“Keep going, tramp. This is fun.” Octavia tucked her fists under her chin like she was riveted. “Tell us another whopper.”
“I didn’t do it!” Like a whirling dervish now, spinning to find me. She stepped over, leaned down, took my hands in hers. “It wasn’t me. It was Carl’s idea. He’s trying to drive you out. He wants me all to himself, and I was so afraid you’d find out about the tapes, so I let him.” Tears finally streaking her face now. Rancid. “I never meant to hurt you. I really didn’t. You know better.”
She was squeezing my fingers too tightly, rubbing the bones together. I yanked them away, shook blood back into them. “Please, Frances. Just sit down.”
“I swear, it was all Carl.”
The Provost started laughing. “Sure, like I wanted your fucking house. Really. She asked for it, and I was glad to let her have it. But, shit, I don’t care if you teach for us or not, Mick. Your call. If you don’t mind seeing the wife I stole from you every day for the next twenty years, fine. Some guys even get off on it. But I don’t give a flying monkey shit if you cry like a bitch in a house or in an apartment.”
Frances yelled at Carl, “Well, fuck you, it’s over, mister. And I want those goddamned tapes back.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Fine. Not like I don’t have plenty of copies.”
Our hostess cleared her throat. “Can we all please finish this in some sort of order? It’s getting a bit boring.”
We all turned to her. Frances eventually sat down, rigid as a lamppost. Carl had a smug smile on his face, a slow headshake to show us he was above all this petty crap. Pamela looked as if she’d stumbled into a soap opera, hanging on every word. And Stephanie leaned over to me and said, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Poor guy. I had no idea she was like…that.”
Frances sniffed, said, “Whore.”
“Takes one to know one.”
I was sure I heard the voice on the phone sigh or start to speak or something, only to change his or her mind. I wondered what that was all about, but Octavia plowed ahead.
“You admit the signature on the deed is a forgery.”
Frances couldn’t do it. The facts staring right in front of her and she couldn’t tell the truth. She crossed her legs, swung the top one hard and fast. “It is Mick’s signature.”
“Mr. Moose?”
He said, “Technically, sure. It’s his signature because I scanned it into a computer and asked around until I found someone with a robotic pen. Amazing how you can find anything on the Internet these days.”
“Including your next job,” Carl said.
“Like I’d want to work for your sorry ass anymore.”
“You sure wanted to when my wife was sucking your cock.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. And then Stephanie joined in. All these highly pissed off people looked at us like we were complete asses. We probably were, but it was just too funny.
Then Pamela and Jennings cracked smiles. Little bit of giggling. Even Frannie couldn’t hide her grin.
Octavia motioned towards Moose. “Go on.”
“Well, okay, so Carl wanted this signature, and it felt to me like just another way to threaten someone, you know. More blackmail. Like maybe the tapes weren’t enough. So I did it, as I always did, and I kept my mouth shut. Are you sure I shouldn’t have a lawyer here?”
“Too late, even if you wanted one. But rest assured, I don’t give a shit about the law right now. Since none of you seem to either, I’m sure we can work out a mutual solution.”
“Okay, I’ll start,” Carl said. He stood and faced us, putting on his “important speech” face, the douche. “Mick can have his house. No problem. Frannie, Mick, Moose, and Stephanie here should all turn in their resignations at the end of Fall semester. Once they do that, I will give them the original tapes, files, and any copies both photographic and video, of their club sessions. Except Mick, of course. He doesn’t get jack shit except the house.”
“That won’t do,” Octavia said. “You have to give them at least until the end of the Spring.”
“Fine, sure, I’m not a monster. They’re also barred from any of our club meetings, and must resign from any executive level committees.”
Frannie said, “Where am I going to go? How am I going to live?”
Carl licked his top lip, then said, “I don’t give a fart. Just not with me, you double-dealing whore.”
She sat way forward in her chair, her chin jutting. “That won’t do. I’ll ruin you.”
“Give it a shot. I’ve been doing this for years, baby.”
I was just about to feel bad for Frances—I’d never expected to put her on the streets—when Octavia perked up, “That reminds me, when you said baby just then—”
Oh shit. Instant heartburn. She didn’t have a reason to do it, but she was going to anyway. I already had my house and a slice of dignity back, plus an extra year of my job before having to find a new one. Which meant I’d still have to give up the house, but at least I’d get some of my money back out of it. Not the deal I‘d wanted, but not the worst either. No reason to humiliate her further. But it was too late.
Octavia: “—about this photograph. I don’t know how I came across it. I think it was mailed to me.” And she held up the photo of Frances leaving the abortion clinic. “Would you also tell Mick why you killed the baby?”
She went white. I thought she was going to die of a heart attack right there. Carl and Moose crowded around to get a better view of the pic, then Carl glanced back at Frances.
He said, “Shit.”
“Tell him, Frannie. We’re waiting.”
She hummed, hemmed, and hawed, twisting her fingers together in awful, horrid ways. Started to speak, then wrinkled her face, then again.
“Then I get to tell him, if you won’t. Don’t worry about it.” Octavia sat up straight, set the photo in the center of her desk. “Because it wasn’t Mick’s baby.”
Goddamned Octavia. Goddamn.
Now I was on my feet. “You told me it was!”
She shrugged. “I thought it was until just recently. She was trampling you in stilettos, and still you pined. So I had to keep it from you a little while.
Frances looked as if she was curling into a fetal position in the chair.
“Hey, it’s not…” Carl had to stop, take deep breaths. Wheezing like he’d climbed a mountain. “It wasn’t mine, was it? Oh god. I was certain it wasn’t mine. I never would have—”
“No no, not yours either. And before you ask…” She pointed at me. “Not the student, David, whatever his name is.”
My head was spinning. Faces popping into my mind’s eye. Me thinking, How many guys?
I tried to talk, took a minute to get enough saliva in my mouth. “Um…who was the father?”
With a pixie-style tilt of her head, cheek on her hand, her eyes aimed at Stephanie. “Your husband. Ashton.”
Frances sounded like she was gasping for air, hand to her chest. Stephanie’s eyes went wide. “No, that’s…no. Never. How could…I don’t…shut up!”
Carl looked drained. He braced his hand against the books on the shelf, but pushed them back, nearly fell.
Frances had recovered. “You lying cunt! You can’t get away with just saying any old shit you want. Unbelievable. It was Mick’s baby.”
“Frannie, please, you know it was ours.” The voice from the speaker on the phone. Ashton had been on the line the entire time.
NINETEEN
Stephanie yelped like she’d seen a ghost, legs up in her chair and clutching me like I was furniture. “No! No, Ash, baby, no! Tell me it’s not true.”
“I’m sorry, Stephanie. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to find out like this, but then Octavia told me about Mick, and I just…I’m tired of all this. Tired of the lies.”
Frances had dropped her face into her hands. Her shoulders heaved. Carl had recovered, but he faced the shelf, head against the books.
Octavia—the happiest I�
�d seen her in years.
Stephanie stood and staggered over to Octavia’s desk, stood right over the phone. “I thought we were done with this. That’s why we’re leaving. To escape.”
A loud sigh from the speaker. “We’re leaving because…listen, can’t we talk about this in private?”
“Well, fuck, Ash, I think we’re a little past that now, what with the news you got Frances pregnant, asshole.”
“Please, Steph, when I get home—”
“Why are we moving? Honestly.”
“We have to, okay? I fell in love with Frances, and it was all wrong. We know that. We’ve hurt people now, and then the baby…and Carl found out…and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t love Frances more than I do, but he wanted to win, goddamn it. You couldn’t just step aside, could you? You had to fucking win.”
Carl mashed his lips together. Not about to answer. His face bloomed red and purple.
“Carl confronted me. He said the only way to save my marriage, my career, was to insist that Frances get an abortion. After that, we had to call it off between us. There was no other way. Carl was threatening to release the tapes, mainly just the ones of me and Frances. I didn’t even know…he’d suspected. He followed us. God, I’m sorry. I’m the worst. I just made a mistake. I fell in love at a swinger’s party when I should have just fucked and ran.”
Stephanie was a steel rod at the desk. Tears streaked her cheeks but she did not break down. Frances was still curled up, staring at nothing, rocking back and forth. And Carl looked heart attack imminent.
Octavia waved her hand in Carl’s direction. “Do you have anything to say?”
I almost thought that would do it for him. A volcano on the brink. But he straightened himself out, cleared his throat, and said, “Deal’s off. You’re all going down. My attorney will be in touch shortly. Ashton?” He craned his head towards the phone. “Don’t ever let me see you again. You’ve just fucked yourself worse than sitting on your wife’s dildo.”
He weaved around the chairs and headed for the archway leading out into the main foyer. What could we do? I was thinking of how badly it had all gone. How instead of achieving the justice I thought I had deserved, Octavia and I had just ruined four other lives and careers, not to mention my own. I was halfway out of my chair, thinking I could go reason with Carl, when I heard the crash.
I turned in time to see silver coffee pot, silver tray, silverware, cups, sugar, cream and coffee splatting to the ground as Carl fell back, his clothes stained brown, yelping from the heat as he braced himself for the floor. His point of impact? Harriet, now standing with her hands over her mouth, stepping out of the way.
She recovered and said, “God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I was just bringing coffee. I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”
But she seemed to be fighting off the giggles, too. Sure, a well-timed accident. How convenient. Octavia must have guessed that someone would try to leave. After all, Jennings usually supplied the coffee. And Octavia usually asked for it first. Harriet wouldn’t dare just bring coffee in without being asked, right? Especially at such a tense moment.
It was Pamela who approached Carl, knelt beside him, and asked if he was all right. She shouted at Jennings, “Get the man a towel!” And within a few seconds it was there, like they’d made plans for that, too. Pamela helped pat the man dry, calm him down. The coffee would have, of course, been just warm enough to scare but not to scar.
Then once Pamela had Carl’s assurance that he was okay, and he was able to sit up and blot his shirt with the towel, she said, “I just wanted to tell you that, what you just said about all of us—and I assume you include me—but all of us quote “going down” unquote, that constitutes a serious transgression. And even if we were to overlook all of the sordid details of your sick little club, which unfortunately would probably still make a media splash even if it wasn’t the focus of the trial, rest assured that the fraud you perpetrated with Mr. Moose here concerning Mr. Thooft’s house is more than enough to bankrupt you with legal bills due to appeals and restitution. Not to mention jail time. So, maybe now that you’ve had a few moments to reconsider…”
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to feel good about how it all turned out. Looking around, I saw that Octavia had sidled up to Harriet and was whispering in her ear. Obviously about a job well-done. Alice peeked around from her chair next to the desk, smiling, enjoying her boss’s comeuppance. Mr. Moose looked relaxed for the first time all evening, and he called Jennings over, asked for a double of Scotch.
But Frances hadn’t moved from her place in the chair. She looked catatonic. Stephanie had finally picked up the receiver, and I could pick up a little of the invective she was spewing at her husband, letting him have it with not only both barrels, but with canons and whips and machetes, too.
I eased out of the chair and to the floor, hobbled on my knees over to Frannie’s chair, and took her hand. She blinked out of her coma and turned her head to me.
I said, “Just tell me. Did you love him? And would you have had that baby if Carl hadn’t made threats?”
She cast her eyes down. Couldn’t look at me.
“It’s okay.” I gave her a squeeze. “Really, I won’t be mad, no matter what you say.”
She swallowed hard, then said, “Yes. I really loved him. It just…happened, you know? You can’t control when and where it happens. And yes, we would’ve had the baby. I’m sorry you got hurt in all this, but believe me, Mick. I was hurt even more.”
I nodded. “Okay. That’s all I needed to hear.”
I stood and walked around the chairs. Pamela was still arguing with Carl, but he was putting his righteous anger back together and getting ready to leave again. Octavia was shouting insults from the wings, while her chef and butler stood in the archway like royal guards.
I waded in and said, “Hold on. Stop for a minute. I’ve got something to say.”
Octavia’s face in that moment, it was a sight. Grin became a flat line became a gaping worried hole. If she had her way, Harriet would’ve knocked me unconscious with the coffee tray right then.
I kept on, “Look, enough of this. Carl, we’re going to make a deal right now.”
Octavia stepped forward. “Leave it alone, Mick. We’ve got it under control.”
“No, nobody does. This is a train wreck.” Back to Carl. “Here’s the deal. Fran keeps the house. You pay it off, one lump sum, and it’s hers with no strings attached. Everyone keeps their jobs at the university. If they want to leave over this, fine, but they get as much time as they want, and a glowing letter of recommendation. As for Moose, you and he are on your own. I don’t give a shit. But no intimidation, no threats. Everything like it was before. You and your sex club…you know, if people want to do that, fine. But no more taping. That’s done.”
Stephanie had hung up the phone to watch. Even Frances was finally out of her chair, color coming back to her face.
Octavia stepped over to me, took my arms. Fingernails digging in. “Enough, okay? That’ll be enough for now.”
Carl pushed himself off the ground, stood only inches from my face. “Tell your cow to shut up, please.”
I turned to Octavia. “Shut up, please.”
She twisted her lips. I expected her hair to catch on fire.
I turned my attention back to Carl. He said, “That’s all well and good, but what do I get? If it’s a deal, I need something more than my ass being handed to me.”
“As long as Fran gets the house, free and clear, then I won’t go after the fraud charges. Also…” I had to take in a big breath. “I’m out. One year paid sabbatical, and then after that, I’m out. I’ll clean out my office this week, and will not set foot on campus again. In other words, you lose some big hands, but you still win the card game.”
Eye to eye. Both of us sizing the other up. It was a good offer. It saved everyone except me. But if you had to get tossed out of a university, it was better long and soft than fast and hard.
Carl sai
d, “You’ll want a rec letter, too?”
“Not from you. I’ll make do with my own acquaintances. But Frances is the one who needs to know that you’ll never bother her again. At the start of the year, she should be a full-professor with tenure. She should only teach a couple of classes each semester, and she should be left alone. If she wants to leave, if Steph and Ashton want to leave, fine. But you’d better act like you’re losing superstars.”
I hoped that was enough.
Octavia had retreated, arms crossed. I winced just thinking of what sort of lecture I would be getting after this.
Pamela said, “Gentlemen, if you’d like for me to write it up, I can lock it away. We’d be the only ones to ever know.”
“Okay. I can go with that.” I stuck out my hand.
For a good ten, fifteen seconds there, I thought it wasn’t going to fly. We’d all be in court slinging this horseshit, making the jury watch the tapes, revealing all of our secrets to the delight of Six O’Clock News fans. Really, I didn’t have the stomach for it, regardless of if Octavia did or not. No pun intended.
Carl looked down at his hand, streaked with sticky coffee, and finally reached over to shake mine. “Fine. Just…fine.”
Pamela said, “Then I’ll go type the details on my laptop and we can sign it right now.”
Octavia still appeared betrayed, angry, and somehow smaller. She clasped her fingers together and said to everyone, “Thank you so much for visiting my home tonight. But I believe it’s time for everyone to leave now.”
Carl waited out in the foyer while Pamela whipped out her laptop and got to work at Octavia’s desk, Frances made her way over and stood meekly in front of me.
I embraced her. She lifted her arms to my ribs, held them there gently.
She said, “I’m sorry for all of this, Mick. You didn’t deserve it.”
“That’s okay.”
“Where will you go? Are you going to be all right?”
Choke on Your Lies Page 17
