A Perfect Tenant

by Steve Richer

  “Sir?”

  “Rusty.” The kid flinched when Tom stopped and met his look again, clearly sensing something bad. “I want you to listen to me very carefully. Okay?”

  “Sir.”

  “I don’t want you here again, on my property. You understand? And I don’t want you back at the house either. Cutting grass, tidying the trees. Whatever it is that you do. I don’t want you anywhere near our house and I don’t want you anywhere near my wife. Do you understand?”

  He saw the kid’s jaw working, but no words coming.

  He saw Franco standing in the doorway, watching them curiously.

  Saw Alice and Libbie standing nearby.

  Alice took a step toward them, and said, “What is it, Tom? What’s going on?”

  “You want to show Alice your book, Rusty? Engines for Beginners, or whatever the hell it is?”

  Still, Rusty stood there, his jaw working silently.

  Alice was the one who followed the direction of Tom’s gaze, went to the beat-up old Mitsubishi before he could stop her.

  Saw the book, the picture.

  Rusty followed and now the words came. “But… What’s that? I didn’t do that. You have to believe me Mr. Granger. Mrs. Granger.” The last came out more as an anguished cry than words.

  Alice said nothing, just looked from the book and across to Rusty, then back again.

  “But…”

  “Stay away from us, you hear me?”

  The boy met Tom’s look again, tears welling in his eyes.

  “I…”

  “Stay away.”

  Tom was aware that Libbie had joined them now, her arm hooked into Alice’s again.

  That should be him. He should be comforting his wife, reassuring her that this had been dealt with, that he was in control.

  But it was all he could do not to punch Rusty in the face. The kid had size over him, but Tom had no doubt he could take him. He had the power of sheer, indignant rage on his side.

  He didn’t though. He was in control. He was on top of his feelings, just as he’d learned.

  So why did he feel like the bad guy right now, as Libbie comforted his wife and Rusty skulked off around the side of his car?

  Chapter 19

  Alice wanted to leave it at that. Yes, she’d seen the disgusting thing Rusty had done with that picture. And yes, her mind had pushed deeper and she’d known what that meant: it wasn’t just a picture. The boy had spent time selecting just the right pictures to use, time imagining this, putting himself in that imaginary, perverted scenario.

  With her.

  She knew this was yet another confirmation of Libbie’s warnings about Rusty. The dangers of adolescent obsession.

  Not adolescent, she reminded herself. He was a senior at high school. Eighteen years old. A kid in the body of a big, strong man.

  A dangerous mix.

  But she’d seen the horror on his face when Tom had confronted him. The absolute shame that his private actions had been exposed.

  Right then he wasn’t a man, he was a small frightened child found out.

  Before Rusty had fled with a screech of wheels, Tom had demanded he hand over the picture. That seemed to be when her husband’s attitude hardened. Seeing the picture close up. Holding it in his hands.

  “I’m going to talk to Bill and Ruby.” Rusty’s parents. “I’m going to make sure they put a stop to all this.”

  And so now, early evening, they were standing on the porch of Rusty’s home, waiting as someone fumbled with the door from the other side.

  It was Rusty.

  “Mrs. Granger, Mr. Granger. Uh…”

  “Bill, Ruby,” said Tom, addressing Rusty’s parents, who stood beyond him in an interior doorway.

  Alice had never been inside their house before. Like Rusty, they were quiet people, kept themselves to themselves.

  She didn’t get to set foot in the house tonight, either.

  “Tom, Alice? Why, come on in,” said Bill.

  “No thanks,” said Tom. “We won’t be long. We’ve just come to ask you to keep your son away from us. Away from our properties. Away from Alice.”

  “Rusty?”

  The boy had backed away into the shadows of their entrance hall.

  “What is it, Rusty?”

  “It’s this,” said Tom, waving the shocking printout at them.

  Rusty’s parents came forward, examining the paper, then looking up at Alice, horror written large across their features.

  “No!” Alice snapped. Bill and Ruby had always come across as a bit slow, but they were looking at her as if that photograph was real.

  “Your boy faked this picture,” said Tom. “Pasted his face onto it. And Alice’s. He’s obsessed. You need to put a stop to this or the police are going to be involved.”

  “Rusty…?” That was his mom, staring at him in horror.

  “Mom! It’s not… I didn’t…”

  “Don’t deny you’re obsessed with my wife.” There was steel in Tom’s voice.

  Rusty didn’t deny that part. Instead, he said, “I didn’t do that picture. I ain’t never seen it before.”

  “It was in your car. In your book.”

  “I didn’t put it there! Hell, I don’t even know how to make a picture like that.”

  “Language.” Alice almost laughed out loud, that the boy’s mother should latch onto his language at a time like this.

  “Sorry, Mom. I mean… I didn’t do that.”

  The kid was on the edge of tears again, just as he’d been earlier today. For an instant, Alice even believed him. Could this be some awful kind of misunderstanding? How could that even be possible?

  “Keep him away from us.”

  Tom took her hand, turned, and started to walk. Rather than make any more of a scene here, Alice went with him.

  And as they walked, she thought, Is that someone standing there in the shadows? Somebody watching us? Or was that her imagination? Paranoia taking over.

  She told herself to snap out of it.

  In a world where everyone around her seemed to be losing their mind, she couldn’t go losing hers too.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  They lay in bed, a cold space between them. Even so, she could sense the tension in Tom’s body.

  Her words didn’t help ease that. “You don’t think you were a bit harsh with Rusty? Humiliating him in front of his folks like that? He’s only a kid, despite how he looks. He doesn’t find it easy with people, and this kind of thing is never going to help.”

  “Harsh? You say it as if this is somehow my fault. I didn’t make that picture. I’m not the one obsessing over someone twice my age. This kind of thing can get dangerous. It has to be stopped.”

  Silence.

  Then he added, “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I can’t believe you’re still soft on him, even now.”

  “You saw how upset he was.”

  “Good. He should be upset.”

  “You’re being unreasonable.”

  “You should never have encouraged him.”

  “Encouraged? Is that what this is? You’re blaming me?”

  “You always had a fondness for him.”

  “Don’t, Tom.”

  “He sensed that. Took it as encouragement.”

  “Tom.”

  More silence.

  “Would you just listen to yourself, Tom. You’re being ridiculous.”

  “You should never have encouraged him. He probably saw all that as some kind of flirting, even. To someone like him, that’s an open invitation.”

  There it was. Jealousy. Distrust. Over a goddamn kid!

  “I did not do that, Tom. I never would. You know that. I trust you, and you should trust me just the same.”

  He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. She knew where his mind had taken him.

  “You know nothing happened that time, Tom. We’ve been over all this. You know your jealousy got to be too much.”

  The time she was referring t
o was triggered at a party Pierson Newport had hosted last year to celebrate winning another big contract. The incident had all been a misunderstanding. Nothing more than that.

  An entirely innocent situation he’d walked in on. He’d claimed to believe her at the time, but he’d been unable to let go. She didn’t know about green-eyed, but she’d learned then just how much of a monster jealousy could become. They’d worked through it, though. Buried it in the past.

  Or so she thought.

  She tried a different angle. “It’s no good deflecting, Tom. This isn’t my equivalent of the cheerleader thing.”

  “Cheerleader? What do you mean?”

  “Well… just because guys fantasize about cheerleaders, it doesn’t mean we’re all like that. It doesn’t mean I’ve ever had thoughts about sleeping with an eighteen-year-old.”

  “You think I…?”

  Marissa Sigley. The photo shoot.

  “It’s flattering that she likes you. You don’t need to feel guilty about it. But it’s not fair to transfer that onto me and assume I might feel that way about a teenager. Unless you really would sleep with a sixteen-year-old?”

  He flinched away from her. Turned to sit on the edge of the bed, just like last night.

  “Do you see now?” she said, sitting too, drawing her knees up to her chest. “Do you see how it is to be accused of something so ridiculous? A teenager? No, Tom, I never encouraged Rusty. And yes, I think you over-reacted, just like you always do. And yes, I think you need help, because you’re losing your grip all over again, and it scares me. It scares me far more than some spotty kid who’s been playing around with Photoshop.”

  She turned, stood, pulled her long night-shirt down over her legs, and walked past him, out of the bedroom.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The night air felt good. Cool. Refreshing.

  Alice pulled her long cardigan about herself, glad she’d pulled on sweatpants before stepping out onto the porch.

  If you’re going to storm off, make sure you’re at least comfortable first of all.

  She smiled. That was the kind of lame joke Tom was always making, when he was well. A joke, a smile, a wink.

  “Thought you might appreciate this.”

  She hadn’t noticed Libbie there, standing down in the shadows. She came up onto the porch now, and Alice saw she was holding a bottle and a pair of cut crystal glasses.

  “A single malt? Glenmorangie? How did you know that’s my favorite?”

  “I’m just that good.” Uncannily, she said it with a wink and they laughed.

  They sat, Alice on the swing and Libbie on the wicker bucket-seat. Like an old married couple.

  Alice took a sip of the single malt. She and Tom had been to the distillery near Inverness one time, when they took their honeymoon in the Scottish Highlands. Tom hated scotch, so for every tasting Alice had finished his, too, and he’d ended up having to do the driving the rest of that day.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “You should be a therapist.” Libbie had a way of opening people up, getting them to drop their guard.

  “What is it, Alice?”

  “Oh, just Tom. That thing with Rusty, the photo he made. Tom insisted we go round and tell his folks.”

  “That can’t have gone well…”

  “About as you’d expect. Tom got angry. The parents were confused. Rusty was mortified.”

  “Funny, Tom never struck me as the possessive type. You two are such a sweet couple, and he seems so kind and calm. He couldn’t have been more helpful on the shoot the other day. That was so generous of him.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Alice took another mouthful, let it sit on her tongue before swallowing. Savoring the burn.

  Libbie said nothing and Alice was reminded of her observation of how good their tenant was at drawing things out of people.

  “He is,” she said. “The possessive type. Jealous.”

  Still Libbie said nothing, and Alice went on. “About a year ago. It got bad. He got it into his head that, well, that something had happened. That I’d cheated on him. I hadn’t, of course. It was all entirely innocent. But once the idea was planted in his head, well… I don’t know how long he’d been feeling that way. How long he’d been looking for something. He got a bit fixated.”

  Libbie leaned over to top up Alice’s glass.

  “It was a rough time. He kind of lost his grip a bit. Lost perspective.”

  “You’ve hinted at things,” said Libbie, clearly picking her words with great sensitivity. “You mentioned your lives had changed a lot in the last year. Tom’s career switch. The pressure on your finances, just as you were buying the second property.”

  Alice nodded. Took another drink. She said, “Yes, that’s the diplomatic way of putting it. The public line. Tom had a meltdown. It nearly destroyed him. Me. Our marriage. It wrecked his career. I don’t think he ever quite recovered.”

  “And did you? Your marriage?”

  “I thought so.”

  “Until now.”

  “Until now. I hate to see it happening again. To realize how much I’d been fooling myself, how close to the surface all this stuff still was.”

  “Was this how it was before?”

  “It was. It started with a few stray comments. A few too many questions. Things I didn’t notice at the time, but saw clearly in hindsight. Then it escalated. The jealousy. The suspicion. The anger. I can see it all now, just the same. And it scares me. I can’t go through that again. I can’t lose everything.”

  “You won’t lose everything,” said Libbie softly. “You still have your friends. You still have me. I’ve only known you a short time, Alice, but it feels like we’ve been friends for so much longer. We’re going to be friends forever. I can tell that now. And I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  Alice smiled. She wished she could believe that.

  “Another drink?”

  “Hell yeah!” And she leaned over for a refill, surprised that her glass had emptied so quickly.

  Chapter 20

  Libbie didn’t sleep much that night.

  Her head was spinning, thoughts rushing. All this was so exciting! She’d never thought they’d be so easy to play.

  Rusty was a bonus. That dumbass lump of a kid, all hormones and cougar fantasies. A real gift from the gods.

  It had been so funny, every stage of the way.

  Finding just the right pictures to montage together. A stealth shot of Rusty to paste over a porn actor’s face. Searching her extensive library of Alice images for that O of surprise to paste over the chick—such a porny look on her face, when taken out of context.

  Tom’s reaction to the picture couldn’t have been more textbook. She hadn’t even been sure he’d spot it lying there in Rusty’s car—he wasn’t exactly the brightest penny in the pile. But not only had he seen it, the red mist had descended. He’d gone after Rusty, then to defend himself he’d made sure Alice had seen the picture, too.

  Perfect.

  And then, the icing on the cake, he’d hauled Alice to watch him lay into the kid’s parents!

  That had been fun to watch. Standing back in the darkness, seeing the look on Alice’s face, the agony of discomfort.

  Everything was coming together. She was so close to her goal!

  It was worth a night of very little sleep, when your wakeful mind was filled with all that.

  And now she stood by the air duct, listening for sounds from above. Waiting for Alice to leave.

  Her cellphone trilled, buzzing in the pocket of her jeans.

  Damn.

  Who would be calling her so early?

  When you had no friends or family, a phone call was nearly always official or trouble. And if it was official, that usually meant trouble anyway.

  She checked the screen, but the number was withheld. It would be a nuisance call, or something official, coming through a switchboard that shielded the source number.

  “Yes? Hello?”

  “
Hi Libbie. This is Dr. Holt. How are things?”

  “Dr. Holt.”

  As she’d feared: official and trouble. Dr. Holt was one of the few people whose measure she’d struggled to find. Whenever she thought she’d gotten the upper hand with him, he would sidestep and come at her from a different angle. It went with the territory, she guessed.

  “I’m good,” she said. “I’ve moved out of New York. Small town life suits me. I’m getting involved with the community.” Oh yes!

  “We don’t have a change of residence listed.”

  Damn. She should know not to get clever with him.

  “Sorry. It’s only temporary. A change of scenery. My permanent residence is unchanged.”

  “And how are you coping with the stresses of everyday life, Libbie? As I always say, nobody knows the inside of your head like you do. You’re the best person to spot the warning signs. Are you doing that? Are you sticking to the self-monitoring routine we established?”

  “Oh yes. I am, absolutely. I have my ups and downs, but none of the trigger points we discussed. I’m doing real well, Doc. Trust me.”

  She wished he’d get off the line. Every conversation with him was a series of traps. Traps with serious consequences; he was the one man who could have her recalled for further treatment.

  “That’s good, Libbie. You have to remember that this is a lifelong commitment on your part. You never know when another episode may be just around the corner. That’s always going to be a concern.”

  “I know, Dr. Holt. Believe me, I don’t want that to happen again. I just want a quiet life. I just want to find the things that make me happy. Is that too much to ask?”

  Things like her scrapbook and all the small victories that were mounting up into a landslide—one that would smother and destroy perfect Tom and perfect Alice.

  “No, that’s not too much to ask at all,” he said. “It’s good to hear you speaking like this. I’m glad you’re doing well.”

  “Oh, I’m doing very well. Now if that’s all? I have to be somewhere.”

  She’d heard the door upstairs, looked out the window and seen the wheels of Alice’s Ford Focus rolling away.