Neighborly(46)

“I can’t imagine sharing Doug.”

“There are some open marriages that really work. Vic and Tennyson are incredibly happy and stable. But what I can say is, don’t do it to fix a broken marriage.”

“Doug and I aren’t broken.”

“I didn’t think you were. You guys seem great.” The operative word is seem, and it hangs there between us. “I’m just saying, you need to be rock solid to introduce something like this.”

After the first girls’ night, I was so hopeful. I thought maybe I’d found a group of women who truly liked me, who would accept me, and now I’m outside the circle already. Not that I want to be inside, not anymore, knowing all the strings that are attached and the price I’d have to pay.

So I hadn’t just imagined that sex was in the air at the block party. They’ve set it up so that within every interaction, there’s always possibility. It creates an energy that permeates everything.

They have what I want—not the sex but the confidence. Comfort in their own skins. Freedom. Nothing could be more seductive than that.

Everyone opts out at first. Then they get worn down.

The rest of the night is a blur.

I feel depressed, and then angry at how it’s all played out, how they invited me here and gave me their spiel. But maybe I did it to myself. I removed myself from the equation. I can’t be a part of their sexual round robin.

I’m staring down into my fourth empty Silk Purse when this incredibly powerful force comes over me. Suddenly, I feel happy, so ridiculously happy. And so tactile. These are my neighbors, and I feel love for all of them. I talk and flirt and dance with everyone, men and women. The whole floor twines together, as if it’s one organism with a hundred limbs, and it’s amazing to feel this type of connection. Sensuality without sex. It’s beautiful and harmless. Tonight, I’m just having good, clean fun. Tomorrow, I’ll opt out.

Then the first thing that changes is the smell. Someone’s perfume has become rancid.

I look into the crowd by the bar, all dark and menacing figures, and I could swear I see Layton. He’s not in prison; he’s right over there. He begins to turn, and I want to run, but I’m frozen in place. My muscles will not obey my command. Terror sets in, while all around me, my neighbors are oblivious.

Except for Andie. Thank God for Andie.

“I need the bathroom,” I tell her. I can’t get there without her, and somehow, she figures that out—or maybe I tell her; I can’t be sure of what’s being thought and what’s being said—and she gets me there, my arm around her neck.

The bathroom is gray, filthy, and windowless, like what I’d imagine in a prison. The smell is abominable. It’s bleach and feces and, perhaps more disturbingly, cotton candy and popcorn, like a county fair run by Satan. There are cockroaches. There are rats. I try again not to scream. Fortunately, Andie is a good friend and waits outside the stall. She won’t let anyone hurt me.

“Are you OK?” she asks. “Are you crying?”

That’s the last thing I remember.

Session 57.

“He wasn’t only a teacher. He was a pillar of the community. He was on all these different boards, had his hand in everything. A model family: one son, one daughter, a stay-at-home mother. As a teacher, he was one of the most well loved. He’d won awards from the district. Parents wanted their kids in his class.”

“But what was he really like, behind closed doors?”

“I’ve already told you that.”

“You haven’t told me much. But tell me more about you.”

“I was kind of nerdy. I always got good grades. I had a best friend I really loved but no other friends. I tried to be a good girl.”

“What was your relationship with him like?”

“I tried to please him. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. At the trial, the district attorneys painted this picture of someone who was calculated and diabolical, always scheming, choosing kids whose parents didn’t give a rat’s ass about them. Kids who weren’t likely to speak up. Kids who weren’t popular. Who didn’t have a lot of friends.”

“That sounds like you.”

“No comment.”

“What was the trial like for you?”

“I think we should just stop now.”

“OK.”

“That’s it? Just ‘OK’?”

“I told you that you’re in control in here.”

“But you still think I’m in denial.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You mean you’re admitting you made a mistake?”

“Of course. I make mistakes all the time. Sometimes I think I see an opening and I charge in, and then I realize I should have taken it slower.”

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

“I think you confuse your mistakes with his. You’re still protecting him. But he should have been the one protecting you. He was in a position of authority.”

“You don’t really understand the situation.”

“Help me understand.”

“You said I could pump the brakes whenever I want. Well, I’m pumping them.”





CHAPTER 15