Monday Morning
“Prostitutes?” Evan says as Bess burns with regret. “Prostitutes?”
He is the second person Bess has told about the specifics of the divorce, the first being her cousin Palmer, who remains in a state of disgusted disbelief. Bess isn’t even sure Palmer buys the story, or knows exactly what it means. After all, Bess had to explain that the term “working girl” didn’t refer to a lawyer or a banker. It’s as if Bess enjoys torturing herself. Palmer was bad enough. But Evan might never look at her the same way again.
Deep down, Bess knows it’s not her fault that Brandon was such a snake. But, let’s be honest. When a famous guy is outed for hookers, everyone wants to know about the wife. If the missus isn’t beastly, or frigid, she is at a minimum very, very dumb.
Well, that sucks, Bess imagines Evan saying. But you did marry the guy.
“You mean actual hookers?” Evan says instead. “Or are you just being pejorative?”
“That SAT prep class helped after all. No, I am referring to real and bona fide workaday, wage-earning whores.”
Bess exhales, and is surprised by the quick rush of relief. It feels good to tell Evan her secrets. It always has.
“Yep, Brandon likes himself the fancy ladies,” Bess says. “Working girls. Hookers. Escorts, if you want to get ‘classy’ about it. He claims they were high-end call girls, as if that makes it any better. That’s why I’m getting divorced. More clear-cut than most splits, I’d venture. But don’t mention it to Cissy. She has no idea.”
“Of course I won’t tell Cissy. Jesus, Bess. That’s so jacked up. How’d you find out?”
“He was embroiled in a lawsuit with his former partner,” Bess explains. “Intellectual property rights. Who owns what code. The partner believed he was getting fucked and fucked Brandon in return. I’m not sure how it became a threesome, as I am certainly part of the screwing. In the end, though, I’m glad it happened, even though it’s beyond painful. A fondness for hookers is something you should know about your spouse.”
“Jesus,” Evan says again. “Was he at all apologetic?”
“He made a good show of it. At least until I said there was no getting past what happened. Then he really let me have it.”
Bess braces herself for the words she can still hear, words that stung far worse than finding out about the prostitutes in the first place. That’s when Bess told her lawyer: Hurry up and settle, mediate, divorce. ASAP. It was like escaping a house fire. Grab what’s important. Get out in one piece. She did not want to see his face again.
“What a shit-for-brains,” Evan says. “He obviously has some sort of mental condition or personality disorder. God. Those poor prostitutes.”
“The prostitutes?” Bess can’t help but laugh. “I’m glad you’re focusing on the correct victims in this story.”
“Whatever.” Evan flicks his hand, as if batting away the thought. “I’m not worried about you. You have loads going for you. Those hookers were already damaged. Now they’re scarred for life.”
“Well, his penis is very small.” Bess smirks. “And he’s a pretty wretched kisser. Too dry-mouthed. If I had to screw someone to make a buck, Brandon would not be my top choice.”
“Huh,” Evan says, eyes still blinky and surprised.
“So. Yep. There ya go. Hookers, the ultimate deal-breaker. A tip to take with you into future relationships.”
“Bess.” Evan makes a face. “I would never.”
“I know. I’m just trying to be funny. As you’ve gathered, I’m quite good at it.”
“Can I ask you something?” he says, brows crunched. “Why haven’t you told your mom? You guys are so close.”
Bess considers this.
“I don’t know,” she says. “Cissy and I are close but it’s just … she’s a tough broad, that mom of mine. You never know when you’re going to step on a land mine with her. That’s why it’s usually best to stay up here.”
Bess raises both hands to eye level.
“Uh. Yeah. Tough broad. That is the very definition of Cissy Codman. But, you’re Bess. She loves you more than she loves anything. Even that house.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Bess says with a snort. “The thing is, her judgment is already emanating at me and she doesn’t know the half of it. She keeps asking if I’m sure about the divorce.”
“What could she be judgmental about?”
“I’m giving this family its first broken branch on the whole damned tree. I am the middle child, though. So I’m the right person to play family pariah.”
“Wait a minute.” Evan shakes his head. “Aren’t your parents … I thought they were divorced?”
“What?” Bess laughs. “Divorced? No. Not at all. I mean, my dad never comes to Cliff House and Cissy’s rarely in Boston.” She laughs again. “I’m not suggesting they have some grand love affair for the ages or anything. They basically tolerate each other.”
“Sounds very romantic.”
“Cissy isn’t the romantic type.”
Bess tries to stand. Her left foot has fallen asleep and so she stumbles on the way up. Evan gives her a steady arm.
“Thanks,” Bess says, as the blush creeps across her cheeks once more. She is suddenly woozy. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
Evan keeps his hand at her elbow, guiding her down the dirt path.
“Yeah, I should do some work today,” he says. “This might surprise you, but people get very hostile when they think their contractor isn’t keyed in to every nail and two-by-four. I’ll drop you back at Cliff House.”
“Drop me back at Cliff House,” Bess repeats, as the rocks and pebbles roll beneath her flip-flopped feet. “That might be the last time someone says those words to me.”
“Wow, betting against Cissy Codman? That’s a bad sign.”
“You’ve seen the bluff, right?”
“I have,” Evan says. “And despite my father’s very loud opinions on the matter, I wish it could be different, I really do.”
“Me, too. And thanks.”
Bess pauses. Squinting, she stares out across the Atlantic.
“I haven’t been to Sconset in forever,” she says. “But there was always a comfort in knowing Cliff House was waiting for me. Like a backup plan. When my marriage went to shit, my first instinct was to quit my job and hide out here. I’m way too practical for that, but it sounded good at the time.”
A few tears slide onto her cheeks.
“Aw, man,” Evan says. “Don’t cry. Please. I’ve never been able to handle it.”
“Yeah, I remember.” She smiles through the wetness. “I can’t believe it. No more Cliff House. No more summer.”
“Oh, Bess. Summer will come. Cliff House or not.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
“Hey! Monday is Memorial Day. And whaddya know, Cliff House is still around. Your old shack has her chance. The season hasn’t even started. There’s an entire summer left to go.”