#tom saigon

[treason-and-plot]

Roy strolls down the drab hospital corridors, resisting the impulse to whistle, following the sound of clinking cutlery and the growing hum of conversation to the cafeteria. He recognises Dr Tom Saigon immediately, because he has been Googling the fuck out of him for several months now, ever since he found out about Sonia pleasuring herself with his syphilitic pencil dick. He is talking to one of his cohorts and looks like a corrupt priest, even more so in person, although Roy is temporarily disconcerted by how tall he is. Not that it matters; he barely looks like he'd have the strength to open a jar of peanut butter, let alone beat anyone in a fight. Roy smiles to himself, enjoying the adrenaline fizzing through his body. He flexes his fingers and glances around the room, biding his time, waiting for just the right moment to present itself.

Saigon finishes yapping to his lady doctor friend and sits down at a table at the back of the room. It couldn't be better; he's going to be cornered, he'll have nowhere to run. It takes a second or two to dawn on Roy that Genevieve is sitting at the table too. He's Googled pictures of the two of them but he would never have recognised Gen; she looks like a twelve year old waif, her skin translucent, her arms like sticks, cheekbones hollow beneath sunken eyes ringed by violet smudges. For the first time since he's arrived at the hospital Roy hesitates. Saigon is talking to her, trying to coax her into doing something; she shakes her head repeatedly, a bowl of food untouched in front of her. Then she bursts into tears. Roy almost puts his fist through the front of the glass food display. She's in a fucking wheelchair. Saigon is patting her hand and now he's kneeling down and hugging her legs while she plays with his fucking hair, tears shining on her gaunt, beautiful face. Roy stares, incredulous, seething, impotent. There's no way he can assault a man whose face is buried in his wheelchair-bound wife's lap, for Christ's sake. Roy feels a grudging admiration start to dilute the anger swirling through his veins. Well played, Saigon, you cunning fucking son-of-a-bitch. Well played.

[treason-and-plot]

22 hours earlier, in Bridgeport.... 

Tom: You don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming of this moment, my darling. Just the two of us...

Sonia: Oh, Tom. I....I...

Sonia: I-I can’t.

[treason-and-plot]

Sonia realises that more than anything, Tom just needs someone there to listen. She is happy to oblige, her own thoughts are still too tumultuous to allow her to have a sensible conversation, her nerves jangling from lack of sleep and the terrible hospital coffee. Tom says that Gen's behaviour changed in many ways after her surgery. She experienced rapid mood swings and even hallucinations. She became a lot more sexual, almost predatory. (The infamous incident with the au pair being a case in point.) There were huge gaps in her memory which she found distressing...she couldn’t remember where she went to school, or the names of people in photographs, people she’d known all her life. She became more extreme in her likes and dislikes. There were few, if any, grey areas- when she liked something, she loved it with an all-encompassing passion. When she was sad, she was inconsolable. It was almost impossible for her to retain any neutrality about anything. Tom could also recall examples of Gen's behaviour that were random and unpredictable, such as the time he almost reported her as a missing person until he found her sleeping on the roof, (she wanted to be close to the stars) and her recent bizarre insistence that there was a creature living in the middle of the lake, similar to the Loch Ness Monster. She could have been wading out to look for it, said Tom. With Gen, anything was possible.

Sonia doesn't believe this for a second: she remembers Tom ringing her and telling her that Gen missed her so much it was ‘destroying her’, and she remembers him begging her to ring Gen before Gen did something 'drastic'. But she nods and listens and says nothing. When Tom’s speech starts to falter she puts her hand on top of his.

Sonia drives home past The French Bakery. It’s likely Violet is working today; she normally works five days a week. Sonia’s nails drum the steering wheel as she presses her foot on the accelerator. She doesn’t cast a single glance in the Bakery’s direction. Not one.

[treason-and-plot]

[previous]

Tom: It was so good of you to come. Sonia smiles weakly. She and Tom are sitting at a corner table in the hospital cafeteria, sipping bitter and anaemic coffees that have an aftertaste redolent of boiled dirt. Tom asked her if she would prefer to go to his rooms to talk but they are on the other side of the hospital in another wing, so Sonia said no no no the cafeteria would be fine, and also the thought of being alone with Tom fills her with apprehension. She steals a look at him over the rim of her coffee mug. He seems older and sadder than when she last saw him, deep lines between his eyes. Sonia: Who's looking after Lilah while you're here? Tom: Gen's mother. She's staying with us until Gen gets better. Sonia: Do you get along with her? Tom: Yes. She adores me. I saved her daughter's life, after all. Tom smiles at his coffee, his eyes still sad. Sonia is confused. Sonia: I thought you said it was a man walking his dog who pulled Gen out of the lake- Tom: That's right. It was. But that's not what I'm talking about. Gen never told  you how we met? Sonia: No. I don't think so. Tom: That’s not surprising. She gets embarrassed talking about it.  Anyway, she came to me 5 years ago because she had a very aggressive and malignant tumour the size of a baseball in the lower left lobe of her brain. Sonia: Oh my God. You're telling me that Gen had brain cancer? Tom: That's right. The type of tumour she had is about the worst type you can get. She probably had two months to live, three months tops. I’d never operated on anyone with that type of tumour who'd survived. But something told me Gen was going to make it. And of course she did. I couldn't let her get away after that. She was too rare and special. Sonia: I- I don't know what to say. I had no idea. Oh, Tom. Tom is sitting completely still, staring at his coffee. After a few moments he takes a deep breath. Tom: I'm sorry. It's been a very emotional couple of days. Hey, did I tell you how well you're looking? I almost didn't recognise you with that beautiful new haircut. It really suits you.   Sonia: Thank you, Tom. How lovely of you to notice.

[treason-and-plot]

When Genevieve and Tom were deciding whether to buy this house it was the fact that it was lakeside that finally persuaded them. The lake was deep and ringed by aesthetically pleasing trees and home to a modest variety of fish and birds and amphibians, the surrounding parklands popular with dog-walkers and joggers. And every couple of years, the real estate agent told Tom, it got cold enough for the lake to freeze over. Tom had many happy memories of ice-skating as a child. Genevieve had no memories of ice-skating at all.

They had lived here for 12 months, baby Lilah not yet conceived, when they first witnessed the lake freezing. They went out and bought skates and joined the excited throng of people taking to the ice. Tom thought of himself as a reasonably accomplished skater and he held Gen's hand tightly, expecting her to stumble and slip until she got the hang of it. But after ten seconds it was apparent Genevieve's ice-skating skills were far superior to his own. She was fast and fearless, she executed flawless spins, and he just stood and watched her, shocked and awed. He had asked her gently afterwards "Are you really sure you can't remember having ice-skated before?" and she had shook her head and scowled, angry with him for reminding her of the differences between her and everyone else.

[treason-and-plot]

[previous]

Sonia: No. I think you have the wrong number.

Tom: Sonia, listen. Please don’t hang up. You don’t have to say anything. Just listen.

He can hear a dog yapping, children’s babble. She hasn’t hung up. He speaks quickly and urgently. He’s borrowed one of the the hospital’s phones, and they are not supposed to be used for private calls.

Tom: I’m very concerned about Gen, Sonia. I don’t want to talk on the phone, but she misses you so much it’s destroying her. I miss you too. Can you come and see me at the hospital? Please? Tonight or tomorrow? Before my beloved wife does something drastic? 

There is a sharp little intake of breath, then the line goes dead. Tom stares at the screen in his hand for several seconds as if trying to will it back to life and then shoves the phone back in his pocket. He has done all he can. Now it’s up to Sonia. Sonia, with her full bouncy breasts, warm olive skin and firm, ripe buttocks. 

His beautiful, sexy Sonia.

[treason-and-plot]

@goatkibble replied to your photoset “Roy must have been gone now for at least an hour. Joël finishes his...”

How does Roy know about Tom? Did I miss something?

He knows the date on the morning after pill box, last Monday, was the same day that Sonia was ‘visiting’ Genevieve. So it didn’t take much detective work to suss out who she must have ‘bumped uglies’ with on that day, as Jojo so eloquently put it. ;=) 

[treason-and-plot]

Tom: Do you want me to call you back? I've got an hour before I'm needed in theatre again. Gen? Are you there? Gen? Genevieve? Hello?