Turning Point Club Box Set

by JA Huss

  “No,” I admit. “They’re not. I am.”

  “Do you remember the session we had just before Rochelle left?”

  “We taped it.”

  “Yes. And we promised each other that we’d watch it together when things got bad. To understand why the two of you made these decisions.”

  “But Rochelle’s gone.”

  “We don’t need Rochelle to work on you, Chella. Do you want to watch it? So you can get some perspective? Remember why you wanted to play that game to begin with?”

  I’m silent. I don’t know if I want to see that tape. I don’t know if I can handle it. I was so sure I was… cured. Even though I knew then, and I know now, I don’t have a disease. I can’t be cured because there is nothing wrong with me. It’s all in my head. My mother’s voice. Her disapproving looks and comments. Her—

  “We don’t have to,” she says in her conciliatory tone. “But you were excited. Remember?”

  I nod, my eyes trying to close tighter.

  “You were ready. And it was Rochelle who was crying that day, remember?”

  “I know why now,” I sob.

  “Why, Chella?”

  “Because they’re really good guys. She didn’t want to leave them. Not even Smith. She wanted things to be different and she didn’t know how to do that so she had to leave to figure it out.” I stop to breathe for a few moments. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

  “Didn’t realize what?” she prods.

  “I just didn’t expect to like them.”

  “You thought it would easy? And you’d develop no feelings for them?”

  “Yes,” I say, barely a whisper.

  “I like them too. But we need to move on now and decide what you’re going to do.”

  “About what?” I ask, opening my eyes.

  “Well,” she says. “You told me you had two things left on your checklist that were needed to help yourself heal. From the past. You wanted to confront your father, which you did. Very nicely, Bric tells me.”

  “You talked to Bric?”

  “He’s in the waiting room right now. But let’s concentrate on you for a moment more. You confronted your father with who you are and what happened to you. What your mother did to you. How do you feel now? Do you wish you hadn’t done that?”

  “No.” I smile.

  “Are you proud of yourself?”

  “Yes,” I say, sitting up. My head is pounding, so I massage my temples with my fingertips. “I wish I could say it all again, only this time not cry.”

  “I think the crying made it more effective. Because it was you showing him how badly you were hurting.”

  “True,” I concede.

  “And you needed to live that final sexual fantasy that you said, and I quote, ‘makes me feel dirty.’ Do you think it was dirty, Chella?”

  “No,” I say, lifting my head to look her in the eyes. “I don’t. Not at all. It was… nice.”

  “Do you want to do it again?”

  I shake my head. “No. It’s not dirty, but it’s very confusing.”

  She smiles at me. “I would agree. You know, I had a meeting with Bric the other day to tell him Clark and I were withdrawing our membership. We’re ready to move on as well. In fact, we’re leaving for Europe next month. We’re going to spend six months just traveling and having fun.”

  “You bitch,” I say. “What will I do without you?” I laugh, but I’m really not kidding. She’s been my rock for seven years.

  Lucinda just smiles at me. “You’re done, Chella. You set out to heal yourself and now you’ve done that.”

  “But that was a catastrophe, Lucinda. It was a disaster. In public, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Do you think these things end with a whimper?”

  “But my longing?” I say. “It’s still there!”

  She laughs at me. “Who do you long for?”

  “Who? It’s the dirty sex I long for. You know this. I’ve been coming here all these years trying to get rid of it. But these guys… these guys just made me like it more. I might not want to do it with all three of them, but I definitely don’t see myself in the missionary position the rest of my life.”

  She laughs again. “Your longing is normal. And completely under control, Chella. I think if you had confronted your father first, your experience would’ve ended the way you envisioned. You walking out satisfied and happy. But the two got mixed. The end result, however, is still positive. You went looking for your final answers and you got them. Now it’s time to settle down, think about it for a little bit. And make a decision.”

  “What decision?” I ask.

  “Do you love Smith Baldwin? Or were all those conversations we had about him over the past month just some silly crush?”

  I just stare at her.

  “Don’t worry.” She smiles. “I’m not the one who needs to hear that answer. Take your time and think about it. Then… go find him. Give him that present you promised.”

  “He’s gonna think I’m insane and stupid.”

  “He’s going to laugh,” she says, smiling. “And give you a great big hug. Now let me bring Bric in. He’s out of his mind with worry.”

  I stand up as she goes to the door. She doesn’t invite him in immediately, but instead closes the door behind her so they can have a preliminary chat. I hope I don’t look like shit. I feel like shit… But I really don’t want to look like shit.

  A few seconds later the door opens. I turn and find Bric, closing it behind him.

  “I’m sorry,” I say before he even says hello. “I’m sorry it ended that way.”

  He smiles at me and takes in a deep breath. “It was your story, Chella. You can have it end any way you want.”

  “Do you hate me? For telling Quin?”

  “Why would I hate you for telling the truth?” he says. And then walks over to me and pulls me into a hug. “I don’t hate you. It had to come out. Somehow, some day. He had to know what happened. She came to me late last summer and told me she was pregnant. I was… a little stunned. And I don’t know if you ever knew this about me, but I went to school with Lucinda. We were in med school together.”

  “You’re a doctor?”

  “No,” he says. “I never finished my residency in psychiatry. I quit and never went back. Smith came into my life like a fucking tornado with all these big ideas about saving the world. I’m not a doctor, but I play amateur when people have issues at the club. I send them all to Lucinda, of course—she’s the Club psychiatrist and it’s mandatory, anyway. I sent Rochelle to her almost two years ago, when she was thinking about leaving us. I didn’t want her to leave. I liked her well enough. And knew Quin liked her a lot. I just wanted to keep things the same. I’m a man of habit.”

  “And then I came along and fucked it up.”

  “No,” he says. “You didn’t. And I’m relieved, actually. Now Quin and I can figure it out together. Like we should’ve last summer.”

  “Is he talking to you?”

  “No.” Bric laughs. “But he will. Eventually. Friendships can endure a lot. Even this, I hope.”

  “And Smith?” I ask.

  “He’s gonna give you the space you need.”

  “Did you order him to do that?”

  “I don’t give Smith Baldwin orders, Chella.” He laughs. “It was his idea. And don’t jump to conclusions and think that he wants to walk away. Just take your time and then go find him.”

  Chapter Forty-One - Smith

  “What’s up?” I ask Bric as he comes into my bar in the Club. I told him—begged him—to go after Chella. I promised him I would not, if he did.

  He and Lucinda are still good friends. I’m hoping he has something to tell me and I want to ask him how it went, but I’m afraid. I can’t even look him in the eyes.

  “I just got back from Chella’s house.”

  I have to look up for this. “And?”

  Bric lets out a deep breath. “She’s been seeing Lucinda for seven years.”<
br />
  “Why?”

  “It’s complicated. And I don’t know the whole story, but I’m gonna assume it was based on the sexual guilt and sense of shame that her mother instilled in her as a child and growing up.”

  I look back down at my hands. “I want to kill that man. I keep hearing Chella’s words in my head. What they did her. What almost happened to her…”

  “Lucinda didn’t tell me everything, but she did say this was the final stage in Chella letting go of it. I think that outburst on the street was something of a catharsis.”

  I think about our dinner with her father. How she reacted—or didn’t react—to all those nasty things he said. How she just took it, then closed herself off to be sad alone. Then pretended it never happened the next day.

  I think about the nightmares and the sleepwalking. How it’s probably all connected.

  And then I just… hate myself for not seeing her more clearly.

  “We talked,” Bric continues. “She’s feeling better.”

  “Does she hate me?” I look up at him again. “For bringing her into this game?”

  “No,” he says. “I’m pretty sure it was her idea. Like I said, Lucinda can’t tell me everything. But she hinted that Rochelle and Chella set this up together. First, so Rochelle could leave and have someone take her place. Probably for Quin’s sake. And second, I think this was Chella’s fantasy. I didn’t get the feeling she was coerced. She came on her own. And stayed on her own, too, Smith.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” I admit. “I’m always the cool one, you know. The guy in control. The guy with everything figured out. And here I am, so fucking lost. I don’t even have a house,” I say, looking up again.

  “What?” Bric asks, his brow furrowed.

  “A house. Or a job. I’m playing by all these rules, you know. Rules I just make up whenever things go wrong so I can try to find a logical way past the problem instead of dealing with it.”

  “You do good things, Smith. Don’t ever think you don’t.”

  But I’m not sure about that. Money, yeah. I have a lot of it. And I give it all away. It felt good for years to do that. To have that kind of power over people. Corporations.

  But now it just feels… very self-righteous. Self-indulgent, if I’m being honest.

  “I think I’m going about this all wrong,” I say, standing up.

  “How do you figure?” Bric asks.

  But I don’t answer. I just walk out. I need to rethink things. Everything.

  Chapter Forty-Two - Quin

  “Rochelle?” I say into the phone after the beep. She still has voicemail picking up this number, so I’m hoping it’s still one she checks. “I’m sorry. I just found out about… about the abortion. And I’m so fucking sorry. I wish I would’ve been there for you. I really…”

  I don’t know what else to say. What can I say? How the hell do you fix something like this?

  “I just want to see you again. I’d beg if I thought it would do me any good, but I know you better. You told me once that everyone thinks you’re flighty and stupid because you’re easy-going. But you’re really very decisive, and once you make up your mind and commit to something, you stick it out no matter what.”

  I guess that’s why we lasted so long. She was just trying to stick it out. She did, after all, go to Bric with her problem. Not me.

  Not me.

  “But I just want you to know… I lo—”

  Beep. “The voice mailbox you’re trying to reach is full.”

  I just look at the phone. Really? This is how it ends? Really?

  I throw it across the room and yell.

  Chapter Forty-Three - Chella

  I sit out on my back courtyard on New Year’s Eve, my hands tucked into my coat pockets, and watch the snow falling down. It’s so thick, it looks like a curtain.

  I came home yesterday and found this here. Sitting out in the middle of the snow, covered in flakes, like it’s always been there.

  The two ballet children from Matisse’s exhibit.

  There was a note attached from Smith.

  Dear Chella,

  I think this is a better Christmas present for you. I never had the childhood I imagined either, but it was perfect compared to yours. So when you look at this sculpture, think of better times.

  Think of us.

  Love,

  Smith

  I’m not sure what to think about it, to be honest. I love the sculpture. A lot. I check my watch and it’s three minutes till midnight. Three minutes and another year is over. But the gift just isn’t enough for me anymore.

  I have been considering my options all week and I finally called Bric last night to help me make a decision.

  So I sent Smith a note back this morning.

  I smile, thinking about my note.

  And then I laugh.

  “Hey,” Smith says from behind me.

  I turn my head to find him standing in my patio doorway, half in, half out, of the house.

  “Hey,” I say back.

  “I got your note,” he says, holding up the linen napkin from the Club. “And I have to say, Marcella Walcott, you have made me very curious. Again.”

  I nod, trying to stop my smile. But then why should I? He’s here and that makes me happy. “I figured out what I wanted to put in the box.”

  He holds the napkin up. “I know. You said this in the note.” He steps out into the courtyard. He’s wearing a dark winter coat and a nice suit. His thousand-dollar shoes drop six inches into the snow, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Is that it?” he asks, motioning to the blue Tiffany box I pick up off a table. “You only get one anything present, Chella. I hope it’s really what you want.”

  “It is,” I say, waiting for him to join me on the bench.

  I cleared off a spot for him when I came out here twenty minutes ago, but snow is already piling up. He doesn’t care about that either. He just sits down.

  “Do you like it?” he asks, pointing to the sculpture.

  “You know I do. But I like this present better,” I say, shaking the box.

  “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  “Eventually,” I say. But then I pull another box out of my coat pocket. This one is long and thin, about the size of an envelope. “But I need to give you your present first. You gave me two already and I never even gave you one.”

  “I don’t need presents,” he says, wrapping his warm hand around my cold one.

  “Right. I know that. But I think you’re wrong. And I think you gave me a hint that very first night we became friends.”

  “Friends?” He raises one eyebrow.

  “Lovers?” I ask back.

  “Both?” he says.

  We laugh.

  “Open it,” I say, handing him the box. His box is white with a black ribbon. I will never see black and white quite the same way after my experience at the Club. But it reminds me of happiness. Of all the things that made a difference to me. One month, that’s all I had with them. Just one month. And it was enough to change me forever.

  “You know, people have been giving me daily presents for more than a decade. Shoes, and a place to crash. A car to drive me around.”

  “Those are all good gifts, Smith,” I say, squeezing his hand. “But a present is something different. A present is something you don’t need, but want. So open it.”

  I catch him grinning that one-sided dimpled smile as he reaches for the white ribbon and pulls the bow apart. He lifts the lid off the box and stares at what’s inside. “What?” He laughs.

  “I took a big risk with this. Don’t laugh.”

  “What is this?” he says, taking the papers out of the envelope to hold them up to the light. “We’re going to Finland?”

  “I like the way you say we, Mr. Baldwin.”

  He looks through the itinerary. “What did you do?” he asks, shaking his head.

  “Your dream. Remember? That first night. A puppy and a trip to the Arctic to see the N
orthern Lights. We have to wait on the puppy. I didn’t think it was fair to choose your puppy for you.”

  “We?”

  I bite my lip and smile as I pick up my box and take the lid off. He looks inside and laughs. Loud. He holds up the linen napkin and reads it. “Us.”

  “I put us in the box, Mr. Baldwin. So if you really want to be true to your word, you will get on that plane with me tomorrow afternoon and fifteen hours later we’ll be lounging on a big bed, in a glass igloo, somewhere near Helsinki, in a town I can’t pronounce or spell, looking up at the Northern Lights. Or… at least one of us will. I guess it depends on who takes the bottom.”

  He shakes his head, smiling so big, I see a whole different person underneath.

  “I already told Lucinda I’m not a missionary kind of girl, so—”

  “Hey,” he says, his fingers coming up to take my face and turn it towards him. He kisses me, soft and sweet. “There’s always reverse cowgirl.”

  “I missed you this week.” I whisper in his mouth.

  “I won’t let it happen again. From now on, I get you every night. Every day and every night.”

  “Which brings me back to the other thing I put in the box.”

  “There’s more?” he asks. “Are you getting greedy, Miss Walcott?”

  “Yes,” I say, kissing him again. “So very, very greedy. I think we need more greed in our lives, Smith Baldwin. I think we’re done giving to others for a little bit. Nine days and ten nights, to be exact. So let’s throw caution to the wind.” I reach in to the box, pull out a little notebook and hold it up.

  “The Rules,” he says, reading the cover. “You have rules?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I say. “Open it up and read them.”

  He opens it and chuckles. “There are no rules.”

  “That’s right,” I say. “There are no rules.”

  Epilogue - Bric

  The year has flown by and today is the first day of my summer vacation. We close the Club for the summer. Starting June first, I am a free man until the Labor Day weekend party.