“Come on and give me a kiss.”
The camera made a clumsy rotation turn until Austin Brown was center stage. It never even occurred to Lauren to wonder who was doing the camera work. Austin was sitting sideways in an overstuffed chair, his legs flung over one arm while he leafed through a magazine. He was wearing his usual sport coat, dress shirt, and tie, which seemed incongruous in light of the others in their bathing suits.
“Pretty please?”
He smiled without bothering to look up. “Kiss you, Iris? No way. I’m the director, not a bit player. I’m the guy in charge.”
“The auteur,” the older of the two boys interjected.
“Right. The mastermind,” Austin said with a glance at her. “Besides, you look like you’re doing well enough on your own.”
Her reply came off camera. “Party pooper. You’re no fun.”
The time frame shifted, a period of blank tape and then live action again. The camera tracked back to the girl and by the time Fritz reappeared, he’d peeled out of his bathing suit and was swinging it over his head like a stripper. He tossed his Speedo out of frame and she heard Troy guffaw. “Hey, dude. This is awesome. Let’s rock and roll.”
The camera panned. Lauren caught her breath, her heart suddenly pounding, and her posture stiffened with dismay. “Oh lord no,” she said. She put a hand over her mouth, her cheeks burning with shame.
Both boys were naked and fully erect. The girl, Iris, had apparently passed out on the pool table while the boys showed off for each other, egging each other on. Troy was the first to approach the girl, wagging his stiff penis while Fritz sidled up to her and fondled one of her bare breasts. What followed was a full-on sexual assault. They seemed to do anything that occurred to them while the girl lay passive and unresisting. She might have been acting, but Lauren doubted it. The boys flipped her over on her stomach, her bare butt occupying much of the screen. Lauren stared as though hypnotized, grimacing as the tape rolled on. She knew she should shut the machine down, but she still held out the perverse expectation that this was all in good fun. It was tacky and in bad taste, but if the girl was a willing participant, that might make all the difference. From the left of frame, Fritz appeared with an open can of Crisco, which he held aloft, pretending to twist an imaginary mustache like the villain in a melodrama. Fritz held out the can to Troy, who dug his fingers into the white grease. The scene jumped to Troy with his back to the camera as he pumped away at the girl on the pool table.
Lauren covered her mouth as though to repress all sound, shaking her head in horror. Meanwhile, Fritz picked up a pool stick and stuck it in the Crisco, coating the thick wooden handle as he moved toward the girl. Austin Brown’s looking on, so cold and unconcerned, made it all the worse. Lauren pressed the Off button. Hands shaking, she pushed the button that ejected the tape. It popped partway out, the title on the label so ironic in retrospect. She turned the VCR off and sat without moving, trying to collect herself. She felt ill.
Disgusting. It was all disgusting, behavior so vile she could hardly take it in. What was she supposed to do? The two had raped and sexually abused the girl. Hollis would die if he knew. This obscene home movie was more than criminal, it was totally depraved. Her first impulse was to demolish the tape—crush or burn or bury it—but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The tape was evidence of a crime and if she destroyed it, then Fritz and Troy could deny everything and what proof would she have?
The doorbell rang, causing Lauren to jump as adrenaline shot through her. Maybe someone else had given him a ride home and he’d found himself without his house key. She couldn’t let him know she’d seen the tape until she talked to Hollis.
The doorbell rang a second time.
“Just a minute,” she called. Not that anyone on the front porch could hear her.
In a flash, she could see the future stretching out in all its consequences. She and Hollis would have to call the police. Troy’s mother would have to be told. They’d have to protect Iris’s identity, but Lauren wasn’t even sure she’d been aware of what was going on. Had she been drugged? In any case, what would follow? A criminal trial, a civil suit? Fritz in disgrace and themselves mired in ruin? Lauren pictured the repercussions stretching out for years to come.
From the front hall, she heard, “Hello? Mrs. McCabe? It’s me, Sloan.”
Lauren said, “Shit.”
Sloan was one of the many kids who wandered in and out at will. She’d apparently found the front door unlocked, had opened it, and then stuck her head in and called a greeting.
“I’ll be right there!” Lauren called.
In a panic, Lauren went through a quick debate. Take the tape or leave it where it was? She didn’t dare act on her own. She couldn’t make a decision with such profound implications without discussing it with Hollis. They’d always handled the major issues that way. This incident would have to be made public, regardless of the scandal, regardless of penalties that would have to be paid. That she and Hollis would suffer was irrelevant. Fritz could take whatever punishment the law dished out. Neither she nor Hollis would shield him from the outrage and venom he’d have heaped on him when the tape came to light. He deserved every bit of it. And that poor girl? Would she ever be the same?
She left the tape in the machine. There was no time to rewind, but maybe Fritz wouldn’t remember that he’d watched a portion the night before. She wanted to smash the plastic housing, rip out the tape, and cut it in tiny pieces, anything to repudiate the contents. She’d do nothing until Hollis got home and they’d had a chance to confer. At the last minute she remembered her wineglass and snatched it off the end table.
She left Fritz’s room, closing the door behind her, and hurried down the hall, setting the wineglass on a console table as she passed.
Sloan was standing in the foyer, well-mannered enough that having entered the house and announced her presence, she was waiting for Lauren to appear. Lauren could see her big white dog peering in the open door from the porch. Butch was a Great Pyrenees, a good hundred and forty pounds of protectiveness that Sloan took with her everywhere. Sloan knew dogs weren’t allowed in the McCabe house and the dog apparently knew that too, though his exclusion was cause for an eager whimpering in hopes someone would relent.
Lauren said, “Sloan, sweetie. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you knock. What can I do for you?”
“Is Fritz home?”
“He’s not. I was just leaving to pick him up at the club. He and Troy have a tennis lesson.”
Lauren was aware she sounded rattled, but Sloan didn’t seem to notice.
“Would it be all right if I waited?”
“Not today, hon. This isn’t a good time. Ordinarily, it would be fine, but something’s come up. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can always catch him at school.”