Maggie 2.9 (Patreon)

Max didn’t have much to say to Cole before they went to bed. There was an uncomfortableness to their interaction. Not tension, just a pervasive disquiet. Things not being right. Things being out of place. And a peculiar sexuality that was new. Their sex lives, always separated, were now intertwined. They had shared a girl. That girl was Max’s fiancée. He’d seen his friend’s erection. Saw his friend’s face when he came. Things were very different, but somehow still familiar enough he really felt like they would be okay. So they said little.

Before bed, Cole had said, “I guess this is good.”

Max had said, “I think it is.”

Then they got ready for bed and said nothing else on the matter.

Now Max was awake and on his side, looking out over his sleeping friend and watching the waves on Narragansett Bay. The sky was a hazy post-dawn gray. Cole lay on his back, and he was erect. Morning wood. The duvet was low, bunched around Cole’s thighs, a charcoal cotton sheet up to his chest, a hump between his legs, that thick thing pointing up and laying on Cole’s belly. It made Max mad, Cole having dreams about Maggie, dreaming of fucking her. Turning her on with his dirty talk. Tuning into her secret kinks in a minute. Things he knew to say and do, and Max had known Maggie for four years and never done that.

Max opened his mouth, wiggled his jaw to relieve the tension in it, the tightness that had pursed his lips, and made his temples ache. Mad for what? Mad that Cole had a sex dream about Maggie? The three of them had spent the night penciling in an imaginary day planner when Cole would fuck Maggie for real, and Max was worried about morning wood.

Cole woke, eyes open and blinking. He stretched, scratched his balls under the cover, drew his knees up. Turned then to Max, their eyes meeting, two good friends laying face to face after what had to be the weirdest night of their lives.

“Hey, buddy,” Cole said.

“Hey,” Max returned, surprised at the pleasant tone he managed. He liked the pleasant tone. He wanted to be that kind of guy. He wanted this for Maggie, wanted it for himself, too, but he kept tripping up. He had to stop this or get out of its way. The more he tried to put his hands out to halt it the more likely it would roll right over him. He’d be better served by riding on top of it, looking ahead and steering where it would go. He said,“Crazy, huh?”

Cole scratched his scruffy beard. “You wanna get in the shower first?”

“I guess we got a lot to do today.”

“It’s a big day, Max, my man. You’re a lucky guy. Don’t forget it.”

* * *

Seeing Cole and Max this morning was going to be uncomfortable. She was up before seven o’clock after a fitful sleep. They’d left her hungry. Then Cole had turned that hunger into unexpected nourishment, and even though her sleep was listless and riled, she couldn’t stop thinking about what they might do tonight. In a way, that was better than having done it. And there came an acceptance in Cole’s foreplay. An ownership. He wasn’t some meek boy who agreed to have sex with her at a weekend event at Tanglewood. He was a man. He was taking this over, doing what needed to be done. And, holy fuck, did he know what needed to be done. She’d rather toss and turn, assaulted by belligerent dirty thoughts, than get a solid eight hours sleep. She’d rather be enervated during her wedding planning than have had a quick one with Cole while Max watched from the bed next to them.

She showered when she got up. Shampooed, soaped, and cleaned the funk she’d produced between her legs. Rinsed her double-barrel semen mouth with Listerine. And then, a nod to Carol, she twisted her hair in a tight bun, hiding as best she could the platinum and blue streaks. She dressed in cable knit tights and a plaid wool skirt. Cashmere sweater under a wool jacket. Checked herself in the mirror. Becker approved. Prim neat and proper. Not vain. In style. This would not cause problems. She hoped to fuck that Cole remembered to bring good shoes. Topsiders were fine around Narragansett, but they were a little late in the season when they all went into Newport. Carol would notice.

She poked her head into the hall and saw it was clear, walked out, oxblood penny loafers clacking on hard surface. At the door to the boys’ room she slowed, hoping Max and Cole wouldn’t come out—and simultaneously hoping they did come out now so they could get the awkwardness over. She picked up the pace as she passed their door.

In the kitchen she found Carol going after Ken. She’d missed the crux of it, walking in on the tail end. Heard no words but knew from the look on her brother’s face he’d just been dragged around, menaced, put in place, and now he was going to go to his room like a good boy.

As he made to pass her at the corner of the bleached maple island with the granite top, she asked him what was up.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Ken said, and tried to continue past, but she held the inside of his elbow.

“You’re not coming?”

“No.”

“You came this weekend to see me.”

“I know,” Ken said. “I’ll see you at dinner.” He kept an even expression, nodded to her, and she let him go. He went upstairs.

Her mother said, “Did you see the boys?”

“No.”

“Are they up?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see them.”

“Didn’t think to check? It’s getting late.”

“We all have alarms these days.”

“Your friend Cole looks like he’s one to enjoy sleeping late.”

“He does. Max will wake him.” Carol couldn’t argue with that one.

Carol was dressed in razor sharp black and white, hair combed back, showing off her smooth face and her diamond earrings. She said, “Your father’s in the car already.”

“Good,” she said, and filled a glass of water from the tap.

“We have reservations at Aguillard at 8 A.M.”

“It’s half an hour away,” Maggie said, looking at her watch. There was plenty of time.

The distinct sound of two sets of Oxfords came down the steel steps and she was glad to hear them. They’d arrived and Cole was wearing proper shoes. She saw their faces, then winced without realizing it. When she did, she forced her face to relax. Her two boys came into the kitchen, cleaned, and dressed in jackets and ties, hair combed back. Max had shaved, but Cole had not.

“Good morning,” she said, so soft her voice broke and the word morning was inaudible.

Max came right to her, took her hands with his and kissed her lips. Strange for Max to do that in front of her mother but it was exactly what she needed now. She kissed Max back. Maybe too intimate, but it felt nice. She sucked his lips and pushed her tongue to him. Max frightened and backed off, but he’d got her to smile. Then Max did, too. They held hands for a moment longer, squeezed, and then followed Carol to the door. Maggie let Max get ahead and fell back to walk by Cole’s side, following her mother and Max out to the round driveway, wind coming from the bay and rustling Cole’s hair at the back where his curls had been combed.

“You look good this morning, Margaret,” he said.

“Thank you, Cole. You clean up well.”

They both stifled smiles, and she felt good walking with him. Father was in the Range Rover, motor running, working on his iPhone. Warm exhaust puffed in the cold behind the SUV.

Cole said, “Where’s Ken?”

Carol opened her passenger door and said, “He’s not coming today.” Like there was another day he might come.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Cole said. “I was looking for a companion.”

“There’s no room for him in the vehicle,” Carol said and got in.

“Shit,” Cole said to Max, “we could have taken two cars.”

Maggie said, “That’s inefficient, Cole. That’s how one loses control of a schedule. And what then? More control would be lost without a schedule.”

“Poor Ken,” Cole said, looking back at the house.

“Not really,” Maggie said under her breath.

Cole said, “Maggie’s in the middle.”

Max went around the driver’s side and climbed into the back seat. Cole extended his hand for her to get in and she did. He swept his hand over her ass while she climbed past him. She flexed her muscles and her belly jumped. She sat down without letting on that he’d done it, sat in the middle of the Range Rover’s back seat, looking out between her father and mother with a wide-eyed expression. She stifled a laugh.

When they were on their way, out of the winding and hilly woods of the southern coast of the island and past Jamestown, Cole whispered, “Were you a good girl last night?”

Her wide eyes returned, and she said with a constricted throat, “What?”

Cole said in a sultry voice, “Did you go to sleep when you were supposed to?”

“Yes,” she said, then looked to Max. His face was blank but he looked towards Cole.

Cole said, “You weren’t up late? Playing around when you promised you would be sleeping?”

“No,” she said, a smirk tugging at her lips now. “I went right to sleep.”

“That’s my good girl,” he said, and her scalp tingled. She looked to the rearview mirror, her father’s eyes were on the road.

“Good girl,” Cole repeated and put his hand on her knee.

She scrunched her toes up in her loafers.

Max put his hand on her other knee.

* * *

Aguillard was a Michelin-star restaurant in a side-gabled Colonial Georgian. The clapboard siding painted Waller green with white trim, timeworn red brick stairs, arrow-shaped pediment and fluttering American flag made this place holler Rhode Island. They were in downtown Newport, near Newport Harbor, down from White’s Wharf, nestled on a quaint street lined with cedar shingled cottages and boutiques. While everyone got seated Max ran back to the car to put the parking pass in the window. When he came back to the table Cole was sitting close to Maggie and they were going through the menu they shared together. There was an empty spot next to Maggie, but seeing her sitting at the table with her mother and father and leaning to read a menu together with handsome Cole tightened his insides. He shrugged it off and took the spot next to Maggie, and held her hand. She gave it freely and offered a smile. He saw that Cole had his hand on Maggie’s knee under the table. He shifted uncomfortably.

Maggie leaned closer to Max and said, “We’re getting the Galloni prosciutto, grilled bread and fig jam—”

“You are?” He eyeballed her, then Cole. The couple ordering together.

Maggie rolled her eyes without rolling them, a tiny fluttering movement, an exasperated breath. “We’re ordering the same thing, but I wanted to try the duck eggs. I was hoping you would order them so I could try them.”

“Yeah, fine. I’ll order the duck eggs.”

Maggie set the menu in front of her and put her hand under the table, squeezed Max’s thigh, eyes on her parents as they silently went through their menus. She got his attention and mouthed, What’s wrong?

“I’m fine,” he whispered.

Martin waved to a waiter with authority and irritation. They ordered. When the waiter left Martin regarded his watch and said, “We have to meet Valerie at 9:30. At The First Presbyterian.”

Valerie was the wedding planner the Beckers had hired. Max pitied the woman, considering how difficult normal weddings were, even his own sister’s. But at the scale and cost that Valerie was working, and for clients like the Beckers, the woman must have nerves of steel.

Carol leaned forward. “There is time.” Then to Max, “How are your father and mother?”

“They’re doing great,” he said. The Beckers and the Miltons had met for dinner at a Manhattan restaurant in June. It had been cordial and polite and the Beckers seemed to like his parents. In the days after, his dad had come up with funny nicknames for their coldness. Max thought they were funny, but also knew his dad probably had worse names he used around the house when Max wasn’t around, and sure his mother belly-laughed at them.

“I was wondering this morning how your father fared in that case against VitoTech?”

“Uh,” Max stalled, trying to recall what his dad had told him. “They settled, I think.”

“I thought they would,” Carol said, then added, “Your father is a good lawyer.”

It sounded like a statement, but also a question, and he wasn’t sure if or how he should respond. Max’s father was indeed a good lawyer. He also was a town comptroller. Max hated to admit it, but the bulk of his father’s money had come from carpet stores, his dad partnering with an Iranian businessman twelve years ago and spreading his one store to eight that dotted Illinois, Iowa, and Michigan. Max’s parents’ money came mostly from people’s urges to have their feet tread on something comfortable. And the Milton family fortune was a fraction of the Becker’s. Practically on fumes, Max imagined, with four Milton kids going to expensive colleges.

Carol moved her gaze to Cole. “Martin told me you were heading to Harvard Law.”

“I am,” Cole said.

“Max is going to Wall Street,” Carol said, “Winter-Oxbow. You’ll miss him?”

“We’ll keep in touch, Carol,” Cole said, leaning forward and smiling. He kept his hand on Maggie’s knee under the table. Then Cole went into a long tale about his political plans that Max knew was bullshit Cole was making up on the spot.

Maggie leaned to Max. She whispered, “Oxbow?”

He shrugged.

“I thought you wanted to go to Kohl-Kravitz.”

“Your dad got me a spot at Oxbow.”

“So you’re not going to KK? You were so happy—”

“Maybe your dad knows something I don’t. Like KK is going belly up, or under investigation.”

“Maybe,” Maggie said. Her face showed disappointment. She turned to the table, but leaned back to say, “Maybe not.”