Les Tales Read online

  “She’s going to kill me later.” Kirk laughed.

  “That has to be the most romantic thing ever. See, people? You can find love here at Dragon Con.” The moderator’s high voice was humorous.

  The moderator then made the announcement that they would take questions. I noticed a very determined look on Cree’s face.

  “I’m going to ask a question. Come with me,” Cree said and stood up. I noticed the way Les followed her with his eyes.

  The questions were mostly dumb, as usual. Most of the questions were aimed at Ursula. She smiled and answered them, making the crowd laugh as much as she could. I could feel my body heating up with each one of her smiles. One of the first guys in line asked about the final episode of Olympus and how the atmosphere was on the final day of shooting. The room was silent as the panel talked about how emotional it was to say good-bye to the show.

  I noticed the clock on the wall. The hour had flown by. There was still one girl in front of Cree, and I didn’t know if she was going to get to ask her question.

  “Since Kirk found love here, I was just wondering if any of you would be interested in trying your luck as well. Maybe you, Les.” The tall, slender girl batted her fake eyelashes at Les. Cree wanted to kick the girl.

  Les smiled. He looked at the girl, but for some reason, I felt he was looking through her instead of at her. “I actually did try my luck last year, but it didn’t work out as well for me as it did for Kirk here.” Les put his hand on Kirk’s shoulder.

  “Oh, well, I bet that bitch is kicking herself,” the moderator said and laughed.

  Les shook his head. “No, I am the one kicking myself, actually.”

  The room fell silent, and all eyes were on Les.

  “But who knows what might happen this year? I mean, it is Dragon Con, right?” Les smiled, causing the crowd to go wild.

  “And on that note, I think we are going to bring this to a close—”

  “Wait!” Les yelled, stopping the moderator in mid-sentence. “This is the last time. We would like to take a few more questions.”

  The crowd cheered, and the rest of the panel applauded. The handler handed the microphone to Cree. The room fell silent again as Cree held on to my hand.

  Before Cree could ask her question, Ursula spoke into her microphone. “I remember both of you. You are the Greek goddesses from last year, right?” Ursula glanced at me.

  I took the microphone out of Cree’s hand. “Yes, we are.”

  “Your dress, darling. That is an amazing replica.” Ursula’s devilish smile showed off her deep dimple. My body no longer belonged to me. I was instantly under her spell.

  “It’s actually the real one,” I said.

  I could tell the crowd was stunned by the whispering I could hear floating around me.

  “Oh, wow. You must be a really dedicated fan,” Ursula replied.

  “I’m your number one fan.” I threw my smirk at Ursula.

  “I have no doubt that you are.” Ursula applauded while nodding her head up and down.

  The crowd applauded along with Ursula as I handed the mic back to Cree. I turned to walk away, but Cree grabbed my hand again. I stood there and watched my usually strong friend try not to lose all her cool in front of the hundreds of people in the room.

  “This question is for Les.” Cree cleared her throat. “Your character Zeus, and many of the other characters, had some amazing monologues during the show. I know I, as a fan, have felt many of them to my core. Well, piggybacking on the previous girl’s question, Les, if you could say one thing to the girl from last year in hopes that it will get her back, what would you say?”

  You could hear a pin drop if it fell in the room at that moment. Les lowered his head and then leaned into his microphone.

  “Ohhh, that is a good question,” Les said.

  The moderator stood up and walked over to Les with his mic. “Les, if this mystery woman was sitting in here right now, what would you say to her? And, men, listen up, in case you have to say something like this one day to a girl.”

  Les paused for a moment as the crowd prepared to hear his answer. He looked up at the moderator, then back at the crowd.

  “Talk about pressure.” Les shook his head, and the crowd laughed at his comment.

  Les lowered his head for a moment. Then he pulled the microphone close to his mouth. Cree’s nails dug into my hand, until I had to pull away due to the pain. Les’s dark eyes were fixed on Cree.

  “I get to play a man who has many words, but that’s all I am doing, playing a role. I can only wish to have the words that the writers write for us to say, but sadly, I don’t. So in saying that, truly, all I can say is that I am deeply sorry and a day doesn’t go by that my heart doesn’t ache for you. I didn’t realize what I had, and if I was given another chance, I would spend my lifetime trying to make up for it. If not, I will spend my lifetime regretting the mistake I made.”

  Oohs and aahs echoed through the room before the crowd gave a standing ovation. Cree’s hands were trembling.

  “I think that’s the sweetest thing I have ever heard,” Kirk joked, acting like he was wiping a tear from his eye. His humor was a much-needed break from the intensity of Les’s public declaration.

  “That was beautiful. If that girl is in here, you better forgive this man.” The moderator put his hands on both of Les’s broad shoulders. “I think we are going to take one more question.”

  The handler gave the microphone to me. My mind went blank. I said the first thing that came to my mind.

  “That last one is hard to come after, but I want to keep it simple and just say if you each had one thing to say to all your fans, what would that be?”

  Each star gave a brief statement. Most wanted to thank the fans for their support of the show. Some made more inspirational comments.

  “I also want to say from the bottom of my heart, thank you all. And I want to thank this amazing cast for giving me some of the best years of my life. And when you find that someone special, hold on to them,” Mason said and then bowed his head while the crowd clapped for him.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off Ursula as she pulled the microphone close to her face again.

  “There really isn’t much that I can say that my amazing cast mates haven’t already said. So I will say, find things you love and do them as often as you can. Life is made to be lived, and live it to its fullest!”

  Kirk was next. “I would just say thank you all so much for everything. You guys rock, and I can’t wait to party it up tonight. Dragon Con, you rock!” Kirk jumped up, throwing his hands in the air. His comment caused the crowd to go wild.

  “And on that note, we will say good-bye,” said the moderator. “Thank you again, and, everyone, give it up for the cast of Olympus!”

  You could hardly hear the moderator’s final statements due to the cheering of the crowd. The cast stood together while people took final photos. Cree and I sat there while Nia answered questions about Kirk from people standing around her. She had taken on the celebrity girlfriend role like she’d been dating celebrities her whole life.

  As I watched Ursula with the others, I started to think about the final time we were together. She didn’t offer me what I was used to, but I couldn’t help but wonder if that was what I needed or wanted. My past relationships were playing in my head. All the women I had known had given me a traditional relationship, yet none of them had called forth the feelings I had felt in those few moments I spent with Ursula.

  The room cleared out quickly when the cast disappeared backstage. We knew it would be a matter of moments before the convention volunteers started to tell us to leave.

  “Okay, so do you guys want to go backstage or head out? I just need to let Kirk know what we are going to do,” Nia said.

  “Backstage,” Cree replied, then walked off before we could respond. We followed her backstage.

  “Les!” Cree suddenly exclaimed. She stood taller than I’d seen her stand in a while.
/>   We watched as Les completely abandoned the members of the press whom he was talking to. There were no words. Cree opened her arms, and Les wrapped his arms around her. They embraced, kissing as if it was the first time. We couldn’t believe it. The press was eating it up, snapping photos of the reunion.

  Suddenly, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I was denying myself the pleasure I’d always wanted, just because I wasn’t going to have the title of girlfriend. Ciara had given me the title of girlfriend, and it had meant absolutely nothing in the end. For almost a year I had been missing the one thing I wanted more than anything, all because she wouldn’t be my girlfriend.

  “Well, that’s beautiful. Don’t you think?”

  The familiar voice sent chills down my spine. I turned around to see Ursula standing directly behind me.

  “Good to see you, Temple.” Ursula gave me a hug. It wasn’t like her hugs normally were. It was distant and professional.

  “Ursula?”

  “Yes?”

  I didn’t know if it was the right thing. I didn’t know if I would regret it in the end. I didn’t care. Life was meant to be lived, and I was ready to live it.

  “Can we possibly have a drink later?” I didn’t take my eyes off of her. I could tell she was surprised by the invitation.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

  It didn’t make sense, but matters of the heart rarely did. Cree knew it would take time, but she couldn’t spend the rest of her life wondering if she had missed out on the man of her dreams. I knew that anything that happened between me and Ursula would be just for fun. I didn’t know what the future would hold. All I knew was that in that moment I was going to do what I wanted to do—what my mind, soul, and body wanted to do—and that if anyone should be with her, it was me.

  I was her number one fan, after all.

  Crossing Layne

  by

  Nikki Rashan

  Chapter One

  The first time I heard her voice, I knew I was in trouble. It was light but serious, adolescent like in tone yet confident. And her enunciation of each syllable in every word she spoke was quick but clear. She sounded out of breath, like she was in the middle of a race against a fast-paced treadmill. I heard the pounding of her feet and the whirring of the belt beneath her.

  “Hello?” She panted into the phone.

  I gathered my composure and prepared to speak to the woman whom, until two months ago, I had known nothing about. I hadn’t known her name or her address, her age or zodiac sign. I had had no idea where she worked, where she grew up, if she was a wife, mother, or if she had siblings. I simply hadn’t even known she existed.

  What I did know now was that every morning, after I left for work, my wife, Layne, had called her. At least once a week they had had lunch at Le Colonial, a place I had once recommended to Layne that we visit. Layne had quickly dismissed the suggestion, as if merely speaking the words had been a waste of my energy. Now I knew why. Could she actually take her wife to the meeting spot to which she regularly took her mistress?

  Her name was Nina. And she had successfully filled in the gaps in Layne’s heart that I had been unable to reach, places that I had yearned to occupy but that Layne had shielded like a cocoon, protecting her unspoken feelings.

  “Hello, Nina. This is Taryn.”

  She was silent. The breathlessness I had previously heard halted; there was the sound of a short beep and then nothing but dead air.

  “Are you there?”

  “Hi, Taryn. I didn’t expect you to call so soon,” she told me.

  My head tilted sideways, and I immediately started toying with the crystal paperweight on Layne’s office desk. Layne had been a professor of English at a well-known university in Chicago, where we lived. Layne had adored language; her passions had lain in words and books. On the walls of her office were shelves of textbooks, famous literary works, and history and autobiography books. She still had the first encyclopedia collection her father had purchased for her when she was a child among stacks of dictionaries; she bought a revised dictionary every year.

  During our years of marriage, I had entered Layne’s office frequently. I’d bring her a cup of coffee on a Saturday morning while she pored through online newspapers and magazines, or I’d wake her for bed when she had fallen asleep reading papers. What I hadn’t known were the secrets Layne had kept in her office. Locked in one of the drawers of the grand wooden desk were journals she had hidden underneath school papers. She’d locked the drawer with a small gold key. I found the key in her wallet. It took weeks for me to figure out where the key belonged.

  I sighed, stood up, and peeked through the cream blinds at our backyard and the inground swimming pool. The water was cloudy, covered with strewn grass clippings and drowned insects. I hadn’t been swimming in two months. I pictured them there, Layne and Nina, making love against the concrete steps at the shallow end. Layne had written about the experience in a journal, one of eight I had found that recounted the last twelve years of her life. Of those twelve, she had documented seven years of indiscretions that I had known nothing about. Since Layne’s unexpected death two months ago, I had learned that the woman I had believed was the love of my life hadn’t had those same feelings about me. Behind my back, she had explored dark, explicit sexual affairs that I knew nothing about.

  On the lined pages of the journals, in her sporadic handwriting, Layne told tales of erotic adventures with Nina. She wrote about nights they visited underground swingers clubs and engaged in voyeuristic exchanges with other couples, male and female, gay and straight. Layne wrote in loopy curves, accentuating a capital B or a lowercase l when her spirit was calm and unnerved. Her penmanship slanted when she was stressed, the ink imprinted deep into the paper. And when filled with excitement or elation, she wrote in carefree, quick scribbles, her words crossing lines frantically.

  “Are you there?” Nina now asked me. I closed the blinds and returned to Layne’s leather chair.

  “I’m here.” I hesitated with my next statement. “I’d like to see you.”

  “When?” Her voice left no indication of concern, as if she had already prepared herself for the day we would meet.

  “Today.”

  “I can be there in an hour.”

  “Let me give you the address,” I offered, as I would with any guest venturing to my home.

  “I know where you live.”

  Of course she did.

  “I’ll see you then,” I told Nina and hung up Layne’s desk phone.

  I rubbed my temples, my eyes closed. I knew that what I was doing was strange and that it was unnecessary to meet Nina. Why would I want to meet the woman who had been an accomplice to the greatest betrayal I had experienced in my life? Yet I couldn’t help it. I had to meet her. She had been privy to details about Layne that Layne had not granted me. What was it about her that had allowed Layne to open up in ways she hadn’t to me, her wife of eight years?

  I left Layne’s office, closing the door behind me out of habit. Layne had always insisted on keeping her door closed, and I had never been allowed to enter without first knocking. In the kitchen I started a pot of coffee. While it brewed, I mentally attempted to prepare what I had to say to Nina. What did I want to do? My first instinct leaned toward the hereditary blood of my father that ran through my veins. He was an abusive man; he had a tendency to kick anybody’s ass at any time, usually my mother’s. This thought intrigued me most, as I assumed it would any woman in my predicament. I pictured myself opening the door and punching Nina in the nose before she had a chance to see it coming, the same way my father had done to my mother on more occasions than I cared to recount.

  More than anything, I just wanted to see her. The portrait Layne had scripted of Nina had begun to consume my every thought; I felt vulnerable to her. And for my own emotional fulfillment, I wanted an in-person comparison. In her writings, Layne had described me as a flawed gemstone
and Nina as an impeccable diamond. Did she truly not have one imperfection?

  Upstairs, I showered and then lathered myself with Layne’s favorite perfumed lotion. Silly it might be, but I wanted a part of Layne with me during the meeting. I wanted Nina to feel like a stranger in my home and not the invited guest in our lover’s arms. I wanted to take back ownership of what had been involuntarily and unknowingly stripped from me, even if it could not be tangibly reclaimed.

  Over my hips I pulled on stonewashed jeans and then I donned a cream turtleneck. Despite the unexpected warm October weather—the temperature was seventy degrees—I felt cold. I brushed the silken strands of my hair into a ponytail and twisted the loose hairs into a conservative bun. On my lips I applied a clear coat of lip gloss, and then I swept mascara through my already lengthy lashes.

  Back downstairs, I contemplated whether or not to put on a CD. What music best illustrated my mood and accompanied the introduction that would soon take place? Classical had been Layne’s preferred genre of music. Many evenings we’d lounge in our family room while sipping wine and listening to the sounds of a gentle violin or a calming piano. Layne had relished educating me in the arts, whether it be music, theater or, of course, literature. At least I had thought she took pleasure in awakening my attraction to the creative. In reading Layne’s journals, I had learned that she had grown indifferent to nurturing my cultural awareness. She had begun to resent that I had a less refined background than she had. Now I, after reading her journals, resented nearly everything about her.

  The phone rang just as I was retrieving two coffee mugs from the cabinet. I checked the caller ID and saw that it was Jenna, my daughter.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said before I could speak. “How are you?”

  Layne died on July 8, several weeks after Jenna completed her sophomore year at Spelman College and arrived home for summer break. We had just enjoyed a weeklong family getaway in the Virgin Islands, where we lounged by the ocean, the three of us bikini clad under the penetrating sun. Daily, Layne would consume her maximum intake of tropical drinks; she granted herself hard liquor on vacations only. We allowed Jenna just one drink, while I was permitted one glass of wine with dinner each night. All day long we took photos of one another, my favorite being one of Layne nestled in a hammock, peering at me over a book she was reading. Her wedding band sparkled against a ray of sunlight. She looked peaceful and rested. Her smile appeared sincere. She seemed happy. How was I to know she was a lying, cheating, deceitful wife with a hidden life she concealed so cleverly?