{"id":3607,"date":"2013-12-30T16:02:53","date_gmt":"2013-12-30T22:02:53","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/moriahjovan.com\/talesofdunham\/?page_id=3607"},"modified":"2026-02-23T01:13:11","modified_gmt":"2026-02-23T06:13:11","slug":"cassie03","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/moriahjovan.com\/talesofdunham\/extras\/vignettes-outtakes\/confessions\/cassie03\/","title":{"rendered":"Let Freedom Ring"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

AUTUMN 1998<\/p>\n

Upper East Side, Manhattan<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

UNBEKNOWNST TO ME, a senior vice president (mutual funds specializing in the manufacturing sector) at the investment bank where Gordon worked (well, where he lost money on a daily basis until he was transferred to a division where he couldn\u2019t do that anymore, kept on because of his family connections), a powerful man who, for reasons I never figured out, had fallen in love with Gordon long ago.<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t blame him, really. Gordon was gorgeous in a, ah, bearish<\/em> way, a way that rather suited his unfortunate name.<\/p>\n

The senior vice president\u2019s name was Nigel Tracey and he was brilliant.<\/p>\n

So brilliant, in fact, that when he introduced himself to me at a cocktail party one night, he knew exactly how to approach me: With exquisite bluntness.<\/p>\n

\u201cI want your husband.\u201d<\/p>\n

I blinked.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t be happy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not,\u201d I said, shocked right out of my normal reserve.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve been watching you,\u201d he said, and for some reason, the idea didn\u2019t terrify me at all. It felt<\/em> like, at last, I might have an ally, a powerful one. Not because he was trying to coerce me or manipulate me or force me or deceive me into something, but because he had approached me as an equal, with the honesty of an honest deal about to be put on the table. \u201cYou\u2019ve boxed yourself into a corner.\u201d<\/p>\n

Well, there went my fantasy of having an actual friend. I gestured over a room full of people at this Christmas cocktail party, all chatting with a gaiety that was as ephemeral as Santa Claus. \u201cOf course I have. Because it\u2019s all about me and what a bitch I am.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, shut up. I didn\u2019t mean it like that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen what did you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI meant that you were extraordinarily cast as the villain-martyr of the piece, but that\u2019s to be expected, I suppose. A cold uneducated debutante trying to scrape her charismatic husband off the floor at every turn with nothing more than a calculator and a check register.\u201d<\/p>\n

Uneducated?<\/em> \u201cI have a degree.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn what? Underwater basket weaving?\u201d<\/p>\n

I bit my lip. Not quite that useless. \u201cHumanities.\u201d<\/p>\n

He burst out laughing, then glanced at me, and he immediately sobered. \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I didn\u2019t mean to make you cry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not crying. I never cry.\u201d<\/p>\n

He pursed his lips and decided not to pursue that; he simply took out a handkerchief and wiped my right eye, then put it back in his pocket\u2014dry.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy do you want him?\u201d<\/p>\n

He shrugged. \u201cHe\u2019s got potential. He needs to be housebroken, but he\u2019ll be fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you think you can do that.\u201d<\/p>\n

He smiled slowly, evilly<\/em>, and for the first time in my life, I felt a woman\u2019s desire for a handsome man with some true power\u2014<\/p>\n

\u2014who wanted my husband.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think you fully appreciate the situation,\u201d I said calmly. \u201cHe\u2019s in the closet to himself<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet him out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow am I supposed to do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTell him what he is. Point it out.\u201d<\/p>\n

I rolled my eyes. As if I hadn\u2019t before, but \u2026 I thought about that a minute. Had I? Had I ever really called him out on it?<\/p>\n

\u201cI see,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cEven if I do that, I have a few obstacles to overcome.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll take care of your father-in-law. He\u2019ll be in jail by the time you get your divorce and neither one of you will have anything to fear from him. That\u2019s why he won\u2019t admit it, you know. His father.\u201d<\/p>\n

I squinted up at him. \u201cYou know an awful lot about us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI want your husband,\u201d he said, again, bluntly. \u201cBut I like<\/em> you. What I know of you, what I\u2019ve seen of you. You\u2019re sharp, no doubt, but you\u2019re in a situation you can\u2019t get out of without help. You do what I say, it\u2019ll be a win-win for all of us.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stared at him for a moment before I decided to trust him, if only because he spoke with honesty. He had no reason to lie about something like that. It was 1996 and it wasn\u2019t exactly wise for a Big Swinging Dick to come out as preferring dicks.<\/p>\n

But Nigel was powerful enough that no one dared use it against him. He was out and proud, and he wanted to rescue me and Gordon for his own benefit.<\/p>\n

How could I turn that down?<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d I finally said.<\/p>\n

\u201cConfront him. Piss him off. Make him see it. Don\u2019t hint around about it, don\u2019t use nice language. All you have to do is tell him to his face what nobody\u2019s ever had the guts to do because of his father.\u201d<\/p>\n

I could live with a gay man who knew he was gay and cover for his affairs, as long as he continued to be the good father he was.<\/p>\n

I could not live with a gay man whose self-loathing was killing any chance I had at either making a family life work or getting out of the marriage altogether with my girls in tow.<\/p>\n

I shrugged. \u201cOkay.\u201d Gordon was a wimp. He\u2019d take whatever I dished out and go sulk at some bar\u2014some straight<\/em> bar\u2014and nurse a whiskey sour.<\/p>\n

Nigel Tracey\u2014a man I didn\u2019t know very well, but immediately trusted\u2014had given me a way out.<\/p>\n

It was a seductive idea.<\/p>\n

I spent weeks gathering my courage, always with Nigel at my back, encouraging me, giving me advice, teaching me, keeping my father-in-law busy with whatever crimes he\u2019d found.<\/p>\n

Then I had an idea.<\/p>\n

I thought that if, instead of telling him straight out, I could maneuver<\/em> Gordon into admitting to himself that he was gay, we could get some kind of marital counseling to help us work through this and remain friends while he came to terms with his sexuality, then ease him into an affair with Nigel without fear or guilt.<\/p>\n

But he would not, could not<\/em>, be maneuvered in that direction. It was as Nigel had said: He had to be told straight out because hinting had never worked.<\/p>\n

\u201cGordon, you\u2019re gay!\u201d I screamed at him deep into the night, in the den, far away from the sleeping children, my patience with talking exhausted. \u201cYou! Like! Men!\u201d<\/p>\n

His face red, he slapped me. I clutched my cheek and stared at him, aghast. \u201cShut up. Shut your mouth, Cassie Rivington! How could you say such a foul thing? That\u2019s disgusting.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t care!\u201d I whined, trying to get him to see I was on his<\/em> side. \u201cI. Do. Not. Care. Just\u2014 Stop tearing us up. Go\u2014 Go find somebody, I don\u2019t care. We can hire somebody\u2014\u201d No way was I going to bring Nigel\u2019s name into it right now. \u201cI don\u2019t know, but I can\u2019t live like this anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

He slapped me again and left.<\/p>\n

He came home two nights later, drunk and pissed\u2014at me, naturally\u2014and wanted to have sex.<\/p>\n

That was a bad sign, him wanting to have sex with me.<\/p>\n

He had me bent over the bed in a flash, his hand wrapped in my short black hair as far as it could be (I\u2019d kept my hair boy-short for years, at his insistence), his cock shoved in my ass so fast and so hard I screamed and sobbed for mercy.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t care.<\/p>\n

It was the first time we\u2019d had sex this way, and it hurt. It was the first time\u2014of the very few times we\u2019d ever had sex\u2014I couldn\u2019t lie back and think of England.<\/p>\n

I was shocked, disgusted. Not frightened, actually, because this was so out of character for him\u2014somewhere in the back of my mind I knew he\u2019d regret this and weep all over me in the morning.<\/p>\n

He continued to pump, desperately trying to come, but he never did, killing me in the process.<\/p>\n

It was worse than childbirth.<\/p>\n

\u201cGod damn you, Cassie,\u201d he hissed as he finally pulled out and shoved my face into the comforter. \u201cYou can\u2019t do anything right. Shit, you can\u2019t even fuck right. God damn you to hell.\u201d<\/p>\n

Indeed.<\/p>\n

I called the police, had him arrested. Charged.<\/p>\n

It kept him away from me and the children while I got the divorce I\u2019d wanted for years.<\/p>\n

It happened too fast for Nigel to make good on his promise to have my father-in-law out of the way, but he was agile and worked alongside me to get all this wrapped up.<\/p>\n

My parents were humiliated, but I didn\u2019t have a shred of sympathy for them, not even the same sympathy-from-afar they had shown me.<\/p>\n

I had exactly one friend in the world at the moment.<\/p>\n

My soon-to-be-ex-father-in-law was humiliated and I stared at him triumphantly when I sat on a witness stand and detailed what had gone on in my marriage, up to and including his propositioning of me.<\/p>\n

Unfortunately for me, with the divorce came the information that Gordon had saddled me with debt that would wipe me out completely and oblige me for four times again my net worth.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, shit,\u201d Nigel breathed late one night as we sat at the kitchen island in the townhouse that was mortgaged three times, sorting through paperwork Nigel had found in Gordon\u2019s office\u2014after Nigel had fired him\u2014and brought to me for explanation.<\/p>\n

My name and signature\u2014forged\u2014were all over them, four banker\u2019s boxes full of paper.<\/p>\n

No wonder Gordon had stopped pissing and moaning about how much money he didn\u2019t have to spend.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf I\u2019d had half a brain, I would\u2019ve started to wonder where all those expensive clothes and electronics and useless crap he bought for the girls came from,\u201d I said dully, rubbing my aching head. \u201cI thought his father was fronting him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHis father cut him off years ago, Cass,\u201d Nigel said tightly. \u201cThey\u2019re both broke, with no prospects. You aren\u2019t going to be able to get anything out of either of them.\u201d<\/p>\n

I turned on Nigel. \u201cAnd you still want him,\u201d I snapped. \u201cWhy? What about any of this is admirable or desirable? He forged my signature, Nigel. I can have him thrown in jail.\u201d<\/p>\n

And once again, Nigel slid me that slow, evil grin that made me catch my breath a little. \u201cGood. By the time he gets out of prison, he\u2019ll also be out of the closet.\u201d<\/p>\n

That\u2019s when I realized there was more there than a simple lust from afar. I didn\u2019t understand it at all.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s a decent man in there somewhere,\u201d he said absently, having turned back to some of the documents. \u201cI mean to find it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve got a little-girl crush on him,\u201d I said flatly.<\/p>\n

He chuckled wryly. \u201cYeah, that\u2019s probably true. I don\u2019t know, Cass. I can\u2019t explain it.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pressed charges, with Nigel\u2019s blessing\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve waited this long,\u201d he said. \u201cI can wait a little longer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2014and Gordon went to the neon orange country club for a couple of years.<\/p>\n

Big deal.<\/p>\n

My father forked over his net worth\u2014bankrupting himself and my mother\u2014to help get me out of my hole, and Nigel chipped in a couple million, but I was still three million in debt, the townhouse still upside down in its one remaining mortgage, and me without a job or any marketable skills.<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t even type.<\/p>\n

No amount of gardening in twenty square feet, no amount of frugality on my part would get the mortgage paid, me out of bankruptcy court (there was no way in hell I\u2019d do that) and my daughters off my back for the next greatest pair of designer jeans.<\/p>\n

Of all the horrible rotten things Gordon had done to me, I realized far, far too late, the worst had been raising his daughters to be entitled divas, and in the process, teaching them to find me beneath them, worthy only of their contempt.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to sell the townhouse,\u201d I said to them one night once I had managed to gather them all around the kitchen island. \u201cWe\u2019re moving.\u201d To Queens. Or somewhere. Nebraska, maybe. I didn\u2019t know. Where did one go and how did one live when one was three million dollars in debt and only qualified to work at McDonald\u2019s?<\/p>\n

I was prepared for the hue and cry, but I never got around to telling them the lie I had concocted that would not hint that we were worse than broke, and needed to find cheaper lodgings that didn\u2019t involve a car.<\/p>\n

(That we didn\u2019t have.)<\/p>\n

(I didn\u2019t know how to drive in any case.)<\/p>\n

(Yet.)<\/p>\n

What I wasn\u2019t prepared for were the immediate accusations of setting Gordon up to get him sent to jail, and I stared at them in shocked numbness, realizing for the first time that they \u2026 hated<\/em> me.<\/p>\n

\u201cJesus, Mom, can\u2019t you do anything<\/em> right?\u201d Clarissa, child number two, all of nine years old, hissed at me as she slid off the stool and stomped upstairs to her room.<\/p>\n

The others followed, though Helene, my oldest at eleven, paused and looked at me with great confusion.<\/p>\n

Hurt.<\/p>\n

I reached for her, to hug her to me, but she stepped away and walked slowly out of the kitchen away from me, her head bowed.<\/p>\n

You can\u2019t do anything right. Shit, you can\u2019t even fuck right.<\/em><\/p>\n

I laid my head down on the granite and stayed there most of the night until, just before dawn, an idea burst in my head like a Fourth of July rocket blossoming over the Hudson River, complete with Martina McBride singing \u201cIndependence Day\u201d in the background.<\/p>\n

It was, indeed, my Independence Day.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t be serious!\u201d Nigel bellowed at me the next day when I informed him of his part in my proposed metamorphosis.<\/p>\n

The girls were at school and I had never seen calm, cool, collected Nigel Tracey so upended.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are insane!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s the only thing of value I have,\u201d I said mildly, sitting on the couch buffing my nails. \u201cAnd it\u2019s not even that valuable, really, but I figure I can learn how to do that faster than I can learn how to type and I\u2019m sure the per-hour is better.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo how are you going to learn?\u201d he sneered as he paced in front of me, back and forth.<\/p>\n

He knew me well enough by now to know my calm meant something.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou<\/em> are going to teach me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t fuck women,\u201d he tossed out absently, as if I were joking.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, maybe you didn\u2019t understand me. I said, \u2018You are going to teach me.\u2019 Who better to teach me how to do what a man likes than a gay man?\u201d<\/p>\n

He stopped pacing and stared at me, horrified.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you don\u2019t do it, I\u2019ll find someone who will.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow are you going to do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked up at him from under my lashes, and realized that I really did want to sleep with him, had wanted to from the first moment I met him.<\/p>\n

And he knew it.<\/p>\n

It had been a first for me and I was curious, though now cynical enough to know that there was no such thing as love.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d given up on that before I hit my nineteenth birthday.<\/p>\n

Maybe once before I died I wouldn\u2019t have to lie back and think of England.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t tell me you don\u2019t know how to set all this up. And unless you want to fork over the other three million and an extra, you know, half a million while I\u2019m learning how to type, this is my best option.\u201d<\/p>\n

He pointed a finger at me. \u201cDon\u2019t put this on me. You\u2019re doing this because you\u2019re upset about not being able to live up to your little shits\u2019 expectations.\u201d<\/p>\n

The contempt on their faces, even down to the six-year-old twins\u2019 Paige and Olivia\u2014 I deserved it.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not true,\u201d I said, because it wasn\u2019t. \u201cI can pick up and move and they\u2019ll just have to learn to live with it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are such a liar,\u201d Nigel hissed.<\/p>\n

I waved toward him dismissively. \u201cGet me set up by the end of the week or I\u2019ll find someone who will.\u201d I had no idea how.<\/p>\n

He stomped out of the living room into the hall, down the hall. Opened the door. \u201cYou bitch!\u201d he yelled before he slammed the door behind him.<\/p>\n

★<\/p>\n

\nCassie Part 1<\/a>
\nCassie Part 2<\/a>
\nCassie Part 3<\/span>
\nCassie Part 4<\/a>
\nCassie Part 5<\/a>\n<\/div>\n
20260223<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

AUTUMN 1998 Upper East Side, Manhattan UNBEKNOWNST TO ME, a senior vice president (mutual funds specializing in the manufacturing sector) at the investment bank where Gordon worked (well, where he lost money on a daily basis until he was transferred to a division where he couldn\u2019t do that anymore, kept on because of his family […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":1599,"menu_order":4319,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-3607","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/moriahjovan.com\/talesofdunham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3607"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/moriahjovan.com\/talesofdunham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/moriahjovan.com\/talesofdunham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/moriahjovan.com\/talesofdunham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/moriahjovan.com\/talesofdunham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3607"}],"version-history":[{"count":25,"href":"https:\/\/moriahjovan.com\/talesofdunham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3607\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":23584,"href":"https:\/\/moriahjovan.com\/talesofdunham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3607\/revisions\/23584"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/moriahjovan.com\/talesofdunham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1599"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/moriahjovan.com\/talesofdunham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3607"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}