Octavia said, “Someone who hasn’t already been warned not to cooperate with you.”
We all thought about that for a moment.
Then Octavia said, “Or one who, even though warned, doesn’t feel so good about fucking you in the ass right now.”
I was pretty sure I understood. Again, how she figured it out from the scant information I’d given her, I have no idea. And why I hadn’t realized until that moment, again, color me stupid.
“Stephanie,” I said.
Octavia winked at me.
Pamela looked back and forth between us. “Maybe I should do the talking. It seems as if you’re just making it worse.”
I was about to defend myself when Octavia said, “He’ll do fine with this one. But see about tracing the guy on the receipt. Let’s at least mass our troops on the border, even if we’re not ready to fire yet.”
*
After Pamela left, Octavia hit PLAY and the room was filled with deafening surround-sound Warhol, but after a minute of trying to take it, I stepped over to Octavia and took the remote, hit STOP.
She didn’t grab for it, as I had expected her to. Instead she lifted her eyes, waiting for me to justify my rudeness.
“I don’t know about this. I’m starting to think I won’t be able to get anyone to help me. So what if they want to have sex with each other and face the consequences of it? And so what about the house? Maybe I’m hanging on too long here.” I paced in front of her couch. “If I just accept that it’s over, and that I should move on, I haven’t really lost all that much. We don’t have kids. I still have my job, even if that means freshman comp. I’ll survive. I’ll fall in love again. I’ll take it easy, write about all of this mess…”
Still pacing, very much in my own head. Octavia stood and stepped into my path.
I stopped, met her eyes. “I mean…is it worth hurting so many people? I should’ve never listened to you. No offense, but I’m talking from the heart here. You had nothing but good intentions, but look at where we are now.”
She sighed, reached out with both hands and rubbed my arms. She then held out an outstretched palm. I placed the remote in it. She curled her fingers around it and popped me on the side of the head. I winced, grabbed my skull and stumbled back.
“You stopped my movie so I could listen to you turn into a girl? If I wanted to hear that sort of shit, I’d head out tonight to the zombie bar and pick up a grad student.”
She sat, hit PLAY. Then hit PAUSE again. “Actually, that’s not so bad of an idea. Jennings!”
I massaged my temple, waiting, but an apology would never come. A thousand years I could stand there, but what was the use? I slipped out of the room as the thunderous Dolby erupted once again. And I was off to ruin another innocent person’s life.
THIRTEEN
I parked a block away from Ashton and Stephanie’s home, which was in a modest neighborhood in Northwest Minneapolis, postage-stamp yards and modern homes, circa 1962. They still went for a couple of hundred grand, and they weren’t bad at all. Just not quite interesting enough for Frances and me. I tried to imagine life here with my wife, a lot of extra money in our pocket from not having to bleed so much into the mortgage and upkeep of our home. Would we have gone out more? Traveled more? Enjoyed each others’ company enough so that none of this would’ve have happened? No idea.
Anyway, I parked a block away and walked, thinking myself clever before realizing that someone could just as easily watch me walk to her front door and ring the bell. So all I’ve done is fool the improbable passers-by. Good job, Professor. You’d make an ace private eye.
I didn’t see anyone skulking about in cars with tinted windows or anything, so maybe we were blowing the whole thing out of proportion. This would be a nice visit. She would have no idea what I was talking about—sex parties? Seriously?
I turned up her walkway, up concrete steps to the front door, and rang the bell. In about twenty seconds Stephanie was there, peering through the glass at me. She wasn’t smiling. She even took a step back.
I leaned closer. “We need to talk.”
She shook her head.
“It’s important. I’m sure you know about it. Didn’t Frannie—”
Stephanie yanked the door open before I could finish and put a shushing finger to her lips. So I shushed.
She looked over my shoulder, across the street, then she took my arm and dragged me inside. I would tell you about the house but I didn’t have time to see it before she led me by the wrist through a small front sitting room, the kitchen, to the basement steps, and down into the basement. Along the way, we passed an old dog sleeping on a pillow, barely lifting its head, while a smaller yipped and hopped at our feet.
The basement was half finished, with thick carpet, a futon, and an entertainment center, an older square TV and a DVD player on top. The shelves beneath were full of boxes of TV shows: The West Wing, The Wire, Mad Men, Friends.
She saw me looking. “We don’t have cable.”
“Oh, right.”
It was a strange quiet voice, not a whisper but not very bold. “So we watch TV shows on DVD.”
“That’s fine. When’s Ashton getting back?”
“A few days.” We nodded at each other. “Why are you here?”
“Why couldn’t we talk at the door?”
She let out a deep breath and let go of me. She sat on the futon and settled her face into her hands. “Because…I just…can’t.”
“But it’s okay down here?”
“It’s fine.”
I looked around. The basement windows were blacked out. I didn’t see any other holes or vantage point. They had put up drywall to separate the finished from unfinished, pretty much a nice, cushy TV room reflected by a cold, concrete echo chamber where they did laundry.
I said, “No one can film you down here.”
That got her attention. Her head flicked up, eyes astonished. “You know about that? Fran told you?”
I shook my head, then sat beside her. “No, I had to find out another way. Thanks for telling her I was out on that date, by the way.”
“Please, I’m sorry. This is all really delicate. I didn’t mean to.”
“Well, the only reason I know as much as I do is because of that. I caught Alice in my home. She was trying to remove some papers Fran was worried about.”
“You’re kidding me? She never said…” Open-mouthed shock.
I let her absorb it before saying, “Tell me about what happened to you guys.”
She was very tense, like she needed a cigarette. I knew she didn’t smoke, though. She was health-conscious. Didn’t drink much either. But I would’ve bet right then that if I’d offered her one or the other, she would’ve clung to it like a warm blanket.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay. I thought you knew all about it. That you knew about Fran and the group, but just had no interest in it. It seemed strange. I mean, after all, you seemed man enough. Okay, maybe a bit too sensitive. But a poet! Of course a poet would want in on this.”
“I had no idea.”
“Look, please don’t think of me like that, either. It sounded so wrong at first, and then Ashton talked me into it. He said, you know, we’ve been together ten years, and we know we’re right for each other. We know we can be faithful, so why not just have some fun, make friends, and see where it goes?” She huffed.
“What?”
“Let’s just say that it seemed certain women got more attention. And certain men were awful. They smelled, or they weren’t very good, or they wanted it to be like some porn movie. I wish I had known.” She shivered. “I love sex. Really. And I loved it with my husband. And I had a couple of threesomes and encounters back in college that were okay, but I wasn’t truly comfortable with the group. When it was bad, it was bad. You never saw anyone else complaining, so you went with the flow.”
“And you didn’t want to watch yourself, or think about anyone watching you.”
She couldn’t stop mo
ving her hands, up and down her jeans, to her knee, up her thigh, to her knee, and so on. The little dog hopped into her lap, ears down and back, and she began petting it, faster and faster as we spoke. I was afraid she would set fire to the dog with friction.
I hadn’t really ever noticed her until then—jeans a little tight, an orange pullover polo, barefoot. Her hair was held back with a stretchy, but wisps of it had escaped and floated across her brow. She had simple, Mid-American Soccer MILF good looks, but not really a MILF because she’d never had kids. She didn’t have the confidence to know just how sexy she was. Before, I had always seen her as plain, but something about this version—the one with the secret—made my throat thicken. Same thing down below. I shifted positions to hide it. The dog growled at me.
She shushed him and said, “I’ve never even considered taping it. Why would anyone? I didn’t understand. I didn’t think Ashton was like that either, but you can only know so much about a person, I guess. He didn’t seem the porn type.”
Then she laughed, relaxed, even reached over and touched my shoulder.
“I mean, sure, like, photos. A couple of photos maybe. Me coming out of the shower, or with my robe open. For him, see? Not for anyone else. God, you must think I’m awful. So stupid.”
“No, what are you talking about? You’re fine. I think if adults want to do that sort of thing with their friends, it’s their business. But Carl took it too far.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Did you ever get to see any of these tapes?”
She shooed the dog away and curled her legs up under her. “Ashton came home, beet red. It was bad. He didn’t want to talk to me. He had a DVD in his hand. Nothing written on it, no labels on the case.”
“That was it?”
“He walked over and stuck it into the DVD player without saying anything. Then he left the room. I started after him, but then there I was, completely naked, up on my knees, Professor Hudgins going at me from behind. Worse, it had music. It had been put together, like a greatest hits package, a few seconds of this, some of that. Carl actually edited our porn video! It made me sick. Then…” She stopped, looked away.
I said, “I know what they did. I’m just as much a victim.”
She looked at me. “No one stuck their penises in you.”
“No…but they sure did Frannie, and I had no idea. Not one iota.”
Stephanie shook her head. “Must have been nice, not knowing.”
“I thought we were having a rough patch, that’s all. But now I feel like everyone’s been having a laugh over me.”
She reached for my hand and interlaced her fingers in mine. “No, no, maybe those…assholes. Maybe Fran. But most of us really feel for you. We’re on your side. There’s just nothing we can do.”
I grinned for her, thanked her. Another moment of quiet, blinking at each other, holding hands. I hadn’t noticed until then that we had moved closer together, enough so that I slipped my arm around her. She didn’t move away, didn’t protest.
“Tell me what else he had on the DVD.”
“He edited it to make it look as if Ashton had done it, like it was our own private video. So right there Carl was covering his backside. But…I had no idea he had us followed. I mean, so I had arranged to meet with a few people outside the group. Um…I don’t know how much of this you want to hear, Mick.”
“All of it.”
“But—”
“All of it. Don’t worry about me.”
“Fran. I hooked up with Fran. Here, at the house. And he even had that. Someone looking in a window, I thought at first. But we were upstairs. Ashton checked later and found it.”
“A camera?”
“Hidden in the corner. Someone had drilled a hole, placed it in the attic, and we had no idea. The attic. We barely have a crawlspace there, but someone took their precious time installing the damned thing.”
I’d heard her, but I was numb by then. I thought nothing about Fran could shock me anymore. “With Fran, this was just you and her?”
“Once or twice, to see if we were comfortable with it. We weren’t, though. It was very awkward, trying to, you know, go down on one of your closest friends, then trying to laugh it off after. Oh god, watching it on video…I was crying by then, and Ashton came back to explain. And it wasn’t just the standard blackmail, like with the others. Carl had some real problems with Ashton, and warned him off.”
“What do you mean? Warned him off of…someone?”
Stephanie closed her eyes, knitted her eyebrows. “Why me? I thought you knew a lot more than this. Why am I the one who has to tell you?”
“Stephanie, please.”
She turned to me, eye to eye. “Fran again. Don’t you know? Everyone loved Fran. She and Ashton, things between them, it wasn’t about sex anymore, okay? They were talking about leaving us. Well, us and Carl. Leaving the group for each other. I never realized…I thought it was just a little sex. Spice our marriage up.”
Okay, so Frances had one or two tricks left up her sleeve. Leaving me for Carl, well, okay. That seemed shallow, more about power and status than real emotion. But Ashton? That sounded romantic. Something deeply felt, precious. It couldn’t compare to the love built up in a long-term marriage, so I thought, but as a way to shake you up, make you reconsider…if only the Provost hadn’t been turning this into his own private soap opera.
Another thought: maybe Frances wasn’t as cruel as I first thought. Maybe she was divorcing me to save me from this horror show. It could’ve been that it had reached the point that I was no longer able to be kept in the dark. Rather than drag me into something that would destroy both of our lives, she was handing me absolute freedom!
But then, what about the house?’
While I was thinking it through, Stephanie had snuggled into my embrace, her cheek resting on my shoulder, her body warm against mine.
“So, Ashton is looking for a job because the Provost told him to?”
“Yes. Yes he is.” It came out with a sigh of relief. I was the first outsider to whom she had told the truth.
“And you and him? You’re leaving together?”
Her fingers tightened around mine. “For now, yes. But I don’t know if I can stay. He says he really loves Fran, and this has torn him up inside worse than any fights we’ve ever had. How can I stay with someone who has fallen out of love with me? He’s trying to keep me, I can tell. We’re still friends, god, don’t ask me why. He’s willing to work at it, but I don’t think it will ever feel the same.”
I cleared my throat. “And down here, in the basement? It’s the only place you feel safe anymore?”
When Stephanie lifted her face to me, we both knew what had to happen next. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. She leaned in for a kiss, small nips at first, then harder, wetter, hungrier. She grabbed the back of my neck, scraped her nails across. I pulled her closer. When she finally broke away, I had lost all sense of time. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, then reached down and quickly pulled her shirt over her head and threw it to the floor. Underneath, a white bra. Average-sized breasts and bikini lines. She looked ready to charge me like a pit bull.
I wanted to just as much as she did. I was dying for it. But she had the same idea at the same exact moment. Her face went from Fuck me now like an animal to Let’s all take it slow in a matter of three breaths.
I was about to say it first when she said, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s me. I’m sorry. I started this.”
“I’m sure I did. I stepped over the line. I…listen, I really would love to, Mick. I’m not some whore, I swear. It really felt right just then.”
“I know, I know, same here. Don’t let it drag you down. Bad timing that’s all. There’s so much swirling around, and I have to take care of some things.”
She nodded. She didn’t seem self-conscious about talking to me in her bra. I was trying hard not to look. “Mick, I’ll need to talk to Ashton, and I�
��m sure we’re going to leave together, but after that, maybe, you know? Or is it bad? Would we just be doing it because of them?”
“Probably.” I sighed. “You know, I’m exhausted from thinking about it.”
“Wait, I’m being so forward here. It’s not fair.” She bent over and snagged her shirt from the floor, then slid back into it. “I like you, I really do, but I need to talk to Ashton, and you need to talk to Fran, and we need to get all of this behind us first.”
“Right, right.” I stood and shoved my hands in my pockets. I was tempted to cup her face with my palms and kiss her gently. But she was right. We both knew better. “You don’t follow a stomach ache with more of whatever caused it in the first place.”
“That’s why you’re the poet.”
“But after the air is clear, say, dinner? A concert?”
Her hands together in her lap. A grin I knew would turn to tears later. That’s just the way things worked anymore. But for now, happy and in control, she said, “I’d like that. Thank you. Call me.”
“I will.”
*
As she followed me up the steps and to the front door, our fingers mingling, but aware of the possible cameras, nearly curling around each other, then breaking away again, we talked about restaurants, where we might like to go on our “date”. I steered her away from the Jazz Club—bad memories. Then we hugged goodbye, I stepped out onto the front walkway, and the door closed behind me.
I had forgotten what I was supposed to tell her, my entire reason for coming, to ask her if she would be willing to testify on my behalf concerning the Provost and Frances. I started to turn for the door again when I caught a glimpse of a car on the curb across the street, about three houses down. It was a hybrid Camry, brand-spanking new. Of course it was easy to get a new hybrid every other year if you were this particular owner, who was leaning against it, arms crossed, looking square at me. He waved.
Our Provost, Carl Timmerman. A tall, strong, but uncomfortable-looking man, as if clothes had trouble fitting him. The women loved his manner, his beard, and his charm. I’d always found him off-putting, like he was barely listening to you, always roaming the room for better options. Which, I now realized, was exactly what he was doing.
Choke on Your Lies Page 11
