by JA Huss
“What things?”
“Things that are none of your goddamned business.”
He leans back in the chair, places one foot on the opposite knee like he’s settling in for a long conversation, and says, “She wants you to come to dinner.”
“No,” I say. “I’m not coming. I left this shit behind me years ago. I’m sorry I made such a mess of things when I left LA. I’m sorry for lying. I’m sorry for setting Ixion up like that. I’m sorry for hurting her, and you… and me, to be quite honest. I was young, and selfish, and stupid, and I’m not that guy anymore. You two bring out the worst in me. You two… you two make me someone else. Some guy I don’t really like, Alexander. I’m done with the games, OK? I don’t want to play. I don’t even want your building. I don’t know what I want, but I know what I don’t want. And I don’t want… that.” I shake my head. “I can’t deal with it right now.” I didn’t expect to say that about the building. And as it was coming out of my mouth I knew it was a lie. But now it’s not anymore. It’s not a lie. It’s true. So I repeat it. “I don’t want it.”
He stares at me for a long moment. Like he’s giving my little speech all his thoughtful consideration.
Such an actor.
I stand up, shuffling papers on my desk, pick them up and tap them on the table top to force them into a neat stack, then place them back on the desk. “I’ve gotta go. I have court,” I lie.
I lie a lot, I realize. Pretty much all the time about everything.
He stands as I come around the desk to make my escape. But his arm extends as I try to move past him and then he’s pulling me close to him. One hand slips inside my suit coat and wraps around my waist. Grips me. While the other is on my shoulder. I turn my head in his direction, startled. “What—”
And then he kisses me. Like a real kiss. His mouth is soft, and I can feel the stubble on his jaw rub against the stubble on mine. I hesitate for a moment, startled, unsure, and fully aware that my office door is wide open.
The hand that was inside my suit drops to the waist of my pants, tugs my belt for just a moment, then slips down to find my cock semi-hard.
I feel his mouth form a smile against my lips.
And then I kiss him back.
The second I do that he pulls away. Releases me and takes two steps back. “She wants you to come to dinner tonight.”
And then he tugs on his suit coat, buttons it, turns around, and walks out.
I don’t go to lunch and I don’t have court today, so after Alexander leaves I have Eileen order me a sandwich from a place down the street, then sit in my office alone and just stare at it.
I think about his kiss. His offer. What it means. How much I want them to go away right now and just leave me alone.
But I also think about how much fun we had back in LA. Before I got jealous, and weird, and fucked it all up.
Are they here to get even? Or are they really here to start something new?
I’m having a hard time seeing things clearly. It surprises me because I’m so detached when I deal with people who play the game. But then again, I’m not surprised at all because this isn’t my game.
I think that’s the problem.
I’m not running any of this. I don’t have Darrel and Finn running interference. They’re not keeping tabs on shit, making sure it goes off without a hitch. I’m personally involved with the outcome.
That is definitely my problem.
At three o’clock my father returns to the office. He’s smiling and his gregarious laughter fills the reception area. I can hear it all the way back in my office.
I track his voice as he makes his way down the hall towards me. Imagine him stopping to place a hand on someone’s shoulder as he answers questions people ask him.
Then the knock. He enters, smiling.
“How did it go?” I ask.
“Fine,” he says. “Just fine. Don’t worry. I’m not worried.”
“Well… what’s the issue?” I ask. “Like what do they think is wrong?” He never told me last night.
My father shakes his head, still smiling. “Let’s talk about that when we have to. If we have to. There’s no point in getting upset over something that’s not happening.”
“Dad—”
“No,” he says, putting up a hand to stop me. “I’m fine, Jordan. Just… we’ll see what the tests say.”
At four o’clock my phone buzzes a text. I’ve been sitting in my office staring at my closed door for the past hour, wondering what’s wrong with my father. He’s been in a good mood since he came back. I can hear him right now. Laughing down the hallway in the conference room. There’s a deposition, but it hasn’t started yet, so he’s just chatting with opposing counsel.
I feel a little better that he’s in good spirits, but not much.
I glance down at my phone screen to log the incoming text. It’s an address. Augustine and Alexander’s address, I can only presume.
Then… Dinner is at 6 pops up underneath the address and it’s confirmed.
I don’t answer and there are no more texts.
I just sit at my desk and stare at my door.
But at five-thirty Eileen buzzes my desk phone. “Jordan? I’m leaving. Do you need anything?”
Eileen is a nice woman and a competent assistant. About thirty-five, I guess. I never asked her. Short dark hair that hangs alongside her heart-shaped face and ends at her shoulders. Curvy, pretty, and smart.
I wonder what she thinks about me? She has to know I’m running these games. I mean it’s not really a secret. Plenty of people know. Enough that I get regular inquiries. And my father knows. I told him. He said just keep it legal and I have.
Mostly.
But the illegal parts are only there to keep people safe.
I press the speaker button on the phone and say, “No, I’m good, Eileen. Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
She sighs on the other end. “Is everything OK?”
“Yup,” I lie. Because really? What am I going to say to my assistant? We’re not that kind of co-workers, ya know? Some people have an assistant as their right-hand man. Or woman. But Eileen isn’t that kind of assistant. Darrel is that kind of assistant. And Darrel and Finn are off doing other things right now. Besides, none of what’s happening to me right now is the kind of thing you discuss with an assistant like Darrel either. “I’m fine, really,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”
“OK. Have a good night.”
“You too.” And then I press the speaker button again.
What would a good night look like for me?
The question pops into my mind unexpectedly.
When was the last time I had a good night?
Jesus, probably back when the Club was still open. Since then I’ve been biding my time with these games, my friendship with Chella, and my legal career.
I don’t even remember the last time I was on a date. Like a real date. Not meeting a game client, or law client, or a business associate.
Which makes me pick up my phone and open the message Augustine sent. The address is linked to my map app, so I press it, telling myself I’m just curious to see where they live.
Hmmm. Nice area. Right on Cheeseman Park. In fact, it’s so close to my house I can walk there in a matter of minutes if I cut through the Botanic Gardens.
I decide to go home.
When I get to my house it’s ten minutes to six.
Ten minutes and I can forget all about this invitation.
Ten minutes and I can….
What? What will I do in ten minutes? Sit here and drink some Scotch? Sit here and order food? Sit here and think about my father?
What will I do in ten minutes?
Eight minutes later I’m standing in front of their building looking up. It’s a modern fifteen-story structure that looks like Frank Lloyd Wright’s version of a high-rise, if he’d made the Price Tower look like Falling Water instead of Price Tower.
In a word, nice.
I go in
side, get in the elevator, take it up to the top floor, and exit into a small hallway with only one set of massive double doors.
At exactly six o’clock I press the doorbell. It chimes the deep, classic half-note ding-dong and sounds like church bells.
I hear footsteps approach and the door opens to reveal Alexander holding a snifter and the strong scent of a well-made cognac fills the air. He smiles at me. It’s a small smile, perhaps even a disappointed smile. Like he didn’t figure I’d show up. “Come in,” he says, opening the door wide.
I step in and look around. The ceilings are high, but not very high. This building is old. Probably built in the Thirties. Like maybe the designer was a contemporary of Wright and this was his stamp on the world of modern architecture at the time.
The ceilings are coffered, much like the ballroom ceilings in my own house, and the floors are a rich, dark hardwood that looks original. The view of the city is spectacular. Seen through an entire wall of windows, the Denver skyline is already lit up, a silhouette against the setting sun that hangs just over the top of the mountains.
“This is lovely,” I say, just as I notice Augustine over in the kitchen. Someone obviously renovated this apartment because it’s an open-concept layout. She’s wearing a white dress and a light blue apron. She has yellow oven mitts on her hands and she’s holding a baking dish. “And you look lovely as well.”
I don’t know why I say that except that it’s true. She looks… softer somehow. I’ve never seen her in domestic mode. I only remember the wild girl in cut-offs and tank tops.
She is someone else now. Someone I don’t know.
But I guess that’s true for anyone you lose contact with and reconnect with later.
Now I smell the food and my stomach grumbles. I never did eat that sandwich at lunch.
“Thank you,” she says, smiling at me.
“Want to take off your coat?” Alexander asks me. His hands are already on my shoulders, ready to help. I let him slip the suit coat down my arms and then he walks over to a closet near the front door and hangs it up.
“I hope you’re hungry. I made way too much. But I’m glad you came.” She pauses to laugh. “Because I made way too much.”
“I am, actually.” It’s all I can think of to say. I don’t know them anymore. This is clear. When we were last together it was something altogether different. They’ve been living as a couple for almost eight years now. Married, separated, back together. A lifetime apart is what this feels like.
“Sit down,” Alexander says, pointing to the dining room table. It’s small, which is surprising. And round. Seats maybe… four? But there’s only three chairs there now. I look around the room, trying to find the missing one. No one buys three chairs. But it’s… missing. If they have a fourth chair, it’s hidden and out of view.
“Do you want a drink?” Alexander asks.
“Sure. What you’re having is fine.” I say it as I watch Augustine place a rack of lamb onto a large white platter, take off her oven mitts, and then look up to find me staring. She smiles, reaching behind her back to untie her apron. She hangs it up on a hook inside the pantry and then picks up the platter and walks towards me. “Sit,” she says. Because I’m still standing.
I do. Taking one of the chairs just as Alexander returns with my snifter of cognac and she places the platter in the center of the table. She smiles at me one more time and then Alexander holds her chair out and pushes it in for her before taking his seat.
She’s on my left, he’s on my right.
They have thoroughly planned this evening, I decide.
“What did you do today?” Alexander asks.
I look over at him, thinking he’s talking to me, but he isn’t. He’s asking his wife.
“I took meetings,” she says quietly. “With contractors.”
“Contractors?” I ask. “For what?”
“The building,” she says.
I look over at Alexander, who just shrugs. “I don’t know either. She’s been playing coy with me about the whole thing.”
“My building?” I ask.
She meets my gaze and says, “It’s not your building.”
“But you’re selling it to me. I’m here, playing your game, so in three weeks you’re selling it to me. That’s what you said.”
“These arrangements were already in place. It’s just… motions, Jordan. Going through motions.”
“What arrangements? What motions? You’re not tearing shit down in there, are you? I mean, for fuck’s sake, Augustine—”
“Don’t bother,” Alexander says, interrupting me. “She’s trying to rile you up.”
Augustine makes a face at him then turns to me. “I’ll keep my word. And nothing’s been changed yet. I’m just making plans.”
“What plans?” I ask.
“If everything goes the way it’s supposed to then you won’t need to worry. So just… eat. I made a lot of lamb and it’s never good the next day.”
She nods to Alexander and he carves the meat, dishing a portion out to each of us.
I’m suddenly not hungry. I’m suddenly ready to go home and order pizza. I’m suddenly filled with regret for even coming over here tonight.
“We had a nice kiss today,” Alexander says, bringing me out of my thoughts.
I look at him, but he’s looking at her.
“How nice?” Augustine asks him. They’re acting like I’m not even here.
“Full mouth,” he says, taking a bite of lamb. Then he pauses to chew. Slowly. And swallows. “I made him hard.”
Augustine beams a smile at me. “Well… we’re making progress. Want me to tell you what we did last night?”
Alexander nods his head. “Please.”
I don’t say another word through dinner. She describes our sex in explicit detail. Like we were recording it and then she took that recording home, watched it over and over on repeat, and wrote down and memorized everything she was going to say tonight.
“You’re making me hard,” Alexander says, standing up so we can see his proof. “Feel me,” he says, walking towards her and taking her hand. He places it over his cock and she squeezes him through his pants.
I can’t stop watching.
He grabs her hair. Hard. Rough. Augustine lets out a small yelp and I am immediately on my feet.
The deal we have—the one Augustine offered—is back, front and center, in my mind.
Alexander glances over at me. Aware that my reaction is one of challenge. “What?” he growls. “What will you do?”
I tilt my head at him, unsure if this is an act or if it’s real. I don’t allow myself to look to Augustine for clarification. That just feeds his power. “You know damn well what I’ll do.”
“Pretend I’m obtuse, Jordan. And spell it out.”
“Keep you under control. Keep you from losing control.”
He yanks Augustine’s hair, jerking her head so she’s looking up at him. “Do you trust him?”
I’m thrown for a moment. Because she doesn’t look scared. “Yes,” is all she says. And she says it in a tone that lets me know this is just business. A contractual negotiation.
“You must be sure,” Alexander whispers. “Absolutely sure.”
“I am,” she says, placing her hand over his, which is still gripping her hair so tight, it’s pulling on her scalp.
What the hell am I witnessing?
“I’m sure,” Augustine repeats, staring up into Alexander’s eyes. “Please. It’s the only option we have left.”
I squint my eyes, trying to fit those words into what I know of their relationship.
This is what I come up with:
One. They love each other. Perhaps they’re even soulmates. Although if you had asked me that before this moment, I’d have laughed. But maybe I’m wrong. Because this is a lot of trouble to go through in order to save a dying marriage. Most people just assume failure is inevitable. That this was never a soulmates connection. Thus, they get a divorce.
But these two are convinced they can work things out. Alexander truly is overly aggressive during sex and I truly am the only one who can control him to Augustine’s satisfaction.
Two. They’ve separated before. Got back together. Then upended their lives in LA and moved here. For me. I’m still discovering the details behind that, but my assumption is that they equate their happiness with the time in LA when the four of us—me, Ix, and the two of them—were together. And since Ix bailed out first and has since found someone he loves and cares about, I’m the only missing piece in the puzzle that is their collective unhappiness. If they can get me, they get that love back.
Or three. Which is the big one. They’re playing me. They never forgave me for what I did back in LA and they want to hurt me the way I hurt them. Perhaps they even blame me for their crumbling relationship. Perhaps they spent weeks, or months, even years of sleepless nights and endless fights over what happened. And how I just… left and moved on. Left them to pick up the pieces and put themselves all back together.
Alexander pulls Augustine right out of her chair and I take two steps towards them before I get myself under control and stop in my tracks. She’s on her knees in front of him now. Looking up into his eyes like he is her fucking master.
He slaps her.
Her head doesn’t move.
Was the slap just playful?
I don’t think so. It was loud and there’s already a red mark on her cheek. She just knows how to control herself. Her eyes never leave his.
He slaps her again—the other cheek this time.
“Stop it!” I say, crossing the distance between us. “What the fuck, Alexander?”
He looks at me and smiles. Lets go of her hair, tugs on his jacket like he’s pulling himself together, and walks around the table to take his seat again.
“Get up, August,” I say. She reaches for me and I help her to her feet. Her face is red, both cheeks. I pull out her chair and she sits, allowing me to push her back in. The same way Alexander did before this little display of dominance upended our roles.
