S1E9: The Mask Slips

She finally made a friend. He sulked about it.

Then she introduced him to one of her closest friends. He held it together just long enough.

And then the mask slipped.

In public. In front of everyone.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:08

I'm Heidi Stark and this is Pretty Red Flags Podcast Episode 9. This podcast is three things in one. A true crime podcast, because these things really happen to me 99.9% of the way they happen in the books. An audiobook because I am reading the duet chapter by chapter. And survivor testimony, because this survivor is sharing what actually happened, including what happened beyond the page and since these books were published. If you're enjoying this podcast, please like and subscribe and share with your friends. It truly means a lot. When we left off last time, Timmy and Margot are freshly engaged. Margot's friend Paulo is skeptical of the speed at which things are progressing. Timmy is peeling other people's registration tags off their cars like it's no big deal. There's an engagement party with one guest. Timmy's former supervisor has gone on a shroom-filled rampage, resulting in the cops being called. This has revealed that Timmy has active warrants out for his arrest for quote traffic stuff. And Timmy has declared his undying love for Margot on Instagram because she makes an amazing falafel. If you thought that was crazy, we're about to go into a very weird time where things just seem to speed up and get even more insane. Chapter 41 BFF The Past. Mother. Me, um yes, you're my best friend, Mum. Mother. Good. Felicity is a fair weather friend anyway. She's not loyal like me. For example, if you ever kill someone, I'll help you to hide the body, okay? Felicity would never help you bury a body. You remember that. Present. Timmy and I hanging out in my apartment, watching movies like usual. He's insisted we do a movie marathon tonight, just us. So the plan is to cook and hang out and snuggle and do cute couple stuff. I'm excited about it. The vibe is cozy and the scent of garlic and herbs fills the air. We move playfully around the kitchen, me chopping vegetables while Timmy sneaks a bite of red pepper off the cutting board, burning him a playful swat and a laugh. We steal kisses between tasks, my shoulders buffing into his torso as we navigate around each other in the kitchen. After food, we stack blankets and pillows across the bed, reminiscent of the sheep forts I made as a kid. As the opening credits roll, we curl up together. I lay against his chest, our legs intertwined, cozy against the blanket behind us, but warm enough not to need one on top of us. Halfway through the second movie his phone dings and he checks the message. He seems distracted. Um I have to go meet some people. What? I thought we were hanging out here tonight. I'm so confused. The night has been going so well and now he just wants to dip out and meet whoever. Well I thought we were, he shrugs. But they need me to take them to get something. I quirk a brow and brown. Who are these people? Rebecca and Jetson. They work on movie sets. They're some of the coolest people I know. And you don't want me to meet them, and you're gonna ditch me to hang out with them because you think they're cool. He smirks and it's cruel. No, I don't want you to meet them. His tone drops lower and his eyes narrow slightly, as if he knows something I don't, or worse, something that will hurt me soon. There's no softness in his expression. Instead it's cold, calculated, like he's delighted in the torment his sudden unexpected change of plans is causing me. I feel crunched. So you're gonna ditch me on a Friday night to go hang out with friends you don't want me to meet. He frowns. Well you can fucking meet them, I suppose. Jesus Christ. His response makes me feel desperate, needy. It's not a rejection, but it's not exactly an invitation either. My stomach knocks and heat rises to my face. I hate coming across as thirsty for company or attention, and I know I probably just did. I just don't understand what the issue is. You don't have to do everything with me, he says. His voice unusually quipped. You always want to be together. I feel dismissed, rejected. For someone so excited to spend the evening with me, he's sure ready to leave me the second someone else shows interest. And he's right, I do enjoy spending every waking and sleeping moment with him. But it's definitely something that's driven by him. I'm not letting him off the hook that easily. You're the one over at my apartment. You're the one who keeps planning things to do together every day and every night. You're the one who takes me to work with you. You're the one who texts me constantly on the rare occasion we aren't together. Whatever, he says, rolling his eyes with scowl hitched into his face, when twist things around. My voice raises, even though I don't mean for it to. I just don't understand why you're suddenly changing the plans and not inviting me. I feel excluded, it's weird. Feel like I'm whining, maybe I am. But I'm just so thrown by his sudden demeanour switch and the way he's making it feel like it's my fault. He lets out an exaggerated sigh, his own voice rising. They want me to take them to go get drugs, okay? I thought you would judge me for that. Are you happy now? Oh, I see. I frown, trying to understand why he didn't just tell me. Why he made it feel so secretive and planned to leave me alone because of it. Well, I wish you'd just been honest from the outset. It sounded like you were embarrassed by me and didn't want to introduce me to your cool friend. Or that you felt like you'd found a more exciting way to spend your Friday night than hanging out with me. He sighs again. Jesus, Margot, what the fuck is your problem? Stop assuming things. Neither of those things are true, but I can go hang out with them without if I want. My eyes narrow, he's really pissing me off. Great, and I can go hang out with whoever the fuck I like without you as well. His eyes are flinty slits. No way, you're coming with me, I'll introduce you, it's fine. Now I feel like I'm being a brat, forcing myself on his friends. But he's an asshole for trying to ditch me or keep the truth from me, whichever is true. My guilt settles in, heavy and unavoidable. I suddenly feel like a jerk for even asking. Was it selfish for me to ask? Should I have just let him go? I'm a big girl, I could have sat here and watched movies, I could have walked down the street and hung out somewhere, I could have just smiled and wished him a good time, played it cool, acted like I didn't care. At the same time though, fuck it. He came up with the plans for our night, and then he switched them up because he received an unexpected text. I feel valid for calling him out on it, empowered by making sure he included me. But now that year feels tense and awkward. I created that. He grabs a t-shirt and slips it on while I sit on the bed awkward, going back and forth in my mind about whether I've done the right thing. He gives me a quick but distant smile. Do I look cute? Yes, I smile back. He does. The grey and pink t-shirt looks really cute with his long sun bleached hair and gorgeous blue eyes. We'll head out in a few minutes, he says, already staring at his phone again, already somewhere else in his mind. I'm glad he invited me, eventually, but the guilt is gnawing at me, like I've done something wrong. Inserting myself somewhere where I don't quite belong. The moment I get into Rebecca and Jetson's car, all worries I had mount away. They're friendly, a fun couple, I can tell from the get-go. Rebecca's gorgeous, a vibrant blonde Floridian who likes to have a good time and doesn't take shit from anyone. Jetson is tall and lanky, also a Floridian, and I can tell he's pissed off at Rebecca for something. I don't know what. Sometimes you can just tell when a couple has been fickering moments before you enter their orbit. But they're both friendly and outgoing and funny, and they offer me a hard seltzer and we all drive off together in search of whatever they're looking for. As we banter, I notice Timmy glowering at me like he's mad I'm getting along with his friend. I immediately feel self-conscious. It may be too loud, too annoying, but Rebecca and Jetson don't seem to mind. The gnawing guilt has just followed me from our earlier conversation, and I realize that Timmy's probably annoyed he doesn't get to be the center of attention. The guy who they call when they need something, only he knows how to find. So I make myself quiet, I shrink myself, and I let him take center stage. These are his friends, so it gets to be the Timmy show. Still, they seem interested in me, and both of them ask me questions. Each time I answer with something that makes them laugh or continue the conversation, Timmy seems to physically pull away from me as if he's punishing me. The more they seem interested in what I have to say, the more he physically recoils from me. After we get back from acquiring whatever it is that they wanted, the guys go to get some drinks, leaving Rebecca and I together in my apartment. The conversation flows. She's really funny, and it turns out she's a talented artist, and her specialty is dark romance art. What are the fucking chances? She shows me through her work and I'm incredibly impressed. Each piece is exquisite, conveying the optimal mix of angst and sexiness and trauma and beauty. I'm fangirling hard. We talk about the potential to collaborate together on some work because her art would definitely complement my books and vice versa. I've never even met someone who does dark romance art before. It's so fucking cool. I'm suddenly guilt free about inserting myself into their little outing. Very glad I got to meet this wonderful and talented human. After a while, Timmy walks back and rejects him and just stops eyeing us. I walk over and give him a hug and a kiss. Welcome back, we missed you guys. I smile. Timmy kisses me back and drapes an arm around me, but there's a tension in the way he holds me. Oh my gosh, Rebecca's an artist, I tell him, wide eyed with excitement. We have so much in common. We're thinking of combining our talents and working on a project together. I'm gushing, so excited to share that the person he just introduced me to has something so specific in common with me. It also feels really good to have made my first real friend here. She's funny and smart and interesting, and it's enriching to meet someone in this place where all I really know is Timmy. Well, isn't that just great? His smile is forced, weak, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. We all chat for a while, enjoying our drinks and talking about life on the coast. Rebecca and Jetson head out and we agree to meet up with them at a nearby Irish bar later on. After they leave, he's sullen. What's going on? I asked, touching his shoulder. He flinches away, his foot bouncing. Well, I'm fine with you being friends with her, but just as long as she doesn't take up my place as your best friend. I'm your number one friend. My mind flashes back to childhood, my mother saying the same thing. Felicity might be your best school friend, but I'm your best overall friend. Felicity's a fair with a friend anyway. She's not loyal like me. Maybe this is just an emotional cancer thing, seeing as my mother and Timmy share the same star sign. But it sounds like he's truly worried, like, because I got along with someone I just met, I'm suddenly going to deprioritize him and throw him away like a piece of trash. The irony is that while that's definitely not going to happen, he made me feel like the early in the night. Like he was going to discard me and our plans that he suggested because he wanted to help these people go in search of party drugs. I don't like that he tried to ditch me, and part of me wonders if the reason he didn't want to introduce us is because he could tell we'd get along well, and he was threatened by the idea of me making a solid female friend connection. Either way, I had no intention of ditching Timmy. I got to meet new people, including someone who really could be a great friend. So, all in all, I consider this day a win. My reaction to this chapter, I remember feeling so good about this evening together, staying in, making food, relaxing. It was like my nervous system was able to let go and exhale and just have fun and lightness. No plans, just cuddling in couple time. So when Timmy suddenly announced that he had to go out to meet friends, it made me feel sick. I literally felt crushed. My world felt like it had been tilted on its head. Not because he wanted to go out with friends, but because of the lead up to that and what our plans were and way that they instantly changed because he got a text message. I can still remember the way his entire personality changed from warm and cuddly and fun and loving to cold and distant and like I was some kind of problem. He was so dead set about me not meeting his friends. Once he was honest about where they were going and what they were going to get, I put it down to him being nervous about telling me about the drug stuff. But in hindsight, he was being stingy about me meeting his friends. When I ended up getting along really well with Rebecca, who's still my friend to this day, I'm friends with her and Jetson, in fact, not their real name. He was just so jealous. I put his comments about being best friends down to being a joke, but looking back in every word. He was jealous. He had to be number one and the only thing of importance in my life. Chapter 42 Nop Timmy He's getting drunker in the Irish bar and I'm not even sure how. He doesn't have any money, and I only bought him one drink. He must have sweet talked someone in line to buy him a shot, or maybe he's found a way to scavenge drinks from patrons distracted by the live music or overhead disease. I've seen him drunk before, of course, but this is the first time we've been in a bar and he's behaving this way. In any case, he's a mess. The puff isn't one of those trendy modern bars. It's old school Irish, tucked away on a quiet street filled with heavy wooden tables, low ceilings, and dim light casts a perpetual amber glow. The air smells of stale beer, damp wood, and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke crossed with bow and after shame. Footfall highlights flicker on the TVs mounted above the bar, while a group of regulars sing along to light music with raspy voices. The bar is essentially packed and it's not the place for Timmy's antics. Yet here he is in the middle of it all doing his version of a shuffle dance, arms flailing, legs writhing like they're trying to escape from underneath him. But we're not at some EDM rainbow club where they're playing house music. The speakers are blasting the band's old Irish rock songs, and Timmy's out there trying to shuffle like he's in another world entirely. He weaves and sways, narrowly avoiding toppling over, and every few seconds he knocks into someone, their drinks sloshing up the sides and over the edge of their glasses is like Learer. But Timmy's blissfully unaware, enjoying himself in the moment, the king of his own chaos. The bartenders are too busy to notice, three deep with people calling for drinks the whole way around the bar. The bouncer, a hulking guy with tattoos running down his neck, doesn't seem inclined to intervene. Engers Timmy's dance students just spill over into someone's pint, and steady just laughs. Timmy's bragged about knowing him, although I can't tell if the bouncer actually knows him or just finds his stupidity entertaining. A woman sitting at the bar with her husband beckons me over, a vision of expensive surgeries and high maintenance glamour. Her soft pink lipstick and perfectly sculpted cheekbones belong in a different setting. Maybe a yacht club or a high end casino. But here she is slamming it in a dive bow with the rest of us. She winks at me. How do you know Timmy? He's my fiance. Her eyes widen in disbelief, her heavily mascared eyelashes fluttering as she processes my words. Your fiance. Her tone is incredulous. She glances at him, then back at me like she's trying to solve a puzzle that doesn't make sense. What's your name? Margot. Margot, she repeats it like she's trying to convince herself. He can't be your fiance. Not Timmy. He can't. She looks at me and then back at him. No, for real, you can't be serious. He's not, right? I nod, unsure how else to respond. He is. Margot, sweetie. She shakes her head and trails off as he almost topples into a group of regulars who are clearly not in youth. Him? Really? Really, Margot? I want to melt into the floor, but instead I just offer a tight smile and a nod, pretending none of this is happening. Inside I'm screaming, how did I get here? How is this my life? He's making a fool of himself and being a problem, a menace, but I don't know how to stop him. I'm sure if anybody else acted half the full Timmy is right now that have been kicked out half an hour ago, he's seriously destroying the fun of all the patrons around him, who are simply trying to move around on the dance floor and enjoy their drinks. But here Timmy is creating problems, and the staff seem to be just fine about it. Suddenly, Timmy makes a wild dash for the door, nearly colliding with the bar back carrying a tray of empty glasses. Without a word he's gone. I blink at the spot he disappeared from. I look for him but can't see him on the street. A few minutes later I turn to the nearest group. Has anybody seen my fiance? I asked the crowd around me. Three guys immediately raise their hand. I'll be your fiance, one yells as the others laugh and join it. Forget that guy, I volunteer to replace him. I can't help but laugh, even as part of me wants to cry. Timmy's chaos is exhausting, but here I am with strangers, still holding on to the hope that he'll somehow get his act together and we'll go home quietly. Eventually he comes back, just as drunk, if not worse. His shirt is untucked, and there's a fresh stain on his pants that I don't want to think too hard about. He swaggers up to me, his eyes glassy. Let's go to the strip club, Timmy announces loudly, like it's the best idea in the world. Rebecca and Dexon and I exchange glances. We shrug and follow him out into the humid night air. The streets are damp, the occasional flicker of a street lamp catching on a wet sidewalk. Palm trees sway in the warm breeze, the smell of salt water mingling with the sound of waves crashing in the distance. Sunset K never sleeps, but this isn't the vibrant nightlife scene advertising glossy brochures. This is gritty and real. Timmy leads us down a nondescript alley and up some stairs to a pokey little strip club, a small dingy little spot with neon lights flickering over the door. That'll be a forty dollar cover per person, Akashia says, barely looking up with her phone. Timmy looks at us expectantly. Did any of us actually want to come here? Jetson asks Deaf Pair. Rebecca and I look at each other and shake our heads. Just another of Timmy's terrible ideas that he expects others to fund. Me neither, said Jetson. It seems like Timmy's the only one who did, and he can't afford the cover for one, let alone four. Timmy frowns as we traips back down the stairs. Well I thought that would have been fun, he says, sulking. His disappointment is palpable, his shoulders slouched, a slightly wobbly pace slowing. Yeah, if everyone else was paying for you, I roll my eyes, shaking my head. And you were the only one who wanted to go. As a follow cue, a nondescript woman in a sheer shirt walks past, her legs brown full display. Timmy spins around like a compass drawn to magnetic mirrors, his eyes wide as he watches her pass. He just about draws on a sidewalk. What he says catching my irritated expression. I get to look at girls and say, yeah, you if I want. I won't touch any of them, just look. Can you at least pick an attractive person to draw over there nice that my patients are wearing thin? He's pouting because he didn't get to see some half-assed strippers and trying to start an argument by being disrespectful. I'm putting the sloppy behavior down to his level of intoxication, which seems to be getting steadily higher, even though I hadn't seen him drink anything quite a while. Maybe he's in stealth mode. At this point I wouldn't be surprised to Learn had been going around taking sips out of random people's tracks. There's no other real explanation for it. At one point we need to share the sidewalk with the family headed in the other direction. Watch it, Timmy shrieks at them for no apparent reason. What the fuck, dude? Jetner says under his breath, and the three of us exchange glances as Timmy charges on ahead. His behavior's more than over the top, but I try to shake it off. I'm enjoying spending time with Rebecca and excited to have a new friend here on the island. It'll be nice to plan girl outings and do fitness classes and restaurant stuff together. And she and Detroit think like a solid couple, so we can do double dates. I glance at them and they offer me a sympathetic look. This isn't what I had in mind when I thought of the night out. But I shake it off. I'm not going to ruin what could be still an enjoyable night out with friends because Timmy's decided to have three too many drinks or whatever this is. This has to be a one-off him stumbling around this way. Nobody behaves like this all the time. My reaction to this chapter is so Timmy had this uncanny ability to charm people into giving him things. It was usually shots of whiskey or drugs, but he had this way of making people feel comfortable and like they'd benefit somehow by giving him what he wanted. He was so drunk and sloppy that night, it was so embarrassing. And he was in his own little world where once again any attention was good intention. I remember the way that the lady at the bar looked at me in shock when I said we were together. Also how jealous he was when I told him all the guys joked about wanting to replace him as my fiance. The tone-deaf way he wanted to go to the strip club when nobody else did, and the irony that he was the one without money and it was really expensive to go. And then finally the way he leered at the woman on the street was straight up gross. That's not a comment coming from jealousy. I'm human, so I might have felt some way if he'd ogled an attractive woman, but he was literally almost crawling on the floor at this random person, and it was just not okay. Chapter forty three Cockblocker. A few days later, the sun is warm and bright as we wander down the main shopping strip lined with colourful stores. Timmy was apologetic the morning after his Irish bar antics, blaming his behaviour on drinking too much, and he's been relatively calm ever since. Can't says Timmy, grabbing my hand in his and leading me into an indoor arcade. We go into a surf shop that smells like sunscreen, salt water, and soft cotton, the kind of place that feels sun kissed and easygoing. Boards are stacked along the perimeter and racks of t-shirt, board shorts, and caps also line the walls. As we wander in a low indie song dressed from the speakers, adding to the laid back vibe. I have so much fun exploring surf shops with Timmy. He gets so excited discovering the latest designs. Although he's always confident he could design something much more interesting himself, and based on what he's shown me so far, I'm also confident he can. I trail behind Timmy, my fingers brushing against soft hoodies and linen beach pants. The store feels alive with colours that represent the ocean in a tropical location. Bright blues, pastel pigs, sandy neutrals, the lighting causing everything to glow with a sunny golden hue. Timmy, as usual, gravitates towards the hat. He scans the shelves thoughtfully, his fingers tapping on the bills of a few before he picks up two. He holds them against me, selecting one. This is the one, he grins, holding it out to me. Try this on, and then he turns to me so I can see myself in the mirror. It's pretty from a popular circuit brand, a black hat, brightly coloured plumeria, and a map of sunset kale on the bottom of the belt. I hesitate for a second, surprised by how the He's being, then I take the cap and slip it onto my head. The fabric feels cool against my skin and the colour underneath it bill automatically warms my complexion. He steps back, tilting his head slightly as he studies me, a small, satisfied smile hugging at the corners of his mouth. That's my beautiful girl, he says, gazing at me in adoration and kissing me. You should definitely get this one, it looks perfect on you. I glance at myself in the mirror, adjusting the hat slightly. I'm struck by how good it looks, how it seems to brighten my whole face. It's not a pattern I would likely have chosen for myself, but somehow it works, like it was made just for me. I look back at some me, my heart's fellow with a combination of pride and gratitude. How did you know? I ask softly, running my fingers beneath the bill. He shrugs, but there's a cocky confidence in the way he smiles at me. I just know what looks good on you. It matches your beautiful skin tone. I'm a pretty amazing designer, you know. I know all about colour profiles and what suits you. His days link is warm and appreciative, like he's proud of the way the cat brings out something unique about me. Something only he could notice. I feel a blush rise in my cheeks, not from embarrassment, but at how he's made me feel in this moment. It's not just about the cat, but the way he pays attention, real attention, noticing things about me that nobody else has. I've never had a man really help me pick out clothing before. But he pays attention to my complexion and knows where certain colours go together. Whenever I've shopped with other guys, I've had to drag them kicking and screaming to the store, and then I've waited while I tried things on and occasionally begrudgingly helped me decide between two items I'd selected by myself. But with Timmy, it's like having my own very cute personal stylist who loves the shit out of me. For a moment, standing there under the soft glow of the store's lights, the world feels a little bit smaller and sweeter. Timmy, confident and carefree and his element and me standing beside him, feeling beautiful in a way I'd never expected. I pull the cat and hold it in my hands, a small smile playing across my lips. Okay, I said quietly, touched by the simple, thoughtful gesture. I'm getting it. Timmy leans forward and his lips meet mine and then his grin widens. Yay, he says, I told you it looked good. Then we moved to a streetwear store that specializes in shoes and hats, drawn in by the trendy vibrant displays, and I see some sneakers I really like. The black and white with gold accents, and I love them. Because I had to shrink my life into a few suitcases and a cat carrier, I'm doing a bit of replenishment of my wardrobe. It's a treat, and it's a little retail therapy to distract myself from Sabre not being here. These are perfect, I murmured, slipping slipping them off the shelf to inspect the size. Oh yeah, nods Timmy, those are super cute, they look great on you. I try on the shoes and while I find the right size with the help of a sales assistant, Timmy wanders around the store looking at cats. He tries on a couple of cats in front of a mirror, grinning at his reflection as he turns his head this way and that. He's particularly enamoured with one that says cock on it, alongside a picture of a rooster. I laugh and shake my head. Of course he would like that one the best. I bind a perfect size for the sneakers and head toward the counter with a shoe box in hand. These are a steal, I say with a playful smile, feeling content as I tap my card on the reader. The cashier hands me the bag with a friendly nod, and I glance over at Timmy still playing with the hats. He pulls one low over his brow, smurking at himself in the mirror one last time before we stroll out of the store together. We're halfway across the indoor moor when something nags at the edge of my awareness. I glance at Timmy, and there it is, still perched on his head. The cock hat, bold and new, the price tag hanging off the bat. I stop in my tracks, my heart sinking. Timmy didn't pay for that hat. Oh oops, he says, casually touching the bill as if he just noticed it, grinning lazily. I had absolutely no idea I was wearing this. It's meant to be, I guess. I'm meant to have this hat. My stomach twists. God. I think back to the smoothie at the grocery store, the sunglasses and water bottle at the thrift store, the registration tags, and even the frying pan at the restaurant. The sense practice, habitual, and I don't like it at all. He shrugs at me, giving that familiar, breezy smile that once felt genuine and charming, but is starting to feel more like a shield. Yeah, just flip my mind. But I'm starting to know better, knowing that behind Timmy's seemingly casual actions is a calculated slyness, whether he'll acknowledge it to himself or not. Timmy, come on, I say softly, trying not to let too much frustration creep into my voice. Please stop doing this. It's not right. His expression ships, his grin transforms me into something much sharper. What's the big deal? he asked, and to the noise looking into his tone. It's just a hat. Nobody even noticed. I didn't even notice. I bite my lip trying to keep calm. It's not about that. I just don't want you to get in trouble for us to get in trouble. And if you accidentally take something from a store, you need to take it back when you realize his eyes narrow slightly, his easy charm dissolving into something colder. Jesus, Margot, you really think I did this on purpose? He asks, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. I said I forgot. Why do you always have to make a thing out of nothing? I feel a familiar sting of guilt rise in my chest. The way he says it, like I'm being unreasonable, like I'm the one who's the problem, make me doubt myself for a moment. He has a way of making me feel like his actions are normal, that I'm the outlier. The knot in my stomach tighten. I'm sorry, I mumble, not because I think I'm wrong or that he deserves an apology from me, but because I don't want this to spiral into another argument. I'm tired of the tension, tired of feeling like every objection I raise pulls us further apart. I just forget I said anything, but please be careful you don't take anything else. It just makes me feel really uncomfortable, even if it was completely accidental. How silly would you feel if you got arrested and ended up in jail because you took a hat without paying for it? Timmy lets out a short breath, rolling his eyes. Whatever, he says, adjusting the hat on his head like it was always his to wear. We keep walking, but the easy fun of the afternoon is gone, replaced with something much heavier, an uncomfortable silence stretching between us like a chasm. I grip the bags with my sneakers and my hat that I paid for tightly, trying to convince myself that maybe I am really being uptight, but deep down the unease remains, gnawing at me, whispering that something is off. And as Timmy continues to chat away lightly, discussing our next stop as if nothing happened. I wonder how many more times I'll have to bite my tongue just to keep the peace. My reaction to this chapter, I think that this chapter is a really good example of the highs and lows. So it was really fun shopping with Timmy. He had this eye for design, he knew what suited me, his colour theory was on point. I never had that with a partner. So there was this high, high of him picking out the hat, and I felt slow, good, and happy and thin. And then the low-low of him once again stealing something. I felt guilty even though I hadn't do anything wrong, done anything wrong. Like I was complicit. I was mortified. But he made it seem so normal. Like his boundaries were different and a different set of rules applied to him than anyone else. Chapter 44. N Espino. My friend Natasha messages me out of the blue. Natasha. Hey Margot, I'm gonna be in Sunset K for work in a few days. Me. Oh my gosh, you are? Natasha. Yeah, there's a conference I'm attending. She sends me the address of the conference as well as where she'll be staying. Me. Oh well you're gonna be staying so close. If you have time, I'd love to see you. Natasha, my schedule's pretty packed, but I'll see if I can get away. It would be nice to catch up. Feels like an opportunity for a bit of a redo on our engagement party. Needless to say, Parker won't be invited. And having Natasha meet Timmy is important. She'll be my first friend to meet him in person. Natasha is a very smart, entrepreneurial businesswoman who travels the world for work, attending conferences and working groups. The night begins with excitement and anticipation. We choose a bar below my apartment in the same building. It's an open air space, warm and inviting, with dim lighting and an eclectic mix of international flavours on the menu. I see Natasha approaching the fire and run out to give her a big warm hug. She's one of those hugs as it squeezes you properly and you can feel the energy transfer between you. Quality hugs that one. She's joined by two of her friends from the conference, making a group of lively five. We start with a round of exotic cocktails, tart vibrant drinks that take advantage of the local tropical fruits the area is known for, and a few tuppas plays this year. Their signature bow buns with apple with smoked bacon, temperatal, crispy pork spring rolls with pineapple relish, and grilled chicken satay with deliciously tangy pickled dyed one and carrot. A group laughs and chicks as we savour the bold rich flavours, like Beam at Natasha and her friends. Happy to be able to share this moment with them. Timmy's attentive, keeping his hand on the squall of my back, leaning down to kiss me and smile at me regularly. It feels really good to be able to introduce it to one of my closest friends. None of Timmy's friends were able to make it tonight, but that's okay. I really don't think too much of it because after all, most of his friends live on the opposite side of the K, and this has all been planned same day, short notice, just like no other engagement party. Although I'm very relieved Pyker isn't attending this one. What an unplanned ticket. Natasha's work friends are friendly and the conversation flows effortlessly. The group quickly vomits over tales from the conference and memories about Natasha's and my life and friendship back on the East Coast where we used to live nearby. To me makes the group laugh with tales of growing up on Sunset K and he's keeping his stories amusing, but also not over the top. Feels weird to think about it this way, but I'm almost proud of the way he's behaving. Like he realizes Natasha's an important person in my life, and so he's dressed up nicely and he's still being himself, but perhaps a more dialed in version. It's the kind of night that feels effortlessly fun and like nothing can go wrong. After finishing our drinks and tapas, we're still all enjoying ourselves and not ready to end the night so early. Someone suggests heading upstairs to the market to get a second round of snacks to enjoy my apartment complex's gorgeous courtyard. The market is an explosion of sights and sounds, freshly prepared meals on display, which are way different from what Natasha could find back in her hometown. The group wanders around in all and collects a few different options as we wander from store to store, wowed by what's on offer. We end up with an eclectic mix of wood fried pizza and artisanal salads. We grab poke bowls and sushi and the fool on our arms are full of small, delicious plates. With our bounty in hand, we make our way to the upstairs courtyard and find a cozy, intimate space inside our own little private enclosed cabana with string lights at the head. There we spread our food out on the table, sharing our various finds as we enjoy more drinks. The mood is relaxed and one of Natapsa's acquaintances plays harmonica music on the phone, providing the perfect background as we all chat and laugh. Timmy regales the grip with more tales about growing up in Sunset K. His stories are so full of eccentric characters and increasingly off the wall scenario they feel like something out of a novel. His anecdotes are getting more outrageous as the night wears on, and the group is in stitches, caught up in the joy of the evening. As the evening continues, we decide to hit a nearby karaoke spot to camp off the celebration. Everyone's having a good time and still nobody's quite ready for the evening to end. It's the first time I've done karaoke in years, and while I don't relish the idea of singing aloud in a room full of strangers, I figure it'll be fun with this group, and especially with Timmy. The bar is vibrant and buzzing with energy, dimly lit and packed with people who cheer and sing along with each song. The atmosphere of light with fun. Natasha and her friends take turns picking out chewy pop songs and laugh as they sing off key, the crowd clapping along. Timmy and I sing Gangsta's Paradise together and the song goes well. One I know all the lyrics too and have for years. We've laugh as we rap and the crowd sings along with us. Timmy beams and pulls me into his arms afterward. Oh my god, I can't believe you know all the lyrics to that song. We really are meant to be together. The crowd loves us. Then Timmy gets up to sing a second song almost straight away. At first it's just another song, something everyone recognises, but halfway through, Timmy's energy shifts. He's not just performing anymore, he's really performing. He climbs onto the edge of the small stage, gripping the mic like he's a headliner of some rock concert, then suddenly grips his shirt open with dramatic flourish. The crowd reacts with a mix of amusement and surprise. Laughter and gasps echo around the room, but then he takes it a step further. He unbuckens his jean. A nervous ripple moves through the room. Some people laugh awkwardly, assuming he's joking, but then to my horror, he yanks his pants down to his thighs, thrusting his hips wildly to the beat of the song. The mood shifts instantly. People stop singing. Several members of the crowd exchange uneasy glances. A bartender mutters something to another staff member. The DJ lowers the music lightly, clearly waiting to see if Timmy will get a grip. But Timmy only doubles down. He starts hollering at the audience, encouraging them to join in, gyrating like he's lost his mind. Someone in the crowd booms, another person yells, put your pants back on, do. Timmy laughs, clearly reveling in the attention, and makes some crude joke about giving everyone a real show, motioning toward his underwear as if he's about to lower it. That's when security steps in. Alright man, it's a nut. A bouncer appears at the side of the stage, arms crossed. Timmy grears at him. What? I'm just having fun, light enough. But the bouncer isn't having it. Pull your pants up or you're out. Timmy throws his hands up dramatically, playing the victim. Oh, so you're gonna pick on me for entertaining your audience? He rolls his eyes, still making no move to fix his clothes. What had been lighthearted and fun is turning tense and ugly. When the music finally cuts out completely, Timmy explodes. Are you all fucking serious right now? Timmy yells, his face contorted in rage. His words turn vile, spewing hateful words at anyone who'll listen. He stomps around the bar, hurling insults with growing fury. The crowd recoils and the once lively atmosphere is now thick with discomfort and anger. All because of Timmy. He changed the entire vibe of the place from something so lighthearted to something ugly. People begin calling for him to be removed and the staff quickly move towards me. I stand in shock with the rest of our group, our minds all a little fuddy from our drinks, unable to protest how the night has taken such a dark turn. The embarrassment is palpable, our laughter and joy from earlier completely evaporated. Natasha puts a hand on my shoulder, signaling it's time to leave. Timmy's behavior has passed a long, disturbing shadow over the evening. We slip out of the bar in silence, avoiding the angry glances being thrown in our direction. Timmy stomps along behind us, his voice echoing, filled with anger and self-righteous indignation. Nobody says much as we leave the area, and Natasha and her acquaintances call an Uber to get back to their hotel, the celebratory energy of the night completely gone. The weight of what just happened hangs in the air, leaving us all feeling uncomfortable and drained. Everyone except Timmy, who still seems to think he was somehow wronged by the whole situation as he mutters to himself. He stomps along behind us, his voice echoing filled with self-righteousness. Can you believe those guys acting like I was stripping or something? It was just a joke. He whispered to Natasha, Oh my god, I don't know what happened, I'm so sorry. She shrugged. It's okay, some guys just don't know when to stop. I shake my head, but it's not just that. He just keeps pushing things too far. She just presses her lips together and nods and gives me another one of her amazing hype. When we finally part way, the joy of Timmy's my engagement feels distant, overshadowed by the disturbing and unnecessary storm Timmy unleashed. Timmy and I walk back to the apartment and yes, I went what? Timmy asks me at one point when I look at him with kiss to her. I sigh, let's talk about it tomorrow. Every time I think about Timmy's antics at the karaoke bar, I feel my stomach twist. He yanked his pants down so naturally, I sense it's not the first time he's done it. He glances at me, noticing my reaction and moves on like it's nothing. For a moment, I think maybe he'll realize his behavior is completely outrageous and stop himself, but over the next two days and starts to do it more frequently, as if he's been holding it back and has now reached some bizarre tipping point where he just can't keep his clothes on in public. First, it's just little things and an exaggerated hip thrust as a joke, yanking his waistband down slightly for a laugh, acting like he's going to murder someone, but stopping just short. Then it escalates. One afternoon at the beach, he wades into the water fully clothed and then dramatically peels off his shorts, tossing them onto the sand like at some grand reveal. People glance over, startled, unsure if they should laugh or be horrified. Later at a casual backyard gathering, he does it again, this time hopping onto a lounge chair and lowering his boardshorts to expose himself half of his butt crack while making a spectacle of himself, laughing like he's the funniest guy in the world. It's bewildering. I tell myself maybe it's nothing specific to Sun Sec, some weird island mentality because everyone's just so used to exposing skin. The locals certainly have their quirks, a few mannerisms that feel frozen in time, but Timmy's Blase attitude takes it a step too far. It's unsettling. I find myself dreading the next time, unsure if he's just gonna flash someone as a joke or outright get us kicked out of a place. He acts like it's a harmless bit, something everyone should just accept. But the more he does it, the less funny it becomes. It's almost like he gets a thrill from it, like he enjoys the shocked reaction. One night I've had enough. We're sitting on the bed a quiet evening in when he starts reminiscing about the karaoke night, laughing about how people just can't handle a little fun. Timmy, I say in my tone sharp, you really need to stop pulling your pants down in public. You're going to embarrass the wrong person one day and they're gonna punch you in the face and I won't stop them. He pauses and laughs, like I've just told him the joke. Well, come on, it's not a big deal. People in the K don't care about that stuff. He shrugs almost dismissively. Over the next few days I realize I can't make this slide. Every time he does it, it's like a slap to everything I stand for. I can't keep making excuses for him. You know, Timmy, I tell him one evening, trying to keep my voice cut. It's not just inappropriate, it's embarrassing. I can't understand why you want to do it in the first place. I try to reason with him, appealed to his desire to be well liked, to fit in with everyone he meets. Maybe you think it's just a joke, but it's not. People don't take it lightly, and honestly, I can't be around someone who thinks that's okay. Surely you saw how uncomfortable you made people at the karaoke bar. It wasn't funny, it was awkward. Even the locals didn't think it was okay. He could be arrested for loose conduct. Size and matters, fine or stop. And for a little while he does. But I noticed that whenever he's had a few too many drinks, it creeps back in. The shirt comes off first, then the waistband tugs, then the exaggerated gestures like he's dying for an audience. But he needs the attention, good or bad. One night I finally call him out. Timmy, I say exasperated, what is it with you getting half naked in public? Oh, it's an in joke between me and my ex's son, he replies looking pleased with himself. We think it's hilarious. I raise a brow, not quite believing him. Also, way to make it even weirder. He shrugs on face like a mobile reacting. It's just how I am, I do it all the time. I shake my head, disappointment, gnawing at me. Well then you're gonna have to stop doing it around me. I can't make you understand why it's weird, but if you keep it up, I'll just stop being around you. It hits me watching his reaction that he either doesn't care or doesn't get it. Maybe though. He nods as if to humor me and I wonder if I'm fighting or losing battle. My reaction to this chapter. So Timmy was so social and able to charm absolutely anyone he met. He was funny, he would find ways to connect with people from any background. Some people might have been laughing, amused by his antics, but in any case, he'd win people over very easily. So I felt really good about introducing him to my friend and her colleagues. Once we got to the karaoke bar and he proceeded to do what he did, I was so humiliated and mortified. Now, seeing this is the podcast where we're going beyond the pages, I can share that I changed what he actually did in the book as a way to protect readers. Pulling his pants down in public and exposing himself wouldn't be too far off the mark, but in reality, what he did was use racial slurs. He sang words from my song and he said it was okay because he said everyone says that word in Hawaii uses his excuse. To me, that absolutely not okay. I felt really sick and he'd already crossed a bunch of boundaries with me, but this one hit extra deep. He had a way of explaining away, and in this case, I truly thought I could explain to him by saying something like that wasn't okay and that he would stop. Almost like I could train him out of it, that he was teachable and somehow honestly didn't realize that running around saying that word was hurtful and unacceptable. As you will see, and as you can probably already guess, I was wrong. Using words like that is not an there's no excuse for it or something you don't know it's okay at 100% a choice. That's all for this episode. Next time things start to intensify and expected in very unexpected ways. As always, I'd love to hear from you whether you've been in a similar situation or what stood out to you about this episode in particular. Remember to like, subscribe, and share with your friends. And in the meantime, remember it was never you, you're not too much, and it wasn't your fault.