It’s an interesting idea. Maybe I will do that. Head back home, enjoy the drive without Mia’s nonsense in the passenger seat. She can be stranded up here with Buck and her strawberry babies. I’ll be home by three, climb into bed and wake up with the boys in the morning. After Claudia leaves, I’ll begin explaining to them why they won’t ever see their mommy again. They’ll have a new, young brunette mommy named Gretchen. Or, if for some reason I can’t finagle anything out of Mia, perhaps I’ll find another woman with money. It’ll all work out. I know women. This is my favorite subject.
I think about that option. A new, wealthy lover. It’s enticing. Especially if I agree to leave, Mia will take most of the assets. I’m sure that’s in the document. She doesn’t know about the second mortgage on the Columbus house—I needed some emergency funds a while back. Without Donald’s Christmas gifts, or Mia’s seemingly endless gravy train from her parents, cash will be tight for the boys and me. Except, I remember, they have a trust fund. I smile and sit down in my favorite chair as Buck takes a seat in the other blue chair. Gretchen could work, as long as I have the boys’ trust fund. I have choices, many choices much better than this one.
Mia seems to be hiding in the corner, a trapped gray creature. She looks like a rat, a sneaky rat with shiny, beady rodent eyes. The room is hot, I feel sweat trickle down my back and I’m the only one not wearing a ridiculous LAKESIDE sweatshirt. Why isn’t Buck sweating, too? He seems calm, almost too calm. He leans toward me, resting his elbows on his thighs, his chiseled chin on top of his clasped hands. I fight the urge to deck him then and there.
Curiosity stops me from punching him just yet. I need to hear what good old Buck has to say.
12:20 a.m.
25
Buck says: “I know you have Googled me, trying to figure me out, isn’t that right, Paul? No need to answer. Mia told me you did it together. What did you find?”
“Not much. Just that you sold your company. Your wife is dead. Besides that, you haven’t had a very notable life, I’m afraid,” I tell him. If you Google Paul Strom, you’ll get pages of accolades. ADDY Awards for advertising campaigns I helped lead, civic awards for the community activities I’ve been involved in and, of course, links to my very famous father-in-law, too. I’m all over the internet, as I should be. Of course I also made an appearance in my parents’ obituaries, the favorite son who lived right next door. So loyal. I didn’t include Tom in the write-up; he didn’t deserve the acknowledgment, the ghost.
“Some people prefer to be hidden,” Buck says. “My company, the one I sold last year, handles security for high net worth individuals. Neither my clients nor I wish for any personal publicity and we allow only very carefully controlled public information out in the world.”
“Oh, so you’re some sort of spy, is that it?” I ask. I was right about him. My instincts are finely tuned. I remain one step ahead of this imitation James Bond.
“Actually, former special ops, but that’s not important now. What you do need to know is that we’ve been watching you,” Buck says. “For a while now.”
The candle closest to me sizzles out, a plume of dark smoke announcing its demise. The other, in the middle of the table, had burned out sometime earlier. That leaves only one candle flickering on the coffee table. In the corner, I see Mia open the hutch and pull out another candle. It’s reflex. At Lakeside, there are often severe thunderstorms that can knock the power out for hours, or days. We’ve stocked up on candles, and they are tucked everywhere. Of course, tonight is cloudless, and the lights are on, although dimmed, ironically by me for our romantic after-dinner drink.
I focus my attention back on Buck and his “special ops” announcement. I know it is a threat. A warning not to get physical, but I still have fire in my core. Sometimes rage can overpower training.
“You’ve been watching me? How charming. Why?” I say. He knows I don’t find this charming, but I’m also a bit disturbed. Something in the back of my mind is trying to push to the front.
“Because from the moment I met you, I knew something was off. Really off. Greg confirmed it. You know, your former friend, Greg Boone?”
What is it with these idiots, the Boones? Why can’t they mind their own business? “Greg Boone is a sore loser. A loser, period,” I say.
“Be that as it may, I have the resources to check people out. And you are not what you seem. Or, more precisely, you are part of the one percent.”
I don’t think Buck is referring to income. Clearly he must be aware of our current financial squeeze. “One percent?” I ask.
“Classic malignant narcissist, possible psychopathic. All the definitions really blend together, but it’s you. You have no conscience, have a psychological need for power and control and you think you are more important than anyone else. You lured Mia into your web when she was young and inexperienced. You lie constantly and you have no shame. You won’t take responsibility for any of this, will you?” Buck says. He pauses and we smile at each other.
What does he expect? Should I pretend to be shocked? I know who I am. I’m special, unique. “Whatever you say, Buck. Why do you think you know so much about this subject? Takes one to know one, am I right?”
Buck doesn’t answer me, just shakes his head as my wife appears from behind him. Her hand is on the back of the chair but I know she wants to touch his shoulder. She better not. She knows she better not touch him like that in front of me. Ever. I am staring at her. I am waiting for her to make a big mistake.
“I asked Buck to help me because I thought I was losing my mind,” Mia says. She walks over to the coffee table, where we are locked in our little tête–à–tête but stays as far as possible away from me. She lights the new candle with the flame of the old one, places it in the holder and sits down on the couch, much nearer to Buck’s chair than mine. She has dripped wax on the table, so sloppy.
“Ever since the boys started school, I’ve felt so un-me, so needy. If you had let me out of the house maybe things would be different, but I don’t know. And then, I got sick. But it doesn’t matter. It’s your pattern that’s the problem. I mean, what is so wrong with me that you had to find lovers during our engagement, and then during our marriage? How many were there, Paul? You lie about everything, you try to steal my money? How did you make it all seem like it was my problem? Like something was wrong with me. I just didn’t understand. I was trapped in this world you’d created, a prison. You’re the lunatic, Paul, not me.”
“So you two are doing it?” I say, my eyes roving over my wife and then over Buck. I sound like a teenage boy in the sports locker room, I know. It’s for shock value. It works.
Mia puts her hand over her mouth. Her eyes bug out at me. Ha. Buck starts to stand. Will he come at me? Mia holds her hand up and he stays seated but he’s seething. Good.