C is for Cookie

With the busywork done, I called Cookie.

"Hey Dave. How has your Friday been so far?"

"So far, so good. I changed the locks. And I told my kids."

"You did? Well, that certainly counts as decisive action. Good for you. What did you say to them?"

"Nothing but the truth. I let them read the letter Steph wrote. It's in her handwriting, they know it's not fake. And I told them I was going for a divorce."

"That's what you've decided?"

"Unless Stephanie has some way of undoing what she did, yes."

"Okay. Well, that's a powerful choice. As long as you don't start poisoning the well against your estranged wife, I think that's healthy. Just be careful. If you start badmouthing her or trying to turn your children against her, you'll make it worse for everyone, especially yourself."

"I realize that. I just let Stephanie hang herself with her own words, that's all. Oh, and they knew right away that it was Lee Davenport. They weren't surprised. Apparently, the kids at her high school have been whispering about it for a while."

"That figures. Cheaters are seldom as clever as they think they are. Nobody should be surprised that there've been rumors."

"Yeah. It's good to know I haven't been alone in my suspicions. Oh, and yes, Jessica had your psych 101 class last semester. She really likes you and is looking forward to your upper level classes."

"Good! That's good to know. I thought she must have been through that class at some point. Practically the whole school takes it."

"We had a good talk. She's coming over tomorrow afternoon and helping me pack up some of her mother's things."

"That's nice of her. Did you want help?"

"I guess I could have worked on it by myself, but it would take longer and be more depressing."

"Dave. I wasn't talking about Jessica. I was offering to come over and help you, as well."

"Really? Why?"

"Because that's what I'm doing. You need to understand, Dave, that you're a good man, I like you, and you need to realize that you're worthy of love and consideration. I want to show you that, personally. May I come to your house tomorrow and help you? And meet your daughter in a social setting?"

"God. Wow. Yes. I mean, that's way more than I expected."

"In a good way, I hope."

"Yes. God, yes."

"Good. Get used to it."

"Can I ask you one thing?"

"Ask me anything. I might not answer, but you can ask."

"Why do this? Why me?"

She paused for a second before answering.

"Because everybody needs this kind of care at some point in their lives. It's your turn now. And to be completely candid, it's because no one did it for me when I needed it."

"You're a crusader."

"Pretty much, yes."

"Is that why they call you 'Doctor Heartbreak'?"

She laughed.

"Is that still going around? I've always liked it. It makes me feel like my life's work is meaningful."

"According to Jessica, it's because you leave a trail of broken hearts from every man who sees you."

"Flatterer."

"Pfft. You're hot and you know it. You're professionally hot. You make money as a temptress."

"True. But not all the time. When should I show up?"

"Jessica said she'd be here around three."

"Perfect. Text me your address and I'll be there. Oh, and Dave?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you." She ended the call.

***

I ate the last two pieces of pizza for dinner and had a beer. I debated making this next call. I knew I was going to do it, but I was fussing about it anyway. I decided to quit thinking and just pull the trigger. I dialed the number for Hal Rambeaux, the Principal of Steph's high school.

"David? Good evening."

"Good evening, Hal. Sorry to bother you. I hope you and Laura are enjoying the weekend. I have a couple of quick questions, if it's not too much trouble."

"Oh, um. Sure. What's going on?"

"Is there some kind of teacher's conference this weekend?"

"No. None that I'm aware of. Why?"

"That's where Stephanie told our daughter she would be. Do you happen to know where Stephanie is right now?"

"I assumed she'd be with you."

"No. She is not. One more question. Do you know where Lee Davenport is right now?"

Hal was dead silent. I could hear the tension ringing in the air.

"What... what are you saying, Dave?"

"I'm not saying anything. I was just asking. If you don't know, then you don't know. I'm very sorry to have disturbed your evening. Give my best to Laura."

"Dave. Wait. Wait. I mean... are you sure?"

"I'm afraid I'm not sure of anything. I have no proof. All I know is that my wife is not here. She left me a note that she would be away, but refused to say where, or with who, and she told our kids another story entirely. Maybe it's nothing. I'm not asking you to say or do anything. In fact, it would be a lot better for everyone involved if Steph keeps her job. She'll have her pride, the school avoids the appearance of scandal, and I wouldn't owe as much in alimony. All I'm saying, Hal... ALL I'm saying is that you're no fool, and you don't deserve to be treated as such."

"I... I'm afraid I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Hal. You're a good guy, and you've always been a friend."

"Ah. Thank you. Thank you, Dave. You, too."

"Again, I'm sorry to have disturbed your weekend. Enjoy your evening. Good night."

"Good night. And, um, take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will. Good night."

"Good night."

***

I was so emotionally exhausted from the previous two days that I fell asleep before I meant to. I'd started reading Cookie's second book, the one with the racy cover, and woke up Saturday morning with it open on my chest. I got out my laptop and started researching divorce attorneys, making a bunch of appointments online. The first one available was at the end of next week. I opened new bank accounts in my name only so they'd be established when I did the transfers on Monday, and I read a bunch of free advice on the internet which was really uneven and probably not worth it. There is a LOT of stuff on the internet about cheaters and cheating. Lunch was forgettable. The storage pod arrived at noon-thirty and I had plenty of boxes and packing tape.

Cookie showed up first, looking like... a normal person. Still very pretty. I remembered how her auburn hair felt and smelled while splayed across my naked chest. But here, outside of her stripper persona, I hardly recognized her. "It's the false eyelashes," she said conspiratorially, after reading my mind. "They change my whole appearance. It's like being Clark Kent."

"Which one of you is Superman?"

"We both are. But to be fair, you called me a 'crusader.' I even have a cape, so I'm actually more like Batman." She crinkled her nose adorably. "But both my parents are alive and well, and I'm not a multi-millionaire. So, that part doesn't fit."

"Do you have lots of fancy gadgets and a secret cave?"

"Hah! You better believe I do."

"Then Batman it is. Or Batgirl."

"Please. Yvonne Craig was taller than I am and had much better legs."

"Not one bit. Not one ounce sexier. Not. One. Ounce."

"Flatterer."

"For you? Always."

"You don't need to flatter me, though, Dave." She looked straight into my soul. "You've got nothing to prove."

"To you, maybe. Because you love me." She beamed at me. "I still have a lot to prove to myself, though, and I hardly know how to begin."

"You're doing fine so far. Just stand behind whatever it is you decide to do. Choose powerfully, and keep your own integrity intact. You'll never go wrong like that."

"That sounds like good advice."

"Thanks. It's always worked for me."

"Jessica will be here in a little while, just so you know. Oh, and, um... she guessed how we met. Pretty much right away. I didn't tell her. She just guessed. I couldn't deny it. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Well, I mean... isn't it embarrassing?"

She turned and looked at me, still as a statue. She looked me up, and down, slowly. Time stopped. I could see every blade of grass, every leaf on every tree, and I could hear the blood rushing around in my ears. She was standing at the threshold of my house, we hadn't gone in just yet. Finally, after she seemed to have made up her mind about whatever she was thinking, she spoke, quietly, seriously, and firmly.

"Did you watch Game of Thrones? No? Never mind. A character named Tyrion Lannister has a line, he's talking to the bastard son of a nobleman, a guy without a birthright. Tyrion himself is a dwarf. For some reason, people keep reminding him of it, as if he'd forget. These are two men with glaring social vulnerabilities. Tyrion says to Jon Snow, 'Never forget what you are, the rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor and it can never be used to hurt you.' I took that to heart when I read the books years ago, even though Tyrion isn't nearly as sympathetic of a character in that version of the story.

"Now, you just asked me if it would be embarrassing for people to know I am a stripper as well as a professor. The answer is not just no, but hell no. I'm not embarrassed. I'm proud of who I am. I'm proud of what I do. It gives me power. I don't just wear it like armor, I wield it like a sword. I am a fucking legend on that campus, AND wherever I perform. Do you understand me? People talk, of course. That is their issue, those are their insecurities. Not Mine. The nasty insinuations, the rumors, the attempts at abuse... all that reflects badly on THEM. Not Me. If anyone ever tries to hurt me like that, I can crush them.

"Now think about how you can use that advice in your life. Your wife spent two years cheating on you, taking you for granted, treating you with disrespect, and now she's demanding something she has no right to ask for and you're not going to give. That's not your shame, it's hers. That's not your problem. It's her failure. This was done TO you. You couldn't have stopped it, but you CAN still wear it proudly. Like armor. The world will not forget the truth of what you are; you are an unwilling cuckold. That does not have to be a weakness, or a vulnerability, or a source of embarrassment, or shame. You have been Wronged. It can be your weapon. Use it."

"God. Thank you, Cookie. I get it."

"Say it again."

"I get it."

"One more time."

"I get it. It's mine. My life is mine. It's my call."

"Good."

She pulled me in for a scorcher of a kiss, as if to seal the deal. Her tongue was alive in my mouth, thrashing against mine, not wrestling, but dancing! In most circumstances, I would have weakened, melted into it. But this time, she energized me. It occurred to me in some corner of my mind that up until now, I had been fed upon, sexually. Steph had taken more than she'd given, like some kind of vampire of affection. She'd been at it for more than two decades. But this time, with this woman, I was being fed, just like I had been at her breast the night before. This, however, was less passive, less nurturing, I was taking, I was feasting. She was giving me this dance, and prompting me to take the lead.

As we broke the kiss, she kept me in her arms and pressed her cheek against mine. "I'll let you in on a little secret," she said softly in my ear. "Well, not a secret, really. It's very old, as old as the hills. When you say something three times, it's binding. It's kind of like a little ritual or spell. Simple, but very effective."

"Ah. Like, 'Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice.'"

"Exactly. But that's a summoning, rather than a binding. Be careful how you say things like that. You never know what will show up." She seemed at least halfway serious.

"Ahem." Jessica was standing ten feet away. Neither of us had heard her car. We were still standing intimately with our arms around each other. Busted. I was frozen solid.

Cookie reacted first. She was, somehow, totally relaxed. Nonchalant, even.

"Hello, you must be Jessica. Dave told me that you were in my class last term. I recognize you, now. Jessica Jameson. That's right. It's good to see you again. How's this semester treating you?"

"You... were just making out with my dad."

"Yes. He's a good kisser."

"Is this... appropriate?"

"Hm. You tell me. We've just learned that your father has apparently been in an 'open marriage' for years, though his wife hadn't bothered to inform him until now. She is currently off with her lover in parts unknown. This good man is now officially estranged from her. You and I are here to help move her things out of the house. I believe he is free to kiss whoever he likes."

"Still. It's, um, kind of a shock."

"I'm sure. And I know it's the latest of several shocks. I'm sorry. It probably won't be the last. I hope it doesn't come as a shock for you to discover that your father has a backbone."

"Um. No."

"Good."

"Dad? You haven't said anything."

"Uh. Cookie is a good kisser, too."

"DAD!"

"Well she is!"

"I don't want to hear it!" Even as she was reacting, she was also laughing. So was I. We all were. At some point, Cookie released me and we wandered into the house to begin the somber task of dismantling my life.

Jessie went into our bedroom and began going through her mother's clothes and personal effects. I went to the kitchen and started taking down some of her kitchen appliances. She had lots of gadgetry and attachments in there, most of which was seldom used. I wasn't even sure what a lot of it was supposed to be for. We still had some of the original boxes in the attic, so I could pack that stuff up properly. Then the wedding china, and her grandmother's heirloom formal place settings. Cookie became the resident goddess of cardboard, packing tape, and bubble wrap. The wedding album. Steph's diplomas and books and all the stuff in her home office. You never really think about how much crap you have until it's time to pack it up and move it.

At some point, I showed Cookie the letter that Stephanie had left. She read it as if she'd seen that kind of thing many times before. When we were ready, I sprung for the usual movers' reward- takeout food, and lots of it. Sandwiches, wings and wedges, and a six-pack of beer. Yes, Jessica was nineteen, not twenty-one, but I had no illusions. We weren't drinking to get drunk. We'd been working for hours and still had a lot to do.

"So..." Jessie said, clearly terrified to broach the subject, but determined to do so as awkwardly as necessary, "Are you guys, like, a Thing, now?"

I winced.

Cookie smiled.

"We are A thing," she said, "but not THAT thing. We've known each other for two days. Your father is in no kind of emotional condition to get into a new relationship. And I don't do romance. So, no, it's not like that. We are not a couple, and we're not going to be. Right now I'm just a friend. A good friend, and I'm proud to be here with him. Dave is a good man, a strong man, and I love him." Jessie's eyes bolted open at that, but Cookie continued as if she hadn't noticed. "This is a time when he needs emotional and psychological support. When things get tough, we huddle up with the people we can count on, the ones we know will have our backs. That's when you learn who your true people are. All too often, there are fewer of them than we think. So. That's the 'Thing.' I'm here for him, because he deserves it, and it's my honor to be what he needs."

Jessie had been nodding along with Cookie's words, drawn into the message. "Wow. Oh. I mean. Okay. Yes. Thank you. From both of us. I'm... I'm glad you're here with us." Her brow furrowed and she looked at me sideways.

Oh no. Don't say it, Jessie. Don't say it, you mischievous little...

"Are you sleeping together?" Goddamnit, Jessie.

"Not yet," said Cookie, without missing a beat. "We'll see how things go." She smiled at whatever freaked-out expression I was wearing on my face. "I'm sure it would be fun. But even then, we wouldn't be a couple. Not really. I think that might be the biggest thing in the way, actually. Dave doesn't seem to be the kind of guy for a casual but affectionate hookup, however badly he might need it."

"I'm right here, you know."

Both ladies erupted in laughter. Hell, I did, too.

"Seriously," said Jessica, "Why don't you 'do' relationships? I mean, half the campus is willing to beat down your door just for a chance at you, and the other half wishes they had the guts to try. Aren't you lonely?"

"Sure. Sometimes." Cookie looked pensive, then seemed to make a decision. "But I have friends. I'm never hurting for company, or attention. If I need to scratch the itch with somebody who cares about me, I know where to go. But I'm strictly a solo act, and I have my reasons for that."

I expected that would have been it, but then she took off her tee shirt and was in front of us in just her sports bra, her jogging shorts, and a peculiar look of resolve on her face. Jessie was shocked. I was petrified.

"Relax. He's seen me. Lots of people have seen me, I'm used to it. But look, here, Jessica. Both of you, look right here."

Her index finger was pointing to a tiny spot about two inches below her collarbone, just before the slope of her left breast began. I would never have noticed, but there was a small freckle or something, no, like a pale... divot of some kind.

"That is a scar. That is a bullet hole." We both drew back. "My last boyfriend shot me. He got me again, too, another round grazed my scalp, here," she used her fingers to part her hair along the side in a practiced move, exposing a lovely clean armpit in the process. "There's a thin line of scar tissue for about three inches and no hair grows out of it. Some of it around the borders comes in white. I can cover it and it blends in pretty well, but it'll always be there."

"My god," Jessie's voice was nearly silent. "What happened?"

"That, dear one, is a tale for another time. For now, let's say that Betrayal and I are old acquaintances. I decided a lifetime ago that No More Boyfriends was the right choice for me." She pulled her shirt back on. "David is a wonderful, generous man. He's smart and kind, and very caring. I'm sure he'll make the right woman very happy when he finds his way back to love. But that lucky bitch, whoever she is, will not be me. I'm out of that game. Permanently."

Well. That seemed to settle that.

We finished the sandwiches and knocked back the rest of the beer, drifted back to work for a while, and after a few more hours, Jessica was making noises about wanting to be finished. We'd accomplished a lot, but of course there was more to do.

"I don't think I'll go home. I don't want to leave you alone tonight, Dad. I'll stay here in my room."

"He won't be alone tonight," said Cookie.

That was news to me, and I'm sure it showed on my face.

"Well then," said Jessie, "in that case, I am definitely going back to my dorm. I don't think I could handle it otherwise."

The two women embraced, and Jessie whispered what must have been an admonition not to hurt me while Cookie swore a sacred oath upon it in response. They parted and my daughter gave me an unreadable look then hugged me goodbye with the words "I love you, Daddy" spoken softly. As she left, I was surprised to discover that I was holding hands with Cookie. She smiled and ushered me into the bedroom.

"I meant what I said earlier, Dave," she said. "I love you. You can love me, too, if you want. But don't fall in love with me. I won't replace Stephanie. This isn't a new romance. Take it for what it is, and don't mistake it for what it's not."

"And what, exactly, is it? I mean, you were right. I've never done a casual thing before. I'm new at this."

"It's Affirmation. Validation. Appreciation. Affection." She pulled off her shirt again. "Confidence. And Fun."

I pulled off my own shirt and went to embrace her. She smiled and welcomed me. I kissed her, tentatively, and she warmly returned it.