detective is only too happy to fill me in. “Senator
Michael Gregory, presidential hopeful. He announced his intentions this
morning. Are you going to deny any knowledge of that, Ms. Marconi?”
Maybe I’m being really naïve, but I’m desperately hoping I
can get out of this room without having to call Mommy’s lawyer, Archibald
Vanderwort. “No knowledge whatsoever. I’m sure that is in the notes taken by
the officer at the scene.”
“You honestly want me to believe you met a stranger at a
hotel room for sex?”
I roll my eyes.
“Did he pay you?”
“No!”
* * * * *
The sun is coming up over the city by the time I climb into
Rachel’s car, the admonishment to not leave town still ringing in my ears. The
good news is that I escaped without having to call Archie, making this just one
more sordid escapade that Mommy never has to know about. The bad news is
Rachel’s driving me home. One look at her face makes me wish I was still in the
small gray room being questioned by smart-ass detectives.
I have not even buckled in when she starts shrieking at me,
“On the internet, Gigi? Are you totally insane? You didn’t even know his real
name? Or where he was from? You’re lucky he wasn’t a dangerous criminal…or
diseased! Gigi! Are you listening to me?”
It vaguely passes through my brain that under normal
circumstances I would be laughing so hard that I would be crying over her
assumption that a senator wouldn’t be diseased or a criminal.
“Gigi!” she shouts, shaking my arm because I’m not paying
close enough attention, her voice having faded to the monotone “Wa-wa wa wa wa
wa,” of the schoolteacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons. “It could have been
you! You could have been the one taken away by the coroner tonight! You could
have died!”
“I wasn’t in danger, Rachel,” I defend, not understanding
why she can’t see that. I wait for her to start the engine, to pull into
traffic, to do anything that will put distance between me and the police
station, but she just sits staring at me. I push my head back against the
headrest and close my eyes. I am utterly exhausted, and the sweltering heat
inside the car saps what energy I had.
“God, it’s going to be a hot day. It must be approaching
ninety already. If we have to sit here, will you at least turn on the engine so
we can have some air?”
“Don’t try to change the subject! It’s August, it’s hot, get
over it.” She does start the engine and turns on the air vents. Thank God ,
I think as a bead of sweat drips over my temple. I swipe it away, not looking
at her as she reiterates shrilly, “You had no way of knowing if you were going
to be safe. If the wrong man had met you there, you could have been the one
dead! Don’t you get it? I don’t want you dead!”
I look at her, really seeing her. For the first time ever I
realize how badly my actions terrify her. It won’t matter what I say, she will
never understand my need. I decide to lie to her, to protect her so she will be
able to go home and sleep at night, not worrying about where I am or what I’m
doing. “Rachel, stop, I get it. I’m sorry I scared the shit out of you. I’ve
been stupid, and you are completely one-hundred percent right. I’ve been
playing a dangerous game and I’ve been lucky.”
Isn’t it funny how promises that we make in the heat of
passion always come back to haunt us? Or maybe it’s just me. And maybe it isn’t
the promise but the lie cloaked as a ruse of assurance that is so dangerous,
because I know even as I tell Rachel, “This will never happen again,” that I am
not agreeing I will never meet another stranger for a kinky play session, I am
only promising I will never involve her again. I also think that without Rachel
watching my back, I may not be as lucky next time. I must be insane, because
even so severe a consequence will not keep me from playing. I tell Rachel, “I
will find a safer way to indulge my desire to play. This
Michael Gregory, presidential hopeful. He announced his intentions this
morning. Are you going to deny any knowledge of that, Ms. Marconi?”
Maybe I’m being really naïve, but I’m desperately hoping I
can get out of this room without having to call Mommy’s lawyer, Archibald
Vanderwort. “No knowledge whatsoever. I’m sure that is in the notes taken by
the officer at the scene.”
“You honestly want me to believe you met a stranger at a
hotel room for sex?”
I roll my eyes.
“Did he pay you?”
“No!”
* * * * *
The sun is coming up over the city by the time I climb into
Rachel’s car, the admonishment to not leave town still ringing in my ears. The
good news is that I escaped without having to call Archie, making this just one
more sordid escapade that Mommy never has to know about. The bad news is
Rachel’s driving me home. One look at her face makes me wish I was still in the
small gray room being questioned by smart-ass detectives.
I have not even buckled in when she starts shrieking at me,
“On the internet, Gigi? Are you totally insane? You didn’t even know his real
name? Or where he was from? You’re lucky he wasn’t a dangerous criminal…or
diseased! Gigi! Are you listening to me?”
It vaguely passes through my brain that under normal
circumstances I would be laughing so hard that I would be crying over her
assumption that a senator wouldn’t be diseased or a criminal.
“Gigi!” she shouts, shaking my arm because I’m not paying
close enough attention, her voice having faded to the monotone “Wa-wa wa wa wa
wa,” of the schoolteacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons. “It could have been
you! You could have been the one taken away by the coroner tonight! You could
have died!”
“I wasn’t in danger, Rachel,” I defend, not understanding
why she can’t see that. I wait for her to start the engine, to pull into
traffic, to do anything that will put distance between me and the police
station, but she just sits staring at me. I push my head back against the
headrest and close my eyes. I am utterly exhausted, and the sweltering heat
inside the car saps what energy I had.
“God, it’s going to be a hot day. It must be approaching
ninety already. If we have to sit here, will you at least turn on the engine so
we can have some air?”
“Don’t try to change the subject! It’s August, it’s hot, get
over it.” She does start the engine and turns on the air vents. Thank God ,
I think as a bead of sweat drips over my temple. I swipe it away, not looking
at her as she reiterates shrilly, “You had no way of knowing if you were going
to be safe. If the wrong man had met you there, you could have been the one
dead! Don’t you get it? I don’t want you dead!”
I look at her, really seeing her. For the first time ever I
realize how badly my actions terrify her. It won’t matter what I say, she will
never understand my need. I decide to lie to her, to protect her so she will be
able to go home and sleep at night, not worrying about where I am or what I’m
doing. “Rachel, stop, I get it. I’m sorry I scared the shit out of you. I’ve
been stupid, and you are completely one-hundred percent right. I’ve been
playing a dangerous game and I’ve been lucky.”
Isn’t it funny how promises that we make in the heat of
passion always come back to haunt us? Or maybe it’s just me. And maybe it isn’t
the promise but the lie cloaked as a ruse of assurance that is so dangerous,
because I know even as I tell Rachel, “This will never happen again,” that I am
not agreeing I will never meet another stranger for a kinky play session, I am
only promising I will never involve her again. I also think that without Rachel
watching my back, I may not be as lucky next time. I must be insane, because
even so severe a consequence will not keep me from playing. I tell Rachel, “I
will find a safer way to indulge my desire to play. This
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