My Body-His (25 page)

As with a bad car accident on the side of the road, I
couldn’t look away. I had to see the website again. I opened up the
computer and resumed my hunt. Farther down on the same woman’s
page, she was shown tied face down on a table, spread-eagled. Six
men, all erect, surrounded the table. I could have sworn one of
them was Luke but couldn’t be sure. His scar wasn’t visible, and he
was looking at the woman, not the camera.

My breathing became labored, but not from arousal.
Two conflicting emotions tore at me. The first was raging jealousy.
Although I had little experience with it I was sure now that it
flowed through my veins like lava. The second was fear. Not your
everyday fear, but abject terror. Was this the path I had embarked
on? Was there still time to leave now while I could still, if only
slightly, recognize myself? How could I be jealous and petrified at
the same time? It made no sense whatsoever. Did I want to be her? I
couldn’t, could I?

I tried to rationalize the photos away. They had to
be staged. Surely the men hadn’t all fucked her. They had just been
posing for the camera. Of course the link saying, “To see more of
the series, please click here” challenged my efforts to mitigate
the situation. I hit the link and it brought me to an email
address. Luke’s.

The realist in me said, “Jane,
your
photos
weren’t staged.”

“
SHUT UP,” I screamed at myself.

As exhausted as I felt, I put on my running clothes
and tied my sneakers. I checked my email once more as the phone
rang again in Luke’s studio. Taking a bottle of water, I flounced
to my car.

Once on the beach I could finally breathe. I was able
to find composure again as I ran. I knew I needed much more
information than Luke had given me. It hadn’t occurred to me to be
enraged at him for posting my pictures without my express
permission. What enraged me were the twenty-four
other
women
on his site.

I was just a temporary means to a business end, money
in Luke’s pocket. I stopped running about halfway down the beach
when a panic attack of mass proportions overtook me. I had given
notice earlier that day at work and now my life with Luke was
crumbling down around me. I dropped to my knees in the sand and
cried. I knew I was making a scene but I couldn’t stop myself.

When had I become the person who cries all the
time?
Constant weeping was another foreign phenomenon taking
over my life.

As fate would have it or the annoying god above,
Scott approached me with a look of utter concern.

“
I’m fine,” I said, pushing myself up to a
standing position.

“
Are you sure?” he asked, taking my arm to hold
me steady.

“
Perfectly,” I managed.

“
If you want to talk, you know where I am,” he
said, his green eyes piercing my teary ones.

“
Talking was never our strong suit, Scott,” I
tried to joke as I wiped the tears off my cheek.

“
Is it that guy from the house? Do you want to
go back to my place?”

Such I guy
, I thought. “No,” I said. “Just a
case of PMS and a twisted ankle. I’ll be fine.” I limped off the
sand onto the boardwalk for dramatic effect. As I went through the
motions of stretching out my foot, I waved goodbye to Scott.

I ran back the way I had come, ending my run
early.

Back at our apartment I undressed, stretched, and
heard the damn phone ring again. I had fantasies of breaking the
office door down and smashing it. The calls represented all the
women on his website.

After my shower I sat on the bed staring at the
computer. I wanted to check my email but knew if I opened the
computer I would go back to his website and continue to torture
myself with the women and photographs. It wasn’t until about an
hour later, when the phone rang again, that I opened the laptop and
checked my email.

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subject: Re: The
Phone

Baby,

Sorry about the phone
calls. I’ve taken care of it but just in case you can go into the
office and turn the ringer off. The key is just above the door on
the frame. I’ll make sure to do that in the future when I’m out of
town.

Jealousy, as I’ve said,
is okay in moderation. When it takes over, it’s very unattractive
and not at all sexy.

I miss you, too … and
feel you need to be disciplined for leaving me on my own again.
Expect it when I get home.

Looking forward to your
surprise. I hope it’s what I think it is. If so, expect a huge
celebration.

You can’t imagine how
I’m missing that naked body of yours.

I will be home Sunday
around lunchtime.

As always, be ready for
me.

Love,

Luke

I couldn’t believe he had left a key to the office
door right above it. I went into the living room and sat on the
couch. I looked over at the door, stared at it.
Had the key been
there all along? Was this some sort of test?
All my answers
were waiting in the office. I knew I could spend hours exploring
the studio and all the files. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

I reached up on tiptoe and felt for the key. Sure
enough the key worked. I turned the handle and walked through the
sacred doorway straight to the phone. I turned off the ringer and
quickly left. If I’d been smart, I’d have locked the door behind
me, but I couldn’t make myself do it.

I went back to the bedroom and crashed for the
night.

When I awoke the next morning I remembered having a
dream. I had gone searching through Luke’s office but when I tried
to leave, I found myself locked in and unable to get out. I knew my
psyche was trying to warn me about something but I couldn’t make
any sense of it.

Taking only the time to brush my teeth and pee, I set
my sights on his office. I had a plan of attack. I entered the
office and closed the door behind me—it seemed weird to leave it
open. I began my search at the wall on the right, rifling through
the cabinets above the counter and sink, but only finding photo
supplies. I assumed I would discover the same under the counter and
went to the first of two file cabinets, surprised to find them
unlocked. I sat on the floor and opened the bottom drawer.

I found exactly what I had been
expecting—alphabetical files with women’s names on them. They held
negatives in plastic protective sheets, photos, notes, and
sometimes more.

I pulled several files at once, placed them on my
lap, and went through them methodically, making sure to keep the
contents in order. As I worked my way up I found one folder with a
black and red garter in it. None of the photos or negatives showed
the garter. I wondered what that meant.

Somehow it was easier to tolerate the pictures in the
hundreds of files than on the website. I wonder if he rotated the
images or if the ones currently displayed were the most recent.

I took out several files from the top drawer of the
second cabinet and as I sat back down on the floor they slipped
from my hands.

“
Fuck, shit, fuck!” I screamed. I knew I was
screwed. I paced back and forth, with the mess lying on the floor
beside me. “That was pretty fuckin’ stupid, Jane. Fuck, fuck,
fuck,” I said as I glanced down over and over again.

I quickly retrieved my computer from the bedroom and
went back into the office, forgetting about the door. Sitting on
the floor, I spent the next hour searching controlme.com to match
the names and pictures. Of the five files I had dropped, I
confidently matched three. In front of me lay a Jessica and a
Betty. That left me with a fifty-fifty chance of replacing the
remaining two correctly. Maybe because of reading Archie comics
when I was a kid, I put the blonde in the Betty file and the
brunette with the obviously enhanced breasts in Jessica.

I knew my mistake could come back to haunt me. All my
searching hadn’t revealed anything new. I had been looking for
something more personal than just photographs. The garter discovery
seemed the closest. I went back to that file and took note of her
name. Page.

Could he have been married before?
I had
never asked him.

In a box on the floor at the far end of the room, I
found a variety of restraints. Some looked worn and old and others,
hardly used.

I rose to my feet, about to give up, when I
remembered the cabinets under the counter. I started on the one
closest to the door, finding nothing of interest, just more
developing supplies. In the last cabinet near the far wall was a
large black box. I pulled it onto my lap and opened the lid,
revealing a photo album. I knew instinctively that the album was
the treasure I had been seeking.

I sat for a minute with my heart racing.
Did I
really want to confirm my suspicions?
Hadn’t that been the
whole purpose of rummaging through his office in the first
place?
I opened the album and saw pictures of Page first. The
pages contained photos you would expect in any couple’s
album—pictures you could show your friends and family. In the first
grouping, taken at a picnic, Luke appeared younger by about five
years. Another series were of her laughing on different amusement
rides. I paused, afraid of seeing them being married. Finally,
skipping a bunch of pages, I flipped to the middle of the book.
Janice—the woman in the photo on the wall across from me—surfaced
in the next series of pictures.

I eventually made my way through the entire album,
which held photos of six women in all. Each section exhibited
normal relationship pictures, some with Luke, some without. The
empty pages at the end of the book held impressions of photos. I
wondered why the pictures had been taken out.

Over the next few days the photos in the album ate at
me. I couldn’t explain my justification for making a big deal out
of nothing.
Why should I care, right?
After all, he had
lived to the age of forty-five before meeting me and had never
claimed to be celibate. What bothered me was the intimacy and
normalcy I had seen in the photo album.

Where was the normalcy in our relationship?

I put everything back where I’d found it and even got
a cloth from the kitchen to wipe down the file cabinet drawers and
the other cabinets. Placing the album carefully back in the black
box under the counter, I left the office.

I remained in a funk for the rest of Saturday. I
didn’t go on my long run and stayed in bed most of the time.
Writing a bit about how I felt and questioning what I was doing to
myself didn’t help shift my mood.

When had I become like my mother—a liar and a snoop?
What had happened to the girl who valued honesty above all
else?

I wrote down all the changes I had experienced. I
listed the pros and cons of calling my father and debated why I
kept putting it off. Part of me wanted badly to see him, but my
emotional state was so fragile and my heart so vulnerable at
present that it seemed unwise. Fear of letting him in just to have
him leave again also kept me from making the call. I ate a bagel
only when hunger wouldn’t allow me to rest. I knew I needed to snap
out of it, for Luke would be back tomorrow.

On Sunday morning I decided my new goal in life was
to get pictures of me into his photo album. Somehow creating a new
focus for myself helped me to cope with everything I’d discovered.
I contemplated telling Luke about my exploration of the website and
hoped and prayed he’d never find out about my excursion into his
office.

I needed to combat the increasing anxiety that filled
me, but running was out because of the danger of another chance
meeting with Scott. I used the treadmill instead. I expended the
rest of my excess energy in cleaning our small apartment. It felt
good to make it spotless for his return.

I decided to hold off telling Luke that I had checked
out the website because I didn’t know how he would react. I wanted
him to be happy about me giving notice at work and being able to
travel with him. I wanted our reunion to be wonderful.

Luke breezed into the apartment, dropping his garment
bag and suitcase at the door. He held a huge bouquet of Gerber
Daisies and Gladiolas. I jumped up from the couch, closing the
laptop as I stood, and met him half way. He lifted me into his
arms, kissing me full on the mouth, breathing me in.

“
Please tell me your surprise is what I think
it is,” he said as he presented me with the flowers.

“
It is,” I said, wrapping my arms even tighter
around his neck.

“
Then it’s official. Two more weeks and then
you’re totally mine. You can’t even begin to imagine the fun we’ll
have. I have many new ideas for pictures of you. I have plans for
those flowers but first have you eaten because I’m starved.” He
spoke faster with more animation than I had yet
experienced.

I laughed because I felt such joy in seeing him so
happy. My gut wrenched momentarily over the things I had done while
he’d been traveling but I managed to push them away. There would be
time to torture myself over my indiscretions later.

“
I love you so much,” I said. “I’m so damn
happy you’re home
you
can’t even imagine.”

“
Oh, but I can imagine. When you’ve found the
woman you want to spend your life with, being away is very hard.
Hard on both of us.”

“
Is that me?” I said.

He lifted me up like a bride and carried me to the
bedroom. He put me down on my feet and slapped my ass. “Get dressed
quickly, and you can do it in here. I need to devour you but
Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs dictates I must eat first.”