Choke On Your Lies Part 8

"It was no one, I told you...just the wife of a guy I work with. A friend of Frannie's, so, it was kind of awkward."

"Because you like her."

I shook my head. "Never thought of her like that."

"Sure, sure. Bulls.h.i.+t, but sure. What else?"

"Why does this matter-"

"Hey!" She snapped her fingers. I turned my face to her, cheeks full of coffee. "If you think it's serious enough to hide it from me, I think it's worth knowing. She's a friend of Frances. She caught you at the office in the middle of summer. She'll tell Frances. Frances will wonder why. What are the odds she'll figure it out?"

I finally swallowed the coffee, but felt it bubbling up again into my esophagus. "See, though, I, um, wrote David's address on a Post-It, and ran into her coming out of the office."

"She saw the address."

"I handled it. It's fine." I cringed. You should never tell Octavia that anything's fine. After that, it becomes her personal mission to find out what's really going on. No one says everything's fine unless everything's f.u.c.ked.

She took a long breath, in and out her nose, dragonlike. On the tail end of the exhale, she said, "Okay."

Not the hand grenade I was expecting. "Her husband has been looking for a new position, and to have something really good come up over the summer is rare, and it would also put the department in a bind if he were to leave. So I caught her helping him with that, and she caught me with an address she thought was for a date. We made a deal-she doesn't snitch on me, and I-"

"I get it. And you believed her. She'll hint her way around that restriction and Fran will guess as soon as she hears you're headed to St. Cloud."

"Way ahead of you."

She laughed, sudden and hearty. "Oh, I don't think so. You'd better get going. I'll handle damage control."

"But there's nothing to control."

She pointed at me with her mug. "If that's what the you think, the only reason you're ahead of me is because I lapped you."

If she was right, then I might have been heading into a trap. At the very least, David would have been forewarned. But maybe that was good. I wouldn't have to stumble my way through this. We'd both know exactly where we stood from the get go.

I thought of lines from Yeats: I sing what was lost and dread what was won, I walk in a battle fought over again, My king a lost king, and lost soldiers my men...

Shudder.

At the right address, I parked on the curb across the street. Really, a dated eighties suburb, some refurbishments like bay windows and tall back decks added to the houses trying to cla.s.s them up-the owners growing richer but choosing to add obnoxious additions and DIY upwards, throwing the whole street into a tizzy of styles and values. A real time warp from lot to lot. It made sense for David to be from a place like this. It explained his quiet demeanor. Other students, the ones whose parents knew from the beginning it would be a private college like ours for their kids, pranced through cla.s.ses with a sense of ent.i.tlement, a cloud of smug over them whether they were working hard for the prof's attention or doing their best to escape it entirely.

David always seemed a little out of place there. A scholars.h.i.+p kid, well above average, but never looking for the spotlight. Our small talk always focused on cla.s.swork rather than nightlife, art, dating, what was on TV, music, or YouTube. I didn't get it. He didn't seem the type to want to s.e.x up any of his teachers. Frances must have chosen him for some reason. She was the one who made the advances.

A couple of lawn mowers whined out of sync. One was a few houses down, the other out of sight. A bright day, I needed sungla.s.ses to keep from squinting. All the better to keep him from reading my intentions so easily.

I walked up to the door and rang the bell. There was only one car in the drive, a cheap older compact that announced itself as "College Kid's Car". Home alone would be good. No, wait. It meant he could make up any story he wanted, and all it would take was one neighbor, Mr. Mower for instance, saying I was here. I thought about leaving. Ready to turn around and give up before- The door opened, only the screen between us. He looked appropriately crumpled and unwashed for a college junior on vacation. Hard to tell if he'd just woken or not.

He didn't say anything. Didn't even look surprised.

And me, nervous ol' me, couldn't help myself. "David, hey, sorry to just drop in like this but, you know, I'd make a mess of it over the phone, all the technical stuff. I'm lost half the time, so if you can show me...Oh, I forgot, the magazine, just a couple of things we need to check on. No biggie, but they can't wait all summer, right?"

Not getting anything but the blank stare, drifting into annoyance. On his turf, he let it s.h.i.+ne through much more aggressively, I suppose.

"If you've got plans or something, I understand, but if I could show you..." I wasn't getting anywhere, and he wasn't buying it. So, f.u.c.k it. I played up taking off my sungla.s.ses, sliding them into my pocket. Sighed. Looked him in the eye and said, "We need to talk."

At first, I thought all I'd get was the same heavy-lidded stare, but he shrugged and turned away from the screen, headed into the living room.

I didn't know if that was an invite or not, but what the h.e.l.l. I opened the screen and stepped inside. I followed him into the living room, where a flat screen at the opposite end, a video game console attached to it, but both were off. Maybe a younger brother. David would be more interested in the computer in his room.

He sat on the couch lazily, and I suddenly felt much more apprehensive. David, in sweatshorts, barefoot, and musky, had the upper hand and knew it. He didn't look at me as I took the chair beside the couch, at least trying to keep the professor/student hierarchy intact, a bit like therapist and patient. Crossed my legs, wondered if he would offer me something to drink. But he didn't. Wasn't going to.

I said, "You f.u.c.ked my wife."

Like that. Out in the open air.

Still not looking at me. "Sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

That's when I realized I had expected a lot more.

"You think that's enough? 'Sorry'? Like, 'Oh, my bad?'"

"No one says that anymore."

"Whatever they say."

He s.h.i.+fted around, flexed his toes. Shoulders scrunched up around his ears where he had reclined in the deep back cus.h.i.+ons. Like he was a part of the couch. Just furniture.

"David, I'm talking to you."

"Well, I'm sorry. I am. It's been a long time anyway."

"What's a long time?"

"Like, I don't know. Christmas? January?"

"So, five months to you is a long time?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Like a whole semester."

I could've lectured him, I supposed. Employed some sarcasm that might operate over his head, make him look even dumber than he currently looked. Might have made me feel a little better about myself, until I remembered the part about him sleeping with Frannie. Were little victories all I had left? Something to satisfy me even if it meant nothing to anyone else? I mean, I could wilt this kid with intellect and scathing wit, but he'd yawn because I was in his house and the worst I could do was fire him from his stupid job, and he could get another one on campus very easily.

I s.h.i.+fted in my chair. G.o.d, what a bad idea all of this was. I wished he had offered me some water or something. My mouth was desert dry.

"David...you can still stay on my good side."

"Really?"

"It depends. I need your help."

He laughed. "That's what this is? You want me to help you in your divorce?"

"David-"

"Dude, Professor, how'd you even find out? She told you, right?"

I shook my head. Why was it me on the receiving end now? "That's not important."

"Did you follow her? Wait, why would you wait, like, half a year to tell me if you knew back then? So she had to tell you. Or someone else. Someone else told you?"

"Stop right there." I was leaning forward, pointer finger up and accusing. "I know is how I know. I found out. And you, you'd better be glad it's me here asking instead of my lawyer. It's more than just you f.u.c.king my s.l.u.t of a wife. You weren't the only one, you know."

"Neither were you."

"Well thank you, young man. I needed that. As if I didn't already know. What, it makes everything better? It obviously p.i.s.sed you off a little too, her not wanting to ride you anymore. You remember the exact time she told you. I bet it was a day after the last time you f.u.c.ked her. And I bet you pleaded with her. 'Please, please, no, I'll do anything.'"

"Shut up!"

My subconscious got the better off me. No more restraint. "It was that good, wasn't it? I should know. Make fun of me all you want, but I got a lot more of it than you ever did or ever will. Years of it. So you want to be p.i.s.sed off at me, or do you want to get back at her?"

He stood. "I don't care. It's still better than helping you. You're a f.u.c.king p.r.i.c.k, man. Every day I walk into your office, I know you're going to make me feel like I'm beneath you. Like you're the big giver of wisdom. I'm so sick of it, man. Sick of you. I don't care how many times you tried to be, like, nice. It was always this condescending bulls.h.i.+t. n.o.body likes you. No one in any of your cla.s.ses. They all think you're a d.i.c.k."

I stood, too. I eased my sungla.s.ses out of my pocket, slipped them over my eyes. Stepped closer. "That's enough. I know better. I've gotten as far as I have because people like me, they like my work and the way I teach. Just because you're a pathetic scholars.h.i.+p kid whose best is only a fraction of what some of your cla.s.smates have on their worst day, don't think for one day, not even one second, that you're better than me."

"Get out of my house. Just get the f.u.c.k out. I quit."

"No, you're going to help me."

"f.u.c.k you."

It was the exact wrong time. Way too late. I'd f.u.c.ked it royally, but that's when Octavia's whispering voice in my mind turned to a shout.

I slapped David hard across the face.

I mean, much harder than I expected. My hand throbbed like I'd slammed it in a car door. David gritted his teeth. His cheek went bright red.

Oh no. No, no, no.

Octavia again: now, tell him what you want.

"David. You helped my wife forge my name on a quit-deed. I need you to tell that to my attorney, and tell me where to find the robot pen she used.

He lifted his chin. "You ever hit me again-"

"David!" Came out as a bark.

He blinked. "I don't know what you're talking about. If I did, I'd tell you. I wouldn't help you, but I'd want you to know it was me who f.u.c.ked you over."

Before Octavia's voice warned me that he was probably telling the truth, my hand was on the move, aiming for the same spot on his face.

But this time, before I'd even followed through, David had grabbed my wrist and forced it down. He shoved me. I went down, flipped over the chair's armrest. He straddled me before I realized what had happened, punched me in the chest. I fought him, held his arms, s.h.i.+elded myself and tried to buck him off.

He got a hand free and landed his own slap across my face. My sungla.s.ses went flying.

"You like that? How's that feel? Huh?"

Another one.

"Feeling like s.h.i.+t yet? The way you made me feel? Huh?"

Another one.

I said, "Enough! That's enough, G.o.dd.a.m.nit!"

"I don't think so."

"Get! Off!" I threw all of my weight to the left.

He fell back, banged the back of his head against the edge of the end-table, rattling the picture frames on top. He grunted and reached for the point of impact. I scrambled up and away.

His fingers came away from his head b.l.o.o.d.y. He winced.

I felt bad. I wasn't even really hurt. "Are you okay?"

"Get out of here."

"I'm sorry, David, okay? But, seriously, I'm about to lose my house over this. Do you understand? My house!"

But what do kids understand, right? He was probably thinking Then get another house. You've got money. Or, Get an apartment. Or, So? Point two, who was going to believe him? He's going to try to say a professor slapped him? All I had to do was fake it. I did, even. Seethed through my teeth and grabbed my shoulder.

"I think you dislocated it."

A couple of drops of blood fell from his head to the carpet. He looked up, mouth open, imagining his future slipping through his fingers like sand. He said, "Look, I'll change my major. I won't take any English cla.s.ses. Just...I don't know anything about your house or robots or anything. I swear."

I closed my eyes. "I think I'm going to throw up."

"Please, Professor. I'm sorry. It wasn't what you think. She came onto me, but it wasn't about you, I don't think. It was...I can't tell you."

"What the f.u.c.k do you mean, you can't tell me? You won't?"

"That's not what I meant. I mean...I can't. I don't know. It just happened."

I didn't believe it.

He glanced left and right, picked himself up and looked over at the clock on the wall. "I need to clean this up before my mom gets back. Please. Get out of here. Don't get me involved. I can't help you."