthusiasm only a man of his stature can have. His voice is deep, and in it there’s something else, something beyond confidence. Something I can’t place. This time he’s in scrubs and one of those funny surgical hats, and it makes him look younger, much younger. I look down at my attire, and I curse myself for not putting in more effort. What a fool you are, thinking you could be like her. Look at him. He’d never want you. A glorified waitress, of all things.

  I drop my fork and rest my hands on my hips. I don’t like looking at something I can’t have. I need to feel the rage. I need to feed it. “Let me guess. You want an Americano?”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  I smooth my apron.

  “Wow,” he says eyeing my food. “That looks good.”

  I bite my lip and wonder if he’ll notice the similarity between his wife and I, even if there’s only this one.

  If he does, he doesn’t say anything. He scans the menu. “My wife mentioned she had a sandwich here…” he says, trailing off. I watch him intently. My mouth goes dry. I fumble for words. None come to mind.

  Eventually, he places the menu on the counter and he looks me up and down. “Do you remember my wife?”

  It must be a trick question. I have to say yes. I’d be willing to bet they’re the kind of couple who tells each other everything. She probably sent him to collect the freebies I offered. He doesn’t wait for me to answer. He smiles and it’s genuine. He likes thinking of her too. “The original orderer of the Americano?”

  “Sure,” I say, heat rising in my belly. “She ordered the special.”

  “I bet she did.” He grins at the thought, and I can see his love for her in his upturned lips. “I think I’ll have one of those—wait… you know what? Make it two.”

  How nice that he wants the same, I think as I type the order in.

  “She’s always appreciated a good surprise.”

  “Do you want chips?” I ask dismissively. I could just put them in the bag, but with him it seems different. With him, it seems like going out of your way might have the opposite effect.

  He raises his brow. “She had chips too, did she?”

  “Yes,” I tell him and I feel something building. Sadness. Dizziness. Pure unadulterated longing. I guess she didn’t tell him about me, about our meeting in the alley or in the park. I sigh. “I remember that she loved them.”

  His eyes widen. “Sure,” he smirks. “Chips would be great.” The look on his face is to die for. “Hey, why not throw in a double order.”

  I don’t tell him she won’t need his surprise because she’s already been to lunch and she had a salad. I can’t say that, even though I want to. It’s too early in the game for thoughtless mishaps.

  Anyway, he’d know if he’d checked her Instalook account. Instead, he’s focused on me. He watches closely as I ring up the order. You really ought to be more thorough, Grant Dunn. But then you’re a doctor, and you’re probably pretty busy. In fact, I know you are.

  “Excuse me?”

  I eye him confused.

  “You just said, I know you are…”

  “No I didn’t.”

  He cocks his head. “I’m pretty sure you called me… Josh.”

  “I was singing,” I say pointing to the sound system. “I’m not very good. Obviously,” I laugh. “Not if people think I’m mumbling.”

  He starts to speak, and then he presses his lips together and shakes his head slightly. “Well, practice makes perfect.”

  I nod. That it does. I know. I studied the images of the before and afters on his website. I’m a sucker for that sort of thing, and I wonder what I might look like with a few enhancements. I wonder if he finds that kind of perfection attractive. Of course, he does. Look at his wife. I want to ask him about his work. But I’ve found it’s better to figure out things organically, so I finish making his wife’s sandwich instead.

  That night as I’m walking home after my shift, simultaneously scrolling Instalook and imagining the conversation that could have been, I see headlights circle around, and something in the pit of my stomach stirs.

  “Izzy?” I hear a voice call in the dark. I know it instantly.

  I crane my neck into the darkness to make sure I’m not hearing things.

  “Hey,” he says when my eyes lock in on his. The gravel crunches beneath the tires as he pulls the car slowly along side me. “Need a ride?”

  You need to be more careful, Izzy. Josh’s voice rings in my ears. I don’t want to listen, but I know better. It won’t go away. It refuses to die like the rest of him. “That’s okay,” I say. “I don’t have too far to go.”

  “Seriously,” he counters. “It seems we’re headed in the same direction. It’s really no trouble.”

  Don’t do it, Izzy. Smart people don’t get in the car with strangers. But Grant Dunn isn’t a stranger.

  I shake my head. “I’m good, really.”

  “Izzy,” he says, and I have to admit I do like the way my name sounds coming from his lips. “I don’t want to sound overprotective, but you shouldn’t be walking alone after dark.”

  I shrug. He sounds like Josh now, and something
in me softens. I want to tell him I wouldn’t be walking if we hadn’t had those teenagers linger at closing time. I wanted to tell him that as they finally left in their fancy cars and I locked up, I realized I’d already missed my bus. “Come on,” he urges, coming to a complete stop. “It’s nothing, really.”

  Hardly, I want to tell him. But instead, I simply nod and walk around to the passenger door. My breath quickens. I might hyperventilate. My head is spinning. I’m wracking my brain, trying to figure out how to get him to drop me off somewhere—anywhere—other than my dumpy apartment complex. Although, everywhere on my side of town is too shabby for the likes of Grant Dunn, so even if I could come up with something on the fly, I don’t know where that might be.

  He looks over at me. “This side of town always makes me a bit nostalgic,” he tells me, coolly. “It’s where Josie and I first lived together. Back when I was pre-med.”

  “Oh,” I say, and I’m shocked. My breath steadies now that I can see he’s willing to let me in. Not just in his car, either.

  I look over. He’s already looking. “You remind me a bit of her.”

  His expression catches me off guard. I feel dizzy at the thought that I remind him of someone as brilliant as his wife.

  “She’s gorgeous,” I tell him. It sounds silly, girlish, once it’s out of my mouth and out in the open. Instantly I wish I could take it back.

  “So are you,” he murmurs. My cheeks warm. My whole body feels like it’s floating. I’m not in the car; I’m above it, looking down on me, a different, luckier version of myself. Suddenly, he brings me back. He places his hand on mine, and I have to say, I hadn’t seen that coming.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Josie

  “I met someone,” I tell Beth over a salad I practically inhale. I notice she barely touches hers. Not at first. This is an audit, and audits are designed to get to the heart of the matter. She wants to squeeze as much out of me as she can. I’ll want to be very careful about what I say. I learned this the hard way. “Anyway,” I add nonchalantly. “I invited her to our meeting on Thursday. I think she has potential…”

  Beth’s expression is unreadable. “It’s been so long since you brought someone in,” she tells me, her eyes wide. “She must be special.”

  “It hasn’t been that long,” I say. But then I consider the last person, and I realize she’s right. “I’ve never been as good as you at it. But I do try.”

  “Look at you, kissing up.” She frowns. “That’s not your style.”

  “What? I thought you wanted honesty.” I lay my hands flat on the table. “I thought that’s why we’re here.”

  “Grant is worried about you, Josie.”

  “That is not your concern.”

  She doesn’t blink. “It’s your husband’s concern, which makes it the church’s concern.”

  I look away. “It shouldn’t be anyone’s concern.”

  “You’re not sleeping. You’re over your weight limit. You’re speaking ill of New Hope to new members—Tom’s wife, of all people. I mean, come on, Josie. Of course, this is a concern. It’s out of character.”

  It doesn’t matter what I say. So I start with the obvious. “It’s just been difficult…since June died.”

  “For all of us,” she agrees. Then she seems to consider what to say next. “But we have to move on, Josie. June would want that.”

  “Well, Tom certainly has. Moved on.”

  Her lips fold inward. “What’s he supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know—grieve.”

  “People grieve differently, Jos— particularly men.”

  I figured Beth would say that. She excuses the opposite sexes’ shortcomings like nobody’s business.

  “You’re right,” I tell her. “Maybe I have been thinking about it wrong. I think I just needed a fresh perspective. I think June’s death has reminded me of my own mortality. It’s scary, you know. To realize that we’re all going to die. ”

  She nods. This is what she wants to hear.

  She stabs her fork into a tomato. She’s half-finished with her salad, meanwhile, I’d like to order another. “And the weight gain?”

  “I’m getting my period.”

  I watch as she stuffs the tomato in her mouth. She chews slowly. I feel my fight or flight reflex kick in, and it takes a lot to stuff it back down. “You know women have to allow for these things.”

  “Yes,” I agree. “I’ve been weak.”

  “We’ll need to advance your workout schedule.”

  “I’m already doing six days a week.”

  “Now, you’ll do seven. Sometimes it just takes a little extra to get the edge, you know.”

  I don’t say anything. I sip my water. Sometimes you have to let things run their course.

  “I have some audio files I’ll be emailing you. We’ll need you to listen and report back your interpretations.”

  “What kind of files?”

  She twists her fork around in her salad. It looks like she’s picking at a wound, seeing how much she can make it bleed. “You know, the usual,” she says, and she places the fork on the table. I look on as she takes her straw between her fingertips. She dips it further into her water and then slowly pulls it out. She stabs at her lemon. I want to take the glass and hurl the water at her. I see it in slow motion. She smiles. “Just a reinforcement of the rules. Excellence training. That sort of thing.”

  Excellence training. This is what Beth calls hours and hours of recorded audio of her voice. “Okay,” I say finally. “Is that it?”

  “Well, there is one more thing…”

  “What’s that?”

  I watch as she reaches into her purse and fishes something out. She places the bottle on the table like it’s nothing.

  “I don’t need medication, Beth.”

  “It’s just a little something to help you get back on track.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Take the pills, Jos. You’ll feel better.”

  I take the bottle and toss it into my bag.

  “Oh,” she says. “And I can’t wait to meet this friend of yours. I’m sure she’s going to fit right in.”

  I smile, but the way she says it I can tell, she’s being condescending. We both remember the last person I recruited, and that one didn’t turn out so well.

  I’m surprised to find Grant’s car in the drive when I arrive home. He’s never home in the middle of the day. I wonder if Beth put him up to this. I wonder if they’ve already spoken about lunch. My breath catches for a moment. Maybe I wasn’t as convincing as I thought. I turn off the ignition and stare at the garage door. I’m being silly. I know how much my husband’s time is worth. I know how busy his schedule is. If he’s home, it’s not because of something I said over lunch.

  When I enter the house, I see the spread on the table, and I realize I’m right. I know why he’s here. He knows I lied.

  He has a meal for two laid out on the table when surely he’s aware I’ve already eaten. He’s in the kitchen. I can hear the water running. I get the urge to turn and tiptoe out the front door.

  “Oh good,” I hear him call out before I can force myself to make a move. “You’re here.”

  “What are you doing home?” I ask, careful of my tone.

  He dries his hands on a dishtowel and then meets my eye. “I wanted to bring you lunch.”

  I furrow my brow. I tell myself I won’t give into him that easily. “But you knew I was meeting with Beth. Doctor’s orders, remember?”

  This is apparently the wrong thing to say. “So what. It’s a gift, Josie,” he tells me motioning toward the dining room. “Sit.”

  “Grant, I’m not hungry.”

  “You will eat with me,” he says matter of factly.

  “I’ve just eaten with Beth.”

  “So—all of a sudden you care about moderation? I don’t get you. Why start now?”

  “Grant—I can explain.”

  He shakes his head. “You heard me,” he points
at the table. “I want to see you eat both mine and yours.”

  “I can’t eat all that,” I say incredulously.

  I should have stopped there. I should have quit while I was ahead. Never be disagreeable. I should have picked up the sandwich and taken a bite, apologized. Diffuse the situation. Make your husband feel at ease in his home. This is your job.

  I take a deep breath in. He walks over to me, his eyes heavy, his expression blank. “I’m sorry,” I say finally. “I shouldn’t have—”

  It’s too late. He cuts me off by grabbing a fistful of my hair and drags me over to the table. He shoves my head down. “You will eat every bite.”

  I glance up at the clock. I have to pick up Avery soon, and I can’t afford for this to escalate. I take one bite and then another. I chew slowly. He tightens the grip he has on my hair. “Do you really think I have all day to sit here and babysit you?”

  He shakes my head for me using the tight grip he has on my hair. I swallow quickly and take another bite.

  “Chew faster,” he orders. I hear the anger in his voice. He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t have to. “You have really let me down this time, Josie.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Why are you talking?” he asks. “You should be eating.”

  I try to shift a bit, to get my bearings. I am bent at the waist, and this makes it hard. I straighten my legs, or at least I try. I’m afraid my knees are going to buckle, that they’ll give out, and all I’ll have is my husband holding me up by my hair.

  “Faster!” he orders. I shove more food in. “I have to get back to work,” he tells me. “I like it better there. You know, there women actually care about their bodies…I enjoy spending time with people who care about their health.”

  “I do care.”

  “Maybe,” he laughs. “But what you lack is discipline, Josie. You know, real effort.”

  I feel a sense of dread. He’s not going to let up.

  “Look at this,” he says, swinging my head wildly. “Look at what I provide for you. And for what? For nothing. You don’t deserve this,” he chuckles. “If there was a grand prize for laziness…surely you’d take first place.”