“People talk around here.” Ophelia winks and then nods toward Eduardo. “Schoenbach used to be a regular. Word on the street is he was last seen in here with you … and he hasn’t been back since.”
Eduardo slides a cardboard coaster in front of me before delivering my drink.
“Thank you,” I say, turning back to her. “We were seeing each other. I guess. If you can call it that. But we’re not anymore. Turns out everything he told me was a lie.”
“Really?” She comes around the bar, takes the seat beside me, and rests her head on her hand, which I take it as an open invitation to spill my guts.
So I do.
I tell her everything.
Or at least, my side of everything.
I leave out a few scandalous details, a few of the irrelevant pieces Bennett shared with me in confidence.
But she gets the gist of it. When I’m done, she exhales, deflated and speechless. Her martini still untouched.
“I don’t know …” she finally speaks. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
“What part?” I snort and sip my drink.
“All of it.” Ophelia frowns. “I’ve known the man for years. Years. And I’ve never seen him date anyone, certainly never seen him with the same woman more than once. He spent all that time with you and went to all that effort and all that trouble and basically asked you to spend the rest of your life with him … just so the little girl he adopted would have a mother figure?”
“He trusted me. He knew I was good with kids. And I already had a connection with her, so yeah. In his eyes, I was probably his best option.” I take another drink. “Plus regular sex. Let’s not forget that. Lord knows he can’t be taking random women home on the weekends anymore.”
“It’s just … the man you’re describing sounds so self-serving,” she says. “And the Schoenbach I’ve known for years is anything but.”
“What do you mean?”
“Every year, we have a Thanksgiving food drive. Every year he donates a truck’s worth of canned food. Two years ago, Eduardo mentioned taking a second job because he had to replace the roof on his mother’s house in Naperville—Schoenbach came in the next night and wrote him a check for the roof. Last year, my dad needed knee surgery, but the cheap ass insurance he’s got would only cover part of it, and hardly covered the physical therapy he was going to need after that. Bennett took care of it.”
“Those are all extremely generous things, but I think we’re comparing apples and oranges here …”
“My point is, Bennett likes to take care of people. And he treats everyone like family. At least, in his own way. I know he isn’t close with his own family, so I kind of always chalked it up to that.” Ophelia shrugs, stirring her martini with a toothpick. “At the end of the day, he’s this rich, lonely guy with a heart of pure gold. Like … Batman.”
I laugh through my nose.
It feels good to laugh again. Reminds me that I’m human. Still alive. Still capable of feeling the other spectrum of emotions.
“Honest to God, Astaire,” she says. “If I was into guys, I’d be all over him. I’d do whatever it takes to lock. That. Down.”
“It’s nice that he helps people …”
“He doesn’t just help people,” she says. “It’s deeper than that with him. I think he resents his money so he gives it away, but he’s so damn good at what he does, he makes more money than he can spend.” She throws her hands up. “Just my theory. But I think there’s a lot of self-loathing underneath all of that benefactor-ing. And maybe that’s why he pushes people away so much. He’s never had an actual relationship since I’ve known him. He’s always done the casual thing. Hooking up with random, beautiful women whenever the mood strikes him. Makes me think he doesn’t feel worthy of being loved.”
She takes a drink.
I take a drink.
A moment later, after her words have settled, I speak. “That’s … deep.”
“I’m also drunk.” Ophelia laughs, pressing her hand against my arm. “So take all of this with a grain of salt.”
“You make him sound so enchanting …” I trace my fingertips along the logo on the side of my glass, lost in thought. “But I can’t stop thinking about what he said.”
“Did you let him explain?”
I shake my head. “No. He’s only going to tell me what I want to hear. He’s going to say he didn’t mean it. But if I go back to him, I’m going to question everything, all the time. I’m always going to wonder in the back of my head if he wants me because he loves me, or because I provide something he needs, something he can’t get anywhere else.”
“Sweetheart, listen to yourself.” She places her hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to say something and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way, okay?”
I brace myself and nod.
“That man can have any woman he wants. Any. Woman. And you’re an intelligent, beautiful, twenty-something blonde who loves kids. Do you seriously think you’re the only intelligent, beautiful, twenty-something blonde who loves kids in the world? I bet I could look around this bar and find at least five others who fit that profile. Schoenbach could do that too. But he chose you. He wants you.”
Exhaling, I finish my drink, more dizzied with thoughts than when I first walked in.
50
Bennett
The bottom of my laptop burns hot as the fan whirs to life Friday night. Honor finishes her third puzzle of the evening and I re-read the email I’m about to send for the thirtieth and final time.
FROM: Bennett.Schoenbach@SchoenbachCorp
SUBJECT: None
Astaire,
It’s Friday night. Snow falls quietly outside. The fireplace fills the room with a warm glow. Honor is working on her third puzzle of the night. And you should be here. With us.
I’m sorry you heard that conversation.
But I’m even sorrier you believed it.
I said what I said, Astaire. And you’re right—I am a liar.
I told my brother I didn’t care about you because you are my weakness. And if he knew how I truly felt about you, he would destroy it the way he’s destroyed everything I’ve ever cared about in the past.
So that’s the explanation.
You can choose to believe it or not.
Nietzsche says, “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process, he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”
In fighting my brother, I became a monster myself … lying, manipulating, and blackmailing him to get what I wanted.
I don’t regret protecting the ones I love.
I do regret hurting you.
Please, Astaire. Come back to me.
You’re the only person in the world I want to do life with.
Yours (and always will be)—
Bennett
51