Scott sat at the dinner table with Marcus and Natalie. Tomorrow Scott and Marcus were flying to Las Vegas. Marcus had wanted lasagna for their going away dinner, he’d said so, but Natalie had cooked crawfish etouffee, Scott’s favorite. Marcus wondered if it meant anything.
“Unbelievable, Natalie,” Scott said, pushing away his empty plate. He’d had two helpings. He finished what was left of his wine, draining the glass in a single gulp.
“You’re not finished, are you?” Marcus said, only half joking. It wouldn’t have surprised him to see Scott go back for more. No one could put away food like Scott, who was squat in stature with a thick roll around his middle. It amazed Marcus Scott wasn’t bigger than he was.
“He can have thirds if he wants,” Natalie said.
“No way,” Scott said. “I wish I could do it all over again, but I’m stuffed.”
“Well, I hope you saved room,” Natalie said.
“Let me guess,” Scott said. “Cherry pie?” The heady aroma of baked crust wafted from the kitchen.
“Just took it out of the oven,” she said. “And I took the ice cream out of the freezer before we sat down so it’ll be soft. Just the way you like it.”
“Damn, it’s not my birthday, is it?” Scott said to Marcus, who sat on the opposite side of the round table. This was the meal Natalie had cooked for Scott on that occasion, knowing he loved her etouffee, knowing he preferred pie—cherry pie—to cake.
“Does it have to be your birthday?” Natalie said.
“God, would you listen to yourselves?” Marcus said. It bothered him how they carried on whenever together, the way they sometimes overdid it.
“Anyway,” Scott said. “I appreciate the special treatment, Natalie.”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “Just limit the special treatment to the kitchen, Nat,” he said to his wife. Then to Scott, “The bedroom is still my domain, Scotty. Don’t ever forget it.”
“Really, Marcus?” Natalie chuckled.
Marcus always kidded Scott and Natalie about their friendship. Scott was a bachelor, and they often invited him to dinner. He’d recently bought a house a few blocks down the street and spent a lot of time at Marcus and Natalie’s.
Natalie rose from the table. Tell you what,” she said. “You two keep fighting over me while I get the pie.” She moved through the swinging door that led to the kitchen. The door sprung back and forth on its hinges.
“Want wine with your dessert?” Marcus said. “Or how ‘bout some port?” There were three empty wine glasses on the table. Two empty wine bottles.
“I could do another glass of wine,” Scott said.
“Then we’ll have a scotch after that,” Marcus said, already out of his chair. He continued talking as he left the room, making his way toward the basement and the racks of wine. “You know, what we ought to do is go to the airport tonight. See if we can catch a flight. Then we could stay up all night playing poker until Brad and Doug show up in the morning.” Marcus was still talking as he opened the basement door and began descending the wood plank steps.
* * *
Marcus and Natalie were waiting on Scott to return from the bathroom. Three dishes of pie à la mode now sat on the table, along with three glasses of Riesling. After a few minutes, Marcus didn’t want to wait any longer and he took a bite of his pie. He expected Natalie to scold him for starting dessert without Scott, their guest. Instead, she said, “So, am I going to have to worry about you this year?”
When Marcus looked at Natalie, she raised an eyebrow; kidding, he knew, but also serious. “C’mon, Nat,” Marcus said. “Let’s not do this.” He took another bite of pie, this time a bigger one.
Three months into their engagement, Natalie had caught Marcus cheating on her. It nearly ended everything. She almost called off the wedding. She would have, too, if not for a lot of begging and long, drawn-out assurances that he would change. He eventually won her back, but she had never let him forget it. And while he still had a wandering eye, that hadn’t changed, he’d learned restraint. He’d never messed around on her again.
“I’ve been good, haven’t I?” Marcus said. “Will you at least admit that?”
“I do admit it.
“You’ve got to know by now that you’re the only one for me. I mean I’ve got you and we have Marie, and that’s all that matters.”
As he said it he knew it was true. He wasn’t that person anymore, the idiot who nearly threw away the best thing he ever had. Things were different now, he was settled down and he liked it, the stability of it. He actually felt grown up, like what he’d always figured being grown up would feel like. No more taking risks. No more telling lies and then telling more lies to cover up the lies already told. He was happy with where he was and rarely looked back at the time when he felt accountable only to himself.
“Aren’t you happy with the way things are?” Marcus said. “I mean we’ve got it good now, don’t we? Hell, even your photography is starting to get the recognition it deserves. All your hard work is finally paying off.”
“I am happy,” she said. “Things are perfect. I know it’s weird, but I think that’s why I worry. I don’t want anything to change.”
“I don’t either. I mean, look at you. The mother of my beautiful daughter, an incredible cook, and now a genius with a camera. And, besides, have you seen what you look like in a tennis skirt?”
“Don’t change the subject,” she said, poking at the pie with her fork. She tined a single glutinous cherry and brought it up to her mouth. The cherry sat between her front teeth for an instant before disappearing, a smile on her face the entire time. The kind of smile that had always had an effect on Marcus.
“How ‘bout we get rid of the company?” he said, reaching for and caressing her arm across the table.
“Don’t be rude,” she said, playfully slapping away his hand.
Just then, Scott came into the room and quietly took his seat, as if not wanting to interrupt the conversation. Now that Scott was back, Marcus hoped Natalie would talk about something else.
“I was just telling Marcus—” she said.
“C’mon, Nat,” Marcus interrupted, gesturing with his eyes at Scott so she’d stop.
“I’m serious, Marcus,” Natalie said.
As she said it she turned to Scott. Then Marcus was looking at Scott, too.
“What?” Scott said.
Natalie didn’t say anything. Marcus didn’t either.
“What?” Scott said again.
“Y’all better behave yourselves, Scott,” Natalie said.
Marcus rolled his eyes.
“Do we ever not behave ourselves?” Scott said, referring to the many business trips he and Marcus took together each year. Scott and Marcus were not only friends, but also partners, co-creative directors at a large advertising agency in Dallas. Natalie jokingly called Scott Marcus’s moral compass, much to Marcus’s annoyance. For some reason Marcus couldn’t figure, Natalie thought Scott had the scruples of a boy scout.
“At least promise me y’all won’t go to any strip clubs this year,” Natalie said. “You know, I still haven’t forgiven you for lying to me last year.”
Marcus shot Scott a look. He was still mad at Scott for telling Natalie they’d gone to a strip club. The year before had been Scott’s first time on the annual trip to Vegas. Marcus and the others, who also worked at the agency, were now making their twelfth consecutive trip. It had become a ritual. After the tenth year, the group decided to add one more person to the mix. They put it to a vote and Scott had been chosen.
“God, we’ve been over this a hundred times already,” Marcus said. “I didn’t lie, Nat. At least not in the way you’re thinking. At the time, I meant it when I said we wouldn’t go to any strip clubs. But then Brad told the cabbie to take us to one without any of us knowing it.
That part of the story wasn’t a lie. But while it might not have been Marcus’ idea to go to the club, he wasn’t exactly putting up a fight to stay away.
“Whatever,” Natalie said. “But this time, will you promise? You know how I feel about those places.”
“I promise,” Marcus said, without hesitation.
When Scott didn’t say anything, Natalie gave him a look.
“Me too,” Scott said.
* * *
Marcus lay on the bed, not wearing anything, his tall, athletic body stretched on top of the covers. The TV was muted and he flipped through the channels, waiting for Natalie to finish up in the bathroom. She came out wearing a short satin nightgown and Marcus turned off the TV.
“Scott may have liked the pie,” Marcus said, “but you’re the only dessert I want.”
“You didn’t like the pie?” she teased, getting into bed.
“I love your pie,” he said, joining her under the covers. “I mean I’d have preferred apple to cherry, but you know that.”
“Well, Scott was our guest, so I made his favorite,” she said, sliding over and nestling next to Marcus. Her head came to rest next to his, sharing the same pillow. She laid her arm across his chest. She stroked his calf with her foot.
“I get that,” Marcus said. “It’s why you made etouffee and not lasagna. But don’t you think you sometimes overdo it with Scott?”
“I feel sorry for him, being all alone in that house. Is it so wrong to make him a decent meal once in a while?”
“Sometimes it just seems you lay it on a little thick, that’s all.”
“Are you jealous?” she said, as if finding the notion titillating.
“No, it’s not that. It does bug me, though, the way he eats up your attention, and with me sitting right there. Why doesn’t he get a girlfriend so he can flirt with someone else and not my wife?”
The sound of their daughter’s whining came from down the hall and they froze. They lay silent, waiting to hear if it would continue. After a moment, the house grew silent again and they relaxed as before. He felt the cool smoothness of Natalie’s foot as it began moving again along his leg.
“Hey, I know, how ‘bout I set him up with someone in Vegas,” Marcus joked. “Maybe that’d cool his jets.”
“What, a hooker?” Natalie said. “You’ll do no such thing, and I mean it.”
“What does it matter, he’s single?”
“I’m serious, Marcus. It’s bad enough y’all go to strip clubs, but messing with hookers is a whole other level of disgusting.”
“Okay,” Marcus said. “I was just kidding.”
“You’ve never been with a hooker, have you?” she said, sitting up. Her expression flattened, as if the possibility had never crossed her mind and was crossing her mind now.
“God, no,” Marcus said. “You can’t be serious.”
“Well I should hope not,” she said, softening, and she returned her head to the pillow. “You’d have to be pretty desperate.”
“I agree,” Marcus said.
* * *
They spent the first day walking the Strip, moving among the thick throngs of people, who for the most part, appeared fat, wide-eyed, and sluggish, wearing the kinds of clothing they would never wear in their normal day lives back home. They were what was referred to in the ad industry as highly engaged targets, buying fully into the Las Vegas experience—wearing Las Vegas T-shirts, hats, and sunglasses, many toting large casino-branded cups of beer and mixed drinks. Some with frozen daiquiris or margaritas in ridiculously tall plastic keepsake glasses also branded with hotel names. Promotional advertising, everywhere and hard at work.
Hispanic men and boys stood on the periphery of the sidewalks, offering porn cards to anyone who would take them. Marcus thought the hawkers appeared out of place in the glitz. He couldn’t help thinking of Mexican laborers just off the truck at a watermelon patch. They could be heard rapping the stacks of cards, held in one hand, against the fist of the other. Most people accepted the hand-outs only to drop them, and the sidewalks were littered with porn cards. Marcus, Doug, and Brad ignored the hawkers, but Marcus noticed Scott accepting the cards, and he only had to make eye contact with one of the hawkers, and then they’d swarm, unloading as many of the cards as they could before he moved on.
Marcus figured Scott was as fascinated with the cards as he’d been on his first couple of trips. They looked like pornographic trading cards, featuring naked or near-naked women in suggestive poses, advertising every erotic service imaginable—many of which Marcus had never contemplated—each card announcing the phone number of a 24-hour calling service.
That night, the four of them climbed into a cab after dinner.
“Know of any strip clubs?” Scott asked the cabbie as he slid on the backseat next to Marcus.
Marcus looked at Scott. “What the hell are you doing?” he said.
Scott didn’t say anything.
“Strike that,” Marcus told the cabbie. “Just take us to the The Mirage.”
* * *
On the second night, they went to the Baccarat bar in the Bellagio. Crowds of people moved down the wide-bordered carpet runner, coming from the direction of Caesars Palace. Marcus was surprised when Scott gave the hostess a twenty-five-dollar chip he hadn’t cashed in. Within half an hour, they were being seated at one of the more coveted tables along the outer edge of the lounge, overlooking the continuous parade of people.
Marcus found an excuse to go off alone. He liked the feeling of anonymity it gave him, standing amidst the bustling activity and not knowing anyone. Now he stood with his back to the bar, sipping a single malt scotch, while puffing on the remains of a Corona and watching the people file by.
Marcus made eye contact with the girls he assumed were prostitutes. Some walking alone, some walking arm in arm with other girls, all wearing short, form-fitting dresses and moving awkwardly in their preposterously high heels, as if on stilts. Marcus’ plan was simple: hire a prostitute to secretly seduce Scott. If Natalie knew Scott slept with a hooker, she wouldn’t think him so innocent anymore. But doing the hiring wasn’t so simple. Knowing they were prostitutes scared Marcus for some reason, and he didn’t have the nerve to approach one.
Then he noticed a girl staring at him. Standing across the corridor, she was only visible in the momentary lulls of foot-traffic. Was she a prostitute? Marcus thought she looked more like a high school honors student. The outfit she wore would’ve been appropriate at a formal dinner party: expensive charcoal cocktail dress, creamy ruffled blouse, burgundy hose, pricy black high heels. Marcus swallowed hard at something that had risen in his throat. She reminded him of his wife, back when he’d first met her in New Orleans. Marcus had always had a thing for dark-haired, dark-eyed, fair-skinned girls, and now here was this young girl and she had a look about her, with a straight bob cut. She looked at Marcus and when he looked back at her, she didn’t take her eyes off his. Then, like fording the swift current of a shallow river, she walked across the thronged column of people, moving confidently, untouched. Again, Marcus swallowed hard as she approached.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi, yourself,” he said.
“You wanna party?” She said it in a way that Marcus found a little disconcerting. Until that moment, she’d done a convincing job of appearing innocent, fresh, like someone who would never have thought to utter such a phrase.
“No, I don’t think so,” Marcus said nervously. “I was just looking.”
Marcus’ head spun as she took hold of his hand, ready to pull him toward the crowded corridor where they’d be swept away. “Come on, I know a quiet lounge where we can talk,” she said.
She made it seem so easy, and Marcus almost followed her. He stopped abruptly and the girl, still holding his hand, sprung back as if they were dancing a two-step. She looked at him curiously.
“Focus, Marcus,” he said to himself. Marcus had come to his senses. He’d felt the danger and it scared him. “Focus,” he repeated, feeling the old weaknesses beginning to surface, and he searched for a way out. “See, it’s just that I’d hate to abandon the guys I’m here with.”
“What a good friend,” she teased. “Can I meet them?”
“If you really want to, sure,” Marcus said, and he was struck by how easily his plan was working. The girl still held his hand, and she followed him as naturally as a girlfriend, a wife or daughter.
Brad, Doug and Scott stopped talking when they saw Marcus approaching. They sat up stiffly in their seats when they noticed the girl. Marcus was relieved to be back in the company of his friends and no longer alone with her.
“Look who I found,” Marcus said. “Everyone, this is…”
“Roxy,” the girl said.
“Roxy,” Marcus repeated. “She’s from here and says she knows how to show out-of-towners a good time.”
Brad, Doug, and Scott had risen from the sofa. Marcus appraised Scott, dressed in the baggy, faded jeans he always wore, and a knit shirt that clung to him awkwardly, accentuating his inner tube belly. Scott had no fashion-sense. Marcus wondered if that would matter to this girl, this prostitute.
“You know what?” Marcus added. “We need to show Scott, here, a good time. What do you say, Roxy. You got any suggestions?”
“I’ve got lots of suggestions,” the girl said, looking for a long time at Scott and smiling.
* * *
Marcus chastised himself as he continued to play out the event in his mind, wondering where he’d gone wrong. He couldn’t believe he’d actually gone through with it. Until it happened, he’d been in control. He’d taken the usual precautions so that he wouldn’t be able to give in to the temptation. Marcus had thought that so long as the others were around nothing could happen while the two girls put on a show. When it was over the girls got dressed and they all had a drink at the suite’s wet bar. It was innocent, and his plan for Scott still seemed in play.
Then they all began leaving the room together. Marcus was the last one out and when he turned to make sure the door was locked, he felt two small hands snaking around his waist. Before he could think, before he could do anything, Roxy had inserted a key card into the keypad and pushed him back into the room. He’d told himself to focus, even uttering the word aloud several times, and for an instant he thought he could fight it. But once the door closed behind them, once they were alone, there was no going back and he knew it.
That was a little over an hour earlier and only now did Marcus regain his senses, as if he were waking from a deep, vivid dream. He and Roxy were in the master bedroom of the suite. Marcus remained in bed, naked beneath the sheets. The only light in the room came from the Strip just outside and twenty-nine stories below the suite’s floor-to-ceiling windows. He watched Roxy as she dressed. She put on her clothes a lot faster than she’d taken them off.
He searched for something to say, finding the silence unbearable. He didn’t know how to go about talking money with this girl. “I’ve never done anything like this,” he said. “I mean this is my first time.”
She smiled, like he couldn’t have stated a more obvious thing. Then the room went quiet again as he worked up the nerve to ask her how much he owed her. Marcus wanted her out of the room. He needed to be alone so he could think about what had just happened, what he’d just done. He had no idea what he would tell the others. He dreaded facing Scott.
“So…” Marcus started, his voice shaking. “I guess we should talk money?”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, pausing in front of the mirror. She checked her face in the dim lighting.
“What do you mean?” Marcus said. “That was a freebie?”
She laughed at that, a young girl laugh that reminded Marcus how old he was, and how stupid.
“Why’s that so funny?” he said.
“You guys paid us for an evening of entertainment,” she said. “Let’s just say this was part of it.”
“Oh,” he said. “But why me?”
“Why not you?” she said, and she laughed again, the same young girl laugh.
* * *
By mid-morning the next day, the slow-rising sun finally began to warm the desert’s thin, winter air. Scott sat with Brad and Doug outside of Caesars Palace, at the kind of tiki bar one might find on a tropical beach 5,000 miles away. Three Bloody Marys in large plastic cups sat on the table. Scott picked from a large bag of potato chips. They’d been waiting for Marcus to join them so they could go to breakfast. Brad had already called him twice to see what was holding him up.
“I can’t believe you got her to call up a friend,” Brad said, his tall, hulking body slouched in the chair, his elbows resting heavily on the table. He looked hung-over, like he might get sick.
“Well, I figured since Marcus ruled out going to strip clubs, I’d just bring the strippers to us,” Scott said. “I can’t believe y’all never thought of doing it before. I mean you saw the cards. Anything you want’s a phone call away.”
“Strip clubs are one thing,” Brad said. “But hiring prostitutes? No, it’s never come to mind. Not even in the early years of the trip.”
“How old do you think they were?” Doug said, his eyes closed. He sat reclining in his chair, his short legs straight and crossed at the ankles beneath the table, his arms folded on his chest, hugging himself against the morning chill. “I mean Roxy’s friend was as hot as she was.”
“Like they were classmates at Las Vegas High,” Brad said.
Just then, Marcus walked up to the table. He’d gone for a long walk on the Strip to clear his mind and to avoid the guys. But he knew he couldn’t avoid them forever, so now he was ready to get it over with.
“Well, look who decided to show up,” Brad said.
Doug opened his eyes. “So, let’s hear it,” he said, sitting up in his chair.
Marcus sat down. “There’s nothing to tell,” he said. He’d decided to simply deny everything. They weren’t in the room, so they wouldn’t know one way or the other.
“Whatdoyou mean, you didn’t do anything with her?” Scott said.
“Nah,” Marcus said. “Believe me, it wasn’t easy, but I told her I was happily married, so she left and I went to bed.”
“That’s it?” Scott said, searching Marcus’ eyes with suspicion. “So nothing happened?”
“Seriously?” Brad said. “Not even a lap dance or anything?”
“I call bullshit,” Scott said.
“Call it what you want, but nothing happened,” Marcus said.
Everyone sat quiet, disappointment on their faces. As if waiting for more, as if there were more to tell. Marcus was amazed at how easily they accepted his story. It appeared there would be no problems after all.
“Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay? So let’s drop it,” Marcus said to the table, but looking at Scott.
* * *
Marcus stood at the mirror in the suite’s bathroom. After brushing his teeth, he slipped his arms into the sleeves of a heavily starched Oxford. He heard Doug calling to him from the living room.
Doug sat alone on the sofa, sifting through the porn cards Scott had collected on the Strip. The cards lay amassed in a large, decorative bowl on the coffee table. He waited for Marcus to finish getting dressed. Brad and Scott had gone downstairs to the bar. It was their last night. They’d be flying back to Dallas early the next morning.
Marcus came into the living room, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt. “What’re you yelling about?”
“It’s her,” Doug said, handing a card to Marcus. “See?”
Marcus took the card and studied it. It was Roxy. Heavily made up, her pouting lips reddened, she looked more like a prostitute than she had the previous night. Wearing tattered fishnet thigh-highs and a Catholic schoolgirl outfit. Bending over as if to tighten the buckle of her ten-inch platform shoe. A hint of ass cheek showing that stirred something in Marcus that wasn’t lust, but terror.
“Fuck!” Marcus said, feeling his heart race. He couldn’t believe it. “I don’t understand.” He felt sick to his stomach and his knees buckled. He sat on the sofa as the familiar knot rose in his throat, and he swallowed it back down. “Where’d you get this? Did she leave it here?”
“I don’t know, she must have,” Doug said. “But then it was in the bowl with the rest, so it could be a coincidence. I mean there must be two or three hundred cards here.”
* * *
Marcus left the blackjack table to go to the restroom. As he stood at the urinal, Scott sidled up next to him, breathing heavily and swaying a little as he worked to unzip his pants.
“So, your second year’s almost in the books, Scotty,” Marcus said. “How was it?”
“You’re such an asshole,” Scott said.
“Where the hell’d that come from?”
“Why are you putting me in this position,” Scott slurred. “I don’t know why you included me on these trips, especially if this is the kind of shit you’re going to pull. You know how Natalie always picks my brain after even the shortest business trips together.”
“Jesus, how drunk are you?”
“So what, I’m drunk,” Scott said.
“And I didn’t put you in any position,” Marcus said. “You were the one who got the girls to come up to the room, not me.”
Marcus talked loudly and, within the red-tiled walls of the restroom, it sounded like he was shouting. The long, immaculate room was empty, except for the old man who sat in a chair by the display of hand towels, cologne, breath mints, chewing gum, and cigarettes. He watched Scott and Marcus, and when Marcus looked in his direction, the man turned away.
Marcus couldn’t get last night out of his head. His stomach turned whenever he thought of it and he felt his stomach roll over now. “I mean what the hell were you thinking, anyway?” Marcus said.
“You sure looked like you were having a good time,” Scott said.
“I shouldn’t have gone to the room, Scotty,” Marcus said. “I’m such a fucking idiot, I shouldn’t have even been there.”
“Well, it’s a little late for regrets now,” Scott said.
“Why can’t you just mind your own fucking business, anyway?”
Scott zipped his pants and moved clumsily toward the bank of sinks where he began washing his hands. Marcus washed his hands at the sink next to Scott. “So, am I gonna have to worry about you this year?” Marcus said.
“What do you mean?” Scott said.
“You know damn well what I mean. Are you gonna tell Natalie we had strippers in the room?”
When Scott still didn’t say anything, Marcus’s legs went weak, and he had to brace himself against the countertop to keep from falling to the floor. He gagged, nearly retching, and he swallowed back down a burning bile. “God, Scott, please don’t tell me you already told her,” he said.
“She called my cell phone,” Scott said.
“She called? What the hell’s she doing calling you?”
“We’re friends,” Scott said. “Why wouldn’t she call me?”
Marcus was confused. “So, what’d you tell her?”
Scott didn’t say anything.
“Goddammit, Scott, what’d you tell her?”
“Jesus, relax. I didn’t tell her anything, okay? I didn’t answer it. I mean I still haven’t figured out what I’m gonna tell her.”
“You’re gonna tell her everything’s great. You’re gonna tell her we gambled and drank our asses off and ate at some good restaurants. There’s nothing else to tell.”
The old man made an effort to rise from his chair. He selected two hand towels from the stack and handed them to Marcus and Scott.
“I can tell by her message that she’s wondering what’s going on,” Scott said.
“That’s weird. When I talked to her this morning she seemed fine,” Marcus said, playing back the conversation in his mind. She’d sounded excited to see him. She’d suggested they go out to dinner that next night.
Marcus faced Scott. He put his hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “Just promise me you won’t say anything. Okay, Scotty?”
Scott looked away from Marcus, not saying anything. Then he said, “You won’t have to worry about me. I won’t say a thing.”
“That’s a good man,” Marcus said, and he took a mint from the silver plate before tossing a few bills into the bowl. They moved toward the door and exited, all at once seized by the din and smell of the vast casino floor, the never-ending expanse of gaudy carpet.
* * *
“Care to tell me who Roxy is?” Natalie said.
Marcus nearly spit his food out onto the table. He and Natalie had just sat down to dinner. Now his head spun as he tried to think of something to say. He’d been back in Dallas for four days and the tension he brought back with him had eased considerably. Scott was acting normal at work and nothing like the drunken jerk in the bathroom in Las Vegas. Marcus had started to believe everything would be okay.
“What?” Marcus said, buying time. He needed to think.
“I was just wondering who Roxy is,” Natalie said. She watched him, Marcus knew, waiting for a reaction. “Do you have some schoolboy infatuation with her or something?”
Marcus started to say something, but hesitated. He wanted Natalie to say something more, to give him a hint of what she knew.
“Why, did Scott say something?” he said.
Natalie took a deep breath, holding her stare at Marcus.
“Look, I don’t know what he told you exactly,” Marcus started. Then he stopped. He looked up from his plate and into his wife’s eyes. He couldn’t believe Scott would tell her. He had to have known what it would mean. Still looking at Natalie, Marcus didn’t have any idea how to talk his way out of it. He could deny it—that was his first inclination—it’d be Scott’s word against his own. But then, Marcus knew if it came to that, she would believe Scott.
“I’m waiting,” Natalie said. She’d put down her fork. She already looked wounded. Marcus couldn’t see her legs beneath the table, but knew they would be crossed, the one leg kicking furiously the way it did when she was nervous, impatient, pissed off or hurt.
“You were right about me, Nat,” Marcus began, resigning himself to telling her the truth. “Just believe me when I say I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve never messed around on you since that one time and that’s the truth, I swear to God.”
Natalie didn’t say anything, her face still blank.
“You have to believe that, Nat,” Marcus said. “When she came to the room, it was understood that she would only be putting on a show. I mean, I wasn’t alone with her—it was nothing like that. Everyone else was there, too. Nothing else was supposed to happen. But I don’t know, I guess she caught me in a moment of weakness or something.” Marcus was prepared to continue. It would be easier now that the words were coming out. But he noticed the look that had come over Natalie, and he stopped.
“Goddammit,” Natalie said. Then she said it again, only this time shouting it, “Goddammit.”
“What?” Marcus said.
“You mean you actually did something with this—whore?”
Marcus didn’t understand. He wanted to understand and he said, “I don’t know. What did Scott tell you?”
“Scott didn’t tell me anything, you asshole.”
It didn’t make sense. Marcus thought of Brad and Doug. He couldn’t believe they would say anything to their wives, knowing their wives knew Natalie. It made no sense.
“Then who did you talk to?” Marcus said, backtracking in his mind. He wondered if he’d already said too much.
It was then that Marcus saw Roxy’s porn card. Natalie had had it on her lap beneath the table the whole time and now brought it up where he could see it. He couldn’t believe it was happening. It didn’t make sense.
“I was doing wash and I found this in your pants,” Natalie said, crying now. “I thought you were just saving it or something, and I was going to tease you about it. I never in a million years would’ve thought—”
“Nat,” Marcus said, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He was witnessing the loss of everything that mattered to him in the world, and there was nothing he could say, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t believe it was happening.
“You asshole!” Natalie threw the card at him. It fell just short of the floral centerpiece. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me again, Marcus. I can’t believe you’d do it to Marie.”
The sudden image of Scott rummaging through his suitcase and planting the card in his jeans had Marcus feeling like his head would explode.
“Oh, my god, that son of a bitch,” Marcus said. “It was Scott.”
“I told you, I haven’t talked to him.”
“Think about it, Nat. He put the card in my pocket. He wanted you to find it. He knew what it would mean.”
“Stop it, Marcus.”
“Last night he said you called him. He said you left him a message. Since when did you two start talking on the phone?”
“What are you talking about, I didn’t call him,” she said.
“Is there something going on between you two? Is that what this is about?”
“Are you listening to yourself? I think you’re the one who’s crazy. First you blame Scott, now it’s my fault?”
“Oh my God,” Marcus said. “This can’t be happening.”
Now Natalie was laughing and crying at the same time. “I’m such a idiot,” she said. “You said you’d changed, you promised me. But you’re just a liar, and I’ll never trust you again.”
* * *
Scott ran to Marcus and Natalie’s house. He pounded on the door. When the door swung open, Scott entered the foyer, out of breath.
Natalie looked shocked, seeing the blood covering Scott’s mouth, shirt front and pants. “Oh, my God,” Natalie said. “What happened?”
“I ran into your husband,” Scott said, “that’s what happened.”
“He just left here,” Natalie said. She looked confused. “We were having dinner and he told me what he did on the trip.” Her eyes appeared red, her face puffy, like she’d been crying.
“Yeah, well, he came to my house and started accusing me of breaking up your marriage. When I denied it, he proceeded to beat me up.”
“Oh my God.”
“Are you okay?” Scott said. “I ran over here as fast as I could.”
Natalie sat Scott on the sofa. She went to the kitchen and returned with a bag of frozen okra and a small first aid kit. Now he lay on the sofa with his head on her lap, the okra resting on the swelling above his eye. She removed the tissue from his nostrils to see if the bleeding had stopped.
“Marcus is confused and desperate,” Scott said.
Focusing on Scott’s wounds, Natalie didn’t say anything, her eyes inches above his as she applied salve to his split, swollen lip. He breathed in deeply.
“I couldn’t even bring myself to hit him back,” Scott said.
“You should’ve defended yourself,” she said.
“Natalie, he’s my best friend.”
“I have to wonder,” she said. “You know, I have to wonder about a lot of things now. I mean would someone do this to their best friend?”
“Or to their wife?” Scott said.
Natalie choked up. “Goddamn him,” she managed, her voice breaking.
“You should hear what he’s saying,” Scott said. “It’s like he’s paranoid. He’s actually blaming it all on me.”
“I know,” Natalie said. “He was saying the same thing over here. He said you put some whore’s calling card in his pocket or something.”
“Figures. Next, he’ll say it was me who actually called the girl up and arranged the whole thing.”
“Well,” Natalie said, screwing the cap back on the peroxide bottle. “At this point I guess he’ll say about anything. But I’ll never believe anything he says again. I can tell you that much.”
Natalie looked out the window behind the sofa, looking out at the night. A moment passed and her eyes began to water.
Scott sat up. When she saw his arms extended and open, she fell onto his chest, allowing herself to cry. Scott held her tightly, shushing in her ear, his nose buried in her hair.
“What am I going to do?” she said, his shirt wet with her tears.
“I’ll be here for you, Nat,” Scott said. “I promise.”
He gently stroked her hair as she continued to cry, and he breathed in the smell of her shampoo. He closed his eyes and breathed in again.
David Langlinais’ stories have appeared in South Dakota Review, Los Angeles Review, Concho River Review, Avalon Literary Review, The MacGuffin, Raleigh Review, and many others. He’s published two story collections (UL Press), and has just finished a novel. “A Hopeless Devotion” is his seventh publication in Green Hills Literary Lantern. He currently lives in Dallas with his wife and daughter where he works as a freelance copywriter.