chapter two

“He wants me. And it’s getting worse. He wants more. At first, and here is where the fool part comes in, I thought if I just went along…..he would leave, stop. But he hasn’t, and now I hear from him every day and it’s getting harder and harder to hold him off, to keep Craig from finding out. Only thing saving me I think is him knowing if I get found out his little game is over. No more hold. Sometimes I wish that would happen, so it could all end. It’s a nightmare, things like this don’t happen to me. But that can’t happen. There would be no happy ending, not with Craig. Him finding out would almost be worse than this.”

Which is what the blackmailer counts on. That the suffering, financial or otherwise, is more painful than disclosure. Were it not, it doesn’t work. You don’t give me some money I’m gonna tell people you had premarital sex. Fuck you, do it, who cares. Blackmail foiled. I thought it might be good for her to sit with this a few more minutes, unleash it in stages, but at some point she’d have to take the leap. I sipped, glanced over at the clock, 2:23, by the microwave in the darkened kitchen. I had switched on another light as soon as she entered so as not to intimidate her with too much darkness but the fire was still the dominant light in the room and I could see its reflection on her face and in her eyes as she sat there, one foot on the rung of the stool, legs crossed, chin in hand and wearing her shame like ill fitting clothes. And actually they were ill fitting, her sweat pants hung low on her hips and the shirt bloused on her to the extent her upper body was rendered shapeless. She appeared gaunt and while I had only seen her a handful of times in the short period I had been around I did notice that she didn't round out her clothes quite like she did when I first noticed her. Not a significant difference but noticeable if you looked close and something about her, I'm not sure exactly what, made me always look close. I wondered if anyone else noticed her weight loss or that she looked tired lately. I hadn't heard any comments to that effect earlier in the evening and generally women will notice even the slightest change in another woman and comment on it. Men typically only see what they look for and often miss the obvious, let alone the subtle changes, unless they are compelled to look deeper. I did in fact find her more attractive than the other women in the little group that seemed to mostly gather around sporting events dubbed as major enough to warrant special attention. She was neither short nor tall but long legged enough to appear taller than she was but her carriage suggested a smaller woman with delicate features, wrists and hands, narrow at shoulder and waist. Dark brown hair of medium length having not yet succumbed to that tendency of many women approaching thirty to adopt a sportier, shorter style in the belief that a more girlish look will fend off the appearance of maturity for a few more years. It's a nice style for tennis and swimming but it doesn't splay over your pillow or fan across your chest. Although there is something to be said for a neck already bared. She wasn't particularly ample breasted but well shaped even though her recent thinning and the slight sag of posture that accompanies worry belied the fact or at least didn't accent her shape. Eyes dark, sad now, but direct and not brooding. She couldn't afford brooding, it might open the door to her secrets. I wondered how far into her window of time for sadness she was. Her husband had appeared untroubled and carefree, he was one of the happy ones in his state of inebriation, backslapper, kidder, buddy to all. Men fear a woman's sadness and will deny it's existence until it affects them directly. Especially if they don't understand it or see a reason for it. It's not that we don't notice, we just don't like to admit to what we can't fix. Anger? Different story. Can usually be fixed with a fight and it's easier to tell when anger disappears. Anger is a dust devil you can clean up afterwards , sadness hangs in the air and settles like dust a little at a time.

"How long?"

She looked up from her cup; we were speaking quietly, even though we didn't have to. The subject seemed to call for a careful selection of words and a measured tone. I knew she was at the jumping off point and needed a nudge. She had come too far to fold and walk away now.

"And you say he wants you, and you have been giving yourself to him?

Shake up time.

"Look Lauren, let's talk about where we are here. You aren't here because you need someone to talk to or confess to. You tell me if I'm wrong but you're here because you're cornered, trapped, and you don't see an escape and you don't see any way to stop it. I don't know you, I don't know your marriage, but if there was a solution of any kind at home you wouldn't be here. If you're worried about me judging you or your behavior let me just tell you that I've failed at more things than you've tried and done things that would make you think twice about knocking at my door in broad daylight, let alone in the middle of the night. What I think about what you've done and what you've got yourself into isn't relevant. You'll get no morality speech here; I don't even own a soap box. Morality's not pass fail, it's a scale and I guarantee that you're on the opposite end of me."

She was looking right at me again and I think a little surprised at my escalation of the issue at hand. I don't know what her impression was of me up to this point but if she was to open up to me I had to dispel any thought she might have about my assuming the moral high road.

I saw the air come out of her and quite honestly I wanted to get to it and get her home. I was uncomfortable with her here in the middle of the night, sleeping husband or not. The last time a woman came to my door in the middle of the night with no sexual overtones was never.


"Well, the bad part? Almost a month. God, it seems like a year".

"Bad part? Does that imply that there was something other than a bad part?"

She actually chuckled this time, a good sign. "There certainly wasn't ever a good part. Just a part that hadn't gotten bad yet. Alright. Cliff Notes version, I know you aren't comfortable with my being here. I work part time for a law firm. I do depositions, type briefs, decrees, you name it, two days a week. I'm networked in with them and do some from home and send it to them electronically. And I'm in grad school, why you see me coming and going all the time, school, work. Work a couple of days a week there, school three days, some of it evenings. Craig works long and hard. He sells medical equipment and he does well. Bottom line is, I'm on my own a lot no matter where I am, work, school, home. We've been married six years. Something is wrong, it's me, I can't get pregnant. We've even stopped talking about it. Craig's escape is work. I had none and I was going nuts home by myself all the time obsessing about not being pregnant. It had consumed all my energy, all my emotional reserve. So work, then school, and I'm really OK now, if the kid thing happens, it happens. It doesn't, there is an upside, right? Freedom, money, independence. Right?"

She had those tears that hug the corners of the eyes, where the eyes are wet like in an old black and white movie. Not the kind that roll down the cheeks, those would undoubtedly come later. Or maybe they were all cried out.

"And I'm so fucking lame, God, you'd think I could at least have some originality, but fucking no, I played around on the computer, doesn't every bored and lonely housewife? And I'm so stupidly naive, stupid, stupid girl, and I let someone see a side of me that I didn't even know I had....I'm still not sure if it's real. No, yes, it's real, dammit, I hate that it's real, but it is, a me I didn't know was there, and dumbass me has to show it to, fucking break it out with a goddamn psycho stalker fuck. Isn't this what teenage girls do, fall prey to internet predators? Not grad students, and certainly not the classic good girl, god so classic it's pathetic, you wouldn't believe me if I told you how good, always good, all the time, and I got sick of it, I am sick of it, and now look where I am"

I was sitting back, trying to be anything but a barrier to her letting it out, affected relaxation on my part so as not to be threatening in any way. How do you look like a sounding board? Hoping that calm would begat calm, eventually.

"And am I smart enough to play with someone a thousand miles away? Nooo, not this girl. I have to find someone in a local chat room cause I'm too stupid to know better and I don't know jack shit about life obviously being the good little princess and all and all I wanted, all I wanted, was for someone to see that I'm not just a doll that you dress up and play with and then put back in the box. You know what I am? I am nothing but an adult prom date. That's me. Sum total, homecoming queen and all, I've even got the goddamn crown. Well it's tarnished now by God."

"And you want to know the worst part? He hasn't laid a hand on me, hasn't been within fifty feet of me. And he owns me, and he knows it. He found me and he owns me. He has fucking pictures of me, god I was so stupid"

Every part of her is agitated and she abruptly lifts her arm outstretched, finger pointing out the window behind us. "You see those condos over there? He watches me from there. He makes me stand in the window and now he's making me go out on the deck and I know it's going to go farther and farther. And he tells me when and he tells me what to wear and what to do and you know what? I do it. He tells me where to go and I know he's watching and it's getting worse. Yesterday, god yesterday, he made me go to the mall, not this mall, I begged him, I could just see me running into someone I know, and I've never dressed like that in my life in public, but I did, and I knew he was there and I thought I saw him and then I saw someone else and I thought, no that's him, and I don't know because every man there, old, young, was looking at me the same way, any of them could have been him. Now, you ready for the worst part? Despite being such an idiot, god he found me so easy, I don't even know how he did it, I never intended for it to be anything but anonymous computer bullshit play.......the worst part? The shameful, disgusting worst part? This is part of the me I was looking for. That I knew was there. And I hate myself for that, for having something like this bring me to life. The son of a bitch even knows when I'm faking it, on the phone, and I'm the queen of faking it"

I put that in a drawer for later.

I picked up my cup and swallowed long, not to buy any time, but because I needed the drink. Fuck, I needed another one. Holy shit. I was waiting for the collapse, the total collapse, but she held it together. Still the strength. Her look was imploring, staring as if to blatantly seek my judgement of her, expecting it.

"You're angry at the wrong person"

"No one beats me up better than I do".

"I'm not sure I can help. My first thought is that you need to come clean with Craig. He just might understand, given the circumstances. "

"No! He won't. I can't make you understand, but trust me, he won't. Ever. Even if we don't stay together, he can't ever know. It wouldn't be just him. His family, mine, he would tell everyone. It's how he is. They already know all about our sex life. I was getting daily calls almost wanting to know if we were still 'trying', practically asking how many times a week we were fucking. No, I can't"

"Better from you than from this asshole"

"I wanted someone to tell me to tell my husband I would have gone to the police".

"Good point. Look, you need to go home before he wakes up and finds you gone. We're beyond a reasonable explanation for you being here. I'm not saying I can help in any way, I don't see how. But I need to give it some thought. I just don't see how. I can't kill him for Christ's sake.

"I could" Seeing the look on her face, I believed her.