by Roxy Harte
“It isn’t wrong to want us both, Garrett.”
“Yes, it’s wrong. After all the years I lived with Tony, hating that he needed other men, knowing that I wasn’t enough to complete him, and just wanting to be his everything…how can I dare do the same to Kitten?”
I reach out to touch him but he pulls away. “What the three of us will share cannot be compared to what Tony did to you.” Garrett tenses visibly, I think he knows I don’t plan to sugarcoat it. “Supposedly, you and Tony had a committed, monogamous relationship, excluding clients of course, but he chose to cheat. Repeatedly. He fucked around. Bathhouses, back alleys, under your nose at the club…he did what he did in secret, but in full view of anyone paying attention. Whether he wanted you to know or not is debatable, but the fact of the matter is, even after he was caught, even after you asked him to stop, he still cheated.” He looks at me with hatred but I know he doesn’t hate me, he hates the truth. I reach out to touch him, he doesn’t pull away. “You won’t be cheating on Kitten and Kitten won’t be cheating on you. It isn’t the same.”
“I know,” he whispers. “I know. I just don’t want to—I don’t want…”
“You don’t want to hurt Kitten and you don’t want to be hurt again, I understand.”
Chapter 23
“We have to stumble through so much dirt before we reach home. And we have no one to guide us. Our only guide is our homesickness.”
-Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Kitten
My mind races at a million miles an hour, wondering, thinking too much, trying to figure out if the two Doms in my life were being truthful and will honestly share me; or whether they lied, saying anything, agreeing to anything, just to get me within hands’ reach. Neither man has lied to me before, but I don’t see either of them willingly sharing me either.
I sit behind my desk, looking blankly at my computer screen open to days of unanswered emails, hoping I look officially very busy. Occasionally, I even remember to scroll. I couldn’t stay at Charlie’s place alone and he couldn’t sit there with nothing to do all day but hold my hand, so when he left for the office, I went with him, coming straight to my office, leaving the door open. Closed is too claustrophobic.
In the three hours I’ve been here, I’ve decided that either the reception desk is getting moved to the other side of the building or my office is changing locales, because the receptionist is out of control. Answering all of the calls on speaker phone, she is driving me insane.
Ring, ring.
Just pick up the God damn phone!
“Thank you for calling The Darkness, where your twisted secrets are our business, how may I help you?”
I asked her to turn it off speaker. She argued that it is easier to multi-task if her hands are free for other things. Thirty transfers to four different departments, two personal calls, and one solicitor later, all within the last hour and I’m ready to disconnect her.
“This is Inappropriate Voices, right?” A man’s deep voice booms through her speaker swelling the room. My ears perk up, instantly recognizing the unwanted voice from my past, days of sermons, nights of promises…
I leave my desk, planning to tell Hannah to dump the call, but hear her explaining, “I’m sorry she isn’t doing any interviews.”
“I don’t want to interview her!” Lion’s voice comes over the speaker in scream decibel, but not screaming, pure pulpit projection. “It’s about her father and I need to talk to her immediately.”
My knees go weak and I lean into the doorframe for support. Heart pounding, body trembling, I respond to his command as if he’s here in the room. Seeing me, Hannah pantomimes at me the question, “Do you want to take the call?”
I whisper, voice shaking, hoping she doesn’t hear my voice shake, “Transfer him, Hannah!” I know she hears me because she nods that she will.
My hand shakes above the receiver as I wait for the call to come through. I lift the handset to my ear when I see the light, not hearing the soft buzz. “Lion?”
“Hey, Jane…sorry, Celia…ah Kat…oh hell, what do you want me to call you?”
“Celia’s fine but I asked you to not call me. I really don’t want any contact with you or my father or my past. My life is way too complicated for this. Can’t you just leave me alone?”
“Your father’s in intensive care, but if you don’t care…”
I sit down hard in my cushioned desk chair, but there is nothing soft to it.
“Are you there? Do you really not care at all?”
“What happened?” I whisper, trying not to care, trying really, really hard not to care when he tells me that my father just had a heart attack and that they are prepping him for surgery.
“They can’t wait long enough for you to get here. I’m sorry, machines are all that’s keeping him alive. They really don’t know if he’ll survive the surgery, but they assure me that they have the top cardiovascular surgeon at UC doing the job, Dr. Steve Lowenstein. I wanted you to know so you could stay near a phone, in case you wanted updates.”
I swallow, a million thoughts going through my head, the one winning out being how fast can I get on a plane. I press hold without telling him, screaming for Hannah. She appears in my doorway as if she’d been standing there all along, but I don’t bother to comment. “Get me on the next flight to Cincinnati, no stops, no layovers. Use the company card.”
She starts to say something but, meeting my eyes, she doesn’t. When she walks away, I know she’ll do as she was instructed and make the arrangements. Reconnecting to Lion, I’m glad he waited. “I’ll be on the next flight. I’ll be there.”
My back is to the towering brick hospital facing the officially designated emergency entrance. Ambulances line the curb, attendants coming and going at a brisk pace. I close my eyes against harsh red lights flashing in my face as an ambulance speeds by me with a new drop off. Bare maple trees line the curb. I shiver in my T-shirt, actually Charlie’s T-shirt, because I never took time to change or to even pack an overnight bag to insure that at some point I could get decent.
Unwilling to go back inside the hospital, I stand alone. A light mist of rain falls, making the air smell clean. It’s the kind of rain that is so fine you can hardly see it, but it clings the minute it hits, seeping in and filling the pores of fabric, leaving my shirt clinging, my hair dripping into my eyes in what seems like only minutes.
Dawn came and went without a sunrise, at least not a visible one. It is determined to remain a wet, dreary day. I’d forgotten how this part of the world feels in winter. Cold and grey and gloomy. I should have never got on that plane. I shouldn’t have taken Lion’s call. Tears spring to my eyes and I shiver harder, sinking into a squat, sobbing into my hands. The sky seems to respond to my grief and releases a torrential rain.
Lion comes up behind me, waving a concerned attendant away, helping the hysterical woman into the warm car that I didn’t even hear pull up to the curb. Hospitals don’t normally come with valet, but then Lion doesn’t accept normal as his standard. As Lionell McCain, evangelist extraordinaire, he expects immediacy in all things and people always respond to his expectations.
He climbs in beside me, closing his door, buckling his belt. I hide my face in my arm as I slump against the door, using the window as a hard pillow, and am as uncomfortable as hell. I shouldn’t notice such things, my father is dead. He never knew I’d returned. As close as I can figure, my father died while I was over St. Louis.
“Are you okay?” Lion looks my direction as he pulls from the curb. His glance suggests concern, even though the last time I saw him, I threw ice water in his face. I suppose if we compared sins against each other, we would be tied.
I nod, even though a steady stream of tears flows over my cheeks. He looks back toward the road, driving. I didn’t ask where we’re going. It hardly matters for now. Through the window, rows of asphalt and block after block of brick buildings, cars, and pedestrians finally give way to the interstate. Lion doesn’
t look my direction again. He looks tired. I imagine he’s been awake all night. He became the son my father always wanted in the absence of the daughter he had no use for. Lion needed a father, I’m glad mine was there for him. Sometime, not now, when my skin no longer crawls in his presence and the pain in my chest is less intense, I should tell him that.
As we drive, the vaguely familiar becomes upsettingly familiar. Cincinnati, becoming Newport, becoming back roads that should have parted cornfields but now divide whole subdivisions. I stopped crying midway across the Ohio River bridge. I still sniffle, not knowing why I cried at all. I think about my wild flight from San Francisco. I didn’t call anyone. I should call someone. I don’t know who I’d call. I consider Garrett and then Lord Fyre. I close my eyes, not having the energy to face either. I toy with the idea of calling George, but know that I wouldn’t survive George. Jackie?
I look at my watch. Seven-thirty in the morning. Jackie would fly here just to kill me if I called her this early. So kill me. I dial but my fingers work of their own volition. They, knowing better than I, dial Garrett. Chickening out, I hang up, realizing Lion was talking and I wasn’t paying attention. “What? I’m sorry?”
“I have the keys to his house. Will you be okay there tonight?”
I nod, wanting to vomit. I can’t do this, I really, really can’t do this. I will not sleep in that house.
“You could stay at my house if that would be better. I have an extra room.”
I grip my cell phone so tightly it hurts my hand. I look at it stupidly, realizing it is vibrating. I flip it open and lift it to my ear. “Hello?”
Garrett is on the other side of the connection, sounding panicked, wanting to know why in the hell I flew to Cincinnati.
“How did you know?”
“Credit card. We tracked the purchase.” He sighs heavily, taking a calming breath that is audible over the phone. I hear Thomas’s voice in the background and it makes me smile that they are still together. Tears fall over my cheeks, the wet flow beginning anew. “Why, Kitten? Why did you go?”
My throat closes in, unable to answer the simple question and I am barely able to get out, “Can I talk to Thomas?”
“Of course.” He sighs, not disguising the hurt in his voice
I cry harder when I hear Thomas’ voice. “Can you come here?” I ask. “Can you both come here?”
“Yes, Sophia. We weren’t going to say anything before, but then you called…and hung up. We’re actually already in the air. We land in an hour. Where are you exactly?”
I frown, not understanding how they could already be en route, how they could be so close behind me. “I don’t know. I’m with Lion. He’s taking me to the old house.”
I push my wet bangs out of my hair, realizing for the first time since getting into Lion’s car that I am dripping water everywhere. Making nervous chatter, I give Thomas the exact address of my childhood home, even though I don’t believe for a second that he needed me to do so. My mind goes back to the playground the day he came to claim me. I know everything there is to know about you, Sophia.
It’s how Garrett knew my birthday. I’d been missing Lord Fyre, but he’d been keeping track of me all along. I don’t know how I know, but I know.
“We aren’t too far from the house, now. At least the scenery seems familiar.” I look at the phone to make sure I still have a signal. “Are you there?”
“I’m here with you, Sophia.”
“I need you.”
“I know.”
I stop crying, holding myself and rocking. “I’m glad Garrett is with you. I need both of you.”
“We’re both here for you, sweetheart. Do you want to talk to him?”
“Not yet. Just tell him, I’m glad he’s on the plane too.”
“I’m here, Kitten. I heard, we’ve had it on speaker the whole time.”
“I’m glad,” I whisper, watching Lion’s face darken, realizing that he knows my San Francisco lover is on the phone with me. He’d be appalled rather than angry if he knew both men on the phone were my lovers.
The view through the window becomes the old neighborhood as I sit holding the phone to my ear, watching trees and houses whiz by. I don’t want to be here. I really, really don’t want to be home. I whisper into the phone, “Don’t hang up.”
Thomas offers me the reassurance, “We’re not going to hang up. We’re here with you.”
“Thank you,” I answer and although for the most part the phone line stays quiet, every few minutes one of us will ask, “Still there?” and wait for the affirmative response. Other than that, there is little else to say. I’m glad they cared enough to find me, to follow me.
Lion pulls into the driveway of the old house just as Thomas announces that they have to disconnect long enough to land, promising they’ll call back. Nervously, I disconnect and clutch the phone, waiting for the vibration. My hands shake so hard, I fear I won’t feel the vibration. I open the phone to watch the screen face as Lion opens my car door. At least his manners have improved over the years. I’d never have expected him to open the car door for me.
He starts to hand me the keys to the front door of the house, but I wave them away, looking across the road to the church. Without thinking, without looking both ways to cross the street, I cross the road, pulled by memories stronger than the emotion that kept me away so many years. I feel rather than see Lion following me. I climb the few steps to the front doors, pulling them open, knowing the doors won’t be locked. It is a poor church in a poor town, there is nothing to steal, and aside from prayer or shelter, there is little reason to go inside. My father wouldn’t deny either for the sake of security.
Tall, glass-paned windows line both sides of the main sanctuary, the view outside grey, dark clouds and bare-limbed trees; there is no beautiful stained glass in this church. White walls, high ceiling, no artwork, just rows and rows of antique pews as old as the building built in the early eighteen-hundreds. I walk between the high-backed wood seats, so simplistic, minimalist, not cushioned for comfort, and remember the hours I spent here, growing up, Sunday morning, Sunday night, Tuesday bible study, Wednesday’s midweek service, and the Friday evening choir practice. The others who attended this church were my family until I left—leaving because I was too ashamed to face any of them ever again.
I feel their judgment here, even though I am alone. I can see their faces in my mind, fingers pointing accusingly, mouths turned down in contempt. Sinner, fornicator, murderer.
I do not see God in my mind, I do not feel his outrage. He was there, with me, through all of it. God knows the truth. I didn’t run from him, just the people who sit in these pews Sunday after Sunday.
I run my fingertips across the gleaming wood, following the main aisle to the pulpit. I pass it, veering right, going into a small alcove to pull open a sheltered door. The wood sticks, swollen with time and neglect, but a hard pull releases it. The stairway is dark and spider webs hang from the ceiling, but neither my fear of darkness or insects deters me.
Lion won’t follow me here.
No one has been up this staircase in decades, except me, and since I’ve been gone, none but the ghost I know remains.
I hear wood creak as Lion sits down in one of the pews. At the top step, I stop, wrapping my arms around myself. Freezing air flows in through the open arches, my wet T-shirt sucks around my body, clinging, adding to the chill. I take the final step, placing my hands on the cold metal of the bell. It is covered with a thin film of ice, proving it’s not my imagination that it is colder here, it really is, the temperature dropping fast.
Sitting down, I cross my legs and hold my cell phone in my lap, willing it to vibrate. Knowing it has only been about five minutes since I hung up, questioning how long it can take for a fucking plane to land. I don’t want to be alone here. What was I ever thinking? Coming here? Dear God, why did I come back to face all of this?
My father is dead. Can I admit that I don’t care? Can I admit that? Father
forgive me, but I miss the man who once loved me. Loved me when I was sinless. That was a long time ago. Cold, I curl into the wall, wrapping myself in arms and legs, hearing my mother’s voice in the shrill sound of the breeze whistling through the arch of the windows. Sophia.
Chapter 24
“The serious thing for each person to recognize vividly and poignantly, each for himself, is that every falling-away from species virtue, every crime against one’s own nature, every evil act, every one without exception records itself in our unconscious, and makes us despise ourselves.”
-Abraham H. Maslow, Toward a Psychology of Being
Garrett
Mist turns to ice hitting the windshield of our rental car. Welcome to winter in Ohio. God, I love San Francisco. Thomas keeps Kitten company on the phone, using the ear piece as he drives. I try to remain calm, inhaling nicotine, exhaling. Wondering wearily why I am making my lungs suffer for my sins. I cannot believe I am in Ohio. I could have put this trip off an entire lifetime. Inhale, exhale smoke rings. Puff, puff, puff. Thomas hits the interstate; I exhale smoke just like Daddy did when I was a child. Three perfect rings. Only then it was a game, not a bad habit. “Catch the rings on your finger, son, and make a wish. Make it a good wish, Larry.”
I can almost see myself then, sitting on his lap, in blue shorts with suspenders over a short-sleeved oxford shirt, white knee socks, and the very best Buster Brown leather oxfords, not forgetting the horrible Dutch boy haircut. Is it any wonder I am what I am?
“Are you okay?” His hand leaves the gear shift to pat my knee, our eyes meet, and I realize he’s talking to me not her.
“Ask me again on the flight home.” I offer a weak smile.
“It doesn’t have to be this hard.” He rubs my leg. I cover his hand with mine, still holding the cigarette between my fingers.
“What doesn’t have to be this hard?”
“You, facing your ghosts. Embracing the past so that it doesn’t hurt our future.”
Our future. It seems like non-reality that we agreed to a ménage à trois for real, an absolute working threesome. I’ve never been in a poly relationship, although I guess, in a way, what I had with Tony was poly. I was monogamous, except for the scenes I did at work, sexual but never crossing the line to sex; Tony, with his steady stream of boy-toys, was always discreet, or so I thought, thinking we kept up the appearance of happy, committed couple.