Chapter Twenty-Two - Quin
“I don’t get it,” Chella says.
I got here last night. It was a little weird to be OK with Chella and not think too much about Rochelle. Weird, in that I feel a lot of guilt for replacing a girl I truly loved with this new one, who I’m truly starting to like. But I didn’t try to fuck her, and she didn’t mind me sleeping next to her and being all chaste, so…
I don’t know. Maybe we’re becoming friends.
“What’s not to get?” I ask back. When I got up this morning she was already awake. The coffee was made, the TV was on—some morning news show—and she was sitting on the new couch staring out the window at the gray sky that’s threatening more snow.
Then she started with the questions. Why do we do this? What do we get out of it? Is she doing a good job?
I feel bad that it’s so confusing for her, I really do. But it’s not confusing for me.
“You said you get me. But Smith said the same thing. So I don’t understand. If you really wanted me, then why share with each other?”
“No,” I say, rubbing the stubble on my chin. “No, that’s not what he meant.” I don’t think, anyway. It’s not what I meant, I do know that for sure. “I’m not in love with you, Marcella. I didn’t fall in love with Rochelle right away either. So it’s nothing personal.”
“So why am I the prize?”
I stare at her face and just now notice how blue her eyes are. It’s a striking contrast to her dark mahogany hair. “You’re not a prize. You’re just… I don’t really know how to explain it. You’re just… ours.”
“So it’s the sharing that you like? You say you’re in love with Rochelle, but you didn’t mind sharing her with Bric and Smith?”
“That’s why we have the numbers and the rules.”
“Explain,” she says.
“Bric already explained—”
“I know, but I need to hear it again. It all went too fast and I just want to make sure I understand.”
I sigh. I really don’t like talking about the arrangement. But she deserves to have her questions answered. “Number One is there to deny you. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Number Two is there to satisfy you after the abstinence. Number Three is there to give you what you really want—Number One, with conditions.”
“How do you decide who is who? Like how did you get to be One and then be Two? Do you just go in order? Taking turns?”
“No. Number One goes to the guy who likes her most. Usually, but not always, the guy who makes the offer.”
I think she stops breathing. “So Smith—”
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s the one who wanted you. I was the one who wanted Rochelle even though Bric found her first. I just… liked her.”
“Has Bric ever been Number One?” she asks. She’s gripping her coffee mug so tightly, her knuckles are white.
“I’m sure he has, but I don’t remember which girl it was. One of the meaningless early ones. Before we really got a handle on things. He lets us choose most of the time.”
“And yet you and Smith both say I’m what you get out of this.” She shakes her head. It makes no sense to her. “What will Bric say? If I ask him that question on Wednesday?”
“He’ll say the same thing. He gets you. With us.”
“With us—meaning the three of you? So you’re in love with them?”
“Who?” I laugh. “Bric and Smith? Fuck no.”
“Then why, Quin? Why do you share together? It’s so intimate. It’s very fucking taboo. And it’s got a lot of potential for misplaced emotions and hurt feelings. So why?”
“All those reasons, I guess. It’s challenging. Stimulating in a way that you can’t get through other means. I like them, don’t get me wrong. I’m comfortable with them. I’m comfortable with what we do. It’s erotic. And just plain fucking hot, you know? I wouldn’t want to watch Bric and Smith fuck the same girl if I didn’t like them. And I like the thrill of participating in the domination of one woman at the same time. I like the way we make her feel helpless and submissive. I like telling her to suck Bric’s cock or sit on Smith’s face. I like the way we fuck together. Is that so hard to understand?”
She exhales a long breath of air. “Yeah. It’s hot. I admit that. It turns me on pretty hard. But as a woman, I just don’t get why you want to do it over and over again, with the same girl, knowing the complications.”
“So why are you here? And don’t say Rochelle. That can’t be it. No one just walks into an arrangement like this because a friend wants out and needs a replacement.”
“If I tell you, will you keep it a secret? Or are you under some obligation to tell the others?”
“I’ll probably tell them. Eventually. If they ask. They have a right to know.”
She hesitates. Her secret is on the tip of her tongue, but she bites it back when she hears my answer.
“Let me ask you this,” I say. “Do you want to lose this game?”
“I can’t even answer that. What does winning mean?”
“Well, I’ll tell you what losing means. It means we kick you out of this apartment, you go back home, and we never talk to you again.”
“But if that’s losing, then everyone who came before me… lost.”
“We all lose when we have to start over.”
“So you want this to be permanent?” She scrunches up her face. “No,” she says, answering her own question. “You don’t. You know everyone loses eventually. You just want to play the game while you can. You’re addicted to the game.”
I walk into the kitchen and refill my cup of coffee. “If we lose, Chella, do you think you’d find another trio of men to share?”
She says nothing while I add some sugar to my coffee, stir it, and then walk back out into the living room.
“Do you think Rochelle has found three new men?” I ask. I dread the answer, but I need to know. “That she just got tired of us and decided to start over?”
Chella shakes her head. “No, I don’t think that, Quin. I think she loved you. And when we lose, because that’s the only way for this to end, I won’t either. I’ll pretend it never happened.”
I sit down on the couch next to her. She leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder.
“It’s sad, huh? That we all know how it ends and yet we’ll pretend it’s working for as long as possible.”
“Yeah,” she agrees.
“You can get out now, you know. You can just walk out and stop playing. But you’ll wonder for the rest of your life if maybe, just maybe, this was the one time that beats the odds. You’ll wonder if Smith loved you, just like I wonder if Rochelle loved me.”
She thinks about that for a little while, concentrating on the snow outside. Then she says, “I invited him to join Bric and me.”
“Good,” I say. “That’s a good start.”
“What happens after that? After I get used to Smith being with me and Bric?”
“What do you think happens?”
“Then I invite you in too.”
I lean over and kiss her head. “I hope we get that far, I really do. Because it’s pretty fantastic, if you ask me. And this time I get to experience it as one of the uninvolved parties. It’s a lot simpler that way.”
“Were you jealous when you had to watch Bric with Rochelle?”
“Always. But once we got past that part, and it was the four of us together, that jealousy went away.”
“So how the hell did you end up in such a great relationship with Rochelle if you always had to have Bric around? I don’t know much about what was going on with you four before I came, but I do know you slept with me that first night thinking it was her. And if you were Number One, then that was against the rules. How did you work around the rules? The cameras?”
“No. I never had cameras in Rochelle’s apartment. That’s something unique to Smith. So we didn’t work around it. I just decided to break the fucking rules.”
“Bric didn’t mind? Why not? If the rules are so important?”
“We just stopped caring, I guess. It was three years, Chella. No one gave a fuck about the rules after a while.”
“See,” she whispers, “that’s the part that terrifies me most. That you’ll stop caring. I kinda like the rules. Smith says they protect me and I believe him.”
“They do protect you. They protect all of us. That’s why we have them. We need this very structured time with very clear boundaries to get to know you better. And for you to get to know us. If we have a chance to be friends first—to learn to trust each other, confide in each other—then the relationship might last for a long time.”
“But not forever.”
“No,” I say. “Nothing lasts forever. Not even the thrill of taboo lust.”
“Will you really never go looking for her?”
“I hope not.”
“Why?”
I’m the one who stares out the window this time. I’m the one pondering life as she waits for my answer. “Because if I do, then what we have here—in this apartment, in this Club, in this arrangement—will definitely be over for me. If I ever find her again, Chella, I’m leaving for good. She’s the love of my life and maybe she doesn’t feel the same way, but I won’t know unless I try.”
“So go look for her now.”
I shake my head no. “She left for a reason and I won’t go searching until I figure that out.”
“Maybe she’s just playing hard to get? Maybe she wants you to chase her to prove your love?” Chella is grabbing on to my upper arm now, holding me tight. When she looks up at me, she smiles. “Girls have been known to do stupid shit like that.”
I grin back, because she’s right. Fucking girls. But that’s not what I think. “I think Smith said something to her.”
Chella sits up straight, still holding my arm. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “But that same night I found you in her bed, he admitted he was tired of her. Called her boring. Was ready for it to end.”
“So you think… he, like, paid her off, or something?”
“Let’s just say, when it comes to Smith Baldwin, it wouldn’t surprise me. And,” I add, “it wouldn’t be the first time, either.”
We think about that for a while. Just sitting in silence as the snow starts coming down in large flakes that want to stick to everything. And when I speak again, there’s a full-on storm going on outside. “What are you doing for Christmas? It falls on a Sunday this year so you’ll be alone.”
“My dad was supposed to come but…”
“Let me guess, he’s working?”
“How’d you know?” she asks in a sad whisper.
“I grew up with one of those fathers too. He’s dead now, so I don’t let myself think about all the fucked-up holidays in my past. But I get it.”
She nods, leaning back into my chest for comfort. “He’s made me a promise to come home from DC every Christmas since my mom died three years ago. But he never does. He never comes home.”
“Fuck him,” I say.
“Yeah,” Chella whispers. “Fuck him, I guess.”
“Hey,” I say. “You wanna go get a Christmas tree today?”
“For here?” Chella asks, sitting up straight again.
“No, for your other house. Yes, of course, here.”
She starts laughing and we let the depressing mood lift. “I haven’t had a Christmas tree in… Hell, I don’t even remember. I was very little.”
“You don’t celebrate Christmas?” I ask, a little stunned. “But your dad is—”
“Yeah. One of those fundamentalist Christians in Congress. I know. It’s a weird, long, complicated story.”
“Well, we’ve had enough of that bullshit for one day. Fuck him twice. We’re getting a tree. We’re gonna get a huge one, too. These ceilings are twelve feet high, that means we can get one that’s at least fifteen.”
She laughs again. And I realize… I like her laugh. “I think there’s a lot selling them a few blocks down.”
“Lot? Jesus Christ, woman. You don’t get a Christmas tree from a lot. You go into the goddamned mountains and cut that fucker down with your bare hands. Or an axe,” I amend.
“That’s not legal!” she squeals.
“The fuck it’s not,” I say. “I get a permit every year. Rochelle and I did it three times. It was always so much fun. So it’s settled. You’re getting the biggest Christmas tree I can strap to my Suburban. Ceiling height be damned.”