Backstage Pass

by K T Morrison

  “And you didn’t kiss him back?”

  She shook her head no.

  He grunted with exasperation. “Not even a little?”

  A weakness showed in her expression now, a fear in her eyes, the ease with which she’d been lying getting a little shaken. His questioning was becoming too knowing...

  He said, “Why don’t you tell me the truth?”

  “I told you,” she said, her voice shaky and quiet and unsure.

  “I know you’re not telling me the truth, Lib.”

  Her lower lip sucked slowly in her mouth and her eyes grew wide and wet. “How?”

  “You kissed him back.”

  “D-did he tell you that?”

  “No, I haven’t talked to anybody.”

  She looked at him dumbly.

  “I know you kissed him back, Lib, just tell me you did.”

  Finally: “I didn’t want to.” Her tiny voice was a whisper.

  “But you kissed him back.”

  “What do you want me to say, Ben?”

  “I want to know why you’re lying.”

  She began to cry again and covered her mouth and nose with the tissue.

  “Don’t, Lib, don’t. What I’m trying to tell you is it doesn’t matter what the truth is, I can take it. I just don’t want you to lie to me...”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “For crying out loud, Lib, it did, I heard it.”

  Her crying abruptly stalled. She held her breath and watched him.

  Now that he had her complete attention, things reluctantly began to roll: “Finn’s... phone was... open, I heard everything.”

  It was a long drawn out moment where she just stared at him and he wondered if she maybe didn’t hear him. There was no reaction, just dull eyes looking back his way. Then she hid her face and cried into her hands.

  “Stop, stop crying, Lib. I don’t want you to cry, I hate that you’re crying. I’m telling you it’s totally fine.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ben,” she cried.

  “Just come clean with tell me and tell me what happened.”

  “He kissed me,” she blurted wetly. “I kissed him...” She let out a low agonal moan. “I tried to leave, he came after me...”

  “He showed you his erection?”

  She bawled: “You heard that?”

  “I heard it all, just tell me, just confess it all, please, get it out...”

  “Oh, my God,” she said, fresh sobs coming now.

  “I love you, Lib, I love you...”

  “He showed it to me, he asked me to touch it...”

  “And then?”

  “Oh God, Ben, don’t…”

  “I don’t want you lying to me.”

  “I touched it,” she whimpered.

  “Why was that so hard?”

  “I’m so ashamed,” she said, reaching now to pull a pillow to her.

  He sighed heavily, felt like he weighed a thousand pounds as he backed his butt down to sit next to her on the bed, both of them with their feet hanging off. “It’s okay, Lib, it’s—”

  “It’s not okay,” she shouted into the pillow.

  “Keep going, Lib,” he prompted, “what happened next?”

  She pulled the pillow away. “I touched it, I poked it, and then I wanted to get out of there.”

  “You stroked it.”

  Her brows wriggled. “Just a little, Ben,” she bawled.

  “He took you to the bedroom.”

  “I ran to my bedroom.”

  “You guys went to yours?”

  “No, I went to mine.”

  “And then what happened?”

  She blubbered, “God, you heard…”

  “Tell me.”

  “He said he was sorry.”

  “And then...?”

  “I just felt so stupid, Ben, you heard me I bawled like a baby...”

  “What happened after that?”

  She frowned, eyes going up, cheeks red. “He put me into bed...”

  His breath quickened, and his hand rubbed on his thighs...

  “And then he put a blanket on me and I fell asleep.”

  He stared across the room, looking out the window that would open onto the street side. Bright daylight out there, midday, not a place for such an awful bit of theater.

  “You slept?... And that’s all that happened?” His voice was automatic and far away.

  “Ben, I swear I didn’t want to—I don’t know why I did that...”

  “And what about coffee with him?”

  “He started bringing coffee by after one time he came in and said his wife knew me. He’s funny, he’s nice...”

  “He’s more than that to you and you know it.”

  “No,” she whispered, looking at her fingers pluck at a balled tissue.

  “It’s not as innocent as you say it is, Lib.”

  She whispered to her lap: “I swear nothing happened, baby.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She sobbed until she coughed. “I don’t know,” she whined.

  “Because you have a crush on him?”

  She shook her head vigorously, her pretty features tightening. “‘Cause I’m afraid of Chelsea...”

  44

  Watching the simple, pure but hurting face of his wife ruined him. Her fear of Chelsea, her crush on Finn, then thinking now her fun visit to the concert with Finn was nothing but a ruse. Mean girl Chelsea and her mean husband tricking dumb high school Libby into thinking Finn could actually like her. Her husband let her down, her husband deceived her...

  “Oh, shoot,” he sighed, dipping his chin down, feeling a thunderhead of reality coming in fast from the coast. “No,” he sighed to himself, knowing what he had to do, wishing he didn’t...

  “Forgive me, Ben,” she said, “I’m so ashamed, I’m not that kind of girl...”

  Slowly he sank off the bed, his butt sliding down, his knees folding up underneath him until he sat on the floor next to her feet.

  “Ben...?” She touched his shoulder.

  He rolled until he was on his knees between her legs looking up at her. She was crying, tears on her cheeks, pain he’d given to her. He’d ruined them. He took her hands.

  “Ben, please forgive me.”

  “Libby,” he said, holding both her hands in his. “You know how much I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “I told you you couldn’t hurt me, I’d see you through anything...”

  “You did,” she said almost hopefully.

  “You’re so good,” he told her.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You are, Lib, you are. Finn took you away, he tried to seduce you but you wouldn’t let him...”

  “I love you, you’re my husband.”

  “I know,” he said, giving her warm little hands a shake. “I know… That’s what I mean, you’re so good.”

  “I’m not bad,” she said, touching his cheek.

  “Libby, Finn tried to seduce you...”

  “I don’t know about seduce,” she said, running fingernails through his hair over his ear.

  “No, listen...”

  She brought her hands down again, he held them. She was listening. He drew in a deep breath. “Finn tried to seduce you and I knew he was going to.”

  Her expression didn’t change much, but there was a new focus there, like her pupils dilated, locking in to absorb more detail.

  “Libby, I could have gone to Dorchester, but I wanted you to sleep with Finn. I saw you had a crush on him, and I kind of liked it, I told him... I told him he could if you wanted to...”

  A funny little smile flashed across her face but it was there for only a half second. Then she was unsure, brow lowering, trying to comprehend what such a crazy statement could possibly mean.

  “You’re so good, even though he tried, you didn’t go for him.”

  “No…”

  “But I wanted it to happen. I wanted him to...”

  “Wanted him to
what?”

  “I wanted you to sleep with him.”

  She still couldn’t understand what she was hearing, cocking her head, rearing back as if she needed reading glasses like all this information was too close to her. She put some distance between their faces, trying to get perspective. “What are you talking about?”

  “I wanted you to so that we would be equal. Because, Libby, I’m not as strong as you are...”

  “No,” she said in the softest of whispers. When her hands tried to dart away, he held them pinched with his thumb against his knuckles.

  “No,” he said, “listen...”

  “Oh, no, Ben...”

  “I’m not as strong as you are,” he said, his voice trembling. You’re stronger than me, I couldn’t resist.You’re so strong and I’m so weak...”

  “You didn’t...”

  Now tears swelled on his lids, filling that cup of space where eyeball meets rim, spilling over and making him blink. But he wouldn’t turn away, he kept his eyes on hers.

  “Ben, don’t say it.”

  “I have to, Libby.”

  “Oh, Ben, no…”

  “I cheated on you, Libby...”

  “With Chelsea?” Her voice was a tiny squeaky whisper.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “When I was at the show?”

  “A week ago, Lib, listen, just... I can tell you more but…”

  Then that bewildered face of hers pinched completely closed. Eyes squeezed shut, her tears started fresh down her cheeks following the old trails. Her face blossomed in new bright red, her lips wriggled like they were rubber bands, and the tiniest soughing cries began to chug from her. Soft little coughs, each one a stiletto blade in his heart.

  “Libby, I’m so sorry, Libby, please…”

  She tried to pull her hands back, and he pinched them tighter. But she persisted, yanking and yanking until he let them go. She covered her face and exploded sobs into them.

  “Libby, I’m so sorry,” he said, squatting now, putting his arms around her. He didn’t see the slap coming. Pow, right across the face. It felt good because he deserved it. But now he was crying.

  “You’re so stupid, Ben,” she sobbed. “You’re so stupid, stupid, stupid...” She covered her face again, almost folded in two.

  “Baby, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry...”

  Every time he tried to put his arms around her, she elbowed him away. They played a funny game of comfort versus anger where he would put a hand on her and she would knock it away. She was crying in her hands and he would touch her and she’d have to uncover her face to bat at him.

  “So,” she said suddenly, lifting her chin, her pained eyes looking across the room, now the realization hitting her: “Finn didn’t want to go with me...”

  “He did, Libby, he wanted to, and I let him, he really wanted to be there...”

  “Oh, God,” she cried, a warbling sound that she squeezed off into her hands again. “You heard me and Finn, you and Chelsea listening, here in my house… dumb Libby, laughing…”

  This time when he went to comfort her and take her in his arms, she pushed him hard with both hands. She hissed, “Just get out.”

  He sat back down on the floor, hunched and weak, but looking up at the most perfect person that he’d had the pleasure to know. And to destroy. “I’m so sorry… I just wanted us to be together”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” she said, hands forming small hard fists with thumbs tucked under her fingers. “Just get out of here,” she said again and closed her eyes and he was relieved that the tears at least had stopped. All that was left was the softest saddest chuffing sound. An innocent girl consumed by hurt.

  When he watched too long, she pounded one of those fists on the mattress. “I said get out!”

  He slunk away, rose to stand, didn’t know what to say anymore. He lingered, trying to formulate that perfect phrase, that You had me at hello, something that would save the day. But there was nothing. This poor sobbing figure was all his responsibility. He’d done this.

  He shuffled sideways, turned, went to the bedroom door, paused. Still no phrase that could save them would come. He rested his forehead on the door.

  It was awful, but at least it was done. And so much could have been saved if you’d just been honest in the first place. His first betrayal would’ve been easier to take than having it come back at her twofold. He sniffed, opened the door stepped into the hall, quietly closed the door behind him.

  Part 8

  Chaos

  Tuesday, July 16

  45

  The night was terrible. The most terrible of his entire life. He wouldn’t leave the house, he knew that. So he sat in the hall. Off and on he could hear Libby softly crying in the bedroom. One time he asked her if she was all right and she told him to go away.

  When it got later, and it was dark, he knocked on the door and asked her if he could get her anything to eat. She didn’t answer for a long moment but then he heard her softly say no. He got pillows from the family room, and a blanket, brought them up and tried to sleep in the hall outside the bedroom door.

  He couldn’t sleep, sat there in the quiet listening to his stomach rumble, and his heart pound. He was hungry, but he had absolutely no appetite. It was somber and solemn, his mind an empty slate. No thoughts of how he got here. He’d gone over it in his head as it was happening a million times, and deep down he always knew it would end up like this. You couldn’t run away from the things you’d done.

  The greatest gift that night was his wife’s silence. Silence meant peace. As he lay there in the dark, sometimes dozing but mostly awake, he heard no more crying, no more sobbing, no more sniffling. For that, he was forever grateful. The sounds of her sorrow had killed him. But he deserved it, and Libby deserved relief. He would profess to her his undying servitude and despite the bad he’d done, he knew somehow that he would be forgiven. It would take a lot of groveling, a lot of supplication, but he was prepared for the job, and eager to do it.

  Sometime before dawn, he’d fallen completely asleep, because when he came to, he was groggy and slumber-worn. He rolled around on the floor trying to remember where he was, feeling the pain brought by sleeping on a thin carpet over hardwood. He kicked off the blanket, lay there staring at the hallway ceiling, his bedroom doorknob looming above his head. He reached up, quietly checked it. It was still locked.

  A strange calm fell over him. There was nothing more to hide. Then it rolled over; that idea showing its dark underbelly. Yes, there is. What about Neve? What if Lib wants details?

  He shrugged and hummed a sound of regret. He would tell her.

  Movement in the bedroom had him bolting up, sitting and tugging at clothes, trying to make himself look presentable. Libby was moving around in there, flicking light switches, going into the closet, going into the bathroom. He listened to the melodious tinkling of her urine in the toilet bowl. Listened to her brush her teeth. When the shower clunked then hissed on, he pulled himself up to stand and staggered into his office, threw himself down in his leather swivel chair. He may have drifted again, because when he came to it was the sound of the blow dryer that had woken him. He rubbed at his eyes, leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees, thinking how he would supplicate.

  Good morning, Libby, how are you, baby? Can we talk? You can tell me anything, call me anything, you can let it all out… I’m here for you, beat on me if you want, I can take it...

  46

  More flicking lights and the closet door banging had him rising from his office chair. Libby came out of the bedroom and he met her in their narrow hallway. She was turning around when she saw him and she flinched and jumped.

  “Sorry,” he said, and she put both hands up to keep space between them. Face turned away, she tried to get around him and it broke his heart. “Libby, don’t...”

  “Don’t stop me, don’t touch me...”

  She wasn’t dressed for work, she was in jeans and a sweatshirt, wea
ring her Reebok granny sneaks that chirped on the hardwood as she stepped off the carpet runner to get close to the wall where he couldn’t put a hand on her.

  But he did anyway, moving to pinch his thumb to knuckle over top of her sweatshirt hood trying to get her to come back.

  “Don’t,” she hissed, pushing an elbow toward him and walking further down the hall. He let the hood slip from between his fingers and watched her go. When she got to the top of the stairs, he hustled to follow her.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Leave me alone,” she muttered, her heels squeaking down the stairs.

  “Libby, wait…”

  He thundered behind her. They made it to the landing at the same time and he gripped her arm lightly. She pulled away but not completely out of his grasp.

  “Where are you going to go?”

  Her face turned to him but she still couldn’t look him in the eye; she was looking at where the feet of the bureau in the hall touched down against the floor. She said, “I’m going to go to my parents.”

  “Don’t, Libby, don’t... stay with me...”

  “Just let me go, Ben, I’m going to the GO station.”

  “Don’t go, Libby...”

  “You can’t stop me, Ben, just let me go...”

  “Libby, stay and talk to me… I love you so much...”

  Lib’s lips tightened, but she still would look at them. She said, “I love you, too, Ben, I do.”

  “You do?”

  “You need to let me go to the train station. Just let me go...” Now she wheeled around, marched to the front door.

  He followed close behind, said, “Let me get my shoes, I’ll drive you...”

  “I’m walking, just let me be alone, dammit, Ben.”

  He paused in the doorway of their home, holding the aluminum door open and watching her hair snap left and right as her sneakers bounded down their two steps and she marched their short driveway and out to Sarah Ashbridge. She turned on her heel and headed toward the end of the street.

  “Fuck me,” he said. Now her parents were going to know. Now her whole family would know. How did she think they were going to repair the relationship when she brought all these other people in?