What You Know

When they heard the squeak of the door handle, everyone sitting around the table in the meeting room turned, their curiosity piqued. After all, everyone was there. No one was expected. Thus when he walked through the door, the surprise froze everyone. Mary was in the midst of speaking and her mouth remained open but issued no sound. Erik was about to pour a mugful of coffee. His hand continued to hold the carafe, suspended in midair at a dangerous angle. Edward stopped rifling the papers in front of him and Jessica stopped tying back her hair, her scrunchie still on her wrist, her hands behind her head. No one spoke, moved or breathed. Finally, Jessica broke the spell.

“What are you doing here, Peter?” She tried to sound confident, in control.

“This is the weekly writers’ circle meeting, isn’t it?” he answered.

“Of course it is.” She finished putting her hair into a ponytail.

“Well, I’m back, ready to rejoin the Circle and contribute.”

He took a seat at the table.

Erik, incredulous, put down his empty mug. His hands were shaking too much to be able to pour. The words Mary was about to say turned into a groan and Edward’s head fell, his chin against his chest as he quietly repeated, “This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening,” a mantra that did not calm him in the least.

“You can’t be here,” Jessica said, concerned that no one else was speaking, that they were leaving this to her.

“Yet, I am.” And before anyone could retort, “Deal with it,” he added.

Erik stammered, “The restraining order –”

“Expired.”

“How can that be?” Mary’s heart was racing.

“Yes, Jessica,” Peter sneered, “how can that be?”

“It was temporary,” Jessica admitted. “Once we got the conviction, I didn’t think to extend it.”

Erik grabbed the papers from his place at the table. “I’ve got to go,” he said, making a beeline for the door.

“Sit down!” Peter ordered.

Erik stopped. Turned. Implored the others with his eyes.

Peter scraped his chair back. “Sit down or I’ll sit you down,” he menaced.

While Erik shuffled back to his seat, Peter got up and locked the door. “That’s better.” He sat back down. “So, is all the chit chat done? All the schmoozing? Can we get down to business and read our stories?”

Everyone looked down. They knew what was coming. They hoped he wouldn’t choose them.

“You guys are not very – No. Wait. We don’t use ‘very’, right? See, I didn’t forget anything while I was in jail. Incarcerated. That’s a better word, isn’t it? You aren’t enthusiastic. Not at all. As I recall, you would all be chomping at the bit to read your stories.”

No one moved. Not a muscle.

“Mary!”

She flinched.

Peter continued. “Are you still -?” Some movement caught Peter’s eye. “What the -? Edward,” he admonished, “you know we don’t make phone calls during the Circle. Put you phone away! No. On second thought, give it to me. All of you, give me your phones.”

Reluctantly, the group pulled their phones out of pockets and handbags and slid them across the table. No one wanted to anger Peter, provoke him. Not again. Peter looked around, spied the waste basket, retrieved it, and swept the phones into technological purdah.

“You people,” Peter said, shaking his head. “Always breaking the rules.” There was the hint of a bemused smile on his face before he continued. “Mary. As I was saying. Are you still writing those bodice rippers?”

No answer.

“Mary!”

“Yes,” she whispered, barely able to breathe. “Yes, I am.”

“Good. Read us your latest, then.”

“But it’s not… it’s not ready for –“

Peter leaned forward and practically hissed the word, “Read!”

Mary’s mouth was dry. It was difficult to get the words out in more than a whisper. “It was a brisk autumn day as the roadster sped down the –“

“Bo-o-o-o-o-ring!” Peter shook his head in disdain. “Two years I’ve been away and you’re still writing the same boring crap. Nobody wants to read that drivel.” He pulled a wad of folded paper out of his jeans pocket. “Here, read this.”

“You’ve been writing?” Edward asked, amazed.

“What did you think I’d be doing in there? Use your imagination, Edward. Oh, wait. You don’t have any.” Peter turned back to Mary. “Now read.”

Mary flattened the handwritten sheets and adjusted her glasses. “They practically fell through the door and up against –“

“Wait. It’s not just Edward who lacks imagination. None of you people have any idea what my writing’s about. There’s no way you’ll be able to picture this story, see what’s happening on the page.” He stood and looked over to Jessica. “Stand up.”

She didn’t move.

Peter reached over to her, grabbed her under the arm and pulled her up. “Jessica and I will act out the scene in this story while Mary reads it so that the rest of you cretins can visualize what a real story looks like. Now let’s try it again. Start at the beginning.”

“They practically fell through the door and up against the wall.”

Peter pushed Jessica up against the wall. She yelped in surprise. Everyone else gasped. Peter said, “Keep reading!”

It took Mary a couple of seconds before she could get the words out. “’Take me,’ Amy moaned.”

“Not Amy, you idiot. Jessica.”

“What?”

“This is Jessica. Change the name in the text. It’s got to be real.”

“’Take me,’ J… Jessica moaned. Gregory –‘ oh… um, Peter? ‘Peter put his left hand on her throat.’” Mary stopped, stunned. She looked around the table, not knowing what to do. But Erik had his head down and Edward merely shrugged. They would be no help. Jessica was gasping for air. She looked pleadingly at Mary who was at a loss. She took a breath, looked down at the manuscript and haltingly continued. “He moved his right hand to her heaving bosom and began tearing open the buttons on her blouse.”

“Stop!” Peter was sounding agitated. “Are you blind? She’s not wearing a blouse. She’s wearing a sweater.”

“But what you wrote –“

“Well change it. Adapt it. You can do that Mary, can’t you?”

Sarcasm had always been the weapon of choice for Peter. His nonviolent weapon of choice. And in that moment, realizing that, Mary knew what she had to do. She caught Jessica’s moist frightened eyes with her own and tried to signal that everything would be okay. As Peter turned back away from her, Mary spoke, not reading from the page. “Peter loosened his grip on Jessica’s neck as he leaned back to… to admire her heaving bosom under her lavender sweater.”

‘Good. Good. I like where this is going.”

“He put his hands onto Jessica’s waist.” Mary looked up to see if Peter complied. “Both hands.” She watched him move. “And Jessica’s moved her hands to Peter’s shoulders.” Mary continued slowly and deliberately, praying that Jessica could read her mind. “Resolved as to what would happen next, she took a deep breath and shifted her weight onto her left foot –“

“What?” Peter interjected, turning his head toward Mary while Jessica’s hands held him in place.

“ – and drove her knee hard into his crotch!” Over Peter’s agonizing scream she yelled, “Again!” and Jessica did.

While Peter writhed on the floor, the writers’ circle members gathered up their papers from the table and fled out the door, down the stairs and out of the building, Erik grabbing the waste basket with their phones on his way. They did not stop running until they got to the coffee shop on the corner where Erik passed out the phones. As Jessica called 9-1-1 he realized that he was still holding the waste basket. “What should I do with this now?”

“Just hold onto it,” Mary said. “It will be part of my next story.”