The Guest Room(57)
“Thirty-five? Incredible. I have boys in my classes—you have boys in your classes—who are more mature. The guy’s thirty-five years old and no doubt subscribes to Maxim. But he’s not unique. How creepy are men? I once heard a comedian do an entire set on guys masturbating in cars. He asked how many women in the audience had seen guys doing that, and I swear three-quarters of the women in the club raised their hands.”
“God…”
“It’s hard to believe that he and Richard are brothers. They are just so different.”
“I thought so. I like to think so. But I just can’t get over the idea that Richard went upstairs with some escort and stripped. And that’s just what he told me. How do I know he didn’t have sex with her? How do I know he’s not having lunchtime quickies at Philip’s hotel? I just feel so violated and betrayed and…like I’m not enough.”
Kerri-Ann smiled at someone behind Kristin’s shoulder and waggled her immaculately plucked sickle-moon eyebrows. And so Kristin turned around. There she saw two handsome boys who she recognized were seniors. The students waved at Kerri-Ann; the taller of the pair raised one eyebrow back at the French teacher and grinned in a fashion that he probably hoped was seductive. In reality, it looked only mischievous.
“You’re plenty,” Kerri-Ann was saying when Kristin turned back to her. “Have you ever been to a strip club?”
“Why? So I could compare myself to some slinky twenty-two-year-old and see I’m plenty?”
She shook her head. “They’re kind of depressing.”
“How many have you been to? This is a side of you I didn’t know existed.”
“I guess I’ve been three times in my life. Once with some girlfriends from college because we were curious and twice with guys who thought it would be kind of hot.”
“And it wasn’t?”
She shook her head. “Not for me. You have guys paying women—no, guys paying girls—to show them their junk. That’s kind of demeaning for everyone involved, don’t you think? And, of course, the girls are so not into the guys and the guys sense it. How could they not? Plus there’s this weird undercurrent of self-loathing: the guys know they’re losers for paying, and the girls know they’re slutty—and not in a good way—for peeling. I don’t buy any of that female empowerment bullshit.”
“Slutty…in a good way?”
“Oh, I’ve given boyfriends amazing lap dances. In my home. Or his. But it’s because we’re into each other. It’s because it’s fun.”
“You know, I expected there to be a stripper at the bachelor party. I really didn’t care. I didn’t mind. I kind of figured every guy there would have seen a naked woman. Richard was doing his brother a solid and hosting a party. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.”
“What’s really the source of your pain?” Kerri-Ann asked. “Is it the hurt or the humiliation? I mean, they’re two different things.”
“I don’t want to intellectualize this. It all makes me sad inside. Besides, it’s all linked.”
“If Richard were in the newspapers because of some illegal insider trading thing, would you feel this much hurt? Or would you just feel humiliation?”
“That’s an impossible question to answer. And, just so we’re clear, I feel terrible for him, too. I know he brought this upon himself, but I also know he’s devastated—and a little scared. Who knows what this could do to his career? So, that’s a part of the mix, too.”
Kerri-Ann tore off a small piece of the scone she was nibbling. “What if the girls hadn’t murdered the guys who had brought them—those Russians? What if there had been no news story, but somehow you found out that the men had been f*cking the talent? Would you still feel so much humiliation?”
“Again, I’ll never know. But that talent? They may have been prisoners. They may have been minors. Sometimes I think I’m so angry at Richard because it’s hard to get pissed off at some poor girl who’s doing all this because there are guys with guns making her.”
“I’m not a marriage counselor,” Kerri-Ann said. “Don’t even play one on TV. But this is the sort of stuff I’d try to understand. I mean, if I were you.”
“I can’t compartmentalize it. It’s still too soon.”
“Are you thinking of leaving him?”
She steadied her gaze at her friend. “No.”
“But the thought crossed your mind, I can tell.”
The thought had crossed her mind, but she had not really expected ever to verbalize it. She knew this was among Melissa’s biggest worries: her parents were going to get a divorce. But the thing was, she loved Richard. Good Lord, she was furious with him—but she also felt bad for him. Sure, she was embarrassed, but so was he. He was actually disgraced.
“How could it not?” she told Kerri-Ann. “I’m really pissed at him.” Her eye caught the chalkboard specials on the wall behind a cappuccino machine, and she was struck by the way someone’s penmanship had made all of the lowercase i’s look phallic. “Of course, I wouldn’t be surprised if Philip’s fiancée breaks off the engagement. Cancels the wedding.”
“Isn’t it soon?”