Issue 10.2 Spring 2015

10.2 cover image

 

About the Author

Joe Giordano was born in Brooklyn. He and his wife, Jane, have lived in Greece, Brazil, Belgium and Netherlands. They now live in Texas with their little shih tzu, Sophia.

Joe's stories have appeared in more than fifty magazines including Bartleby Snopes, Newfound Journal, and The Summerset Review.

 

 

Pay to Play

 

Joe Giordano

 


Ted Chandler’s flight to Hong Kong was unending. Still groggy, he hopped over to Shanghai and spent a week with customers. Five hours to Singapore, then a stop in Tokyo before fourteen hours back to Texas. Ted’s business life was two weeks on the road every month. Even when he wasn’t traveling, his brain felt like it was 2 am. Thank God his wife Sandra was understanding.

 

Ted’s mother wanted him to be a doctor, but medical school was out of reach. She passed away during Ted’s teens, a few years after contracting breast cancer. Had the biotech drug trastuzumab been developed, she would still be alive. So, Ted worked for ventures with new health technologies and was paid mostly in stock. This was Ted’s fifth start-up. The others looked like winners until they weren’t. This company developed a surface cleaner that killed pathogens on contact, and Ted led Asian sales. Broad hospital acceptance seemed assured until Ted discovered that many third-world clinics would reduce infections if they just shut the windows.

 

Multiple failures dulled Ted’s idealism, and success was spelled with dollar signs. He pined for a time when he could escape constant pressure.

 

Ted slouched in the back seat of the cab back from the airport. The sky was leaden. Just the anticipation of his next trip made him queasy. 

 

Sandra was a curvy redhead. Normally, when Ted arrived, she’d be in the foyer, scotch in hand. He’d take a sip, sweep her into his arms, and they’d tumble into bed. But she wasn’t at the door. He called and found her in the spare bedroom with the shades drawn.

 

He said, “Did someone die?”

 

She rose and put her arms around his neck. There were tears.

 

“Tell me.”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“Sandra, you can’t leave it at that.”

 

“Okay, but you must stay calm.”

 

“You’re scaring me.”

 

Sandra sighed. “You always told me to call Craig if there was a problem while you were gone. The water heater in the attic broke. The bedroom was flooded. He called a plumber and oversaw the cleanup.

 

Afterwards, I invited him to have a glass of wine; I thought it innocent enough. He sat next to me on the couch, then moved close and nuzzled my neck. I tried to get up, but he pulled me back and kissed me. I told him that it wasn’t right, but he kept on. Do I need to paint you a watercolor?”

 

Ted stiffened. Craig Burrows was his best friend. “I can’t believe it.” Ted grabbed his head. “I’ll kill him.”

 

“Ted, please. You’ll be arrested for murder.”

 

“Did he hit you? Your face isn’t marked.”

 

“I didn’t have a choice.”

 

“Did you call the police?”

 

“It would’ve been his word against mine.”

 

“You didn’t go to the hospital? They would’ve done a rape kit.”

 

“He used a condom.”

 

“You couldn’t scream or run away?”

 

“He held me down.”

 

Ted took a step back. “Did you have sex with Craig and concoct this story?”

 

Sandra’s face reddened. “Listen to yourself. If you were home, this wouldn’t have happened. Leave, go on another business trip.” Sandra turned her back.

 

Ted cupped his forehead. “I’m sorry.” He reached for Sandra. She pulled away. “Craig’s betrayal rocked me. I reacted badly. Forgive me.”

 

Ted wanted to confront Craig, but Sandra held him back. He called in sick and sulked around the house. He was irritable on the phone and blew up at someone from work. He tossed and turned at night.

 

Sandra avoided talking. She went to bed early, or she retired after Ted was asleep. 

 

A week passed, and Sandra made Ted his favorite meal, meatloaf.

 

Sandra picked at her food.

 

Ted sighed. “Should we get counseling?”

 

Sandra shrugged.

 

“I’m supposed to leave Saturday. Maybe I’ll stay home.”

 

“You can’t put me into a protective bubble.”

 

“I’m uneasy leaving you alone.”

 

“I’ll buy a pistol and apply for a carry permit.”

 

On Ted’s next trip to Asia, he called home at odd times. One morning, Sandra sounded teary. She faulted allergies. Ted heard a man’s voice in the background.  She said it was the TV. She assured him that she slept with the pistol, a Glock 9 mm, on the bed stand.

 

When Ted returned, he received a call from Craig on his mobile. “What did she tell you?”

 

“You forced yourself on her.”

 

“Ted, that’s not the way it was.”

 

“You’ve lusted after her since you were best man at our wedding.”

 

“She came on to me, and I succumbed. I’m ashamed of myself. I should’ve had more discipline. But you need to believe me.”

 

“I could’ve gone to the police.”

 

“We would’ve both been embarrassed. I’m telling you it was consensual.”

 

Ted’s temperature rose. “You think you’ll get away with this? This is a matter of honor.”

 

“Ted, please, don’t go all vendetta on me. I’m sorry it happened. If Ellen finds out, my marriage will be destroyed.”

 

“You should’ve thought about that before you raped my wife.”

 

“I didn’t rape Sandra. I understand that you want to believe her, but how would you know if she was lying?”

 

“Craig, why did you call?”

 

“I want to make amends. Please meet me at my attorney’s office this afternoon.”

 

Ted told Sandra about the meeting. She frowned.

 

***

 

The stenciled words on the door were, “Harold Schuckster, Attorney at Law.” Ted found Craig in the waiting room. He had tousled blond hair and a boyish smile. Craig owned a string of car dealerships and drove a BMW. 

 

Schuckster bulged in his brown suit. The two men sat in front of his burl walnut desk, and the attorney spread his hands. “As you know, Mr. Burrows admits that he had relations with Mrs. Chandler. I don’t want to upset you, but he believes that he was seduced.”

 

“Bullshit.” It came out like a question.

 

“Be that as it may, the deed is done, and Mr. Burrows is willing to make restitution.”

 

“Restitution my ass. The newspapers will grab the story. This is a tight community. People won’t buy a car from a traitor to a so-called friend.”

 

“Do you really want to put your wife through that?”

 

Ted pointed at Craig. “How will Ellen react to the news that you sleep around? The divorce settlement will be seven figures. That’ll take a dent out of your high and mighty attitude.”

 

Craig looked at Schuckster. The lawyer nodded.

 

“Mr. Chandler, we don’t want publicity, and we don’t want Mrs. Burrows to find out about the affair. We’ll pay you one-hundred-thousand dollars if you’ll sign a letter committing to keep this matter confidential.”
Ted sat back in his chair. The whir of the ceiling fan was the only sound in the room. “Make it a quarter million.”

 

Ted returned home and plopped onto a floral patterned armchair. Sandra walked into the living room wiping her hands on a dish towel. Ted showed her the check. Her eyes widened.

 

Ted rubbed his chin. “With payoffs like this, I wouldn’t need to work much longer.”

 

“Does that mean I don’t need the carry permit?”

 

 

<< Back

Euphemism Campus Box 4240 Illinois State University, Normal, IL 61790-4240