by Kasia Fox
“Sure. Of course.” Cal clapped a hand on the man’s back and thanked him.
Nisai started to walk out the front but stopped abruptly and turned around. “Actually, wait.”
“What?”
“She mentioned she was from North Dakota.”
Cal nodded, offering the guard no visible reaction to the news. “Well, that’s that I guess. Thanks for your time.”
Nisai left, probably regretting whatever life choices had led him from being an elite special forces officer in the Israeli military to hassling joggers in a sleepy gated community in Nevada. Cal went to his personal office down the hall. Its walls were hung with championship belts from his too-short boxing career and articles of magazine covers he’d been on and a less-than-flattering profile in the New York Times that his publicist, Sasha, had assured him was great for business. Sasha had been the one to frame everything.
No actual work was ever accomplished in this office, though Cal had been photographed here and took the occasional meeting if the situation demanded a more personal approach. Executives from certain cultures responded to being invited into your own home. American Prizefighter was constantly trying to break into new markets. For the past five years it felt like Cal had been on a plane to some destination he’d never thought he’d see. Most of the time he’d rather be home.
Opening a browser window on the massive monitor of his desktop computer, he searched the words Tessa Paul North Dakota.
A couple of neglected social media pages popped up. Tessa Paul was no influencer. The first photo he saw was of her and a handsome man, dark-skinned with swept back black hair, sitting together in at a library table. The photo was tagged Minot State University. Studying for our last final means last round of penny hockey ever!!! the caption read. He clicked through and discovered the man was in half of her photos. But by the time he got to the photo of the two of them honoring pride month, Cal relaxed. The dude was gay. Good.
After scrolling through her pictures, he found an article on the Minot State University webpage: MSU Student Highlight of the Week: Tessa Paul. Cal clicked on the link. The screen filled with an image of Tessa, her hair swept up carelessly in a ponytail, her smile wide and genuine, one backpack strap slung over her shoulder.
The Communication Disorders graduate program at Minot State University attracts students from all over America and Canada, yet one of its students is a home-town girl. Tessa Paul (BS, Communication Disorders, 2019) grew up in southeast Minot with her mother and grandfather. In fact, it was Paul’s grandfather who set her course when it came time to choose her college major.
“My granddad is a very kind man, and very quiet,” says Paul. “For years, I assumed he rarely spoke because he was shy. Of course, as I got older I realized he’d suffered from a childhood stutter that still affected him for the rest of this life. Around the time I graduated from high school, he was diagnosed with dementia. These days he recognizes me very rarely. I feel robbed of all the conversations I could’ve had with him, if only someone had helped him sooner. He didn’t deserve to feel that shame. I want to help people like him.”
Outside of class, you might find this busy student working the till at The Medicine Shoppe downtown or running on the Riverwalk or the Bison Plant Trail. Good luck in your studies, Tessa!
“Good way to get someone stalked and murdered,” Cal muttered, clicking back to his search.
Next, there was an obituary for a woman name Lily Lenore Paul of Minot, North Dakota, published in December. Cal skimmed the words. Predeceased by a mother. Survived by father Elmore and daughter, Tessa. Volunteer at Lord’s Cupboard Food Pantry, active in the Catholic Women’s League, lay minister at church, annual Relay for Life organizer. In lieu of flowers, donations to the Little Flower church. No mention of a husband. Hard to imagine this prematurely gray do-gooder ever paired with an overachieving sinner like Ron Doucette.
“Who’s that?”
Cal hadn’t heard Morgan come in the room. She had dressed and styled her hair. Fortunately, she’d been in the shower when Tessa had come into the yard, and Cal was relieved not to have to explain the incident to her.
“…One of my friends’ moms,” he said.
“Poor Callum.” She pulled his desk chair out so she could climb on his lap.
“It’s not – We weren’t close. I’m fine,” he said.
Morgan rested her head on his shoulder. “Still. You should’ve said something last night. I sense something was off. I can read you so well.”
Last night. He should’ve dropped her off at home. Last night he thought he’d banished Tessa from his mind, dismissed her as a conniver like her dad. But the girl had been there whole time. Tessa. Each time they met, he managed to dump gasoline on the already hot blaze of pride burning inside her. The last time he saw her, her eyes had flashed with anger and her words cut him to size. Despite her flinty looks and words, he knew she felt the heat kindling between them. The two of them coming together would create combustion. Cal imagined Tessa in his bed. Handfuls of her dark hair in his hands. Her pale nails making tracks across his back. He’d let her break his flesh with her teeth.
“You’ve gotta go.” Cal’s voice was firm, certain.
“What?” Still on his lap, Morgan studied his face, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry. Did I say something or…?”
“Don’t be sorry. You did nothing wrong.” Why was she still on his lap?
“I did though. I must have.”
“It’s just not going to work out with us. You’re a great girl, it’s just…”
When Morgan realized he was serious, she stood and stared at him, too shocked to speak. Her mouth was open, her eyes scanning his face, her body rigid. This was the very moment he dreaded in any break up. What was about to happen? Tears? Hysterics? Cold anger? Silence? Laughter?
“…it’s just not you,” Cal finished. “I’m sorry.”
“Please.” Her voice was desperate. Begging. She was going with begging.
“You’re a great girl and I don’t want to waste your time.”
“Is there someone else? That girl, the one in the backyard earlier…”
Tessa.
“That was someone trying to climb the fence. Nisai stopped her.”
Was Tessa thinking about him, he wondered. If not him, then who? A man back in North Dakota? A farmer, a cowboy, a forester. Some guy who could chop her a cord of wood and rope her a steer and lay her down in a field of wheat where in every direction you looked it was a sea of gold sewn and owned by him.
Morgan waited, chewing her lip. All the cheer she’d had when she walked in the room had been replaced with grief and confusion. Cal felt awful. But this was his life. If a woman he’d been dating for a month didn’t possess him as wholly as a woman he’d known all of twenty minutes, he knew this was the right decision.
“Whatever is bothering you, I think we can get over it. We have fun together,” she said.
“For me, it’s not just about fun.”
“Not just fun! That’s not what I meant. Can you tell me ways our relationship could’ve been stronger in your mind?”
The interaction had taken on the vibe of an exit interview with a terminated employee.
With as much compassion as he had, Cal said, “Something is missing here. You can honestly tell me that you don’t feel it?”
“No. I disagree. You’ll regret this. You’ll see that I care about you for who you are.”
Cal pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. There’s nothing else to say.” He said the second part with such finality, the pain and fear in her face shifted to anger. He braced himself for a rant. Instead, Morgan drew in a breath and proceeded to speak in a calm, icy tone.
“Fine. You want to cancel us with no explanation? Fine. But there is the matter of the event tonight.”
Cal had forgotten. The club where Morgan cocktailed was hosting a fundraiser for a new children’s hospital in the city. When they’d first started ta
lking, when their relationship consisted of nothing but flirty texts and possibility, Cal had promised to attend.
“You absolutely cannot cancel. It would be so embarrassing for me if you don’t show up. You’re a big get. It would hurt donations and look bad for the charity if people came specifically to see you.”
He sighed. Severance. She was asking for a severance package.
“Put us aside for tonight,” Morgan went on. “Come to the club. Stay for thirty minutes, get your picture taken and leave. Please. Just come. And then you can be done with me.” Her voice choked a little at the end.
Cal was a man who prided himself on honoring his word. He told Morgan he would be there. He walked her to the door. The sooner she left, the sooner he cold brood over Tessa without feeling like such a prick.
✽✽✽
The nun wanted young people to be afraid of sex. Sister Edith talked of petting and heavy petting. “You don’t go out to the garage, fire up your car, rev the engine for an hour and then turn off the ignition,” she warned a room full of fifteen year olds. No one talks about sex more than devout Christians.
“I thank God I was raised Catholic, so sex will always be dirty.” I read that quote in a magazine. A sleazy movie maker said it. As a good Catholic – that is how, above all else I thought of myself over the years – the movie director’s quote made me angry, which of course meant it was true.
Do you want to know why I continued to see my dark parishioner despite my father’s opinion? Despite the concerned looks from the ladies at church? Everyone thought I was the only person who didn’t see the shadows in him. I confess, I wasn’t as naïve as I played. It was the thrill of the unknown. The promise of a more exciting life. But more than that, it was sex. I can admit that now. Oh, my dark parishioner, save me from a life with the man who leads the church choir, wearing his belted khakis and strumming his acoustic guitar with dry fingertips.
The entirety of our brief union, I’m not sure I ever said the word sex. Imagine an act so dirty you cannot even speak its name, yet evidence of it is all around you, is at the core of the most pious person you know. When Sister Edith talked about petting and heavy petting I pictured a red convertible. When he touched me, my dark parishioner took the wheel. He drove us out of the garage and straight off a cliff. For a full minute we were flying.
14.
The blue sky and fluffy clouds painted on the casino shopping center ceiling were meant to make tourists feel like they were strolling through ancient Greece on a breezy summer day. Tessa and Berkley sat at a patio table outside the restaurant surrounded by luxury stores. Shoppers swarmed by. The beautiful and fabulously wealthy. The elderly zipping by on their scooters. Middle-aged and dressed in matching motorcycle jackets. Bachelorette party girls dressed in minis and wearing sashes.
“I can’t get enough of the people watching here,” Tessa said as Berkley handed the wine menu to a waiter in a long black apron. “Las Vegas has everybody.”
“Mm,” Berkley said, not bothering to mask her boredom. For the past two hours, they’d driven up and down the Strip. At first she’d been fun and enthusiastic, pointing out various sights. An hour in, Berkley was bent over her phone, scrolling through pictures and texting. After they’d stood in line to have their photograph taken by Skinner in front of the Welcome to Las Vegas sign, Tessa asked what Berkley wanted for her first yes-day choice. Her pick was shopping and lunch at the Forum Shops of Caesars Palace.
The waiter reappeared with a bottle of white wine. The cork squeaked as the waiter worked it out of the bottle. Berkley tasted the wine and nodded, visibly relaxing. Tessa watched the man fill their glasses. Never once had she ordered an entire bottle of wine at dinner before.
“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be finishing this,” Tessa said nodding to the bottle. “I’m not normally a day drinker.”
“I believe in you, girl.” Berkley winked and clinked her glass to Tessa’s.
The wine was very cold and a little tart.
Berkley sighed. “I feel better already.”
Tessa nodded. “So what are you shopping for here?”
“Whatever I find. But mostly for you.”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“You’re in Vegas. You just graduated college. Throw the jeans and t-shirts on the Goodwill pile. Who do you want to be?”
Tessa didn’t want to admit how much she’d been thinking about that herself. “I guess,” she began, “I don’t want to be in a city and have someone see me and think I’m from the sticks. And I want to look less like a little girl and more like, I don’t know, a woman.” Her cheeks got hot.
“Atta girl! You aren’t young forever. You should have a few sexy outfits.”
Tessa hadn’t said anything about sexy.
The waiter returned to take their order. Berkley asked for a tuna tataki salad and Tessa ordered a club sandwich with fries.
“No, she’s not having that,” Berkley interjected. “Get her the country vegetable salad.”
“Actually, I’m starving. I’ll have a club sandwich. I haven’t had a full meal since I left North Dakota.”
“We’re going to try on clothes. You can’t be bloated. We’ll eat a big dinner with Ronnie later. Steak. Cheesecake for dessert. Eat to your heart’s desire.”
“I guess the salad then.” Tessa closed her menu and moped.
“You’ll be surprised at how hearty it is. Country vegetables.”
An hour-and-a-half, one appetizer-sized salad and two glasses of wine later, Tessa was drunk and still hungry. They left the restaurant arm in arm and strolled under the faux sky, smelling the fake casino air freshener, and listening to the rush of indoor fountains and chatter of other shoppers. Abruptly, Berkley yanked her into a designer store.
The walls of the store were patent white and its clothing was bright and beautiful. As they strolled about, a saleslady wearing a sleeveless cream top with matching wide-legged pants gathered each item Berkley pointed at and took it to a fitting room. Tessa imagined what the hems of those off-white pants would look like after taking one step outside in North Dakota this time of year. Tessa ran her hands down the slippery garnet silk of blouse hanging on a nearby rack.
“No,” Berkley said. “Save the pussy bows for Princess Kate. You’re sexy and you’re going out with me tonight. You need a dress. Something like –” she surveyed the store – “that!”
The dress she pointed to was a pale pink slip dress. Its straps were thin and delicately beaded to shimmer in the light. Berkley plucked it from the wall. Its back plunged almost to the waist. “As part of my yes day, I’m asking you to try this on.”
The saleswoman took the dress to the dressing room. Tessa followed, closing the heavy fabric drape for privacy.
“When you have it on you have to show me,” Berkley called from the next stall over.
Tessa got into the tiny pink dress and considered her reflection. Cute, she thought, but way too short and her bra straps stuck out the top. She looked like a cleaning lady who was playing dress up in her glamorous employer’s closet.
“I’m waiting,” Berkley singsonged.
Tessa pulled back the curtain to reveal Berkley and the saleslady in cream. The saleslady held two fizzing glasses of champagne.
“Drinks?” Tessa said too loudly. “In a store?”
At the same time, both the saleslady and Berkley tilted their head back and laughed.
“You’re too cute! Yes to drinks in a store!” Berkley cried.
Once the saleslady handed the drinks, Berkley dispatched her with the wave of the hand. “Let’s get a look.” She turned her usual critical eye on Tessa. “I can see your panty lines. And the bra has to go.”
“I don’t think a strapless will work either.”
“You’re twenty-four. These are your braless years.” Berkley pushed her into the dressing room and pulled the curtain. She spun Tessa around so that she was facing the mirror. Standing behind her, Berkley snapped her b
ra.
“Ow!” Tessa laughed. “I haven’t had my bra snapped since middle school.”
“Off with it!”
“I would never leave the house without a bra.”
Their eyes met in the mirror. She felt the band of her bra release around her ribcage. Berkley’s cool hands slid up her arms. One by one, she drew each strap down Tessa’s shoulders. Instinctively, Tessa brought her hands up so the cups of the bra wouldn’t fall down.
“Here, let me.” Berkley’s hand reached in the top of the dress as she pulled the bra out. When she did this, the side of her hand grazed the curve of Tessa’s breast. Berkley made a tsk noise, like an unhappy school teacher. “Beige?” She held out the bra and dropped it like a squashed tissue. “Mary-Therese, next we’re going to a lingerie store.”
Berkley remained standing behind her, firm breasts crushed against Tessa’s back. Her eyes assessed Tessa in the mirror. Her look softened. “This is good,” she said, “but for a night out in Vegas you need to look a little bad.” Her hands moved to Tessa’s breasts. Through the slinky fabric, Berkley pinched her nipples, toying with them for a moment. Tessa gasped. The nipples rose up, jutting through the fabric.
Berkley stood back to admire her handiwork. “That’s one way to catch a man’s eye.”
Tessa thought of Cal. She wondered if this was the sort of dress women he dated wore. She wondered if he had a girlfriend. No doubt he did. Men like him were surrounded with women. Men like him were trouble.
A voice cleared on the other side of the curtain. “Ladies? Can I help with anything? More champagne?” the saleslady said.
“She’ll need heels and a clutch,” Berkley replied. “She’s going to wear it out of here.”
15.
Skinner waited in the parking garage of Caesars Palace, trying to focus on the words of the man narrating his audio book. The book was called You’re Killing It, Dude: Ten Ways to Cash In on Your Passion. His thoughts kept going to the girls inside the casino, drinking and shopping. He’d expected Berkley to invite him in with them. Instead, she’d looked at him like he was a bad little schoolboy; she told him to stay in the car and behave. If he thought he could get away with it, Skinner would duck into the Nobu lounge and order a flight of Japanese whiskey or get a classic martini at the Palm restaurant inside the Forum Shops. Research. His phone rang.
