Exposed: A Novel (2 page)

“No, Jess, I just wanted someone perfect for me, and I wanted to be perfect for him.”

The clock chimed. Six o’clock. No dinner. No romantic surprise. Oh, God, take me back to the beginning. Take this day away. I looked at the clock, wishing for a fast-forward button, a rewind button, anything to take the pain away. The second hand traveled around the clock. I wondered what our future looked like. I looked at Jessie and back to the clock. Part of me didn’t care about the future. Part of me wanted to leave him and find someone else. Part of me believed I’d never heal.

Jessie’s eyes searched my face. I looked away.

Somewhere inside, somewhere beneath the shadows, I knew I loved him. Life without him wouldn’t be life at all. But who is he? I wondered. He’s not the man I thought I married.

Chapter 2
Taylor

I didn’t know I’d become what some people dub a porn star two months after my eighteenth birthday, but I did.

Mom told me to find a job, get out there in the real world and be independent. I didn’t know how to wash my clothes, much less find a job. But the last thing I wanted was another bruised cheek for my “attitude,” as she would say. So, I went to Walgreens and bought a newspaper, sat down on the curb outside, and scanned the job listings as the sun heated my face.

Models 18+ needed, $500 a day,
stopped my searching eyes. I never thought much of myself in the looks department, but Daddy always told me I was pretty. And maybe I’d feel better about myself if I told people what I did for a living.

I pulled my cell phone from my purse and dialed the local number. One, two, three, four rings, then silence.

A man’s voice said something, but I couldn’t hear.

“Hello?” I said.

“Yes, yes,” he said as though a huge smile were on his face. “Andy Cross, how can I help you?”

“I’m sorry, I must have the wrong number.”

“Are you calling about the modeling ad?”

Don’t kid yourself, Taylor, I thought.

“Are you interested in the modeling job? I bet you are. I can tell you’re beautiful just by the sound of your voice.”

Whoa, his words felt like Chapstick to sun-scorched lips. “Um, yes, could you tell me more about it?”

“Sure, would you like to meet for an in-person interview?”

I looked at the gravel by my feet, unsure of what to say.

“What’s your name?” he said.

“Taylor.”

“Taylor, I will make sure you get the attention you’ve always dreamed of. You want to feel good about yourself? I’ll help you. And to top it all off, you’ll make $500 just for a two-hour photo shoot.” He paused. “I’ll tell you what, you can try it out for a day, if you don’t like it you can stop—no contract until you’re ready.”

I straightened my back and looked at the shopping center across Joppa Road. “But you don’t even know what I look like.”

“You must be pretty if you dialed this number. How old are you?”

“I turned eighteen two months ago.”

“Perfect. When do you want to set up an appointment to learn more?”

$500 for two hours sounded nice to me. Within one week I’d be in my own apartment, on my own, free from Mom’s emotional disasters.

“Taylor, I take care of all of my models. If you’re shy, I promise you’ll feel confident after one photo shoot with me.”

I cleared my throat and stood, balancing myself on the edge of the curb. “I’m just not sure if I have what—”

“You will.” Such a sugary attitude?his enthusiasm oozed like syrup through the phone. “What time can you meet with me?”

He seemed so encouraging, more than most people I knew. Most people shunned me, bruised me, ignored me for being introverted, different, too quiet—this guy cared and he didn’t even know me!

“How about tomorrow at noon?”

I hopped off the curb and walked toward my leaking Camry. “Sure. Where am I meeting you?”

He explained directions as I drew them on a receipt I found in my purse, then we hung up. Before I got in my car I looked at my phone and wondered what I’d gotten myself into. A model? Me?

Unsure but hopeful about my new future, I couldn’t help but laugh. The girl voted “Least Likely to Succeed” in middle school, go figure. And Mom, this’d really blow her away. All those times she told me I’d fail at everything. Maybe I’d finally prove her wrong.

I got into my car and looked in the rear-view mirror. Taylor Jane Adams. A model. I smiled at myself. Yeah, maybe life would go uphill for once. Twisting my keys in the ignition, I kept looking at my reflection.

I saw Daddy’s eyes in my own and couldn’t help but wonder how proud he’d be if he were still alive.

I turned the music up as loud as it could go and drove out of the parking lot singing with Steven Tyler.

Life, finally, might be worth living.

Andy Cross looked nothing like I imagined. Short hair, adventurous eyes, well-toned arms—gorgeous.

He opened the front door and greeted me with a smile as wide as his face. “Taylor, you look stunning!”

“You too. I mean, um—”

He laughed.

I smiled, sponging the attention from his charming eyes.

He ushered me inside, looked me up and down, spun me around, then stared me dead in the eyes and said, “Wow, you’re perfect.”

Not sure how to respond, I scanned the house. “I didn’t realize you worked from home.”

“How about we go sit down in the living room?”

Something drew me to Andy Cross. I followed him down a narrow hallway, through the biggest, cleanest kitchen I’ve ever seen, and into a living room with an enormous television mounted on the wall. He sat down on the coffee table and motioned to the leather couch across from him. I sat and placed my purse beside me.

He pulled his leg toward him, and rested his foot on his knee. “Are there any questions I can answer for you?”

Looking down, I searched for a question. Clueless, I peered up at him through my bangs. “Um, I’m not sure.”

“Well, how about we get started?”

My shoulders lifted. “Now . . . you . . . what?”

His laugh soothed my thumping chest. “I’ll get my camera and we’ll take a few pictures for practice, how does that sound?”

“But don’t I need a wardrobe or something?”

“You look perfect.” He stood and disappeared around the corner.

Elbows on my knees, I analyzed the carpet and shook my foot so fast I thought I’d fling my shoe across the room.

Andy walked in the room with a digital camera no bigger than my shoe. “Ready?”

“You don’t have a professional camera?”

Laughing, he held out the camera. “Oh, you’ll be surprised at the beauty this thing captures.”

I smiled.

“Ah, do that again.” He held the camera in front of him.

With my hands on the couch, I leaned forward and smiled up at him. A few flashes and
You’re beautifuls
later my foot stopped freaking out.

I could get used to this.

Andy sat down beside me and showed me the pictures he took. Seeing myself through his eyes made me smile. Someone thought I was pretty. Someone believed in me.

“Now,” he said, touching my shoulder. “How about we try something else?” Slow and steady, he touched my shoulder and glided my sleeve down my arm.

His gentleness reassured me. And three hours later I left his house with $500 in my purse feeling like someone finally accepted me, wanted me, and believed in me. The PG-13 pictures he took of me? Eh, I didn’t think about them. I ignored the voice in my head that kept saying, “What are you doing? What if someone you know finds out?”

But then I realized that no one cared about me anyway.

No one except Andy Cross.

Chapter 3
Ally

Two days of brief conversations passed until I finally opened up to Jessie. He came to bed, late as usual, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been looking at those women again. I rolled over to ignore him, but I wanted to probe his brain for details my heart didn’t want to hear.

“How many times did you do it?” I finally said, still not facing him.

“About three or so. I can’t remember.”

“You can’t remember?”

“Ally, it’s not like I try to remember every detail when it happens. It just happens.”

“Promise me it was only three times since we were married.”

“I don’t know. It was about that.”

“Did you ever rent videos or buy magazines?”

“No.”

I believed him, but had to be sure. “Promise.”

“I promise.”

Then I tried to forgive him, but only nodded when he asked if I could forgive and work through everything.

Honestly, fear birthed my forgiveness. Fear of what people would think of me, what kind of Christian wife would I be if I didn’t forgive, and better yet, what kind of marriage counselor I’d be if I didn’t give my husband another chance.

“Do you really forgive me?” Jessie said as I turned away from him.

“I don’t feel it. But maybe one day I will.”

He reached for me.

I turned back around. “I need time, Jess. I still need time.”

“But I’m your husband.”

“That didn’t stop you from doing your thing.”

He sighed. “Take all the time you need.”

I closed my eyes and thought of the time I counseled Shane and Gina on my second day of work at MacPhail Christian Counseling. Similar situation. I remembered Shane’s face like a day hadn’t passed since he left my office, all twisted over his marriage. He wanted it to work.

An image of Gina’s body flying off a 190-foot rock outcrop fogged my mind. Chills ran down my arms. I could almost hear her body cracking tree limbs and thumping on the ground. Suicide. Over her emotions. I often wondered if I could have prevented it, but I’ll never know. She died after thrusting her body off King and Queen’s Seat in Rocks State Park. Crazy.

Sounds ridiculous, but it’s not hard to see why.

Jessie’s light snore brought me back to reality. My reality.

Okay, so I forgave, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be married to him. I mean, part of me did, part of me didn’t. A big part of me didn’t. I tried clinging to the beginning, to all of our memories, but the more I thought of them the more I realized they were fake. Years of betrayal masked by unauthentic faithfulness.

I closed my eyes. Naked women posed on the backs of my eyelids. I opened my eyes, hoping to peel back the shade of women over my eyes, but they stayed, posing in the moonlight across the room.

And they posed until I fell asleep an hour later.

Monday rolled around, but I didn’t think I could handle work. So I planned to reschedule my appointments, which I’d never done before.

On my way out the door, to sit and read and think at Barnes & Noble, my cell phone rang.

“Hey, Ver,” I said.

“You okay?” she said.

“Yeah, why?”

“You sound different.”

“I do?”

“Oh, stop. I’ve known you since the good ‘ole days when you’d spit out your gum and I’d pick it up and eat it, dirt covered and all, remember those days?”

Ah, I almost forgot what it felt like to laugh. Only Verity, my best friend since we were in first grade, could make me laugh like that. “Speaking of gum, it sounds like you’ve got about ten pieces in your mouth. Why aren’t you at work?”

“Two weeks off. We had vacation planned but there was an emergency and Tim had to fill in.” She chewed in my ear. “That’s life. Why aren’t you on your way to work?”

“Can you stop chewing so loud?”

“You got your period or something?”

“If only you knew.”

She laughed and sloshed her gum around. I pictured her sitting there amused at her own joke, twirling one of her braided pigtails. “So, really, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right.”

Verity doesn’t let things go. But I couldn’t tell her. Especially after years of making it sound like I had the most perfect husband in the world. She’d just say, “I told you so,” and that’s the last thing I wanted to hear. She didn’t believe any marriage could be truly good. Everything was a mask to her, covered up to make the world think we’re strong when we’re not.

“We’ll talk later,” I said. “Love ya. Bye.”

Bits of rising sun peeked through our Autumn Cherry tree whose white flowers would bloom in Fall as most trees leaned toward nakedness.

A blonde woman slipped into my thoughts.

I picked my cell phone back up and speed dialed MacPhail Christian Counseling. Lauren answered in her typical joyful way.

“Hi Lauren. It’s Allyson. I’m not going to be able to make it—”

“Is everything okay?”

“Just a family emergency. If you could reschedule the Porter’s for next Thursday afternoon that’ll work.”

“Okay, I’ll keep you in my prayers.”

Thanks, but they won’t work, I wanted to tell her. “I should be in tomorrow. Could you let Mr. Almond know I’m sorry?”

“Oh, sure. But you know what kind of boss he is. Family first.” The word family lingered. “I hope you feel better soon. Thanks for calling. Don’t worry, I’ll handle everything.”

I hung up and wondered how to counsel couples when I had a dying marriage of my own. My dreams of helping couples stay in love seemed impossible. Another blonde interrupted my thoughts. So different from me. So blonde, so curvy, so not me. So my husband’s secret type.

Jessie turned on the shower upstairs.

I walked to the garage door and grabbed my purse from our coat rack, tossed my keys and phone inside, and opened the door.

Cold cement.

Shoes, I needed my shoes.

I tip-toed up the stairs and to our bedroom. Trying not to be heard, I slipped on a pair of flip-flops and headed for the stairs.

“Ally?” Jessie called from the shower.

Flip-flopping through the house, I ignored him and left.

Everything in my life gleamed with romance. My dreams all came true, except for not having a baby. But as for my marriage, I couldn’t have asked for more. Jessie gave me a beautiful life. More beautiful than I imagined it could ever be. Fairy-tale like.

Perfect.

Until now.

I drove around all day with no destination as I replayed those stupid images and wasted ten dollars and nineteen cents worth of gasoline.

I turned right onto Route 24 in Bel Air and speed dialed Mom, returning her call.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, Mom.” My voice trembled. I gulped, stopped at the red light, and tried speaking again. “What’s the news you needed to tell me?”

“You’re not at work?”

I stared at Barnes & Noble in my rearview mirror and accelerated the car. Memories. So many memories. The lines on the road blurred. My ears rang so loud I thought blood would trickle out. I blinked my eyes and pictured another woman. My husband fantasized about her. I inhaled. My chest hurt. Life hurt.

I’m not good enough, I thought.

I did everything right, everything I told my clients. I kept the house clean. I never doubted his decisions, even when I worried he might be wrong. Not one day passed when I didn’t try to look pretty for him, making sure to wear clothes I knew he loved. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner waited for him every day, even when I wasn’t home. And sex, we had great sex at least twice a week since the day we married. Okay, partly to have a baby, but still.

Anything I’d ever known to do as a wife, I did. I checked off my wifely duty list with zeal. I worked so hard to please him. Gave him everything. All of me. All I had.

And he lied.

“Ally, you still there?”

“Sorry. I’m here.”

“Everything okay?”

“Fine, Mom. No worries. So what did you need to tell me?”

“It can wait. Can you come over on Thursday? I get off work early. I’ll tell you then. You sure you’re alright?”

“Stop worrying, Mom.”

“You’ve said that since you were five. You should know by now that it’s my job to worry.”

She took pride in her worry. Thought it made her a good mother. I wanted to tell her to give her life to God, to give her children to God. To not worry so much about everything. But I couldn’t say that. My Bible collected dust, deserted in the same spot I left it three months ago. God drifted as far away from my thoughts as she wanted Him to be from her.

I hung up with Mom and parked my car with a front row view of Panera Bread. Not that I wanted to eat, I needed to think, cry, or something.

A couple walked into view. Fingers locked. Eyes fixed on each other. Obviously well inebriated with love. A car screeched to a halt to avoid hitting them. With hearts in their eyes, they had no idea. The frustrated driver beeped her horn and threw her hands in the air. Still oblivious to the world around them, the man opened the door to Panera for his love without letting go of her hand. She kissed him on the cheek and entered. He followed. So did my heart.

I missed my old Jessie. The Jessie who didn’t betray me. The Jessie who held my hand the first night we met and gave me five beautiful reasons why he wouldn’t kiss me. That brisk April night floated through my mind with such clarity I could almost taste his kiss.

Jessie and I met in the café at Barnes & Noble when I was twenty and he was twenty-two. After he fake proposed to me on that chilly April night, he walked me to my car. You wouldn’t believe me, but I parked only two cars away from his black Honda Del Sol. I took that as a sign from God that I’d met my soul-mate.

With his elbow on the roof of my car and his head leaning against his hand, he said, “Can I tell you why I won’t kiss you?”

Not quite what I wanted to hear. “I guess so.”

“Five reasons. One, I respect you. Two, I respect my future wife. Three, I respect myself. Four, I respect God. And five, I need to give you a reason to go on another date.”

I smiled. “So, you’re a Christian?”

“Yes.”

I respected him and accepted his offer to wait for our first kiss.

We said our parting words. I sat down in my car, closed the door, wound the window down, scribbled my phone number on the back of a receipt and handed it to him.

“Thanks for a great night.” He kissed my hand.

Butterflies, butterflies, butterflies! “Thank you.”

He tapped the roof of my car twice, said, “Goodnight,” and walked away.

I started my car and watched him disappear behind the car next to us then sit in his Del Sol. He waved to me from the driver’s seat and looked away. As he started the car, I hopped out of my car and quietly closed the door. I had to retaliate after his fake proposal. Little did he know, I knew how to pull off amazing pranks too.

The cool air tousled my hair as I crouched on the ground and skirted around Jessie’s car. My heart raced like a kid playing hide and seek. Still ducking low, I neared the driver’s side window.

Just under Jessie’s window I halted.

One, two, three.

I popped straight up. My hair tossed around my face as I flung my palms against his window and wailed like a dying goat. Yes, a dying goat. And no, no matter how many times Jessie asked me since, I could not recapture that sound.

“Whoa!” Jessie’s hands thumped against the roof of the car.

A laugh started in my face, knotted my stomach, and squeezed my eyes so hard tears wet my cheeks. He crossed his arms over his steering wheel and put his head down.