Strangers in the villa, p.18
Strangers in the Villa, page 18
She returns to her back, ending the conversation. Damian glances over, sees the grim line of her lips, the tense set of her jaw. But behind her dark glasses, a tear seeps from her eye.
He watches it trickle down her cheek, untouched.
40
When Bianca found her sister crumpled on that filthy sidewalk, she’d picked her up and helped her stumble toward her building. She’d found Lyric’s keys in her small purse and let them both into the lobby. With her arm around the girl’s waist, she half carried her into the elevator and up to the apartment. It was a cramped one-bedroom littered with clothes, shoes, makeup, and other girlish accoutrements. There was no sign of the roommate who’d hung up on her, but she noted a closed door next to the bathroom. Lyric had another roommate too, but she appeared to be out.
The sisters crawled into Lyric’s futon bed, and Bianca held the girl while she slept. Bianca’s flight was leaving soon, and she wouldn’t be on it. If she didn’t call Damian before the plane landed, he would go to the airport, and she wouldn’t be there. She needed her phone, but it was in her purse on the floor, and she couldn’t let go of her sister’s small, limp body. So she lay there, holding her as the hours ticked by.
From behind the thin paper screen, Bianca heard the roommate get up, shower, and leave. Silence followed, and she felt sure they were alone. She didn’t know how long they’d been lying there, but her arm had fallen asleep under Lyric’s weight. What time was it? Could she still change her flight? She needed her phone. Gingerly, she attempted to extricate herself, but Lyric stirred. She turned over in Bianca’s arms, smiled weakly at her.
“You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
Lyric’s face crumpled then. “I’m sorry.”
Bianca shushed her, stroked her hair. “Tell me what happened…”
Lyric shook her head, still confused and discombobulated. Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked so young, so afraid. She was not hard like her older sister. Bianca had handled their cruel mother with no one in her corner. Lyric had always had Bianca as a buffer, a safety net. That love and support had allowed her to grow up soft. It had made her weak.
Bianca cradled the girl in her arms and made soothing noises until she stopped crying. Delicately, she began to ask questions.
“Why did you quit the restaurant?” There was no judgment, only curiosity.
Lyric’s voice was small. “This lady came in for dinner. She was so classy and sophisticated. She invited me to a party.”
“You went to a party with a stranger?” Bianca’s gentle tone was slipping.
“She was a regular. She seemed super nice.”
“Where was this party?”
“The first one was small, more like a get-together. It was in a fancy high-rise apartment. I had fun that time. I drank champagne and met all these cool people. Everyone was rich, and some of them were even famous,” Lyric continued. “The lady—her name is Fay—told me everyone liked me a lot. And if I’d come to more parties, they’d pay me.”
“Pay you for what?” There was only the slightest tremor in Bianca’s voice.
“Fay said I’d be like a hostess. All I had to do was chat to people and make sure they had drinks and stuff. She said I’d work less and make way more than I did at the restaurant. I thought it seemed legit.”
Then why did you lie to me about it? But Bianca couldn’t scold her, not now.
“So I quit the restaurant. I—I only went to two parties.” She was getting emotional again, but Bianca needed her to keep talking.
“What happened at these parties?” she asked softly.
“The next party was much bigger. It was in an office tower, in a big empty space. There was no furniture except some couches and a few bars. I—I must have drunk too much that night. I felt sick and kind of scared. I wanted to leave, but Fay said I had to stay or I wouldn’t get paid. The next day, I couldn’t remember what happened or how I got home.”
Bianca felt her body tense, her skull squeezing her brain, but she forced herself to relax, to listen.
“A few days ago, Fay called and invited me to another party at some big warehouse. I told her I didn’t want to go, that I was going to get another job at a restaurant, but… she said I had to.” Lyric’s voice wavered with shame and regret. “Fay had a video of me doing things that I don’t remember. Sexual things.”
Bianca felt her body quaking with rage toward this horrible Fay woman, but she stilled it, focused on her sister. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”
“I went to the party, and I tried not to drink. I held the same cocktail glass all night. But somehow, something happened to me. I don’t remember anything after that, until you found me on the sidewalk.”
Bianca held her close, kissed her hair, and rubbed her back. “You’re safe now. I’m here.” She waited until the sobs subsided before she said, “But you’re coming home with me.”
“No…” But it was a weak protest, because she knew. Lyric was too young, too naïve, to survive alone in New York City.
When her sister went back to sleep, Bianca called Damian. “I missed my flight. I’ll be home tomorrow. I’m bringing Lyric.”
“What happened? Is she okay?”
Bianca explained about the man dumping her on the sidewalk like a bag of garbage.
“She must have been drugged,” Damian said. “She could have been raped. Take her to a doctor. Call the cops.”
“I’m not going to put her through all that,” Bianca responded. “The cops won’t believe a young, drunk girl over a bunch of powerful assholes. And she doesn’t remember anything. That’s probably for the best.”
“She’s your sister,” Damian muttered, clearly disagreeing with her approach. “I suppose she’s going to be living with us?”
“Of course she is,” she snapped. “If you don’t like it, you’re free to leave.”
“Calm down, Bianca. I’m fine if she stays for a while.”
Damian needn’t have worried. Lyric wouldn’t live with them for long.
Within the year, she’d be dead.
Sydney and Curtis
41
Sydney had been attempting to sleep off her hangover when she’d been jarred awake by the sound of music. It was coming from the speakers by the pool, a loud, bassy song permeating her closed window. This wasn’t the type of music she and Curtis listened to. They preferred classical or smooth jazz. This was rock ’n’ roll with a country twang. It had to be the Australians.
She felt a stab of irritation at their lack of consideration, but then she glanced at the clock. It was almost two in the afternoon, a perfectly reasonable time to play music. Still, her guests knew she was trying to sleep. And why had Curtis let them play this frankly awful song at such a high volume?
Dragging herself out of bed, she moved to the window. Her blinds were closed tightly against the afternoon sun, but she pulled back a corner and peeked out to the pool. At first glance, the area appeared deserted. But over in the corner, not far from her jam jar full of cigarette butts, were two deck chairs. One was empty. On the other, Damian lay out, sunning himself. He was stark naked.
Objectively, she could admire his muscular bare back, his perfectly round ass, but Syd was too annoyed to feel any sort of desire. She’d already asked Bianca to keep her top on, and now Damian was baring it all in the sun. The nudity was overly familiar and downright rude. And after last night’s antics, Curtis was sure to feel disrespected. As if on cue, she heard Curtis’s car start in the driveway. He was leaving.
Grabbing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt off the floor, Sydney struggled into them as she hurried to the front door. She burst outside half dressed, waving her arm at Curtis, but the Citroën had already backed down the driveway, was turning onto the main road. Curtis put the car into first, his eyes forward, focused on his getaway. The car raced off toward the main highway.
Shit. Sydney went back inside, cursing herself. This was all her fault. This morning, Curtis has been gentle with her, had assured her he wasn’t angry, but he had to be hurt. She’d crossed too many boundaries last night, and now her guests were taking advantage of it. Damian flaunting his spectacular nude physique was adding insult to injury, rubbing Curtis’s nose in what happened on that dance floor.
Syd found her phone, tried to call her husband, but he didn’t answer. He was driving, focused on the road. Or maybe he was upset and screening her. Keeping her voice low, she left him a message:
“Curtis, please come home so we can talk. I think… maybe the Aussies should leave. I know we need help with the building, but I just want it to be you and me again… I love you.” She hung up, her throat tight with emotion.
Syd went to the coffee machine and turned it on, waited for it to warm up. Surely Curtis would agree that their guests had worn out their welcome. Syd had been titillated by them at first, distracted from the hard work of making a marriage work, but she didn’t want them here anymore. She didn’t judge their lifestyle, but last night had cemented her monogamous nature. She wanted her marriage to work. She wanted Curtis to forgive her error in judgment so they could move forward with their healing. Now she knew how easy it was to make a mistake.
Filling her mug with coffee, she turned around and startled. Damian had slipped into the kitchen while her back was turned. He was shirtless but wearing a pair of shorts, thank God. Being alone with him in such close quarters, in such little clothing, might have excited her before, but not today. She felt nothing for him now but mild irritation.
“I need to apologize to you and Bianca,” she began curtly. “For my behavior last night.”
“You were fine.” His smile was cocky. “We were all having a good time.”
“I wasn’t.” It was a lie. She couldn’t deny she had enjoyed herself in the moment, but shame warmed her cheeks, made her stomach churn. Regret was a waste of her energy. Her focus was on establishing boundaries, a sense of decorum. “Curtis and I are committed and monogamous,” she continued. “It was wrong for me to betray him like that.”
Damian cocked an eyebrow, leaned his arms on the countertop. “Bianca said Curtis betrayed you.”
Thanks, Bianca. Sydney had shared that information with her in confidence. Now she felt defensive of her relationship, compelled to explain the complexities of a committed marriage to this nearly naked Aussie who was bashing the man she loved. “We have history,” she said. “And we have a future. And that’s worth fighting for.”
Damian nodded slowly. “Are you sure you trust him?”
Syd saw the opportunity to get some clarity, and she took it. “Is this about Curtis flirting with Bianca? She told me about that. If you saw something, I’d like to know.”
But he didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “You need to look out for yourself. Just look out for yourself, Syd. Emotionally and financially.”
“Financially?” Acid churned in her empty stomach, and she set down her mug. What did this virtual stranger know about their finances? More than she thought.
“Your mom left you money, right? Make sure Curtis can’t get to that.”
She pressed him, but Damian was cagey, offering platitudes about relationships and trust. He moved to the sink and filled a glass with water. “Bianca’s taking a nap in the van,” he said. “I should go check on her.” And he left.
The conversation had rattled her. She had no reason to mistrust her husband about money. Curtis had been transparent about everything, even his affair. But why would Damian bring up their finances unless Curtis had said something shady? It would be foolish not to at least check.
With her mug of coffee, Syd went into the living room. Her laptop rested on the ottoman next to a novel she hadn’t picked up since their guests arrived. Taking the computer to the sofa, she booted it up and accessed their bank accounts. Everything was in order; there were no unusual withdrawals. She logged into her private account. Curtis had suggested, even insisted, that she keep her inheritance separate from their household finances. There was no activity, not since they’d had to buy the new fridge and stove.
Why had Damian said something so incendiary? Why did he want to stir up her mistrust? Sydney wondered if the Aussie was trying to damage her marriage, but to what end? Damian had been flirtatious with Sydney, but he wasn’t in love with her. He and Bianca had been together since they were kids! Destroying Sydney’s marriage seemed pointless. And cruel. It was time for their guests to leave.
As she sipped her coffee, her eyes flitted to the desk in the corner. It was piled with papers, most pertaining to their visa applications. Curtis’s laptop was there, plugged in, under a stack of invoices from various tradesmen. She had his password. He’d shared it in therapy, a gesture of his commitment to regaining her trust, but she hadn’t checked it in months. Snooping through his devices felt like undermining all the work they’d done. And she trusted him now. Didn’t she?
On stealthy feet, she hurried to the desk and grabbed her husband’s sleek laptop. She brought it back to the couch and turned it on. Her heart fluttered as it booted up, the screen jumping and flickering at first. Then the log-in page loaded, and Sydney typed in Curtis’s password. It was the name of his elementary school and the year he was born. The response was instant.
Incorrect password. Try again.
Her stomach dropped, but she told herself she’d been careless, had typed the school name wrong. There was no reason to panic.
“Hair of the dog?” Damian was back, holding up a beer.
“God, no,” she snapped. The thought of alcohol turned her stomach; his presence irked her. Damian seemed intent on enticing her to join him out by the pool, but she dismissed him, told him Curtis would soon return to keep him company. Luckily, he got the hint and disappeared.
Carefully, methodically, she retyped the password.
Incorrect password. Try again.
If she entered it wrong one more time, the device would lock up. Curtis would know that she’d tried to access his computer, that she was aware he’d changed his password. He had locked her out of his computer because he was hiding something from her. But what?
And what the hell did Damian know about it?
Sydney Cleary and Curtis Lowe, Couples’ Counseling Session
Ellen Dwyer, Psychologist, PsyD
July 22
TRANSCRIPT 5.
Ellen:
Let’s talk about your relationship before the affair. Tell me what was good about it.
Sydney:
Curtis always made me feel special. Like I was chosen. And treasured. He seemed so solid and steadfast. I felt like he’d always take care of me.
Curtis:
You are special, babe. And I will take care of you.
Sydney:
I’m not special. Not if you could sleep with some random client who means nothing to you. Not if you could hurt me like that.
Curtis:
I was drunk. And high. You and I were so far apart. You’re the most special person in the world to me.
Ellen:
Curtis, what do you value about Sydney?
Curtis:
Everything. I mean, look at her. She’s beautiful. And smart. And successful. And she cares so much about people, and justice, and doing the right thing. Sydney makes me a better person.
Sydney:
I make you a better person? You just did molly and cheated on me. I’m doing a great job.
Ellen:
Sydney, what do you need from Curtis to feel emotionally safe in this relationship again?
Sydney:
I don’t know. Curtis works all hours. He gets late-night texts and leaves the house at a moment’s notice. How can I ever trust him again?
Curtis:
You can have all my passwords, Syd. You can track me on my phone.
Sydney:
I shouldn’t have to snoop on you like you’re some naughty teenager.
Ellen:
Maybe it’s just a temporary measure. Until Curtis can prove to you that he’ll never betray you again.
Sydney:
What if he can’t prove it to me? What if I never trust him again?
Curtis:
If you want to read every text or email I send for the rest of my life, you can.
Sydney:
I don’t want to. And I shouldn’t have to. That’s my point.
Ellen:
There are strategies that can help you to rebuild your trust. If that’s what you both want.
Curtis:
I’ll do anything to earn her trust back. Whatever it takes.
Ellen:
Sydney? Is that what you want, too?
Sydney:
I think so.
42
Moments after Bianca spat in his face, Curtis had jumped in his car and taken off. He had no destination in mind, but he couldn’t stay at the house and play nice with the two grifters camping in his driveway. When Sydney woke up and found him gone, she would worry and wonder. But after her behavior on the dance floor last night, she’d blame herself. She’d assume Curtis had gone somewhere to lick his wounds. She had no reason to suspect that their guests were scammers who were trying to destroy him.
As he shifted gears at a roundabout, Curtis berated himself for his gullibility. He’d known it was too much of a coincidence that the pair had broken down so close to the house, but the Australian accent had thrown him off. There was no way a couple of Aussie travelers could have any dirt on him. Still, it had felt wrong in his gut. He hadn’t wanted to invite them in. He certainly hadn’t wanted them to stay. He’d done it for Sydney. And now, thanks to them, he could lose her.
