Massimo had told Christina about the bet.
I couldn't for the life of me figure out why he would do that. To fuck me over, sure. But he was forfeiting the bet by revealing our secret. Did he hate me that much?
I had to know. So I called him, and set up a meeting at the fitness club. I didn't mention squash or tennis. He knew why I wanted to meet.
Massimo swaggered into the club as he always did. Even now, he was checking out the hotties in their sports bras. I had to sit on my hands. The urge to strangle him was too powerful otherwise.
- "She told you, did she?" was the first thing he said.
- "Why would you do that, Massimo?" I asked.
- "Do what?"
- "Tell her about the bet. You realize that you forfeit." I tossed the napkin on the table.
- "Hey, that's no forfeit. She already knew." he said.
- "What do you mean 'She already knew'?"
- "She already knew about the bet."
- "How?"
Massimo shrugged. "I dunno. She figured it out. She's smart. It doesn't count as telling the secret if she already knew."
- "So you're going to claim that the bet is still on." I couldn't believe Massimo's nerve.
- "Duh. And I'm winning, too. Or hadn't you heard?"
- "Heard what? Who did you sleep with?" Oh dear Lord, I thought, let it not be Beth. Why did I think that? Because I knew it wasn't Christina? "You slept with Emily?"
Massimo chuckled. "That was a night to remember."
- "But ... she's ... a lesbian." I got out.
- "Where did you get that idea, Normie? Bisexual, for sure, but Emily does go for the right guy. She is one hell of a firecracker."
I was off balance, angry and confused. "Fine, so you claim to be ahead 3-2. But it doesn't matter if the bet is off."
Massimo leaned forward, and pointed a finger at me. "Oh, no, Normie . The bet is NOT off. Christina guessed. You ask her. And for your information, the score is not 3-2. It's 4-2."
He stood up. I couldn't speak. "That's right." he continued. "4-2. So start savin' your pennies, 'cause you'll be paying me at the end of the year."
With that, he walked off, triumphant.
Oh, God, I thought. Who was number 4?
*********************************************************************
I think that I went to work the next day. I mean, I know that I did; I just don't remember anything about it. The day after that, I called in sick. I stayed home and read Edgar Allan Poe stories. The Black Cat and the Tell-Tale Heart didn't make me feel much better. Edgar Allan himself didn't put in an appearance, either. The only person left to talk to was myself, and I was in no mood for conversation.
The next evening, after a shitty day at work, my door buzzer sounded. It was Beth and Carmen. I considered pretending I wasn't home. But it wasn't their fault. I let them in.
- "You look like shit, Norm." said Beth.
- "Thanks." I said.
- "Carmen here has something she wants to say to you."
Carmen had been crying. Her eyes were red and puffy. Beth prodded her again.
- "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Norm." said Carmen.
- "Why? What did you do?" But Carmen was crying. She couldn't answer. I got her a box of tissues, and then asked Beth: "What is she sorry about?"
Beth shook her head. She can't say. She's too embarrassed. She just wants you to know how sorry she is. I'll explain the details. OK, Carmen. You said it. Now go home. It's alright. Go home. I'll call you later."
Carmen wrapped her arms around me, said "I'm so sorry." a few more times, and then left. She took the box of tissues with her.
Beth and I sat down on the couch.
- "What is she sorry for?" I asked.
- "Can I have something to drink, Norm? Something alcoholic? This isn't going to be easy."
I got a bottle of wine, opened it, and put it on the coffee table in front of her, with one glass.
- "You're not having any?"
I shook my head.
Beth poured herself a full glass, and then started to talk.