Abby

Chapter 22

"Please, Abby, sit with me... here." Madeleine gestured to the couch as she sat down, motioning for me to join her, giving a look that seemed more like a grimace than her usual smile. Hesitantly, I sat down, feeling like I had done something wrong and was about to be reprimanded. Had I committed some faux pas last weekend that I wasn't aware of?

"Abby, as I'm sure you can imagine, we take the privacy of our establishment as paramount, and as such, we need to know intimately the people who come into the club, so we must vet each person carefully. Imagine if someone were to enter our world, lying to us, mais non, not just to us but themselves, thinking this was something they truly wanted, only to find themselves suddenly in too deep. What then, hmm? They try to return to their old lives as if nothing happened, but soon they start talking. Maybe a friend here, a confident there, telling them someone they saw at the club. But then their friend tells more people, and so on. Then word soon gets out, but our members expect uncompromising discreteness, yes?"

I nodded my agreement.

"But it's not enough to know that person only; we must also know those closest to them, to understand if they might have something to hold over the person, causing an uncomfortable situation for all. So, naturally, when your friend, Mandy, wanted to invite you and your fiancee, I had my people look into your backgrounds."

I looked at her, startled at her words. In my naivety, I had not even considered the idea that someone would have been spying on me or my life. Madeline continued, seeing my reaction.

"No, Abby, please don't feel that way about it. You must understand that no formal interviews or resumes are presented in a business like this. It is too easy for people to lie. So we are forced to rely on other means of protecting the privacy of the club and, therefore, our members' privacy. No, ma chérie, this is the only way."

As I listened, I contemplated what she said and knew what she was saying was right. That kind of privacy demanded unconventional means. But that didn't explain why she had wanted me to come this weekend or what she wanted to show me.

"Madeleine, I can accept you need to protect the club's privacy, but I don't understand where you are going with this. There is nothing in my background...."

She got up as I spoke, walking over to her desk with a somber pace to pick up a manila envelope on top of it before turning and returning to the couch, where she offered it to me.

"Please, open it," she said solemnly.

I took the folder from her hand with a questioning look, considering it briefly before I opened it, letting the contents slide into my hand. I stared blankly as I looked down at a picture of Dan getting off an airplane with a woman. No, not just a woman... he was with Sheryl.

"I don't understand," I said weakly as I looked at the date on the photograph. It was dated this past Monday, but that was impossible. Dan had come home to see me. Deep inside, however, I knew I instinctively understood, but my conscious mind was refusing to accept it. As if in a dream, I flipped through more photos and various phone and phone receipts, going back several months, shaking my head in disbelief.

"No. There has to be some mistake," I stammered, but the first tear was already running down my cheek. It clung to my jaw as if it didn't want to plummet below before finally letting go, splashing down, staining the photo below.

"Unfortunately, your fiancé has been leading a dual life I can see you were unaware of. I had hoped, but not expected, that perhaps you were aware and approving of an open arrangement. We traced his phone, bank records, and reservation information from his most recent trip. I also had someone follow him once we knew something was off. You can see the surveillance pictures from the hotel showing her with him. It's all documented, there."

Madeleine spoke softly, nodding to the pictures and files I held in my hand. Her words seemed echoing and distant, as if it was from a movie playing in the background.

"I am terribly sorry to have to be the one to give you this news, Abby. I'll leave you alone. Please. Use my office as long as you need."

Tears began to stream down my face in full force as my denial gave way to cold, bitter anguish. How could I not have seen this? I remembered my text he had not responded to last Sunday until much later that night. Images flashed through my mind of them locked in an embrace as his phone buzzed from my text message.

Burying my face in my hands, I tried to tell myself that this was all just a bad dream and I hadn't promised myself to a man who could do this to me behind my back. I just needed to wake up, and everything would be alright again. But of course, I could not wake up, no matter how much I told myself to. The pain was too real, as though my heart might explode at any moment, ending this torment mercifully. But it was not to be. Instead, the tears continued to flow, each one softly dropping onto the documents below as I tried to come to terms with the truth.

After some time, I sat up, grabbing a tissue from the silver metal box that Madeleine had no doubt placed ahead of time, anticipating the need. As I dabbed my eyes, I glanced down at the page of cell phone records in my lap, where a series of highlighted records caught my eye. The first was a text to him from me dated Tuesday of last week. The time matched when I had texted him, telling him I was going shopping for a dress. The next record followed only seconds after. It was a two-minute call to Sheryl's number. The third and final record was a second quick call to her ten minutes later.

"That bastard," I seethed out loud. "He did this. He sent her to the sex shop!" But how could he have known? I hadn't told him where I was going, but it was too much of a coincidence to run into her, seeing that they had spoken.

The thought fizzled away from me as, like a jigsaw puzzle, my mind tried to fit the pieces from over the past few months together, forming a picture of a Dan almost unrecognizable. A Dan who had sent his ex to intercept me, maybe even planning on spreading the gossip himself. A Dan who had talked to my parents behind my back, trying to manipulate me. A Dan who had lost his temper, shoving me in anger when he couldn't.

As other memories flooded back to me from the past few years, I now saw each of them in a different light. More and more, I realized that it was about control — I had just been too naive to recognize it. All the times that he had rejected my sexual advances or given a negative comment about something I wore. All the times when he would get angry during a conversation when he disagreed, making me feel uncomfortable enough to back down and give in. It had always been about control.

I breathed deeply as I steadied myself. It was time I took control back.