Choke on Your Lies

by Anthony Neil Smith

  “I quit my fucking job for you. I gave up a chance to climb the ladder because you said this would be even better. Well, I haven’t worked in two fucking days, and my bills are late, and now it sounds like you’re flat broke, plus a liar, plus a pot dealer. Fuck you, you fat bitch.”

  Octavia stood her ground right outside the front door, Jennings and me behind her. I’m just glad Harriet wasn’t mad at us, too.

  “Not to mention you’re going to bring some murderer into my apartment. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  I raised my hand. “I didn’t do it.”

  Octavia reached back and slapped me. Then turned back to Harriet. “I grow marijuana because I enjoy it. I’ve never sold any. All of my business interactions may have been tough and pressing the envelope, but I never stepped over the line. And I’ve still got plenty enough money to pay you. I guess you can always go back on the line if you don’t believe—”

  “Just get in here.” She turned from the door, lips twisted, shaking her head.

  We stepped inside and the cumin smell blended with more wonderful spiciness. I said, “Curry?”

  “Well, I’ve got to do something. You guys eat, and then give me whatever cash you’ve got in your pockets.”

  Jennings was last inside and closed the door. We all stood around the entryway to Harriet’s place, a too-small apartment crammed with too-cool thrift store furniture and CD’s, posters from foreign movies, old French New Wave, although most were Hong Kong chop-sockey things. She had a couch and a futon in the same room, the futon in couch-mode, but obviously her usual place to sleep, as evidenced by the sheets and pillows. She had a TV and stereo, but no DVD player, no VCR, no movies. So I guessed she didn’t care so much about the movies in the poster as she did the posters themselves. A breakfast bar, a small kitchen, and a short hallway to the one bedroom and bath. It had an eighties feel to it, which probably meant it was still expensive, considering it was so close to downtown, but still reasonable if your whole point was to be within walking distance to the clubs and Eat Street diners.

  “Nice place,” I said.

  Harriet said, “Ugh.” Really, she did. Then, “So you kill your wife and lover, and now you sneer at my apartment?”

  “Hey!”

  Octavia said, “Calm down, both of you. Harriet, you know good and damned well he didn’t kill anyone or you wouldn’t have let us come over. Second, this place looks like a grad student’s wet dream. It’s not as cool as you think, and that’s why none of your dates stay the night.”

  “Only reason yours do is because they pass out from being doped up. How do you know if they reach orgasm or not when their eyes roll back and they’re drooling?”

  Octavia sniffed. “Not about them, is it? Would you offer us something to drink already?”

  “Fine.” She looked at us. “Come on, what do you want?”

  Jennings said, “Beer. Whatever’s your favorite. I don’t care.” With a smile.

  I said, “What sort of wine do you—”

  She rolled her eyes.

  I said, “Red. Anything red.”

  “Nope.”

  “Beer.”

  Octavia said, “Water. With ice.”

  While Harriet stomped off to fill our order, Octavia’s proud height shrank, her shoulder low, and she said, “I need to sit down.”

  Jennings must’ve known this wasn’t normal. He went to her and held her, guided her to the futon. Octavia eased herself down right in the middle, her bulk filling seventy percent of the available space. Then her face was…wet. I didn’t even realize she was crying, but there it was. Her chest was heaving.

  “I…I…can’t. I can’t breathe.”

  Jennings sat beside her, a little cramped, and rubbed his palm across her back. “You’re upset. Let’s relax. Let’s take in smooth breaths.”

  That caused her to break down more. I stayed back while Jennings whispered to her. Octavia was sobbing uncontrollably. Harriet appeared in the kitchen doorway, glass of ice water in her hand. She’d lost the chip on her shoulder, genuinely concerned now. Her toes were curled tightly.

  Octavia lifted her head and said, “What…what did I do? I earned that money! I fought for it! But, my house? They take my house? I never hurt anybody with pot! It didn’t hurt one goddamned person! Who would do this to me?”

  Despite all the scorn and insults she heaped on everyone around her, and despite her disgusting habits, questionable dating ethics, and general self-centered disregard for anyone else’s beliefs, passions, or opinions, Octavia was still my friend and I didn’t think she deserved it, either.

  I looked back at Harriet, who caught my eye, nodded towards the kitchen. I followed her in while Jennings worked it out with Octavia. The kitchen was very small and stuffed full of books, bowls, pans, and knives. Too small for a line cook, seemed to me. But it looked as if she’d been here several years, piling up knowledge and grease. She gave the curry a few stirs, then turned and propped herself against the counter, one foot braced on the lower cabinet. A very worried young woman. I’d had experience with plenty of those as a professor. I felt very ashamed.

  I said, “I’m going to assume you didn’t turn her in, or me.”

  Humph. “I’ve been at the job a week and a half! It’s cool. I get to buy whatever I want, cook almost anything that comes to mind, and I’m making bank. Jesus, Mick, and all that shit last week? I felt like I was on TV, it was so fucking balls.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I tell people at Bar La Grassa about this job, they get so jealous. And they’re the hot spot. Same with Barrio. I don’t care how much of a bitch she is, I owe that woman a lot.”

  I nodded. She teethed her bottom lip.

  “How’d you hear about us? Are we on the news?”

  She said, “Jennings laid out some. But then it was on the radio, about how this big time activist—they call her an activist—got caught selling pot. I know better, but still, fuck, I didn’t know about that. Was she ever going to tell me?”

  “You would’ve figured it out eventually. I’ve known ever since she had her first apartment. She found some leftover seeds her boyfriend singer left, and decided to give it a go.”

  Harriet grinned. “That rocks.”

  I shrugged. “Not today, it doesn’t.”

  “Is she guilty? I mean, all the fraud stuff. Would she actually do that sort of thing?”

  Did I want to say Yes? If you spend enough time around Octavia, you might think she’s really evil, or at least possessed by some sort of demon that makes her gaze feel like artillery shells falling on you. That’s just because we’re all creatures of feelings, and it takes brushing past those emotional nerve-endings and accepting pure, unvarnished truth.

  “She’d never do that, because she always wants to be right. I mean, she’s playing against the big boys. They play rough, they’ve got good lawyers, and she needs to win cleanly. I’d guess most of the claims are because she’s brilliant and makes good guesses. She thinks everything through—the companies she targets, the stocks and real estate she invests in. She’ll put up a good fight against this, too, but the problem is that it’s coming all at once. Even though each and every claim will be dismissed, she ends up in a tsunami.”

  “Like, she can only handle one opponent at a time, and while she does that, her resources are frozen and all of her money and ties—”

  “Are exposed like an autopsy, yeah. If we knew who was coordinating this, maybe we could short circuit the whole game.”

  A moan rose up in Harriet’s throat and worked its way out her mouth as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I just want to keep my fucking job. Bouncing around from kitchen to kitchen just gets old.”

  I was going to tell her how much I wanted her to keep it, too. The bad professor in me said I should step closer to her while I did. Rub a hand on her shoulder. Speak softly. I wish it was easier to resist.

  I had barely moved towards her when Jennings stepped in the doorway a
nd cleared his throat. We both stopped, looked. He could tell.

  “Mick, she wants you. Go talk to her.”

  “Me?”

  “She asked for you and you alone.”

  My stomach fluttered. Harriet’s eyes widened, and then she turned back to her curry. Jennings picked up one of the unopened beers on the counter and asked for a church key. Then to me, “I’m staying right here. Do what you can.”

  Flutter, flutter, flutter. The same feeling I always got before boarding an airplane, on the first day of classes, in the moments following the revelation that Frances had an abortion, and then again later when I learned it wasn’t my child. Flutter, flutter, flutter. Being needed by your best friend shouldn’t feel that way. It should feel…glorious. It should feel natural.

  Instead, I felt like I might let my bowels loose right there in Harriet’s kitchen. I clenched my guts. “I don’t know if I can.”

  From the living room, a shout of “Mick!”

  Jennings stood aside, held his bottle in both hands, together front and center. Like at a funeral. I stepped past him and thought I heard church bells toll.

  TEN

  Octavia looked up at me as I stepped into the room. Cheeks bloomed from crying, eyes cloudy. I grinned as I moved towards the couch. Unlike Jennings, I decided to avoid the discomfort of sitting beside her and instead lowered myself to the floor in front of her, crosslegged.

  Why oh why was it so hard to talk to my supposed best friend? Because in the past, it was she who did the talking. It was she who shot down whatever puny concerns I might have had with reason and a shield of indifference. She could simultaneously make me feel better (as in “Shit, this is nothing. It’ll pass.”), and worse (“Tuck your junk and embrace the teenage girl inside you, wuss.”) about my ridiculous concerns. I was too focused on the small stuff to see the wider picture. So then how could I return the favor when all I could offer would probably be beneath her? If she hadn’t thought of the answer already, what ripping insights could I add to the mix?

  She smiled at me. She reached down her hand, brushed my cheek.

  “Mick. Dear sweet Mick. I am so fucking screwed.”

  I squeezed my eyes tight. If she’d given up, that was that. I opened my eyes again and said, “No, no, don’t let them get to you. We can beat this.”

  “It doesn’t matter. The one who’s after me knows that I’m a goner. Even if I fight back one bit at a time, they’ve dropped a bomb on me. But you, we can still save you.”

  I took her hand off my face, held it in her lap. “Come on, Octavia. What’s going on? Why can‘t we do both?”

  A quick glance at the kitchen door. We heard Jennings and Harriet in conversation, so Octavia went on, “I’m fat, Mick. Terribly fat. And I don’t like it, but it’s who I am now. I do the best I can. I hate everyone who has ever looked at me sideways because of my weight, so why should I wreck myself trying to get thin just to prove them right? I’m saying I’m afraid to go through what it takes to lose weight because in the end, all those people…they still win. They’ll know I suffered to please them, to please myself but only because of the nasty things they’d said. It’s fucking madness.”

  “Okay.” It was all I had. “Okay.”

  “Cunts, Mick. Cunts. They knew exactly where to stab me.” She took a long pause, sat a bit higher. “It’s the house. I mean, the money of course, without which there would be no house, but the house is where I get to do whatever the hell I want to. It’s where I keep the things that are most precious to me. It where I can love whatever and whoever I love without anyone sneering, and if they dare do that in my house, I can rip them to shreds. You take away my house and my money then all you have is a very angry fat bitch.”

  Then the tears, rolling off her cheeks and into our hands. She held herself well, no loud sobs. A river of sadness. I didn’t now how to respond. She’d said exactly what all of us had been thinking for years. Take away the fortress and what’s there? There was Octavia—exposed like a raw nerve.

  I said, “But you can always buy another home. A smaller one, but still a place for you. You can invest what’s left wisely, safely. You can go back to work. I’m willing to bet that even with this against you, there are plenty of people who would really value your consultation. And call me crazy, but I don’t think Jennings and Harriet would abandon you so easily. Maybe they wouldn’t work for you, but they’d still be your friends. Like me. I’m here to help you win.”

  She laughed some at that, as if finding an Easter egg of joy in a field of ash and thorns. She took her hand back and wiped away the tears, her whole face glistening. Yes, I could see how middle-class life might help take Octavia down a notch or two and find more happiness with neighbors and friends than with intimidated employees and business opponents.

  But then she said, “Mick, you dumbass. I clip those two loose, and they’ll forget they ever knew me. Get a grip. I’m ruined. That wasn’t the point. I’m saying that we need to save you. You’re more important than me right now.”

  I pushed myself off the floor and paced in front of her, touched by the thought but unable to comprehend her willingness to just give up. “No, no, no. It’s far from over! We can figure out who did this to us? If we can prove a connection—”

  “You still on that? Give it a rest. There’s no connection.”

  “Seriously, Octavia, think about it. The same morning? The same house? This took planning. Coordination. There has to be some sort of record. Some clue.”

  She slapped her cane in front of my shins, stopped my pacing. “You’re not listening. It was a coincidence. I know who did me in.”

  Well, that certainly dropped my jaw. “Who?”

  She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “The fuck do you mean? Of course it matters!” I stepped over and took her by the shoulders. “All this time…how long have you known?”

  “The moment they came for the house, it all made sense. I can’t think of a way to get a confession. It won’t matter. The SEC will still investigate, and the police will still try me for the marijuana. No, Mick, you’re more important right now. We can’t have you going to jail for something you didn’t do. So that’s where our resources make the most difference.”

  “But if you know how they got to you, then it shouldn’t take much more—”

  “Mick, you’re not listening! I don’t know what happened to Fran and Stephanie. But it has nothing to do with what happened to me. Not a thing.”

  I let go, stepped back. Our voices had attracted Jennings and Harriet, now watching from the kitchen door. I swept my arm towards them. “We haven’t given up on you. I won’t accept your money. I’ll pay for my own lawyer. Anything to help get you out of this mess.”

  Her eyebrows grew angled, tight beneath her wrinkled forehead, and she let loose in a shout. “Do you know what will happen to you in prison? Do you want to be a toothless fuckdoll? Do you want to be a Petri dish? After all we did to get that whore cut loose from you, I’m not letting her get the last laugh. We need to spend whatever it takes, and Pamela needs to focus on making sure you don’t take the fall for this.”

  I was stunned. She was sacrificing her gilded life for me? She had a chance to finger the one who’d attacked her, but she was taking a step back?

  I started crying, too.

  Jennings and Harriet must’ve been listening to that last part, because they came in from the kitchen, Harriet wrapping her arms around me while Jennings patted my shoulder. I felt relief. I felt…loved.

  Octavia said, “Is that curry ready yet?”

  *

  Harriet served us bowls of lamb curry and rice and garlic nan with herbal tea. Octavia had mentioned that perhaps Harriet should experiment with more lamb dishes, and we are glad she did. It was a wonderful sensory experience. We all sat where we could find a place in the living room, quiet as we ate except for Octavia to gush about how much she loved Harriet’s curry. Harriet shrugged, said she’d been practicing in cas
e she could get on the line at OM downtown.

  But my mind chewed on the previous outburst from Octavia. About Fran.

  After all we did to get that whore cut loose from you, I’m not letting her get the last laugh.

  I said, “You think Frannie is involved?”

  “You’re leaking, dear.” Octavia dabbed at the side of her mouth.

  I wiped away the dribble of curry and said, “Why would you say I’m not letting her get the last laugh?”

  “Well, if she’s dead, you know.”

  Harriet gasped. “That’s awful! She was a raging cunt, sure, but we’ve all made mistakes.”

  “Especially Mick, when he married her.”

  “All because she called you fat?”

  Octavia set her bowl aside. “No, but because that’s all she saw when she looked at me. The love of her life here would tell Fran, Octavia’s a good friend or We’ve been close for years. But none of that mattered when she looked at me. Just fat. And that sort of shallowness had hooked a man I truly cared about more than I’d ever realized. Instead of defending me or making that bitch see there was more to me, he tried to justify her behavior. That was nearly unforgivable.” She wagged a finger at me. “Be glad I’m looking out for you next time.”

  “No, there’s something else. You think she killed Stephanie.”

  That stopped everyone’s eating.

  Octavia’s calm demeanor didn’t break. “I can’t prove anything.”

  “But you think it. Why? It doesn’t make any sense?”

  She leaned back into the cushions and linked her fingers across her stomach. “Now’s not a good time.”

  I stood. Balled my fists, flexing in and out, in and out. “You believe my ex-wife killed my girlfriend, and you weren’t going to tell me? How can you do that? What do you know that I don’t know?”

  That drew a sad grin from her that quickly disappeared. “So much, Mick. So much more than you.”