Week Three of the Waiting Game, Betrayal
ON SATURDAY morning I got up early—I hadn’t slept very well anyway—and went out for a run. Slatter had slept on the couch, so I left the room as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the poor man. He was making a sacrifice beyond reason trying to sleep on a couch that was too short for someone of his height. He looked mightily uncomfortable.
That morning was clear but cooler than it had been, which made for lovely running weather. I ran for an hour and then headed back. On my way past the front of Moira’s house I saw that her morning newspaper was waiting on the sidewalk so I picked it up, intending to toss it onto her porch for her to find when she got out of bed.
When I picked it up I glanced at the headlines to see if the world was still in one piece. And the blood in my veins turned ice cold in an instant. Front and center on that morning’s newspaper was a crystal clear, full-color picture of Derrick—in bed with Bill. Both of them were bare chested and appeared to be asleep. The headline said something to the effect of “St. James Ditches Wife for New Boy Toy.” I guess that Bill was the Boy Toy.
Instead of just tossing the newspaper on her porch, I started pounding on the door and ringing the bell over and over and over again until Moira appeared, still partly asleep.
“What’s wrong?” she asked when she saw my expression.
In answer, I simply held up the morning newspaper.
“That son of a…,” she said.
I simply turned and walked away, heading back to my place. Slatter was still sleeping, but I was too mad to care about being quiet. He awoke with a start and asked me what was wrong. In answer I simply said, “Go to the front house and ask Moira to show you. I’m going to take a shower, and then I need to make some decisions. I may need your help.”
While he was gone, I showered and dressed and started looking around the place to make some assessments. While I stood there I heard voices raised outside. When I stepped outside I saw Slatter arguing with Moira. All I was able to catch was, “If you even had a hint of this and didn’t say anything….”
Walking up to her, I said, “You knew?” My voice apparently held a certain bit of anger.
“No! I didn’t know.”
“But you suspected something.” Statement, not a question.
“When I couldn’t get answers from people, I knew there was a problem. I can always get people to talk and fill me in on what’s happening.”
“Slatter, I need some help packing so I can get out of here.”
“No! Mark, no! Don’t leave!” Moira practically begged. “I don’t want to lose you!”
“I can’t stay here and run the risk of running into your client with my former scum-sucking pig of a boyfriend—who didn’t even have the balls to face me and tell me the truth! And if they ever show up to see you, I would appreciate it if you would castrate that lying sack of shit.”
“Which one?” she asked.
“Elmer.”
“Who’s Elmer?” Slatter asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I need to pack a bag and get out of here.”
“Mark, please don’t move out. Go away for a few days. Take a break. But don’t make any rash decisions. Your classes are underway. You like them. Don’t let their stupidity take that away from you. You’ve worked too hard to get where you are.”
I nodded without saying a word before stepping into the house. Almost immediately I was back out with a question. “Do you have any contacts at the newspaper?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I’d like two things. I’d like as many copies of that front section as I can get so that I can spread them around—widely. And I’d like to know how they got the photo. Who took it? How did it get to them? Simple things.”
“I’ll call them right now.”
“I will honor your wishes and not make any sudden decisions, but I do have to go away for a little while.”
“I understand. Any idea where you’ll go?” she asked.
“Not a clue.” Turning to Slatter, I asked, “Can I stay at the dorm with you for a couple of days?”
“I’ve got a roommate.”
I nodded. “Do you like to drink?” I asked Slatter.
“I have been known to do so on occasion. I’m certainly not super good at it, but I’d be glad to go out and have a drink with you somewhere this afternoon or this evening.”
“Good. First, though, I’d like to get the rat bastard’s stuff cleaned out and thrown out.” The feeling was cathartic. Finding Bill’s stuff, most of which my parents and I had bought for him, and throwing it out the door in anger, felt good. The valuable things I kept, but his clothes, anything personal—out it went. I asked Moira to have the locks changed; she agreed and called a locksmith to come out that day.
Slatter and I went out and got into the car. I agreed to come back in a couple of hours to pick up the new keys, and then I’d figure out my next move.
“Think your contact at the newspaper can have the copies for me by then, and maybe an answer on how they got the picture and who took it?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Slatter and I got in the car and drove. I didn’t have any destination in mind, simply driving the car where the traffic seemed to allow. He didn’t say anything but simply sat with me and kept me company. After two hours of aimless wandering I drove us back to Moira’s. She greeted me with a set of new keys, a stack of three hundred copies of the newspaper, and a mystery. No one seemed to know who had taken the picture. It had come to the newspaper anonymously. What she did know was that it had been picked up by just about every news service and was in the process of spreading worldwide.
I put the newspapers in the apartment, kept about a dozen with me to keep my anger stoked, and got back in the car with Slatter. I asked him if he could drive, which he readily agreed to do.
“Stick close to him,” she said to Slatter as we departed.
“Of course.”