Unraveling

by Owen Thomas

  Hollis did his best to remain stoic. He hoped to convey a sense of well-worn tedium; as though even the pity he felt for these deprived souls had grown tiresome. But the rare on-looker who was really paying attention to Hollis – rather than to the woman he followed – might have noted a keenness of attention; an eager step; a nobleman’s posture. Tedium this was not.

  Hollis let the palm of his left hand sink into the cushion of air that separated the small of Bethany’s back from the rest of the world. Nothing about her was of this place; not her translucent skin, not her hair, which even after several days in jail looked Disney-mermaid-amazing; and certainly not her dress, which was like some translucent golden nectar melting over her body in an agonizingly slow migration down towards the floor.

  Hollis noticed for the first time that the strip of fabric covering the flesh of her left shoulder had been ripped into a frayed fault line that continued a quarter of the way down her back, a reminder of the violence that had brought him here. Three small safety pins were all that was keeping any clothes on her at all.

  They sat in a black vinyl booth and immersed themselves in plastic laminated menus the size of small road signs. When the server returned, Hollis asked if they had a wine list he might review. The server – his nametag identified him as Skip – flashed a broad gap-toothed smile and looked at Bethany as though it was a joke. Bethany ordered breakfast for dinner and Hollis followed suit. As they waited, the small talk left them alone. The elephant in the room, not especially hungry, demanded attention.

  “How much was it?” she asked without segue. “Altogether, I mean?”

  “Fifteen thousand, eight hundred.”

  She winced like someone was pulling her hair.

  “Hollis, I will pay you back. I promise. Every penny with interest.”

  “I’m not worried about the money, Beth.”

  “I have to pay you back,” she said shaking her head emphatically.

  “I know,” he said calmly. Patiently. Wisely. “But you will. I’m not worried about that. The money is a secondary concern. I’m worried about you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m okay. I’m fine. Really. All’s well that ends well, right?”

  “What happened, Beth? Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning.”

  Bethany sighed and nodded and took a long drink of water.

  “What’s this man’s name? Start there.”

  “Joseph Aslan. Never met him. He’s, like, really kind of a high roller down here. Super good friends with Mike O’Donnell and when he asked… I didn’t even know…”

  “Okay,” Hollis smiled and reached across the table, holding her hands in his. “Slow down. Start from the beginning. Why did you come here?”

  “Schools. Thought I’d take a look at ASU.”

  “Really? They’ve got an MBA program? I mean, a good one?”

  Bethany shrugged. “I came to find out.”

  “Ever heard of the Internet? I guess if your dad is paying the way…”

  “Hey, you said yourself nothing beats boots on the ground to get you past the song and dance.”

  “I did say that, didn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, right, but… you’d live here? In Arizona? In the desert? I thought you had your heart set on Ohio or New York.”

  “That’s where my heart is,” she said, her words soft around the edges.

  “New York?”

  “Ohio. Still.”

  “So?”

  “So I … I don’t know if my heart can stay in Ohio.” She looked away, not forcing him to respond and yet, not continuing. Hollis felt himself blush.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to…”

  “No. Please,” she said, looking at him again, pleading, her eyes brimming. “Don’t be sorry. I was too forward. It was all too much too soon. I was just … well, you really kind of swept me off my feet, Hollis.”

  “No, I…”

  “No, you did, you did and I was so charmed. Really. And you were right to leave. And then I was just so… God… I was just so humiliated. I had to leave. I had to get out. I should have called. I should have thanked you.”

  “I was worried.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I almost called your father.” The words made her cringe like a cube of ice to the back of her neck. “But I didn’t,” he said, trying to restore her with tones of assurance. “I had a feeling you’d call me. There was certainly no reason to be humiliated.”

  “Oh… yes there was. You’re just being kind. I just kind of, I don’t know, got my signals crossed. I thought it… you know… I thought it was mutual.”

  “I never said it wasn’t mutual,” he blurted, astonished at his own words, marveling at how they thickened and scented the air over the table as they traveled to her perfect ears.

  A beat passed. Then another. And another.

  Beth stared at him with freshened intensity, eyes widening, lips separating, tongue in motion back in the fleshy darkness behind its cage of perfect teeth.

  “Really?”

  Hollis smiled sheepishly, nodding.

  “You mean you wanted…”

  He nodded. “Very much.”

  “Then why did you …” She stopped; a bolting dog reaching the end of its tether. She closed her eyes and brought her hands to the sides of her face. “Oh, God. Your wife. Susan. Oh, Hollis, you’re so good and I am so terrible. Of course you left. Of course you did. It was the only honorable choice you had.”

  Hollis felt himself shaking his head, waving away her concern with his hands.

  “No, no, no. Susan’s got nothing to do with it. We’ve … look, we’ve been together a long time. Okay? We understand each other on these kinds of things.”

  “She… you mean she lets you…”

  “It’s not a matter of ‘lets.’ We’re both adults. Susan does what she wants. I do what I want. She’s off right now, God knows where, gallivanting with her own friends, doing who knows what with whom.”

  “Oh my God, Hollis. Are you upset about it?”

  “No, Beth. Not in the least. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. People need to have what they want out of life. They need to do what makes them happy. They need to be who they really are. I only want the best for Susan and I know she only wants the best for me. There’s no room for judgment or fear or possessiveness in this equation.”

  “That’s so… beautiful.”

  Hollis shrugged. “It all comes down to knowing who you really are and what you really want, I guess. And respecting that same thing in others.”

  “And… so… then… you wanted…” she pointed to herself rather than finish.

  He nodded.

  “Like… urgently?”

  He nodded.

  “Then…”

  “Because I needed to make sure it was something you really wanted. You’d had a few at the retirement party and I know I’d had a few. I didn’t want you to regret it.”

  A lickerish smile crossed her lips. The pads of her toes found his shin. “No chance,” she said.

  They stared and giggled at each other until Skip appeared with a large tray of food and perfunctory introductions and the clanking and clinking of glass and ceramic and aluminum on imitation wood. They ate like newlyweds, each sampling from the fork of the other, marveling with ecstatic expressions at just how indescribably good it all tasted.

  “Okay,” Hollis gave a rolling gesture with a skewered link of sausage. “Let’s have it. Tell me what happened.”

  “Okay. So when I got here, I saw that O’Donnell was having a book signing and I thought I’d, you know, just drop by.”

  “You really like this O’Donnell fellow, don’t you? His politics I mean?”

  “His politics? No. Not his politics. I met him once though. At another book signing. In New York. We… well, that’s another story. He was very nice, let’s leave it at that. Do you not like him? His politic
s I mean?”

  “Mmm, I’m more of a reader, I guess. I don’t watch a lot of television, so…”

  “He’s on the radio too.”

  “Probably not classical radio.”

  “No, probably not.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I listen to my share of good ol’ rock and roll too. But I’ve never heard Mr. O’Donnell sharing a frequency with The Troggs.”

  “Who?”

  “The Troggs. You know, Wild Thing?” Hollis bounced his head around to an imaginary beat, jutting his face out over the table. “Na-na-na-na, I think I looove you.”

  A bearded man with a dirty orange cap looked on from a table by the kitchen. Hollis saw him and didn’t care. Beth shook her head, laughing.

  “Really?” he asked. “You don’t know the Troggs?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Okay then. I think we’re even. I don’t know much about Mr. O’Donnell and you, apparently, incredibly, don’t know anything about good rock-n-roll music.”

  “Hey!” she objected, swatting at him with the back of her hand.

  “Now, now. I know the truth hurts. Get on with your story.”

  He winked at her as she pretended to be offended. She impaled a piece of waffle and dragged it through a puddle of syrup then chewed at him in feigned insolence. He waited, sipping his coffee.

  “Anyway,” she said when she had swallowed, “I went to the book signing and that’s where I met this guy. He looked totally respectable, I mean, nice suit and everything and we got to talking about O’Donnell and he said he was actually hosting a reception for O’Donnell after the book signing and he asked if I wanted to go. And I didn’t have anything else planned so I said I’d go. I told him I would drive myself but he said that his place was hard to find and so we agreed that he would pick me up at my hotel so that I could change my clothes.”

  “He came up?”

  She smiled. “Jealous?”

  “Maybe.”

  “No, silly. He waited in the lobby.”

  “Okay. Continue.”

  She continued. The story came out just as Captain Wycoff had represented her version of events, only less efficiently and with emotional flourishes around the edges that tended to clutter a narrative already challenged by false starts and unnecessary digression. She spoke quickly in spite of his admonition to slow down. She twirled her hair and fidgeted with sticky scraps of food until the server took away their plates and then she played with packets of sugar and stacked blue plastic thimbles of cream into mini-pyramids. Hollis listened and nodded in silence.

  “Couldn’t you have just gotten a ride back to your hotel from someone else? From one of the guests?” He asked. Her face collapsed.

  “You don’t believe me, do you? You think…”

  “No, no, no. Beth…”

  “You think I was trying…”

  “No. Beth.” He grabbed her hands again, toppling the blue pyramid. “No. Of course I believe you.”

  “Really?” Her expression was guarded, seeking permission to smile and to hope and count on him. Asking for confirmation that she had been right to trust him.

  “Yes. Of course. I was just…”

  “I didn’t know anyone. Most of them were couples. I didn’t feel right inviting any of them to drive me back to my hotel.”

  “Makes sense.” Hollis nodded. “It does. I understand. What about a cab?”

  “I didn’t have any cash. I was in such a hurry to change that I left my cash and my I.D. and my credit card in the pocket of jeans back at the hotel.”

  “Hmm. Lot of good it does you there.”

  “Tell me about it. What did Captain Wycoff tell you, anyway?”

  Hollis had every reason to know that the question was less casual than it sounded.

  “Pretty much what you just told me. I mean, he told … what’s his name?”

  “Joseph Aslan.”

  “He told Aslan’s side of the story too. Wycoff called him Joe.”

  “Yeah, well Joe’s a liar. And a creep.”

  “Well I’m just glad that you’re okay and that we could get you out of there.”

  She paused, and then circled back, passing up the invitation to move on.

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “Who?”

  “Wycoff.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” She spoke to the table, to the crème and sugar. “I wasn’t completely honest with him.”

  “Oh?”

  “I told him…” She looked down at the wreckage of plastic thimbles.

  “What?”

  “I kind of …”

  “It’s okay Beth. Just tell me.”

  “I kind of let him think that I was someone else.”

  “You mean, Lynnette Moss.”

  “You knew? He told you. Why didn’t you tell me you knew? You’re testing me.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, Hollis. You’re not sure if you can trust me. You think I could be some psycho with multiple identities that …”

  “Beth…”

  “…that goes around stealing from people and destroying …”

  “No. Oh, come on now. Don’t be silly. Of course I trust you. I knew just about that entire story you just told me. I was just letting you tell the story, that’s all. So just tell me about Lynnette Moss.”

  She looked at him warily, as if gauging whether she could trust him. He finished his coffee and waived the empty cup at the server.

  “Lynnette’s a really good friend. We were roommates at NYU. We look a lot alike. Like, you know, spooky alike. People always say we could be sisters. She lives in France now with Del, this Wall Street guy she met. He used to run a hedge fund. Now he’s retired. Anyway, she’s gone. Del pretty much just swept her up. And before she left she basically gave me most of her clothes because she didn’t want them any more. Del said he’d restock her closet in Paris.” She hooked her thumb under one of the shoulder straps, pulling the fabric away from the slope of her skin. “This dress belonged to her.”

  “No. That dress belongs to you and only you. I don’t know this Lynnette person, but I know she cannot wear that dress like you can.”

  “You’re too sweet. But trust me, Lynnette could wear it too. So, …”

  “Not like you,” he said, this time with emphasis. She smiled.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Please continue.”

  “So before she left she lost her driver’s license. She looked everywhere and ultimately gave up. Del had to drive her everywhere until she got a new one. It was a really big deal because she needed a passport and they were getting ready to move overseas and all of that. But she couldn’t find it and couldn’t find it and so she got a new one and now she’s gone. Well, when I came on this trip I packed this dress and this purse,” she held up the little yellow pouch that had been in her lap. And when I used this purse in Columbus, with you, I was putting some money and lip stick and there was Lynnette’s driver’s license.”

  “Okay.”

  “So I kind of laughed, you know, mystery solved, and I just kept it in the purse.”

  “Okay.”

  “And so then I come to Arizona and I rush back to my hotel after the book signing with Joe-the-Creep waiting for me in the lobby and I get out of my clothes and put on this dress. And I’m in such a hurry, that I forget to take my license and credit card and cash out of my jeans and put them in the purse.”

  “So when you got arrested…”

  “Right, so I had no money, no credit card, no driver’s license and when I got arrested all I had on me was Lynnette’s drivers license.”

  “So you let them believe that you were her.”

  “I was so scared. I’ve never been arrested. So I just never told them that I was not really Lynnette Moss. I told him I lived in Yonkers. That’s the address on the card. It’s where she grew up. My God.” She put her face in her hands. “I can’t even believe I did that. I just basically
assumed her identity. He didn’t even question the license.”

  “Can I see?”

  “The license?” Bethany seized the tiny purse enthusiastically and opened it. “Sure. I’m telling you we don’t look that much alike in person but the photo is just…” She stopped, suddenly, fishing her fingers around in the purse.

  “What?”

  “It’s not… they didn’t give it back to me. Why wouldn’t they return it?”

  “Hmm. Maybe Wycoff was using it to check up on you and never put it back. We’ll go back and get it as soon as we settle up here.”

  “No, no.” She shook her head emphatically. “I’m not going back there tonight. I’ve had enough of that place. Can we go in the morning?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you mind?”

  “No. Sure. Whatever you want.”

  She laughed in spite of her apparent humiliation, rebuilding the crème pyramid.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I told them my dad used to play minor league baseball for the Syracuse Chiefs. That was Lynnette’s dad. Bret Moss?” Hollis shook his head. “He died. Sad story.”

  “But why?”

  “Alcohol mostly. Then cancer.”

  “No, I mean why would you tell the police…”

  “Because… this is silly, Hollis. I just… I was so afraid and humiliated… I didn’t want it to be… me. You know? I didn’t want it to be my name mixed up in all of this. I had visions of some stupid newspaper story accusing me of things or, oh my God just the very thought of any of this getting back to my father. He’d disown me.”

  “Akahito?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, he’d understand. Wouldn’t he?”

  “Not my father.”

  “But you’re the victim here.”

  “Doesn’t matter, Hollis. He’s very strict. Just being arrested. If I brought dishonor to him in any way. Oh, he’d never, ever forgive me.”