The Scarlet Letter Scandal (23 page)

Maggie walked up the street toward the printing shop in downtown Keytown. She was picking up postcards for Wings Vintage Clothing’s holiday open house. The annual event featured a local keyboardist playing holiday music, free champagne, and some light hors d’oeuvres. She always figured if you were going to ask people to shop somewhere other than big box retail shops for Christmas, it helped to do a little extra. Inevitably, people would pick up a sequined blouse or pair of shoes or jewelry set for holiday events, so sales at the shop were always good, too.

As she walked, her camera around her neck, snapping photos of a cat in a garden, an ornate iron fence, she breathed in the fresh air of her beloved small town. She wouldn’t have traded her setting for a fancy big-city life any day. The long leather ’70s coat she wore was testament to the fact that she loved her job. Going to auctions or estate sales and finding boxes or trunks of old clothing was a treasure hunt to her. Things were great with Dave. Normalcy was underrated. She’d traded a life of dating and uncertainty for one of watching old movies under a huge down comforter with her life’s best friend and partner. She was learning to appreciate what being happy meant. Someone told her once that happiness was a decision, not a feeling, and she thought it made a lot of sense.

As she turned the corner toward the printer shop a few buildings down, she glanced over at the Starbucks across the street where two well-dressed men were walking out the door onto the sidewalk. They seemed intimate, laughing, one touching the other’s coat sleeve, standing that tiny bit too close that meant
relationship
versus business meeting. And in one quick second, one of them caught her eye, quickly looking the other way. Her heart sank. It was Alfred, the Brad Pitt–lookalike husband of her best friend, Wes. Maggie instinctively knew, both from their body language and from Alfred’s avoidance of her glance, that the shorter black-haired man wearing the skinny jeans and turquoise oxford shirt was not just a friend.

She pursed her lips and turned to walk into the printer’s shop. She would have to talk to Wes about this later. He’d been so worried about Alfred cheating, there certainly wouldn’t be any cover-up of this incident. Maggie ached for Wes. All he wanted was a house in the country and a family, and if Alfred couldn’t appreciate that, well…she’d have words for him later.

Seeing the receptionist at the printer was finishing up with another customer, out of habit, Maggie took out her phone. On her lock screen she saw the message from Kate:
Rachel is the Keytown Mouse
. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Of course it was Rachel. Maggie should have known all along. The one who bridged the gap between that skanky subdivision and the heart of downtown Keytown. Maggie knew Rachel and Kate had been an item for a while now. That damn Rachel probably used Kate—
and Lisa!
—to somehow collect information about the Scarlet Letter Society. And she lived right in the middle of Swingtown, so no wonder she had all the info about the goings-on there, too.

Maggie decided then and there that she’d put an end to this Keytown Mouse nonsense. No one deserved to have his or her private life put on display for the world to see by someone else. What was Rachel’s motivation? Boredom? Clearly she wasn’t happy in her marriage; otherwise, she wouldn’t be seemingly in love with Kate.
Kate.
Maggie paid for her postcards, walking back out onto the street and pressing Kate’s phone number on her Contacts screen. There must be a reason Kate wanted her to know.

A minute later, Maggie was putting her camera in its bag and her phone away into her purse. Kate was on her way into class, promising Maggie they’d catch up later, telling her she thought she deserved to know that Rachel was the blogger.
Don’t do anything rash
, Kate had said.

But Maggie’s Irish blood was boiling. She was not going to sit around and tolerate this bitch—who worked one block over from Maggie’s shop!—making people’s lives miserable. She hadn’t even realized she was headed to the accounting firm. She hoped she wouldn’t have to see that miserable wretch Aileen, whom she hated encountering even just at the occasional Chamber of Commerce event.

She had no idea what she planned to say to Rachel as she thundered her way past the brick building’s heavy wooden door. She put down her purse and the package from the printer on a chair (smiling to herself as she wondered whether she should remove her earrings, like the girls in the Jerry Springer fights on TV) in the small reception area and asked the startled receptionist to see Rachel. The receptionist politely asked if she had an appointment.

“I do not,” said Maggie. “Just tell her Maggie Hanson would like to see her about a personal matter.”

The receptionist stood, deciding news of this arrival should be delivered in person versus over the phone. She returned two minutes later and simply gave directions to Rachel’s office.

Maggie walked into the room and closed the door behind her. She didn’t need that tyrant Aileen knowing her business.

Rachel stood from her desk with an amused grin, extending her hand.

Rachel began cheerfully. “Maggie! I don’t really know whether we’ve actually ever really had a chance to…”

But the sound of Rachel’s voice was interrupted by the loud, sudden sound of a slap. Maggie had walked straight in, reached across the desk, and heartily bitch-slapped Rachel in the middle of her sentence, silencing her. Maggie now stood, trembling, taking in shallow breaths.

“You conniving, gossiping little cunt,” said Maggie. “Who the fuck do you think you are coming to this town and bringing your subdivision bullshit swinger fairy tales and spreading people’s business for the world to see? And you have some nerve calling out
anyone
for adultery when you’re cheating on your own husband with Kate. Yeah, that’s right. I know about Kate. We’re still friends! In fact, she’s the one who told me about your stupid fake online joke persona. A
mouse
. It’s perfect for you: sniveling in corners because you’re too small to have a life of your own. I know it drives you nuts that you aren’t the only girl Kate’s ever fucked. It’s amazing what that woman can do to your nipples, isn’t it?”

Rachel sat down, gathering herself. Her cheek burned where Maggie had slapped her. The blue and white capsules just inside her desk seemed so close and so many worlds away. She’d give anything to reach in and swallow five of them dry right now. She took a deep breath. She looked at the laptop screen on her desk, where she’d just finished typing:

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

posted by F. Ritchie

Things have heated all the way up this holiday season around town as the “ROCKS” lifestyle club (also fake-known as a fitness club) is set to swing in the New Year with a toga party on New Year’s Eve. Maybe it’s not too late to join as a member- check out their website at rocksprivatefitnessclub.com. Who doesn’t want to watch the annual ball drop with a bunch of naked neighbors?!

The so-called Scarlet Letter Society has been quiet lately since their existence was printed on real newspaper thanks to yours truly! No word on whether they’ve gone further underground.

The Keytown Mouse is dedicated to bringing you all of our town’s gossipy crumbs.

Buffered by seeing her own words in front of her (
how dare Maggie show up here and boss her around?!)
, she stood and faced the intruder.

“Get the hell out of my office before I call the police and report you for assault,” Rachel told Maggie, staring at her coldly and trying not to shake, something her body had not been able to avoid lately.

“The Keytown Mouse is dead, Rachel,” said Maggie, narrowing her eyes at the jumpy redhead. “The only one who enjoyed it was you. Find something else to do with your free time.”

Maggie turned, walked back to the front office past a confused-looking receptionist, picked up her things, and closed the door firmly behind her, happy to be away from that troublemaker.

What a fucking day, thought Maggie as she walked back to her office. Dealing with the town crier was one level of shit, but having to talk to Wes about seeing another guy with Alfred was something else entirely. These were people she actually cared about.

She unlocked her shop, turning on lights, adjusting the heat, and placing the postcards on the counter. She turned the sign to “OPEN” even though business was slow on Tuesdays. She turned on the wireless speaker and the “’70s Lite Rock Radio” station on her Pandora. She texted Wes because he absolutely hated phone calls.

Maggie: You around?

Wes: Right here at my desk working on theatre program. Yawn.

Maggie: Can you come by? Need to talk to you about something.

Wes: Ugh. On deadline to get this to printer. Can we text?

Maggie: Of course we can text, high school girl. Listen I kind of have some bad news I guess?

Wes: Ruh roh, Scooby Doo. What is it?

Maggie: Not bad news exactly just something I saw today that I thought you should know about.

Wes: Oh Lord, just spill it already.

Maggie: I saw Alfred this morning coming out of Starbucks with…

Wes: With…?

Maggie: Don’t know I mean maybe it was someone he works with?

Wes: Or not?

Maggie: Or not. I really couldn’t be sure.

Wes: …but they looked cozy or you wouldn’t be telling me.

Maggie: I’m sorry.

Wes: Don’t be sorry. He’s a man whore. I knew it when I married him. Will need deets.

Maggie: Shit. Wanna have lunch? I bitch slapped someone today if that will cheer you up.

Wes: WHAT?! Perfect. I always want to have lunch with my best girlfriend. Will text when I get this thing done.

Maggie: I love you.

Wes: I know. Thanks for that. LYT

Maggie and Dave were thrilled that their daughters were home for Thanksgiving. Even the old cats Steinbeck and Grizabella were out and about more, hanging around the kitchen versus sleeping somewhere in upstairs rooms. The big stone Victorian house seemed empty with the girls away. After they’d left for college, Dave had designed a small first-floor apartment that didn’t take away from the home’s grand scale, but allowed for a first-floor master suite. Once you reached age fifty, steep nineteenth-century stairs became a bad idea. Upstairs, each daughter literally had her own apartment when they returned home for visits, complete with updated bathrooms, sitting rooms, and two bedrooms apiece in case a friend visited.

Erica had graduated from Western Maryland University and was a graduate student in marketing at the esteemed Wharton MBA program at the University of Pennsylvania. She lived in a cute Manayunk neighborhood with her boyfriend, Al, also a student there, and they were both here for the holiday. Lilith was a sophomore at Syracuse and had taken the train home for the weekend from New York.

Dave and Maggie had spent the day getting ready for the family meal. The dining room with its enormous curved glass bay window held an antique sideboard adorned with candelabras and a mix of antique china Maggie had acquired at auctions over the years. She loved a table where none of the plates matched. The girls had set a gorgeous table, the house smelled like only Thanksgiving Day can, and the kitchen was busy with the sounds of meal preparation and laughter.

Finally, everything was ready and Maggie, Erica, Al, and Lilith were seated at the table. Dave was the last to appear, entering the room with the giant turkey platter.

“Wait!” said Lilith. “I have to get the Norman Rockwell shot! Mom, stand next to Dad while he puts it on the table!”

Maggie laughed. “Oh, God, as long as it’s for a picture and not a painting—I’m starving!”

She turned to look at Dave. He’d put down the platter and now he was holding a small, open, robin’s egg–colored box.

“Our love is what I am most thankful for, Maggie Hanson,” he said, getting down on one knee. The girls squealed as Lilith quickly stood and moved around to the side of the table. “Would you like to marry me again?”

Maggie gasped, her hand over her mouth, sinking into her chair. She stared at the enormous rounded-corner square diamond. She had no idea what that style was called, but she loved it instantly.