Casanova Falling

"Archer," she says. "You home right now?" Her voice sounds flat and tired.

"I'm kind of headed out the door for the evening." This is half true since I'm supposed to go out later for poker night at Jim's. "What's up?"

"There's something I need to talk to you about. Something important."

"Okay?"

"I need to tell you in person. Can I come by?

"I mean... can we do this on the phone?"

"No. You'll understand when I see you, I promise."

I instantly regret picking up the phone. Having Taryn lay her problems on me does not sound like the makings of a fun evening. We had a night together but I've tried to make clear that it was a one-time thing. Apparently, she's misconstrued the nature of our relationship. I am not her shoulder to cry on. I'm not anybody's shoulder to cry on, and I like it that way.

I'm just going to tell her it's not convenient right now. And why is she being so cryptic about everything? Whatever she wants to tell me is almost certainly going to be bad news. Then it occurs to me -- is she pregnant? I mean, I never actually came in her, but - I didn't use a condom either. This is absolutely the last fucking thing I need right now. If that's the reason, I really need to know right now.

"Sure, come by," I say. "I'm supposed to go out later though."

"Thank you. See you soon."

The next forty minutes I spend waiting for Taryn to show up are the longest forty minutes of my life. When she finally arrives, she's pulling small suitcase and her eyes are red and puffy like she's been crying. She's clearly had a fight with her boyfriend. A serious fight, like a pack-your-clothes-and leave kind of fight.

I ask her if she wants a drink. She declines. If she was pregnant, she wouldn't drink. On the other hand, maybe she just doesn't want one. The suspense is too much for me. I pour three fingers from a half-empty bottle of Glenfiddich that's been hiding in the back of my cupboard. I figure I'm going to be needing it soon.

"I left Greg," she says. "It's over. Completely finished."

"I'm sorry. You were together awhile, right?"

"Five years." There's a long uncomfortable silence. "That's not what I wanted to tell you," she says. "There's something else." Now she's got my complete and undivided attention. "It's easier if I just show you."

Taryn stands up and pulls her sweater over her head, wincing in pain as she lifts it. For a moment I'm wondering what the hell she's doing and then it becomes devastatingly clear. The abrasions wrap nearly entirely around the base of her neck, bruised and angry red. Large, angry bruises running along her rib cage and upper arm, and more across her right shoulder.

For a moment I'm completely in shock, and then all the pieces finally fall into place, and everything about Taryn suddenly makes sense. I'm staring at her, still numb from the shock of seeing her like this, my mind wrapped in a sort of fog. All I can manage to say is:

"That motherfucker."

Taryn watches me, her face expressionless. She says nothing.

"Tell me what happened?"

"He's always been angry," she says slowly. "But after I started going to the gym, he began to get scary. Picking fights, shouting all the time. He thought I was planning to leave him. Trying to meet other guys, that kind of thing." She runs her finger delicately over the bruises on her rib cage. "Maybe I was."

I have the sinking feeling that I may have played a starring role in these events.

"He was always overweight, so it was a big thing with him, you know? It was like, the more I got in shape, the worse he became." Her eyes have lost the sparkle they used to have. They just watch me, coldly and dispassionately, and it makes me uncomfortable.

"We had a fight this morning," she says. "Some stupid thing - getting the car inspected. But it just escalated. We were both screaming, and he started throwing things. I was so angry, just so sick of everything - I snapped. I told him I slept with you. He went crazy. He was grabbing me and shaking me and then he started hitting me. I just remember thinking, 'he's going to put me in the hospital.' Then he knocked me to the ground and he was on top of me, choking me, and I blacked out. He thought he'd killed me, I guess, because when I woke up he was still on top of me, staring at me, and then he ran out of the house."

He nearly killed her. I feel a surge of white-hot anger coursing through me like an electric current. Without even thinking, I jump to my feet, my hands clenched into fists. All I know is, I have to find this guy, teach him what it's like to have the shit kicked out of him by someone bigger and stronger. Make him pay for what he's done.

"Where is he right now?" I hiss through clenched teeth. Taryn sighs and pulls her sweater back on. She takes my fists gently in her hands. The spark is rekindled in her eyes, very faintly. The sight of it dampens my rage momentarily.

"Archer, I need you to believe me when I tell you this. I'm done with him. For real. No more excuses. He hurt me and he's going to get what's coming to him. I promise you that. But I need your help."

"Yeah. Of course." I relax my hands.

"Don't confront him. Please. Just leave him alone." She's right, of course. It would only make things more difficult for her.

"And don't mention this to anyone. I mean, nobody."

"Have you seen a doctor? You might have internal bleeding or something."

"I'm okay. Just hurts like hell. I took a Percocet so it's better."

"You sure?"

"I'll get a medical exam tomorrow. I have to wait because the doctor will be obligated to report it and there's the restraining order and a bunch of other things that need to happen first."

"What about all your stuff?"

"I'll get back in once they arrest him."

Clearly Taryn is five steps ahead on all of this. It's easy to think of her as a shy violet because she's small and unassuming, but I've witnessed first-hand how ferocious she can be. This is Taryn who, by sheer force of will, entirely transformed her body in mere months. Who spent hours in the gym literally each and every day. Who taught me things about weight training, even though she'd never lifted a weight before we met.

What really upsets me is that, as tough as she is, she still got pushed around by this asshole. She was so strong and fit and determined, and in the end it made no difference, he just beat the shit out of her anyway because he was still bigger and stronger. I can't help but think about how much pain he must have been causing her, mental or physical, and how she just shrugged it off and came into the gym, day after day. How miserable and helpless she must have felt, all the time, and how she managed to just bury it somewhere and chatter away with me about free weight training and nutrition and other inconsequential things.

She was this pretty little flower trying to bloom and he just stomped all over her. And she'll probably never be the same.

"The police are going to want to talk to you," she says. "You need to cooperate, tell them everything, exactly how it happened. Including the part where we slept together."

"Of course."

"Archer," she says. "You understand what I'm saying, right? This is important. The criminal investigation is probably going to be admissible in my divorce proceedings, so it all needs to be consistent and accurate."

"Divorce? He's not your boyfriend?"

"No, husband. I'm sorry. I don't know why I told you that. Stupid of me."

It doesn't matter much now. And the truth is, it wouldn't have made any difference to me even if I'd known.

Now that the initial shock has worn off, the realization is sinking in that I have been a complete asshole to this poor girl.

Taryn sought me out. She asked me out for drinks. When I didn't make a move on her, she made one on me. She was in an abusive relationship and wanted to be with someone who would treat her right. She thought I was that guy. And then she kept asking me to be gentle with her. She just wanted someone to be gentle with her.

What did I do? I got annoyed about it. She just wanted to have sex slowly and gently. I kept trying to push it. I didn't ask her what the problem was. Because I didn't really care. I didn't even bother to finish having sex with her. Instead, I made her dance around naked while I jerked off, like some peep show in Times Square. God, I was so selfish. And stupid.

I didn't think twice about sleeping with her. She was hot, and it seemed like a fun thing to do. Another notch in my belt. And then she went home and when she told him, he nearly killed her. If he'd choked her just a little harder, she'd be lying dead on her kitchen floor right now.

I never called her. The only reason I picked up the phone tonight was because she kept calling and calling. And even then, I would have just blown her off entirely, except I got worried that I'd knocked her up. She'd just been to hell and back, and the only reason I let her into my apartment was to find out if I'd impregnated her.

I feel like I want to vomit. I can hardly bear to look at her. I really want to just crawl into a dark hole somewhere and never come out. She must know some other people - good, kind people. People who love and support her. Why the hell did she come here tonight? She should just run as far away as she can. I'm a selfish prick. A hollowed-out husk of a person. There's a lump forming in my throat, like I'm about to start sobbing. I stand up and pour another drink to distract myself.

"You okay?" asks Taryn. "You look like you just saw a ghost." I manage to swallow the lump in my throat and take a large drink of scotch.

"I'm so sorry about all of this," I say, my voice wavering. "I can't imagine what you're feeling right now. I just want to help out however I can." She moves beside me and takes my hand.

"Thanks, Archer."

"If you need a place to stay, I can take the couch."

"I thought you were going out later?"

"No, my plans changed." She thinks about it for a moment.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks. You got any more of that scotch?"

CHAPTER 7

I pull out the couch for myself but Taryn says she doesn't want to be alone so I end up joining her in the bed. In almost every movie ever made, this is the prelude to a steamy sexual encounter, but neither of us are in any shape for that. I'm wide awake, my mind racing, staring up at the ceiling. Beside me, Taryn keeps tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable because of the pain in her ribs and shoulders.

I try to slow my breathing, count back from one hundred so I can relax and fall asleep. Then I find myself thinking about Jane Nesbit. Haven't thought about her in years. Freshman year of college. Cute girl. Had a lot of sex together. Then I'm remembering how I badgered her and coaxed her and manipulated her into letting me fuck her in the ass. For a period of time, it was my sole purpose in life. When she finally relented, I just fucking pounded her. For the first time, I think about what was going through her head as she lay naked and pinned face down on the bed. For years I'd convinced myself that she'd loved every minute of it. The poor girl was probably sore for a week. She didn't say a word, I remember that. Suffered in silence.

I have this gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that won't go away.

Jessa Bennett. That freaky high school chick. After I fucked her, she told me all she was going to remember was how sore she was the next day. At the time I wore it as a badge of honor -- a job well done. I was sure she'd call me again. She never did.

Ronnie. She straight out told me I'd hurt her. I refused to believe it. I mean, the girl does nothing but play games with me and fuck with my head. And she's so good at pushing my buttons. Was I taking my frustration out on her? Yeah, I was rough. I mean, she's a tough girl and she likes it rough, I know for a fact. I'm not like that with every girl. Not with someone like Taryn, for example.

But it's hard to deny that a pattern is emerging. Ronnie tells me to fuck off. Jessa never calls me again. Lucy Gervais stops calling me. That night in the bar, Sara-Beth was hustled away by her friends before I had a chance to take her home. Her friends know me, they know girls I've been with. Were they keeping her away from me?

For a long time I've viewed myself as god's gift to women. That I've been put on this earth to fulfill their fantasies. Satisfy them. Improve their lives. But what if I've just been deluding myself?

What if I'm just a bully with a big dick who doesn't know when enough is enough?

As the night wears on, the memories of girls I mistreated in the past keep surfacing from the depths of my mind, one after the other, like ghosts of Christmas past returned to haunt me. I don't even know if I'm asleep or awake, the line has been totally blurred. My mind races along totally beyond my control, and I toss and turn continuously in my bed, trying desperately to make it stop.

Around 4am I wake to find Taryn leaning over me.

"You were crying in your sleep," she says, brushing a tear from my cheek.

"Bad dreams," I tell her. "Bad memories, really."

"Like what?" she asks. I sit up with my back against the headboard.

"It's like -- when you treat a friend in a way that you think is totally acceptable at the time, and later you have this realization that it what you did was just selfish and harmful and everyone knew it except you."

"You're talking about regret?"

"I guess so. It's just that I... I treated a lot of people badly. Women."

"Not like Greg," she says.

"Not like Greg. But sometimes I was too rough. You know, in bed. Insensitive. And selfish."

"Well, isn't it better to have regrets now than to just keep doing the same things over and over again?"

I mean... yeah. But I still feel horrible."

"It means you're still capable of growing. That's a good thing." She puts an arm around me and lays her head on my shoulder. "You know, you're the one guy in my life who treated me with respect. Who supported me."

"I did?"

"You were so patient and positive when we trained. And you encouraged me, always. I had to go home and deal with all that shit with Greg, but I knew you'd be there the next day to help me. It got me through."

I'm stunned to hear her say this. I mean, I was just doing my job, trying to help her get in better shape. It never occurred to me that I was having this sort of impact on her life.

"That's why I wanted to sleep with you," she says. "It just felt right. And you were so gentle with me. It was the first time I've enjoyed sex in years. You made it a beautiful thing again."

I'm stunned. Is it possible that I did the right thing here, for all the wrong reasons? I'm not really sure. My relationship with Taryn is like looking into a mirror, where all my ugliness and imperfections are reflected straight back at me. Ever since she spent the night, my attitude towards her has been ruled by my insecurities and my selfishness.

"You made me feel better than I've felt in a long, long time," she says. She kisses me on the cheek and rolls over. "And the sex was good too." I lie back and close my eyes. The ghosts are gone. They won't haunt me again, at least not tonight. If there's any ray of hope, it's that perhaps someday I can actually live up to Taryn's view of me.

I wake up to the sun streaming through my window and the sound of birds in the trees outside. Taryn is gone. She's made a pot of coffee and left a hand-scrawled note on the kitchen table that says "THANK YOU" in large block letters. I sip a mug of coffee and sit on my couch wondering what to do next. The long night is over, and the light of day gives me some hope. Things change. People change. Life is in a constant state of decay and renewal.

I'm almost too nervous to make the call but I take a deep breath and send it through. Ronnie picks up after four rings.

"The fuck you want?" she says. I take a deep breath.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. I should have listened to what you were telling me." There is a long pause, until I'm not sure if she's still on the line.

"Is that it?" she says.

"It was wrong, and I feel really bad about it. I hope you're okay."

"I'm fine, Archer."

"Good. That's a huge relief." Another long silence on the line.

"Is that it?" she says, at last.

"Actually, no, there's something else. I just wanted to say so long, Veronica. We had some good times but I'm sure we both just need to move on at this point." I end the call quickly, before she can respond. It's just better that way.

At once, I feel a huge weight lifted off my chest. The sunlight on my shoulders is warm and pleasant, and the caffeine is buzzing in my head just right.

CHAPTER 8

Thursday night, 10pm and Megan Flaherty is at my door. This is a quite a surprise. It's been a long time since we last saw each other. She looks casually sexy in jeans and a sweater; pocketbook slung over her shoulder -- the first time I've ever seen her out of her office clothes. The hungry look is gone from her eyes. She seems tense and anxious.

"Hey," she says, "sorry I didn't text first."

"No worries."

"There's something I need to tell you."

Oh God. She's about to tell me she has syphilis. Or some other god-awful STD. I always knew my number was going to be up sooner or later.

"I got engaged," she says.

An initial wave of relief washes over me, but then the implications quickly sink in. Megan and I have taken our last tumble. There's no way she gets hitched and then keeps screwing around with me. She wants to get right with the man upstairs.

Having to give Megan up is devastating. My first reaction is to resist. Why should we stop fucking now? We're physically made for each other, and we both know it. Her marriage is hardly an impediment.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about Megan late at night, after she leaves my apartment. It's given me some insight that allows me recognize that I'm being selfish, once again. We were great together, but it was never going to last. It certainly can't continue if she's married. I can make Megan feel real good, but I can't make her happy. Not happy in the way she needs.

"Congratulations," I say, and I really mean it. "Who's the lucky guy?

"Name's Ron," she says. "We met at church." She looks slightly embarrassed.

"Sounds promising."

"I just wanted you to know that I can't... I can't come over anymore. It's just that... "

"I understand. No need to explain. I'm cool with it."

"You mean it?" she says doubtfully.

"Absolutely. I want it to work out for you, Megan. You deserve it." She looks at me for a moment and then she smiles. The tension and anxiety visibly drop away and she gets back just a little of that swing in her hips.

"I'm really nervous," she says. "He's a great guy. I think you'd like him. But there's a lot he doesn't know about me."

"Just be honest"

"I know. But I'm afraid of ruining everything."

"Megan, he's the luckiest guy on the planet. If he can't realize that, the hell with him." She flashes me that thousand-megawatt smile, then glances down at her watch.

"I gotta go," she says, and kisses me on the cheek. "Thanks for everything." I watch her walk down the hall and step into the elevator. I wait for her to turn around and look back at me, one last time, but then the elevator door closes, and she's gone.