Call Me! (13 page)

His “best birthday present ever” continues.

“Let
me
see,” Ben says.

“Shall I share them with Ben?” I ask Roy.

“Your choice,” he says, evenly.

“They’re a little hard to make out, sweetheart,” I say. “Do you have your glasses with you?”

Ben reaches inside his coat pocket for his glasses and puts them on.

“Good!” I say. “Though I’m not sure you’ll be overly impressed with the quality. No offense, Roy.”

I note the stunned expression on Roy’s face before handing his cell phone to Ben.

BEN SCANS THE pictures and frowns.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he says.

“They’re nude photos of a woman,” I say.

Ben places Roy’s phone on the table.

“I know
that
,” he says. “What I don’t understand is why Roy wanted to show them to
you
.”

I look at Roy.

“Why
would
you feel comfortable showing me nude pictures of you and a hooker?”

Roy grabs the phone and starts flipping through the photos. What he sees is I’ve erased the photos of me and left the ones he took of him having sex with Carter Teague after I left. I may not be a successful private eye, but I’m a good one. I know how to get evidence, and how to destroy it. As a plus, even though I’m not a gym rat, I could possibly hold my own against Roy should he decide to throw a punch at me.

“I don’t know how you did that,” he says angrily, “but this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”

Ben and I exchange a look.

“I saw that!” Roy says.

“Sorry,” I say, “but you seem upset.”

He’s more than upset, he’s livid.

“Don’t celebrate yet, sweet meat. I can still pull the photos from my SIM card.”

“I think we’ve seen enough photos, Roy,” Ben says.

“You think, Benny boy? You just wait. You’ll see.”

In the car, on the way home, Ben says, “Unbelievable.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve never seen him that out of control before. He didn’t know how to react.”

“I can’t believe he’d show me naked pictures of himself,” I say, shamelessly.

“Sad to say, that’s not out of character for him.”

“But why would he
do
that?”

“Ego. He wanted you to see the kind of man you
could
be with instead of me. Did you see the shock on his face when you handed me his cell phone?”

“It was like he got caught flirting with your wife.”

“He
was
flirting, and when you showed me his photos it shamed him like he’s never been shamed before. In Roy’s eyes, losing face in front of
me
is the worst possible insult.”

I glance at Ben’s face. He’s beaming. He catches me looking and says, “I can’t thank you enough for tonight. You’ve done me the biggest favor in the world!”

“How so?”

“Roy calls me a couple of times a year to gloat. Tonight, thanks to you, I’ve beaten him. Now he knows there’s nothing he can say or do to impress me. I expect we’ll never hear from him again!”

Ben laughs.

I laugh too, but I have a feeling he’s wrong about that.

When we get home, Ben asks if we can have sex.

“I know you’re riding a high,” I say, “but we have an arrangement, remember?”

“How could I possibly forget the arrangement?” he says. “If you do it now, I’ll let you skip my birthday.”

This is a good offer. His birthday’s a full day. This is a late night quickie.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” I say.

“How about right here in the kitchen?” he says.

“I’ll do it wherever you like. But first I have to pee.”

“I’ll make it easy on you,” he says. “My bed, two minutes.”

“Can’t wait!” I say, feigning enthusiasm.

I run up the stairs, brush my teeth, toss on a negligee, and catch my reflection in the mirror. Then mouth the words, “Don’t look at me like that, Sofe!”

I get almost to the stairs, then run back to my vanity and search till I find the
Daisy, by Marc Jacobs
.

Sophie’s perfume.

I dab some on the back of my right hand and make my way down the staircase. When I get to Ben’s bedroom, I remind myself to be fun and flirty. He’s earned this, and I want to do my very best.

Ben’s lovemaking sessions normally last between five and fifteen minutes, depending on whether he’s in the mood for three or thirteen minutes of foreplay. But tonight is a whole different ball of wax.

He’s doing subtle things to me down there. I put the back of my hand over my mouth and make little pretend whimpers while taking in Sophie’s scent. Ben likes the sounds I make, and continues what he’s doing, and before I know it, I’m pretending it’s Sophie, and he’s doing all the things I imagine Sophie doing.

Ben has never approached my body in this manner, and I have to say the little whimpering sounds I’m making are no longer make-believe. I take in Sophie’s scent, think of her, and Ben does his thing, and suddenly I’m moving my head back and forth, making sounds I don’t recognize. The pleasure’s building. I’m breathing faster and faster, my heart’s racing, my face is flushed. My back arches, falls and arches again without any help from me. I’m dizzy. I’m euphoric. I’m…I’m about to explode!

Suddenly I yell, “
Give it to me
!”

Huh?

Did I really say that?

Ben’s more surprised than I am. But he obliges me. And as he does, I immediately go from physical to mental, which means I no longer feel the flush, the excitement, the sexual engagement. Is it because he’s a man?

No.

It’s because I confused myself.

Had I been excited thinking of Sophie? Yes. But if so, why did I yell for Ben?

I needed him.

I’m more confused than ever. But not so confused I miss the signals Ben’s giving me. He’s nearly done, so I make the passionate sounds he’s hoping to hear, and let him kiss me. I kiss him back, and touch him in ways that bring him a swift and happy ending. Then I lie in Ben’s arms a respectable length of time, kiss him goodnight, trudge up the stairs, climb into my bed, and cry myself to sleep.

WEDNESDAY MORNING

“THAT’S THE MOST insane thing I’ve ever heard!” Sophie says.

She’s talking about dinner with Roy, not sex with Ben. I haven’t told her about Ben, and probably won’t. I’m at my real office, not the one at home, and we’ve been on the phone more than two hours, dissecting every detail of what transpired last night at the restaurant with Roy.

I know lots of women who have guy friends. I have some too, but this is the type of conversation I could never have with them. With guys, you tell them the story, they ask a question or two, you’re done. But a girlfriend will ask for the exact wording of each comment, and the tone with which it was spoken.
What did he mean by that?
will be dissected, debated, and analyzed fifteen different ways before the next comment is parsed. It’s a matter of layering one detail on top of another, no matter how minute, after factoring in such things as facial expression, nuance, history, wardrobe, eye color, skin tone, bone structure, fragrance, wind velocity, and curvature of the earth.

In the end, Sophie and I have the entire conversation worked out, and it only took us fifteen minutes longer than it took for the events to transpire last night!

“So now you’re doing what?” she says.

“Same as always.”

“Looking for
ManChild
?”

“Well, he won’t be using that name.”

“If he’s smart enough not to use the name, he’s smart enough not to use the phrase.”

“The sickest ones are often smart. But when their demons take over, they fall back into familiar patterns of speech.”

“I know, but the chances are so slim—”

“
It’s all I’ve got, Sofe
!”

We’re both quiet a minute.

“I raised my voice to you,” I say.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You had every right,” Sophie says. “What you’re working on is really important. I don’t know how you do it, given what you’ve been through.” She sighs. “I’m supposed to be your friend, supposed to be supportive. And I am, but sometimes my mouth gets in my way.”

“It’s alright.”

We’re quiet again, best friends trying to reconnect after an awkward exchange. I feel I should say something, but I’m struggling. Then it comes to me.

“What does the BFF Handbook call for at a time like this?”

“A change of subject.”

“Got anything?”

She thinks a minute. “I do. Read me some of the funny posts.”

I smile. Sophie’s good. She’s changing the subject, but keeping me on task. I’ll read a couple of perverted posts to her, we’ll laugh, hang up. Then I’ll dig into the more serious conversation threads that have posted over the last twenty-four hours.

“Ready?” I say.

“Hit me!”

I find one and say, “
PillowLips
says,
I like anagrams. My new online bf said his name is Alan. Do you think that’s code for Anal?”

“She probably thinks Santa is code for Satan.”

“Maybe you can work that into a song.”

She laughs. “Read me another.”

I scan the
Lunatic List
of names I put together to follow on a regular basis. Most are guys, but I keep an eye on a few young ladies in case they turn up missing. The ones I follow are prime candidates.

Sofe says, “What’s
FingerSniffer
up to? Gotta love
that
name!”

“Let’s see. Nothing since he asked all underage girls to send him
nekkid pix
.”

“Did anyone do it?”

“Nope. Or he would’ve posted.”

“Too bad you don’t have Carter Teague’s photos.”

“She’s
twice
too old for these men to care.”