The War Council

by Ann Shepphird

  The second fact we built the date around was that Maggie had the hots for Bill for months before he finally asked her out, and that once they went out, there was little or no “courtship” (for lack of a better word) before they became a couple. It was a one-sided crush, then immediately into lovers. We didn’t have the luxury of Maggie actually being infatuated with Nick—after Bill, there were no infatuations—so we had to build that into the relationship. Maggie always seemed to be more comfortable when becoming interested first, so we would manufacture the interest from her side through manipulation.

  The way we did that would be to have Nick put off any sort of romantic intentions until we sensed Maggie’s interest. They would go out. They would become friends. But he would move very slowly before making any big physical or romantic gestures.

  I know it sounds incredibly manipulative, and I kind of hated myself for it. But if you had listened to three years of Bill laments the way I had, you would have resorted to drastic measures, too.

  The date went off as planned. Nick told me he took Maggie to see Sabrina at the Telegraph. It was very romantic. They sat in a dark room at close quarters watching a black-and-white film from an era that really knew about romance (according to Randy). Later, they walked through campus and sat at the fountain and looked up at the stars. That was my idea. I knew Maggie had a thing about the campus at night and loved taking walks through it when it was quiet and dark. We all have our little quirks, and that was hers. It was also something she had never done with Bill.

  Then, he finished walking her home, kissed her on the cheek, and said good night. No attempts at anything more physical, no mention of another date, and no communication for four days. Maggie was blown away. I know because it was all she could talk about when we met the next week at Café Strada.

  “It was the strangest thing,” she said.

  “What?” I looked as innocent as I could when I inquired.

  “Well, we went out. We had a nice time. Really nice time. But then nothing beyond a kiss on the cheek.”

  “So…”

  “So, it’s weird, don’t you think? And I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “So…”

  “So, I don’t know.” She pondered. “Do you think he’s gay?”

  I laughed. “Nick? No. From what he has told Brian, I can say with complete certainty he is attracted to women.”

  “Oh.”

  “Did you want him to try something?”

  “No, of course not. I mean. He’s no Bill, right? Still. It was odd…”

  Maggie got this far-off quizzical look. Aha! It wasn’t logical. Why didn’t I think of that to begin with? I guess it didn’t matter because it was working. She was definitely intrigued.

  Then Nick arrived. It was so perfect you’d have thought we had planned it. And we had.

  “Well, hi, Nick,” I said.

  “Hello ladies. I thought I might find you here.”

  Nick smiled that twinkling smile of his. I smiled. Maggie smiled. She softened perceptibly as she looked up at Nick and actually seemed pleased to see him.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi,” he said.

  They locked eyes, and I took that as a sign to make myself scarce. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and peered out from behind the glass to see how it was going. So far so good. I couldn’t see if Maggie was turning red or not. She always got flushed when she was excited—or drinking wine—and she wasn’t drinking wine. After some meaningless conversation, Nick was going to ask her out again. I saw her nodding. And smiling. Perfect. I was excited—this date was going be even better than the first.

  Life was good. Maggie was showing an interest in Nick, and the War Council had not had a single client in the week since Maggie had placed the ad. She was going to have to go out and recruit a test case to make it work. Pah. Impossible. Who would be that desperate?

  Chapter Eight

  CINDY

  The little shit had finally gone too far this time. Just too far. I mean, I had my pride, right? See, I had baked him some brownies. He said he was going to be home studying and sounded sad, so I thought I would cheer him up—especially as he had been studying an awful lot lately. The brownies were going to be a happy surprise, ya know?

  I went over to the frat house and walked up to his room on the third floor. I knocked on his door. No answer. I looked in (it was never locked). No Biff. I went downstairs to the fraternity study room. No Biff, but Bunny was there studying with her new boyfriend Kirk. I asked them if they’d seen Biff, and they said no, but then Kirk got a funny look on his face, and as I was leaving, he started whispering something to Bunny. Not that I was paranoid, but I had sensed something was up for awhile. And, okay, maybe that was the real reason for the visit with the brownies.

  I walked back through the frat house. From the outside, it was this beautiful old mansion. Like, you’d picture some old fart living there in immense wealth and culture. But inside, it always looked as if a bomb had hit. There was practically no furniture and what they had was ratty and disgusting. Plus, the floor was always sticky from all the beer that had spilled over the years.

  I remembered Biff telling me about one of their initiation rituals. He said the older members filled the basement with beer and made the pledges wear helmets and then go sliding across the floor like a slip ’n’ slide before banging into the wall. And some of the pledges had gotten sick so they were really sliding across a beer-and-vomit-soaked floor before crashing into a brick wall. Biff said it was rad, and I remembered thinking that I would never understand boys.

  I checked the rec room. Also sticky and still no Biff. Kevin was there. Kevin was Biff’s roommate and really sweet. I had always kind of liked Kevin. He had curly blond hair and was really easy to talk to. If I hadn’t thought I’d be spending the rest of my life with Biff, I might have liked Kevin, you know, that way. The thing is, he really seemed to like me, too, and sometimes got weird about Biff and the way he treated me. Not around Biff, though. They were buds. That’s why it was sometimes kind of weird how he tried to, in secret, tell me to take care of myself when it came to Biff. I always told him about Biff’s sweet side and that he wasn’t really the macho dude he pretended to be, that it really was a cover for the other guys, and that he didn’t know Biff the way I did. But Kevin kept trying to protect me, like a big brother would.

  Actually, he was my big brother. The fraternity had this, like little-sister thing where we girls would come to a party and the guys chose some of us to be “little sisters.” Naturally, because I was Biff’s girlfriend, I got picked.

  I think you can see now just how much Biff’s loving me did for my life. Anyway, it was really cool. Each girl then got paired with a guy—a “bro.” That’s what they all called each other. In the sorority, we were “sisters,” and in the fraternity, they were “brothers.” I always thought it was cool because I never had a big family, and now I had all these brothers and sisters.

  So, what happens with a big brother is you do nice things for the guy you’re paired with. I would clean Kevin’s room, which was kind of like cleaning Biff’s room, too (funny, huh?), bring him cookies, and stuff. You know. Do nice things for him. And he did nice things for me. Took me for ice cream. Helped me with my studies. Sometimes it seemed like I spent more time with Kevin than I did with Biff.

  You see, Biff was really busy now that he was a senior. He studied a lot and said I was too much of a distraction to study around, so he mostly studied by himself. And by distraction, I mean that whenever Biff was around me, he’d want to, you know, have sex. Biff always wanted sex. Not that I minded. I liked it, too, and it was nice to be wanted like that. Only, it would have been nice to have him enjoy being around me in other ways, too, you know? Like Kevin could be around me and do fun things with me that didn’t involve sex, so why couldn’t Biff?

  I know it’s differ
ent because Biff loved me. But still. And when I say Biff wanted it all the time, I mean all the time. We’d be at a party, and he’d want a quickie in the bathroom or a closet. We were once at a party at his parents’ house, and he said he wanted to show me a book upstairs in his room, and we ended up doing it while his mom was serving martinis and pigs-in-a-blankets to the guests downstairs. Geez, I was so embarrassed, especially as it seemed like everyone knew when we got back downstairs. We got these looks. Actually, I got the looks. In Biff’s mom’s eyes, he could do no wrong. I was the “influence.”

  Still, Biff loved me. I mean, how could a guy want someone as much as Biff wanted me and not love me? And I loved him. I would dream about becoming Mrs. Robert Billingsley V. My friends—oops, sisters—and I would plan our weddings all the time. We would pick our bridesmaids, what colors we’d choose, where it would be, and what our husbands would look like. Naturally, I always pictured Biff. He was the only guy I’d ever been with, and he was so perfect—why wouldn’t I want to spend the rest of my life with him? I mean, okay, there were times he was kind of a jerk—like when he would stand me up or forget to call or, like now, just disappear. And he sure seemed to be studying an awful lot.

  “He’s not studying,” Kevin said.

  “What do you mean he’s not studying?” I looked at Kevin like he was nuts. Well, he was. Biff was studying.

  “He’s not studying.”

  “Then where is he?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m trapped in a no-win situation here,” said Kevin.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I tell you and Biff hates me. I have to live with the guy, remember? But if I don’t tell you, then you hate me. I don’t want you to hate me, Cindy.”

  Kevin smiled one of his nice, if rueful, smiles. He was so sweet. Why couldn’t Biff be more like him?

  “Please tell me, Kevin.” I did my best to look miserable. And vulnerable. And sexy. It was the look that always made Biff crazy for me.

  “He’s at the Kingfish,” he said.

  “The Kingfish?” It took a moment to sink in. And then it did. All my worst fears were coming true. That fuckface asshole. Studying? Ha! I would show him studying, the little weasel. Kevin got this shocked look on his face, and I realized I was letting my emotions show on my face. I put the vulnerable look back on.

  “Thanks, Kevin. Here, have some brownies.”

  I ran out of that dump they called a fraternity house and over to the Kingfish. The Kingfish was this dive bar where the fraternity guys went to get wasted and hook up with girls (and not necessarily in that order). Studying. Ha!

  I walked through the doors and practically choked from the smell of sweat and beer and grease. Where was that son-of-a-bitch? Huh? I would find him if it was the last thing I ever did. And I would make him squirm.

  Then I saw him—with his arms draped around that what’s-er-name. What a sleaze bucket she was. His little sister. Not his real littler sister, you know: his fucking fraternity little sister. I remember thinking she was a little slut when I first saw her bringing cookies and stuff to Biff. Like she laced her brownies with marijuana and thought she was so clever. Her hair was this teased bleached puff, she wore way too much make-up, and I remember wondering why Biff picked this obvious sleaze to be his little sister. Now I knew: So he could screw her when my back was turned. Studying, ha!

  Biff saw me and waved me over. Like he wasn’t even embarrassed about lying to me and cheating on me. Asshole.

  “Hey, baby, what’s up?” said Biff. “You remember Kitty.”

  Kitty. What kind of stupid ass name is that?

  Biff probably thought I wasn’t going to get angry. Well, this time he had gone too far. I was not going to back down and take it anymore.

  “Biff,” I said quietly. “I would like to have a word with you, if you could possibly remove yourself from ole Kitty here.”

  “Sure, babe. Don’t have a coronary.”

  “Oh, heh heh, don’t worry,” said Kitty. “I have to go to the little girl’s room anyway.”

  The sleaze spoke. Little girl’s room. What did Biff see in this piece of trash? She walked off—or, should I say, wriggled off as it was virtually impossible to actually walk in the dress she had shellacked onto her body.

  “So, what’s up?”

  “Biff, you told me you were studying. You lied to me. And now I find you here with your arms all over this hussy, and all you can say to me is ‘what’s up’?”

  “Meow. Let’s not be so possessive here.”

  “Possessive? Possessive? What am I supposed to think about what is going on here, Biff? I mean, we are pinned, right?”

  “Sure, but come on! That was a joke. Listen, baby, I am 22 years old, and if you think I’m ready to settle down with one girl, you’re crazy.”

  “Crazy? Crazy?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Where was my sweet sensitive Biff who I loved more than life itself? Who was this asshole? What had happened to the Biff who brought me champagne and listened to my plans and said he wanted to spend his life with me?

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said.

  “Tell me what?”

  “I’m just kind of needing some space right now, that’s all.”

  “Space?”

  “Yeah, I’m getting these urges.”

  “Urges?”

  “Yeah, physical urges. Like to be with other girls. It has nothing to do with you.”

  I thought my head was going to explode. “It doesn’t?”

  “No. You’re my baby. My girlfriend. I want to stay with you and maybe someday we can, you know, be together together. But right now, I kind of want to play the field. See what’s out there. Be wild. You know?”

  I was shaking. “No, I don’t.”

  “See. You just don’t understand what it’s like to be a guy. We have to be wild every once in a while. It’s just physical, babe.”

  “I am not your babe.”

  “Oh, come on now. Don’t get excited,” he said.

  “You tell me you are fucking other women, but it’s ‘just physical’ and I shouldn’t get excited?” My voice was getting a little loud now, but I didn’t care. Biff looked freaked. I was embarrassing him in “his bar” but tough, asshole.

  “Calm down, Cindy. See, that’s why I told you I was studying. I knew you wouldn’t understand, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  “So, you lied to me?”

  “Well, yeah. It was for the best. I mean, look at your reaction.”

  He was talking to me like I was a child. Like a fucking child.

  “Fuck you, Biff the fucking fifth.”

  “Come on, babe.”

  And then I started crying. Damn, I hated that. Whenever I got mad, really mad, I started to cry. It was so horrible. How can you get mad at people if every time you do you start to cry?

  Biff’s eyes darted around to see if anyone he knew was watching us. The little asshole was worried about his image as my heart was breaking. I looked over and saw the sleaze leave the restroom. She smirked at the little scene I was causing. I couldn’t handle it anymore, so I broke away from Biff and ran outside.

  I stood near the alley outside the bar and thought I was going to throw up. I kept picturing the two of them fucking. I pictured Biff doing to the sleaze all the things he had done to me—all the personal, private, intimate things we did together. The things that bonded us as a couple. That we shared. The things that made me feel beautiful and special.

  Special. Ha! I’m sure they had a big laugh over that one.

  I felt cheap. I felt used. All I kept seeing was Biff with the shellacked dress who put pot in his brownies. And who else? What other sleaze had he screwed before coming to visit me at the sorority house?

&n
bsp; And then I did throw up.

  After I threw up, I noticed there was someone standing beside me and a packet of Kleenex being offered. I took one and then saw who it was doing the offering: Oh shit, it was a professor. I’m puking on the sidewalk outside the Kingfish, and a professor is watching me.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “Don’t worry about it.” She smiled at me. She was one of the younger faculty members and had black hair and these really piercing green eyes. I recognized her but couldn’t place the face yet—maybe I’d had one of her courses back when I was a freshman.

  “Listen,” she continued. “I couldn’t help but notice that you were in a bit of distress in there. Maybe I can help?”

  “Help?”

  “Yeah. You want to go and get a cup of coffee? The Edible Complex is only a half a block away.”

  It was all kind of weird. But she did look nice, like maybe she understood. And I definitely needed someone to talk to. She was a professor, right, so she had to be smart. What did I have to lose?

  Chapter Nine

  MONIQUE

  Maggie came to see me in my office on campus. She was bubbling full of excitement. Said she’d found our first client. Someone she’d pounced on while hanging out at the Kingfish. Interesting methodology, but we did have our first client. I was glad. The semester was proving to be truly dull. Duller than usual. The students were all dolts with not an inspired thinker in the bunch. It didn’t help I had been teaching the same course for the third semester in a row. Truly dull. And the topic of the paper I was working on was not stimulating me as it once had.