The Arrangement Anthology 1(203)
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Mel is in the passenger seat in my car. It runs okay and gets great gas mileage, but the rickety nature of the rusted frame makes Mel jumpy. Plus we have to yell because the window seals are pretty much shot.
“So, I wanna see some pictures of the infamous Sean Ferro in compromising positions… or at least his naked ass.” She holds out her hand for my phone.
“Uh, it wasn’t like that.”
She stares at me for a second. “He didn’t send you any pictures at all?”
“No. Why? Is that weird?”
Mel makes a face and picks up my phone. “Depends on what he said. May I?” She holds up my phone and I know she wants to look at the messages.
My face flames red, but I nod anyway. “Since when do you ask?”
“Since when do I go through your personal shit? Never, that’s since when. I might butt my nose where it don’t go, but I—” Her eyes go big as she reads the screen. “He had you do this shit? Like all of it?” Her eyes continue to read as I answer.
“Yeah…” I’m getting the impression that something is off. “I’ve never done it before.”
“No shit.”
“So, did I do it wrong?”
“I don’t know. To each his own, you know, but it’s weird he didn’t send you some dick shots or something—maybe even record himself jerking off so you can see.” She squints at the screen and turns it sideways like there’s a hidden dick in the letters.
“It sounded like he wanted to do that another time.”
She puts the phone down and looks over at me. “I didn’t picture him as the type. Shows what little I know.” She shrugs. “So, little Miss Chastity Belt, did that get you off? I’m not watching the video. By the way, you should delete that shit. If you lose your phone, it’ll be on YouTube faster than you can say fuck me.”
“I know. I’ll delete it. I don’t like having stuff like that around, at the same time, it was with Sean.” I smile into space.
“You look like you’ve been hit in the head with a brick, Avery. Stop that. Sean is trouble. Like a big fat sack of damaged goods. Marrying him means you’re okay with all his shit—the hookers, his dead wife, and his freaky ass family. Did you think this through?” Mel moves her hand to recline her seat. Before I can stop her, she pulls the lever and the seat falls back. She spews some choice words as she flies backwards. “What the fuck?”
“Steve’s broken—uh, the seat.” I reach for the chair back, but I can’t help her fix it since I’m driving. Mel gives me a look, so I explain, “Yeah, I named him Steve the Seat. He does all the way up or all the way down. That chair isn’t really into foreplay—no in the middle. He’s an all or nothing kind of chair.”
She laughs and spews spittle all over the dashboard. “Oh my God. You’ve been hanging out with me way too long! You’ve turned your passenger seat into a personified pervert.”
“Steve thanks you for sitting on him. He hasn’t had this much action since Sean used a screwdriver on his little bits. Steve likes things rough.” Grinning, I look out the windshield and change lanes to take the Tunnel.
Mel cracks up and before too long we’re on the Turnpike, headed straight for Cherry Hill. Peter gave me the information last time I saw him. It’s weird, but I like Sean’s family. Normally, I feel like I don’t fit in—like at all—but Peter was easy to talk to. I didn’t feel like he was looking down at me, even though he knows what I do. Gotta admit, that’s weird—and awesome. Especially since he didn’t proposition me later.
Mel chatters about nothing for a long time, keeping my mind off of Sean, but whenever a lull works its way into the conversation, there he is—Sean Ferro. Mel’s question prompted another one in my mind. It’s not that I can’t accept Sean’s past, it’s more a question of whether or not I can handle what it means for the future. Will his dark side get darker? Will Sean still need the different faces of nameless women to control to forget what he lost? Sean said he doesn’t want that anymore, but what if that need comes back? What happens when I’m not enough? I don’t expect to overshadow his past, and there’s no way to just walk away and forget about it. If that were true, neither of us would be hanging out in graveyards, talking to the dead.
Can I handle Sean day in and out? Do I want to? A guy like Marty—a normal guy, with normal problems—would give me a normal life. Isn’t that what I wanted—normal—as in a little Cape Cod with pansies on the porch and kids under foot? Sean isn’t that guy, so it washes that future away and I can’t picture what my life will be or who will be in it with that footing removed.