DITW 14-16: Odyssey 11

Gabrielle and Samara had both seen him naked. He was sure of it.

They came together to his desk almost first thing in the morning, full of concern and showing nothing that told him they’d seen any humor in what had happened. That must have been an awful morning for them. Waking up to a medical emergency, everyone running around thinking he’d died. They’d cut his clothes off him. Kimmy had bought all new clothes for him to wear home from Peterborough. But while he was unconscious these two nice women he worked with and whose company he enjoyed had seen him at his weakest and most vulnerable. He’d been in frigid water for around twenty minutes. His dick and nut sack must have retreated to the warmth of his belly. His dick and nut sack had spent all day yesterday up in his body, and that was after a whole medical team warmed him with an infusion. He was pale and thin and Gabrielle and Samara had seen someone they should respect reduced to his weakest form. If he’d seen either of them in a similar disposition, would he be able to see them the same way again later? Would seeing one of them with legs splayed after some dipshit misadventure, their labia all shriveled and out in the open, leave no impression? He’d like to think he could be the better person, be above that juvenile, underdeveloped judgment, but deep down knew he’d never escape thinking about it whenever he was with them.

He tried playing it off with humor. “At least I can say I was in a helicopter now.”

Samara palmed her forehead, eyes rolling back like she felt faint. “Oh, my god.”

“Oh, I wasn’t awake though,” he said, like that made it less of a big deal.

Gabrielle said, “I can’t believe you’re here today. That’s wild.”

“Can’t keep a good man down,” he said, first thing rolling off the top of his mind, an inline arsenal of similar bromides shunting into place.

“We were so worried. Sorry we couldn’t make it to the hospital, we—”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “I was out, and then I was awake, and then I was going home.”

Samara sat on his desk corner, eyes brimming with wet compassion. “What were you doing out there? Why did you go in the water?”

“You saw that dock. It goes on forever. I woke up in the middle of the night and thought it would be fun to, you know, take a, take a whizz off the end of it.”

Gabrielle smiled at last, shaking her head, looking at him with wonder, and he thought, just maybe, a little bit of admiration. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she said.

Samara said, “You were almost blue. Your lips were blue.”

He said, “The water was surprisingly refreshing.”

Gabrielle said, “You were there to clear your head,” smiling, but then letting a little kitty cat out of the bag. They also knew why they were at the party that night.

He smiled too, letting her know the reminder of the party’s purpose did not offend or hurt him, leaning back in his office chair and putting his hands behind his head. Samara played with her necklace, brows knit. He said, “I think it’s pretty clear now.”

Both women smiled and then exchanged a look. Gabrielle said, “There are about a dozen women here interested in what’s going on with you.”

He sat forward again, studying them. “What do you mean by that? What is going on with me?”

Gabrielle said, “We don’t even know,” then laughed. “But you should know there are some women here at Swanson who have their fingers crossed.”

“Fingers crossed for what?”

Samara slid off his desk corner and she and Gabrielle sauntered away, Gabrielle saying, “Don’t be coy, Josh. You know you’re a catch.”

  *

The elevator doors opened, but she stayed in the cab, eight-thirty Monday morning, back at work. Anything was possible. Anything could have met her past those open doors.

If someone arrested her today or at least summoned her for questioning, she dressed showing power. Tall in Louboutin heels; slim black Prada pant suit; long, black Gucci overcoat; hair back and shining; red lipstick.

There were two competing philosophies, standing in the closet this morning, wondering what to wear. One: if she dressed well, they’d think she’d done it. If she dressed down, maybe they’d think she was too meek to do what Stone Senior accused her of. But, shit, she had done it. She’d stolen money. Better to dress nice because when she dressed nice, she thought different, acted different, and any edge to keep herself out of jail was worth a shot.

The lobby looked as it looked every morning. Tami at her desk, her office with the light off, sounds of the photocopier from down the hall. It smelled like coffee. She stepped into the lobby and as the doors closed behind her that’s when she expected the RCMP officers to step out from wherever they were hiding and ask her to step aside. But nothing happened. Tami greeted her the way she greeted her every day. Smiling now, getting papers together, no look on her face that said there was something going on and she was told to act normal. Tami did not have the wherewithal to act unknowing given a salacious tidbit like her boss would be arrested later today or would be fired. Tami’s innocent face showed nothing; like she hadn’t heard even a rumor about what her boss had done.

Kimmy greeted her and asked her for messages.

Tami said, “Lou in Kingston, following up on the Pearl River deal; and a contract from GS Freight is coming by courier this morning.”

Kimmy picked up the mail that Tami hadn’t put on her desk yet and leafed through it, finding nothing alarming. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

No messages from The Law Society; no messages from Aaron Berg, Esquire; no messages from Stone Senior. All morning she went on like business as usual, and then at eleven, she got a call from the worst person imaginable.

He said, “Good morning, Chang. You free for lunch?”

“It’s tight today, Devlin.”

“I’ll rephrase: You’re not free for lunch because you have an important business meeting that you can’t get out of.”

While talking to him, she’d busied herself, as if he were in the room and she was avoiding eye contact and he would get the message and leave her alone. But he wasn’t here. This was avoidance. She bowed her head and narrowed her eyes, rubbing her temple. Across the room the cranes flew from right to left, the lucky painting her father had bought her for her office when she’d landed this lucrative job; the same painting she’d thought she would witness marched out of the lobby and thrown on the concrete last Friday night. Her breaths came quick and her chest tightened. She said, “Where?”

He said, “The usual place. Twelve-thirty. We’ve got important things to discuss.”

Devlin’s tone was hopeful and upbeat. Did he know by now what was happening? Did his father tell him? Devlin’s voice didn’t sound like he knew what she’d done. But Devlin was sinister. Devlin would take great delight in hurting her if given the chance.

The RCMP were waiting in “the usual place.” Or Berg and Devlin’s father. Or maybe Devlin and his buddy Rumble, and they would pull off her jacket and punch her in the stomach like they’d done to Josh all those years ago. It wasn’t even that long ago.

She told him she’d be there and hung up. Then tried to get back to work but her hands were shaking. She couldn’t hold a piece of paper without it flapping like a dying bird’s wing. She squeezed her hands into tight fists then opened them, doing it over and over, holding out her hands then and staring at them, looking for signs of weakness. Cursing herself. 

Steel your nerves. For fuck’s sake, your future depends on it.

  *

Devlin answered the door. “Not like you to be late, Chang,” he said, smiling, eyes casual, hooded. Confident.

Her heart galloped in her chest, everything sensible in her brain telling her she never should have come here. The effort to manifest a confident aura pushed her to the limit; no one even knew she was here in this apartment with Devlin.

This was the last place she should be. This was dangerous.

And what about Josh?

It was too late to save Josh from harm. Or from worrying. He wouldn’t care she was here. He would expect her to be here. She should have told him last night. She should have told him everything. And why hadn’t she? Afraid he would disown her. Afraid the timing was so wrong, it would seal the deal in what seemed like Josh’s final verdict on her and their marriage. No good. Wicked. Foul. Maybe one more day to right the wrongs, then she would tell him. If she’d told him, she wouldn’t have to be here. Maybe he would have understood. Maybe he would have held her, tried to comprehend all the inexplicable badness that had flowed from her. Josh could have said there’s no way you’re going back. We’re going to figure this out together. We’ll get you a lawyer. We’ll make things right.

She said, “I got here when I could,” and stepped past him and into the foyer like she didn’t have a care in the world. Devlin closed the door behind her and she closed her eyes, expecting him to hook a powerful forearm around her neck and lift her off her feet, take her to the couch and beat the shit out of her. His hand touched her back, strong but reassuring, not looking to grip her by the back of the neck. Had he ever taken Josh like that, taken him by the back of the neck and pushed her husband’s face into the toilet? Had Rumble flushed?

“Better late than never,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He took her coat, hung it up on a hook, and then did the strangest thing: he held up a finger to his mouth, as if warning her to be quiet.

Bugs in the house? The RCMP? Why would he shush her?

Devlin saw her scowling, then smiled, nothing to worry about, taking her arm and walking her into the apartment. Not to the couch where they would usually go, and not down the hall to the bedroom, which sometimes they would go to first, bypassing the casual pre-fucking drinks. She was reluctant to go with him, but didn’t resist.

He said, “Let’s get you a drink,” heading to the minibar by the window.

“I can’t,” she said, reminding him. “I’m pr—”

He put a finger to his mouth again, silencing her. She frowned, eyes narrowing on his, showing him he had to explain. Devlin said, “Perrier?”

“Fine,” she said. “What’s going on?”

Devlin went to the bar and plied two ice cubes from a bucket, tossed them in a glass and topped it up with fizzy water. He said, “We’re not alone,” and held out the glass for her to come and take it.