Tunnel of Love Pt. 04

And you, boy scout. You came here, that first time..."brimming" with insecurity, I remember thinking. Who's the insecure one now?

Jennifer took a wrecking ball to herself tonight. There's not a shred, not an atom of pride or vanity left in her. She'll be the one living in fear—fear of you stepping out on her.

Mike and Jennifer had long stopped talking. They had stopped crying; they had stopped sobbing. It was as if they'd stopped breathing, too.

They're exhausted, Gayle. They're so close, but they've got nothing left tonight. After tonight...inertia will set in. The opportunity could slip away.

"Your analysis is correct as always, Dr. Seymour. But their exhaustion has left them...suggestible. It's time."

Time for what, Gayle?

"Time to push, Doctor. Time to finish the story."

The story? But this...them...they're real. This isn't fantasy. They need something real. I can't just make up an ending for them.

"Fantasy, reality...sometimes it's a false choice, Doctor. And you know they've come most of the way themselves. You know this will not take much. You know this will be quick. So go do your job!"

My job, Gayle? Each of them has a choice. It's not for me to make it for them, even if I can. You know, we could leave them, now! Walk out of here. Let the camera fade to black, like how that television series about the therapist counseling the gangster ended.

"That ending, Doctor, was a hit with the critics and a flop with everyone else. People want closure, for better or worse. You can't cop out here. The Chanceys have to make choices, but you have to make one too."

Dr. Gayle Seymour had never known such silence as she knew at this moment. The building was deserted, its noisy HVAC systems shut off. The television and DVD player had powered down; no electrical hum could be heard, not even from the lights in the room. Mike and Jennifer were as quiet as the dead.

Gayle's mind, with all its logic, reasons, analysis, and arguments, went quiet too. All she could hear was the pounding of her heart.

Gayle listened to it. And with her heart, Gayle made her choice.

She rose from her chair and came around to the front of her desk. She leaned against it, as Mike and Jennifer sat to either side of her.

"Jennifer," she said, "I want you to do something. Will do you do something for me?"

Blankly, almost mindlessly, Jennifer nodded affirmatively.

"Stand up."

As Jennifer obeyed, Gayle reached for her hand, opened it, and took the object within. She unfolded it, studied it, and smiled. Then, she folded it again and returned it to Jennifer's hand.

"Jennifer..." she whispered, soothingly. "You've spent your life trying to save her childhood. A childhood that was cut short. It was a noble, but futile, effort."

Jennifer gasped and winced. Closing her eyes, she began to sob.

"Now...now you're going to be the woman that she should have grown up to be. You've shown me tonight that you can...that you already are. This is how you'll deal with the old pain, now. Okay?"

Sobbing heavily, Jennifer felt a wave of understanding take her. She nodded in agreement. Her hands clenched, then opened.

The photograph fell to the floor.

"Another child," Gayle continued, "...another child, near and dear to you, has died. That is your new pain. But the man, Jennifer—the man can be saved. You can save him. In fact, I think only you can save him."

Jennifer shook her head doubtfully.

"Yes, Jennifer, you and only you. And perhaps, some day...the child will return. If not...well, the man will have to be enough. This is your purpose, your burden, your hope...your punishment, and your salvation. Do you understand?"

Crying, Jennifer quivered and nearly collapsed. Gayle took her hand and whispered in her ear.

"If he allows it, will you do this, Jennifer...for him, for yourself?"

And for me? Please...

Weeping, Jennifer nodded. Inside her, on a wall surrounding her heart, a company of archers relaxed their bows. A chain rattled, and a gate in the wall rose. If a certain man were to step through, the gate would close behind him and never open for anyone else.

Gayle turned towards Mike. He'd watched but not understood. Not yet. Gayle did not ask for Mike's cooperation; she simply commanded him.

"Mike, stand up."

Mike complied, as she'd known he would. After all, sometimes discipline meant taking orders. And Mike, Gayle was pretty sure, would listen...to the Boss.

"He moved on, Mike," she whispered. "You can, too. The first song, on the next album...imagine that it's playing now."

Mike looked at her, confused but intrigued.

"You don't have to be 'the pretender,' Mike. You don't have to 'let it all slip away.'"

Mike's eyes flared at hers with recognition.

"The old Jennifers—both of them—are gone, Mike. You can 'wait on your blessings' for someone else out there, Mike...but 'I got a deal for you right here.'"

Gayle tilted her head. Following the nod, Mike's eyes fell upon Jennifer, still sobbing with her eyes closed.

"She's not the Jennifer you married, 'looking for prayers or pity'. She's not the Jennifer who betrayed you, 'coming around, searching for a crutch.'"

Staring at Jennifer, Mike inhaled sharply. His eyes moistened. He swallowed hard.

"You don't have to decide the rest of your life tonight, Mike. Just give her a chance. 'Tell me, in a world without pity, do you think what I'm asking's too much?' She's beautiful, smart, wise...and she 'just wants something to hold onto...'"

As Gayle let the song play in Mike's head, she brought Jennifer's hand to Mike's cheek. At the feel of it, Mike closed his eyes and started to weep. Meanwhile, Gayle took Mike's hand and held it.

Wait for it...wait for the bridge...the crescendo in the arrangement, the quick, rapid drum beats, and then...

"Mike, 'That feeling of safety you prize...'"

Mike's eyes shot open.

"...'well, it comes with a hard, hard price'..."

Gayle placed his hand on Jennifer's cheek.

"'You can't shut off the risk and the pain'..."

Tears pouring down his face, Mike mouthed the words with her.

"...'without losing the love that remains...'"

"We're all riders on this train," Gayle thought to herself, tears forming in her own eyes as she stepped away from Mike. While the guitar solo that followed the lyric played in their heads, he cried.

Gayle didn't know about Mike's wall, but if she could have seen it then, she would have seen it cracking with every note. Then, as the solo dovetailed into the song's signature chords, the wall tumbled down. It collapsed spectacularly, virtually exploding to the thunderous drums and guitars, while the singer—and Mike—wailed.

Mike and Jennifer stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Their hands went from each other's cheeks to the backs of each other's necks. They drew their heads together, until their foreheads joined.

Walking slowly backwards towards her waiting room, Gayle watched them.

That's right. You both "might need something to hold onto, when all the answers they don't amount to much...Somebody you could just talk to...and a little of that human touch."

Leaving her office and heading down the hall, Gayle smiled.

"Human Touch." The first song on the album of the same name; the album with which Springsteen followed Tunnel of Love. Good thing I did my research. Like that Coltez fellow probably did—if he's really a professional.

Hmmm, marriage breaking versus marriage saving...I think I like my job better.

Riding the elevator, Gayle panted and chuckled with relief. Her mission (at times, a seemingly impossible mission) finished, she thought about her future. Maybe it was time that she find a little human touch for herself, again.

"We're all riders on this train"...

Yes, Dr. Seymour. "So you've been broken, and you been hurt." Well, "show me somebody who ain't."

That's right, Gayle. And "I know I ain't nobody's bargain...but hell, a little touch-up, and a little paint..." Look at Jennifer's turnaround! I never saw that coming.

* * *

Back in Gayle's office, Mike and Jennifer swayed to silent music. It had started with the title track from Human Touch, but Mike decided to change the beat. Something more needed to be said, now; and in searching for words, Mike found he wasn't quite done with Tunnel of Love.

"Well, it's Saturday night," he spoke, with just a hint of melody.

Jennifer continued to sob, not sure of Mike's implications.

"You're all dressed up and blue," he added, the melodic lilt a little stronger now.

Jennifer opened her eyes and looked into Mike's.

"I've been watching you a while...maybe you've been watching me too."

Jennifer's tears continued to flow, but she broke into a slight smile.

"So somebody ran out," Mike sang, "Left somebody's heart in a mess..."

For a split second, Jennifer's face darkened...but then, it brightened. It brightened the whole room, like a sunrise. She didn't know the rest of the lyric, but she trusted her husband.

"Well if you're looking for love..."

Tears framing her smile, Jennifer nodded her head up and down.

"Honey I'm...tougher than the rest."

* * *

It was exactly what Jennifer needed to hear. She pulled Mike to her and kissed him.

"I know you are, my darling boy scout," she finally replied, before kissing him again.

The pain, this new pain...she understood it now. Like the pain of her sister's death, it might diminish, but it would never go away. Unlike that pain, however, it would not divide her from Mike, nor ever drive her towards another. No, this pain would bind her to him.

At James' apartment that fateful night, Jennifer had felt a potent combination of grief and lust. "Potent" could not being to describe how she felt now. Grief over the death of a child could not compare to grief over the murder of a child, a murder she had committed. And Mike was not just a body she wanted, he was the man she wanted—a body, yes, but also a mind, a heart, a soul. Tonight, she thought, there would be a "Sexual Healing" the likes of which even Marvin Gaye could not have imagined.

* * *

It was exactly what Mike needed to hear. Not "fucking boy scout," but "darling boy scout." He held Jennifer tightly.

You lose, Wombert. And don't worry, I won't come after you. My loving wife has already given you the beating you deserve. Yeah, Jennifer did that to you! That's got to hurt more than anything I could do.

Mike heard Dr. Seymour's footsteps down the hall. It seemed to him as if another presence was leaving with her. A ghost that had been exorcised.

Goodbye, Coltez. So you weren't a player after all; you were just a tool! And a sad one at that. I saw you cry, even after she was gone! So that wasn't part of your act, was it?

I bet there's some hurt you carry that makes your life hell. I bet you try to ignore it, but Jennifer—or something about Jennifer—set it off. And I might become you, or as miserable as you, if I let Jennifer walk out on me like she walked out on you.

No thanks. I am a player—but the right kind of player. And while players get hurt, the tough players...play through it.

* * * * *

EPILOGUE

Peter Wombert lay uncomfortably in a hospital bed. The nearby bag of his urine, supplied by the tube going up through his swollen and bruised dick, had traces of blood in it. All day and night, he had wandered, lost, through alternating fogs of pain and painkillers.

After his servant had found him and brought him here, and after he'd been treated, the police had come to his room and asked him what happened. He'd been pretty out of it at the time, so he hadn't said much—and what little he had said hadn't made any sense. So the cops had left, saying they'd be back when he was feeling better.

Finally having a lucid moment now, Peter thought about whether he should implicate Jennifer as his assailant. There was plenty of evidence back at his house: fingerprints, DNA on the dinnerware...maybe even her panties were still there by the wine bar.

But...well, let's just say I wouldn't want a bunch of cops searching my house. There's evidence of...other things...I'd rather they not find.

Peter was also not keen on implicating Jennifer because Jennifer could implicate him. And it wouldn't just be her word against his. There were phone calls to and from James, that $25,000 check Peter had written...

The police can trace those things, I'm sure. And of course, there's James himself. No, I don't like the possibilities—especially, the one in which Jennifer kills me, like she promised.

The doctors weren't sure yet whether Peter would fully recover all functions "down there." They sounded optimistic. Soon, however, Peter would have bigger problems than his battered, swollen groin.

Besides the servant who'd brought him here, another had been to his house this day. That person had found Peter's DVD collection, spread out by his computer, and had been appalled. Soon, that person would share the DVDs with other persons who would be even unhappier at what they'd see.

Peter would then find his business threatened by a coalition of competitors and rivals led by the husband of one Beverley Thompson. That war would starve him of the energy and money he would need to fend off criminal charges. Charges brought by state and federal authorities after the husband of one Genevieve Hartley brought to their attention certain financial irregularities and improprieties.

* * *

Collette Davis was in a threesome that she didn't want to end. Bobby and Mikey were reading stories to her, playing parts, trying to outdo each other. Collette was unbelievably happy, happier even than she'd been the night before, while she and Mike had read stories to the kids. She felt like a little kid again herself.

Last night, she'd felt younger too, but like a teenager. She'd had a heck of a crush on Mike, but it was over now. Mike was a great guy, but besides painful experiences, Collette and he might not have anything in common. Moreover, Mike belonged to Jennifer—that had been so clear to Collette, by the time Mike had crawled into his sleeping bag in Bobby's room.

And Jennifer belonged to Mike—that had become clear after Jennifer had nearly collapsed in that same room. How surreal it had been, that conversation Collette and Jennifer had later in the kitchen. However, it was likely to be their last awkward conversation—maybe the last awkward conversation Collette would have with anyone associated with Mikey's school. Jennifer had promised that no matter how things might turn out between Mike and her, she would make sure there would be no more snickering by other moms about Collette.

And, she mentioned that Mike has this cute friend at work that he's been trying to set up.

Collette had no doubts about how things would turn out between Mike and Jennifer. She wasn't clairvoyant, but she had faith: or maybe it was just a fervent, overwhelming hope. A hope that people can change, that bad things can be overcome, that good things can arrive with a new dawn, as the world turns.

As she lay in bed, the kids finally asleep, Collette's mind flashed back to the end of her conversation with Mike this morning, just before he'd left.

"The world keeps turning, around," he said with a hint of melody in his voice. He admitted the words and melody were from a song. He wouldn't identify the song, but he said it had come to him while looking at the old photograph of the Davis family in the dining room.

"And," he said, "it's not my place to say this, but...I think you should collect everything in this house that reminds you of Richard. Furniture, clothes, jewelry...especially your wedding ring, if you still have that. Take it all to a pawnshop or consignment store and get yourself some good, cold cash."

"Is that from the song, too?" she asked.

"Yeah, pretty much."

It seemed like a good idea. She smiled at Mike.

"Okay, boss, I'll do it."

Mike looked at her quizzically.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing...just, well, kinda funny that you called me that."

Collette didn't appreciate the irony, but she agreed it was funny.

"Well, that's my new nickname for you, Mike. 'Boss.' Get used to it!"

Drifting off to sleep, Collette considered how she might clean house. For starters, why not get rid of this bed she was in? This haunted bed that Richard had left behind...

Yes, she would get a new one that she could truly call her own. A smaller one, maybe, a queen instead of a king—but a really, really nice queen! The kind that costs...well, not quite as much as a new wedding ring, but maybe as much as what a used wedding ring and some other things could fetch at a pawnshop.

* * *

Driving home from her tumultuous meeting with the Chanceys, Gayle hoped that her role in their life story was over. She wondered how (indeed, if) she might now finish the fictional story she'd been writing—the story of "John" and "Charlotte." She'd completed it to a certain point but wasn't sure if it should end there. When, she wondered, is a story finished?

Take the Chanceys' story, for example. If someone were writing it, maybe it could end there, in my office. Some might find that a fine ending. Others might want to know about the next thirty years. Who would be right?

Ending aside, Gayle wondered why anyone would even begin to write the story of the Chanceys.

What a dark tale Jennifer's adventure with James Coltez would make. What would be the point of that? Still, I bet some people would read it. And I bet some would root for James!

But assuming Jennifer's adventure would make an interesting story, would it be worth continuing? Maybe the story would best end with Jennifer feeling triumphant and Mike in the dark—why mess with that? Why imagine any consequences?

And even if one were to tell a consequence tale, why not end it with the Chanceys' initial reconciliation, before the video surfaced? Mike wins, Jennifer wins, the therapist wins—everybody's happy! Why put them through more hell? Certainly the Chanceys would have been better off if Peter had left them alone.

Probably. Maybe. I wonder...

At home, Gayle was tempted to listen to Tunnel of Love. She passed. Next in line was Human Touch, but she passed on that album too. Instead, she pulled out Lucky Town.

The first song on that album? "Better Days."

It was sad, Gayle thought, that the Chanceys' best days might be far behind them. The damage wrought by Peter Wombert and James Coltez was unlikely ever to be repaired, fully. But maybe the Chanceys' worst days were behind them, too. Short of the best days, but beyond the worst days...perhaps they'd find better days.

Perhaps I will too.

That night, Gayle did not turn on her computer. She fell asleep listening to music.

* * *

One year later:

It was Saturday night—"date night"—at the Chancey home. Neither Mike nor Jennifer had said anything about it, but they were both aware that it was an anniversary of sorts. Rather than get a babysitter and go out, they'd both wanted to spend time with Mikey, then have a quiet night at home.

They were downstairs, catching up on recorded TV shows while Mikey slept. They cuddled and laughed. Sex wasn't on the agenda, but neither of them was going to be disappointed. They were tired, and happy with being tired—content to cuddle, laugh, and then go to sleep.

Besides, they'd had the morning...

This soccer season, they'd made a deal with a friend to trade chaperone duties on alternate weekends. So, this morning, Collette Davis arrived at their house to pick up Mikey. They noticed that Mike's friend from work was riding shotgun in Collette's car. Mike and Jennifer watched Mikey climb into the back seat next to Bobby, waved goodbye to them, and went back inside.