Читать книгу Visible Lives: - Terrance Dean - Страница 9

I spend a grueling hour in Eric’s apartment with the police. They want us to recount the story of what happened. I know this is it. We are about to be exposed.

Revealed.

Our secret splashed across the newspapers.

Newsday.

The Daily News.

The New York Times.

News broadcasts will feature us on the five o’clock news.

I will be the joke of every comedian’s late-night rant.

Conan O’Brien.

Jimmy Fallon.

Jay Leno.

David Letterman.

I keep wringing my hands. Wiping them on my jeans.

I nervously bite my bottom lip.

I am not going down for him, I say to myself.

I glance over at Eric. He is calm.

Cool.

Collected.

“We had a late night with some girls,” Eric tells the police officer. “I am in the middle of a divorce. Me and my boy just wanted to party and have some fun. You know what I mean?” he joked and smiled at the officer.

The tall dark policeman grinned. “Where are the girls?” He asks, staring at me. I look over at Eric. My heart is attempting to leap out of my chest. I can feel the perspiration dripping from under my arm.

“The girls…” I say. I start biting my bottom lip again.

“They left early this morning,” Eric jumps in, stammering. “I put them in a cab for the airport because they had to get back to Atlanta.”

“Yeah, Atlanta,” I mumble. Damn, he is good, I think. The policeman grins at me and winks.

My head drops. I won’t allow myself to look in his eyes. I know he knows the truth.

It’s obvious.

There are no signs of women being here.

It’s just two men.

Alone in an apartment.

And me, hiding in the closet.

Yeah, we had some girls last night.

Bullshit.

I take a few deep breaths and lift my head. For the first time I get a look at Eric’s wife. She is stunning. Her freshly curled hair, manicured nails, and fabulously done make-up does not give the impression of a drug-addicted woman.

The police have her in handcuffs. She’s jumping up and down, stomping her feet, and spewing curses toward everyone, especially Eric. “With your no-good trifling ass. This ain’t over,” she screams repeatedly as the police lead her into the elevator.

“Can I leave now?” I ask the policeman.

“Uhm, yeah. I think we have everything we need.” He smiles wider at me. His dark lips reveal his dark gums. I stand and make my way toward the door, walking past him. He flips through his small black notepad. “If we need anything further we have your contact information.”