Part 18 (1/2)
”Fine, sure, I'm not a monster. They're also barred from any of our club meetings, and must resign from any executive level committees.”
Frannie said, ”Where am I going to go? How am I going to live?”
Carl licked his top lip, then said, ”I don't give a fart. Just not with me, you double-dealing wh.o.r.e.”
She sat way forward in her chair, her chin jutting. ”That won't do. I'll ruin you.”
”Give it a shot. I've been doing this for years, baby.”
I was just about to feel bad for Frances-I'd never expected to put her on the streets-when Octavia perked up, ”That reminds me, when you said baby just then-”
Oh s.h.i.+t. Instant heartburn. She didn't have a reason to do it, but she was going to anyway. I already had my house and a slice of dignity back, plus an extra year of my job before having to find a new one. Which meant I'd still have to give up the house, but at least I'd get some of my money back out of it. Not the deal I'd wanted, but not the worst either. No reason to humiliate her further. But it was too late.
Octavia: ”-about this photograph. I don't know how I came across it. I think it was mailed to me.” And she held up the photo of Frances leaving the abortion clinic. ”Would you also tell Mick why you killed the baby?”
She went white. I thought she was going to die of a heart attack right there. Carl and Moose crowded around to get a better view of the pic, then Carl glanced back at Frances.
He said, ”s.h.i.+t.”
”Tell him, Frannie. We're waiting.”
She hummed, hemmed, and hawed, twisting her fingers together in awful, horrid ways. Started to speak, then wrinkled her face, then again.
”Then I get to tell him, if you won't. Don't worry about it.” Octavia sat up straight, set the photo in the center of her desk. ”Because it wasn't Mick's baby.”
G.o.dd.a.m.ned Octavia. G.o.dd.a.m.n.
Now I was on my feet. ”You told me it was!”
She shrugged. ”I thought it was until just recently. She was trampling you in stilettos, and still you pined. So I had to keep it from you a little while.
Frances looked as if she was curling into a fetal position in the chair.
”Hey, it's not...” Carl had to stop, take deep breaths. Wheezing like he'd climbed a mountain. ”It wasn't mine, was it? Oh G.o.d. I was certain it wasn't mine. I never would have-”
”No no, not yours either. And before you ask...” She pointed at me. ”Not the student, David, whatever his name is.”
My head was spinning. Faces popping into my mind's eye. Me thinking, How many guys?
I tried to talk, took a minute to get enough saliva in my mouth. ”Um...who was the father?”
With a pixie-style tilt of her head, cheek on her hand, her eyes aimed at Stephanie. ”Your husband. Ashton.”
Frances sounded like she was gasping for air, hand to her chest. Stephanie's eyes went wide. ”No, that's...no. Never. How could...I don't...shut up!”
Carl looked drained. He braced his hand against the books on the shelf, but pushed them back, nearly fell.
Frances had recovered. ”You lying c.u.n.t! You can't get away with just saying any old s.h.i.+t you want. Unbelievable. It was Mick's baby.”
”Frannie, please, you know it was ours.” The voice from the speaker on the phone. Ashton had been on the line the entire time.
NINETEEN.
Stephanie yelped like she'd seen a ghost, legs up in her chair and clutching me like I was furniture. ”No! No, Ash, baby, no! Tell me it's not true.”
”I'm sorry, Stephanie. I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to find out like this, but then Octavia told me about Mick, and I just...I'm tired of all this. Tired of the lies.”
Frances had dropped her face into her hands. Her shoulders heaved. Carl had recovered, but he faced the shelf, head against the books.
Octavia-the happiest I'd seen her in years.
Stephanie stood and staggered over to Octavia's desk, stood right over the phone. ”I thought we were done with this. That's why we're leaving. To escape.”
A loud sigh from the speaker. ”We're leaving because...listen, can't we talk about this in private?”
”Well, f.u.c.k, Ash, I think we're a little past that now, what with the news you got Frances pregnant, a.s.shole.”
”Please, Steph, when I get home-”
”Why are we moving? Honestly.”
”We have to, okay? I fell in love with Frances, and it was all wrong. We know that. We've hurt people now, and then the baby...and Carl found out...and I'm pretty sure he doesn't love Frances more than I do, but he wanted to win, G.o.dd.a.m.n it. You couldn't just step aside, could you? You had to f.u.c.king win.”
Carl mashed his lips together. Not about to answer. His face bloomed red and purple.
”Carl confronted me. He said the only way to save my marriage, my career, was to insist that Frances get an abortion. After that, we had to call it off between us. There was no other way. Carl was threatening to release the tapes, mainly just the ones of me and Frances. I didn't even know...he'd suspected. He followed us. G.o.d, I'm sorry. I'm the worst. I just made a mistake. I fell in love at a swinger's party when I should have just f.u.c.ked and ran.”
Stephanie was a steel rod at the desk. Tears streaked her cheeks but she did not break down. Frances was still curled up, staring at nothing, rocking back and forth. And Carl looked heart attack imminent.
Octavia waved her hand in Carl's direction. ”Do you have anything to say?”
I almost thought that would do it for him. A volcano on the brink. But he straightened himself out, cleared his throat, and said, ”Deal's off. You're all going down. My attorney will be in touch shortly. Ashton?” He craned his head towards the phone. ”Don't ever let me see you again. You've just f.u.c.ked yourself worse than sitting on your wife's d.i.l.d.o.”
He weaved around the chairs and headed for the archway leading out into the main foyer. What could we do? I was thinking of how badly it had all gone. How instead of achieving the justice I thought I had deserved, Octavia and I had just ruined four other lives and careers, not to mention my own. I was halfway out of my chair, thinking I could go reason with Carl, when I heard the crash.
I turned in time to see silver coffee pot, silver tray, silverware, cups, sugar, cream and coffee splatting to the ground as Carl fell back, his clothes stained brown, yelping from the heat as he braced himself for the floor. His point of impact? Harriet, now standing with her hands over her mouth, stepping out of the way.
She recovered and said, ”G.o.d, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I was just bringing coffee. I didn't realize. I'm sorry.”
But she seemed to be fighting off the giggles, too. Sure, a well-timed accident. How convenient. Octavia must have guessed that someone would try to leave. After all, Jennings usually supplied the coffee. And Octavia usually asked for it first. Harriet wouldn't dare just bring coffee in without being asked, right? Especially at such a tense moment.
It was Pamela who approached Carl, knelt beside him, and asked if he was all right. She shouted at Jennings, ”Get the man a towel!” And within a few seconds it was there, like they'd made plans for that, too. Pamela helped pat the man dry, calm him down. The coffee would have, of course, been just warm enough to scare but not to scar.
Then once Pamela had Carl's a.s.surance that he was okay, and he was able to sit up and blot his s.h.i.+rt with the towel, she said, ”I just wanted to tell you that, what you just said about all of us-and I a.s.sume you include me-but all of us quote ”going down” unquote, that const.i.tutes a serious transgression. And even if we were to overlook all of the sordid details of your sick little club, which unfortunately would probably still make a media splash even if it wasn't the focus of the trial, rest a.s.sured that the fraud you perpetrated with Mr. Moose here concerning Mr. Thooft's house is more than enough to bankrupt you with legal bills due to appeals and rest.i.tution. Not to mention jail time. So, maybe now that you've had a few moments to reconsider...”
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to feel good about how it all turned out. Looking around, I saw that Octavia had sidled up to Harriet and was whispering in her ear. Obviously about a job well-done. Alice peeked around from her chair next to the desk, smiling, enjoying her boss's comeuppance. Mr. Moose looked relaxed for the first time all evening, and he called Jennings over, asked for a double of Scotch.