by Maren Foster
I skipped ahead.
November 18, 1988
Shreveport, Louisiana. We did it! He picked me up on the motorcycle after school and we drove to the creek. It was a little chilly out but he had a blanket and he wrapped it over us. The sun was out, so I wasn’t too cold. He started kissing me and put his hands on me. He felt me up and then he pulled up my skirt and unbuttoned his pants. He held himself over me and then he did it. I have to admit that it hurt more than I thought it would and I wouldn’t say that it felt good, but I smiled and pretended that I was enjoying it because he seemed to be. I guess he enjoyed it a lot because he began to shake and moan and then he collapsed onto me. He was sweating too. It definitely wasn’t as exciting as I was hoping. I don’t really get what everyone is so worked up about. I’m not sure what I’ll do if he wants to do it again. I don’t think I regretted it, I wanted to try it, but it did hurt. I’m not sure I want to do it again.
So Vi wasn’t the prude I’ve always thought she was! I guess that’s why she didn’t want us to date when we were in high school. It’s hard to understand why she thought we would get pregnant so young like she did. It was such a different time. She could have just told us about birth control!
The Tale
Saturday, October 14, 2017
Old Greenwich
The weeks passed slowly. I relished in the weekends when I didn’t have to commute into the city. My phone lit up on the arm of the chair next to me. I swiped a familiar pattern on the screen and read a new message from Kassie.
“Bunch of us are going to Simon’s tonight ~9pm. You in?”
“Is Julia going?” I replied.
“Probably. Candace texted me about it,” Kassie replied.
I actually was in the mood to go out and Nate had plans with some old high school friends, all guys. Other than Nate, they all had kids now and made a point to escape one Saturday a month for what they called “poker night”. I didn’t ask any questions and didn’t really want to know what they did, but was just glad that none of their activities ended up in my Facebook feed.
“Okay, we’ll see. Might make it if I get a nap first,” I replied.
“Let me know if you need a ride,” she replied.
I texted Jenna, “Ladies night out tonight if you want a break from the kids. Simon’s. 9ish.”
I fixed up a quick dinner for myself and pulled a frozen meatloaf from the freezer, so that Nate would have something to eat when he got home, which I assumed would be in the early hours of the morning. Then I curled up on the couch in front of the TV and fell asleep.
I was woken by a soft kiss on my forehead. “Hope you have some more exciting plans for the evening,” Nate said.
“Yeah, going out with Kassie,” I said, groggy from my nap. I looked at my watch: 8 p.m.
“Shoot, that nap was longer than it should have been. I need to get ready.”
“No time for a quickie,” Nate said and moved forward to give me a kiss. His lips landed softly on my mouth but I kept mine closed tightly.
“Got it, no time for that, as usual. See you later,” he said.
I showered and put on my best black skinny jeans and was ready by nine-thirty when Kassie pulled up to the house.
She turned the radio down as I climbed up into the passenger seat. We parked less than a block from Simon’s, which was the kind of bar that you snuck into in college before you turned 21. It was firmly rooted in as many generic bar themes as they could get away with: Irish, pool house, honky-tonk. It reminded me of our go-to place in high school. It was safe, frequented by the random dads who had snuck out for the evening, but not entirely uncool.
It was still pretty early. There were a handful of guys at the bar watching a game on t.v. and a few more playing pool in the back corner. A group of five women, including Candace, was sitting around a table with drinks in hand. Sure enough, Julia was seated in the middle of the table and all eyes were on her. She was smiling, basking in the attention. I recognized the other women vaguely but couldn’t place them. I figured they had probably been at her bridal shower and the wedding.
Kassie and I went to the bar and ordered drinks. We pulled another table and a few more chairs over. One woman was talking about a vacation she’d recently taken. Another was talking about her recent boob job.
“What does your husband think?” one of the women asked about the boob job.
“The better question is; what does your boss think?” another offered sarcastically.
“Well, he can’t keep his eyes off my chest,” she replied.
“Which one?” the first woman asked.
“Both!” she exclaimed. “And their hands too.”
The women around the table were equally amused and horrified, mostly because it was unclear whether she was serious or joking.
“I’ve been thinking of getting some myself,” Julia said.
“Are you kidding?” the second woman challenged. “You have the perfect body. You don’t need a boob job!”
“Hey! What am I?” The boob job lady tried to hide her wounded ego with sarcasm.
Julia filled the awkward silence that followed; “But I was thinking that I might wait until things get stagnant with Adam. At least I’ve heard that happens eventually. I was thinking I’d keep that one in my back pocket in case I need it someday.”
“Awww, newlywed sex,” one of the women crooned.
“Well, our sex is pretty fantastic, but it’s not like we waited until we were married, so it hasn’t changed that much lately.”
They all nodded.
“Well, that’s not exactly true,” she continued. “There’s something about married sex that is inherently a bit boring, isn’t there?”
She paused to make sure everyone was listening. “It’s like, it was hot and unpredictable, and then he put a ring on it and it changed overnight. It’s bizarre actually. I didn’t think that would happen to us.”
“Yeah, isn’t it crazy how married sex can be pleasurable, satisfying, and yet . . . boring,” a friend of Julia’s added.
Candace chimed in, “Speaking of sex and shocking, have you seen the news about that Hollywood mogul?”
Julia shrugged. “Yeah, who is he?”
“I read that he’s one of the most powerful producers in Hollywood.”
“Did you see who accused him of rape?”
“I know. Rose McGowan. Can you believe it?”
“Oh my God, I loved her in Charmed when I was in high school!”
“I mean, yeah, he seems like a total creep, doesn’t he?” I said.
“Really?” Candace said. “Can’t you see that it’s all about the money? As far as I’ve seen, none of them have any proof that he did anything wrong.”
“Yeah, I don’t get it,” Julia said. “A bunch of beautiful women say they were called to his hotel room or house and he was acting inappropriately. Why didn’t they just turn around and leave? It’s not like he tied them up or something, did he? They could have just left.”
“Exactly!” Candace said.
Maybe by the time they realized what was going on it was too late. “Do you not understand the idea of ‘abuse of power’?” I said.
“I just don’t buy it,” she said. “He obviously had something they wanted, and it wasn’t looks, and they did what they had to do to get it.”
“But isn’t that the point. They shouldn’t have had to do that to get a job.”
“Are you really that naïve?” Julia asked.
“So, it’s naïve to expect that a woman can go to work and not be raped or sexually harassed?” Oh my God, do I sound just like Vi and Ali?
“You don’t even know that they’re telling the truth. What if they’re just mad that they didn’t get the job?”
“All of them?”
“Who knows?”
I looked down at my drink and shook my head.
Julia continued to drink and play hostess. I sipped a Margarita and watched as she got louder and louder. Eventually she an
d her friends headed for the dance floor. Kassi and I watched from the table as a group of young guys moved in. She didn’t seem to put up any obstacles and pretty soon she was grinding with the best looking guy in the bar. I watched and wondered why she had married Adam at all. She certainly didn’t seem to need his money. He wasn’t unattractive, but he just didn’t seem like her type either. He was a little too decent and she was a little too self-absorbed. She probably could have married just about anyone she wanted. Maybe it’s the way he adores her. Maybe after I rejected him, he was determined not to lose the next one.
“You ready to go or you want to stay and watch this train wreck until the bitter end?” Kassie said handing me a glass of water.
“Yeah, just a minute,” I said. “Need to go close my tab.”
I picked up my phone and headed to the bar. As I waited for the bartender to close my tab I held my phone up as if I was reading something, but hit record and zoomed in as much as possible. After a minute of Julia on camera, grinding and fondling with the young guy, I figured I had enough. I signed the receipt and Kassie and I headed out.
Nate was sitting in the big armchair in the living room when I got home. He had a nearly empty glass of whisky in his hand.
“Hey you,” he said as I walked into the kitchen.
“Hi.”
“How was your night?”
“Fine, I didn’t think you’d beat me home.”
“Guys all had stuff to do early tomorrow.”
I nodded.
“Hey, come over here,” he said slyly. “I have something for you.”
“I’m not really in the mood,” I said. I know I’m supposed to do whatever it takes, but I’m tired.
“You never are anymore are you?”
I shrugged.
“You’re not getting it somewhere else are you?”
I was surprised that he would actually ask me that question.
“I can’t imagine it’s better than with me, but if you are, you should just tell me,” he said. “Maybe we can open things up.”
“No, nothing like that, I just haven’t been turned on lately, sorry.”
“Come here,” he demanded.
I knew he wouldn’t give up and I knew I needed to keep him happy until I had proof, so I gave in. He put his drink on the side table next to the chair and pulled an old sweatshirt off his lap which I hadn’t seen from the kitchen. He was naked and already aroused. He slid toward the edge of the chair.
“Why don’t you catch up on all those squats you’ve been missing out on at the gym,” he said. It was more of an order than a question. Anger coursed through me. I suddenly noticed how silent it was in the house.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he added.
All of this living hell will be worth my while someday, if I stay committed and see it through to the end. I wiggled out of my skinny jeans and took off my thong. At least I’m still tipsy.
“Don’t you come over here with that sweater on,” he said.
I pulled my sweater off over my head, crossed the living room and stopped in front of his chair. I turned around and began to lower myself onto his lap.
“I don’t even get a kiss,” he said.
I stood up and then kneeled down on the edge of the chair, hovering above him. I bent forward, sucking in my stomach, and he kissed me aggressively, biting my lower lip. I kissed him just enough to get turned on, and then turned my back to him again and sat down. I began my work out for his viewing pleasure, raising myself up and then back down again. Eventually, he came and I went upstairs to bed.
I woke up just after three in the morning. I tossed and turned for a while and then admitted defeat. I tapped the Facebook icon on my home screen and began scrolling through the images and posts. The typical assortment of posts filled the screen: pictures of groups of people out partying, photos from weddings, scenic panoramas from once in a lifetime adventures, but one particular photo caught my attention. It was a photo of a children’s chalkboard easel with a handwritten message in curly cursive: “Baby Jensen. Coming 2018.” My sinuses burned and a tear ran down my cheek. Why do other people get to have babies and move forward easily to the next chapter of life while I’m stuck here grappling with the past? Why does it look so easy for them? Is it really that easy or is it all fake? Why have things been so different for me? Why did he have to ruin my life?
This is why I hate Facebook. I should just delete my profile. I had done that before but always restored it within a couple of weeks. The pull was too strong, too irresistible. Despite knowing how damaging the deceitful barrage of self-promotion and celebratory posts were, I couldn’t help it, because for each of those there was one that confirmed that someone else was suffering too. That I wasn’t alone. Those details weren’t paraded around but they were there if you knew where to look. The soulful selfie in the park or the photos of decadent meals enjoyed alone. Then there were the truly difficult to read posts. The touching tributes to a loved one lost. The frank portrayals of struggles with disease and sickness. These too were some sort of perverse consolation. A reminder that, in some ways, it could always be worse.
Eventually I dozed off and was awoken by the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen downstairs, which gave way to the heavenly smell of bacon.
I found Nate in the kitchen. He piled scrambled eggs on two plates and topped them off with a few slices of fresh avocado.
I sat down across from him at the table and picked at the food.
“You were up really late, weren’t you?” he said.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Something bothering you?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. How to set the next phase of the con in motion and how much longer can I stand this life? That’s what’s bothering me. “Not particularly.”
He got up and started to clean up the mess he’d made in the kitchen.
“Guess who’s pregnant,” I said.
“Julia?” he asked.
I paused, a little surprised that she would be the first person to come to his mind.
“No, Jordan Jensen,” I said.
“Who is that?”
“My sorority sister and roommate in New York. You met her a few times at my apartment after we first met, and she was at our wedding. She’s married to that gastroenterologist.”
He shrugged.
“She was one year ahead of me in school.”
“So?”
“So, it’s hard to see other women get pregnant so easily,” I said. “So young.”
“How do you know it was easy for her?”
“I guess I don’t, but you know what I mean.”
“No.”
“She just looked so happy in the pictures.”
“Oh, you saw it on social media, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“You know that stuff is complete bullshit,” he said. “I told you to get off it a long time ago.”
“But you’re still on it.”
“Yeah, but I don’t obsess about it like you do.”
“I wouldn’t say that I obsess about it.”
“I would.”
I shook my head.
“You know how I feel about it. If you want to start trying to get pregnant, quit your job.”
“I can’t just quit my job.”
“Why not? You’re clearly unhappy and stressed out. You know that stress can impact fertility and clearly you want to be pregnant. So quit already.”
I was silent. There’s no way in hell I’m having your child. I just need a little more time.
He continued, “It’s pretty clear that you can’t handle working and everything else. How do you expect to be able to handle having kids and working if you can’t even manage to work and take care of things around here right now?”
“I didn’t think I was doing that badly.” You son of a bitch!
He ignored me. “Plus, you can always go back to work if you don’t like staying home. Or do something else.”
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“I don’t know.”
“I don’t get it. When we met you said you wanted to stay home, have kids, just be a mom,” he said. “What changed?”
“I don’t know. People change their minds.”