Fifty-One

"Aren't you angry at all this?" The disbelief and outrage in my voice were obvious.

"Yes, I am. But this is really getting to you. Yet" -- his hand sketched an arc to indicate all around us -- "this is New York City. There are two hundred and fifty felonies each week in the subways alone. And assaults on women make the news regularly, many far worse. Why this one?"

His calm question cut through the haze of anger enough that I could think about it. "Because I saw it happen. It wasn't when he ... you know. That was bad, but it was what came after. She was ..." I hunted for the word. "She was broken, and I could see it. And if I could see it, he could, and he didn't care. Men break women." I didn't think about how that would go over with present company. I was deep in my own thoughts, and they weren't exactly pro-male.

I looked up to see him staring at me with a somber expression. "Do you think that about me?"

"You could." I was combative at that moment. I admit it. It was mostly to avoid the memories suddenly pushing into my mind. At his raised eyebrows, "One phone call to Mr. Winterthorne and I'm in a world of hurt, if not lying in a ditch somewhere. You said you wouldn't. We'll see if you're different from other men." Saying that opened the crack of memory wider. Stop thinking about it, Lila! But I couldn't stop. My eyes started to burn and my throat tighten.

"Than Winterthorne? Of course I'm--"

I cut him off. "Than Winterthorne. Than my father. Than Stanley Harmond."

"Who's Stanley--" This time, he cut himself off. He knew my teenage story; he'd told me so. It just took a second for the connection to be made in his memory. His voice got softer. "Lee Harmond's son."

I shook my head no. Tears were starting to cloud my vision. "Not Lee Harmond's son. My boyfriend. The one I was in a motel with that afternoon, fucking him while my mother was fucking his father." I was deliberately being crude, trying to turn myself cold and emotionless. "Like mother, like daughter, huh?" My tone was bitter. "Seemed like fun at the time. If only we knew. I lost my virginity to a shitheel. She lost her life to another because she slept with a third. A banner day for the Burhan women." The world blurred.

The next thing I felt was an arm around my shoulders, a hand drawing the napkin from my lap. "Come on." He urged me to my feet. "Leave it. I'll get it," he said as I instinctively turned back for my purse.

A waitress was standing by the little hallway that led to the restrooms. "Help me," he asked her. "I can't go in with her. Make sure she's okay." Wide-eyed, she took my arm.

I came out to find Jack standing with my purse on his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He studied my face. "Much better without the raccoon look." He nodded to the far end of the hallway. "Side door. We're all settled up." I saw him hand the waitress a folded bill, pressing it on her over her protests. The thought of not having to walk past the stares of the other patrons suddenly made me grateful. This particular male didn't seem so bad. We took a taxi up to Midtown where we had left the car.

"Hungry?" he asked as he started it. "You didn't even get five bites."

I shook my head.

"Want to stop for a drink?"

"Why don't we just go to your place and have one there?"

He didn't say anything.

All right. I can be the aggressor instead of the aggressee. "Jack, am I not attractive to you?"

"What? I thought I was pretty clear that--"

"I mean in a sexual way."

He settled back into his seat. His expression was open and smiling. "Lila, you are unbelievably attractive to me. There's nothing I've thought more about over the last couple of weeks than the idea of being with you. It has actually hurt at times."

"Then why haven't you taken me up on my hints?"

The smile slipped a little. He sighed. "Two reasons. The first might cause a fight. The second will almost certainly cause a fight."

What the fuck? "Start with the first one."

"One of the things you told me about yourself was ... well ... you weren't exactly explicit, but I could read between the lines. And I don't want to be another one-night stand."

My emotions teetered. He was right, this could turn into a fight. Or not, it depended. "Are you calling me a slut?"

"No."

"I do not sleep around constantly, or with just anyone who asks. I never go after guys in a relationship ... well, except once." I flushed a little, but he didn't pursue it. "I'm always upfront about what I want and never lead a guy on. I--"

"Lila!"

I stopped at the sharp tone.

"I said no."

"Then what?"

"You're someone who doesn't want strings attached. I'm not wired that way. I didn't want to deal with you trying to figure out how to tell me it was a one-time thing. I want the first time to be the prelude to the second, and so on."

Oh. The feeling of claustrophobia surfaced, but not as strongly as it had in the past. The fears about constantly new sexual partners and the loneliness erected dikes to hold it somewhat at bay. "Why?" I temporized.

"What do you mean?"

"Why do you want to be with me?"

"If you're asking why you turn me on, it's because ... well ... look at you!"

"You're referring to my tits?" I wasn't quite as blasé or self-assured as that sounded, but the armor of crudity from earlier hadn't entirely faded.

He squirmed a little at the bluntness, which was my intention. "Not specifically." At my skeptical expression, he continued, "Yes, they're great. Okay? But the first thing that caught my eye was your face. It's striking and--"

"I'm hardly a beauty!"

"I didn't say beautiful. I said striking. Interesting. And that's far, far more attractive to me. If I wanted a generic blonde cheerleader with big boobs and long legs, well ..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

I stayed quiet.

"But, finding you physically attractive is only part of why I want to be with you. It's also because you're intelligent, and kind of fierce, and I like the way you look at the world as if you're detached from it. And maybe sort of amused by it."

That caught me off guard. "Sometimes, you either laugh or cry."

He nodded. "I saw the look of revulsion on your face when we watched those videos. That made me like you too. And the fact that you were willing to take a giant risk to do something about it ..." He shook his head. "Look, there are probably a dozen reasons why I like you. It doesn't matter that I can't express them well. The bottom line is, I like you."

"And yet you don't want to have sex with me."

"And yet you have a listening problem. I do. I just don't want to be a one-night stand."

That took some digesting. "What's the second reason?"

All humor left his face and he fell silent.

"Jack?"

"I haven't told you something about myself."

"What's that?"

"I'm married."

There hadn't been too many things that had hit me this unexpectedly. Of course, the big one had, and Stanley's subsequent betrayal likewise. And ditto finding out about my mother. That was about it. And it wasn't like married men hadn't hit on me before. That had happened plenty. Like, really plenty. But, somehow, this came out of the blue. Maybe it was because it seemed antithetical to my picture of him.

I took a long moment to get my bearings. "I don't go out with married men. I think you should take me home now."

"Let me explain."

"Jack!" It was my turn to be forceful. "I'm asking you nicely. Please take me home."

"Just give me--"

"Fine. I'll walk until I find a payphone and call a taxi." I started to open the car door, but he reached over and grabbed my arm. I debated giving him an elbow to the nose, but I wasn't quite to violence yet.

"You'll be mugged or worse before you find one that works."

I looked out the window at the dark streets. He was right. I sat frustrated.

He put the car in gear. "Will you let me explain?"

"No."

"For God's sake, Lila. What would it cost you?"

I sat there mulishly. I was angry, far angrier than I would have expected, even factoring in my dislike of cheating husbands. Somehow, this felt like yet another betrayal in my life. I mean, I didn't expect anything from him beyond a few laughs and maybe some enjoyable sex, but I'd thought he was a good guy.

"Talk to me," he insisted.

"Talk to you? Okay, Jack, I'll talk to you. You said you knew something about my history. Do you have any possible idea of what infidelity has meant in my life? Any at all?"

I could see him grimace out of the corner of my eye. I didn't know if he was trying to figure out what to say. I didn't care or wait while he thought. I just lit into him.

"No? Well, let me explain. It cost me everything. My mother couldn't keep her fucking legs closed, and that so upset my father that he killed her for it. Then, because he had become totally deranged, he got himself killed. And my boyfriend, the only man I ever was in love with, decided that he hated me forever because my maniac father also killed his slimeball cheating father. So, I lost both parents and the only person who could have consoled me, not to mention my hopes for college and, like, my total fucking life, because two people thought it wouldn't be a bad idea if they started fucking around despite taking vows not to." I was half-yelling, half-sobbing by the end of that.

I waited, trying to control my emotions. Right before I decided he was going to bail on answering, he responded. "Yes, I realized every bit of that. It's why I've waited to tell you and also why I haven't taken you up on sex." He watched to see how I took that.

You know, technically he hasn't actually cheated with you.

Oh, bullshit! He's kissed me and he's definitely been pursuing a romantic relationship. That's cheating even if he's never actually tried to get my pants off. He probably has with a bunch of other women anyway.

I kept quiet.

"Cathy and I have an open marriage."

Okay, that was too much. "If I had a dollar for every time some cheating bastard said that, I wouldn't be working in a grocery store."

"It's true."

"Yeah? If I ask her, is she going to say the same thing?"

"Yes."

"I call bullshit."

I saw his mouth tighten again out of the corner of my eye. "Okay then. Fine."

"Fine," I echoed. I stared straight ahead, refusing to give him the satisfaction of real engagement. We sat that way until we got over the bridge. Then, instead of heading north, he went south.

"This isn't the way to my house."

"We aren't going to your house."

"I asked you to take me home."

"I know. I'm refusing."

"So, this is a kidnapping?" I asked incredulously.

He snorted, but it wasn't really humor. "Do you honestly feel in danger?"

Now I stared at him, trying to read his eyes by the glow of the dashboard and oncoming headlights. Finally, I told the truth. "No."

"Then all I'm doing is pissing you off royally."

"You've got that right, asshole!" I slumped back in the car seat, turning away from him.

"I'm willing to be an asshole for this."

I kept my face turned away. "Where are you taking me, kidnapper?"

"My house."

That shut me up. We eventually pulled into a driveway. He hit a button on the visor to open the garage door and we rolled in. "Come in."

I sat there, ignoring him.

"If you want to sit there all night, I can't stop you. But I'll disable the door mechanism when I go in, and the only way out for you will be through the house."

"Fuck you!"

I saw the first glimmer of humor of the last forty minutes, albeit a very small one. "No. That's what started this conversation, remember?"

"Cathy!" he yelled as I followed him into the kitchen. He turned to me. "Remember what I said about if I wanted a cheerleader?"

A second later, the personification of his words walked in. Cute from the depths of her blue eyes to the little, upturned nose. Stacked enough that she could replace Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman. Legs that went for miles. And yet you'd have a hard time remembering which blonde she was in a sorority parade. Jack's eyes met mine for a brief second, and I remembered the adjective he'd chosen: generic.

"This is Lila. I told her we have an open relationship. She, quite understandably, thinks I'm lying. So, I've brought her to talk to you. I'll be in the living room." He turned to me. "When you're done, I'll drive you home. No detours, I promise."

Bizarro was the word for the next few minutes.

"I married him to spite my father, who was one of the bigger bastards on the planet."

"He didn't approve?"

"He didn't approve of much about my life. I took drugs. I slept with men I wasn't married to and once with a woman that he found out about. I spent days in picket lines for divesting from South Africa and against nuclear power, two things dear to his corporate soul. I was a hippie in a family of blue-blood snobs. But there was nothing he could do. I was old enough to marry.

"Anyway, after seven or eight years, it finally sank into Jack's and my heads that we weren't right for each other. We married young, didn't have the same interests. We liked each other, but we weren't in love. It was just infatuation and, after the honeymoon was over, it started to surface slowly. He's country mouse and I'm city mouse. It took years for us to admit our mistake, but we eventually did."

"Why did you stay married then?"

"Money."

I must have looked surprised; Jack certainly didn't seem rich. She laughed. "No, not his money. Mine. One of the things the old bastard did was set up a trust. I get a tiny income to support me in a life of, quote, 'irresponsibility and debauchery,' unquote. However, if I prove that I've learned my lesson by marrying, staying married, and keeping out of both jail and rehab for ten years, the trust dissolves and is mine."

"Couldn't you sue to break it? You read about people doing that."

"What? And give all the money to the attorneys? No. I've already spent enough making sure that the terms of the trust stay the terms of the trust, and that nobody tries to interpret Jack's and my arrangement as not married. Besides, we're not far from the end."

"And what's your arrangement?"

"We stay married for ten years. We treat each other like the friends we've become. We divorce amicably. We stay out of each other's love lives." She caught my eye. "Jack and I no longer share a bed. He has my blessing to do what he wants, with you or anyone."

"Do you have lovers?" Rude, but I didn't care at this point.

She didn't take offense. "Yes."

It was an awkward, silent car ride home. Jack's jaw was tight the entire time. As we neared my driveway, he said, "I'm sorry I kidnapped you. I wanted you to know that I was telling you the truth, and I was certain you wouldn't take my word for it."

"You were right; I wouldn't've." Just because I was partially mollified about the open relationship didn't mean he and I were good yet, and his clipped tone pissed me off. "Why are you angry at me? I didn't do anything wrong."

I saw comprehension flicker on his face. "I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at her. I'm very tired of her lying." He realized a second later that that statement might have undone anything he managed to accomplish in the last hour. Quickly, "I didn't mean she was lying about we're no longer together. I mean about what happened between us."

I was totally confused. I leaned back against the car door, as far from him as I could. "Explain."

The hesitation wasn't long, although noticeable. "It took me eight years to find out that Cathy wasn't faithful."

"You mean before you agreed to an open marriage?"

"Was never faithful." He sighed. "It's not a ten-second story. May I come in? I promise I'll leave the minute you tell me to get out."

I debated, but I was in too deep now. I nodded.

"It's the kind of cliché you hear all the time. You know, the husband is clueless for a while, then he starts to get suspicious, then he gets some proof, and the marriage falls apart."

I waited but he didn't go on. "If that's it, then it wasn't even a ten-second story except for you explaining why you're still with her."

He looked startled, then sheepish. "Honestly, I just wanted to come in. I'm afraid if I leave, I'll lose you."

"You don't have me. You might lose even seeing me unless I get a little more." Words didn't immediately flood out, so I pushed. "Jack, I don't date married men." I held up a hand to cut off his attempted interruption. "Maybe it's not quite so simple. But, right now, all I am is confused. So, unless you clear up that confusion ... well ... I don't date married men."

"Can I have a drink?"

I knew that was a stall. I also remembered that a drink had helped me a few times when confronting some of my demons, and I'm not heartless. I went into the kitchen for some of the cheap white wine I kept around and glasses. I heard the opening of Cat Stevens' "The Wind" start in the living room. I came back to find him flipping through my albums.

"I like your music." He held up Moondance. "Side one or two?"

"'Into the Mystic' is my favorite."

He nodded and slotted it onto the changer. He held up Déjà Vu.

I played along with this further delaying tactic, uncertain whether I was amused or irritated by it. "Definitely side one." As he looked back at me from the turntable, I added, "You seem to think you're going to be here a while."

His shrug said, "I hope." He took the proffered glass and settled across from me.

"A while back we were at a pool party. I was inside with some of our friends. Cathy was outside sunbathing. She does that at parties in the summer. She loves the sun. I don't. All it does is make me sweat."

"You're an idiot. The sun is wonderful. But more story, less color commentary."

"Everybody was a little buzzed. One of the women ... Niko, the wife of one of my high school friends. She made a comment. It was kind of ambiguous and, if she'd just left it, I'd have taken it for a joke. But she got kind of flustered and tried to amend it. Tried too hard, if you know what I mean." He looked over at me.

I'm not an idiot, Jack. I know what words mean. "And?" I waved him on impatiently.

"There was this other couple. A little older and they were separated. The husband was there that day, but he was outside talking with Cathy. Those of us inside were talking about how his wife had brought her tennis instructor to some event earlier that summer. You know, 'Ohmygod, how awkward if she'd done that today' type of things.

"So then Niko, who'd had more than a few, said, 'At least you don't seem too worried about your replacement, Jack.' Like I said, it sounded like a joke."

He took a long sip of the wine. "Except that she never glanced out the window at Cathy and the guy when she said it. You know, like you'd do so that everyone would get the joke? And then she got flustered and started to say things like, 'Oh, I don't mean you're being replaced.'

"I cornered my friend in the kitchen a little later and asked him what she meant. He denied knowing anything, but I'd had enough beer not to take that for an answer and was kind of bullying him. Niko rescued him. She said, 'He doesn't know. It's just girl talk.' When I started in on her, she finally copped to, 'Some of us think Cathy might be seeing other guys.'

"You could have knocked me over with a feather. When I asked why, she said it was just little things: a drunken comment here, a little lie there. 'Cathy was seen in the City once with a guy and, when we teased her about it, she claimed it wasn't her. But we know what she looks like. We know that Ember Skye bag she always carries. It was her.'"

Jack fell silent. This time I didn't press. He was talking.

"I asked Niko why they never said anything. She said it was a mixture of not knowing if it were true and how it would make everything awkward. Cathy had always been a bit of a hippie, and they wondered if we were okay with that lifestyle. I thought her husband was going to murder her on the spot for not sounding the alarm."