Choke on Your Lies

by Anthony Neil Smith

  Carl’s mouth twitched and he swallowed hard. Frances slid between us and pressed him away from me. “Sweetie, let’s eat and go, all right? No need to make threats or anything.”

  Poor guy looked confused, hurt, betrayed. Good, that made two of us. He said, “But they’re just going to make us look stupid.”

  Frances spoke low, so I barely heard it, but she told him, “Honey, they’ve already done that. So let’s not give them any more ammunition.”

  And he said, “What has this woman got on you?”

  She urged Carl towards the table as Octavia announced, “All right, let’s be seated and I’ll have Harriet bring the first course, just a little amuse-bouche.”

  We all sat. I thought it strange that Alice had kept quiet this whole time. She didn’t even change her expression. As I caught up to Stephanie and pulled out a chair for her, I noticed Octavia had taken Alice’s hand and led her to the head of the table where she sat at our host’s right hand. It was all funky. I hoped she hadn’t lobotomized the poor woman and turned her into a sex slave.

  Then again, Octavia had never needed to go to such extremes. The force of her personality was hypnosis enough.

  I tried to catch Jennings’s eye, then Alice’s, hoping one of them could at least wink or mouth It’s all good, but they wouldn’t even look at me—one too concerned with keeping an eye on Carl in case he went ballistic again, and the other too concerned with her silverware.

  Then I glanced at Stephanie, who seemed the most ill at ease. She had her napkin balled in her fist on her lap. I slid my hand on top of hers. She relaxed a little. Then it struck me: Ashton wasn’t here. How could Octavia make this work without Ashton?

  Our genius bald computer guy Mr. Moose sat across from me, still sipping at his bourbon. His cheeks were tight, and when he looked in Carl’s direction, I could tell there was a street brawl waiting to happen.

  Then our first course was served.

  *

  From the mahi-mahi ceviche amuse-bouche through the wonderful summer squash soup and fresh-baked French bread, and then through the hard-to-do-justice-with-words entrée of venison and sweet potato, Octavia found a way to turn on conversation by keeping one-hundred percent of our focus on the food. She spoke highly of Harriet, made sure to ask everyone at the table about some specific part of the meal and how it stacked up to meals from their past—grandma’s cooking, the finest restaurant experience we’ve ever had, their last meal requests.

  Not that it was easy. We all began in silence. Octavia spoke mainly to Alice, who answered very pleasantly, as if the two had always been friends.

  Octavia said, “I don’t know where she found them. Like it was just picked an hour ago. Almost makes me want to give her a garden out back.”

  “I had an aunt who was into gardening. I never believed her when she said fresh veggies tasted better, but I think I’m a convert—”

  And so on, the rest of us starting our own conversations, whispering along until Octavia would butt in to ask us how we liked the wine pairing.

  While Octavia had a friendly argument with Frances about farm-raised versus wild seafood, Moose leaned across and whispered, “Do you know what this is?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “I got a call from some lawyer telling me I should be here if I wanted to free myself from whatever the Provost had hanging over me. I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

  Sure, right. “Me neither.”

  “She call you?”

  “I know the host. I went to high school with her.”

  He flicked his attention to Stephanie. “How about you?”

  Said in a way that underscored that he already knew her. He’d seen her on the tapes, of course. Meaning Stephanie had never met Moose, but he’d watched her have sex on video. Only then did I remember she had no idea who he was. I was seeing the game board from a different angle. Our after-dinner talk wasn’t going to be pretty.

  Stephanie smiled. “I hope we find out soon.”

  I could almost read her thoughts: Oh god, I bet I had sex with him and can’t remember it at all.

  Moose shook his head, straightened in his chair. “I should’ve stayed home.”

  “But Mr. Moose,” Octavia said, and I realized she’d heard every word, even while speaking to Frances. “Then this burden you’ve been carrying would have remained as heavy as Mr. Marley’s ghostly chains, right? Don’t you think confession is good for the soul?”

  That got Carl going again. Seething. Rocking back and forth. “Come on, Fran, let’s go.”

  Moose stared at his plate.

  Octavia ignored Carl. “What I’m saying is, don’t you have something to say to Carl?”

  Just like that, as if it was a group therapy session. Carl actually rose from his chair, looked down the table at Moose, staring at his plate even more so.

  Carl said, “Not a word, Dan.”

  Moose took a deep breath. “Well, shit, Carl. Do you really think it’s so bad? It’s just a fucking sex tape. I think…yeah, I think I should just go home, tell my wife, and see what happens. Anything to stop throwing up every morning because I know I have to deal with you that day.”

  “Dan!”

  Moose stood. The guy looked tough. “What? You want to fight me? You release my tape, that means it’s as bad on Alice here, and Shellie, and Deb, and Toni, and their husbands as it is on me. What were you thinking? You thought forty-six different people could keep their mouths shut for the next twenty years?”

  “Enough!” Carl pushed back and his chair fell to the floor. A loud crack. Jennings had a full night of gluing ahead of him, we could tell. “Ridiculous. You tricked me into coming here, and it’s not fair.”

  Octavia laughed. “No, no, it’s totally fair. You can all have your say until I’m ready to have mine. But until then, please. You have the floor.”

  He reached over for Fran’s arm, tugged it. “Let’s go.”

  That got Octavia to her feet. She was almost as tall as Carl. With lungs full of air, she was imposing—a supervillainess. “You don’t go until I say you go. We’ve got a lot to talk about tonight. And either we do it now, or Pamela here starts filing motions for Mick before you even get out the front door.”

  We all looked at Pamela. She waved her Blackberry. “Oh yeah, it’s easy.”

  Carl said, “She’s better than my guys? You think so? Fuck, Mick, they’ve been waiting for this. Begging.”

  I shrugged. “Sorry, Carl.”

  Octavia stepped behind Carl and patted his shoulder while speaking very close and calmly in his ear. “Yes, Pamela is better than your guys because I’m better than your guys, and I have more money than you. Lots more. You know how tobacco companies squash all the lawsuits brought against them by throwing money at lawyers and paperwork? I’m a smaller scale version of that, and still one thousand times more powerful than you, your tiny cock, Mick’s itchy cunt of a wife, and any lawyer you throw in my path. We will win.”

  Carl had gone pale. Maybe he was allergic to the food, but I didn’t think so. I think she had gotten to him.

  Then she twisted the knife. “Maybe you didn’t catch it, but Frances is not going through all this because she loves you. She’s doing it to protect herself from you. Once the house belongs to her, that’s what she’s worth. Beholden to no man, not even one trying to blackmail her. Especially since we already know you’d never do it, not with what she’s got on you.”

  Carl cleared his throat. Eyes tired but unblinking, straight ahead.

  Stephanie leaned towards me. “This is fun, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Then why do I feel so bad for him?”

  “Octavia has a way of making justice feel creepy. She can’t help it.”

  “But you’ve really done it, right? This will all be over after tonight?”

  I laced my fingers in hers. “Absolutely.”

  Octavia resumed her place at the head of the table, still standing, and said, “Since some people
don’t know how to conduct themselves at dinner, I suggest we all make our way to the study for the remainder of the evening. Jennings, please pass along my apologies to Harriet. I don’t think we’ll be finishing the meal tonight.”

  He nodded and exited through the door into the kitchen. The rest of us stood and ambled down the familiar hall of horror until we were once again in the study, but this time there were more chairs awaiting us. Either Jennings or Harriet must have set them out, or maybe Octavia had hidden ghostly servants at her beck and call—condemned souls serving penance. Maybe there was a poem in that. I tried to think of opening lines as Stephanie leaned into me. I automatically put my arm around her, then thought better of it in front of Frances, who still held the power between us, as far as she knew. Knowing what I knew, it was still hard believing she didn’t have an inkling. A bloody, obscene ambush, only moments away.

  EIGHTEEN

  While everyone was settling in the chairs around Octavia’s desk, Stephanie led me away from the others. We stood near the back of the room where no one could hear us clearly.

  She said, “Mick, really, I’ve appreciated your friendship these past couple of days. And I won’t lie to you. I do feel something…intense between us. I like you. I want to spend more time with you.”

  “But?”

  She grinned shyly. “Yeah, there’s always a ‘but’. It’s not that I don’t love Ashton. I really do, but we lost something in all this. I’m not sure if we can get it back, but I would like to try. And being with you…that’s complicated. You feel that, right?”

  “I don’t mind complicated.”

  “Yes you do. That’s what all, all, this is about.” She held her arms out like presenting a prize on The Price is Right. “It’s all about things getting too complicated, and you’re falling apart. I’m not even sure you’re all that mad at Fran.”

  “Please, Steph.”

  “Just listen, okay? I’m going to stay married until we don’t feel it anymore. And you, you need some time alone to make sure this never happens to you again. I mean it in a good way. Fran’s fucked you up.”

  She was right. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but she was plenty right. I shrugged and raised my eyebrows at her.

  “Please don’t make this any harder.”

  I said, “Okay, that’s fine. I can respect that.”

  She ran her fingers up and down my arm. “Do more than respect it. Believe it, okay?”

  I didn’t get to answer because Jennings had arrived, asking if we’d like a drink. I was so amped at that point, my heart like a jackhammer, that I asked for a Vodka martini, the coldest thing I could think of. Stephanie said she was fine. Everyone else had taken seats, so we took ours off to the far left and waited. Octavia must’ve taken a short detour. Chatter, chatter, everyone chattering. But all I could think about was how at the end of this night, I was probably going home—to my house—alone, reviled, and avenged. Also, sad.

  The chatter subsided and I looked up to see Octavia’s grand entrance, old Hollywood glamour, as she first ran her hand along Alice’s back and shoulder before taking a seat behind the monstrous desk. I also noticed that the light for her speaker phone was on. I started to say something, as if perhaps she didn’t notice. I doubted that. She wanted someone outside of this house to hear what was going on. Nice back-up plan. Maybe. Depended on who was listening.

  Even the people in the room who had every reason to hate and fear her couldn’t help but give her their full attention. She had an authority earned by the same personality that had offended and bruised so many. All these years I had wondered at that, how she commanded attention despite our society’s disdain for her size and nastiness. The same nastiness afforded models and high-powered editors and movie starlets with barely a wink played as “skunky” when Octavia paraded it. As if it was perfectly allowable for the powerful and gorgeous to say, “You, obese woman, play nice if you even want our scraps.”

  That Octavia wouldn’t be the wealthy, powerful bitch she had turned into. No, that other Octavia would have been more miserable than this one, but no one would have given her a second glance. She wouldn’t have mattered.

  Seeing her like this—in charge and changing lives—made me want to applaud for her. Yes! Go get ’em! Show them your balls.

  I was only sobered by the thought that the life she was changing most of all, irrevocably and forcefully, was mine.

  Octavia took a slow, sweeping look at all her guests, obviously soaking up all of the attention, before saying, “Now. Business. Are we all clear as to why we are here?”

  Everyone of us glanced at other faces, waiting for someone to ask. Wishing someone would. It was Dan Moose who finally said, “I’m pretty fucking confused.”

  Octavia motioned at Frances. “Are you acquainted with Mrs. Thooft?”

  Frances started to correct her, a sharp breath and raised fingers, since she’d never taken my name, but then thought better of it. Hand back to her lap, where the other hand picked viciously at her cuticles.

  Moose shrugged. “Not…exactly. I’ve seen her. On film.”

  Frannie’s ears went red. Neck tight. She slid away from the Provost, as far as possible in her chair, but there wasn’t anywhere to go. Yes, she hadn’t exactly had it confirmed in such an obvious way, I supposed, that her extra-curriculars had been as exposed as any others. Maybe an inkling, but she had repressed that. But now, in public, in front of Octavia, for god’s sake.

  “Mr. Moose, if you don’t mind, how did you see her on film exactly?”

  He shifted, looked down. “I cataloged and digitized the tapes of Carl’s swinger parties.”

  “And how much did he pay you for this service?”

  “Well…” Another shift, finally got the nerve to look at Octavia. “I was already in computer services at the college, so he said there was a, um, special assignment. I mean, we’d talked on and off, and somehow got to talking about porn sites. He gave me a few tips. He asked about, you know, making sure his wife didn’t find out. So when he brought me into this—”

  “Brought you in?” Carl laughed. “You jumped in, pal.”

  “Oh, right, like you didn’t set it all up. I mean, the first tape you showed me was your wife, for fuck’s sake. Asked if I’d like a piece—”

  “Hey!” Finger pointed. “I will fuck you up if you say—”

  Octavia slammed her hands on her desk. “Gentlemen! My rules!”

  And it worked.

  She nodded to Moose. “Go on.”

  The man was still glaring at Carl and breathing heavily through his nose. “Originally, it was about fifty bucks per tape. Then I got invited over…and I fucked his wife, other wives, her—” A nod at Alice. “And…I never got around to the one on the end there.” He pointed at Stephanie.

  I just then noticed Stephanie’s hand gripping my forearm, as it had the whole time Moose had been talking. She released me when he got to the end, then whispered, “Thank god.”

  Carl was shaking his head and rolling his eyes and trying to talk to Frances, saying, “Do you believe this shit?” and “Lies, fucking lies.” But Frances stared at her lap.

  Octavia intertwined her fingers and cleared her throat. “Carl, do you mind if I call you Carl? Anyway, Carl, remember that this is not a courtroom. If it were, you’d be on the national news because my lawyer would be dissecting your organs right now. None of this is about convincing a jury or covering your ass. It’s about what we all know, and how we’re going to deal with it.”

  A negotiation? Really? Why go through the charade of having all these people over if it came down to just making a deal for my house? Octavia was playing at something else now. How could she save my house and still destroy the man…and my ex, of course, which had been her real target until she met Carl. But something about his anger and dismissal of all this had changed Octavia’s focus. I wanted to get up and take five, tell her to remember the plan.

  But no, I couldn’t do that. This was now clearly mor
e about her entertainment than my well-being. Alas, my lot in life the moment I allowed her in.

  Carl picked at a thread on his slacks. “Fine, you’ve got me. What do you want? It’s that simple? What’s at stake for me here?”

  Octavia smiled, then turned her attention back to Moose. “Tell me about forging the quitclaim deed for Mr. Thooft’s house.”

  Frances let out a surprised breath, then stared Octavia down with narrow eyes. “You bitch. You fat, fucking, nasty bitch.”

  Carl reached for Frannie’s arm. “Honey, please. If that’s all this is, he can keep the house. We’ll be fine.”

  She pulled away and stood, turned to face him. Not just pissed, but broken. “Really? You’re saying I should live with you? After all of this…this bullshit? I should just live with you? I’m not going to continue to be your video fantasy doll, Carl. We’re done.” Then to Octavia. “How dare you accuse me of that! I’m sure it was your idea, too, and not Mick’s. Mick trusts me. He knows he signed that deed. He knows.”

  Moose and I both started to speak at the same time, then did the You first, No I insist number, before I said. “I didn’t sign that.”

  Frannie shook her head like she was disappointed in me. “Oh, Mick, you don’t know what to believe after she’s gotten hold of you.”

  Moose said, “But he’s right. And you know it.”

  Silence. She stood, all of us staring at her while she stared at the back wall.

  Octavia asked Moose, “Tel me about it. What exactly happened?”

  “Carl brought me the signature, brought me the deed, and told me it was for Frannie. Said her husband was cheating on her, drinking too much, beating her up—”

  I couldn’t help it. “That’s a lie!”

  “No, I see that now. You couldn’t beat up a child, let alone Frannie. I’ve seen how rough she can get.”

  Frances was turning red. Her face was downright scary. “You’re all lying. It’s not fair! You, you want to take me down.” Stabbing her finger at Octavia. “Always been jealous! And now that I’ve broken your poor Mick’s heart, you get him all to yourself for whatever sick jollies you get out of it, and that isn’t enough!”