When the doorbell rang I went and opened it because no one else had jumped, and there was John. In black dress pants, black leather shoes and a rumpled white dress shirt. A far cry from the lumberjack I used to live down the street from.
He looked pained, hands behind his back and so I spoke first.
Formal visit, then, is it?
He passed me a pewter-colored envelope. Caleb color codes everything. Financial is manila, travel is blue, invitations requesting my company come in a rich dark silver, the color of the envelope John is trying to give to me and I don't take it.
When?
As soon as you can get away.
I nod and my brain starts spooling up. What do I wear? What does he want? I know but I ask nevertheless.
Is it work, John?
No, Bridge, it's not.
He turns, defeated, and walks back down the path to the driveway.
I close the door and turn to go see what everyone is up to, see if it's safe to slip out and go into the city for a while. I run straight into Ben, who takes the envelope from me and walks away. He stops halfway across the room and I can see the muscles in his shoulders freeze up.
No, Bridget.
What? What is that? Taking a page from Jake?
He was smart.
Not as smart as Cole.
Oh that's rich, princess.
It's true though. Jacob ran on heart.
And what would you have me do?
Not change anything.
Not change anything? What the fuck, princess, I can't deal with this. I can't deal with you being gone, I can't deal with percentages and jealousy and the pressure I see you caving under.
I'm fine, Ben.
Where is normal, Bridget? We promised each other normal. I could stay healthy and you would be happy.
As soon as I find the sign for it, we'll turn off.
We've passed SEVEN FUCKING EXITS, Bridget, and you pretend you don't see them.
I can't take any more change.
I can't take him touching you.
You don't seem to mind when you're getting something out of it.
Yeah, well, maybe those days are done.
Come with me. We can talk about this later.
The invitation came as a bit of a surprise. We had just arrived home after spending most of the day downtown with Caleb. We took the children to the sad parade and then walked around watching people decked out in red and white while we painted the picture of a perfect family. I guess it wasn't enough, only this time Caleb wasn't interested in the 'family' picture of his dreams, just the Bridget part. He never really cares if Ben joins me. He doesn't get the choice.
By eight we were having dinner at a restaurant. I picked at the lobster and gulped my champagne. Oh, look, they put courage in my glass. Need that. Please give it to me and then get some more.
By nine we were strolling along the boardwalk. I had my wrap around my shoulders over my dress and Ben's suit jacket on and I didn't want to say I was cold but oh hell, I was so freezing I couldn't speak, I figured it would all come out in chattery, fogged breaths.
By ten we switched to wine and music and light conversation in the warm penthouse which is how Caleb unwinds from his workday. He sits back and tries on various expressions and extends his finer curiosities.
By eleven the wine was being poured slightly higher in my glass and the familiar hungers had begun to appear in their eyes. Ben had relaxed slightly, no wine for him, just water. He had a guitar out and was quietly playing along, watching me. Waiting.
By twelve I was slammed up against the door to Caleb's bedroom, my dress yanked up over my hips and Caleb's face in the crook of my neck, leaving a burn as he drove into me while my husband watched. Cole, don't hurt me, please. I can't take it anymore.
By one I was just falling asleep when Ben came for what he needed at last and it was such a relief to be safe again. I was sure Caleb stood just back from the doorway in the shadows and watched. I didn't care. I just said I love you, over and over again to Ben in an effort to make the distinction so that Caleb could hear it and know that he has won exactly nothing.
By three we were in the back of the car, being driven home, not talking to each other or to John. Staring out the window, at the lights. My skin is still red and raw, my life in someone else's hands, my history being spent in a genre I won't even look at without wine and darkness and want.
Lochlan opened the door when we got home and I walked past him and I felt his eyes burning into the top of my head all the while and Ben's tired eyes burning a hole into my back and I turned around to finally meet Lochlan's eyes and he shook his head, tears in his eyes. Aghast at my bravery, or maybe at my recklessness.
This isn't what you meant for it to be, is it, princess?
No.
Then why?
I just pointed at Ben. Ben will pretend up and down that this is all about me, but rarely will he admit that he needs this as much as I want it. He needs it to feel dangerous, he needs it to get high. Chasing this has become somewhat of an albatross to him, and he's loathe to admit it. But it's there, right between us, an obstacle I keep tripping on as I try to juggle in front of an audience. The harlequin. The whore.
It leaves me with a question this morning, since Ben and I are going to spend the day talking. Which is stronger? A man's appetites or his convictions? Jacob would have had an easy answer for this one.
Ben? Caleb? Lochlan, even?
Not so much.
