Douglas Kennedy - Woman in the Fifth

‘I DON’T KNOW what you’re talking about,’ I said.

‘Liar,’ she said with a laugh.

I sipped some whisky and winced again.

‘What’s wrong with your mouth?’

‘I bit my tongue.’

‘Liar.’

‘Haven’t you ever bitten your tongue?’ I asked.

‘What was her name?’

‘I’m telling you—’

‘You are telling me shit. Which is fine by me. I don’t care. Any more than I care if you slept with someone else — which I know you did. So what was her name?’ Pause. Then, ‘Yanna.’

‘Turkish?’

‘Half-French, half-Turkish.’

‘How did you meet her?’

I explained.

‘And how did the fuck happen?’

I explained.

‘Did she did bite you before or after penetration?’

I explained.

‘And when you were finished?’

‘She threw me out.’

‘And let me guess — you didn’t use a condom …’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘But why?’

‘Because now …’

‘Now what?’

‘Now perhaps you won’t want …’

‘To have sex with you?’ She laughed again. ‘Sometimes, Harry, you become infantile.’

I hung my head … and felt infantile.

‘Surely that doctor you consulted …’

I looked up at her.

‘How did you know I consulted … ?’

‘Here we go again. Harry, you are so charmingly predictable. And you are so American when it comes to your need to feel bad about everything to do with sex. So let me guess: the doctor told you there’s nothing to worry about. But you’re still worried — still calculating the million-to-one possibility that you might have contracted—’

‘Stop,’ I said.

‘But why, cheri ? You feel guilt about fucking someone else. But instead of properly hiding it, you wear it on your sleeve. And when I call you on it, you admit all — and hand the guilt on to me.’

‘That wasn’t my intention.’

‘I don’t care what you did. I don’t care into which of her orifices you shoved your penis. All I care about is being treated as an adult by an adult. But when you enter my apartment, cowering—’

‘It’s not just the sex,’ I said, cutting her off.

‘Even though the doctor gave you the virtual all-clear?’

‘I am being blackmailed.’

‘By whom exactly?’ she asked

I gave her the complete run-down on Omar, then said, ‘The guy has a certain animal cunning. He thinks he’s got me cornered …’

‘But he does have you cornered.’

‘So what do I do?’

‘You don’t pay him the money.’

‘But he will make good on his threat …’

‘Let him. You can always deny it. And believe me, Madame Teeth Marks will deny it too.’

‘That won’t change his mind. At best, I’ll get my face smashed in.’

‘The thing to play for is time. Tell Omar you will give him the money, but you don’t have the cash right now. Tell him you’ll get it to him in a few weeks. If he pushes you, be firm. What’s he going to do? Go ahead and tell her husband? If he does that he doesn’t get the money. That’s all he’s after — the thousand now and whatever he can bilk from you later. So keep him on the long finger. Meanwhile, I think you should make contact with Madame Teeth Marks and let her know what’s going on. She can definitely help you contain things. Suggest to her that she tells her husband that Omar tried to make a pass at her late one night while he was away burying his uncle. Suggest to her that she gives him graphic details of the pass he made … how he attempted to touch her everywhere. She really needs to make it sound as grubby as possible. Once she’s done that, Omar’s credibility will be zero. He can tell him anything about you, and the husband won’t believe it. Because he’ll think Omar is simply trying to offload blame on you.’

I looked at her, impressed.

‘That’s a very elegant, nasty solution to the problem.’

‘It comes with a price, however.’

‘Which is what?’

‘I want to know what happened to you in the States — what you did that was so shockingly terrible that you had no choice but to flee over here.’

A long pause — I downed the whisky, even though the alcohol burned into the wound and hurt like hell.

‘You owe me this, Harry,’ she said.

‘Because of my transgression?’

‘No — because I’ve told you so much about my past. Whereas you …’

‘You’ll think it such a banal story.’

‘If it destroyed your life, it’s hardly banal. Anyway, you want to tell me.’

‘Could I have another shot of that whisky?’ I asked.

‘Dutch courage?’

‘What other courage is there?’

She poured me out a hefty shot. I downed half of it, my eyes watering up as it went down.

‘ On y va, monsieur ,’ she said. ‘Get on with it.’

I finished the whisky. I took a deep breath. I started to talk.

‘I suppose I should first tell you about my wife. I met Susan in grad school in Michigan. She was doing drama — and had all these great plans for becoming a professional theater director. I was getting a doctorate in film studies and wanted nothing more than a nice secure tenured job at a nice secure university which wouldn’t be too taxing, would allow me to teach something I genuinely liked, and would also give me plenty of time to write “the novel” — check that: “ the novels ” — that I knew I was destined to write. From the moment I met her, Susan struck me as the ideal “life partner”. She was attractive … in a very wholesome Midwestern way. She certainly wasn’t chic — that would have been anathema to her. But yes, she was genuinely cute.’

‘A horrible word, cute. And let me guess: she always wore jeans and hiking boots and creme-colored sweaters and a ski parka and …’

‘Do you want to tell this story?’

‘I’m right, am I not?’

‘Yes, you’re right. And yes, we got married before we both got our doctorates. And yes, we both found jobs at the same middle-ranking small college — Crewe, in Ohio. No mean feat that, considering how hard academic jobs are to come by. I was an instant hit with my students… .’

‘And Susan? Was she too a hit in the realm of “student drama”?’

‘Susan — as it turned out — had difficulty fitting in at the college. Everyone saw that she was a very talented director — great creative vision and all that — but she wasn’t the easiest of teachers, and several students complained that she was too demanding on them, that she expected standards far higher than those kids at Crewe College could obtain …’

‘Was she hypercritical of you as well?’

‘Yes, she could be rather finicky around the house. And yes, she did push me very hard professionally — as we both came into the college as assistant professors, and both had to get enough articles and the like published in order to get tenured.’

‘Let me guess what happened next. You got tenured and she was turned down?’

‘That is precisely what happened. The thing that decided it against her wasn’t her lack of professional accomplishment — it was her inability to relate to her students.’

‘So suddenly she was out of a job, and you had the permanent post you wanted, which meant that you were stuck in this little town — which was the original master plan, except that now that your wife had nothing to do …’

‘Well, she did get a few more small directing gigs at some small regional theaters — but again, there would always be some blow-up with the cast, some dispute with the scenic designer, or she would rub management up the wrong way …’

‘An endlessly angry woman?’

‘I’m afraid so.’