by Jackie Rose
“Some people would say three guys is a lot, you know.”
“Who? Your mother? Just please trust me. You don’t want to be starting anything with this guy.”
I knew there was no potential for anything serious between me and Jade. Even if there had been, I certainly wouldn’t have wanted any part of it. Not now, anyway. The more I thought about it, the less I believed our little tryst was about the sex or the circumstances or the excitement, and the more I saw it for what it was—a way for me to completely ruin my life while taking as little responsibility for it as possible. Kind of like a self-imposed nervous breakdown. Things had been out of control for too long, at work, with Bruce, with Mom. Sleeping with Jade made that all go away. And getting caught just sealed the deal. There was nothing to go back to after that. And miserable though it might be, at least my life was my own again.
But I still felt like I had to come clean with Jade for some reason, just to get some closure on that part of my life. Maybe I wanted him to know that I’d been the one using him, and not the other way around, the way Morgan obviously saw it. But Jade had been nothing but a perfect gentleman with me from day one, and as my friend he deserved the truth. No more lies. No more dishonesty. I was turning over a new leaf and putting it all behind me.
Friday night, Morgan went to the opening of a gallery designed by Billy’s firm. They invited me to come, but I declined. I had a stiff drink, then called Jade at home.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” I told him.
“Excellent. I’ve been thinking a lot about you, too.”
“I want to come clean.”
“Sure thing.”
“Well,” I said, bracing myself. “I haven’t been honest.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t quit my job. I got fired.” Best to start with an easy one.
He laughed. “That’s okay. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You know how many times I’ve been fired? Once, in college, I was working as a night watchman for this huge electronics store, and my friends came by one night and—”
“Jade, let me finish. I can’t go away with you. I don’t think it would be a good idea. Any of it. You and me, I mean. We had some fun, but…”
“You sure you don’t want to go to L.A.? Come on! Live a little!”
“Jade, my dad doesn’t live in L.A. He’s not a casting director.” I took a deep breath. “He’s…well…uh, he’s dead.”
He let it sink in for a bit, then said, “That’s fine. I understand.”
“I don’t know why I lied. I guess I wanted you to like me. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
He didn’t answer.
“Wow. I’m so relieved,” I continued. “I definitely didn’t want you to think I was some kind of pathological liar or something, since I was thinking about coming back to the gym soon and, I don’t know, if you ever went to L.A. or something and you thought my dad could get you a job, you know?”
“You’re right. I’m glad you told me,” he said finally. I knew it was the right thing to do. “And since we’re being totally honest,” he added. “I did lie to you, too. Once.”
Uh-oh. “When?”
“That night, at my place. You asked me if you were the only client I’d ever brought home….”
“And you said no,” I reminded him.
“But that wasn’t entirely true.”
“Oh.”
“I’ve been there with clients before,” he said.
“Like, one or two?” I asked cautiously.
“Well…less than a dozen.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, well…”
“So I guess I’ll talk to you soon?” I asked, sensing something not altogether good had just happened.
“Sure. Talk to you soon,” he said, and hung up.
I tossed and turned all night. It was no good. Was he mad at me? I was the one who had a right to be mad. My lie was harmless. His lie was, well, deceptive. The only thing I knew for certain was that I was suddenly very glad I’d insisted we use a condom (make that condoms) even though he hadn’t wanted to. I was also pretty sure that I had to go and see him in person and say my piece.
There was a new girl working behind the desk when I walked into the gym the following afternoon. I realized I hadn’t been there in a month. Pushing thoughts of my impending obesity out of my mind, I flashed her my membership card and went straight to the cardio room to look for Jade. At first, I didn’t see him. As I made my way toward the stairs that led up to the weights, I saw him. In the back corner, near the scales. He was talking very intimately with a girl, a chubby girl. He stroked her arm.
My God. He has an M.O.
I watched, disgusted, as he whispered something in her ear and she threw her head back and laughed. She looked ridiculous. It was too much to bear—I stormed over to the corner and waited for him to notice me.
Chubby cleared her throat and Jade turned around.
“Hey! Evie!” he smiled, in a masterful attempt to distract me from his guilt. “Long time no see.”
“Hello,” I said coolly.
Sensing my impending attack, he turned back to Chubby and said, “Why don’t you go and start on your abs, Cecile. I’ll be right up.” She glared at me and left.
“You look different…” Jade said as soon as she was out of earshot. “Bloated, maybe?”
The nerve. “I’m not bloated,” I said. “And I’m not PMS-ing or hysterical or anything else, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Calm down,” he hissed, looking around to make sure no one had heard. “Don’t go getting all weird on me. What’s wrong with you?”
“Was that one of the clients you never brought home?” I wasn’t exactly jealous, but I was a little mad—at myself. Why hadn’t I been able to see through this guy?
“Actually, yes. I mean no.”
“Well which is it?”
“Yes, she’s a client, and no, I’ve never brought her home.” His eyes were as hypnotically green as ever. It was tempting to take him at his word. “But we are sleeping together,” he added.
Filthy cad!
“What did you say?” I gasped, shocked. This was not the gentlemanly Jade I’d fallen for. “Evie, I am so sorry if you somehow got the impression that we were exclusive,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “But I never said…”
“What the hell are you talking about? I dumped you, remember?” I smacked his hand away.
“When?” he laughed.
“Last night on the phone.”
“Did you think I was waiting around for you or something?”
“No, that’s not what I thought. But you—you lied to me. If I’d known you were sleeping with twenty-eight different people, I never would have…”
“It wasn’t twenty-eight. Not even close to that many,” he said, thinking carefully. “And weren’t you sleeping with someone else, too?” he asked.
“Bruce doesn’t count.”
“Why not?”
“Because you knew about him,” I said.
“So?”
“I didn’t know about that…Cecilia, or whatever her name is.”
“Actually,” he said dreamily, “Cecile and I only had sex for the first time this morning.”
“Ohh!” I moaned, putting my hands over my ears. I was such an idiot.
“Hey—you have no right to be pissed off. You never asked me if I was screwing anybody else!” He was beginning to get a little hot under the collar himself.
“But I did. When we were in the bar, before we’d even had a drink! I explicitly asked you if you were involved with anyone, and you said no.”
“Well, I wasn’t involved with anyone. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t getting any.”
Morgan was right. He really was a piece of shit. I don’t know what disturbed me more—that I would never be able to trust my own judgment again or the fact that I was so easily flattered into this guy’s bed. At least now I knew the vulnerabil
ity of my own ego.
“To think that I actually came here because I wanted to make sure things were okay between us, because I thought we were friends. But you know what? You make me sick!” I all but yelled. “You’re like…like some sort of sex-crazed Dr. Frankenstein, creating worshipful adorers in your own image and then casting them aside once you’ve had your way with them…”
“Shhh,” he said, and grabbed my wrist. “You might not have to show your face here anymore, but I work here every day.”
But there was no stopping me. I twisted free of his grip. “And what was all that about wanting to go to L.A.? Was it just because you thought my dad could get you a job?”
He tapped his foot impatiently. “Whatever, Evie. I have to get back to work, so can we wrap this up?”
My face flushed hot with anger, then embarrassment. I would not cry. I would not cry for this loser.
“What am I even doing here?” I asked myself aloud.
“C’mon, lighten up,” he said. “It doesn’t have to end like this.”
“If it wasn’t ending badly, then it wouldn’t be ending at all,” I said. I remembered reading that somewhere, but it only now just made sense.
“Suit yourself,” he conceded, shrugging. “Maybe once you’ve cleared your head a little, we can still be friends. I meant what I said the other day about having a good time with you.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, at least think about it,” he said, backing away. “And hey—if you’re ever in my neck of the woods, give me a buzz.”
I glared at him skeptically.
“Aw, don’t look at me like that. You’re breaking my heart! Seriously, Evie, call me—I thought we were pretty good together, didn’t you? And now that you know what a good lay I am…” He winked at me, then bounded up the stairs, two at a time.
“Just don’t say I told you so,” I moaned to Morgan when I got home. I flopped down on the couch with a bag of chips.
“I told you so,” she said.
“I can’t believe what a prick he is.”
“Most of them are,” she confirmed. “Think of it as a life lesson.”
“I’m trying to,” I told her. “It just isn’t fair. And no wonder he was so good in bed—he’s been with thousands of women.” (Mademoiselle, March: “Does Your Man Love Women Too Much? 10 Ways To Tell.”)
“That has nothing to do with it. They’re either born with it or they’re not. Bruce was probably born with it, too, you just never noticed.”
I was in no mood for her to be extolling the virtues of Saint Bruce.
“Maybe now would be a good time for you to take note that the whole ‘somebody on the side’ thing doesn’t always work out, Morgan. It ruined my marriage before it even started. You might want to think about that.”
“Oh, I have. I’ve called it off with Peter until after the wedding.”
“That’s very noble of you. Confusing, but noble.”
“I know. And although I hate to point out the obvious, I think I’ll be able to make it work just a little better than you did. You aren’t very good at keeping a secret. I mean, please—it’s like you wanted to get caught.”
“That seems a little sadomasochistic, even for me. But you might have a point,” I admitted. I did minor in psychology after all, and I knew that the mind has funny ways of revealing itself. My life was so out of control for so long, that maybe I just couldn’t take it anymore, and so I sabotaged myself in order to bring everything to a crashing halt.
Morgan nodded. “You never did well with change, Evie. It was probably all just too much for you to handle.”
“Well, in my case that may be. But sometimes accidents happen, lipstick ends up on a collar or whatever, and even the cleverest of cheaters gets caught. Did you ever stop to think about what would happen if Peter’s wife found out about you?”
“I think she already knows.”
“You don’t know that. You just tell yourself she does so you can pretend it wouldn’t bother her. We don’t live in France, Morgan—wives here don’t just ignore their husbands’ affairs. I bet if she knew she’d kick Peter out in a second. And then his kids would have no father, and they’d be miserable forever and it would all be your fault.”
“No, Evie,” she said sharply. “It would be Peter’s fault for messing around in the first place.”
“Like if it wasn’t you, it would be somebody else anyway, right? That’s a lame excuse. And what if Billy found out and it totally devastated him and he divorced you and moved to a monastery in the Alps or something?”
“God, what a loss that would be to women everywhere,” she said wryly. “He’s incredibly well-hung, you know.”
“Seriously.”
She sighed deeply. “Well, then that would be my fault, I guess.”
“When you get married, you can’t just think about yourself anymore.”
“I know that.” She was getting huffy, but I didn’t care—she needed to hear it.
“I’m just trying to spare you the pain and the shit I’ve been going through, and spare Billy, too.”
“Well isn’t this the pot calling the kettle black,” she said.
“Maybe. But for once, I’m the one with the experience here,” I said. “Why can’t you see that Billy deserves to be treated as well as he treats you? You owe him that.”
“What’s all this about? Do you have a crush on my fiancé or something?” She glared at me accusingly.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snapped. “Listen to me. You obviously don’t know what you’re doing. You were all for my cheating on Bruce, and look how that turned out.”
“Evie, the only reason you’re in this mess right now is because you didn’t listen to me, not because you did.”
“I’m not saying it’s your fault, Morgan, but you’re the one who put the possibility of actually doing it in my head in the first place. You said it was okay…no, you said it would be good for me to have a fling!”
“No. What I said was, go for it, but only if you could handle it and avoid hurting Bruce, which you obviously couldn’t. You’re the one who did all the hurting here, not me! I haven’t hurt anyone! So screw you!” she said, slamming the door on her way out.
She’d barely been gone for five minutes when the phone rang. The caller ID said Evelyn Mays. I picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Hi.” It was Bruce. “Um, last week, I forgot to tell you that Claire called.”
“She did?”
“Yeah.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I spoke to her for a long time.”
“What did she say?”
“She knows what happened. I guess your mom told her. She’s worried about you, so maybe you should give her a call.”
I’d been far too ashamed to talk to Claire about any of this. She’s the only one in the family who seems to have any real moral standards (Mom’s don’t count, since they all come from the Church). Although I was embarrassed, I was also relieved. I was glad I wouldn’t have to be the one to tell her. But I still didn’t want to call her.
“Okay,” I told him.
“And there’s something else,” he said. “If you want, I could still make that appointment for you. With the therapist. You seemed pretty down.”
“So did you,” I said.
“Well, of course…”
“Maybe we could see someone together,” I asked hopefully.
“I don’t think so.”
Too much, too soon. But I wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip away. “I understand. Maybe it would be good for me, though, like you said. Will you call me with the information?”
“Okay,” he said agreeably.
Pretty much everyone I know has been in therapy or at least on Prozac or Paxil at one time or another, so there was really no shame in it. And if going to some shrink would help me get Bruce back, then that’s what I’d have to do.
20
The next morning, I
apologized to Morgan. I knew that what happened with Bruce wasn’t her fault, technically speaking. She graciously accepted, and to celebrate we went out for brunch. Since most people seem to work six days a week in New York, Sunday brunch in the city requires a lot of patience, because there are about eight million people who had the exact same idea you did.
“I’ve been on edge,” I told her as we waited in line at the hottest new diner in SoHo.
“No. Really?”
“And I’m beginning to feel a bit like an intruder at your place.”
“Why would you say that?” she asked. “If I needed to crash at your place, would you mind?”
“No,” I admitted. “But you just got engaged, and you and Billy hardly get to see each other as it is, so when I’m there all the time…I don’t know, it must suck.”
“I see Billy plenty,” she said. “He sleeps over plenty. And we’re not exactly the most codependent couple.”
What I didn’t mention was that when Billy did sleep over, I spent half the night awake listening to them have sex. At first I was grossed out (and a little impressed—the guy could literally go all night), but now I was just annoyed. I needed my own place. We were too old to be roommates.
“Still, you deserve your privacy. And I’d like to give you some rent, too,” I told her.
“Forget it.”
“Thank God. I barely have enough money to pay for lunch,” I half joked. “But I figured I should at least offer.”
Morgan shrugged it off. “If it weren’t for my big mouth, you probably wouldn’t be living with me, anyway.”
“Please, let’s not get into that again,” I said. “But I’m serious. Is there anything I can do to help out? It would make me feel better.”
“How about you pay for the cleaning lady this week.”
“Okay,” I said, happy to be able to contribute in some way.
Since there wasn’t much left of that last paycheck after I paid off all the minimum balances on the cards, I was in deep trouble. Of course, I had no savings whatsoever, except for a meager $1100 in a 401k that I’d put aside in a fit of responsibility three years ago (Glamour, February: “Retirement Planning: A Little Now Means a Lot Later!”). But once I had a job, everything would be fine, I reasoned. And how hard could it be to find something, especially since I was willing to take anything, no matter how horrid, and consider it temporary.