What's Not True

by Valerie Taylor

  In his mind, he practiced the words, rather than being spontaneous as he was once too often with Kassie. The word vasectomy popped in his head not out of nowhere. If only he hadn’t blurted it out. If he’d kept his mouth shut, he was certain they would’ve worked things out as they had multiple times before. He let out a big sigh. Of course, that was before he knew she had Chris on the side. Oh well, that was ancient history. Back to current events.

  He checked Karen’s whereabouts on his Find My Friends app. She was in Charlestown. Not at the office. Not in transit to his house, or off shopping with his credit cards—her favorite pastime. He keyed her address into the car’s GPS. He’d figure out what to say to her on his way.

  Without a doubt, Karen would be surprised to see him. He’d only been to her apartment once before when he helped her move in. Never a real reason for him to go there, before now. Best he be honest with her, perhaps break her heart, on her turf. Or was he just being a coward, not wanting her in his territory? What would he do if she melted down, cried in his family room? How would he get her to leave? Could he simply say to her, “Looks like we’re done here,” the way Stephen had, and show her the door?

  Maybe it wouldn’t be as difficult as he feared. She’d immediately sense something was wrong just by his showing up unannounced. The look on his face could be more than enough signal she was in dire straits. If she had a conscience at all, she knew what she had done with the tickets was deplorable. And that by now he and Bill would’ve talked, compared notes.

  A tiny voice in his head repeated over and over, Give her a chance to explain. I owe her that much. He could show another side of him—be magnanimous, big-hearted, forgiving even. Like him, she’d had a helluva year, one in which she got as well as she gave. Reuniting with her son, sacrificing her health all to save him, uprooting herself, starting a new job in a strange city. All traumatic life events categorized by insurance and health experts as major stressors. He chuckled. Boston might as well be a foreign country when compared to Elephant Butte.

  Another side of his brain, he didn’t know if it was the left or the right, whispered, Cut her some slack. Wait until he saw her face-to-face and heard what she had to say. Remain calm, cool, and collected. Adopt a mantra. That’s it. Vasectomy. Repeating the word vasectomy would slow him down, remind him to not shoot off his mouth, to think before he passed judgment. Now was not the time to adopt his wife’s not-so-endearing knee-jerk reactions and lack of filter. Creating his own version of Bad Kassie at this stage in his life would not serve him well, though he was certain Kassie, bad or otherwise, wouldn’t be silenced when she got a load of this story.

  What do ya know? It was shaping up to be his lucky day after all. A mammoth Chevrolet Suburban pulled out of a parking spot on the street adjacent to Karen’s apartment building. He wheeled in his SUV, which looked like a Dinky car in comparison, shut off the engine, and decided to gather his thoughts, rest a moment, but not long enough for the heat of the sun to replace the cool air in the car.

  Mike drew in as deep a breath as he could muster. It’s now or never. Just go for it. As he stepped out of the car and turned to press the automatic key lock, he saw Karen emerge from the building. At least he thought it was her. Though the woman’s back was to him, the red hair was unmistakable.

  “It can’t be,” he murmured. The woman, walking less than half a football field away from him, clung to the arm of some tall dude wearing a blue Red Sox hat. His initial instinct to call out to her vanished as he watched the couple, their arms swinging to-and-fro, amble to an idling black car on the street on the opposite side of her building from where he spied them. Mike covered his squinting eyes, focusing on the incident unfolding before him. His bare feet felt glued to his shoes, though he had no desire to move even if he could. A little bird told him to let the scene play out no matter what the outcome.

  Seconds later, before the man slid into the back seat of the car, he released the woman’s arm, patted her on the ass, and pulled her in good and tight for a shamelessly hearty kiss in broad daylight in front of God and everybody, including Mike. He swallowed hard as the woman turned to leave her lover. He saw Karen clearly now. And the man too, who shouted, “Hey, KC,” as he tipped his cap to her. Well, well, who’d a thunk it? Charlie Gaines, a paramour, in all his pompous glory, got into the car and sped away.

  Mike got into his car too, and cranked up the A/C. No GPS needed on this trip. He knew his way home.

  23

  Mother, Please

  Confident that her body clock and need to scratch would wake her, Kassie didn’t set the alarm on either her phone or the small digital clock on the table next to the bed. In fact, an urge to pee coupled with a sliver of sunlight peeking through the curtains provided key indicators she should get up and set Tuesday in motion.

  6:12 a.m. She tiptoed to the bathroom, held the door handle steady, and closed the door with only a slight click. Sitting on the john, she calculated her meeting with Mimi was in less than four hours. If she allowed thirty minutes to get there by car, she’d need to leave the hotel at nine thirty.

  That leaves me three hours to get my shit together.

  The face she saw in the bathroom mirror didn’t give her any confidence that getting ready would be an easy task. Between the alcohol and allergy, her skin drooped and the dark circles under her eyes appeared as big as dinner plates. On the bright side, she remembered kissing Chris on Pont Neuf after dinner and walking barefoot back to the hotel. A vision of him sitting next to her on the bed passed like wildfire through her mind. Maybe she was dreaming. She placed her hands on her thighs, fingers spread. Two rings. Her wedding band on her left hand, a new brilliant ring on her right.

  Her feet twitched. She checked them out. Still bubbly, but not as red and raw as when they’d returned from dinner and Chris applied the cold soothing gel.

  But then, her left shoulder spoke to her. She turned toward the mirror. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispered, not wanting to disturb Chris. He deserved to sleep even if she couldn’t. He had as bad a night as she, and it was all her fault. She planted her two hands on the sink and bowed her chin to her chest. Why this on all days? How could she bring her A game to the meeting when her body was on strike? At this point her only saving grace was the new black dress with its three-quarter sleeves, enough to cover most of the crud creeping over her body.

  How stupid she was to let her guard down. A few years back after breaking out in hives after she drank cranberry juice containing pomegranates, her mother warned her to check the ingredients in recipes she didn’t create and control. She’d totally forgotten how popular pomegranate cosmos had become. Being with Chris disarmed her, made her careless. What was she thinking? Obviously she wasn’t. Enough of that recklessness.

  Kassie grabbed her blue silk robe, the tube of goo, and headed for the balcony. The French doors resisted her push, the heat of July expanding the wood. She welcomed the coolness of the dawn on the back of her thighs as she lowered herself ever so quietly onto a wrought iron chair, hoping the scraping of its feet on the deck wouldn’t wake Chris or their neighbors.

  As she rubbed a thin layer of medicine onto her shoulder and slid into the robe, keeping it as loose as possible, her stomach gurgled. Good thing she didn’t live in Paris full time. She’d be as big as a house. The smell of buttery croissants wafting up from the boulangerie across the street tantalized her brain. Her mouth watered. Even if her body was scarred, her senses were working in overdrive. Don’t give in. Wait for Chris. Be patient. Yeah, like that’s going to work.

  She knew what would—or hoped would—work. Focus. Breathe. Kassie positioned her feet side by side on the deck, bowed her head, closed her eyes, laid her arms on her thighs with the palms of her hands open to the deck roof above her, and breathed. Focus. She willed the inner conversations competing for her brain cells to relax. Chill.

  The thumb on her right hand reached across her palm and rubbed a foreign object. Her left-hand th
umb mirrored the right. Don’t look. Breathe. She envisioned a small red box. Cartier. Not Tiffany, but what the hell. He’d said, “Kassandra O’Callaghan, marry me.”

  Marry me thoughts morphed into Mimi. How could she prepare to meet her boss’s peer without a defined agenda? I’ll just cook one up of my own. I’m good at that. She envisioned her list of clients on her whiteboard. Who’s the biggest? Most profitable? Most impressive? What could she say about the success of the Boston office that would cause Mimi’s jaw to drop? What personal achievements could she weave into their conversation without being too much of a braggart? Stop overthinking. You’ll do fine. Just breathe.

  A morning breeze passed. Her knees jiggled. Not now, mother. Despite imagining external forces out of her control, Kassie sensed her body settling, praying if she found peace in the moment, the bad pomegranate juju would subside.

  Starting at the top of her head, she tapped into her energy field, steering all her spiritual and emotional positivity throughout her limbs, commanding all the negative forces that allowed the pomegranate seeds to invade her blood system to escape through her fingers and toes.

  A warm wind blew her robe open. She tied it tighter, trying with all her might to reject the distraction. What time was it getting to be? Her phone. His phone. A call he didn’t take at dinner. The passport stamp. Athens. Her thumb rubbed the foreign object again. Inhale.

  She’d given him space last night to do something that was unthinkable five days ago. She could’ve shut it down, turned him down, but didn’t. Because she loved him. Exhale.

  Kassie opened her eyes. Chris sat in the wrought iron chair across from her. Tea and pastries were spread out on a white linen napkin on the table.

  “You were off somewhere. Somewhere wonderful, I hope.”

  “Trying to get my act together. Trying is the operative word. It’s spreading.” She pushed the robe off her shoulder.

  She couldn’t miss Chris’s lying reaction. Eyebrows up, eyebrows down. “It’s not that bad. Take another pill before you head out.”

  “I’d better eat before I do that.” Kassie sipped her tea and reached for a raspberry scone.

  “I see you’re still wearing it. The ring.” He pointed at her hand and disarmed her with his Crest toothpaste smile.

  She splayed her fingers and raised her right hand to the sky. “Incredible, Chris. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “That’s the idea. I wanted something unique for an unusual woman. To represent our unorthodox relationship.”

  “I think you succeeded on all counts, including your alliteration. Even at this hour.” She turned her hand toward him as though she were showing it to him for the first time. “Didn’t notice until this morning. It looks like a curved nail with diamonds at its head and tip.” She held both hands out, comparing the traditional rings from Mike she’d worn for thirty years to Chris’s unconventional offering.

  “Symbolic, wouldn’t you say?” Chris puffed out his chest, rooster-like.

  “Are we fixing something that’s broken?” Kassie scrunched her eyes and pursed her lips.

  “Or nailing down our love once and for all?”

  “You understand, right? Like I told you last night, it’s not an official engagement ring until after the divorce.”

  “But you will marry me. . . .”

  “I will.” Kassie walked two steps to Chris and lowered herself onto his lap. “Let’s just say we’re engaged to be engaged.”

  “Let’s just say we do what we ought to have done last night.”

  Making love to Chris was not on Kassie’s agenda that morning. With her skin screaming like the aftermath of a bikini wax and her mind racing as if she was on the final lap of the Indianapolis 500, she wondered if it was possible for her body to relax enough to enjoy a roll in the hay with Chris.

  Silly girl. Have sex with Christopher Gaines? The man with the Midas touch. With a tongue more talented than a giraffe’s. And fingers able to find the G-spot . . . oh . . . in a flicker. Chris made making love a delicious appetizer ahead of her audience with Mimi. Kassie didn’t know the French word for orgasm, but she knew she’d had it when it happened.

  Spent, Kassie relished being wrapped in Chris’s muscular, warm arms that morning, any morning. The tips of his capable fingers danced along her back. Their panting subsided, their breath syncing to a natural rhythm. Give it time, and they’d both be sound asleep.

  Oh shit. Kassie raised one eyelid, squinting. 8:07. She slapped his chest and bounded out of bed. “Look what you’ve done.”

  “What? I thought that was damn good.”

  “Not that, you goof. It’s after eight. I need to get my show on the road.”

  As one might expect, Kassie had a get-ready-for-work routine down to a science. Forty-five minutes without fail. But that was at home, assuming she’d laid out her outfit, lingerie, shoes, and jewelry the night before. God forbid a wardrobe malfunction. Except she wasn’t home, and other than knowing where her dress was hanging, the rest of her accoutrements were scattered about the hotel room and in her luggage. She calculated she’d need seventy-five minutes to make herself presentable, which would land her close to her nine thirty goal. Hopefully taxis were easy to flag at that hour, otherwise she’d be sunk.

  Feeling pretty perky after the tea, scone, and sex—especially the sex—Kassie kicked herself into high gear. She was able to shower in ten minutes, not her usual twenty, due mostly to her inability to shave her legs with the spreading rash. Luckily, Gabriella recommended light tan pantyhose, which would serve to cover the rash and discourage her from scratching.

  After Chris glided the black sheath over her head, she secured the new wide silver belt around her waist. With her hands on her hips, she swiveled from side to side, checking out how she looked in the mirror. The Cartier ring sparkled as bright as the belt. She touched it for good luck.

  Hurry up. 9:23. Almost witching hour. She dumped the contents of her new purse on the bed. “Ha, I forgot about this,” she said, holding the Eiffel Tower fork in front of her nose. “See, I have more than your ring to remind me of last night.”

  “You stole that.”

  “Duh. Like every other tourista. It’s baked into the price. I bet hundreds of forks a day walk out the door.” She turned it on its tines and walked it across the bedspread. “Some families probably end up with a place setting for four . . . or eight . . . if they should be so lucky.” Kassie continued despite Chris shaking his head. “Believe me, it’s true.” She laughed.

  “Okay, Doris Payne. Just don’t—”

  “Who’s that?”

  “I’ll tell you later. You better get going.”

  Kassie finished reassembling the contents of her purse. “Oh, crap. I have two purple pens, but no business cards, no notebook, just this small travel piece of shit. Won’t do any good—”

  “Here. Take mine.”

  Kassie swiped the black leather journal out of Chris’s hand and gave him a quick smooch.

  “Wish me luck.”

  “You won’t need it.”

  “What I need is a cab.”

  “Not to worry. Tanya’s outside waiting for you.”

  Why am I not surprised?

  Still breaking in her shoes, Kassie headed down the stairs one step at a time. The leather tops rubbed against her chafed skin, reminding her she needed to be on her toes in more ways than one.

  “Have you been waiting long?” Kassie asked Tanya, who stood near the rear of the car, holding the passenger door open for her, and hoped her tone came across as bright as the Tuesday morning sun.

  In the few minutes since she’d left Chris in his boxer shorts, she’d decided accepting Tanya’s presence in her life that day, and most likely throughout the remainder of their Paris vacation, was better than bitching about it. Perhaps the antihistamine she’d taken an hour ago had knocked out Bad Kassie for a while. One could only hope. That morning Kassie needed to be great, not just good, Kassie—new business genius, c
olleague extraordinaire, mistress of the universe. Well, she had that one covered.

  Kassie climbed in the car and settled in, her new bag on her left. She placed Chris’s leather journal on her lap. Bowing her head and taking a deep cleansing breath, she noticed three bumps had just popped up on her right ring finger. Shit. Maybe she should call off the meeting, postpone it until later in the week. Too many distractions. Her body was inflamed, and her mind was on the man she’d left in the hotel.

  Too late. Tanya had already pulled away from the curb, and Mimi was expecting her in less than half an hour. It would be rude for her to cancel, and almost impossible to explain. Oh, can’t make it today. My skin is on fire, and anyway, I’d rather stay in bed with my fiancé.

  “I see you said yes.” Tanya interrupted Kassie’s half-hearted attempt at changing the course of the day.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re wearing the ring.”

  Kassie looked down and then up at Tanya, whom she could see looking at her in the rearview mirror.

  “Yes, I did. How—”

  “Bravo! You are engaged.”

  “Engaged to be engaged.” Kassie held up her wedding band. “Still married. Not quite divorced yet.”

  “You know what they say?”

  “No, what do they say?”

  “You should marry the second guy you love.”

  “Never heard that. Given Chris was a child when I married his . . .” Kassie caught herself from sharing too much personal information. She changed the subject. “Ever heard of Doris Payne?”

  “Sure. She’s a legend here in France, and in America, I’d imagine.”

  “A legend for what?”

  “She’s a jewel thief. A convicted one, at that. Probably in her eighties by now if she’s still alive. Rumor has it she stole a ten-carat diamond ring from a jewelry store in Monte Carlo back in the seventies. It was worth a half million dollars.”