The Best Guy I’ve Ever Known
by Danila Botha
He was six foot three, with eyes like twin waves at high tide, sculpted abs and sun kissed skin despite the fact that he spent all day in front of a computer, in an incredibly well paid finance job. So if you take anything away from this, it’s the shared assumption that Mark was too good for me. When you meet me, you’ll see. There’s nothing about me that screams extraordinary, but once we connected, Mark and I spent every free minute together.
Unlike my stay-at-home mom, construction worker dad and four siblings from a small town inexplicably named after a city in India, but pronounced Dell High, Mark just had a mother named Gemma, who had lived in twelve countries and spoke five languages. She wore silk scarves tied around her neck in a neat bow, and curly grey hair au natural. He talked to her on the phone everyday, and sometimes she asked to speak to me.
When I told people I went to art school they either looked at me like I’d just told them I was in clown college, or they asked me to draw their portrait on the spot, like I was a cartoonist on the sidewalk with a tip cup. Mark asked me who my favourite artist was, and it wasn’t like at school, where you can’t say Matisse or Picasso because they’re too obvious, and you can’t talk about Frida Kahlo anymore than you can talk about Sylvia Plath without people rolling their eyes. Mark was curious about the arts, so I told him the truth, and he took me to the AGO on our first date. He bought me a book on Picasso that was the price of my weekly grocery bill. He said he loved how much I enjoyed being taken out, how much I loved all the bottle service and fancy dinners, sake and tuna steak, salmon tartare and cabernet sauvignon. He was great in bed, especially compared to the other guys I’d been with. I never knew if he was going to stroke my face, tell me how pretty and talented I was, then pull me on top of him, or if he was going to tie up my hands and my feet with one of his Tom Ford silk ties, yank my hair and spank me. We always said I love you during, and after.
He paid for me to join his expensive, elite gym so we could work out together. When I lost weight and started seeing some muscle, he complimented me. When I said I wanted to go blonde, and get regular manicures, he was happy to pay for it. He bought me the acrylic paint sets of my dreams, and when I told him how insecure I’d always been about my bumpy Roman nose, he paid to have it turned into a perfect, pert button, and took care of me while I recovered.
I told my best friend about him and she seemed surprised but happy for me.
The night he got caught, we were at his condo, and he said he had to run out to do a work thing. It was 11:00, pm, and he’d seemed antsy but it happened occasionally so I tried not to worry. He got in at 2:00 am, mumbling about how hard he had to work, but assuring me that he did it for us.
I was still wearing the amethyst and diamond ring he’d me a few weeks before when he held my hand. “Do you remember what I said about this ring?”
I nodded sleepily.
“It’s a promise ring. Don’t worry, the real thing will be way better. I just want you to know how much I love you.”
“I know,” I answered, and he fell asleep.
The next morning, the cops came in, grabbing his laptop and his phones. His eyes flashed from anger to panic and fear when they handcuffed him.
After two of them escorted him out, I stumbled over to the tall, heavy one who stood at our front door. My eyes were bleary and I could hardly get the words out.
“What is this about, anyway? What did he do?”
The cop shrugged, and then shook his head. “White collar crime, Miss. It seems he’s been investing his client’s money in a Ponzi scheme. He owes millions…”
I heard myself make a retching sound. “But that can’t be. He loves his job. He works so hard. His bosses love him…”
He shook his head again. “What bosses, Miss? He’s the CEO, the mastermind.”
I stood there in shock while he told me to take care.
Once I was sure they’d all left, I let out a huge scream.
Later that night, his mother called.
I told her that I couldn’t believe it, I didn’t believe he’d cheat anyone. Then she said something that made my blood go cold.
“And that woman, accusing him of sexual assault.”
I thought about the Mark I knew, the generous, fun, open guy, the one who said I love you first. I needed him to be who I thought he was.
“Women don’t always tell the truth.” She said, “they have all kinds of motives for accusing someone.”
I didn’t know what to believe, my head hurt, but I knew I couldn’t go back to who I was before.
“Yeah,” I said, “I know. He’s the best guy I’ve ever known.”
Danila Botha is the author of three short story collections, Got No Secrets, For All the Men…which was a finalist for the Trillium Book Award, The Vine Awards, and the ReLit Award. Her new collection, Things that Cause Inappropriate Happiness will be published in March 2024 by Guernica Editions. She is also the author of the novel Much on the Inside which was recently optioned for film. Her new novel, A Place for People Like Us, will be published by Guernica in 2025. You find her at www.danilabotha.com, https://www.facebook.com/danilabothawriter, or https://twitter.com/DanilaBotha.