Edwin paused on a photograph of a houseboat and grinned. Time to live life on his own terms. No more slaving for other people, making them money. All under God’s careful guidance, of course.
The loud groan upstairs shook the windowpanes as if a sudden wind gust struck the house. Cursing, he walked into the kitchen.
Yesterday, Lindsay clued Shannon in on what she’d been up to. She had been texting Gavin, scoping out his feelings for Shannon. At first, Shannon was mortified and super-pissed at her best friend. Until she heard the outcome. Gavin had said he’d like to ask Shannon out but didn’t want Lindsay to say anything. He wanted there to be some “romantic mystique” left to dating.
All day, she had anticipated—perched somewhere between excitement and fear—Gavin’s asking her out. So far, it hadn’t happened. Her natural cynical outlook prepared her for another disappointment. Yet, he smiled at her in algebra. Like a dork, she quickly averted her gaze, dropping her pencil in the process.
After school, Shannon and Lindsay walked out into the sunlit freedom of outdoors. An absolutely beautiful spring day. Shannon couldn’t have been happier. Or more apprehensive.
When she heard Gavin call out her name, she nearly took a tumble.
“Hey, Shannon! Wait up.” He ran down the stairs to catch up with the girls. “Hey, Lindsay, how’s it goin’?”
Shannon shot a terrified look toward Lindsay who seemed to be enjoying this way too much. She responded with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.
“Okay, well, I’ll leave you guys to it,” said Lindsay, already departing. “My car’s in the other lot. See you tomorrow.” Shannon wanted to grab Lindsay and pull her in tight like a security blanket. Too late. Lindsay fled the scene faster than a hit-and-run driver. Shannon felt like the victim.
“See ya’.” Shannon’s newfound courage crumpled. Alone and abandoned in a shark-festooned ocean without a life raft.
“Lindsay’s pretty cool,” said Gavin.
“Yeah, I guess that’s what you might call her.”
“Are you keeping up with the algebra assignments? The graphing’s lost a lot of the other guys.”
“Of course, I’m a straight-A student.” Discussing grades and school, something in her wheelhouse, put her at ease. “Not that I think it’s bad if you’re not a straight-A student, or anything.”
“Who says I’m not a straight-A student?”
“Are you?”
“Well, no,” he said. “But I’ve accomplished the art of being a good straight-B student. Just enough studying to keep me out of trouble and not enough to make the honors list.” Gavin seemed pleased with himself. Great, a slacker.
“Hey, Shannon, I was wondering…” Here it came. Her pulse quickened. She knew her cheeks had blossomed red. Mood-cheeks. How she wished for the ability to tan. “Would you like to catch a flick sometime?”
Shannon swallowed audibly, a click emanating from her throat. Gavin’s confident swagger dissolved into a meek schoolboy’s demeanor. “I mean…with me?” he added.
Shannon smiled. Okay, he’s not all arrogant bluster. She found it endearing. “But, aren’t you a stoner?” She couldn’t believe she asked it, but the damage was done.
“No, I’m not. Why would you even ask that?”
“Well, the people you hang out with. I mean, your friends are all dopers and—”
“Wait, are you going to give me the lecture about how people judge you by the friends you keep?” He grinned, but defensiveness lurked around the edges of his voice. “I get that a lot.”
“No, I mean, I just thought…” Shannon waved her hands, hoping to erase her assumption. “Let’s just put it this way, Gavin, you surprise me.”
“Well, I’d consider that a good thing, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I guess it is.” She twirled a lock of hair around her finger.
“Are you a doper?”
“What? No!”
Gavin laughed. “There, how does it feel?” His smile widened, the bluster raging back. “Okay, look, I know you’re not. Some of my friends are dopers, but I don’t join them. And I ask ’em not to do it around me. I don’t drink either. And I don’t dance on Sundays.” He cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “My friends are just…I don’t know. Just guys I hang out with who aren’t judgmental, stuck up, or materialistic.”
“I get that.”
“And that’s one of the reasons I’d like to get to know you better. I mean, not because you’re a doper or not, but because…it’s because you’re different.”
“Different?” Shannon realized she’d suddenly gained the upper hand. An unfamiliar feeling. “You mean you don’t want to ask me out because I’m stunningly cute?” Dance, Gavin, dance! Be my puppet on a string! She wondered if this was how the popular girls felt when they controlled boys.
“No! I mean…yes,” stammered Gavin. “Anyway, what do you say?”
“About what?”
“About going out with me.”
“Well, I don’t know. It all kinda’ depends…”
“On what?”
“If you’ll change your mind about dancing on Sundays. I cut a mean rug, especially on Sundays.”
“Okay, fine,” said Gavin, laughing. “How would you like to go dancing this Sunday? I don’t know where, but I’ll find a place.”
“Well, I guess since you’re being so accommodating, I’ll go out with you.” Shannon had no idea she possessed such heretofore-unseen reservoirs of flirtation.
“Great, I’ll pick you up at six.”
“Wait. My address…” Shannon fished in her purse for a pencil and paper.
“I know where you live. I’ve known for a while. The Internet is my friend.”
“Okay, great.” Shannon stared into his brown eyes, wondering what the next step should be. Should she be bold and kiss him? Before she could muster up the nerve, he trotted off.
“Oh hey, Shannon,” he yelled, while shuffling backward.
“Yeah?”
“I do, you know.”
“Do what?”
“I do think you’re stunningly cute.” He said it through cupped hands, capturing the attention of several other students in the parking lot.
Shannon fumbled for words but came up short. She waved at him, then immediately blushed. She felt faint, her knees wobbly. Seventeen years old, and she’d never had a boyfriend. Always considered herself unworthy. Her father left because of her, after all.
Yet, here was a boy—a cute boy—who actually used the term “romantic mystique.” And he had asked her out, for whatever reason. This was, by far, the greatest day she’d ever experienced. She found herself looking forward to many, many more great days. Especially with Gavin.
Peter rode up in the ornate elevator. At least twice every day for the last ten years, he had made the same journey. Usually his only time for reflection before the doors opened into the penthouse suite, forcing him to strap on his “family face.” He enjoyed the long trip, abhorred when it ended.
After the elevator panel hopscotched to forty-six, the doors clunked open.
“Daddy!” Michael, his oldest child, dropped a robot toy in front of the fireplace and raced toward Peter.
Peter affected a smile—something he’d developed a skill for—and extended his arms. Michael leapt into them.
“Hey, how’s my number one boy today?” Peter’s lips stretched into a frozen, dead man’s rictus. His facial muscles ached.
“Great! Me and Toddy played all day at pre-school!” The $100,000 tuition pre-school where Michael plays with blocks. Peter didn’t mind the money, not really. It wasn’t like he didn’t have mountains of it. Still, it infuriated him. The only job Barbara ever had was finding new ways to spend his money.
“That sounds great right back at you,” said Peter. “Where’s your sister and Mommy?”
“Michelle’s at a sleepover. And Mommy’s in the kitchen getting dinner ready.”
Code-speak for yelling at the hired cook about dinner. He cros
sed the marble floor, depositing Michael onto the sofa.
“Better get your shoes off the sofa before Mommy sees you.” Peter held his finger teasingly to his lips.
“But, Daddy, you put me here,” squealed Michael.
As Peter walked through the living room, his hostility escalated. Barbara sought out the most expensive interior decorators in New York City to furnish the extravagant living room. More hired help maintained the immaculate appearance. Peter had long lost interest in Barbara’s only talent—bedroom prowess.
He had met Barbara at a wealthy, prospective client’s dinner party fourteen years ago. She entered the banquet room on the arm of one of his competitors. Reason enough to deem her a worthy trophy for the evening. Her beautiful, long neck stretched regally out of her elegant gown. She carried herself majestically and with confidence. Most importantly, she knew how to apply makeup. So many of the women Peter encountered splashed their makeup on liberally, appearing whorish. Yet, Barbara’s face was perfect, the subtle eye shadow accenting her gorgeous, oval-shaped, brown eyes. Peter decided then she would complete his empire. A stunning woman he could show off, and if necessary, use as a distraction to older businessmen.
Within three hours, Peter had seduced her away from her companion. He had her propped up on the bathroom sink, her hose down around her legs.
“This is the start of our relationship,” Peter said. “A very powerful and important relationship.” He stared into her smoky eyes.
“What about a ‘beautiful relationship’?” she asked.
“That’s not part of the plan.” Then he took her.
Peter cleared his mind and entered the sterile white kitchen. “Hello, Barbara.” He planted a love-barren kiss on her proffered cheek.
“Hello, Peter.” Peter suspected she was just as bored as he was; but she’d never leave him. She had more to lose. He could always get another trophy wife. What could she do? Her once swan-like neck now showed wrinkles and the ravages of time. Her eyes were still stunning, but now flanked by bags that transformed the ovals into narrow slits. He could no longer wrap his hands around her once slender waistline. Old and used up.
“How was work, darling?” She afforded him a fleeting glance. Her focus returned to the chef preparing whatever monstrosity she’d picked out for that evening’s meal.
“Fine.”
“Peter?” Her voice held a small glimmer of life. “Tell me again about this trip you’re taking.” She drummed her long, tapered fingernails against her cheekbone.
“I’ve told you. I’m meeting a prospective client in Oklahoma City. I’m not sure when it’ll be, but soon. I’m just waiting on a call.”
“And why will you be driving again?” Barbara knew about his affairs, but turned a blind eye to them. To her, living a life of privilege trumped a faithful marriage.
But his forthcoming trip was not about an affair. No need to leave town to have sex.
“I’ve already explained this,” said Peter. “I want to take some time off. I need to get away. A long, leisurely drive is what I want.” All of which was a lie, of course. If he flew, he suspected airport security would question his travel gear.
“Well, you’ve never done this before.” Barbara turned back toward the chef’s progress.
“I just want to experience nature,” said Peter. “That’s all.”
Matt lay awake in bed, his mind racing. His debt overwhelmed him. There were student loans, the mortgage on his store and the ever-increasing bills from the mental institution. Jason had asked him about going back to his family for help, but that was out of the question. He hadn’t talked to them in years and planned on keeping it that way.
He rolled over and studied Jason’s face in the moonlight. Jason’s full lips gave the appearance of a blissful smile, even in sleep. His dark eyelashes fluttered slightly, small wings sweeping him into dreamland. He reminded Matt of the innocence of youth and not only because he was ten years younger than Matt. He found optimism in every situation. The way kids do.
Matt sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the inevitability of age chasing him. Tired, achy, his bladder full—the new norm. He quietly made his way to the bathroom downstairs.
Jason Rodriguez had first entered Matt’s life ten years ago. Two years later, Matt left his wife.
The hardest thing he ever did. Matt, already riddled with grief about his affair with Jason, struggled to come to terms with his latent homosexuality. Staying away from Jason for eight months hadn’t changed his desires, no matter how much he fought them. Worse, Matt recognized his wife’s struggle with her own depression. She’d grown quiet, unmotivated. Yet, he’d found a compatible companion in Jason, someone whom he could talk to, share his innermost thoughts with. Emotional walls stood between Matt and his wife. And Matt had been the chief architect, no doubt about it.
Matt told his therapist he didn’t want to hurt his wife. The therapist demanded Matt tell her the truth.
“Sit down. I have something I need to tell you,” he’d said to his wife. Matt took a few deep breaths, looking upward as if for guidance. “I know I’ve been distant the past year or so…and I want you to know it’s not your fault.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “But it’s all me. It’s all me.”
“What are you saying, Matt?” Matt saw how their strained marriage had taken its toll on her. She looked much older than her age.
“I need to take some time off. I’m going to find an apartment…at least for a while. Until I can figure out what’s going on with me.”
“‘What’s going on with you?’ What’s going on with you? What about me, your wife? What about—”
“I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry.” Maybe—if he actually said it—he could move on with his life. And she, hers. “I think I’m…gay.” The words lingered resonantly, hanging over his head with shame.
She stared at him, her mouth open, lips quivering. Her pain-anguished eyes slipped away into slivers of anger. “Get out,” she said. Her calm tone unsettled Matt. “Get out,” she softly, yet firmly, repeated.
Over the next eight months, Matt went to work and came home every night to his small, one-bedroom apartment. He saw no one, had no social life. Holed up in his apartment like a hermit, he pondered his life. When he felt human again, he called Jason.
Matt stared out the window into the moon-struck streets. Prior to Jason, he’d never experienced a long-lasting meaningful relationship. He’d been a patterned, repeat “leaver.” He hoped he’d never leave Jason, but worried he didn’t have the capacity for happiness. To have what it takes to sustain a lasting relationship.
All his life, Matt left behind people he cared about. He left behind his family—his wife—and he despised himself for those hurt in his wake.
Time to make amends. At least he hoped he could. He needed to contact someone; someone he hadn’t seen in some time. And he prayed all would go well.
Chapter Three
Edwin narrowed his eyes, forcing the computer screen into focus. He found more information than necessary. Age, address, school, groups she belonged to, make and year of car. Everything. Tucked away into the kitchen nook, the computer gave him the world at his fingertips.
Edwin leaned back and cracked his knuckles. He wouldn’t have found his financial benefactor without the computer. Of course, he never thought he’d use a computer, let alone own one. He sure as hell would’ve never paid for one. But, for once, good fortune smiled down upon him. Or more likely, God’s good graces steering him clearly onto his path to salvation.
He folded his bony hands and prayed, the blue screen illuminating his leathery face with an icy pallor.
Thank you, God, for allowing the righteous their just rewards.
Then he leered at the girl’s photo filling the screen. Hard to believe a little trollop like that could answer his prayers. But God’s proof didn’t lie.
The year before, Edwin had met Lindsay Bellowes at the American Royal. As he stood next to his penned cattle, he’d had no buyers
, not a lick of interest. A group of teenage girls passed by, giggling, braying at the cattle. Gussied up like harlots, their mini-skirts barely covered their hindquarters. Disgusted, yet torn, a match scratched against his loins, the flame burning harder. A true-blue American man after all. The way God made him.
While most of the girls carried on down the aisle, tittering like a bunch of baby chicks, one strayed from the flock. She bent over, poking a finger through the chicken wire. Her blue skirt rode high up her legs.
Edwin licked his lips and stepped out from the shadows. “Hey, there missy. You like my cattle?”
“They look kind of, I dunno, hungry…or sad, maybe.” She pouted her lips. Edwin watched her move through the hay, carefully avoiding cow patties. A looker, all right. Full-figured with nice big breeding hips.
“What’s your name, missy?”
“Um, Lindsay.” Her playfulness disappeared as she tottered from one foot to the other.
“Well, Miss Lindsay, how would you like to come out and visit my farm some time?”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna’ happen.” Edwin hitched up his overalls and approached her. He leaned down, close enough to smell her sweet perfume. Edwin hadn’t smelled anything that nice in some time.
“Oh, come on now, missy. I could put you to use out at the farm. Give you a good life, too.”
“Ew. I’ve gotta’ go.” She ran down the aisle, her skirt bouncing up and down, exposing pink underwear.
“What’s your last name, Lindsay?” Edwin hollered at her.
“It’s ‘In Your Dreams, Pervert’!” Her harsh laughter blasted Edwin full on in the chest like buckshot.
His eyes widened with rage. He knotted his hands into fists, slamming them against his legs. She obviously didn’t know what a righteous man he was. And the very idea of this whore calling him a pervert? Damn near sacrilege. Edwin growled, his voice carrying over the cows and pigs crying for freedom from their pens.
It’d been years since Edwin had a woman around the farm. He felt entitled to everything that entailed, including womanly duties. That’s the way God made man and woman. A woman’s lot in life is to pleasure the hard-working, dominant man of the house. And for this little slut to insult him and not give him his due respect felt like a downright slap to God’s face.
Godland Page 2
