by JA Huss
“Last?” She’s crazy. “He’s not into it, Augustine. All three of us know this. He’s. Not. Interested.”
Augustine looks at her husband. He’s already looking at her. He says, “I’m interested.”
“You’re lying,” I say. “Just tell her, Alexander. Just tell her no, for fuck’s sake. Just sell me the building and I’ll go away. It’s that fucking simple. And hey,” I say, directing my gaze to Augustine now. “I’ll play your game for a while too. I don’t care. I’ll fuck you both. How long do you need to get it out of your system? A week? Two? A month? I can do that. I’ll show up and give you both a good time. Just sell me the fucking building.”
“Why do you need that building?” she snaps.
“Why do you need me to save your marriage?” I snap back.
“Keep your voices down,” Alexander says, glaring at us both. “We’re in public, for fuck’s sake.”
“We’re at the Tea Room,” I growl at him. “Which is pretty much filled with ex-club members right now. And you know why we all hang out at the goddamned Tea Room? It’s because we all want the fucking club back. So we come here to see Chella. Maybe get a glimpse of Smith, or Bric, or Quin. Stare at that fucking revolving door that never revolves anymore, and wonder if we’ll ever find another place that feels like home again. So don’t get self-righteous on me, Alexander. We’re here having this conversation because you’re too weak to tell your wife no.”
Augustine pushes a piece of long, dark hair away from her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. “This is my offer. You need something from me? Well, I need something from you too. It’s up to you now.”
She stands up, places her paper napkin on top of her uneaten cupcake, turns on her heel, and walks away.
I watch her hail a cab—and isn’t that her luck? That one is passing by right at this moment?—get in and disappear.
Then I turn back to Alexander and say, “Just let her leave you. Why do you put up with this shit?”
He doesn’t answer me. Just sits there and sips his coffee. A waitress comes by and he taps her arm as she passes, asking for a take-out container. She returns a few minutes later—neither of us have spoken in that silence—and he carefully places Augustine’s cupcake inside the yellow box and ties the little black ribbon around it.
Then he stands, forces a smile, and says, “Let me know what time you have lunch tomorrow. I’ll stop by and see if we can make this work.”
I just stare at him as he leaves. He doesn’t take a cab. His Land Rover is parked at the curb. He just drives away.
And that’s what we’ve been doing for the past two weeks.
He didn’t even want to touch me that first day. In fact, it took him four days to touch me, and then it was just a hand on my arm. Feeling the muscles underneath my button-down shirt. But he couldn’t look at me.
And look, maybe we weren’t great back in LA when we did this the first time. But it was a helluva lot better than this. At least he was sorta into it before.
Now, he’s only here for his wife.
The next day I took off my shirt as he watched. This is all happening in my office, by the way. People outside. My fucking father down the hall. But Alexander didn’t want to go to a hotel room. Or their house. Or my house. So… whatever.
This dude is never going to let me fuck him, because this whole lunchtime sexy shit? It’s kinda hot, right? Like… people are even just a little bit into someone find this exciting and… dangerous. So yeah. This is never gonna work.
Today is Saturday. The first Saturday I figured we’d take the day off—regroup—meet back up on Monday. But he called me that morning and said he’d be at my office for lunch. But when I got to the lobby, I saw both of them waiting for me.
I raised my eyebrows at Augustine and she just said, “I want to watch.”
So that’s what’s she’s been doing. Not every day. But twice a week so far.
Yesterday went better than usual, so maybe she figures today is our day?
She’s dreaming. Alexander just isn’t into it.
“We’re going somewhere,” Augustine says as I approach them in the lobby. “You don’t really have to work today, do you?”
“I guess not,” I say, glancing at Alexander. He’s wearing board shorts, a white t-shirt, and sneakers.
“You’ll need to go home and change,” Alexander says, eyeballing me eyeballing him.
“We’ll follow you. Alexander can drive us.”
“Follow me?” I’m not following.
“To your house,” Augustine says. “To change.”
I stew about this turn of events the whole way over to my place. How she just assumes control over us. And yeah, I’ve been in plenty of threesomes where I’m dude number two and take orders, but I’ve never taken orders from the woman.
Sexist? Maybe. But I’m not one of those submissive guys.
Maybe Alexander is. Maybe he’s OK putting up with her dominance. But I’m not. And right now—as I wait for the gate of my ridiculous seven-million-dollar monstrosity to open, glancing back at them in my rear-view mirror—I’m kinda pissed off.
I pull forward when the gate is fully open, park in my usual spot in front of the carriage house, and get out just as Alexander turns off his engine.
Augustine is already getting out, looking up at the house with wide eyes. “You live here?”
I nod. “Yup.”
“Why?” She laughs.
“Because I liquidated all my assets to buy my fucking club back.” It comes out like venom. I’m not proud of that because I hate letting people in on my feelings, but she’s pissing me off.
“Show me around,” Augustine says, pretending that everything is cool.
“No,” I say, walking around to the front door. I don’t know why I always enter at the front door since I park in back, but I do. Maybe because the office is near the front door and I just want to pretend the rest of the house doesn’t exist.
“Holy shit,” Augustine says as we enter into the two-story foyer. “That’s some chandelier.”
I look up at it, probably for the first time in months, and notice there’s still a camera bulb up there from when I made Ixion play a game here with Evangeline Rolaine.
Augustine walks forward into the long hallway that runs the length of the house. But I say, “There’s nothing to see here. The place is empty except for the office.”
She doesn’t seem to care. Because she disappears around a corner, her fingertips tracing the wall as the last thing to fade away as she goes off to explore.
“So where are we going?” I ask Alexander. He’s walked into the ballroom and is looking up at the intricate design on the coffered ceiling. “So I know what to wear,” I add, when he doesn’t answer me.
“Wear what I’m wearing,” he replies back. Like it’s an afterthought.
“I don’t own cargo shorts,” I say.
“Wear whatever the fuck you want,” he snaps.
OK.
I go into the office, start rummaging through the portable clothes rack that holds about a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in suits, and find a t-shirt.
It’s plain, dark blue, and brand new with tags. Which I rip off with my teeth and spit into the trash can by the desk.
I take off my suit coat, unbutton my shirt, take it off, and when I turn around, arms already in the sleeves of the t-shirt, Alexander is watching me.
I smile at him. “You can watch if you want. I don’t care.”
He looks away, wanders out of view, and I go rummage though the built-in drawers that now hold all my foldable clothes instead of office supplies.
I have a pair of sweat shorts that I usually wear to the gym. They’ll do, so I slip those on.
This time when I turn around, Augustine is watching me. She smiles. “What is this place?”
“My house,” I deadpan.
“Why are you living like this?”
“I told you, I’m liquidating. So I can pay you cash for the
building when you finally sell it to me. No bank is gonna give me a loan to open a sex club.”
“Why don’t you have furniture?”
“Because it’s dumb.”
She laughs. “You know, you were always a weird guy, Jordan. But this… this is a whole new level of strange. Just live at the Four Seasons.”
“Why would I pay for a hotel room at the Four Seasons when I have this?”
“Because at least you’d have the appearance of being normal. This is over the top. You do realize that, right?”
I shrug and go looking for sneakers. Find them and sit on the edge of the desk as I slip them on and tie the laces. “So where we going today?” I ask.
“Up to the river.”
“What river?”
“Poudre. We have a cabin up there now. It’s nice. Quiet. Bring a change of clothes too. We’re staying overnight.”
I feel obligated to object, but it actually sounds nice. So I don’t. Just pack up a duffel bag and say, “OK, let’s go.”
The whole drive up to the Poudre River cabin I am lost in thought. It’s not like there aren’t a million thoughts to get lost in, either. So the hour-and-a-half drive is filled with silence because Augustine, who is sitting in the back, has her earbuds in. Alexander just drives. And so I just sit there wondering what the fuck is happening.
How did they get this way? Like… what happened to them back in LA that this is who they are now? Also… wow, I feel like I dodged a bullet. Because I could be driving this car and some other man could be sitting in the passenger seat next to me while my wife ignored both of us.
I almost feel sorry for the dude.
It’s not like I ever hated Alexander. I didn’t. I was jealous, of course. Because she chose him and not me. But he’s older than us. So I guess I get why a twenty-three-year-old woman would choose a thirty-year-old man over a guy her own age. He had a career, and a house, and all that shit twenty-something women want.
I was in law school, so while it was a promising beginning he was well past that.
Choosing him was the right choice, I decide.
The cabin is just a small, two-room box made of logs. It’s quaint and it has electricity and plumbing, so that’s a plus. But this isn’t really my idea of a weekend getaway in the mountains. I was picturing, you know, a five-thousand-square-foot custom log home.
“Is that disgust I see on your face, Jordan?”
I turn away from the cabin and stare at Augustine. She’s standing in a beam of sunlight, her dark hair blowing slightly in the soft breeze. And for the first time I notice that she looks… older. Tired, maybe. Or defeated. That might be the word.
She’s still pretty though. And every now and then she’ll smile at something—it’s not usually me, or Alexander—and she’ll look young again.
“No,” I say. “I’m fine.”
“Good,” she says. And then turns, walks up to the front door, unlocks it, and disappears inside.
Alexander is getting their bags from the back of the Land Rover and the hatch closes with a soft click as he walks past me.
He still hasn’t said a word.
“What did you do?” I ask abruptly.
“What?” Alexander turns to look at me.
“What did you do to her? To make her like this?”
Alexander drops the bags on the ground next to him. One hand lifts his sunglasses up and places them on the top of his head. He stares at me.
He still looks good. I mean, he’s what? Thirty-seven? Thirty-eight now? But he still looks good. Sandy blond hair. Blue eyes. Square jaw that doesn’t have a regular date with a razor. And he’s still very fit. He’s tan too, even though they left LA a while ago. He looks like a guy who drives a Land Rover. Not because it’s a hundred-thousand-dollar status symbol either, but because he needs it to get places other cars can’t go.
“You did this to her,” Alexander says.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “This has nothing to do with me.”
“Then why are we here, Jordan? Hmm? God, you are so fucking stupid sometimes. Do you ever look around and just… see what’s happening? Or do you like it in the dark?”
I don’t answer, since I figure that was rhetorical.
So he picks up the bags, turns away, and goes inside.
CHAPTER THREE
I spend that entire afternoon still wondering what the fuck we’re doing. Augustine is morose, Alexander is quiet, and I’m just… confused.
At one point Alexander says he’s going to drive to the small store we passed on the way in and pick up some food. I try to go with him, but he says, “No. I want to be alone.”
OK.
So now it’s me, still confused, and Augustine, still morose.
I sit on the couch wishing I’d asked Alexander to pick up some alcohol. Because I really feel like getting drunk.
“Because I want you to watch us,” Augustine says out of nowhere.
“What?”
“Have sex,” she explains. “I want you to watch us.” She looks me in the eyes. “Then tell us what you see.”
I have a million things to say in reply. Like so many words popping into my head in this moment, it’s impossible to choose one direction. So I say nothing.
“Will you do that? Will you give us an honest assessment?”
“Augustine… I don’t know what you’re looking for, but Alexander clearly isn’t into this. OK? He doesn’t like men. We’ve always known that. He doesn’t want me watching you two fuck. And he certainly doesn’t want my opinion on his goddamned performance.”
“You’re wrong,” she says.
“Look, I don’t know what happened to you two, but this has nothing to do with me.”
“Wrong again.”
I want to fucking choke her right now. Like… I have no clue what I ever saw in this woman, because I see nothing attractive about her now. In fact, her dismissive attitude towards Alexander is kinda pissing me off.
“Maybe I don’t really need that building,” I say.
“Maybe not.”
“What the fuck do you want?”
“I told you. Watch us. Tell us what you see.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There’s no hidden meaning, Jordan. No agenda here. Just… watch us. And tell us what you see. How many times do I have to repeat myself before you hear what I’m saying?”
I draw in a deep breath. Hold it. Let it out. And say, “Fine. But I want a deadline. I want a firm date on when this can be over and you’ll sell me the building. Because I’m not fucking around forever, OK? I’m not gonna let you own me the way you own him. Fuck that. Give me a date.”
She closes her eyes. Just a slightly exaggerated blink. Then opens them and says, “Two months.”
“Fuck you.” I laugh. “No. I’m gonna fucking hitchhike back to civilization right now if you think I’m gonna put up with this bullshit for two months.”
“One month.”
“No,” I say. Because I’m beginning to understand that she needs me more than I need her. She’s holding this building over my head, but only because that’s the thing she has that I need. And if I walk away from the building, I walk away from her.
Funny. How you can go eight years feeling like a rejected loser and then suddenly figure out your perception was entirely wrong.
“One week,” I say.
“You know that’s not enough time.”
“Time for what?”
“To get us all on the same page?”
“For a threesome? Jesus, Augustine, let’s just do it now. He’s obviously doing whatever you tell him. Let’s just fuck and get it over with.”
“No, that’s not what I’m looking for. I don’t need a third partner to fuck, Jordan. I could get almost anyone to do that. I want you. With us.”
“I’m here,” I say.
“No. With. Us.”
“Like…” I laugh. “In a relationship?”
“Yes, in a relationship. B
ut a real one. And that takes time.”
“He’s not gonna share you with me, Augustine.”
“No, he’s not. Unless he loves you too. Then it’s the three of us sharing each other.”
“You’re insane. He’s never gonna come around.”
“He’s already around,” she snaps. “It’s you who’s not on board. You’re the one holding this up. You’re the one fighting it. You know we’re good together. And you know this because we’ve been together before.”
“Yeah, once. And he wasn’t into it.”
“You’re wrong, as usual. It was me who wanted you out. Not him.”
“Liar.” I laugh. “That’s not true and you know it.”
“Ask him.”
“I don’t trust him to tell the truth. He’s your little puppet.”
“God,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re so stupid for being so smart. He was the one who loved you, Jordan. Not me. He’s the one who wanted a divorce, not me. He’s the one who made us come back here. And you’re the one he wants.”
I get up and leave at that point. A guy can only take so many lies in the same sentence. Why is she saying those things? I was there. I know what happened. And nothing of what she just said was even remotely true. Not the part about them. I have no clue what drove them apart. Well, I have some clue. It wasn’t Alexander’s love for me.
So I end up outside sitting on a rock by the river, throwing stones into the water to scare away the tiny minnows near the shore.
Alexander comes back some time later. When I look over my shoulder at him, he’s staring at me as he unloads bags from the back.
He’s got his hands full, already heading to the door, when he looks over his shoulder and says, “You should come inside now.”
I wait a little bit, trying to sort through my confusion. But eventually I get up, brush off the dirt, and go back in. Because I’m out of here. I’m gonna ask them to take me back to Fort Collins and drop me off and I’ll rent a car from there, or have someone come pick me up, because this is all bullshit.
I open the door, ready to say all that, and find them kissing in the kitchen.
