“Wow. I should have done this for you a long time ago. Hahah! You are positively a new man!” I frowned and nodded. Now I need a drink.
As I poured a tall Scotch, I watched the haze which enveloped Manhattan. It seemed bleak and garish. Like my soul. After I sat down, I took a sip and it tasted foul. But then everything seemed foul that morning.
“Jack, it didn’t happen.” He was in mid-sip when he stopped and peered. I rarely saw surprise in those eyes. Under different circumstances, I think I would have felt pleasure.
“What do you mean it didn’t happen?” He gulped the ounce or two that remained in his glass and returned to the bar for more. I leaned back into the couch and stared at the ornately-decorated ceiling.
“It didn’t fucking happen, okay? We got back here, had a drink and then they left. End of story.” He returned with a full glass and sat across from me. His normally-disinterested air lifted, and it seemed like I had actually shocked him out of his world of self-involvement.
“Please tell me that you passed out. Or you couldn’t get it up. But do not tell me that you chickened out!” I took a gulp of Scotch and looked with indifference at the wide eyes that interrogated me. I’d spent the entire night and morning in mournful soul-searching. Thoughts of Elizabeth and a night from so many years before. My armor was donned.
“What I did and why I did it are none of your fucking business, Jack. I don’t owe you an explanation. I mean, thanks for the Presidential Suite, but it doesn’t mean I owe you squat.” He clenched his jaw and his black eyes glistened. Just the way the statue of the unicorn glistened.
“No. I guess you don’t owe me anything.” He chuckled sarcastically and slammed his glass on the table that separated us. “But as your friend, I’d like you to explain to me what in HELL possessed you to turn away an opportunity to fuck two gorgeous twenty-somethings!” He leaned toward me. Between his raising voice and his eyes, I was unsettled. But I didn’t care anymore. I took another drink and shrugged.
“Okay. Fair enough.
“Elizabeth and I are back together.”
His eyes, which had been staring at me with wide-eyed disbelief, suddenly narrowed to slits. It may have been a second or a minute, but finally he lowered his head and swayed it from side-to-side. ‘No, no,’ no.’ Quiet laughter filled the solemn emptiness of the space between us.
Finally, after several moments of processing, he lifted his head with a strange gaze. I didn’t know what it was supposed to mean, but at very least it spoke volumes of disappointment.
I just don’t know if he was disappointed in me, or disappointed for himself.
He sneered and bit his lower lip. Grabbed the glass and threw back the three or four ounces that populated it. Stood up and paced back to the bar and filled it to the brim. When he returned he slapped the glass down and a half-ounce of Scotch splattered on the coffee table. He darted an angry look at me, like I’d just killed his favorite pet.
While he did all this, I gulped down the last of mine and contemplated getting more. I was about to, when he spoke.
“Well, isn’t this just like old times?” He snarled the words and I clenched my jaw as my eyelids briefly kissed my eyes. I stood up. I was going to need another.
When I returned, he still fixated on my spot with ire. As if he’d being staring at it while I was getting my drink. Keeping it warm for me.
He watched while I took a sip. As if he was considering how to continue. But I don’t think he was considering anything. I think he was trying to quell unmitigated rage.
“When were you going to tell me, Mal?” His words were short and fired with irritated anger. “Next month? Next year? With a wedding invitation? Noooo…wait. When the baby arrives. Can’t very well ask me to be the Godfather if I don’t know that you’re fucking her again!” He jumped up and paced over to the window overlooking Manhattan.
“Jack…It’s not like that.” I was ready to make the peace. Try to find a way to explain why I’d kept my mouth shut. Even if I had to lie to him.
“WHAT?” He swung around with an accusatory glare. “Didn’t think I could handle the cruel truth? Wasn’t sure how I’d react? Is this a good indication?” He grabbed a bottle from the bar and hurled it at a wall. It shattered with wet enraged force and I jumped involuntarily. I gripped my glass and took another drink.
He rushed at me and stabbed his finger. As if it was a gun and he was ready to discharge it. His voice raised to unprecedented proportions. And if I wasn’t so devastated over what I’d almost done the night before, I think I would have trembled.
“I gave you a chance! I set up an opportunity that would have gotten you out of this ridiculous pussy hunt that you’ve been on since we left Detroit! You had a chance, Malcolm.” He never called me Malcolm. It was tantamount to a call from a banker or a law enforcement official.
“But nooooo…Malcolm has to sit in the shit that he sat in ten years ago!” Twelve, but I wasn’t about to correct him. “Malcolm can’t fuck two willing beauties, but he can fuck a LAME FUCKING LIE FROM HIS PAST!
“You’re pathetic.”
I glowered at him and my nostrils flared while I downed the last of my Scotch. At first I was scared, but like my entire relationship with Jack, his rage also rubbed off on me.
“ENOUGH! Stop talking and start listening! You asshole!” I jumped up and confronted him with my eyes. I’m sure that by that point we looked like two Banshees flailing about, but it was anything but comical.
“YOU RAPED HER!” He stiffened as the words erupted and I could barely stand straight. A confused look began to form on his face.
My own show of rage combined with my accusation triggered something in him. Suddenly, his body, which had been tensed to the point of exploding, relaxed. But his jaw still clenched like a steel trap opening and closing, and his eyes still peered with black fire.
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb, Jack! You raped her and you know it! I should have beaten you to a pulp for it a long time ago.” These last words trailed off of my tongue like the vestiges of a tap that’s been turned off. I knew that I couldn’t beat him in a fight. He was far stronger. Far more insane.
But he released. He lowered his head and shook it slightly for several seconds, before he went back to his drink on the coffee table. The confusion spread to his words like a rampant virus.
“Is that what she told you?” His demeanor had the effect of quelling most of the anger that welled up inside my being.
“Don’t try to pretend it didn’t happen, Jack.”
“I don’t have to. It didn’t.” He slumped onto the couch and nursed his drink while strange things echoed from his face. Suddenly, I found myself inside a trash compactor, and it was on.
“Don’t lie to me. She said it happened.” My words broke his funk long enough for him to sneer at me and snap his fingers.
“Yeah? And if she told you that crap was candy, would you stick your face in the toilet? Jesus!” God, this isn’t happening. Again.
Exhausted and totally devastated, I sunk into the couch and drank my Scotch like I was a Rummy. I didn’t know which one of them to believe, and that doubt forced me into submission. We sat sullenly and watched each other for several minutes. Good thing we had Scotch to keep us company.
I was raped. Words that found me, a long-lost enemy who tracked me down. He’d just debunked something I believed about him for longer than I wanted to. If he was lying, I had no recourse, because he could be so damned convincing.
But if he was telling the truth…then Elizabeth had lied to me. I didn’t know what was real, but then I never did, so why should this time be any different? Remorse seeped into my pores and went straight for my bloodstream.
Finally, I was able to calm down. I stood up and walked to the bar. Manhattan sprawled like towering redwoods as far as the eye could see, with millions of ants scurrying around its roots. An awesome sight, it did nothing for me.
The catalyst for my rage may have be
en years of the shit that he had put me through. But the real rage was mired deeply in my own shame. My bravado became humility when the thoughts of my near-cheat seeped back into my fragile heart.
I had nowhere left to go. I turned and looked at him, pursing my lips with a pronounced sucking sound.
“Jack, I never meant to hurt you.” The implication of my own words clawed at me with sudden disbelief and I shook my head. I never meant to hurt him?
“But you can probably see why telling you wasn’t my first choice. And if it makes you feel any better, it happened suddenly. A few months ago. I’m still trying to process what’s happening between us. I’ve agonized over her for longer than you could imagine, Jack.” My eyes reached out and implored his sullen face. I don’t know if they had any effect on him, but he wiped his nose with a finger and sniffled slightly. As if he was trying to hide evidence.
“I just figured by now, we could tell each other anything.” He chuckled after he said it. ‘Oops. Caught myself in my own hypocrisy.’ But I ignored it. I shouldn’t have. Instead, I let out a long sigh.
“I know. We both have things that we don’t want to talk about.” He nodded, although now his chin was resting on his chest. As if his neck couldn’t hold it any longer.
“Jack?” Slightly startled, he looked up at me.
“You’d tell me, right?” He shot a confused look across my bow, but quickly processed the implication and nodded with a sigh chaser.
“Yes, Malcolm. I’d tell you if I raped her.” Wooden words didn’t help his case, but I had no fight left in me. Time to let it go.
The ire had almost entirely escaped from my emaciated soul. All that was left was a need to reach out to the one person I could talk to. The one person who wasn’t Elizabeth.
“Look. Thanks for what you tried to do last night. Believe me, under different circumstances I’d be thanking you with a blowjob right now!” I attempted a little humor and it worked. His head bobbed on his chest as he chuckled. “But at least now you can see why I chose not to go there last night.” I thought about continuing, but decided to leave it there. He nodded while he listened. When I finished, he raised his head and an ironic smile greeted me.
“Yeah. I imagine you would be giving me a blowjob.” I frowned with chilling realization.
“Jack, just how did you ‘make it happen’ last night?” Understanding dawned on me, but his coming-clean look said it all. He chuckled and shook his head.
“Look. I thought you were faltering a bit. All that lunatic comedy you were playing with Elizabeth and whatnot.” He considered continuing, but thought better of it.
“I didn’t ‘make it happen.’ That was all you, stud.”
“Bullshit.” I furrowed my eyebrows at him. “No, really. What did you do?”
He sighed in frustration. Taking a sip of his drink, he rolled it around on his tongue for a moment. He frowned thoughtfully and licked his lips, like he was trying to savor every last drop of the liquid.
“Mal, I didn’t do a damn thing. Seriously. I got Heidi lubed up. Nice and wet with some carefully-placed suggestions. And I gave you my room key. Then I made an excuse to leave. It was all you. But, if it makes you feel better, that’s how I ‘made it happen.’”
“That’s horseshit. You’re not telling me the truth.” I knew Jack too well. He was lying and I was missing something. I could see it in his piercing eyes. Jack sighed again and placed his empty glass on the coffee table. He bit his lower lip and stared at his feet for a moment. Then he looked at me with a devilish glint in his eyes and chuckled.
“Alright, alright. You have me. I gave them a little added incentive.”
“What added incentive? Jack, what did you do?” I didn’t yell, but my voice was rising again. Jack clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. The jig was up.
“Mal, I gave them five thousand a piece to bring you back here and fuck your brains out.” I stood in stunned silence at the revelation.
“And some coke. Okay? Does it make you any happier to know that? Are you satisfied now?” He snorted and got up to pour another drink. As he passed by, he brushed me slightly with his shoulder and spoke under his breath.
“You should have left well enough alone, mate.”
I couldn’t believe it. Even though my mind was tainted with guilt, I still had Helen’s scent on my fingers. A good sign that I could have had them. But he paid them to screw me? It didn’t matter that I hadn’t. I placed my half-empty Scotch on the bar and stared out onto the unfriendly Manhattan skyline.
“What?” I hoped some kind of wisdom would come out of his mouth. Since it was a rarity, I just couldn’t wait for him to explain this one.
“Mal, split-seconds. Remember?” He brushed past me again, with a full glass. I looked at him dumbly.
“So they were whores?” He was put-out by my question and responded with a sneer.
“NO! They weren’t whores! At least not the professional kind. They were just two chicks out looking for a good time. I spotted them when you were in the john and made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.” As I tried to figure this one out, Jack shook his head at me. Stop thinking so much.
“Mal, you always had it in you. I knew you had it in you. You,” he pointed his finger accusingly at my chest, “did not. Because you thought you weren’t capable of picking up two gorgeous women and fucking their brains out.” He pumped his fist in the universal ‘fucking’ gesture.
“You thought that you weren’t capable. And therefore, you weren’t capable. You didn’t stop to think that you could, if you only had the confidence. That was your split-second decision. ‘I can’t have them, so therefore, I should move on.’ You chose to use your split-second to imagine the worst-case scenario instead of using it to imagine the possibilities.
“You weren’t capable of having those two fine pieces of ass, but I showed you that you could. I ‘made it happen’ because I don’t have your hang-ups. No split-second decisions. Unless you count my decision to show you that you can have whatever you want.” He emphasized these words with passion in his voice and face. I was shocked that he made sense.
“So you…”
“…So it should have been the best ten thousand, two hundred dollars I ever spent. Unfortunately, we’ll never know. Elizabeth, remember?” I remembered. I watched him with horror while I slammed back the rest of my Scotch.
“Did you at least try the coke? Hah! I should have guessed. Jesus!
“You should be grateful, Mal.” I didn’t know that I was. But the time for conversation had passed and Jack was ready to move on.
“Enough said.” He jumped up, slapped me on the back and smiled. “I’m famished. I know a great little restaurant in the East Village that makes the most incredible Steak Tartar. Want to get something to eat?” Feeling dirty, ill and beaten into a malleable pulp, the only thing I could do was nod. “Alright! Let’s get out of here.”
The idea of raw beef didn’t appeal to me.
“Do they have anything that’s cooked?”
“I’m sure they do. C’mon.”
End Part II
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Part III
Once again you’ll see what you crave so much
Once again you’ll know desire, laid out as such.
A banquet of rotting food, a reason to sit and brood
Wondering why you ran, you ponder how it all began.
Your dreams fed desires once filled with hope
Your shock and horror know terrible new scope.
Something you resented, stalked with new fear presented
Now your days are ending and the truth is unrelenting.
So you flee from these halls with a hope, a dream and an omen
So the manifestation of what you loathed is forming.
Your soul feeds curiosity, you can’t run from objectivity
You fall on the floor, knowing hope will come here no more.
Chapter 47
I boarded
the flight to Detroit with the disturbing knowledge that I’d become enslaved to him. Indentured. Indebted.
It wasn’t the money. No, he could well-afford it. He made more taking a leak than the ten thousand, two hundred dollars that he paid those two. It wasn’t the money. It was the ownership that he’d taken over me. In one flick of his wallet and some crafty words, he’d gained superiority. Split-seconds.
His philosophical rant told me he had something I didn’t: the wisdom and understanding of how life worked. For a long time after that, I wondered how I could have possibly been scooped by someone who rode the razor’s edge between sanity and insanity.
Detroit, at least, understood me. After Elizabeth and I peeled each other’s clothes off and made wildly passionate love, I lamented. Lying naked next to her was the most incredible thing that ever happened to me. I wanted it to be the norm rather than the exception.
But when I looked into her eyes, I remembered what I’d done to her. In Manhattan. Sure, I’d maintained some dignity by stopping it before anything else happened. But that didn’t matter. I’d almost gone there. I had the sticky-sweet scent of Helen tattooed on my fingertips. It brought back all the agony that I experienced, the day that I told her that I’d cheated on her with someone with her name.
I said that I hadn’t learned anything. I was wrong. If the past twelve years had proven anything, they proved this: I was going to keep this secret until the day I died. She didn’t need to know.
But when we went out for dinner, I felt the need to share some of my experiences with Jack. Of course, most of what I told her was embellished. To protect the innocent. I told her about his manic antics. His bizarre obsession with art and the strange phone messages. The dysfunctional marriage and the heated arguments between us. The blueprint and Astrid. And the disturbing lunacy that had him moving from Montreal to the East Coast of nowhere, to build an insane museum.
She listened intently. She didn’t interrupt me, and I could see her processing my story with understanding. And pain. Even after time-served, there was no way that she could think about him without grim remembrance. But I was forced to wonder about her story. That ate away at me, for if she did lie, she was a better actor than Jack.
The House that Jack Built Page 30