Wildfire

by Priscilla West

  But that’s not who I am any more.

  I sit back in my chair and stop looking at the clock. If I lose Lynx, I lose it. I can’t swim upstream forever. I can work for another magazine, and someday maybe start something else. I accept the reality that throwing a fit isn’t going to help so I might as well act like I have some dignity while I’m here. Like a lady. Like Mark’s lady.

  “Hey Ben,” Ruth calls as she points to the bench and glares the cuffed brothers into their seats. “Can you book that lady right there? She’s a repeat so you just have to confirm and send her down to wait for arraignment.”

  Ben nods and takes the seat at her desk, looks at my arrest sheet and starts typing in numbers. I laugh to myself. Even when he isn’t here, Mark is still right. The officer confirms my name and numbers, prints out a stack of notes for me to sign, lines me up for another booking photo (and Valerie thought her photos were bad?) and leaves me on a bench to be taken to the connected series of cells in the hall below. I see Robert Clank walking over to where Ruth has the subdued gang members, but before I can wave or get his attention, I hear my name.

  “Sharp, Julia Sharp.”

  “Here,” I say as if I’m still in sixth grade and the teacher is taking attendance.

  “Hey, Rich Bitch,” the guard calls. I instantly recognize her as the woman from last time and it’s pretty clear she remembers me too. “Back again, eh? You becoming a career criminal or what?”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” I uselessly try to tell her as she grabs my upper arm and walks me to my cell. “He told me to see him. He asked me to come. I didn’t purposely violate the protection order. Hell, if anyone needed protection it was me!”

  “Uh-huh. All a big mistake. He really loves you. You’re back together. You just forgot to tell the judge,” she responds in a sing-song voice. “Heard it all before. Only usually with restraining orders, it’s the guys who jump the wire.”

  “He conned me,” I say with a sigh filled with equal parts honesty, acceptance, and profound regret.

  “Hey! My phone call. Hey! I gotta go. Hey! That man is going to hurt somebody! Hey! Hey! Hey!” The familiar chorus begins before I can even see the bars of the holding cells. They see me as soon as I turn the corner.

  “Blonde baby,” one of the men whistles. “Come sit near me sugar and give me your honey.”

  “You better check yourself, Ray,” the guard says. “I’d leave this one alone before she kills you too!”

  I try not to look shocked by her comment but I see it already has the intended effect. The men pull back against the wall of their cell and the women in mine give me a wide berth to walk. I try to make eye contact with her and show her I’m oddly grateful but she turns before I am even fully in the cell.

  The chorus of voices start again as soon as the door closes and I make my way to an empty spot on a back bench beside the wall.

  “He conned me,” I say again to no one.

  Chapter 2

  I sit in silence for a few minutes, the eyes of everyone in both the male and female cells glancing my direction. It’s clear that most of them realize that the guard’s comment was pure bullshit, but a few are not so sure. A young woman with a group of streetwalkers cautiously approaches and sits just outside of arm’s reach. She looks at me with the world weary eyes of an eighty year old though she can’t be more than twenty-two.

  “You really kill somebody?” She asks. I’m tempted to act like it’s true, but the last thing either of us probably need in our lives right now is another lie.

  “No,” I say quietly. “But I’ve thought about it.”

  “Me too!” She laughs with a big broad smile. Her friends watching the conversation relax and go back to talking amongst themselves. “That pimp on 23rd, Stomper, I’d like to take him down. You here like us? You know, working for a livin’?”

  My mind flashes back to Sandstone Ventures and presents a vivid image of me on my knees, Blake’s grotesque hand pulling me toward him. I think of the pictures of Valerie James in various positions with interview subjects. I think of every assignment the members of my journalism class begged for and made promises to get. I realize, in some way, everyone in media is “working for a livin.”

  “Something like that,” I say, trying to sound more streetwise than I am.

  “You a pretty girl,” the young woman says. “You should try Lexington and Dale. They’d probably find a spot for you since you’re an uptown girl.”

  “Um, well, after this experience I think I’m gonna stop.” I say in a non-committal hush. If I was going to lie anyway I should have stuck with the murder – it would be more believable.

  “Duh. That’s what I mean,” she gives me the eye roll that proves I’ve already said something stupid. “You know, Walden House on Lexington? They have those classes to get you certified as assistants and shit. Off the streets and in the doctor’s office or whatever. I wanted to do that but they only have the money to take three or four at a time. But you being uptown and new? They could get you in school.”

  “Thanks,” I say and look toward the wall hoping she reads non-verbals well enough to know I’m done. She does. I try to make a mental note to check out this place she’s telling me about because there might be a story there, and then laugh at myself. Here I am thinking like a magazine owner when at this very moment some judge is handing my magazine to Blake Stone and Valerie James.

  There’s no clock in sight from the holding cell and of course none of us have a watch or any other personal belongings. It makes sense. If we could actually see the hours of our life ticking away while we wait for our destiny we would riot, or at least go insane. Insanity is what I’m trying to hold off as I obsess over what Mark must be doing now. I know he needs my verified signature and I know I am as far from being able to sign those forms as humanly possible. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. The clock on the wall may be absent, but the one in my head just keeps counting down – like a time bomb.

  I lean back and try to calm myself with thoughts of soothing blue oceans and Enya music, but a timeline of events keeps interrupting the peace. I remember the confusion of walking in and seeing that sleazy lawyer, Kenneth Allen in my office, the twisting burning knot in the pit of my stomach when I realized I was being displaced, the searing anger as I drove over to Sandstone Ventures and the wet, primal desire when Mark bent me over his desk.

  From there my mental train switches tracks and the scenery stops showcasing Blake or Valerie or Lynx. All I see is Mark and me.

  I’m swept up in the whirlwind of the last thirty days. It began with Mark, his heavy body pushing me over the desk, the feeling of him behind me – his strength – his lust – creating a powerful longing in me I thought was long since dead. My ears burn when I remember his hot breath on my ear as he said to me, “This is what you need.” That was the door that opened a whole new world to me.

  After that, I went from the frigid and bitter woman, dedicating what was left of my life and energy to words that could be printed on a page to a woman pressed up against an Escalade in a parking lot, my skirt hiked up around my hips as Mark’s hardness pushed into me, thrusting himself into my body over and over until all I could do was wrap my arms around him and hang on as my body spasmed to his rhythm and my mouth fell open in unbridled pleasure.

  “You will submit every part of your body, your mind and your soul to my will,” Mark said at the beginning. I agreed having no idea how much truth that statement would hold. I remember doubting him at the time, even as I dropped to my knees before him wrapping my mouth around his thick cock, taking him as far into me as possible. My head bobbing up and down as I felt his hand guiding me, encouraging me, filling me with his seed. My mouth waters now, just wanting his taste and girth filling it.

  I shake, and then, I remember the frightening moment in the pool, my hands bound, my heart pounding, buoyed in the water only by my trust and his strength.

  Having relied on my ability to stuff my feelings, I thrived on the practic
al and the controllable aspects of my life. Then in one night, over his lap, I opened all the old doors. I can still feel his heavy hand rubbing my trembling ass, the sharp sting of the brush smacking my skin over and over, punishing me, pushing me, burning through my defenses, my denials and getting the very core of my being. I cried that night, releasing the pain and letting go of all regrets. He smoothed the tears from my face and entered my body with the nurturing healing pulse of his being in me. He transformed my tears into the wet joy of passion as I moaned under him.

  Through it all, the hot and angry fucking, the slow and beautiful loving, the trials and temptations, his patient teaching and my stumbling submission, it always ended the same. He held me gently with kisses and kindness telling me it would always be okay. His words from the pool echo inside me now, providing the last life line I have left.

  “I’ll never let you fall.”

  “Julia!”

  I snap out of my trance and realize the whole cell is staring at me. Blushing and hopeful they can’t guess what’s been going on inside my head or my responding swelling cleft.

  “Sharp! Julia!” The guard’s agitated tone evidence her impatience.

  “Yes Ma’am?” I ask, walking over the cell door, shocked to see her opening the heavy grate.

  “Let’s go, Sharp.” She grumbles.

  “I thought I didn’t get a call?” I ask, clearly confused about what’s happening. It’s way too soon for them to be sending me to court. I am just not that lucky.

  “You don’t,” she sighed. “You got friends in high places, Rich Bitch, I’ll grant you that. You’re not even getting arraigned.”

  “I’m not? What’s happening to me then?” She’s so glum I can’t tell if something good or bad going on. She walks me down the narrow hallway and out the same door I came in. We end up in the center of booking. I look around terrified that something happened and I have to start the whole process again when I see a familiar face.

  “Hello, Miss Sharp. Lovely to see you again,” he smiles broadly, holding the manila envelope containing my few personal items.

  “Mr. Clank! What are you doing here?” I stand still in the center of the room unaware the guard has let go of my arm and walked back to holding.

  “Making a deal and helping a friend,” he replies. He hands me the envelope and taps my arm. “I saw you when I walked in. I called Mark and he told me about the violated restraining order. They wanted me to stall on bailing out the Arturi brothers and I wanted them to speed up your release, so it worked out. We don’t have time to talk now; you’ve got to get to the courthouse. Everyone is waiting for you.”

  Clank walks me quickly through the maze of the station. I glance at the clock and it’s 1:10. I have 20 minutes left. I expect him to take me into the parking garage but we end up on the sidewalk in front of the station.

  “By the time we get the car out of here and find parking at the courthouse you’ll be late.” He points up the street. “The courthouse is three blocks that way. Run!”

  Realizing that this is going to be the most important sprint of my life, I drop my shoes at his feet and take off. I won’t fail and I won’t fall. I know it.

  Chapter 3

  Running into the courthouse, breathless and crazed, I’m not entirely surprised they stopped me at the door. I slow down long enough to run some fingers through my hair – transitioning it from an “I just got out of jail” look to an “I just woke up and starting running around like a banshee” style. I manage to hold it together long enough to go through the metal detector which is pretty easy considering I had tossed my envelope and my shoes at Mr. Clank’s feet. Amazingly, they let me go.

  “I need to sign something. I’m looking for the business court, transfers and judicial something or another,” I say to the guard. He manages to choke down a laugh. I can tell what he is thinking, but to his credit he doesn’t say it out loud.

  “Third Floor. Court is 316; Bailiff Signings is 310 on the left.”

  “Thank you,” I nearly kiss him, but run off instead. The elevator doors are closed so I don’t even bother with it and take the stairs bounding up two or three at a time. It takes a minute for my vision to adjust to the bright lighting of the corridor. I dash to 310 as soon as I see the number and open the door to see a group of people standing around a desk.

  Mark is there, with Paul Fries, Kevin Johnson, our former IT person, some blonde woman I don’t recognize who looks like she belongs with the streetwalkers in my holding cell and signing a document in front of the bailiff is Valerie James.

  Oh, no. It’s too late.

  “No!” I call from the door with as much of a voice as my oxygen-deprived body can produce. I stumble into the room, everyone turning to look. I try to get to the table as quickly as I can, with this weird idea I can stop her before she finishes writing her name and reverse the entire last month of my life. Mark steps in front of me.

  “Julia,” Mark says rationally.

  “No!” I shout. I begin hitting him with my useless balled up fists. Over and over I smack him in the chest. “No. No. No. No. NO!”

  “Julia!” He hisses sternly through clenched teeth. “Julia, stop!”

  “It’s gone,” I whimper as I put my head on his chest, collapsing like a deflated balloon. “Lynx is really gone.”

  “No, Julia it’s not.” Mark grabs me by the arms and holds me up so I can look in his eyes. “Lynx is fine. Lynx is going to be yours for a long, long time.”

  “Really? Then what the hell is she doing here and what is she signing?” I attempt to point at Valerie but my arm is too tired to raise more than six inches.

  “She’s signing a deposition.” Mark replies factually. “Now take a second and catch your breath. You’re making a scene.”

  I take his advice and stop for a second to let my body slow down and my brain speed back up.

  “I don’t understand,” I finally confess. He walks me toward the desk where everyone is still staring at me.

  “Valerie gave a legal deposition about Blake. She told the court all about how Blake broke into her files and took her personal documents and photos. She testified that Blake offered her Lynx in return for personal favors. She laid everything out before the court. She made the case.”

  I must still be delirious, because I can’t believe what I am hearing. Valerie James, my arch-rival and lifelong enemy exposed her secrets and went out of her way to save me?

  “Julia,” Valerie says as she glides over. With an unexpected gentle hand she brushes a long strand of my hair out of my face and offers me a tissue to take care of the tears stinging the corner of my eye. “I didn’t know.”

  “What?” I stand there in shock as she leans down and looks at me directly. Her eyes don’t have the fire, the sarcasm, or the superiority I always used to see in them. Right now, they show nothing but compassion.

  “I didn’t know Blake had stolen Lynx out from under you or any of the terrible things he put you through. He called me about two months ago and said Lynx had violated some agreements and wasn’t a good investment. He told me he was planning to shut you down and asked if I would be interested in taking it over. I’ve always wanted Ladies World to have the edge you have, so I agreed.”

  “But you—”

  “Later, Kenneth told me they were monitoring your computer system and you had an absolute bombshell of a story hidden somewhere. But, they didn’t know who wrote it or what it was about. So when they took over the office I came in to try to find it. However, it was a myth. There wasn’t a story. Blake was using me as a pawn to hurt you and help him drive up his stock with rumors of Ladies World’s new prospects.”

  “But there is a…” I begin to say when the odd blond woman in the room coughs loudly. It stops my mouth long enough for me to realize I shouldn’t reveal the Wall Street Story until I’m sure Lynx is really safe. “There are a lot of good stories there.”

  “Yes, there are.” Valerie nods with a look of respect. “You’ve got
a great magazine. And that’s why I decided to give the deposition. When Mark called and said Blake had those pictures I confronted him. He tried to blackmail me with other pictures he stole. I was so grateful when Mark called to say you two retrieved them.

  “Oh, those,” I mutter, slightly embarrassed for her to know I’ve seen them.

  “But that’s not why I came here today. I came because I like you, I respect you, and I love our rivalry. I think it makes us both sharper, better editors. But, I want to spar with you on equal ground, as peers. Kicking you when you’re down, particularly when you’ve been thrown down by the lies of a corrupt asshole like Blake Stone, isn’t very sporting or honorable.”

  “Thank you,” I say earnestly. I almost reach out and hug her but a huge “bang” fills the room. Everyone looks to see what’s going on in the doorway. There stands little Robert Clank, bowtie askew, sweating and smiling. He’s holding my jail envelope in one hand and my shoes in the other. It’s the first time I realize I’ve been standing there barefoot. I feel a blush developing under my skin.