Fidelity Files (33 page)

"So?" I asked eagerly.

His expression turned serious and he shot me a glance that said,
This isn't the time nor the place
. Then he grabbed hold of my elbow and roughly steered me back toward the parking lot. "Let's talk somewhere private," he said in his best 1940s detective voice.

"Oh, c'mon, John. Tell me what happened!"

He nudged his head warningly toward the entrance of the dock and I decided to just play along and let John bask in his artificial moment of glory.

He walked me up the stairs, through the parking lot of cars all valued at fifty thousand dollars and up, and then over to a large oak tree, rooted purposefully at the corner of the lot to create ambience.

John turned and faced me. He closed his eyes as if attempting to muster up the courage to break bad news. I let out an impatient sigh.

He took a deep breath. "Um, yeah...he's gay," he said matter-of-factly.

I let out a laugh. "That whole charade was just for
that
?"

"Hey, I'm a professional. I couldn't risk any of the elite dock crowd overhearing and possibly ruining his reputation. He's obviously not out of the closet yet." He paused for a moment and then added, "Although he should be. I mean, anyone who kisses like that shouldn't be locked up in no closet!"

I laughed again. "You kissed him?"

"He kissed me!" John corrected. "Just like you told me. I didn't initiate anything! It was all him."

"Really?" Even I was enjoying a small portion of this TV-worthy drama.

John nodded proudly. "Yes. I told him
you
were going to get the coffee because you thought I would screw up your order. So he invited me to see his boat. We talked, flirted, et cetera. And then he leaned in and just went for it."

I shook my head in disbelief. "I can't believe this."

"Yeah. Me neither." John cocked his head to the side. "I mean, how did he even know I was gay?"

I stared at him in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

He looked down at his outfit again. "What? Is it really that obvious?"

I decided not to even go there. Besides, I had bigger things to worry about than whether or not John thought he
looked
gay.

"So I guess now the only problem is: How on earth do I report something like this back to his wife?"

John shook his head and offered me a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, you're on your own for that one, honey."

I SAT across from Sarah Miller, and for the first time in a long time, I was actually fidgeting. I couldn't sit still. I had to literally hold my hands together in my lap to keep them from wandering up into my hair, to the back sides of my earrings, into my mouth. This kind of post-assignment review was definitely a first for me.

"Snickerdoodle?" Mrs. Miller offered, pushing a small plate of unidentifiable chocolate lumps toward me. I would have normally said no, but I suddenly felt bad for her: cooking up a storm, trying desperately to win back her husband's attention by becoming the next Betty Crocker, when, in the end, all he wanted to do was find a Bobby Cocker.

So I grabbed a lump off the plate and took a small nibble. "Thank you. This is delicious."

"You're welcome." Sarah sat upright in her seat and folded her hands neatly in her lap.

"I don't know how to tell you this, Mrs. Miller, so I'm just going to come right out and say it."

"He cheated, right?" she asked, with hope in her voice.

I tilted my head to the side. "Well, actually... not in the way you would think."

This seemed to throw her off. She delicately scratched an itch at the base of her hairline and looked to me for further explanation.

"As it would turn out, your husband really wanted nothing to do with me...in an intimate sense."

She nodded, unsure of where this was going, and motioned for me to continue.

"He was actually more interested in my friend ...my
male
friend."

Mrs. Miller pressed her lips together tightly, and I could see a puzzled expression come over her face. "How do you mean? As in a business sense?"

I shook my head. "No, as in...my friend is...um...gay."

It took her a few moments, but she eventually got it. "Oh dear," she said, her eyes narrowing, her lips curling into a solemn frown.

I felt a wave of sympathy suddenly wash over me. This poor woman. I couldn't even imagine what she must be feeling right now. But as I studied her face, for some reason, I got the sense that her reaction to the news wasn't exactly sincere. She didn't at all resemble a person who had been dreading this kind of truth, trying to prove it wrong, trying to ignore it until she just couldn't ignore it any longer. She more resembled someone trying to hide some kind of self-indulgent amusement with a mask of surprise. Which confused me even more. Just when I thought I had figured her out, figured out exactly what was going on behind the closed doors, I suddenly felt like I was right back where I had started: sitting across from a robot wife who likes to wear aprons and hum while she does dishes.

"I'm sorry I have to be the one to tell you this," I offered, almost as if I was poking at the wound, trying to see if I could rouse any predictable responses.

"Yes, yes," she repeated softly. But it was as if she had something else on her mind. Something quite far from the topic at hand.

And as she ushered me politely out the door less than five minutes later I tried to remind myself that all people grieve in different ways. And I was in no place to judge the way Mrs. Miller reacts to shocking news. After all, I wasn't being paid to contemplate the various emotions that every person must feel on their own. I was being paid to deliver my findings and leave. Which is exactly what I did.

But it still didn't stop me from wondering what the hell was going on in that house after she closed the door.

WHEN I got home and changed out of my slacks and cardigan sweater set, I noticed Jamie's business card, still sitting on my dresser where I had left it the day before.

Oh, that's right,
I reminded myself, as if I hadn't tenaciously stuck it at the back of my mind for the last twenty-four hours.
I was going to cancel our date.

I picked up the card again and stared at the phone number. I reached for my phone and held it tightly in my hand.

Just do it,
I repeated to myself.
You know it's for the best.

I started dialing the area code but my fingers felt heavy and almost numb. I was having trouble pressing the right buttons. As I went to press the number 4, my finger slipped over to the 5. When did the buttons on this cell phone get so goddamn close together? I hit
Clear
and started again.

After entering the last digit, I studied the completed number on the screen of my phone, my finger poised and ready to press the green
Send
button like a finger on a trigger.

It's easy,
I told myself.

I would just press
Send,
he would answer, and I would simply say something like, "I'm sorry, my mother is sick...in Guam, and I'll be moving there for God knows how long..."

"No!" I said aloud. "No more lies."

"I'm sorry, my life is just too complicated right now. I feel that I shouldn't drag you into it."

Perfect.

Honest, truthful, painless...in theory.

I took a deep breath and began to apply pressure on the green button.

And that's when the doorbell rang.

I released my finger and looked curiously in the direction of the hallway. As I made my way to the front door, I checked my watch, and then remembered that my mom, Julia, and Hannah were coming over today to take me out to lunch.

I quickly put my phone and Jamie's business card down on the dining room table and went to the door.

"Hi, all!" I said, trying to sound excited and well rested. After all, that's how normal people sound on Sunday afternoons, right? Relaxed, calm, enjoying the weekend, reading the paper, maybe even watching a TV movie.

Hannah hugged me briefly and then rushed passed me to do what she always does when she comes to my house: explore my closet.

"Oh my God," I heard her yell from my bedroom a few seconds later as I hugged my mom and Julia. "I love this skirt!"

"Great," Julia said, rolling her eyes. "Now, that's all we're going to hear about on the way back home."

I smiled politely back at her.

Julia stepped inside and took a look around, silently judging everything with her eyes. "Hmm...It's amazing. I always manage to forget how
white
this place is."

I bit my lip to keep myself from throwing back a snide retort, knowing it would get me nowhere.

"Who's Jamie Richards?" I heard my mom's voice ask in a very interested tone.

I immediately swung my head around to find my mother holding Jamie's business card in her hand and examining it with great interest.

"Calloway Consulting," she read aloud from the card, and then picked her head up. "A business associate?"

I shrugged and tried to downplay it. "No. Just a guy I'm dating."

Her face instantly lit up. I could almost see the silhouettes of unborn children appear in my mother's pupils. I suddenly wished I had just lied and told her he was a business associate.

I tried to cover. "It's no big deal, really. I don't think it's going anywhere. Where do you want to go to lunch?"

"How many times have you gone out?" Hannah asked, returning to the living room and plopping down on the couch. She shifted to get comfortable, as if getting ready to watch a movie she'd wanted to see for months. All she was missing was a large bucket of popcorn.

"You know, I don't really want to talk about it," I replied, walking over to my mom and gently removing the white card from her tightly clasped fingers and placing it back on the table. Her fingers had instinctively clenched around what had become a small token of hope.

I didn't see any good in telling them about Jamie since I was undoubtedly going to end it anyway. What was the point in getting them all excited? My life had no room for a man. In fact, I don't even know why I agreed to go out with him in the first place. A cute distraction from my hectic existence? What a pathetically lame thing to do. But I knew my family would never understand my reasoning. "What's so complicated about your life?" Julia would sneer. "You can't avoid your issues with your father forever," my mom would warn in a maternal tone. "He's ugly, isn't he? That's the real reason, right?" Hannah would naively speculate, extremely proud that she had unraveled the truth behind the great mystery that was my love life.

They all stared at me. A woman on trial for her life. Would she please the jury with her agreeable response? Or would she be sent to the gas chamber?

I sighed and threw my hands up in the air. "Twice, okay? We've gone out twice. And I'm afraid it's not working out. Now can we go to lunch?"

"You know," Julia began thoughtfully. The look on her face implied that she was conjuring up something that in her mind would be as significant as the latest scientific breakthrough in cancer research. "Two dates sound like a very familiar number."

"What do you mean?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, don't all of your so-called relationships last about two dates?"

The members of the jury looked to me with eyes that said,
She does have a point, Jen.

Busted! Julia had hit the nail right on the head. All of my so-called relationships
did
last two dates. But what I couldn't tell them was that those "relationships" never actually existed. The fictitious men of my past were usually given two dates before I came up with a reason to scratch them from the lineup. Because I always figured two dates was just long enough that no one could argue I hadn't given them enough time to make an impression, and just short enough that no one got their feelings hurt.

As I contemplated Julia's observation, I suddenly felt very bad for wanting to cancel my third date with Jamie. He was the first "real" guy they'd ever known about. And it was appearing that my artificial "two-date" stigma had actually manifested itself in my real dating life. That couldn't be healthy.

But then again, it was starting to become obvious that
healthy
was definitely not the best word to describe any aspect of my life.

"I don't know what she's talking about," I fought back shamelessly. "Jamie's different. He's not like any of the others."

Meaning he's real.

"For starters," I continued, on the verge of rambling, "he took me golfing for our first date. And we ate hot dogs. I just don't think that I..."

"That's cute!" Hannah interrupted. "Isn't that cute?" she surveyed the rest of the group.

I smiled to myself. It really
was
cute, actually. I had an instant flashback of the two us sitting on that bench outside the snack stand, eating our hot dogs and making jokes about his golfing skills. Or lack thereof. I almost let out a small, reminiscent giggle.

"He sounds delightful," my mom pointed out contentedly.

"Yeah," I admitted softly, sitting down on the couch next to Hannah. "He's really funny, too." A rush of enthusiasm unexpectedly filled my voice as I continued, "He does this thing where he calls me Jennifer H. like they used to in elementary school, because when I first met him I wouldn't tell him what my last name was."

I laughed to myself, as if no one else was in the room. And for a moment...no one else was. I don't know how long I sat there talking about Jamie to seemingly nobody, but I repeated everything. His age, his job, how we met, our extended "stay" on the airport runway, how cute it was that he teased me about having a Palm Pilot...everything. And when I finally stopped, I suddenly realized that everyone's eyes were on me. They waited for more. They longed for it.

I blushed as I became inundated with a strange, unfamiliar feeling.

It was what honesty felt like. It had to be. There was nothing else it could be.

I had talked to my family for a good ten minutes straight without one, single lie coming out of my mouth.

It felt amazing. To talk to the people I love. And to tell them everything. No stories, no made-up details, no alibis. Just me.

It was liberating.

I took a deep breath and ventured a look at their smitten faces. I knew my mom was thinking about the wedding, Hannah was thinking about our first kiss and what it must feel like to have someone's tongue in your mouth, and Julia was still silently gloating over correctly pointing out one of my inherent flaws.

But it didn't matter what any of them were thinking.

All that mattered was that I finally had told them the truth. Well, at least a small portion of it. And now all I wanted to do was tell them more.

But I couldn't.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

I couldn't let myself get carried away. They say anything can be addicting. I believed it now. The truth was the most addictive drug I had ever tried. But a few dates my family could handle. A career of fidelity inspections... not so much. So I kept that part inside and tried to enjoy my moment of pure honesty... while it lasted.

"So tell me again why it's not working out?" my mom asked, completely confused. After hearing me go on nonstop for as long as I had, I'm sure things weren't adding up.

In fact, they weren't really adding up for me, either. When I thought about Jamie I wanted to be with him all the time. But when I thought about everything else, my job, the lies, the blackmailing, the dishonesty, I knew I shouldn't ever see him again.

Right now the only way to avoid a long and eventually heated discussion about the future of my love life was to dodge the question completely. "I don't know," I replied. "I guess we'll have to see."

That seemed to satisfy the lot of them. The hope in their hearts winning out over all the cynicism in mine.

Just then my business line rang. Everyone turned and stared at the ringing phone as if they'd never seen such a futuristic gadget before. "Work," I said, feigning annoyance as I picked it up and quickly stepped into the other room.

Like I said... while it lasted.

"Hello?" I said as quietly as I could into the phone without sounding like I was trying to whisper.

"Yes, hello, Ashlyn?" It was a female voice. Kind and compassionate, with just the slightest trace of sorrow in it.

"Who's calling, please?"

There was a pause on the other end. "Um, my name is Karen... Howard," she said, her voice wavering slightly. It wasn't an uncommon voice characteristic among the females who call this number. "I got your name from a friend."