Fidelity Files

  After entering the last digit, I studied the completed number on the screen of my phone, my finger poised and ready to press the green Send button like a finger on a trigger.

  It's easy, I told myself.

  I would just press Send, he would answer, and I would simply say something like, "I'm sorry, my mother is sick...in Guam, and I'll be moving there for God knows how long..."

  "No!" I said aloud. "No more lies."

  "I'm sorry, my life is just too complicated right now. I feel that I shouldn't drag you into it."

  Perfect.

  Honest, truthful, painless...in theory.

  I took a deep breath and began to apply pressure on the green button.

  And that's when the doorbell rang.

  I released my finger and looked curiously in the direction of the hallway. As I made my way to the front door, I checked my watch, and then remembered that my mom, Julia, and Hannah were coming over today to take me out to lunch.

  I quickly put my phone and Jamie's business card down on the dining room table and went to the door.

  "Hi, all!" I said, trying to sound excited and well rested. After all, that's how normal people sound on Sunday afternoons, right? Relaxed, calm, enjoying the weekend, reading the paper, maybe even watching a TV movie.

  Hannah hugged me briefly and then rushed passed me to do what she always does when she comes to my house: explore my closet.

  "Oh my God," I heard her yell from my bedroom a few seconds later as I hugged my mom and Julia. "I love this skirt!"

  "Great," Julia said, rolling her eyes. "Now, that's all we're going to hear about on the way back home."

  I smiled politely back at her.

  Julia stepped inside and took a look around, silently judging everything with her eyes. "Hmm...It's amazing. I always manage to forget how white this place is."

  I bit my lip to keep myself from throwing back a snide retort, knowing it would get me nowhere.

  "Who's Jamie Richards?" I heard my mom's voice ask in a very interested tone.

  I immediately swung my head around to find my mother holding Jamie's business card in her hand and examining it with great interest.

  "Calloway Consulting," she read aloud from the card, and then picked her head up. "A business associate?"

  I shrugged and tried to downplay it. "No. Just a guy I'm dating."

  Her face instantly lit up. I could almost see the silhouettes of unborn children appear in my mother's pupils. I suddenly wished I had just lied and told her he was a business associate.

  I tried to cover. "It's no big deal, really. I don't think it's going anywhere. Where do you want to go to lunch?"

  "How many times have you gone out?" Hannah asked, returning to the living room and plopping down on the couch. She shifted to get comfortable, as if getting ready to watch a movie she'd wanted to see for months. All she was missing was a large bucket of popcorn.

  "You know, I don't really want to talk about it," I replied, walking over to my mom and gently removing the white card from her tightly clasped fingers and placing it back on the table. Her fingers had instinctively clenched around what had become a small token of hope.

  I didn't see any good in telling them about Jamie since I was undoubtedly going to end it anyway. What was the point in getting them all excited? My life had no room for a man. In fact, I don't even know why I agreed to go out with him in the first place. A cute distraction from my hectic existence? What a pathetically lame thing to do. But I knew my family would never understand my reasoning. "What's so complicated about your life?" Julia would sneer. "You can't avoid your issues with your father forever," my mom would warn in a maternal tone. "He's ugly, isn't he? That's the real reason, right?" Hannah would naively speculate, extremely proud that she had unraveled the truth behind the great mystery that was my love life.

  They all stared at me. A woman on trial for her life. Would she please the jury with her agreeable response? Or would she be sent to the gas chamber?

  I sighed and threw my hands up in the air. "Twice, okay? We've gone out twice. And I'm afraid it's not working out. Now can we go to lunch?"

  "You know," Julia began thoughtfully. The look on her face implied that she was conjuring up something that in her mind would be as significant as the latest scientific breakthrough in cancer research. "Two dates sound like a very familiar number."

  "What do you mean?" I asked, genuinely curious.

  "Well, don't all of your so-called relationships last about two dates?"

  The members of the jury looked to me with eyes that said, She does have a point, Jen.

  Busted! Julia had hit the nail right on the head. All of my so-called relationships did last two dates. But what I couldn't tell them was that those "relationships" never actually existed. The fictitious men of my past were usually given two dates before I came up with a reason to scratch them from the lineup. Because I always figured two dates was just long enough that no one could argue I hadn't given them enough time to make an impression, and just short enough that no one got their feelings hurt.

  As I contemplated Julia's observation, I suddenly felt very bad for wanting to cancel my third date with Jamie. He was the first "real" guy they'd ever known about. And it was appearing that my artificial "two-date" stigma had actually manifested itself in my real dating life. That couldn't be healthy.

  But then again, it was starting to become obvious that healthy was definitely not the best word to describe any aspect of my life.

  "I don't know what she's talking about," I fought back shamelessly. "Jamie's different. He's not like any of the others."

  Meaning he's real.

  "For starters," I continued, on the verge of rambling, "he took me golfing for our first date. And we ate hot dogs. I just don't think that I..."

  "That's cute!" Hannah interrupted. "Isn't that cute?" she surveyed the rest of the group.

  I smiled to myself. It really was cute, actually. I had an instant flashback of the two us sitting on that bench outside the snack stand, eating our hot dogs and making jokes about his golfing skills. Or lack thereof. I almost let out a small, reminiscent giggle.

  "He sounds delightful," my mom pointed out contentedly.

  "Yeah," I admitted softly, sitting down on the couch next to Hannah. "He's really funny, too." A rush of enthusiasm unexpectedly filled my voice as I continued, "He does this thing where he calls me Jennifer H. like they used to in elementary school, because when I first met him I wouldn't tell him what my last name was."

  I laughed to myself, as if no one else was in the room. And for a moment...no one else was. I don't know how long I sat there talking about Jamie to seemingly nobody, but I repeated everything. His age, his job, how we met, our extended "stay" on the airport runway, how cute it was that he teased me about having a Palm Pilot...everything. And when I finally stopped, I suddenly realized that everyone's eyes were on me. They waited for more. They longed for it.

  I blushed as I became inundated with a strange, unfamiliar feeling.

  It was what honesty felt like. It had to be. There was nothing else it could be.

  I had talked to my family for a good ten minutes straight without one, single lie coming out of my mouth.

  It felt amazing. To talk to the people I love. And to tell them everything. No stories, no made-up details, no alibis. Just me.

  It was liberating.

  I took a deep breath and ventured a look at their smitten faces. I knew my mom was thinking about the wedding, Hannah was thinking about our first kiss and what it must feel like to have someone's tongue in your mouth, and Julia was still silently gloating over correctly pointing out one of my inherent flaws.

  But it didn't matter what any of them were thinking.

  All that mattered was that I finally had told them the truth. Well, at least a small portion of it. And now all I wanted to do was tell them more.

  But I couldn't.

  Not yet.

  Maybe not ever.

  I couldn
't let myself get carried away. They say anything can be addicting. I believed it now. The truth was the most addictive drug I had ever tried. But a few dates my family could handle. A career of fidelity inspections... not so much. So I kept that part inside and tried to enjoy my moment of pure honesty... while it lasted.

  "So tell me again why it's not working out?" my mom asked, completely confused. After hearing me go on nonstop for as long as I had, I'm sure things weren't adding up.

  In fact, they weren't really adding up for me, either. When I thought about Jamie I wanted to be with him all the time. But when I thought about everything else, my job, the lies, the blackmailing, the dishonesty, I knew I shouldn't ever see him again.

  Right now the only way to avoid a long and eventually heated discussion about the future of my love life was to dodge the question completely. "I don't know," I replied. "I guess we'll have to see."

  That seemed to satisfy the lot of them. The hope in their hearts winning out over all the cynicism in mine.

  Just then my business line rang. Everyone turned and stared at the ringing phone as if they'd never seen such a futuristic gadget before. "Work," I said, feigning annoyance as I picked it up and quickly stepped into the other room.

  Like I said... while it lasted.

  "Hello?" I said as quietly as I could into the phone without sounding like I was trying to whisper.

  "Yes, hello, Ashlyn?" It was a female voice. Kind and compassionate, with just the slightest trace of sorrow in it.

  "Who's calling, please?"

  There was a pause on the other end. "Um, my name is Karen... Howard," she said, her voice wavering slightly. It wasn't an uncommon voice characteristic among the females who call this number. "I got your name from a friend."

  "Yes, Mrs. Howard. What can I do for you?"

  "Well, as you can probably guess, it's about my husband. Although I would really rather discuss it in person. Telephones make me nervous. Would you be able to meet with me?"

  "Well, I usually like to get more details over the phone before I agree to meet in person."

  "Right," she said, with an air of disappointment. "Of course." Then, after a deep breath, she said, "I guess he's just different. Distant. Always coming home late. Sometimes not at all. And I just thought..." Her voice trailed off, as if she was either too distraught to continue or just wasn't ready to actually hear herself say it aloud. Because that would mean she would be admitting defeat.

  "Of course I can meet with you," I compassionately filled in the uncomfortable gap in the conversation.

  She let out a loud sigh, relieved that I hadn't forced her to complete that horrific thought. "Thank you."

  "When is good for you?"

  There was a moment of silence on the other end, and I assumed she was checking her calendar. "Well, my husband has a business trip coming up in a few weeks, so sometime before that I would imagine."

  "I have an opening at the end of the week. How would Friday work?"

  "Oh, that would be perfect," she replied. "Can we say eight o'clock?"

  "At night? Won't your husband be home?"

  "Um, no," she said quickly. "He'll be working late." She sighed into the phone. "Again."

  "I see. That's fine. Eight it is, then."

  I took down Karen Howard's contact information and home address and hung up the phone. I returned to the living room to find the conversation had gone on fine without me. Julia, of course, was in control, and she was passionately discussing how reality TV was corrupting America's youth. Hannah looked bored to tears.

  I quietly entered my appointment with Mrs. Howard into my phone and slipped it into my bag.

  "So, should we go to lunch?" I asked, clapping my hands to get everyone's attention.

  Hannah jumped up enthusiastically, as if I had just saved her from a trip to the dentist. My mom and Julia stood up as well and stretched their legs.

  "Yes," my mom replied, coming over and putting her arm around my shoulders. "Where shall we go, Jen? This is, after all, your...'hood."

  "Reality TV corrupting our youth?" I said sarcastically to Julia. "More like our parents. No more MTV Cribs for you, Mom."

  I locked the door behind me and herded everyone into the elevator. "How about Mexican?"

  As Julia started to tell us a story about the last time she ate bad Mexican food, Hannah motioned me close to her. I smiled and bent down next to her ear so she could tell me whatever juicy secret she had stored up during the week.

  "I have a question," she said timidly.

  The elevator doors opened and my mom and Julia walked on ahead as I slowed my pace to stay behind with Hannah. "What is it?" I whispered, half expecting a question about sex in general and half expecting a question about my sex life specifically. Those are usually what Hannah's "secret" questions are about.

  She cautiously glanced at our two mothers up ahead, making sure they were a safe distance away, and then whispered back, "Who's Ashlyn?"

  25

  Raw Fish . . . Dead Meat

  I FROZE in my tracks.

  My mom and Julia continued ahead unsuspectingly, but Hannah and I stayed behind as I struggled to come up with something to say. She must have heard part of my phone conversation. I had to create a lie. And quickly. You would have thought I would be good at it by now. But I'm rarely put on the spot so unexpectedly, especially by my niece, whom I loved dearly and hated lying to more than anyone.

  "Um . . ." I stalled. "Ashlyn is...my boss at work. She went on vacation this weekend, but she doesn't want any of her clients to know, so she asked me to answer her calls as if I were her."

  I exhaled loudly. Not bad. Not bad at all. I looked up, past the top of Hannah's head, and saw Julia and my mom approaching Julia's Chrysler parked on the street. I began to walk toward them until I saw the look on Hannah's face. She now appeared more confused than ever. As if my solution hadn't shed any light on the subject but rather had made things even more unclear.

  What was wrong with her? That was a perfectly believable explanation for why I would be calling myself Ashlyn on the phone... and then I stopped again. A chill ran through my entire body. My legs and arms were like dead weight.

  I never say the name Ashlyn on the phone. In fact, I make it a point not to.

  In a silent panic, I quickly rewound the conversation with Karen Howard in my head. "Yes, hello, Ashlyn?" is what she said. And then I replied, "Who's calling, please?" The name Ashlyn never came out of my mouth.

  I looked down at Hannah, who was obviously reviewing facts in her head as well. Trying to make sense of my bogus explanation and fit it together with whatever unknown pieces she had swimming around in there. She knew my explanation had to fit somehow. Because why would I ever lie to her?

  My hand was shaking as I tenderly rested it on her shoulder and pretended that nothing was wrong. "Um, Hannah. Where did you hear that name?" I asked, fearful of what answer would come back.

  She bit her lip and looked up at me, squinting from the sun glaring in through the windows of my building's lobby. "From the letter."

  I suddenly felt like I might throw up. The hand that I had gently placed on her shoulder for reassurance was now being used as support to keep myself from falling over. I breathed in deeply and tried to regain my composure.

  "What letter?" I managed to ask with feigned nonchalance.

  "I got a letter the other day. Like a real one. In the mail."

  "From who?" I blurted out desperately. So much for my calm, composed self.

  She shrugged indifferently, surely not understanding the complete horror of this situation. "Don't know," she said. But she was starting to sense something was wrong. She looked up at me again. "What's the matter?"

  "What did the letter say?" I insisted with dire urgency.

  She scrunched up her mouth as she thought back to the mysterious piece of mail. "Um, it was a picture. Like a copied picture. You know, with a copy machine."

  I nodded. "Of who?"

  "Of yo
u," she said, as if it were obvious.

  I nodded again and listened, trying to keep my breathing steady and even. Now wasn't the time or place to start hyperventilating.

  "You were like talking to a guy or something...it looked like you were in a restaurant or a bar," she added, pleased with her first-rate recollection skills.

  "Uh-huh," I said, my throat getting drier by the second.

  "And on the back it said 'This girl's name is Ashlyn. She looks a lot like your aunt Jennifer, doesn't she?'"

  I ran my fingers through my hair and closed my eyes.

  "Ashlyn's a pretty name," Hannah offered, as if it might help cheer me up.

  "Did you show that to your mom?" I asked frantically.

  "No," Hannah replied, offended at the mere suggestion that she would share her private mail with her mother.

  "Good," I said, patting her arm. "Let's not show her or tell her or mention this to anyone, okay?" My voice was shrill, as if I might lose it at any moment.

  "Okay," Hannah agreed as we exited the building and started walking toward the car. "But how can she be your boss?" she asked.

  I stopped and looked down at her. "She's not. She's...no one. I just like using that name sometimes," I said with a shrug, hoping this rationalization would be enough but knowing full well that it would never suffice.

  Hannah looked at me as if she was meeting me for the first time. Her eyes begged for more of an explanation. An explanation that would bring back the Jennifer Hunter she knew and loved. "But why would someone send a—"

  "You know what?" I began, my voice cracking slightly. I knew I needed more time in order to fabricate a believable story that would tie up all the loose ends in Hannah's head – and mine. And that's exactly what I bought myself when I said, "I'll explain this all to you later. It's a big, juicy secret that I don't want my mom or yours to know about or even overhear."

  This apparently made her happy. A huge smile appeared across her lips and she gladly sealed them tight, pantomiming a long zipper being fastened across them and locked at the end with a key. Then she placed the "key" in her pocket for safekeeping.