Irises

by softydog88

Chapter Thirty-Five

One Hundred Eighty Degrees

The brave and bold persist even against fortune; the timid and cowardly rush to despair through fear alone—Publius Cornelius Tacitus

July 31, 2015

"The ring is gorgeous," Marilyn said as soon as Jason woke. She held her hand in front of her face and dramatically batted her eyes, like an actress in a 50's movie.

"So you mentioned last night, oh, ten or eleven times," Jason said. "I'm glad you like it." He yawned. "What time is it?"

"Almost noon," she said as she nuzzled up to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Mmm," he said, "I haven't slept that late in a long time."

"Late maybe, but it was only about five hours. And it shows, a little bit."

"It does? How?"

"In your eyes. They're puffy and red, but don't worry, it's endearing. After all, we were still awake as the sun rose. Our first all-nighter."

"We had a lot to talk about."

"And we have a lot to do. What's first?"

"This," Jason said as he took Marilyn into his arms.

"This is the last of the champagne," Jason announced an hour later. He frowned as the poured the last few drops.

"You've heard of make-up sex?" Marilyn asked. They were in bed, staring into space, Marilyn draped over Jason like a comforter. "After a couple fights, when they make up, the sex is incredible. Well, this was 'I've missed you' sex. Still incredible, but none of the guilt of all that fighting in the prelude. And as far as I'm concerned, I never want to experience make-up sex. Ever."

"Neither do I. Here's to 'I've missed you' sex."

He held up his champagne flute and Marilyn clinked hers against it. The fizz when straight to Marilyn's nose; she wrinkled it at the gift from the bubbly Bacchanalian brew.

After lunch at the hotel restaurant they checked out and headed to Marilyn's apartment. Jason had two suitcases in tow.

"My lease is up next month," he explained, "but I'm already paid up. And my stuff has been packed and is on the road now. The movers should be here in a couple of days, so I'd better get a storage unit today. In the meantime, we can think about where we're going to live."

"And setting a date."

"Of course."

"Now," Marilyn said when they left the apartment, "let's go to Barbelle's."

"What's that, a gym?"

She laughed. "No, it's my bar."

"You have a bar? Do the regulars all say 'Marilyn!' as you come through the door, like Norm on Cheers?"

"Actually, yes. And I'm a regular, but for a reason you don't know. I ownit."

"You own it? You own a bar?"

"Surprise!"

Jason looked confused. "I thought you were just scraping by," he muttered. "That's why I offered to help you financially. I just thought you were too proud to accept."

Marilyn raised her eyebrows. "What made you think that?"

"You told me you didn't have a job."

"I didn't have a job on Wall Street. That was pretty frustrating, considering the time and effort I spent studying and devoting myself to a financial career. But I was doing OK without working. Well enough to buy the bar, and own this apartment outright."

"How did that happen? Did you win the lottery or something?"

Suddenly Marilyn was faced with a dilemma of her own making. She had had plenty of opportunities over the years to tell Jason about her inheritance, but she always chose not to. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, it was that she wanted to be able to show him that she had the ability to work her way out of her own problems. Yes, she had gotten a sizable inheritance, but what had she done with it? She had gotten a college education, invested wisely in stocks, saved prudently and grown her windfall. And she was continuing to grow it, by investing in real estate and buying her own business. Now the only thing to do was to tell Jason and see how he'd react.

She told him in the cab. Everything was out now—her inheritance from her father, her investments ("I'm a value stock investor" she told him. "You should read Benjamin Graham; he was Warren Buffet's protégé."), her small cash inheritance from her aunt and uncle and the windfall from the sale of their house. She had spent very little and put the rest of it to good use, buying her own apartment outright and mortgaging the one next door, which she rented to a couple of the waitresses from the bar.

Jason listened patiently. The freak out that Marilyn was expecting never materialized.

"I'm happy for you," he said as the cab came to a stop in front of Barbelle's. "You're doing fantastic. This is great. I mean it."

He kissed her, then paid the cabbie and they went inside.

"Good afternoon, everybody."

"Marilyn!"

The chorus echoed off the walls and resounded in Jason's ears. It was just as Marilyn said; she was the Norm Peterson of Barbelle's. She and Jason took a seat at the bar and she introduced Jason to the various waitresses and to Rosa, the day shift bartender.

"This is a nice place." Jason said. "It seems upscale."

"It's not, really," Marilyn said, "but we're trying to create an atmosphere that attracts some Wall Street people. You never know where you can make a valuable business contact while still making a profit. The markups in this business are huge."

"Shrewd. Like everything you've done. I'm really impressed, Marilyn."

They kissed, and the waitresses all said "ooooh!" like they were at a seventh-grade dance.

"Now," Marilyn said, "I'd like to tell you how the business works. But first..."

Rosa, hearing her cue, produced a brandy snifter, a bottle of cognac and a bag of Oreos. She filled the snifter, then produced a metal stand with two forked arms and an unlit candle at its base.

"Brandy?" Jason said.

"Technically it's cognac," Marilyn replied. "It's brandy, certainly, but to be called cognac, it has to come from the Cognac region of France. This is Rémy Martin XO. It was bottled in 1995—the year we met. A special cognac for our special occasion. And pretty hard to find, I might add."

She lit the candle and placed it on the base of the stand. Then she placed the snifter in the cradle created by the two arms, which held the glass at a 45 degree angle. Marilyn let the candle heat the cognac for a minute; it created a vapor almost immediately, misting the glass like a hot shower does a bathroom mirror on a cold winter morning. She slowly rotated the snifter, warming the cognac evenly and coating the glass, intensifying the aroma. After another minute, she lifted it and held it under Jason's nose.

"Breathe gently," she said, and he did so as he closed his eyes.

"Heavenly," he whispered, and she held the glass to his lips. He sipped; let the brandy dance on his tongue; swallowed as slowly as he could manage.

"And an Oreo chaser," Marilyn laughed.

That's the most exquisite thing I've ever tasted," Jason said, with a smile full of cookie crumbs.

Just then, Jody entered. She approached the bar and saw Marilyn talking to a man.

"Could this be—?" she began, and Marilyn nodded.

"Jason!" Jody shouted. She hugged him like they were old friends, rubbing her hands on his back and pressing her cheek against his.

"Um, hi," Jason said, a trifle embarrassed. He had a look on his face of regret and annoyance, like he had just stepped in something that was recently inside a dog.

"I'm Jody! Marilyn's told me all about you."

"Ah, of course!" The one who's NOT a prostitute. He smiled, an actor's smile he perfected when trying not to offend Vicki Jensen in high school. "I'm pleased to meet you."

"Actually, Jody," Marilyn said, "I haven't told you everything yet. Like this." She held her left arm out.

The shriek that escaped from Jody dwarfed her earlier outbursts. "My God," she said as she examined the ring. "It's so beautiful! Congratulations!" She jumped up and down before engaging in another round of hugs.

This woman must live on pure caffeine, Jason thought. She's like a hummingbird...on caffeine.

Jody and Marilyn chatted while Jason had a beer.

"Are you playing tonight?" Jody asked, "or do you still need more alone time with your man?"

"I'm playing," Marilyn said. "I can't let you guys start the playoffs without me."

"Playing?" Jason said, turning around.

"I'm a Hooker," Marilyn said with a straight face. "We're all Hookers." She swept her arm in front of her to include the waitresses like Belle had done.

Jason's jaw dropped.

"Don't worry," Marilyn giggled, "The Hookers are my basketball team. Our team."

"Hookers?" Jason said. "Why, why, why?"

"Watch this."

All the Hookers in the bar took their cue from Marilyn and made their hook shot motions at slightly different times, arms craning wildly like a badly choreographed ballet.

Jason sighed. "OK," he said, though he felt far from OK now.

The squeak of rubber soles on the basketball court sounded like birds fighting, Jason thought. The game was in full swing, but his mind wasn't on it. He kept wondering what was really happening in Marilyn's life. She had been keeping so many secrets from him, and he worried that she was still holding on to the biggest one, the one that would end things between them, the one that started with a capital 'P.'

And yet, Marilyn hadn't been dishonest. There was a great deal of information she hadn't exactly volunteered, but she wanted to—in person, though, not through email or chat or a Skype call. She told herself she didn't blame Jason for only now moving home because he hadn't actually broken his promise. But on some level, she had blamed him. How long could he reasonably expect her to wait for him? And how did he think Marilyn would react if he was off having a career while she was just eking out a living doing who knows what?

And that was the crux of it. Jason was mystified, but he feared the worst. The clues were ominous, he thought—her name is Jody, but she's not a prostitute. I'm a Hooker. We're ALL Hookers!

What else could it be? he wondered. She basically just admitted it. And what choice did I give her? She was desperate, and she turned to prostitution. And she made enough money at it to buy a legitimate business as a front. Her inheritance was BS, and I was a fool to believe her drunk of a father had any money to leave her. How can I ever forgive her?

It never occurred to Jason that Marilyn had forgiven him for something much worse. He had come to rethink his role in her father's death, seeing himself as the hero who rode in and saved the day, only to be double-crossed in the end. So while Marilyn played, Jason feigned interest and sulked. He had taken feeling sorry for himself to a new level. And trusting the woman he professed to love did not enter his mind.

The whistle blew, and people were clapping. Marilyn came over to Jason and leaned her sweat-drenched body against him.

"Congratulations," he said.

"We lost, Jason," she sighed.

August 1, 2015

The next morning Jason was awake early. Jody made waffles for everyone and Marilyn made coffee and put out strawberries and cream.

"Delicious," Jason said. "And I'm sorry, but I have to go. I have to get a New York agent, and I've got several of them to meet today." He stepped over some open cardboard boxes in the living room.

"Sorry about that," Jody said. "Marilyn and I are going to start packing today so I can move home."

"No sweat," he said, despite being elated that Jody was leaving.

"Dinner at seven?" Marilyn said, and Jason nodded on his way out the door while saying "sounds good."

Jason's first appointment wasn't until 1 PM. He immediately felt guilty for deceiving Marilyn, so he moped around the neighborhood for a while. He stopped at a bodega, then caught a cab and soon found himself sitting under the Oreo tree in the blazing heat of the summer, replaying their lives over and over in his head. And the more he thought about it, the more he began to understand. He had found her here, a lonely, depressed girl, and he had given her friendship thinking she would tell him to go to hell. But she had unexpectedly responded, and as they spent more time together her inhibitions withered away. Her confession in Central Park that her father was an alcoholic was a revelation, and when he moved to California, he felt secure in their love.

But I stayed away so long, he thought. And in doing so, I've totally screwed up our relationship. I've made it impossible for her to be honest with me.

And as soon as he was honest with himself, he began to feel better. It's my fault, not hers. I'm going to be man enough to admit it. That thing with the hookers—it can't be right. Not Marilyn. I trust her.

By the time he left for his appointment, there was only one thought running through his mind.

I still love her.

"I think he might already be getting cold feet," Marilyn said to Jody as they started packing. "He wasn't paying attention during the game last night. He actually thought we won."

"Really? But we lost by forty-three points. It wasn't even close."

"That's what I mean," Marilyn sighed.

"Maybe he's just not into sports."

"He's not. But this was more than that. I think he has something else on his mind. I thought he'd want to make love last night, but he just wanted to sleep."

"Then you're right," Jody said. "It's probably just cold feet. Post-proposal, pre-wedding jitters."

"Yeah," Marilyn replied. "At least I hope that's all it is."

The day wore on, and despite a couple of fans, it had grown terribly hot, so Marilyn and Jody decided to break for some iced tea.

"They were going late last night," Jody said.

"They?" Marilyn asked. "Who's they?"

"The johns. I heard the door opening and closing regularly until about 2."

"Johns? What am I missing?"

"You don't know?" Jody said nervously. "Next door. Samantha and Tabitha. They're working from home now," she giggled.

"In my apartment? I don't want to be landlord to a couple of prostitutes!"

"Marilyn, I'm so sorry. I thought you knew."

"God, they're forcing my hand. I have to give them an ultimatum, tonight. Take their clients elsewhere or find another place to live. If they're busted, I could be charged, too. The jails are probably full of naive landlords who innocently rented to nice women, only to have their doors taken down by the NYPD and a search warrant thrust into their faces just as they were sitting down to dinner. I'd rather not find out."

Jody laughed. "OK, that was a little melodramatic, but you're right. I hadn't thought of that. I hope they don't give you any shit."

"And another thing," Marilyn said. "Aren't they worried that johns will know where they live?"

"Why would they? They'd just think it's like any other brothel; a home owned by some pimp, protected by same."

"Somehow," Marilyn said, "that makes it worse. I'm no pimp."

Jason left his last interview at 6:20 confident that he had found his new agent. He got home just after seven.

"Sorry I'm late," he said.

"Oh, you're not," Marilyn said. "Dinner's still a few minutes away. Did you find an agent?"

"I did." He didn't elaborate. He was still trying to figure out how to apologize for his loutish behavior.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Marilyn tried asking for details of Jason's day, but his answers were curt and evasive. Jody began to feel uneasy.

"I've got to get to work," she said as soon as she finished eating. "My last shift at the restaurant! Just 9-to-1. I'll see you later, guys."

A moment later, the front door creaked open. "It does that sometimes," Marilyn told Jason. "I've really got to get it fixed. Be a dear and close it while I clear the table?"

"Sure."

The door had opened halfway. Jason was about to close it when he spied Jody entering the apartment across the hallway. The one Marilyn was renting out.

Weird, he thought.

"You're kidding," Samantha said.

"Wish I was," Jody replied, "but Marilyn has a point. She's renting this apartment to you; if you got busted, and let's be honest, you're track record ain't great, she might be considered an accomplice. I know you wouldn't want that to happen, so when she talks to you, please be sure not to argue. And don't tell her I told you."

"No, of course not. But how ironic is that? Marilyn taught me too well. I learned all about cutting expenses, and here I cut a big one, room expense, and now I have to go back to it."

"Room expense? Jody asked incredulously. "You don't make the johns pay for the room?"

"Oh, shit...I didn't know that was even an option."

Jody left for the restaurant shaking her head.

Jason helped Marilyn with the dishes. "I want to talk about something," he said as they finished.

The sound of Pink Floyd's "Money" started to play. "Sorry, I've got to get that," Marilyn said as she picked up her phone. "That's someone from the bar calling."

She spoke for a bit, saying "uh-huh" a couple of times, and then "sure, I'll be right there."

Jason knew what that meant, so he wasn't surprised when Marilyn said "I've got to go to work for a bit. My bartender Joe is a bit delayed tonight, so I'm going to fill in for a couple of hours so Rosa can go home and be with her kids."

"OK. We'll talk when you get back?"

"Yes, absolutely." She disappeared into the bedroom and emerged a few minutes later, freshly dressed.

"I'll see you," Marilyn said as she kissed Jason, and he just nodded.

Jason flipped through the channels aimlessly, then read the New York Daily News.

Marilyn must be the only one left who buys the actual paper, he thought.

It was growing dark outside. He turned on a lamp, then decided to go for a walk. He watched a couple walking hand-in-hand in the other direction and felt a twinge of jealousy.

Will I look back on this one day and laugh? he thought. He doubted it.

He wandered into a movie theater where a comedy was half over. It might even have been funny, had he been paying attention. Twenty minutes in, he got a text.

Sorry, but Joe was delayed due to a family emergency, and it's worse than he thought. I'm covering his shift tonight. Do you want to stop by and keep me company, or just go to sleep?

I'm already in bed, he texted back. I'll see you in the morning, if that's okay.

Oh, it's totally fine. Goodnight, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.

Goodnight, sweetheart.

He left the theater and headed back to Marilyn's apartment. He was still across the street when he saw Tabitha leaving, and Samantha walking up the steps with a man. Something about it was off; even from here, he thought Tabitha looked cheap. She was wearing a very short skirt with fishnet stockings and a gloss red leather jacket and her heels clicked on the pavement. She walked quickly, her hips swinging wide in an exaggerated motion, trying desperately, he thought, to attract attention.

There was a bodega next door; Jason went in and bought a Milky Way bar and a Dr. Pepper. Then he stood in front of the bodega and waited. In less than ten minutes, Tabitha returned with a man on her arms. And a few minutes after that, the man that walked in with Samantha left, followed by Samantha herself a minute later.

Oh, shit, he thought.

Fifteen minutes later, Samantha returned, with a new man on her arm just as Tabitha was leaving.

I knew it! Jason thought as he angrily stuffed his things into his bag. I knew that bar was just a front. All that talk about prostitution and hookers. She was practically reveling in it! Damn it, I'm such a fool!

He grabbed his bag and backpack and stormed out of the apartment. He ran down the street for a bit, trying to get away from the apartment as quickly as he could. Then he hailed a cab and found a cheap motel. He climbed into bed and stared into the darkness.

She betrayed me, he thought. All those years I was totally faithful to her, and she betrayed me.

I could kill her.