Savage Lane (8 page)

“Both of you just stop it,” Deb said, glaring in the rearview.

The Stoli was doing nothing for her now; she needed another drink badly but would have to wait about fifteen minutes until they got home. She had to get on Expedia and start seriously looking into Italian vacations, because she needed to get away from everything. Ending it with Owen wouldn’t be enough; she needed physical distance so she wouldn’t feel tempted.

At a red light she looked at her phone in her purse and the text from Owen:
your the one causing the scenes not me why didn’t you text me back???

“Jesus Christ,” Deb said.

“What?” Riley asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” Deb muttered.

Deb wanted to hit back with a scolding text, ordering him to stop texting her, but she resisted, knowing that responding would only lead to more texting and that it was better not to engage.

The light turned green and Deb hit the gas.

Then Riley asked, “Did you see Owen Harrison today?”

“Who?” Deb was trying not to panic.

“Owen Harrison,” Riley said. “Was he there today at swim practice?”

Deb’s hands were sweaty; her pulse was pounding. Maybe it was a mistake not texting back. She was the adult, after all. Shouldn’t she take charge?

“Owen Harrison?” she said, pretending she couldn’t quite place the name.

“I saw him,” Justin said. “He picked up his brother, Kyle.”

“Was he with anybody?” Riley asked.

“I don’t know,” Justin said.

The car got quiet again. Deb was confused, paranoid. She knew she should let it go, that it probably didn’t mean anything, but she wanted to make sure.

“Why were you asking about Owen?” Deb asked.

“No reason,” Riley said.

She was hiding something; Deb was sure of it. But what?

Noticing that her hands were actually shaking the steering wheel, Deb asked, “Have you even seen Owen recently?”

“Never mind,” Riley said. “It’s not important.”

Then a thought hit—oh God, no, Deb didn’t even want to think about this, but she had to because it was possible; it even made
sense
. Riley’s sixteen, and sixteen year olds have active hormones and crushes, and Owen was an older, good-looking boy, so why wouldn’t she have a crush on him? But a crush wasn’t a big deal—teenage crushes were innocent. She probably had crushes on lots of boys.

But what if it was worse than a crush? What if she was actually
involved
with Owen? Owen had told Deb that he wasn’t interested in dating girls his age, and she’d believed him, but maybe it had been silly to believe a teenage boy. He could have been dating other girls all along and Deb wouldn’t have known. And if he suspected that Deb wanted to end the affair and he was angry about it, why not try to get revenge by seducing her daughter? Riley had been spending more time with her friends lately—going to parties, movies, hanging out at the mall. She could have easily started seeing Owen without Deb knowing about it. Deb didn’t think Riley had become sexually active yet, but Riley was good at keeping secrets. Like mother, like daughter.

“Slow down, Mom,” Riley said urgently.

This was all Deb needed—something else to worry about. She needed another drink, or
something
to make this all go away.

“
Mom
,” Riley said.

Approaching a bend, Deb realized she was driving way too fast. Then she hit the brake a little hard, and the car skidded. She was able to get control back quickly, though, and made it the rest of the way home without incident.

O
N THE
approach to the seventh hole, Mark knew he had to be aggressive and get to the back of the green or else he’d wind up in the sand trap, and he was already having a rough round, way over his recent average. He tried to swing strong through the ball, get some backspin on it, but he undercut too much and watched it three-bounce right into the trap.

“Didn’t eat your Wheaties today, huh?” Stu Zimmerman said.

Stu was a tax attorney, married, in his forties, whom Mark had been playing golf with for years. They also rode into the city together during the workweek sometimes on the 7:08 train from Katonah, when Mark was able to make that train. Stu had two kids, including a son Justin’s age, and the kids played on the same Little League team.

“What am I gonna do?” Mark said. “I guess today just isn’t my day.”

After Stu shot his approach, which landed right on the green, maybe ten feet from the cup, he got into a cart with Doug Carlson. Doug was married with kids and owned an office supply business in the city and, like Mark and Stu, was in his forties. Mark put his eight iron back in the bag, wishing he’d used a seven, then got into the cart that Richie Rosen was driving. Richie was a single investment banker, about thirty years old.

“You’ll pick ’em up on the back nine,” Richie said, as they bounced along the fairway.

“I’m not counting on it,” Mark said. “I don’t know, I just didn’t bring my A game today. I guess I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

“Out clubbing last night?” Richie asked, smiling.

“Not exactly,” Mark said. “I was at a dinner party last night in Bedford Hills, then I went running this morning and my legs’re feeling it. Not that I’m making any excuses.”

“’Course not.” Richie, with his very white teeth, was still smiling.

The truth was, though, that the running was definitely having an effect on Mark’s game. His legs felt tired and heavy and it was hard to get any strength into his swing, but it had been worth it to spend more time with Karen. It was also hard to focus on his game because he was distracted, looking forward to hopefully bumping into her in the clubhouse later, maybe having coffee or a drink.

At the tee-off to the eighth hole, they were waiting for the group ahead of them to finish up on the next green when Stu said to Mark, “So, how’s everything with your girlfriend?”

Mark knew that Stu meant Karen. The guys often teased him about them spending so much time together.

“Ha ha,” Mark said.

“Seriously,” Doug said. “Are you tapping that or what?”

“We’re just good friends,” Mark said.

“Yeah, friends,” Doug said, pushing his cheek out with his tongue and moving his fist back and forth in front of his mouth, simulating a blowjob.

Stu also looked incredulous. Richie was smiling again, checking his phone.

“It’s true,” Mark said.

“He wouldn’t tell us if something was going on with them,” Stu said, “because he’d be afraid we’d blab about it.”

“That’s a good point,” Doug said. “But, seriously, she’s looking smoking lately. Did you see what she was wearing the other day in the clubhouse? She had the boots, the short skirt—”

“And her tits looked fucking incredible,” Stu said.

“Her tits
always
look fucking incredible,” Doug said. “I mean she has that cougar, workout chick body going on, not an ounce of fat anywhere, and then these huge fucking knockers.”

“They’re not
that
big,” Stu said. “They’re probably like B-cups.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Doug said. “They’re easily C’s. And they’re firm too. She has two kids and her tits look like that? Jesus.”

“Maybe they’re fake,” Stu said.

“They’re not fake,” Richie said, putting away his phone.

“Whoa, listen to the tits expert here,” Doug said. “Mr. Single Guy.”

“When they’re fake they don’t bounce at all,” Richie said seriously. “I saw her playing tennis the other day and hers were bouncing up and down every time she hit the ball.”

“I don’t know,” Stu said. “I think when something looks too good to be true it usually is.”

Mark must’ve made a face, or maybe rolled his eyes, because Doug said, “Wait, does the
friend
wanna weigh in?”

“They’re not fake,” Mark said.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up,” Doug said. “You’re just friends but you know her tits are real?”

“Sounds like a confession to me.” Stu was smirking.

Wishing he’d kept his mouth shut, Mark said, “She mentioned it to me once.”

“Mentioned it?” Doug laughed. “How did she just
mention
her tits? Were you like, ‘How’re you doing?’ And she said, ‘Pretty good, oh and, by the way, let’s talk about my tits’?”

Stu and Richie were laughing so hard that an old guy, maybe twenty yards away, who’d been in the middle of his backswing, about to tee-off, glared back at them.

“Oh, sorry,” Stu stage-whispered.

“I forgot how it came up,” Mark said. “I think we were talking about some famous actress who’d gotten a boob job and Karen said she’d never do that, even when she got older.”

“That sounds mildly believable,” Doug said.

“
Mildly
,” Stu said. Then he said to Mark, “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you set Richie up with Karen?”

“I love it,” Doug said. “Then at least somebody we know would be fucking her, and we can find out what it’s like, you know, vicariously.”

“She’s too old for me,” Richie said.

“Too old?” Doug said. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Yeah, she’s gotta be what, forty?” Richie said. “In ten years she’ll be fifty. My mother’s fifty-three.”

“That makes sense.” Doug rolled his eyes.

“You could be a motherfucker,” Stu said.

Stu and Doug were trying to stifle their laughter, middle-aged guys acting like kids in the back of a classroom.

Mark, getting seriously irritated with the conversation and wanting to change the topic, said to Stu, “What’re you using on this, iron or a wood?”

“I’m using an iron, you’re the one using the wood on Karen.”

All the guys, except Mark, laughed.

Then Stu said to Richie, “Seriously, I’m not talking about
marrying
the broad. Just to fuck around with a few times. I mean
somebody’s
gotta motorboat those knobs.”

“Yeah, you gotta check the cougar box before you get married,” Doug said to Richie.

“And you know she knows her way around in the sack,” Stu said. “Since she and Joe broke up she’s been a dating machine. My wife said she’s on Match, OkCupid, all that shit.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen her with three different guys in the past month,” Doug said.

This was ridiculous; she’d only been with one guy lately—Steven. Unless there were others Mark didn’t know about. This thought made his gut tighten.

“Did you see her with that new guy?” Stu asked. “I think his name’s Steven? Tall guy, long hair, ponytail. I ran into them at the bagel place one morning a couple of weeks ago.”

“Nope, then I guess it’s been four guys in the past two months,” Doug said.

“Great, so now you’re trying to set me up with a slut,” Richie said.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Mark said to Richie.

“Oooh, I think somebody’s getting protective over his girlfriend,” Stu said.

“Relax, I’m just kidding around,” Richie said to Mark.

“Take it easy,” Stu said to Mark.

“Yeah,” Doug said. “And if you’re not hitting it yourself why do you give a shit who she’s fucking?”

Mark cocked the three iron he was holding over his shoulder like an axe and took a step toward Doug, as if about to whack him over the head with it. He actually started the backswing.

“Hey, whoa, whoa, take it easy, man,” Doug said, backing away.

“You crazy?” Stu said to Mark. “He’s just messin’ with you.”

Mark felt crazy. He felt out of control.

Then, maybe after a few seconds, sanity returned.

He lowered the club and said, “I was just messing with you too,” but he knew no one was buying this, not even himself.

“I think somebody needs an anger management class,” Stu said.

Mark wanted to say something to help smooth things over, but he couldn’t think of what exactly to say.

Then Richie broke the tension, saying, “Looks like we’re up.”

Mark played worse on the back nine, partly because he could tell everyone was still uncomfortable around him, and partly because he was anxious to finish up and get back to the clubhouse in time to hopefully bump into Karen. After eighteen, he rushed ahead to the clubhouse, disappointed that he didn’t see Karen on the terrace where she usually hung out. The guys were lingering, talking, and he didn’t want to make it too obvious that he was looking for her, so he went nonchalantly into the indoor area of the clubhouse. He didn’t see her and then went into the bathroom and peed and washed up. Then he texted her:
Hey saw u playing tennis b4 @ club, was hoping to run into u How was it??

He waited for a couple of minutes, staring at his phone, but didn’t get a response. Then he went through to the café and saw Karen and her friend at a table in the back in the corner.

Mark noticed that Stu and Richie were now near the bar, and probably would see him going over to Karen, but he didn’t really care what the guys thought anymore. He definitely wasn’t going to let their teasing affect his friendship with her.