by Julia Derek
***
Life feels back to normal more or less as I enter my work building the following day. I’m not even particularly hung over today despite having drunk more alcohol than most people do in a month in the last couple of days.
Going through basic tax documents isn’t as much of a chore as it usually is, and when the day is over I still feel okay with it, eager to keep working actually. If it keeps being this simple in the next few days, I’ll tell Angie that I’m ready for more demanding tasks. Like taking on some clients. I used to be very good at dealing with clients. I hope I haven’t lost my touch.
It does feel as easy the next few days so I do ask Angie for more to do. It appears she has been waiting for me to ask because she is quick to accommodate me. Soon I’m talking to my first new client over the phone. It goes just as smoothly as it used to do and the client, a woman, and I make a lunch appointment some days later to continue our talk. The woman needs to show me some documents in person. She suggests for us to meet at Capital Grille of all places.
It annoys me that the same sense of black jealousy grips my entire body at the sheer mention of the restaurant where the blonde—Claire—works, just as it did when I thought she and Jason were flirting. The way things are going between us—the way I know he loves me—why am I feeling so insecure again at the thought of this woman? It’s truly ridiculous and pathetic and I hate myself for reacting in such a way.
So I tell my female client that of course Capital Grille would be a great place for us to meet, not out of the way at all. In fact, it’s one of my favorite restaurants.
The following Friday I’m walking into this same restaurant, praying silently that I won’t run into Claire again. Even if I managed to calm down each time I thought of facing this gorgeous girl in the days prior to today, I can’t stop myself from trembling now that it might become reality. The likelihood of me seeing her in the flesh is considerable.
You can handle it, Lexi, I keep reassuring myself as I head toward the bar area, expecting to at any second bump into the blonde bombshell. But, much to my relief, I don’t. She is nowhere in sight. Neither is, unfortunately, my new client. There are no women there on their own with that look on their faces that they’re waiting for someone, only pairs or groups of people in conversation.
I slide on top of a bar stool and order a seltzer with a splash of cranberry as I wait for my client to arrive. It’s not even one thirty yet, the time we settled on, so I’m not worried that the woman won’t show up. She is probably just running a few minutes late.
While I sip on my alcohol-free drink, I can hear the bartender talking to a waitress as he’s making her drinks to carry to patrons. They are only a few feet away from me and use discreet voices. My back faces them.
I turn around to see what they look like. I can only get a good view of the waitress since she is facing me and the bartender isn’t. Feeling like an intruder, I place my elbow on the bar counter and cup the left side of my face with my hand while gazing down at a bar menu. This way she can’t see me. Not that she’s paying me any attention anyway, she’s so caught up in her conversation with the buff bartender.
“It’s so like her,” the waitress complains, smirking. She has a short, black hair and a diamond stud in her nose that sparkles each time it catches a ray of sun. “As soon as a man is in the picture, her friends are history.”
“Who’s the guy this time?” the bartender asks the girl. “Another married dude?”
The waitress huffs. “Of course. Claire is incapable of dating someone who’s actually emotionally available.”
I instantly perk up and a dull pain begins to form in my stomach.
“That’s probably because she’s emotionally unavailable herself,” the bartender says.
“Definitely.”
“Let’s see how long this one lasts. Maybe she’ll actually want him around for more than a few months.”
“Yeah, let’s see,” the waitress continues. “I swear these guys are only a game to her. All she really wants to know is if the husband will choose her over the wife and when they do, she dumps them. Remember the last two?”
“Oh, yeah, I do. They both came here looking for her.”
“They sure did. Anyway, I think she has some kind of abandonment issue what with her father leaving her and her mother when she was a kid, so now she’s taking it out on all these poor dudes. It’s fucked up. One day one of the wives will find out and then all hell’ll break loose.”
I throw cautious glances in their direction while hiding most of my face with my hand. The waitress grins. She has small, pointy teeth that make her look like a shark to me. I’m hurting more and more.
“A normal chick would keep this latest around, though,” she continues. “He’s the hottest thing ever. He was here with his frumpy wife the other day.” She twists her face in disgust. “When I saw her, I knew it was only a matter of time before Claire would get him in her claws. He’s just her type and he and his wife are so incredibly mismatched.”
I zone out their conversation at that point. Listening to what the girl is saying is just too hurtful. Even though she didn’t actually mention Jason’s name, I know it can only be him that she’s referring to.
Jason is having an affair with Claire.
The realization should make me scream with pain, but I don’t. Instead, I fist my other hand and dig my fingernails into my palm so deeply I can feel my skin breaking. I savor the pain of it. I want to hit something, destroy something, but I’m determined not to make a scene. So I just sit there, stewing.
And this is the man I chose to protect instead of turn in so he wouldn’t be forced to face justice for fucking killing another person. What the hell was I thinking?
I suddenly find that I hate the person I’ve been for the last couple of days, this weak, unscrupulous, pathetic woman. Something is seriously, seriously wrong with me for planning on keeping Jason’s disgusting secret. I’m practically fuming with ire by now.
Calm down, Lexi, I order myself in my head then. It is possible that they’re talking about someone entirely different, another man. This is after all a popular spot even though it might not be a place I would go to. Claire and the shark-teethed waitress must see dozens and dozens of married couples every night. And you’re not as unattractive as that girl seemed to think, either, I remind myself. I hear her voice in my head again. …he and his wife are so incredibly mismatched… Yes, they must be talking about someone else. Jason and I are a great fit!
Yeah, right. I’m just trying to fool myself because I don’t want to deal with the reality of who my husband actually is. Surely it was Jason that girl was referring to. Who else could it be? I saw them flirting openly, for God’s sake, something Jason didn’t exactly deny.
As all these thoughts go through my head, I turn around on my bar stool so that I won’t have to keep hiding my face with my hand and instead have my back turned to the waitress. The last thing I want to do in this moment is locking eyes with her. I honestly think I will lose it completely if that happens. My client will be here any second and I need to be in control of myself, at my most charming.
Inhaling deeply, I try to calm the storm within me, not let on to anyone around me all the turmoil going on inside me. It’s working surprisingly well. Soon I can feel what is left of it subsiding and the tension in my shoulders going away. I stare at the restaurant entrance, hoping to see some woman rushing in, my client finally showing up. It can’t be much longer now.
I’m correct; a couple of minutes later, my client does show up, apologizing profusely over arriving so late. There was an accident on the road that delayed her cab and her phone had died, so she couldn’t get a hold of me to let me know.
Forty-five minutes later, our lunch meeting is over. Instead of going back to work afterward, I tell the cab driver to take me to my house. I want to check Jason’s diary to see if he has written anything about his latest escapades. Sadly, he hasn’t written anything at all in the diary
since his confession, so it is no help.
As the day wears on and I go back to the office, I keep waffling regarding what I overheard, changing my mind every few minutes. I tell Jason I need to see a girlfriend who’s having some urgent problems to avoid having dinner with him that night. But instead I just walk around the city until I think Jason is in bed; he’s always tired on Fridays and wants to sleep early.
The matter is at the back of my mind the entire weekend. Fortunately, I have tons of reading to do for work, so I spend all of Saturday and part of Sunday with my iPad. Jason plays basketball during the day on Saturday and spends several hours writing on his book. In the evening, we have takeout sushi for dinner with our noses buried in our respective tasks. Really, the only time we talk that weekend is during dinner Sunday night and then, in order to hide my feelings, I focus on Jason’s book. He has broken through his writer’s block, so there is a lot to discuss. After we make love, I decide that I don’t think the waitress was referring to him after all. I was reading too much into the conversation. Even so, the damage is clearly done because I don’t sleep well that night. All kinds of conflicting emotions go through me, especially guilt over my decision to safeguard Jason’s crime.
When the alarm clock sounds on Monday morning, loud and blaring as always, I know what I must do. First of all, I need to make sure that Jason is not straying on me again. I will never be able to relax, not to mention trust him if I can’t be entirely certain that he is not involved with Claire—or anyone else.
There is only one way to find out. I must verify that he is actually doing what he claims to be doing at all times. Only after I know that can I decide how to go about what he did to Celeste. We will have to do something to atone for his deed. But instead of involving the police, maybe we can do something else. What I don’t know, but it will surely come to me. All I know is that we must do something about it.
As I lie there next to a sleeping Jason, I play with the idea of hiring a private eye to follow him around, but I soon discard it. That would probably turn out to be very expensive. Now that I’m still not super busy at the office and allowed to work from home, I should do it on my own first and see what that gets me. If it turns out to be too complicated, I’ll use a P.I.
As often as Jason and I communicate during the day, it’ll be fairly easy to figure out where he is most of the time. If he is involved with someone, I’m thinking he’ll follow the same pattern with this girl as he did with the first. According to his diary, he saw Celeste mostly at night. If I can determine which nights Claire works, I’ll know that he can’t be seeing her then, which means I only have to follow him the nights he can’t come home and she isn’t working. All I need to do is call Capital Grille whenever he claims to have work commitments. In a couple of months I should have my answer and surely—
Wait a sec.
It has suddenly dawned on me that in the last week alone Jason has either been stuck at the office or at work events three times. The first time, a Sunday night of all nights, coincided with me meeting up with my sister, the second with me having dinner with a couple of girlfriends, and the third I was dead tired and felt like being alone, so I had been happy when he told me he wouldn’t be home until at the earliest eleven. Prior to that week, he’s been coming home just about every night. More or less since the date of Celeste’s death, I realize now as I go over the dates in my head.
How could I have forgotten this?
My stomach turns to ice. I bet those nights all coincide with when Claire was off... Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to verify that. Not unless I bribe someone at the restaurant who can tell me, someone like a manager who keeps track of who is working and who is not. My younger sister is a waitress and her schedule changes all the time what with her picking up extra shifts or just switching with her coworkers so she can get the night off for whatever reason. I can’t imagine it is any different for Claire.
Jason wakes up then, interrupting my darkening thoughts by taking me in his arms. I slide out of them, explaining that I need to urgently use the bathroom.
We go through our regular morning routine and then share a cab to work. I’m amazed at how easy it is for me to hide all the unease that’s growing bigger and bigger inside me. The more I consider the fact that Jason suddenly had “work commitments” three times in the past week, the more convinced I am that he is having another affair and that he is having it with Claire. I feel like I have turned into another person, a mere shell of the old me, almost like a robot who knows just how to act and speak the way regular Lexi does.
On the inside, another person has taken root. It’s a person who will ensure that both the adulterer and the slut will pay for what they’re doing. I smile as I nod to myself. Yes, indeed. They will both pay.
“What are you thinking?” Jason asks and smiles a little, tilting his head in that way so typical of him. I usually find it endearing, but not today. I wonder if this is the way he looks at her, as though he is deeply interested in what she is saying. Surely it is, I think bitterly. In fact, he did it when I caught them flirting at the restaurant, didn’t he? Yes, he did, I remember now.
I’m such a fool.
I make myself smile back at my husband. My cheating son-of-a-bitch husband who I couldn’t make myself turn in to the cops because I believed he loved me so much. That has not turned out to be the case.
“I’m thinking about how lucky I am to be married to a man like you,” I say in response to his question. Then I lean in and kiss him on the lips.
Chapter 16
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
Jenny looks at the many people who pass her on the street. They all ignore her brown cardboard sign and the big plastic cup in which there are lots of coins and a few bills. Hardly any of them even notice that she is sitting there on the dirty ground, leaning against the building wall while holding out her cup toward them. It’s like she has become invisible, a ghost of the city.
More than an hour has passed since anyone has put any money in the cup. How can so few people care that she and Herman are destitute and need help? Can’t these people read the desperate words they have written in large block letters on the sign beside her? She and Herman have both lost their jobs and live in a shitty studio apartment in the worst part here in Brooklyn. If they can’t get another two hundred dollars together by Friday to hand the landlord, they’ll be evicted. Their home will be the streets, day and night. Neither of them wants to sleep in the homeless shelter in their area and mix with the crazies there. Herman has friends there who tell them there are fights going on almost every night and people trying to steal money from each other. The hygiene is poor and many are drug addicts, which make them dangerous and unreliable. The other Brooklyn shelter only allows women and Jenny doesn’t want to be apart from Herman at night. He is her only real friend. Her friend and lover until the end.
Jenny keeps trying to make eye contact with people, sighing inwardly as they keep averting their gazes. Friday is two days away, but at this rate it’s questionable whether she and Herman will have the money needed by then. Some of the money will need to be used for food, so they’ll need more than $200. She knows the landlord means business this time. If they don’t amass the rent somehow, they can look forward to calling the corner of Flatbush Avenue and Avenue J their home starting this weekend.
Maybe Herman is having better luck on the trains than she is here on the street. She switches spots almost every day in hopes of finding a more lucrative one. So far they have all been more or less the same. Herman left for the subway as soon as they woke up this morning while she headed for this street corner, right next to the post office entrance, a spot she was told is good. She realizes now that she must have been duped because it sucks. It’s time for her to stop being so gullible. She can only hope Herman will come home with all the money they need tonight so they can relax a little. That would be nice.
She looks around, wondering what time it can be. It must be late; the d
aylight has changed, becoming softer and warmer the way it does when it’s approaching dusk.
She cocks her head and her eyes find the sky behind the many buildings around her, most of them six or more stories tall. As she suspected, the sun has already sunk behind them, no longer visible at all. Since it is August—wait, maybe it is September now, Jenny can’t be sure. Every day is the same to her, which makes it hard to correctly gauge the passing of time. Anyway, it’s time to call it a day shortly; she has been in this spot since eight in the morning. This is a business area and few people come here after it gets dark, so hanging around here then is likely even more of a waste of time.
Her stomach makes a funny sound and she thinks about the fact that she hasn’t eaten since the egg sandwich this morning. But that’s okay; she’s not really hungry, only thirsty, but not for water. She’s had enough water today. There is a water fountain right outside the post office that she drinks from when the mood strikes her. Now she reaches for the bottle in the brown paper bag between her legs instead and drinks three large sips of the cheap vodka. It makes her feel a little better, not so lonely and helpless. The pain that is always with her is kept at bay this way.
Where is Herman?
She looks up and down the street, expecting to spot his rangy figure somewhere in between all the people still walking on both sides of the street despite that it’s late now. He should be joining her soon; he knows she is outside the post office today. But she can’t see a tall man with longish brown hair in a ponytail wearing baggy jeans with holes in them and a worn T-shirt anywhere. She hopes he hasn’t suddenly decided to disappear on her. He did appear in her life unexpectedly, so it wouldn’t surprise her if he also disappeared all of a sudden, having decided to move to another state or something. Somewhere he can pursue his love for music and get a job as a roadie. He hated working as a garbage collector and so wasn’t very sad when they fired him.