Mark dumped two packets of sugar and one carton of cream into his coffee. He was at a small café along the Riverbend, close to the apartment he and Tim shared. He’d be at the library for the next six hours, and he needed some fuel. He read the Times-Picayune, Wall Street Journal, and New York Times every day, except for Sundays. Then he only read the New York Times. He slurped his coffee, savoring the few moments of quiet before he had to dive back into the books. He finished his coffee and two beignets and lingered over the Times for another twenty minutes before reluctantly gathering up his briefcase to head over to the library. He stepped into the warm hush of early Sunday morning in New Orleans, feeling rejuvenated. He was waiting to cross the street when a rickety old orange Datsun screeched to a stop in front of him. He jumped back on the curb, more pissed than scared. The window rolled down, and Mark swallowed hard.
It was the woman from last night.
“Hey, baby! How you doin’ today? Got a little hangover?”
Mark’s heart began to jackhammer. How had she found him? He began to walk backwards, thinking maybe he would skip the shortcut and take the long way to the library.
“You need a lift? I can’t believe you was up this early. What you doin’ anyway?”
“Maybe if you ignore her, she’ll go away,” he whispered to himself as he began to walk-run in the opposite direction of where he wanted to go. Miraculously, a girl from his Tuesday night study group came out of another café, clutching a cup of coffee. He couldn’t describe the relief he felt when he saw her.
“Stephanie!” he yelled out. Stephanie Morris looked up at the sound of her name and smiled when she saw him.
“Hey, Marcus! You headed to the library?”
He quickened his pace to catch up with Stephanie. “Yeah. You?”
Stephanie nodded, her short red hair bobbing as she did. “Yeah, you wanna go over together?”
He nodded, trying to mask the fear he felt overtaking him. “That would be great.” They started walking, and Mark could see from the corner of his eye that woman creeping down the street behind them. He turned his attention back to Stephanie.
“What are you working on today?”
Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Torts, which I suck at.”
“I could probably help you out with that.” He stole a quick glance over his shoulder and saw the Datsun was gone. He felt his breathing return to normal, and he and Stephanie proceeded to the library.
It Wasn’t That Hard…
Monday started much the same way every weekday had since he’d first started working at Spence a few months earlier. Up at four, a quick jog, followed by two cups of coffee and toast, and in the office by six. He clerked for Spence during summers and in between semesters. Once he graduated and passed the bar, they’d make him a full-fledged associate. He figured he’d stay there a year, two tops, before making the move to a bigger market. He always thought he belonged in a big city with the big sharks. Tim was pretty rooted in New Orleans, and Mark had no doubt he’d own this town one day.
The two men had a couple of classes together at Tulane and, after first-year, had decided to room together. Mark was as close to Tim as he had been with his brother, although he hadn’t talked to Roy in ages. He still couldn’t believe how stupid he was for getting his two-bit girlfriend pregnant and all the other mess that followed. They hadn’t talked in about a year, and Mark still tried not to boil over whenever he thought about it.
At the moment, though, he needed to concentrate on passing the bar. The rest of the day was spent in meetings and research and, before he knew it, six had rolled around, and he went to grab some dinner before heading to the library for a few hours.
He was walking to the parking lot when he saw her. That woman from the bar on Saturday night was standing next to his battered blue Honda Civic. Mark stopped dead in his tracks, that slick feeling of fear washing over him again. She saw him and waved. He licked his lips and looked around, wild-eyed, trying to figure out what to do. Fuck this. He didn’t have to put up with this. He marched over to her, a resolute look on his face.
“What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
She cracked her gum and smiled. “Marcus, this town ain’t that big. It wasn’t that hard.”
He blinked. “How do you know my name?”
She smacked her gum. “Like I said, this town ain’t that big. Why you runnin’ from me? I just wanna get to know you.”
He pulled his keys out of his pocket and went to open the door of his little Honda.
“Well, I don’t want to get to know you. I already told you, I’m not interested.”
He felt her squash the rolls of her fat against him. His heart leapt, and panic rose up in his throat. He tried to twist around and push her away, but she was bigger, stronger. She started to rub up against him, and a soft moan escaped her lips. He grabbed her hands and dug his nails into the veins of her wrists, causing her to yelp.
“Look, if you don’t stop all of this, I’m going to call the police. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
She cocked her head to one side. “You wouldn’t do that to a sistah, would you?”
Mark found the strength to shove her away from him. She stumbled backwards, momentarily stunned. He took the opportunity to hop in his car and start the engine. She started to pound on the hood.
“Baby, I just wanna spend a little time! Just a little time!” she screamed after him as he jacked the car into reverse. She started to run after him, but he threw the car into drive and barreled out of the parking lot. Mark looked in the rearview mirror and saw Geneva standing there with her hand on her hip, fuming.
He gripped the steering wheel and tried to regain his composure. He finally pulled into the parking lot of his complex and ran upstairs to his apartment. He barely made it to the toilet before he threw up in the bowl. Some sloshed onto the seat, but he ignored it and continued to empty his stomach into the porcelain container. When there was nothing left, he slumped down into a crumpled heap on the icy tile of the bathroom floor before he reached up and pressed the handle to swirl away the remnants of his waste. Shaken, Mark hoisted himself up and stumbled to his room just to the left of the bathroom. He flopped down on the bed and was asleep within moments.
Fear…
For the next few weeks, Mark made sure he was never alone. He was about to take the bar exam, and he needed to pass it in one shot.
But he was afraid.
Geneva would show up at bars he went to and lurk outside his apartment, always with that look in her eye. Tim’s family had a vacation house in Plantation Country, and the two of them snuck out of town for a few days for some intensive studying and a respite from Geneva’s prying eyes. She was waiting for him when he returned, demanding to know where he’d been. Tim encouraged him to call the police, but Mark just wanted to forget the whole thing, sure she would get tired of bothering him and leave him alone.
He couldn’t have known how wrong he was.
What Happened Was This…
Finally, it was over.
He’d taken the bar, and now all he had to do was wait. He, Tim, and Diane had driven to the Landry vacation home for a few days of rest and relaxation and to celebrate that the exam was over. When they returned to New Orleans, it was back to the grind at Spence. Geneva seemed to have disappeared, which meant Mark could stop looking over his shoulder and let his guard down.
September came, along with word that he and Tim had passed the bar with flying colors. A bunch of folks headed to the Quarter, on a mission to hit as many bars as they could for a night of wild drinking, unconcerned with how much their heads might hurt or how hard they might be praying to the porcelain God the next morning. All that mattered was that they were full-blown lawyers, and now the real fun could begin.
Mark lost count of how many shots of tequila he did that night; he wasn’t sure how many tables he danced on or how many drunk “I love you, mans” he and Tim had tossed to each other. All he knew was that
he felt relief. Tim and his fiancée, Diane, ducked out sometime around three-forty five to pass out at her place, and Mark crawled into a cab about four-thirty. He threw a ten at the cab driver and growled that he should keep the change.
It took Mark a few tries to put the key in the lock, but finally he got it to turn, and he staggered inside. The next thing he knew, he was pushed into his living room, where he landed face down on the rank carpet. He looked up, barely able to make out Geneva’s hulking figure standing over him.
She was laughing at him, mocking how drunk he was. He tried to inch away, but he was too drunk and she was too fast. He cried for her to leave, to go away, but all she did was laugh and say she’d been waiting for this night for a long time. She then dragged him into the bedroom and managed to hoist him up onto the bed. She pulled a pair of handcuffs out of her purse and shackled him to the headboard. She shoved some pills into his mouth and clamped her hand over his lips, demanding he swallow. He screeched and he kicked, terrified at what she was about to do to him.
Mark would block out much of what happened that night. It would be years before he could feel the flesh of a woman against his own and not recoil. He would bed a bevy of women to try and forget. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes the guilt and shame would tighten around his insides like twin ropes. Her taste and her smells would haunt him for an untold length of time. He would wake up in cold sweats, jolted by nightmares of her bouncing on top of him or the squeaking and groaning of the bed underneath him. Illness and brief violent flashes of how he’d been violated that night would squirm around his insides like a relentless plague, making him vomit, or break into cold sweats or simply grow mute with fear. He wanted to die. He wished he could slit his throat, his wrists, anything, anything at all to just end it. Fear, stress, and physiology had all banded together to combat his will and give him an erection. He felt himself release at one point and was horrified that he had come with this woman. He felt the bile rise in his throat many times, but it never left his mouth. He wasn’t sure what time he passed out, but when he came to, she was laying on top of him in a peaceful slumber. A fresh wave of tears began to flow from his eyes, and Mark looked around, frantic to find the key to the handcuffs, rattling them uselessly. He cried himself to sleep again, and when he woke up, Geneva was standing over him, a satisfied smirk on her face. She kissed him, thrusting her tongue in his mouth. She ran her hands over his chest and told him he was the best lover she’d ever had. She undid the handcuffs, blew him a kiss, and left. Mark rolled over, curled into the fetal position, and closed his eyes.
He’d never felt more alone in his whole life.
When Tim got home the next day, Mark was still wound into a ball on the bed, and his roommate assumed he’d continued to celebrate. Eventually, Mark dragged himself into the bathroom and turned the shower to the hottest setting he could stand. He stood under the searing needles of water for twenty minutes before he began to scour at the memory of her, scraping her imprint from his skin until he burned. Shaky and spent, he struggled to put on a sweatshirt and jeans before he ripped the sheets off the bed with methodical precision and stuffed them in the dumpster in the parking lot. He then flipped the sagging mattress off the bedframe and up against the wall, determined to send it into the dumpster as well. He fell down into the empty hole where the mattress had been and cried silent, pained tears.
Finally, Tim knocked on the bedroom door, concerned since he’d never seen his friend like this before. Mark didn’t speak, just continued to sob. Tim threatened to call 911 if Mark didn’t spit out what was going on. Tearfully, Mark choked out what Geneva had done to him. Horrified, Tim found himself fighting back his own tears and demanded Mark call the police. He refused, not wanting anyone to know what had happened, and told Tim he’d kill him if he ever said a word. Reluctantly, Tim agreed and asked what he could do for him.
Mark simply shook his head and said there was nothing anyone could do for him now.
Denial…
Mark rubbed his eyes and tried again to focus on the brief in front of him. Sleep had become a distant memory, and it was becoming harder to concentrate on work. It had been two weeks since Geneva had attacked him. She peppered him with constant calls and would sit in her car outside his place. To his credit, Tim was hanging around the apartment more, sacrificing time with his fiancée. Mark felt a mixture of guilt and relief at his friend’s gesture. Tim tried to convince him to get a restraining order, but he was both terrified of someone finding out what had happened and of possibly provoking her further—not to mention, he didn’t want to start off his legal career with this black mark against him.
Even if he was the victim.
Mark looked at his watch and realized it was lunchtime. Tim poked his head into his tiny office.
“Hey, man, wanna go grab a sandwich?”
“Must have read my mind. I’m starving.” Mark stood and tossed the blurry brief to one side. “I can’t concentrate on this anyway.”
They made small talk as they walked to grab a Po-Boy at the deli around the corner. Tim swallowed his Coke and looked up at Mark.
“So how are you—really?”
Mark closed his eyes and slumped down in his chair. “I haven’t slept in two weeks. Every time I close my eyes, I see her.”
Tim looked down at his sandwich, unsure of what to say next. The two men sat in silence for a few moments, neither of them all that hungry anymore.
“You think she’ll try something again?”
Mark sat up and hunched over the table. “If she does,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “I’ll fucking kill her.”
Tim closed his eyes. “Mark—”
“I’m serious, man. I will fucking slit her throat if she comes near me again. She can do all the drive-bys and phone calls she wants, but if she ever lays a hand on me again, I’ll break her neck.”
Tim rubbed his hands over his mouth. “In case that ever comes true, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Mark leaned back in his chair and picked at his food. “Yeah, well, I’d plead self-defense. Either that or temporary insanity, considering what she did to me.”
Tim was silent for a moment, wrestling with what he had to say. “I did a background check on her.”
Mark’s eyes grew wide. “What?”
Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “I wondered if maybe…well, if she’d done anything like this before, so I called in some favors. Said it was for a case,” he added hastily. “She’s from Alabama originally, fourth of seven kids. Parents are both dead. Dropped out of school at thirteen and has been in and out of jail since then. Drugs, prostitution, robbery, weapons, you name it, she’s done it.” Tim leaned toward Mark. “She’s dangerous, man, and I just think you oughta go to the police—”
“No!” Mark let out a curt sigh before he looked Tim square in the face. “I don’t ever, ever want anyone to know about this. You have to promise me—”
Tim held up his hand. “I swear I won’t, but something should happen to her for what she did is all I’m sayin’. Why should you be the one to suffer?”
“Look, I’m just trying to forget this whole thing happened, and I wish you would too, okay?”
Tim let out a ragged breath and leaned back. “Okay, okay, I’ll drop it.”
Mark looked at his watch and sighed. “Time to go back on the clock.” He stood up and started to leave. Tim ran to catch up with him.
“Hey,” he said as he touched Mark’s arm to slow him down. “I’ll do anything you need me to do. Whatever you need, you know I got your back.”
The two men stood staring at each other, oblivious to the swarming crowd around them.
“I know, man. I know.”
They stood looking at each other for a second more before walking back to the office.
Not So Fast…
For the first time in he didn’t know how long, Mark allowed himself to smile. Geneva seemed to have disappeared, and he actually felt his body relax as he drove.
He hummed along with the song on the radio and looked forward to the weekend. Granted, he’d be spending a chunk of it working, but this was going to be his first big deal, and he planned to knock it out of the park.
He pulled into his complex and walked upstairs to his apartment, feeling like his old self. Tim was moving out next week into the new house he and Diane had bought—or that his parents had bought—and would be married about two weeks after that, so he was spending a little less time at the apartment.
Lucky bastard. Their place was a typical bachelor pad, and Mark would be happy to leave it behind when the lease was up in the summer. The brown plaid couch they’d found next to a dumpster, the sagging, peeling card table with the one wooden chair and metal stool on either side; the ancient television set that didn’t have a remote, so you had to get up to turn the channel, all without knocking it off the orange milk crate it sat on. Yeah, he’d cheer when the day came to throw all that shit out.
Still, Mark would miss his friend. He loved Diane, but he knew his and Tim’s friendship would change. He tried not to think about that and was still humming when he went to open the door. Before he could turn the knob, it flew open, and Geneva was standing there. Mark dropped his briefcase.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he whispered.
Geneva gave him a lusty smile. “I miss you, Boo. It’s been a long time since we been alone. Every time I turn around, that white boy is with you.” She moved closer to Mark, who backed away.
“Go away before I call the police.”
She continued to move closer to him, pretending like he hadn’t said anything. “Actually, I got some good news. I’m going to have a baby. Our baby.” She smiled again. “Are you happy?”
Mark didn’t say anything for a moment before he burst out laughing. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me. You expect me to believe that?”
She shrugged. “Baby, you the only man I been with, and I took the test a few days ago. I’m supposed to go to the doctor Monday.” She inched closer. “I wanted to let you know first, though.”
Sweet Little Lies Page 18
