Athena Paradissis
why'd you say that?

The last time River saw Steven and Lady J, they played one lie/one truth and Steven, who was first, said two things -

Lady J and I are having an affair.
I slept with my stepmother.

River knew immediately which was the lie. For one thing, she had met Steven's stepmother, an obese woman with layers of skin that wobbled like jello. No way would Steven sleep with someone who looked like that. Both of you get the hell out, River said, her voice bathwater calm.

"Hey, River, you with us?" Trish squints at River from across the table, her grey eyes concerned. She leans over and taps River's arm resting lazy on the table. "You OK?"

"Sure." River smiles. She glances at Beth who sits next to Trish. Beth yawns like she's screaming letters. "God, I'm tired! What time is it?"

"One a.m.," River says.

"That's a nice watch you got."

River glances at Beth, not sure whether she's being sarcastic. Her eyes revert to her watch, a gift from Steven. River takes off the watch and slides it over to Beth.

"River, you crazy? I can't accept this." Beth pushes the watch back towards River.

"I don't want it, Beth. I found it on a street corner last summer and I've never felt like it's mine. Take it or I'll give it to the waitress. Best tip she'll get all night, I bet."

Beth smiles and puts on the watch. She holds her wrist a little away so she can admire how it looks. "What do you think, Trish?"

"I think it's beautiful."

"Thanks, River." Beth's finger circles the oval face and she hardly notices the waitress who asks if they'll be having anything else. River figures the waitress thinks them cheapskates when all her other customers are having beer, but Trish is a recovering alcoholic and Beth ordered coffee - so River felt obliged to do the same.

"You know that footstool I got as a wedding present?" Trish says, "Well, I finally decided to put it in my office."

"Why not your living room?" Beth stiffles a yawn, her brown eyes on Trish. River sips her coffee and wonders what footstool Trish is talking about.

"Carl doesn't like it so much. He says that any presents my friends give us are for me, not us."

"Sounds to me like Carl's being a baby," Beth tells her.

River hopes her face doesn't show the annoyance she feels at being excluded. If anything, it's she who's known Trish the longest.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Trish looks at Beth, her cheeks flushed.

"Look, all I'm saying is maybe you shouldn't always try to please Carl. Jesus Trish, first thing he did when he saw that stool, was put his shoes on it." River studies her naked wrist and lets her thoughts wonder to Steven. She's tried to track him, but all she got from the operator was - sorry, I've no listing under that name. He's probably moved in with Lady J, it'd be just like him to get kicked out from one woman's apartment and land into another's. She's called Lady J a few times but always hangs up after Lady J's second or third hello. Is that you, River? Lady J once asked. No, River said before hanging up.

"Did it ever occur to you," Beth is saying, "that some things you can't forgive. Take my mother, for example, no way could I forgive her." River looks at Beth, wanting like hell to know what Beth won't forgive her mother for. "Have I told you, River, what my mother did?"

"Poor River, she's looking at us like we're nuts."

River wishes Trish would shut-the-hell-up.

"I could use another cup of coffee," Beth says, her attention now focused on finding the waitress.

"So, River, how've you been?" Trish says, "Still seeing Steven?"

"Yeah," River says, "I am."

"You know what I was thinking about earlier?" Trish looks at Beth, "I was thinking that maybe one day, I'll get River to write about the craziness in my life. Hey River, if you had to write a story this very second, what would you write about?"

"God, I don't know."

"You'll have to do better than that." Trish nudges Beth who nods in agreement, "After all," Beth takes over, "You are a writer, aren't you?"

"I'll read you a fragment of a story, OK? It's something I'm working on." River opens the notebook she always carries and this time, neither Trish nor Beth tease her about it. River begins to read:

There's this guy and he stands in the rain. It pours like the deluge has finally come - he - more drenched than a waterfall. I walk by, no umbrella but not minding - he - indifferent - eyes the void of plastic and maybe it's tears, not raindrops, flowing down his face. He looks beautiful like despair sometimes can, so strange how ugly can be beautiful and beautiful as empty as a rented tuxedo.

Hey mister, I say, Is everything all right? His blue hazy eyes flirt recognition the way candles flicker hope. Just the two of us in that park, my insides tingling a fist full of change.

(A fist full of change? - this from Beth)
(Do you want to hear the story or not?)
(Let River tell it, Beth)
(Where was I? Ah yes -)

... a fist full of change. It's a feeling, I guess, like when there's a storm coming and you run inside, so good to be inside, and you look at each other with newborn eyes and then you fuck.

He comes towards me, undresses me, and then himself.
"Let's dance," he says.
We dance, shyly at first, the grass teases our toes, our feet more daring, our steps as demented as original sin.
(Original sin?)
(Goddamn it, Beth, it's a first draft!)
So we dance until too tired to dance anymore. We get dressed and he invites me for coffee.

The last time River saw Steven and Lady J was in hers and Steven's kitchen.

"It's easy," Steven reassured her, "You tell us two things. One lie, one truth, and we try to guess which one's which. Pretty straight forward, only don't tell us something we already know." Steven smiled, his eyes on Lady J. River lit a cigarette and slowly exhaled smoke in Steven's face the way she knew he hated.

"Who first?" She said and then, when no-one volunteered, "How about you go first, Steven?"

"Wait Steven, let me get my tobacco." Lady J sauntered across the kitchen and River watched Steven's blue horny eyes magnet to Lady J's tight ass and beautifully shaped legs. Sensing River's glare, Steven's eyes cut loose and levelled River's look.

River winked, blew him a kiss.

"Steven, Steven, time to come even." Lady J pulled her chair to the table, straddled it backwards, began to roll two cigarettes, her delicate fingers twisting the ends together. River took off her sweater, her tank top just that much tighter than Lady J's.

"You know what this reminds me of?" River said, "It reminds me of truth or dare and me as a teenager trying not to get bored crazy on my parent's summer farm. Nothing like a healthy country-bred farm boy to alleviate boredom."

"It makes me want to cry, what your parents put you through, private schools and summer vacations. Jesus, River, how'd you survive?"

"Fuck-you, Steven."

"Lady J and I are having an affair. I slept with my stepmother."

"You're lying." River slowly stirred her coffee with her finger.

"True," Steven said, "but what about?"

River enjoys her time with Trish and Beth. She takes what she needs and lets her words do their dirty deed, her words transforming their lives on paper. Their messed-up pasts, so different from her own - River listens, fascinated, while they talk to each other. Also, she begins to watch Oprah, not seriously, usually while she's drying her hair or reading the paper. She loves to listen to the stories of these strangers - it amazes her how she can't get enough.

In Paris, Steven had this game he played and how it went was like this: He'd wait - metro, cafe, park bench - it hardly mattered where, for a face that told a story, and so would begin a fabrication weaving family, career, destiny. Sitting next to him, River would listen to his words like a spellbound disciple listening to Christ.

"Yes," she'd say, "It must be that way with them. You can see it in their faces. If you look, it's there."

When Steven was busy, River would sit in the cafes, pay more for her coffee than she would standing up, and sketch faces until the waiter's looks got too blue-blooded to bear. Only then would she return to the dwarf-like flat she and Steven were sharing for the summer.

"Tell me their stories."

"Not now," he'd say.

"Tell me their stories and I'll give you one thousand francs."

"You stealing again, River?"

"You could say that."

"One of these days you're going to get caught. Now, see this face..." Steven would begin.

"When I was ten my father beat me. I'd skipped school and he found out. I got home and he gave it to me good." River flicks her ashes into the ceramic ashtray Beth has made and slouches against the couch. Trish nods and looks outside at fall's leaves flittering along the front walkway.

"He ordered me to strip," River continues, "Then he took off his belt and beat me."

"Bastard," Beth whispers. She leans forward from where she sits sharing the couch with River and touches River's arm.

"Know what my mom did? She left the house," River pauses for a drag, "Grocery shopping, she said."

"Bastards." Beth starts to cry, quiet, intense.

"Don't," River tells her, "Oh God, Beth, please don't."

River walks the rowboat away from the pier. She waits until the water is knee-deep before jumping in. Beth begins to row towards the centre of the lake. It is cloudy, muggy, warm - Indian summer teasing like fingers on skin. River removes her top and speads herself comfortably in the back of the boat. Trish, in front, puts on sunblock.

"It's not like you're going to get burned." Beth grins at Trish, her stroke steady, the oars rhythmically lapping water like a liquid lullaby. "You think we're in the middle now?"

"Yup." River looks around, at the large lakeside cottages, some with pools and tennis courts... forest - not yet cleared... further West, a deserted beach, anemic lifeguard chairs... empty chair lifts waiting for skiers.

"Indian summer. Who would've thought in late October?" Trish nudges Beth with the suntan lotion. The boat drifts in lazy abandon, almost surreal, as if suspended on clouds.

"Ever play one lie/one truth?" River says, raising herself on one elbow.

"Yes," Trish says.

"No." Beth begins to rub sunblock, working the liquid until it disappears.

River explains the game to Beth, who, finished with her legs, begins on her arms. "So? You in?"

"Sure," Beth says.

River smiles and jumps up, her sudden movement rocking the boat, causing Beth to lose her balance. Trish holds on, laughing. River removes the rest of her clothes - "Last one in-" Her words follow her into the water and drown beneath its surface.

"Are you nuts?" Beth screams, "The water's freezing!"

"It sure is," River says from where she's resurfaced. She disappears and swims further away, her movements encouraging warmth to spread throughout her body.

Trish looks at Beth, shrugs, and begins to undress. Beth follows, but keeps her t-shirt and underwear on.

The three women playfully splash water at each other. River fills her mouth with lake water and shoots it upwards, her puckered mouth a small fountain. She is surprised by the appearance of the sun. It penetrates the clouds, a bully pushing its way through.

"So, who begins?" Trish says.

"I will." River dives under and resurfaces behind Trish and Beth. "I have never stolen anything in my life. My father never hurt me, ever. He hates violence."

Beth swims towards the boat. She climbs in and covers herself with one of the towels, her shivering evident even from where River and Trish still tred. She glances at the brightening sky and quickly gets dressed, keeping the towel around her while she takes off her wet t-shirt and underwear.

"Hey!" River yells, "What's wrong?" A sharp wind has replaced the mugginess. River feels it getting colder. She throws Beth one last look, then turns towards Trish and kicks water.

"It's getting cold, River," Trish tells her, "I'm getting out."

"Suit yourself." River floats on her back but the cold wind soon changes her mind. She swims a little further in an effort to warm herself and still the cold permeating her body won't go away. She looks towards the deserted beach, above it the chairlifts swaying like worshippers praying for winter's arrival. She swims back to the boat and Trish helps her in. "So, which one's the lie?"

Trish frowns, "Your father never beat you. That's got to be the lie."

Beth glares at River. She picks up the oars and steers the boat towards the pier.

"What are you talking about?" River glances from one to the other, "Look, I'm sorry, but that stuff I said about my father was a-"

"Then, why'd you say it?" Trish tosses River her clothes. "Then why'd you say it?" she repeats.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" Beth mimicks, "You know what I know? I know that no one lies to make their lives worse. No one. It doesn't make sense and I think it's disgusting that you're lying now."

"Beth is right, River."

"But I'm not-"

"Stop it!" Beth cuts her off.

River studies the water, its surface glistening tiny diamonds. Beth rows and Trish examines her nails. The sun glares as if just awoken from a beautiful dream and River closes her eyes and lets her tears toboggan down her cheeks. She wishes it would rain the same kind of rain she writes about in her story, the one about the man standing outside while it pours... let's dance, he says coming towards me.