What’s Not True: A Novel

by Valerie Taylor

  Hear, hears all around.

  “Speaking of harmony, what is it with you and Bill?” Charlie asked Karen. “Sounds like foreplay to me.”

  Karen punched Charlie in the arm and shot him a don’t-go-there look as the others waited for her to answer.

  “Actually, Charlie, we’re all good here,” Bill spoke up. “Just a little growing pains at the office. With Chris settling in as partner and Karen in the front office, so to speak, I think some people are unsure of what’s going to happen when the music stops.”

  “Well, my dear friend, that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about. You’ll always be taken care of. I’ll make sure of that,” Mike said.

  Karen tapped her fingers on the table, contemplating Mike’s comment. Not on my watch.

  Done with dinner, Karen stood up and threw her napkin on the table. “How about dessert?”

  “We went to the North End. Cannolis for everyone!” Nancy announced.

  “I’ve got something better than cannolis. Of course, we can eat them later. Actually, we’ll want to eat them later.” Mike pulled away from the table and ran upstairs, laughing. “Get some pillows and flip on the fireplace. Let the fun begin.”

  Karen wasn’t surprised when Mike returned with pot. After all, there was college. She figured he had it somewhere in the house, though he’d never shared it with her.

  “Well, it’s about time,” Karen said. “Thought you’d given it up or run out.”

  “It’s been a while. Last time was with Kassie, if my memory serves me right.” Mike smiled. “Oh, what a night that was.” He held the joint to his lips and tweaked it like Groucho Marx. “But that was the beginning of the end. So there you go.” Mike lowered himself to the floor next to Karen and squeezed her shoulder.

  “You’re with Karen now,” Sarah piped in. “You’ve got a new kidney, a soon-to-be new wife, and your son, um, our son. Time to rejoice.” She inhaled.

  “Speaking of . . . too bad Chris isn’t here. He’d enjoy this scene, don’t you think?” Charlie imbibed and then passed to Karen sitting next to him. No ankles locked in full view of the others.

  “Just look at the four of you,” Bill said. “Who would’ve ever guessed when you all were in college that you’d share parenting forty years later? And be civil about it?”

  “I was very lucky to have had Sarah as my sorority sister when I needed her most.” Karen put her right hand over her heart, hoping she sounded more noble than she felt. “No way my parents would’ve let me keep the baby.”

  “And great timing. Since Sarah and I were about to get married, we could adopt Chris. The best thing that ever happened to us. Except getting married, that is.” They all giggled.

  “So where is Chris?” Nancy inquired after coughing and waving smoke away from her face.

  “San Francisco,” Sarah said. “You know he lived there for quite a while. He has friends there, and I think he may be with his girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend? What girlfriend?” Karen and Mike said together.

  “Oh, didn’t he tell you? He’s been seeing a gal named Lexi. Who do you think he went to Greece with in March? Wonder why he didn’t tell you guys? He told me,” Sarah said, scrunching her nose with a smile.

  “At least she’s closer in age to him than Kassie. Probably more in common. Especially in the sack,” Charlie said.

  Karen glared at him and took in a pained look on Mike’s face.

  “Oh, sorry, old man. Just saying.”

  “Don’t call him that. We’re all around the same age, except you and Sarah are even a couple of years older. Remember?” Karen said, not defending Mike, just not wanting to be linked to the idea of getting old.

  “Sex is sex, and good sex can be great sex, no matter what your age. If the urge is mutual.” Bill grabbed his crotch and winked at his wife.

  “Maybe we should get going,” Nancy said with a knowing grin.

  Mike piped in and suggested they stay in the other spare bedroom. He wouldn’t want them driving under the influence. They all agreed driving would be a bad idea.

  “Three couples. Three bedrooms. Hmmm. Why don’t we do what we did in college?” Charlie suggested. “We guys put our car keys in a bowl and let each gal pull out a key. Whoever is the owner of the key . . .”

  Sarah interrupted Charlie. “I know you thought that was a hoot back then, but times—”

  “Coffee and cannolis anyone?” Nancy said, apparently trying to save the night.

  “Aw, shucks.”

  5

  C Stands For . . .

  Bedtime. Wishes of sweet dreams, nighty-night, don’t let the bed bugs bite echoed as the three cooked couples wobbled their way up the stairs. Charlie and Sarah peeled off into the bedroom they’d settled in earlier that evening, as Karen, being the hostess-with-the-mostest, ushered Bill and Nancy into theirs.

  “Have you ever stayed the night before?” Karen asked as she pulled the drapes shut.

  “Nada. Nope. No siree,” Nancy said, cozying up to Bill.

  “Strange, after knowing Mike for how many years?”

  “There’s a first time for everything. Better late than never,” Bill said, massaging Nancy’s back.

  “Whatever. Make yourself at home. The towels are fresh, and I think you’ll find whatever you need in the bathroom vanity.” Though she’d never checked—she had no reason to until now—Karen assumed the spare bathrooms were fully stocked by the previous woman of the house.

  “Thanks, Kassie. I mean Karen.” Nancy guffawed, putting her hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”

  Karen bit her lip. Nancy wasn’t the enemy.

  As Karen closed the door, she lingered and heard Bill say, “Not the best way to win friends and influence people, eh, my dear?”

  “Not my job. But this is.” Nancy giggled.

  Karen rolled her eyes and shook her head as she closed the master bedroom door behind her. Mike had made quick work of getting ready for bed. Things were looking up until he opened his mouth.

  “What do you think Charlie meant?”

  “By what?”

  “Aw, shucks.”

  “Nothing really. Just a saying. And he’s stoned.” Karen threw her hands in the air.

  “What if you pulled his key? Would you—”

  “Only a game, Mike. He knew no one would go along with it. Only a game.” She and Charlie played the game once before without Mike’s key in the mix. A night etched in her mind forever.

  Karen took her memories and retreated to the bathroom to freshen up. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her red hair startled her. It would take some getting used to. But it was all for a good cause. She brushed and tossed it, giving the woman in the mirror a knowing wink.

  She slipped on a black satin baby doll nightie with a plunging lace neckline and spaghetti straps, tucking the matching panties in a drawer in the bathroom. No need to make things difficult for Mike tonight. She was mellow and horny. A winning combination. She hoped Mike was as hot to trot as she. With Charlie just down the hall, it would be easy to play out her recurring fantasy, and Mike would never be the wiser.

  The bedroom was as dark as a dungeon.

  “What the hell? Mike, turn on a light before I stub my toe,” Karen hissed. Silence.

  Karen felt her way around the bed, tapping one palm at a time until she reached her side and climbed in. As she rolled toward Mike, she touched his back. Actually, she touched the back of his T-shirt. Her fingers slid down his body until she inserted them into the elastic of his boxers. She rolled her eyes and pinched her lips. His measured breathing indicated his back and his attire were more than a wall between them. She’d seen this movie before. It was his way of saying not tonight without having to utter the words.

  Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, helped by her cellphone’s blue light. It was nearly midnight. She exhaled and coughed. Maybe that would wake Mike up. She waited. Coughed again. No reaction.

  She resorted to happier thoughts. At first,
the memory of Charlie wrapped around her ankle earlier that evening stilled her mind, then stirred a longing. She faced away from Mike and squeezed her hand between her thighs. What a waste. She could have had either of two men in the house that night, and she had neither.

  There was only one solution. Karen got out of bed and went into the bathroom and took care of business, without even a groan. It wasn’t the first time, for sure. After her husband Barry died, she reintroduced herself to self-pleasuring without guilt. Once she’d reunited with Mike, though, she figured that was behind her.

  After, she sat on a small round vanity chair in the dressing room, careful not to make noise swiveling or rolling on it. There were guests in the house to consider.

  Guests. Karen wondered what they were doing. Hard to imagine Bill and Nancy having sex—though Mike had told her about their rocky marriage and how they reignited their relationship after Bill had a rip-roaring affair a few years back. And then there was Charlie and Sarah.

  In more than one conversation over the last year, Charlie said he and Sarah had no sex life at all anymore. Could she believe him? Was the way he came on to her that night a deep-felt emotion for her, a memory of a mini-affair in college, or just a sex-starved middle-aged man?

  Karen found the satin panties she’d tucked in the drawer and stepped into them. She grabbed a mid-calf black silk robe and her cellphone and tiptoed downstairs. In her travels, she noticed no lights shining under the doorway from Bill and Nancy’s room. Whatever they’d started when she closed their door was either finished or still in progress, but quietly. A smidgen of light and voices came from the other room. At first, she hoped she hadn’t wakened Charlie and Sarah, but then dismissed that wacky idea with Mike’s familiar snoring filling the hallway. Any complaints by the guests of a sleepless night would be directed toward the homeowner.

  God, she was hungry. With the kitchen at the opposite end of the house from the sleeping quarters, Karen was able to shift the bowls of leftovers in the refrigerator without fear of disturbing anyone. Paydirt. She found the cannolis. As she grabbed a knife out of the drawer—eating an entire pastry in the middle of the night was out of the question—her cellphone lit up. A text.

  That u downstairs?

  Yup.

  Company?

  Why not? Hungry?

  Starved.

  By the time Charlie arrived in the kitchen in his light blue pajama bottoms and dark blue Chicago Cubs T-shirt, Karen had clicked on the Keurig.

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “Sarah had other ideas.” Charlie grinned.

  “Really? Thought you’d said—”

  “Talk. She wanted to talk. She wasn’t happy about my key suggestion.”

  “Neither was Mike. Did you really think anyone would go along with that?”

  “What about you? You had no problem with it way back when.”

  “So, does the C on your shirt stand for the Cubs or for Charlie?” Karen teased and tried to change the subject.

  Charlie approached her and pushed her against the counter. She fed him the other half of her pastry. As he chewed, he said, “Cannolis,” and tried to kiss her. They busted out laughing.

  “Shhhh,” Karen whispered. “Don’t want to wake the house.”

  “Maybe it stands for clitoris.” Charlie untied her robe and slid his fingers into her panties. He kissed her deeply. “You’re wet. That was quick. Like the good old days. Yum.”

  And it was quick.

  Karen traced the huge C on Charlie’s chest. “Perhaps it stands for Chris. The one thing everyone in this house tonight, except for Nancy, has in common.”

  “And Bill too?”

  “Oh, there’s a Bill connection. You know that. He’s competing with Chris, and eventually me, for stakes in the company.”

  “What do you think Mike meant when he said Bill would be taken care of?”

  “Not sure. But once we’re married, I’ll have full view of Mike’s plans for divvying up the company, when and if the time comes.” Karen pushed him away ever so slightly.

  “Maybe the C stands for collusion or conspiracy. Popular words these days, don’t you think?” Charlie gave Karen a peck on the cheek, a swift pat on the ass, and headed back upstairs.

  Karen gazed out the kitchen window, reflecting on the risk she took hosting Charlie and Sarah that weekend. She’d have to keep Charlie under control. Keep her eye on the prize. She gave Charlie a five-minute head start, then went upstairs to the master bedroom, a.k.a., the promised land.

  6

  Getting to Know . . . Him

  Vacationing in Venice was not Kassie’s idea. Returning to the city where she’d met Chris six years earlier was the last item on her bucket list, if it was there at all. Apparently it was a major component of Annie’s grand scheme.

  “Write a book,” Annie, her BFF, had nagged her. “It’ll help get Mike and his vasectomy, Chris and his lineage, and your mother and her misguided love out of your system once and for all. You have an unbelievable story to tell. Movies are made with far less intrigue. You’d be rich. Be on The View and Ellen.”

  “More like Dr. Phil. ‘What were you thinking?’ he’d yell at me for sure. I’d be so embarrassed. More than I am already.”

  “If you won’t write to cleanse your soul, Kassie, you must return to Venice, the scene of your original sin. It may be the only way to close the circle and get on with your life.”

  She thought she’d moved on. After the shit had hit the Mike/Karen/Chris fan, Kassie plowed her energy into her work, much to the delight of Tom and her team. She was grateful they’d remained loyal to her when she needed it most, giving her time and space to handle her affairs—the romantic one with Chris and her financial and legal affairs with Mike. She’d committed herself to returning to the Kassie they, and she, once knew—putting in long hours, challenging the design and copywriting teams to break boundaries, signing new clients, beating the competition, and being the leading revenue producer in the firm. She was back.

  Or was she?

  “Are you just filling time with activities you could do with your eyes closed? Classic denial syndrome,” her therapist diagnosed.

  “But I slept with my husband’s—”

  “You also saved Mike’s life.”

  “Did I? Karen would claim first prize in that regard.”

  “Enough self-pity. Change the tape that’s on an endless loop in that head of yours. Find a new love. Something other than a man to make you happy,” her therapist challenged.

  So she tried. She thought about her past volunteer work: reading to second graders, cleaning cages at an animal shelter, raising money for AIDS, participating in telethons at the local public television station. Those were fulfilling, happy times. And none included either Mike or Chris.

  Convinced, Kassie declared she needed a new cause. She didn’t have to look far. She discussed an idea with her therapist.

  “I could help you with that. I’m on the board of the Boston Adoption Center. We’re always looking for volunteers. You could be a big sister to one of the children. How does that sound?”

  Her therapist was right. Working with children who’d been discarded by or taken from their parents filled one hole that had ached for thirty years. Payback or pay-it-forward, she didn’t know which, but she was willing to do whatever she could.

  But that wasn’t enough to put the past behind her to satisfy Annie. Venice. It just had to be Venice. Annie was sure of it.

  Kassie wasn’t but gave in anyway. Who could turn down a trip to Venice? So, as she waited to meet Annie at the same café on St. Mark’s Square where she’d first met Chris, her doubts that a trip to Venice had the power to heal the emptiness she felt without him brewed inside her. How many nights had she fallen asleep imagining the arms wrapped around her were his, not her own? Her eyes watered as the dance bands dueled and couples coupled. She yearned for his gentle touch, his Hollywood smile, the subtle ways his outward confidence balanced her internal anxie
ties. Without him, her entire being shrieked, “Tilt! Check engine light.” She definitely was out of alignment.

  Kassie sipped her twenty-euro Cosmopolitan at a table she chose specifically to be near the one she had sat at long ago when Chris descended into her life from out of nowhere. He became a five-year gift from God, getting her through her mother’s illness and the final downward spiral of her marriage. And then in a nanosecond his love was zapped away as unexpectedly as it had appeared.

  Before last night—before Annie’s bait and switch—she couldn’t have imagined how she’d replace him in her life. Maybe now she wouldn’t have to. Could Paris change all that? If they could make it work in Venice and Paris, could they make it in Boston? In Europe they were out as a legitimate couple for the first time since their affair began. Would they endure when they returned to Boston? Or would they uncouple, be like 7 Up, the uncola?

  Kassie left Chris on the terrace with the letter from her boss. She’d better get her shit together. Lifting her red roller bag, she slung it onto the queen-size bed with a thud so forceful the bed’s metal legs shifted and scraped. She pressed both hands on the mattress.

  Hope it’s strong enough to take a week’s worth of pounding. God bless the guests in the room below. Maybe we should send them a bottle of wine now before we need to apologize.

  They’d left Venice in such a rush that morning she’d thrown everything into her bag in a heap. It didn’t matter then. There were no big plans. The letter from her boss changed all that.

  She removed her Clarks sandals and dropped them on the floor. So much for minding the noise. The plastic bag with dirty clothes found its way to the narrow closet that had just four hangers, probably left there by previous guests. She found the black skirt she’d worn the night before rolled up in a ball. Even unfurled and shaken, there was no way it would work for her meeting Tuesday. She hung it up anyway. She mumbled something about not having anything to wear, not sensing Chris standing behind her.