The Tawdry Tangerine Farewell

We're at the hump chapter and problems are starting to head roughly in the direction of resolution. If you've gotten this far then, presumably, you're someone who doesn't mind stories that take their time. I enjoy telling my characters' stories and, sometimes, the pace that strikes me as right for that isn't a quick one. So, thanks for sticking with it.

There's a little less sex in this one, perhaps some analog of Middle Book Syndrome. It just didn't seem to fit with where things stood.

This is the first chapter I'm submitting after the initial one was published, so it's the first where I've seen some comments. I realize now that some people don't care for stories with multiple first-person sections. It's not something I feel — I loved The Poisonwood Bible

, for example — but I understand it's a preference for some. Unfortunately (or not, depending on your point of view), the mold for this story is cast and we'll continue to hear from Rick, Molly, and Kate until the end.

Thanks to thewinedarksea for his editing work. Typos are my fault.

-C

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Rick

Molly had been in a strange mood all week. It was like she was half pissed-off at me and half glad I was around. The Connor thing was clearly getting to her.

He was a problem. Appeals to his conscience seemed pointless: he clearly didn't have one. Bribes were probably useless: an hour on the internet showed a partnership in a venture capital firm, an address in an exclusive neighborhood, and a seventy-foot boat. He didn't need money.

I called my attorney. "Hey, Frank, can I ask you a hypothetical question without you reading anything into it?"

"Probably not. But you can ask anyway."

"Say someone was extorting something in exchange for not revealing some compromising pictures—"

"That's blackmail, not extortion," he interrupted.

"Whatever. In that case, is there anything the police can do?"

"Is the threat documented, like in writing or a recording?"

"No."

"Well, the police can't do much based on just an accusation. They could talk to the alleged blackmailer but, realistically, that will just piss him off."

"What about a restraining order preventing someone from distributing her pictures?"

"Her? Well, you can make a claim for something called 'public disclosure of private facts' in Pennsylvania. However, what constitutes public isn't clear-cut and just revealing it to another person, say a husband, usually doesn't qualify under—"

"Whoa!" I cut him off. "Frank, no offense, but I'm looking for something more along the lines of 'yes or no', not first-year law school."

"Bottom line?"

"Yeah."

"A sheriff hands the guy a restraining order and he says, 'Oh, I'm sorry, this is meaningless. I sent it to her husband last night because I thought he should know,' then drops them in the mailbox ten minutes later. Or, even more difficult if he wants to spread them around, 'I'm sorry, those pictures were stolen at a party I had last week. I don't know who has them.'"

"Hell!"

"Yep. Tell her to try to get the guy on tape, or file a charge of stalking and then hope that he doesn't pull the trigger. And, yeah, I know hope doesn't qualify as a strategy."

I already considered the recording thing and had brought it up to Molly earlier. She shot it down immediately. "He's too smart for that. After that first threat, his phone calls just sound like a guy anxious for a date. Pushy, aggressive, even like a cock-sucking asshole, but not a criminal."

"But—"

"Rick, trust me!" She seemed super upset for some reason. "I know what I'm fucking talking about. He knows what he's doing, and he's not going to give me anything to record when he calls."

"What about a wire?"

She looked at me like I was a moron. "Do you honestly think the kind of dresses worn to a club, on a date with a guy whose hands wander a

lot

, would hide a wire? Those videos would be in the mail before midnight." She tossed her paintbrush down, not even bothering to clean it. "I'm heading out," she said curtly. "I have someplace I have to be tonight. I'll see you Monday."

"Well, have a good evening to you, too," I said as the door shut hard behind her. That's when I called Frank but I realized I was just stalling. If Molly wasn't willing to gamble on Connor growing a conscience and destroying the video, I was pretty sure where this was going.

I thought through my resources. I'm not the most sociable guy in the world but there were a few. I called Victoria and made an appointment to come the next day to talk about her piece and, "one other thing if you don't mind." Then I called Leah and asked for Sophie's cell number.

"Why?"

"It's personal. I promise I won't abuse it."

"You know I trust you, Rick, but giving out numbers is kind of a no-no in my job."

"Okay. Then would you call Sophie and ask her to call me? Please. It's important."

"Sure. That's cool."

Finally, I called Al Kender and asked if I could drop by.

"Hey, bud. I finally found out who the Green Woman is," I said by way of greeting when he let me in. "You must have been laughing your ass off."

Al's grin showed I'd nailed that one on the head. "Did you see it?"

"Yeah, she showed me. It's seriously awesome."

"Thanks, man."

We were sitting in his shop after closing hours, trying out a new IPA I found.

"So?" he asked. "What'd you want to talk about?"

"I need an introduction."

"To whom?" he asked.

Here's the thing about tattoo artists: they tend to know people from all walks of life. Tattoos have become so mainstream that, chances are, your average tattooist knows both a drummer in a band and a kindergarten teacher, an athlete and a banker.

"I'm not sure. Maybe one of the bikers you've done or someone else," I added vaguely. "Someone who isn't necessarily on the up and up." I could see his expression growing more alarmed. "Al, someone close to me is in trouble. It's not something the police can do anything about. I need some help. I'm not asking you for anything beyond an introduction but I'd appreciate it if you could go that far."

He leaned back in his seat. "Who's in trouble?"

"Molly."

"Shit. What's going on?"

I shook my head. "She told me in confidence. If she tells you, fine. Let's just say it's serious and the only way out of it that I can see might get a little rough. I'm big and I'm strong but I know shit about throwing a punch." I was deliberately misleading him into thinking this might come down to a fistfight.

He was still hesitating. "Al, if you can't, you can't. I'll understand, believe me. But if you're willing to vouch for me with someone, I would be grateful. That's all. Just an intro."

He stared at me for a long while, considering, then he picked up his phone and dialed. "Hey, it's Al Kender. ... How's it look? ... Great! ... Look, I have a good friend, Rick, who needs something." There was a pause while Al listened, then he laughed briefly. "Hell no! An artist, but he rides a Harley, so he's not all bad." He listened for a few seconds and hung up. "Bruce'll meet you at Cato's over in the Strip if you want."

"Now?"

"Yep."

"Is this a problem for you, Al?"

He shrugged. "Not really. You're not some hot-tempered asshole and Molly's kind of a friend."

♦ ♦ ♦

Bruce was pretty much what I expected: big, bearded, tattooed, vested. He was sitting at a table with a buddy and two women. After some introductions, I bought a round for the table. Bruce took a pull and asked, "So, what can I do for you, Rick?"

I glanced at the others. Bruce nodded. "Lena, you and Micki go shoot some pool." He turned back to me. "You can talk in front of Toby. So, what's so private?"

On the ride over, I'd decided that being coy or evasive was going to get me nowhere. "I need to meet someone who's good at sending messages." After a moment when they said nothing, I added, "And it's probably a good idea if they're not easily found around town after."

Bruce glanced at Toby. "Tell the girls we'll be outside for a few minutes." He stood and gestured me to follow him out to the street. "That yours?" he asked, pointing to my motorcycle. I nodded. He looked it over for a few seconds under the street lights until Toby joined us. "So," he said, spinning toward me, "tell me why a nice guy like you" — the tone was a bit sardonic — "wants to meet someone like that."

"I have a friend who's being blackmailed with some photos. I would like the blackmail to stop."

The two of them met eyes for a second. Bruce looked me up and down. "You're a big boy."

I gave him the same explanation I gave Al. "I've never been in a fight in my life. The smallest woman in your club is definitely meaner than I am and could probably stomp my ass."

That amused him. "And why would you think I'd know someone who could help you?"

"Honestly? The fact that your vest says you belong to a motorcycle club and it isn't some PBA group." He tilted his head at that; I wasn't sure if I offended him with that comment or entertained him. "But if you don't, then all it cost me was a few beers and I'll go looking elsewhere."

He grunted. "How do you know Al?"

I told him about the art world connection and my tattoo. I pulled up my shirttail to show them my side when they asked to see it. "Sweet," Toby said.

"I noticed the one Al did on your arm right when I came in," I said to Bruce, pointing my chin at the macabre skull-face nuzzling a revolver. "It's from Day of the Dead?"

He nodded. "La Catrina." He looked back at the row of motorcycles for a moment. "I don't know if I can help you," he said abruptly, "Let me think but don't get your hopes up."

I recognized a dismissal when I heard one. "Okay."

Molly

My phone rang at ten o'clock Sunday morning. I was awake but I was too miserable to get out of bed. I had been right about how I would feel in the morning: ashamed.

It wasn't the sex with Piper; nothing wrong with getting laid even if same-sex wasn't my normal bag. The fact that I used her didn't really bother me. There'd been no coercion; she was game, even eager. I'd made sure she didn't get hurt by the worst of Connor's habits and I was pretty sure I'd given her enough about him to think over. I doubted she'd go back. And she'd enjoyed it. Oh hell yeah, she'd enjoyed it.

But what I'd done with Connor, especially in the club, wasn't out of horniness, artificial or otherwise. Sure, it was to save my ass but that didn't make me feel better about it: it was still sex to get a guy to do what I wanted. I knew some of this mood was chemical, the post-MDMA crash, but another part of it was that the word "whore" kept creeping into my thoughts. Didn't matter what I told myself, it kept creeping in.

Rachel? Why was she calling? "Hello?"

"Just checking that you're home safe and sound after last night. I gathered that you accidentally messaged the wrong person but I figured I could play big sister myself."

Shit. I looked at my messages. Sure enough. I had hit the name next to Radhika's by mistake when I sent it.

"You

are

okay, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." I probably could have made that sound more chipper.

"Though I didn't like to be called a jealous bitch," she teased.

"Oh, sorry."

There was silence on the other end for a second or two. When she spoke again, her voice had changed. It was concerned now. "Molly, are you really okay?"

I forced some life into my voice. "I'm fine, Rachel. Thanks. I should get in the shower and get my day started."

Forty-five minutes later, still not showered, I answered my door in a bathrobe to find Rachel standing there. She didn't wait to be invited; she looked at my face and stepped in, closing the door behind her.

"What's wrong, Molly?"

"There's nothing wrong," I protested.

"The Molly on the phone certainly didn't sound okay, and the Molly I know wouldn't be in her bathrobe at almost eleven o'clock when she's obviously not sick. And, unfortunately, Connor Thompson doesn't have the greatest reputation among my single friends."

"You know him?"

"Peripherally. Acquaintance of acquaintances type of thing. Now, what's wrong?"

"What's his reputation?"

"Stop stalling. And don't bother lying; I'm a mother of two and can sniff out a lie from a hundred yards. It's a superpower."

I stared at her for a long moment. She didn't blink. Finally, I let the fake expression on my face dissolve, letting her see what was underneath. "I'll tell you but first, please, what's his reputation?"

"That he's a partier, that he's into drugs, that he's not a nice guy."

"Got that right," I said. I turned away and walked over to flop on my couch. "And none of it's the real problem." She blinked at that and sat down next to me. "He's also..." I choked up. I wanted to talk to another woman about it. Rick had been great, but he was a guy. But Rachel and I had never been close; we'd never even been friends. I didn't think she hated me, but there was never any warmth.

She reached over and took my hand, surprising me. "Were you assaulted last night?"

Something on my face must have given her the impression she'd guessed correctly because I saw her face start to tighten. "No!" I said quickly. "I wasn't. But, he

is

a rapist." I could see her confusion at the contradiction. "He ... we did some sexual things last night, but he didn't—"

She cut me off. "Molly, even if there's no intercourse, it can still be sexual assault."

I shook my head and held up my hand to stop her. "I... oh hell..." The tears started. Not a weep or two, a frickin' floodgate opened.

I told her the story, all of it. Maybe I left out explicit details about the tape but she knew it was, effectively, a porno and that I was stoned off my ass at the time. And maybe I left out some precise particulars about last night, but she knew it was X-rated.

"So," I finished, "I didn't want to do that stuff with him, but I agreed to it, even started most of it. It was all to get out of having to fuck him for an entire weekend." I broke off, embarrassed. "Sorry, that was crude."

She laughed. It wasn't a full-throated laugh because we weren't on a happy subject, but it was humor nonetheless. "Honestly, Molly, do you think a thirty-four-year-old woman has never heard the word fuck? Hell, do you think she's never

been

fucked? I told you I was a mother of two; where do you think they came from? Trust me, I've been fucked regularly since prom night."

I laughed at that. "Why are you being this nice to me? I know you've never really liked me, and I just told you that I acted like a coked-out whore and probably will again."

"First of all, you didn't act like a whore. You acted like a woman with her back up against the wall. Second, you've totally got the wrong end of the stick on how I feel about you. I have never disliked you."

I started to protest the bullshit but it was her turn to hold up her hand and stop me. "I was wary of you."

That surprised me into silence. She considered her words for a few seconds and then explained. "I think you know how close Rick and I are?" She looked at me for confirmation. "We look out for each other. Always. In some things — not all, but some — I'm more perceptive than Rick is, mostly about people. I can't claim to be infallible because I never twigged that Kate was a cheat. Up until April of this year, I thought he had a wonderful marriage. But, Molly, I've been aware for close on two years now that you've got a thing for my brother." She didn't let me protest, just drove forward, "And that concerned me because I didn't know if you'd turn into a problem for his marriage."

She laid her hand on mine. "I've always found you nice on a personal level and interesting to be around and, now, I wish I'd been closer to you for those years because, let's face it, his marriage wasn't worth protecting. And," she gave my hand a little squeeze, "I was starting to realize that maybe it didn't need protecting from you because you weren't the type of person that would wreck it. I think you'd have been a good friend and, well, I'd like to be that now for you, if you want."

She put her arm around me and we sat there. My tears finally dried but I didn't know what to say.

"So, what now?"

"I don't know. I was just buying time. I don't think that will work again."

"Have you told anyone else?" she asked.

"Just Rick."

That brought a look of surprise to her face.

"He's my best friend, Rachel. Even leaving the other stuff out, he's my best friend. And, he solves problems. He's a doofus sometimes, and sometimes he's not that good with other people but, when he puts his mind to it, he solves things: art challenges, problem people." I gave her a half-smile. "He solved Kate, didn't he? The Bitch was out the door in a New York minute."

Her face pursed. "The Bitch?"

"It's what I call her in my mind."

The mirth broke free. "Good name." We laughed together. It was a little strained but we were united in our disdain.

"How did he take it?"

"Like ... like Rick," I said as if that explained everything. I guess it did because she nodded in agreement. "He knows about my problem. He doesn't know I went last night."

She nodded again. "Probably for the best. Why the Connor guy?"

"I dunno. I was in a mood. He's good-looking." I brought up the picture on my phone and showed her.

"I suppose he is. Tea?" At my nod, she got up and busied herself in my kitchen area. It's a studio apartment, nice-sized but still only one room plus a bathroom and closet, so it was easy to keep talking. Once she had the water on the stove, she turned back to me.

"Look, Molly, just because you had a raunchy weekend doesn't make you a whore or a slut. You were unhappy—" I started to protest that but she just gave me a look of disbelief. "You were unhappy. Probably because a certain someone agreed to a date with a pretty blonde, but that's just a guess, and you decided to cheer yourself up. You got drunk, you found a guy that you found attractive. I mean," she glanced at me with a knowing expression, "let's face it: darken his hair a few shades and he could be Rick's and my older brother."

I flushed. I had hoped she wouldn't notice. I got that look again, the one that said, "In what universe would you be able to fool me?" I guess that's another mom superpower.

"Big deal!" she continued. "You weren't cheating or hurting anyone. You had a one-night stand and got laid, so what? It's the twenty-first century. We're allowed to."

"Easy for you to say."

She gave me a little half-smile and a shrug.

"Oh, come on! You? When did you ever—"

Her eyebrows went up. "Are you saying guys wouldn't hit on me or just that I'm a prude?"

"Oh my God, no! It's just you're... I mean, you... I didn't mean it that way," I fumbled. Finally, I managed to complete a coherent sentence. "It's just, your life is so together: Vassar, med school, husband, kids."

I saw the small smile and realized she hadn't been offended, just winding me up. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I never did anything crazy before I met Jeremy. There was this Spring Break in Cancún my sophomore year with my roommate and—" She broke off. "You breathe even one word of this to my little brother and I will have you killed!" I shook my head and made a little X over my heart. "Well, we met these three guys..."

An hour later, we were deep into the Häagen-Dazs when she said, "I don't mean to pry..."

"Yes, you do," I said with a smile.

"Yes, I do," she admitted with a matching one. "My understanding is that you basically set up Rick up with Leah. Is that right?"

"Not really. She asked me if it was okay if she made a run at him and I said yes."

I could see she was dying to ask what the hell I was thinking given how I felt about Rick but was trying to figure out the words. I bailed her out. "For all that Rick wants to just not care about Kate, he can't yet. For a while, any woman he dates isn't going to be herself; she's going to be Not-Kate. If he ever gets interested in me, I want it to be in Mariana Chiara Trevisani, not just some chick who doesn't remind him of his ex." I could tell she knew what I meant.