by KT Morrison
Jay showed up behind her holding a fresh wine bottle and two clean glasses. He was bare-legged under a cotton terry robe. She didn’t like it, too Playboy mansion all of a sudden.
“Where’d you come from?”
“The other way. Can’t climb a ladder with a wine bottle.” He put a glass next to her on the deck, squatted next to it and poured her some more red wine. She watched him pour, worried when she could see his legs under the robe that maybe she would see his balls tumble out of there. What would she do if he peeled himself out of that robe in front of her and he was naked, a splitting hard-on standing upright between his legs?
He crossed to the other side and threw his robe off onto the deck. He was wearing trunks. He was fit too. It was strange to see him like this. She always saw him in Dockers and a dress shirt, maybe a lab coat, scrubs. She knew he was fit, saw him in his sports gear at the marathon, his spandex today. But now she saw his bare skin. His naked torso. It felt too intimate, not something work associates should share. But it was just a hot tub, practically a small swimming pool. It would be better if they weren’t alone.
She watched him get in the tub without the walk-down stairs. He sat on the lip and she saw his tight midsection bunch up. He was muscular, but lean and trim, hardly an ounce of fat on him. He lowered himself in with his strong corded arms trying not to make a face from the searing heat.
They talked and he was courteous, staying over on his side of the tub. He never got too personal, ask her if she was seeing anyone. He acted like he wanted this professional too and she was glad for that. He talked about his kids, Tess, his plans for the clinic. He let her talk a bit about Jakobsen-Mueller and she stopped herself, told him she’d said enough already to put the trip on her expense account.
She had reached back and turned for her wine glass and felt her bare tit come up out of the water, and her eyes went wide. She drank and talked and wondered if he’d seen that. She saw her sexy little self from his angle. Her bare shoulders, her smooth skin, lifting an arm and he would see her petite little breast, the ski slope curve, her nicely shaped nipple, stiff but not hard, coming up out of the tub, hot water dripping from the tip. What did he think of that?
It was innocent the first time, truly accidental, but she did it again. Each time she took a drink she showed him her pretty little breast, hoped he wouldn’t look away, hoped he’d see it, appreciate it. Hoped he would feel guilty for looking at this poor girl who didn’t realize her titty was visible. He’d feel dirty for watching a young girl he knew unknowingly reveal herself. It put her in charge. He felt either paternal or avuncular or he was a lech who wanted to get in her pants. Whichever way, letting him see a bare breast put her in a position of power.
She’d had too much to drink and now she was the one crossing lines here.
When Kiley woke up in the morning her head pounded. Throbbing with her heartbeat up the back of her neck and down her collar. She felt paralyzed. She briefly wondered where she was, looking up at the honey stained wood strip ceiling. Then she remembered. She was in Jay’s guest room in the big tall bed. She forced herself to roll over get herself onto her elbow. She had a dread about last night and she struggled to recall, staring holes into the navajo rug. What the fuck?
She remembered letting him see her breast. Accidental, right? Was that it? She felt so horrible there had to be more. She remembered letting him see it like she didn’t know that he could. Doing it maybe twenty times. But he had to know she knew. Fuck me. She sat up, felt so nauseous and sore, she struggled not to throw up. What else did she do?
She slowly looked around behind her in the bed, what if Jay was laying next to her, sleeping naked face down. No, she was alone.
She remembered realizing she was drunk when she was in the tub—was Jay drunk too? She could see him get out of the tub, dry off. He brought her a clean towel. And then he left her...she was naked, how did she get out of the tub? She grabbed at herself—how was she dressed? She was wearing her panties, but no bra. Her clothes were balled up on the floor, thrown into a corner. Oh, no. Did he have to help her out of the tub?
She put her hands between her legs and touched herself. She didn’t think she’d had sex. What did she do? He wouldn’t have left her on the deck alone, drunk, she could fall, drown. Jesus fucking Christ, she was so fucking stupid.
Clothes balled up on the floor was a Kiley thing. He looked like a folder. If he brought her to bed, he wouldn’t have just thrown her clothes on the floor like that. She did that, so she came to the room dressed. She must have dressed on the deck. Did he have to help her? Did he escort her to this room?
She got up and got herself to the bathroom, leaning on the wall to get there, holding the door jamb. She got on her knees and flipped the toilet seat up. The sound was like a gunshot next to her ear. She slumped to one butt cheek and put her hands on the bowl. It wasn’t going to happen so easy, and she put a finger in her throat and that set it off. She coughed wine and steak and greens into the bowl, flushing to keep that stuff on its trip out of her. Bye bye. She flushed again, and hugged the bowl. She had Advil in her bag. She dragged herself back there, pulled the bag onto the bed and rummaged, hunched over and painful. She took two of them dry, choked them down, she lay back on the bed. She felt so stupid. And something more profound. She felt alone. Desperately alone.
Don’t fall asleep. She knew she had to be out of here. Gone. She struggled off the bed and pulled those crumpled clothes back on. She grabbed her things, she looked at the bed, but she knew she couldn’t tidy it. She closed the room, padded on bare feet through the house, her shoes dangling from her fingertips. She dropped her bag at the front door and walked in to the kitchen, her shoulders aching, held up to her ears. She had her hands tucked into the arms of her sweater, went through drawers looking for paper and a pen. She left him a note, big friendly handwriting, saying thanks and she had so much to do, thanks so much again, great hospitality, kept it light, kept it cool.
She grabbed her bag and slipped the shoes on, wondered where her socks were, and got herself into the Subaru. Her skis and poles were in there, and she didn’t care about anything more after that, she just started up the car and got out of there, headed down that drive, six-thirty on a sunny Sunday morning, not a cloud in the sky.
6
Black Silhouette
Kate had Mitch’s files open on his desk, their bank account open on the computer screen when she heard him come home through the front door a lot earlier than she expected.
She heard him in the front hall, hanging his coat up, dropping his keys on the table, while she frantically closed up windows on his computer. Shit, shit, shit. He’d gone in to work on a Sunday, said he wanted to do research on something, leaving just before lunch. She had lunch alone on the patio, it was sunny and not too cold for Spring and she wanted to take advantage. Alone with her thoughts the dread came. She had an almost full-fledged panic attack that left her on her hands and knees, her fingers digging into the blue and white diamond pattern on their flat woven carpet. She took a Xanax with a red wine and sat herself at the dining room table, taking deep, deep breaths, forcing herself to calm. That was when she realized she was alone, she could try and find some money. Find out where she could get it from.
She’d come in here and lost track of the time. She’d lost track of even what day of the week it was. Expected Mitch home at his regular time—sometime in the evening. She scrambled, rushing to close everything up, doing it as quietly as she could. Her heart was racing, pounding in her chest. How could she even explain what she was doing? She heard him moving around in the kitchen, heard his phone ring. He was probably looking for her. How was she even going to explain being in his office? She could go out on the patio. Mitch had a door from this room that led outside. She backed toward it, looking over where she’d been. She thought it looked alright, but she didn’t really remember what it looked like when she’d started. She rushed back and closed the little filing cabinet built into his bookcase
that had their personal records as she heard him in the hall right outside the door. She hopped herself out to the patio sure she’d been spotted, hearing the door open behind her. She tucked herself against the wall, didn’t want to run because getting caught running would look too guilty. She took out her phone and flipped through it trying to make herself look like she was busy.
He didn’t come out. She heard him sit down in his chair, heard him talking. Who was he talking to? Was he on his phone? She put her phone away and listened but he was too quiet.
Her brief foray into espionage was a wash. She didn’t go in with the best expectations anyway. She’d hoped something would jump out at her, something obvious. There was nothing. They had far less cash than she’d even thought. Lots of investments, lots of little sums, nothing that screamed out to her as the answer to all her problems. Most of the financial stuff was over her head. Mitch handled all of that, and she never asked questions. Where was their money? Must be tied up in the business; she couldn’t even guess.
Kate listened to Mitch while she stood outside on the patio where he couldn’t see her. She’d heard a name. Heard it and frowned, puzzled, worked herself closer to the doorway, just enough so that she wasn’t visible. He’d said Kiley. Why would Kiley call him? She struggled to hear him over the gentle but incessant sounds of Sunday evening in Campden Hill.
“Slow down, Kiley...yes, I got that part, I was wondering why you’d think that he’d have...right, right,…” she heard Mitch say. He sounded concerned. It sounded like his counsel was needed. It killed her not to know. His voice got quiet, she could barely hear him. He sounded soothing. Was Kiley upset? She tingled. Had she talked to Omar? Kate’s heart thundered in her chest, her blood pounded in her ears, making it even harder to hear. She leaned against the brick and got herself as close to the edge as she could.
“No darling, listen, it’s alright...I wish I could...time will put it in perspective, honestly...right...these things happen all the time...yes, well things like it, and to good people too. It’s hard now but a year from now everything will be alright...you’ll only cringe a little bit when you think about it.” It sounded like he had her perked up a bit. What were they talking about?
Mitch was talking too quietly for her to hear now. She could hear his calm tone, serious and measured. Kind, helpful Mitch. She listened a bit longer, but it sounded like he’d turned away, maybe he was across the room. She gave up. She turned and tip toed across the patio, peeked in the other window of his office, saw that he was turned facing his bookshelves, his back to her as he sat in his office chair. She hopped across the view from the window and got herself to the end of the patio and slipped back into the living area, closed the french door very quietly behind her. She went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, then closed it loud enough for him to hear. She did the same with the cutlery drawer. Then she crossed over to his office door and pushed it open wider. He was still on the phone and he smiled at Kate gave her a wave.
She stepped down into his office and looked around, made sure she’d not left anything out of place.
“Were you talking to Kiley?”
He looked up at her from his leather chair, said “Yeah, she wanted some advice.”
“Why wouldn’t she call me?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It was work related, I guess. To do with her business…”
She put her hands on his desk, looked around at his things. “Were you able to help her?”
“I hope so.”
“Is she alright?”
“Yeah, she is. Just a little upset,” he said, sorting through Friday’s mail.
“Well, what is it?”
“Huh? Uh, just an ethics issue.”
“Should I call her?”
“You can. She’s alright, Kate.”
“Tell me what happened.”
He put the mail down and thought about it. He said, “She had a bit too much to drink at a work thing...she’s worried about what people might think.”
“What did she do?”
He picked the mail up again, cutting the bulk into smaller organized piles. “She doesn’t remember.” He handed her a padded manila envelope, letter size but thick. “Here’s one for you,” he said and handed it to her.
She took the envelope from him, said “Poor thing.”
“Did that say Frontignan on it?”
She felt a shock set off inside her, a quiver in her belly, a weakness that felt like she might let it go in her pants. She turned and stepped away, walked towards his door. She lifted the envelope, her hand shaking, looked at it, saw that it did have a return address in Frontignan. She looked it over puzzled, giving Mitch a show, she flipped it over and looked at the other side and she said No as disinterestedly as she could make it sound. She kept her legs walking to the door, praying that she could make it.
Mitch had caught her. She felt it now, everything closing in. He was far too smart to let this go. Kate knew he’d be sitting in his office, could picture him leaning back in his chair, quiet, his hands behind his head, perfectly still; Mitch at work, his brain going a thousand clicks a second, his body frozen, braced against his raging mind.
Shit, though, he’d never arrive at the crazy predicament she was actually in. But he would think maybe, she was still somehow seeing Omar. What could she tell him?
He was quiet during dinner. She felt stupid and obvious, making overtly friendly small talk. It made her feel guilty, and she knew he could tell she felt guilty. She couldn’t stop herself. Everything she said to him across the table seemed to come out wrong and she kept telling herself to just Shut up.
When she’d escaped Mitch’s office, got out of there before he asked to see the envelope, she went straight to her bathroom and locked herself in. Her heart was pounding, it had taken everything she had not to run down the hall—to try and walk a calm straight line when she could picture him mad, looming behind her in the hall, grabbing it and witnessing her lie. She went to the vanity and looked at the padded yellow envelope. Crude handwriting on the top left, no name but an address in Frontignan, France, 34110. Her hands had trembled. She struggled with the flap, pushing a finger into it and tearing it open in her urgency. Something small, metal, clanged on the tile floor once, and landed on the bathmat quietly. She got down on her knees. A key. A black plastic fob with a rusted ring on it, the key itself not a blade but a metal circle like a car lighter. She pictured it opening a locker in a bus station or something. She pulled the envelope down and looked in it. There was just a plain white card in it, some precise instructions typewritten into its surface.
Mitch was closed up in his office now for about an hour after dinner, leaving her on the couch to just watch TV by herself. She didn’t even know what was on, she’d just been staring through the plasma. She couldn’t do this any more. It had to stop. She had to stop it. She couldn’t take one more minute of this fear for Mitch.
Her phone vibrated on the coffee table. She picked it up and looked at the screen. A message from Omar. She got up, headed to the bedroom, her legs felt weak. She passed Mitch’s closed door, wished she could just go in and sit with him instead of the awful thing she knew she was going to do. She made it to the bedroom and flicked the lights on. She picked up her laptop from her nightstand and locked herself in the bathroom.
She left the lights on the dim part of the slider but turned on the fan and a little shaded lamp on the vanity. Their Master Bath was a big room, there was a long vanity lit up by spots recessed in the ceiling, set in a indent in the wall that was all mirror. She had a separate area with a little table she could sit at and put on her makeup. It was set apart from the facilities and she went in there and sat on the rug and put her back against the wall. She opened the laptop up and got Skype open and waited. The call came in, she saw it flash. It was Omar under a different Omar username. When it opened the little video square was black. She put in an earbud and could tell there was no sound.
Kate: No sound?
She could see the square was black, but he was sitting there in shadow, the top of the frame on the left side she could tell there was a lighter spot there, a painted wall. A shape moved, a black silhouette against a black field.
Omar: not at home
She undid her blouse while she watched the screen. Unbuttoned it and took it off. This felt very different. He was usually saying very dirty things to her, telling her what to do, how to pose as she undressed. This felt very mysterious.
Kate: You put a return address on the envelope. Mitch saw it.
Omar: You love the danger don’t you
She watched the figure move, could see it typing. She sat there on her floor in her bra and a pair of tights, knowing now what she would do to end this.
Kate: Leave Mitch out of it
Omar: take your bra off
Kate: I’m serious. I’ll do anything, but we have to leave Mitch out, that’s the only rule
The figure sat motionless. Thinking.
Omar: I make the rules.
Kate undid her bra, unclasped it and let her heavy breasts fall. She rubbed them, easing out the creases her bra gave her. She let him look, let him have what he wanted. She saw the frame within the frame, the window that showed her as Omar saw her, she looked at her hands coddling her own breasts for him. She was shameless.
Kate: Please, we don’t taunt Mitch
Omar: I’m taunting you
Kate: Find another way Omar