Chapter 3

“Help me, help me, help me sail away.
Well, give me two good reasons why I ought to stay.
Cause I love to live so pleasantly, live this life of luxury.
Lazing on a sunny afternoon. In the summertime.
In the summertime.

-The Kinks, “Sunny Afternoon”

Hello. I’m Suzy-Q. Sorry, I ... I don’t think I can do this. I shouldn’t say anything. I’ll just be over here if anyone wants anything.

Hi, my name’s Susan. Since the other two women in my head have gotten a chance to speak, Suzy-Q was going to talk here, but she’s too ... well, shy is the wrong word. Obsequious, maybe? Self-loathing? Suzy-Q is the part of me that thought I deserved all of Chad’s abuse; that stuck her fingers in her ears and went “la la la” when someone tried to tell me I could do better and didn’t have to put up with his shit and mistook it for validation.

Suzy-Q was what he called me when he wanted to let me know that I was his possession, just a thing to be used however and whenever he wanted. It’s also the most unoriginal thing you can call someone named Susan. (Why no, I had NO IDEA AT ALL that there was a song called Susie Q that was originally written and performed by Dale Hawkins in 1957 and also appeared on the Rolling Stones’ second album, but most famously was the biggest hit as track three from Creedence Clearwater Revival’s self-titled debut album in 1968 with a run-time of eight minutes and thirty-eight seconds; the double-sided single of which peaked at #11 on the Billboard Charts and was featured prominently during the USO show scene in the film Apocalypse Now. You’re the first person to ever tell me about it!)

She’d been nagging at me on the drive home, though. Telling me that Rachel wasn’t going to follow us; and even though I could see her in my rearview mirror, she assured me that Rachel was just waiting to turn around at the next light and drive away as fast as she could. Ok, so not that light, or the last three, but the next one for sure. By the time we pulled into the driveway and Rachel was still behind us, Suzy-Q had quietly slinked back into the shadows.

I parked in front of the large garage to leave room for Rachel, deciding not to take my spot inside. Troy and Julie had expanded it to a four-car garage after their honeymoon trip to Europe ended with the surprise gift of a Ferrari from Helen. Julie told me that they’d originally chosen the house with guest bedrooms in mind, and the addition of the large garage and the new library Troy had snuck in to the expansion plans certainly made it stand out in the neighborhood, like some big shot with Microsoft lived there; not a grad student and a promising young artist and their secretary girlfriend. I pictured myself trying to explain to Rachel “Oh, well, you see, Troy’s made some very wise investments and, you know, he can control minds, so I’m sure that somewhere out there, a former realtor is wandering the streets trying to figure out where his entire life went wrong...”

I waved to Rob and Eric Green, the gay couple who’d moved in across the street last month, as Rachel pulled in behind me. I’d only talked to them once or twice. Rob, the blond one, had taken advantage of the sunny day to mow the lawn and waved back; and Eric was sitting on the porch working on a laptop. They had some kind of at-home internet business, and were home all the time. I had a suspicion about them, but nothing worth talking about yet.

Rachel had a look of disbelief on her face as she got out of the car and looked at the house.

“Cool place.” She looked across the street at Rob, who’d taken off his shirt and was showing the kind of muscles that didn’t belong on someone with a stay-at-home job. “He seems nice.”

“Mm-hmm,” I replied. “I think his boyfriend thinks so, too. C’mon.” I led her toward the front door.

“Are you sure,” Rachel asked. “Could’ve sworn he was checking you out.”

“Yeah, and I think he was more interested in you.” She turned back to smile at Rob and I gently took hold of her arm and led her inside.

I heard conversation coming from the living room as I opened the door and stopped, motioning for Rachel to stop too. As you might’ve noticed, a lot of sex happens in our house, and not all of it is confined to the bedrooms or any particular time of day. I didn’t want Rachel to get the wrong idea ... well, the right idea, but too soon.

I cocked my head and turned my ear to the hallway to listen. I heard Julie and another female voice talking and laughing. Deciding it was safe, we continued to the living room.

Troy Equals stood in the center of the living room, naked except for a pair of boxer shorts; his back bent and his right arm outstretched holding a Frisbee as if he were about to hurl it like Myron’s Discobolus statue. (I only know the name of it because Troy told me.)

On the far side of the room, Julie, his wife, sat on a stool in front of an easel, drawing and facing his back. Next to her in front of an easel of her own, was Denise; a teenage friend of hers that she’d met in the park a month back. A third stool between them held a set of charcoal pencils.

“You know, hon,” Troy said, trying not to move. “I’ve never bought fruit by the bowl before, but it can’t be more than ten bucks or so. I’d be happy to get dressed and go buy you two one. And then hey, when art time’s over, you can enjoy some lovely fruit.”

“That’s what you get for finishing class early, Dearest One,” Julie replied. “We needed a model, and everyone else is working. So quit complaining and hold still, O My Hellenistic Ideal.”

“Hi, guys,” I said. “Hey, Denise. Wasn’t expecting you, or for all of you to be here this early. This is Rachel. Rachel, this is Troy & Julie Equals and their friend Denise.”

“Hey, Rachel,” Julie said with a welcoming smile. “I had a client meeting in Tacoma that I ended up walking out of, so decided to pick up Denise and do some sketching practice.”

“What happened with the meeting,” I asked.

“I got all the way there, met him at the Hobnob, he talked all about his big plans and what he wanted, but didn’t bring up money, so I kinda saw what was coming. Sure enough, round about when the check came, he said he wouldn’t be able to pay me, but it would be ‘great exposure for my work.’”

I groaned. I’ve never done any kind of artistic work like Julie, but even I know that “it’ll be great exposure” means “We exploit your talent for free and then we’ll tell others what a sucker you are and they’ll try to pull the same shit.” I found out later that Julie decided to “Do What They Do” to the guy and he got arrested a couple of hours later for “great exposure.”