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Chapter Four
Tom
“Never be so sure of what you want that you wouldn’t take something better,” Adam says, slapping his hand on my shoulder. He rests it there. “Am I right or am I right?”
He’s eyeballing my new wife from across the room. I move out from under his grip. He doesn’t seem to notice. I don’t answer his question, but I understand it. What he’s really asking is how I managed to land a woman like that.
“Man,” he sighs. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”
He’s right about the latter.
The former, who’s to say? All of a sudden, I’ve gone from invisible, which I prefer, to a man with a secret. How’d he pull that off? That’s what Adam’s thinking. That’s what most men in here are thinking. What he’s saying is, what everyone is saying is, look at you, Tom. You took lemons, in this case a dead wife, and made lemonade. People see what they want to see. Never mind how the lemonade tastes.
To the naked eye, Adam’s evaluation is correct. I am a man who should be content with what he’s got. To a more keen observer, I am equal parts man on a mission and provisional. On principle, I am not an indecisive person. That’s precisely the worst thing to be. Neither here nor there. But in the proper circumstance, the waiting game is not a bad one to play. It’s simple enough. Like fishing. All one has to do is stick their lure in the water and wait. Sometimes the fish bite, sometimes they don’t. Fear not, they will always eat when hungry enough, which makes it more about timing than anything. In the meantime, all you have to do is sit back, fold your arms neatly behind your head, fingers clasped, kick your legs up and wait for the nibble. Eyes on the prize, you’ll watch carefully as the fish circle the chum, as your enemy works its way into your web, and if one is patient enough, they always will. It matters not how long it takes, so long as one is having fun in the doing. That’s the trick, you see, to make the game fun. It’s about the journey. The destination is a given.
Adam doesn’t notice me baiting my lure. He’s more interested in small talk. “This party is really something.”
I glance around the ballroom. He’s right. New Hope’s quarterly dinner for newcomers is a packed house. This makes him both happy and hungry.
“Just look at all of these fresh faces, would you?”
I am looking. Sam Watson and his wife are in attendance, which explains why Adam is extra chatty. He wasn’t expecting me to land them. He hadn’t expected me to pull it off. That and he wants to make a good impression. He wants to be seen as the guy who knows everyone. For him, it comes down to this. Everything has to go just right. First impressions and all. Not me, I say it’s better to surprise them. Plus, I hate small talk.
“The ballroom looks great,” I mention, feeding my line. “Very grand.”
Adam grins. “Business is booming, my friend.”
He means membership.
I don’t disagree. “Numbers are way up and tithing is at an all time high.”
“The Men’s
Alliance is very happy with the plans we have in place.”
He means the new agenda.
Eventually, Mark comes over and joins us. “Oh, look,” Adam remarks, “our fearless leader.”
“Mark,” I nod. It’s important to show respect. Mark is one rank above me, the only rank above me. That means Adam comes in third place, something that bothers him more than he’s willing to admit. It would bother any man, I assume. It’s a long way to the top.
Mark stands silently for several moments, taking it all in. He’s watching the dance floor. He too has honed in on Melanie. “Your wife,” he says with a nod. “She appears to be having more fun than all of us put together.”
“She likes to dance,” I say.
“ Maybe.” Mark runs his hand along his jawline. Afterward, he meets my eye. “But you need to reign that in.”
If I knew how to do that I wouldn’t be in this situation. I don’t say this to him, of course. It’s important not to break rank and a rule for all members of New Hope. Obedience is the key that opens every door, as Mark said, who is infatuated by either/or.
“She needs to learn a thing or two about submission,” he continues.
I don’t disagree with that either. True strength lies in submission, said Mark. It’s the backbone of the agreement.
I don’t think he understands there is more than one kind of freedom.
“I’ll have Beth pay you guys a visit,” he suggests. “Chat about the rules. Bring her to heel. Maybe I’ll even come along, too.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I tell him, recalling the last time we discussed the rules. God knows, if I could’ve reined it in, I’d still be married to my first wife. Probably June would still be alive. Alas, she isn’t.
