Chapter 6-2
1074 Words
After Chel left, I started on laundry, while waiting for Noah to return from the softball game. Noah didn’t have a washer and dryer in his apartment and he dropped off his dirty clothes twice a week. I didn’t complain since Noah cooked and he was a good one.
One of the shirts I picked up was the shirt I wore home from the hospital. I started loading up the dishwasher when I heard a knock at the door.
I checked the view through the peephole and opened the door.
“Jessica?”
“Hi, Jake. I hope I’m not intruding. I called your office and was told you wouldn’t return for a couple of days.”
“Yeah, I’ve been working from home.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure,” I said. I walked her over to the couch. I saw her pan her gaze around, checking out the apartment. She had a mansion full of antiques, but I wasn’t ashamed of where I lived, nor my apartment, as spartan as it was. I sat right across from her on the leather chair. She looked the part of a widow: dark clothes, light makeup, and a quiet disposition.
“My condolences, Jessica. Anton was a good man,” I hesitated, waiting to see how she reacted. “How are you holding up? How are the kids?”
“We’re holding up. It’s been hard on the kids, obviously.” She sighed. “They adored Anton.”
“If there’s anything I can do—”
“—That’s what I am here for,” she blurted. “I don’t want to beat around the bush. I want to make a deal with you.”
“A deal? I don’t understand.”
“Let me just lay the cards on the table, okay? I’ve known about you and Anton for a long time. A wife knows these things—knows to be suspicious with cell phone calls at unusual times of nights, the late nights at the office, coming home from the weekend and seeing empty bottles of alcohol in the trash in the garage, and smelling another man’s cologne in our marital bed.” As she said this, she spread her skirt flatly, almost if trying to iron any perceived wrinkles with her skirt.
Even though he was dead, I felt obligated to lie about Anton.
“Anton and I didn’t get serious until you separated, and when you got back together again he called it off.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re lying. You started sleeping with him before we separated, and I’ll swear that on a stack of Bibles.”
I inhaled deeply and looked at Jessica, saying nothing. Her copper hair punctuated by silver strands here and there, perfectly coiffed, playing the Southern lady. She wasn’t seething with hate, at least not on the surface.
“I didn’t come here to argue with you, or to ask you any questions about Anton. I came here to make a deal with you.” She took an envelope from her Birkin bag and opened it. “My husband, before he died, bought a building—your building.”
She handed me the papers. It confirmed that Anton had bought the building my office was in, and at the time of his death, he was actually my landlord. The building was built in the 1920s and had office space for six, but only three were rented out. Partly due to the economy and partly due to fact it was old, drafty, and needed constant repair.
Jessica continued, “I’ll give you the deed to the whole building, and you can be the owner and landlord of the other units if you promise me one thing. I’m not sure why he bought it, but I’m guessing it was something perverse involving you.”
Perverse?
“I really don’t understand what’s happening here. But go ahead, and tell me. What do you want me to promise you?
“I don’t want my children to know that my husband was—that my husband—”
“Was gay?”
She nodded.
She can’t even say the word.
I sat there for a couple of seconds. So this was why she was paying me a visit. Looking at Jessica, as calmly as I could muster, I said, “I would never put you or your family in that position. I promised a long time ago, after Anton and I ended it, that we would never mention what happened between us.”
“That may be true, but since he died in a shooting, some reporter will try to dig up details. I’m worried that the trail will point to you, and I want your promise not to destroy my kids’ futures. I want my children to remember their father as a good man. We’re well respected in the community. My children may have political futures ahead of them.” She hesitated before asking again, “Do we have an agreement?”
I looked at her. She had intense green eyes, almost laser-like, as she asked this.
Is this about her kids? Or her reputation at Junior League? Her reputation with the local Republican women’s club?
“I’m not taking a bribe. That’s what this is.”
“Call it what you want. I want to call it peace of mind. I want to know that you won’t drag Anton and my family through the mud, if a reporter came snooping around. I know that he was planning to leave his law firm, and start another one. With you? I don’t know what other loose ends he has, but I want this one closed.”
I sat there, looking at her. A few minutes ago, she easily accepted my offer of condolences. Now, she bit her lip, while waiting for my response. Earlier, she tried to play the grieving widow. Now, she was nervous. Should I reject it without thinking about it, like I did Anton’s offer? I took her nervousness as a cue.
“I won’t accept this. I am not taking some pay off.”
“You’re making a big mistake. This deed would mean no rental payments. You would be the landlord. You can make money.”
“Jessica, the building is a fire trap. Hell, it’s a money pit. I’m not going to make money being the landlord. I’m not Anton. I don’t have money reserves to plug up a leaky, drafty old building. Plus, if I accept this, where will this stop? I’m not going to lie. This doesn’t mean I plan to go to the rooftops to tell everyone about Anton, but I’m not lying about who I am if a reporter asks me if I’m gay.”
“This isn’t about you, Jake.” She glared at me. “This is about Anton’s kids. Surely, you know what it means to want to do everything for those you love.”
“I’m sorry, Jessica. But I’ve learned that keeping this type of lie eventually hurts everyone in the long run.”
She stood up to leave and faced the door. As I walked her out, she turned back to me. Inches from my face, with her neck tilted to one side, she was extremely agitated and she spoke in a louder voice. The calm Southern lady disappeared.
“You don’t want me as your enemy. You have a day to reconsider.”
Her voice was icy and without feeling. Like the voice of a cold-blooded killer.
- Writer
