Two's a Crowd Ch. 11

"Yes," she said, still flustered by her slip. "She became his mistress. He took her with him to New York and set her up in an apartment. Estelle begged her to let her join her, but Erica didn't want her in New York for obvious reasons."

"Those being me, I guess," I said. "Why did you come to me in Dallas, with your sob story?"

She sat down with a sigh -- there was an empty bottle of champagne in her hands.

"That wasn't a sob story, Bruce. Please, believe me. Meeting you was a shock. It made me rattle at my cage. It gave me enough energy to struggle my way out and be Myriam yet again for a short while. I had to see you and explain, Bruce. I loved you. I still love you. I had to see you!"

I watched her emotions. Maybe it was true. Maybe not. Too many damn maybe's.

Myriam rubbed her eyes with a discarded sundress. When she looked up, there was an angry glare on her face.

"Then you had to set me up at that damn Houston Hilton, " she said with a shrill voice. "That was low, Bruce. It was so cruel. I...that is Estelle I mean, she had no way to know it wasn't a regular number -- just another fuck for money. Why did you have to humiliate me like that?"

Her logic made my head spin. It also made me overlook how she yet again had mixed the "me's" and "hers."

"You should have taken me with you, then and there," she whispered. "You should have saved me."

I sat down close to her. I even took her hands in mine.

"Why, Myr? Why did I have to do that?" I asked. Her eyes were right in front of me, shifting like a bird in a cage. "I didn't have any reason to save you. I had to save myself. I set you up that afternoon because I still loved you. I had to kill that love, because it was killing me. Don't you see, Myriam? I had to kill the last remains of my love. They refused to die and didn't allow me to move on. I had to see you like the slut you were. I had to have my life back!"

She started crying again. Fat tears welled up and fell over the rims of her eyes.

"It wasn't me, Bruce," she sobbed. "It wasn't me."

I walked away from her. I needed the distance.

I saw that the pink umbrella on the beach had been closed, the lounge chairs were empty. I turned back to the sobbing woman on the couch.

"Myr," I said. She looked up. "Houston did not kill my love for you."

Her face lit up. I raised my hand.

"But that was not because of you. I knew by then that you didn't love me. You haven't for a long time. The Estelle story is bullshit, Myriam. It may have been true once. But if you really loved me, you would never have lured me into the plot Erica set up. That was a cruel, very cruel thing to do."

She cried again.

"I don't even think the seizure was real, was it? At the reception?"

She gave no reaction.

"Was it to give Erica a chance to get the papers? I guess she didn't find them that time."

She stopped crying, looking up. Her face was a mess.

"I am so sorry, Bruce," she said. "I guess that was mean. I thought I could be yours. I wanted to. I really tried to. I know I should have tried harder."

There were new tears. They had stopped touching me. Her voice was almost inaudible by then.

"Maybe I have always been more Estelle than Myriam," she whispered. "I guess I had no choice, honey. I had to satisfy Erica -- do what she wanted. I wanted that too. I love her. She is so strong. She is stronger than you, Bruce. Stronger than me. I am sorry, honey. I am very sorry."

I took a deep breath as I realized what she had just said. I saw how simple my thinking had been -- how foolish. I had considered Estelle as a separate thing, wholly apart from my "true" Myriam. It had never been like that. Estelle wasn't an intruder or a contamination. She was as much Myriam as Myr herself had been. Maybe even more so.

I had wondered if therapy could have freed her of Estelle. Now I saw that it would only have left her mutilated, incomplete -- and very unhappy, no doubt. Successful therapy would have melded the two -- closed the gap. And I knew how in that instant Estelle's personality would have taken over.

Would I have loved Estelle? Would she have even liked me? The thought made me think back to an extremely painful event.

I looked over at Myriam. I considered how she had acted these last few years. How submissive she had been to her more sensual, sexual, outgoing and daring part. I guess nature had done its own rather crude therapy. Painful, maybe -- but irreversible.

Myriam was a name now, a memory -- nothing more.

I walked over and sat next to her. I held her as she cried on my shoulder.

"Who the fuck is making my girl cry?"

The voice was low and not at all angry. It was Erica's. I turned around and saw her stand at the entrance. Her strong, tall body was tanned and naked, but for a tanga bottom and an almost see-through flowery sarong that was tied around her breasts. In her hands were a book and a pair of sunglasses.

She smiled and walked in. Her heeled sandals clicked on the stone floor.

"Hi Bruce," she said. "You found us."

I rose, but she walked right past me to the couch. She sat down and took Myriam in her arms.

"Don't cry, honey," she said. "I'm here. All is well."

Myriam melted into her embrace. They kissed. I just stood there, speechless. When the kiss ended, Myriam's eyes opened. They looked for me. There was a sparkle in them I had not seen before.

She giggled. So did Erica as she hugged her tightly.

"Well, Bruce," Erica said, looking up. "Now why on earth did you have to come and find us in this neck of the woods?"

Her casual words caused an old anger to rise inside me.

"You played me, Erica," I growled. "You betrayed my trust in you and my love for Myriam."

Erica's smile vanished from her face.

"Yes, Bruce," she said. "I did. And I am sorry. You are a good man and I used you. I am an evil person."

Then she suddenly chuckled.

"But what are we going to do about it, honey?" Her voice was mocking now. Myriam giggled with her.

"You see, Bruce, you are wrong and have been wrong for quite a while now. Or let's say deluded. Myriam stopped loving you ages ago, didn't you notice? Ever since I met her at that party -- wow, must have been only two years after she married you -- ever since that day she has been mine, Bruce. I am sorry that I played you, but there were good reasons for that. Selfish reasons, but good ones."

I felt the urge to strike her -- to destroy the both of them. To grab their heads and bash them together. Erica seemed to read it in my eyes. She shook her head with a smile.

"Don't, Bruce. Don't even think about it, honey."

She disentangled herself from Myriam and rose to her silver heeled sandals. She walked over to the fridge and poured rosé wine in two glasses, adding ice cubes.

"I have beer, Bruce. You must be thirsty."

I didn't even react, she shrugged. Walking back, she handed one glass to Myriam. They toasted with a smile. Then she turned back to me.

"You see, Bruce, Myriam and I are in love. We are not just lovers, we are a couple. She is my wife. She also is my sweetheart, my slut, my bitch and my eh...property."

"Myr!" Her voice suddenly felt like steel in a velvet glove.

Myriam looked up, eyes wide.

"Clean my feet, honey," Erica said. She lifted her left foot. The sandal dangled from her toes.

Myriam put away the wine. She slid to her knees and crawled to the woman's foot. She took off the dangling shoe and looked up to the woman. Her face beamed with utter devotion. Then her tongue appeared between her lips. She went down and started licking Erica's toes.

Erica smiled at the girl's bent head, then at me. There was no triumph. There was pity.

"You see, Bruce," she said, taking a sip of her wine. "Myriam is mine. She always was. And it makes her very happy. Aren't you happy, Myriam? Tell me."

The girl at her feet stopped licking. She looked up. Her face was radiant.

"Oh yes," she whispered. "I am very happy."