The Chosen

^{CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE}

He’s here, Vera thought.

Or at least his car was. At once, butterflies careened in her stomach. In less than a minute, I’ll be talking to him. I’ll be standing right in front of him. Paul.

This realization caused a surge of the most unpleasant dread. A thousand excuses came to mind, to get out of it, but then she remembered what Donna had advised. Until she gave herself the chance to have her final word, she’d never be at peace, she’d never get the memory fully out of her psyche. As unnerved as she was, Vera knew there was no other way.

She parked the Lamborghini in the apartment lot, sat a moment, then got out. The cold chafed her, wisping down her chest through her collar despite her efforts to keep it clasped shut. She looked up at the apartment, and felt hollow…

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about anything, she insisted to herself. Just go up there, get your stuff, tell him he’s an asshole, and leave.

The long drive from Waynesville back to the city had been neutral and numb, despite the initial scenery and open, winding roads. What would her reaction be, seeing Paul again for the first time in months, for the first time since…

The hideous ménage à trois played in her mind, and the look in Paul’s eyes when he’d glanced up from the bed. An expression empty of recognition, empty of any sort of care whatsoever.

She seemed to be shoving against a great, invisible weight when she walked up the steps. Full minutes passed while she stood at the front door, staring at it. Should she knock? She should let herself in with her key? Maybe Paul wasn’t alone—

Maybe he’s in there right now with one of his drug-head perverted little girlfriends, she considered.

God. That was one scenario she didn’t even want to think about much less see again.

Then her mind strayed. Maybe I should forget about this. I’ll just tell Donna that I told him off. What good will any of this really do? It’s not necessary. It’s stupid.

But then another, more sensible voice screamed at her. Bullshit, Vera! You’re going to go in there! Right now! You’re not going to chicken out!

All right, all right, she agreed with herself. She withdrew her key, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

She expected a mess, and contrived den of drugs and iniquity, but when she stepped into the living room, it looked exactly as she remembered it: neat and tidy, everything in its place. What do I do now? she wondered. She felt imbecilic standing there. Just walk down the hall, go into the bedroom, and get it over with.

She turned, took one step into the hall—

Paul nearly walked into her.

“Dammit, Paul!” Vera yelled. “You scared the shit out of me!”

Paul had turned out of the hall just as she had turned into it. The moment held him in a mute shock. He blinked hard and stared—then rejoiced: “Vera! You’re back!”

“Yeah, I’m back to get my things,” she said, and brushed by him. “And that’s it.” She stormed into the bedroom, expecting to see evidence of Paul’s decadent secret life, but the bedroom, like the rest of the apartment, was clean and orderly. Come to think of it, Paul himself looked…normal, she considered. Dressed in jeans and the typical flannel shirt he wore when he wrote. He looked like the Paul she’d always known, not a sadomasochistic drug denizen she’d seen the last time she was in this room.

Paul jabbered as he scampered behind her. “Vera, Vera! I’ve been looking all over for you! We really need to talk!”

“No, Paul. We don’t need to talk, I need to talk.” She traipsed about the room, but, now that she was here, she really couldn’t think of anything she wanted. So just say what you came here to say, she resolved.

“You’re a deceitful, cheating scumbag, Paul,” she said, staring him down. “I can’t believe what you did to me, and by now I don’t even care—”

“But—but—” Paul stammered.

“And that’s really all I came here to say Paul. You’re a—”

“But Vera!”

“—lecherous, disgraceful—”

“Please, listen to me!”

“—disgusting—”

“Vera! No!”

“—piece of shit.”

They faced each other then, in thickening silence. That should shut him up, Vera thought. Watch. Next I’ll bet he’ll say something really original, like ‘You don’t understand’ or ‘Let me explain.’ What a pathetic schmuck.

“I know what you must think, and I know how you feel,” he began.

“No, you don’t!” she spat back. She rummaged through the closet, then the dresser. All her old things refaced her now, but they seemed tainted, poisoned. She didn’t even want them anymore. “You don’t know how I feel, and you don’t give a shit anyway,” she finished.

Paul tremored in place. “Vera, at least let me explain.”

Vera laughed. Yes, so predictable. “What’s to explain, Paul?” Then she marched out of the bedroom and back down the hall. “But since you’re so talkative, tell me this? How long were you cheating on me?’’

He followed her, frantic. “Vera, I never cheated on you! I swear it!”

She had to look at him in the utmost incredulity. His audacity astounded her. “Oh, and you were just playing hopscotch with those two girls I caught you with… Well, one of them was a girl. I don’t know what the other one was.”

Paul’s face appeared corrugated as he groped for words. “Please, Vera, listen to me, I’m begging you. I don’t remember much about what happened that night but—”

“Um-hum, and let me guess. You smoke marijuana too, but you never inhale.”

“I know what I did was wrong, but, really, Vera, it wasn’t my fault.’’

“Oh, so whose fault was it then? The girls? They put a gun to your head and forced you to have sex with them? They made you snort cocaine? Is that it?’’

“I don’t even think it was cocaine, I don’t know what it was. I was sick for days afterwards,” Paul yammered. “But at least hear me out, Vera. Please—”

Vera crossed her arms, smirking. “All right, Paul. I’ll give you one minute.”

Paul sat down on the couch, pushed his hair off his brow. “That night, you remember—I went to Kaggies to do my piece on the downtown singles scene. Those two girls showed up, and I swear I never saw them before, and, yes, I started talking to them. But I never had any intention of…you know—”

“Of fucking them,” Vera assisted. “While I was at work.”

“It’s not like that at all,” he pleaded. “All I did was have a drink with them. I wanted to talk with them, I wanted to hear their perceptions about singles bars and stuff. Next thing I know we’re back here, and all kinds of weird stuff is happening. I didn’t know what I was doing, I wasn’t myself at all. I think—I think they must’ve put something in my drink.’’

Vera’s eyes turned in her head. “Paul, that is the lamest bunch of crap I’ve ever heard anyone say. You’ve got to be out of your gourd if you expect me to believe that cock and bull.”

“Vera, I swear, it’s true, they put some drug in my beer that made me nuts. I didn’t even know who I was. I was unconscious for two days. I missed my deadline. I lost my job…”

“Good,” Vera told him. “You deserve to lose your job for talking such ridiculous shit.”

Paul’s face fell into his hands. Suddenly he was sobbing. “Aw, God, Vera, please believe me. And please, please forgive me…”

“Forgive you? What, and then we’ll just pick up where we left off? Just forget it ever happened, and everything’ll be peachy? Is that what you want?”

Even he must realize how foolish he sounded. His face was wet now when he looked up at her. “We had so many plans, didn’t we? We had a life together. You want to throw that all away?”

For a fraction of a second, Vera paused. It was true. They did have plans, wonderful plans. They did have a life together; what they had together, in fact, was what she wanted more than anything in the world. They’d had it all—

And he destroyed it all, she thought.

“I’m leaving now, Paul—”

“No, please!”

“—and I hope I never see you again.”

Now Paul sobbed outright. It was so pathetic to see him cry; it was also very satisfying. His words hitched out of his throat like a ratchet: “I’m begging you, Vera, please forgive me. Please don’t go...I love you, Vera.”

Vera had her hand on the doorknob; again, she paused. I love you, he’d just said. How many other men had said that to her in her life, with any degree of genuineness? None, she knew.

Her pause at the door wavered…

Don’t fall for it, Vera, that other voice crept back into her head.

“I love you, Vera.”

Don’t be a sucker!

No, no, she wouldn’t be. She wouldn’t let him do this to her. Hadn’t he done enough already?

“Your love is like the rest of you, Paul. It’s fake. It’s a lie. It’s pure grade-A shit.”

Then she walked out and very quietly closed the door behind her.

««—»»

She cruised downtown in the Lamborghini, sorting her thoughts. At first she felt very confused; she ran two red lights on Church Circle and nearly drove the wrong way down Main Street. Get hold of yourself, you airhead! She doubted that Feldspar would be pleased were she to bring the ’ghini back to The Inn with a bashed-in front end. She parked at the City Dock, buttoned up her coat, and got out to walk in the cold.

Full winter made the city look flattened and drab. Most of the boat slips were vacant; the few that weren’t berthed tarp-covered bulks. Her heels ticked on the cement as she wandered about the city’s deserted nub. Frigid wind clawed at her like a molester’s frantic hands.

Was she having second thoughts? How could she, after what she’d seen that night? They put drugs in his beer, she remembered. He could at least manufacture a better lie than that! Suddenly it didn’t matter that he regretted what he’d done; it didn’t even matter that he claimed to still love her. She knew she could never see him again, never even consider him. Vera had always tried never to hold a person’s past against him (wasn’t Donna, a former alcoholic, a perfect example?), but this was sorely different. Drugs, bondage, group sex? She’d be out of her mind…

You did the right thing, Vera. You’d never be able to trust him again.

Yes, she felt sure of that, and all at once she felt a lot better. Donna had been right all along: once she confronted him, once she told him off for good, she’d feel like a new person. All her stresses and uncertainties fled from her, right there on the cold, cobblestoned incline of Main Street.

She felt cleansed, exorcised. The drab city seemed brighter now, and clean, as if she’d just stepped into a different, better world.

Now I can really get on with my life!

««—»»

Before she returned to the parking lot, she stepped into the Main Street Crown, to browse. She hadn’t read a book in months, save for that ludicrous tome about haunted mansions. A good romance would be nice, something hot. She picked several titles off the rack, and smiled when she turned and noticed the occult/new age section right behind her. The Complete Compendium of Demons, the title of the big glossy-black hardcover jumped out at her. By Richard Long! she noted, the same guy who wrote the haunted mansion book! Vera couldn’t resist. I simply must buy this for Donna, she decided. She’ll definitely get a kick out of it.

After she bought the books, she considered stopping into The Undercroft for lunch, but then thought better of it. No doubt she’d run into people she knew, who would all ask questions about where she’d gone, and why. That part of her life was over, so why bother? I live somewhere else now, she thought, and got back into the car. My life is somewhere else…

Goodbye, city.

She drove back up Main, to catch Route 50 off the Circle. She slowed but wasn’t quite sure why. The streets were relatively empty, rows of shops shunned by the cold. A thin woman rushed across the street at the light, dressed in old jeans and a shale-colored overcoat. A stiff wind disheveled her short blond hair. Then, at the opposing sidewalk, she turned, obviously taking note of Vera’s shiny Lamborghini.

Then she walked on.

Vera stared dumbly ahead; at first she couldn’t imagine why. But when her subconscious finally clicked, she stomped the gas.

The blond woman was just turning at the Circle. Vera idled past the Old Post Office, lowering the power passenger window.

Don’t make an idiot of yourself, she fretted. Are you sure it’s who you think it is?

She was definitely sure when the blond woman, no doubt noticing that she was being followed by a brand-new two hundred thousand dollar car, stopped at the next corner and leaned over to look.

It’s her!

However faint, Vera recognized the telltale tattoo: the creepy green southern cross needled into the hollow of the blond woman’s throat. This was one of the women Paul was with that night.

“Excuse me,” Vera raised her voice. “I’d like to talk to you.”

The woman’s eyes thinned, and she smiled just as thinly. She got into the car, and seemed awed when the door lowered by itself.

“What a great ride,” she commented, then, oddly, she asked, “Are you a cop?”

Vera winced. “Of course not. I don’t know many cops who drive Lamborghinis.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” the woman chuckled. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and briskly rubbed her hands together. “So, I guess you know the score. Guys, girls, it don’t matter to me as long as the money’s right.”

“What?” Vera asked before really thinking.

The blonde lit a cigarette, spewing smoke as she continued. “You want to get it on, right? Fifty bucks for a half-hour, a hundred for an hour and a half. And I’ll do anything you want. But you also gotta spring for the room, unless you want me to do you in the car.” She chuckled again. “I’ve never eaten pussy in a Lamborghini. That might be kinda neat.”

Oh my God, Vera finally realized. She thinks I want to…“No, no, you don’t understand. I just want to talk.”

The blonde shrugged. “I’ll talk as dirty as you want, I’ll make you soak right through to the seat, but I have to see some green first.”

Vera was mortified. “I just want to talk to you, you know, just talk. Don’t you remember me? A couple of months ago? Paul Foster? Westwind Apartments? You and some redhead—”

“Oooooh, yeah,” the blonde slowly acknowledged with a nod. “You’re the chick who walked in on us. What, you’re his girlfriend?”

I thought you were his girlfriend now, Vera thought, puzzled. “I was his fiancé, until you and your red-haired friend got hold of him.”

“Oh, now I get it. Well, don’t think about starting any shit with me. None of that was my doing.”

Vera’s scowl felt hot. “Whatever it was you weren’t doing, you sure as hell seemed to be enjoying it at the time.”

“Look, honey, a trick’s a trick. I don’t ask questions when the money’s on the table.”

This was even worse than what she’d always thought. “You mean Paul paid you for sex?” The idea crushed her, it made her feel suddenly more inadequate than she’d ever felt in her life. Was I that bad? Was I so lousy a lover that he had to go out and solicit prostitutes?

“Not the guy,” the blonde said. “The trannie.”

“The what?”

The blonde’s chuckle darkened. “The redhead. You know, the girl with the cock.”

The transexual. Vera began to understand less and less with this conversation; she pulled in front of the first available meter on West Street and parked, her sensibilities in knots. “I still don’t understand. You mean—”

“Hang on, all right?” insisted the blonde. She scratched absently at the cross tattoo. “A person like me, you know, whether I’m fucking or eating pussy or just talking, it’s all the same. It’s time. And you know what they say about time, don’t you?”

Yeah, time is money. What a bitch! Vera passed the woman a couple of twenties. “Now, explain to me. You’re saying it wasn’t Paul who paid you, but the redhead?”

“That’s right,” answered the blonde, who quickly slipped the cash into a pocket. “I was trying to hustle down off Clay Street and she walks up. She said she wanted me to help her with something, and right off the bat she offers me a grand.”

“A thousand dollars!” Vera outraged. “For what?”

“She told me there was some newspaper writer named Paul she wanted to fuck with.”

“But why?”

The blonde shrugged. “I don’t know, and I didn’t ask. When someone drops a grand in your lap, you don’t ask questions.”

Vera’s mind swam in all this confusion. “Well let me ask you something. Is Paul still seeing this—” Vera gulped. “—this trannie?”

“I don’t know, but I doubt it. She didn’t seem interested in him at all once we were done. I figured it was just some guy she wanted to fuck over for some reason.”

But what was the reason? Vera wondered.

“This is how it went,” the blonde went on. “She gives me a grand to play along. Wants to put the make on this writer guy who’s gonna be at the bar that night. Just wants me to pretend I’ve heard of him and act interested. She also says there’ll be plenty of free blow.”

“Cocaine,” Vera muttered to herself.

“Naw, this stuff wasn’t coke, but whatever it was it was really top. One line and I was flying, and the stuff made me hornier than all of the Kennedys wrapped up into one. I’m telling you, just one toot and I didn’t give a shit about anything except getting it on. I didn’t even know who I was while I was on the shit.”

Vera paused. Paul had said essentially the same thing.

“It was probably some new designer dope, wish I could get my hands on more,” the blonde said. “Anyway, back to the story. Me and the redhead go to the bar and sure enough, there’s this Paul guy sitting there by himself. So we start talking, drinking, and all that, and after a while we put the make on him.”

The knots of Vera’s confusion tightened maddeningly. All right, the girls put the make on him, she thought. But that was still no excuse, was it? “And he obviously went along with it.”

The blonde lit another cigarette, glancing at her watch. “No, actually he didn’t. I mean, me and the trannie were working this guy over pretty good, but he wasn’t biting. Said he was engaged, he just wanted to talk to people, wasn’t interested in any partying.”

This, too, made even less sense. It infuriated Vera. “Yeah, well he must’ve changed his mind real fast, because what I saw going on on the bed looked like one hell of a party.”

“You got that right. But let me tell you how it happened. It was the trannie. This guy Paul wasn’t going for it, says he wants to be faithful to his fiancé or some shit. So the guy gets up to take a piss, and the trannie says to me “After I hit him with some of this, he’ll forget all about his fucking fiancé.”

Vera felt numb. “I still don’t understand,” she croaked, but part of her thought she was beginning to.

“The trannie spiked his drink,” the blonde said.

“You mean—”

“That’s right. While he was taking a piss, she put some of that blow into his beer, and after that he did anything we told him to do.”

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