“…Dizzy, drained…”
“Don’t try to move. Wait here.”
She got up and ran back to Stacy. Stacy was looking more revived. The first thing Vera said was, “Stacy, something’s wrong.”
“Is he okay?”
“Something’s wrong with both of you. I’m going to call an ambulance.”
“No, we’ll be fine.”
“But, Stacy—”
Stacy shushed her. “Everything will be fine.”
Vera shook her head uneasily. “Something’s wrong. Both of you fainted at the same time.”
“Everything’s fine,” she said again. She took a deep breath and smiled. Vera only stared at her, unconvinced. Stacy went on, “Help me up.”
“Maybe you should just lie there.”
“No, help me up.”
“I’ll bring you to the bedroom. You need to lie down until you regain your strength.”
“If you wish.”
Vera helped her up, then they shuffled over to the bedroom. She left Stacy on the bed. “Let me check on your boyfriend again,” she said now.
She jogged back to the living room. “Are you okay?” she asked him.
“I’m getting there.” He did look better. “What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know, but it’s not right. I wanted to call an ambulance, but Stacy said…” she faltered, not knowing how to finish the sentence.
“She’s probably right,” the boyfriend conceded. “I’m feeling better. …Help me up.” She grabbed his arm and helped him to the couch, which still had stains from the old people’s secretions.
“Can I get you anything—something to drink?”
“Yeah, that’ll be good.”
Vera went to the kitchen and got some orange juice out of the refrigerator. She filled two glasses. She brought one glass for the boyfriend, then brought the other to Stacy—who was sleeping when she got there. Vera looked at her uneasily. She wanted to check Stacy’s pulse again, but of course, she had no idea what she was doing. Stacy and the boyfriend should be on their way to a hospital. This was not right at all. She walked back to the living room in a daze, wracked by nagging fears. To her amazement, the boyfriend was also sleeping. What the hell was going on? Vera stood there uneasily. She was trembling. She gulped down the orange juice she had poured for Stacy. She was still trembling—
Something began to chime loudly. She jumped, grabbing her heart, but then took a deep breath when she realized that it was only her cell phone. She had left the phone, and the handbag it was in, next to the front door. She went to it, still flustered. It suddenly occurred to her that the detective was probably calling her. She answered the phone eagerly:
“Holmes!”
“Holmes?” a woman said over a bad connection. Vera grimaced when she recognized the voice.
“Mom,” she whispered.
“Who is this Holmes?” her mother demanded, “—your new boyfriend?”
Vera paused before she allowed herself to speak; the reality of her mother made her think of the geriatric porn stars. She cringed again. She changed the subject quickly. “Are you okay, Mom?”
“Am I okay?” she said rhetorically. “Of course I’m not okay. I listened to your show tonight!”
“God, Mom,” Vera said with a groan.
“Such language!”
“I’m thirty-five years old, Mom.”
“You don’t think I can still take you over my knee, Lady V?” the woman asked, using Vera’s childhood nickname. However, they were both chuckling now. Her mother could always make her laugh. “Anyway,” her mother said at last, “what’s bothering you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Something’s bothering you—I could tell by your voice. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Mom,” she said, but as she did, she glanced back at the boyfriend, who was now snoring.
“Does it have to do with this ‘Holmes’ man?”
Vera laughed.
Her mother went on, “Don’t think I forgot about that either.”
“Nah, Mom, he’s fine. Maybe you’ll meet him one day.”
“Hmm,” she said, considering it.
“I really am fine, Mom.”
“Well, you know where to reach me if you need to talk.”
“I know, Mom. …Maybe I’ll take a vacation soon and come down to visit.”
“You’ve been saying that for years now.”
Vera smiled. “I know, Mom, but I mean it this time. …Maybe I just need a break, that’s all.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.” As she said it, she remembered Stacy’s various rants on love versus need. She shook her head to chase away the thoughts.
After she finished the call, she put the phone in her pocket, then stood staring at the boyfriend. Common sense was still telling her to call an ambulance, but then she suddenly wondered if this was even something medical. She had seen so much over the last few days…The only thing that made sense to her now was that Stacy and the boyfriend were now joined somehow. Maybe there was some kind of psychic bond between them, joining their lives and their fates. The idea was preposterous when viewed objectively; it sounded like something that old hippie porn star would say, but that was when Vera remembered the details of Stacy’s first suicide attempt. She remembered the one odd fact: the knife used to cut Stacy’s wrist had been found in the kitchen, washed, and there had been no blood trail from the bed to the kitchen. All that could be explained if Stacy had unconsciously directed the boyfriend to kill her. The implications of that made her shudder. It made her feel as though there were something icy and disgusting within her.
She shuddered again. She did not want to pursue those thoughts too far. In fact, she knew that if she speculated too much about such things she would lose sight of everything. For now, she had to keep to the facts, and fact number one was that she had to keep an eye on Stacy and her boyfriend until she figured this all out. Fact number two was that doing so would be simpler if Stacy and her boyfriend were in the same room. She went to the boyfriend now, saying “Get up—let’s get you to the bedroom.” He seemed to rouse slightly, but did not open his eyes. She hauled him up by the arm, and he came compliantly. She put his arm over her shoulder and began to guide him down the hallway, to the bedroom. Once in the bedroom, she plopped him on the bed and raised his feet onto the bed. She took off his shoes, then Stacy’s shoes. When that was done, she stood staring at them with the same uneasy feeling in her gut. Both of them seemed to be breathing steadily, but this was all wrong—she knew it.
She was just reconciling herself to the fact that she would have to stay up all night—in order to keep an eye on them—when the cell phone began to chime again. She ducked into the hallway, as to not awaken Stacy and the boyfriend. She looked at the caller ID this time, and was relieved.
“Hello, Holmes.”
He was already laughing on the other end of the line. “That was an interesting show you had tonight.”
She laughed uneasily. “Are you calling to curse me out, too? My mother just called me from Florida to ground me.”
He laughed. “Anyway, you must be getting ready for bed.”
“I’m at Stacy’s.”
“Oh? Is everything fine?”
She glanced back into the bedroom. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“Only the fact that every time you’re over there an ambulance or murder investigation is involved.” He had said it jokingly, but there was no response from Vera’s end, and he sobered. “Is everything okay?”
Vera was debating whether she should tell him. She was nibbling on her lower lip. At last, she blurted out, “Stacy and her boyfriend collapsed—I’m looking after them.”
There was a pause. “They collapsed?”
“Yeah, they fell. I’m going to keep an eye on them for the rest of the night.”
“Would you like me to come over?”
Vera turne
d and glanced into the bedroom once more: Stacy and her boyfriend were still sleeping on the bed. “…Yeah,” Vera said into the phone. “Come over if you get a chance.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later.”
After she put down the phone, she went to make herself some coffee. She was so anxious about things that she ended up rushing back to the bedroom a few times, in order to check on Stacy and the boyfriend. When the coffee was finished, she returned to the room and sat on the chair of Stacy’s vanity. Eventually, she picked up one of Stacy’s books (they were on the nightstand, next to 10 Steps to Find out if Your Man is a Cheating Bastard.) She chose a cryptic science fiction book—about a creature that terrorized an expeditionary force that landed on a far-off planet. It was pretty typical, and she knew how it would end: the creature would pick them off one at a time, until the final person (the hero) either killed it or became lunch. About twenty pages into it, she found herself rooting for the creature; forty pages into it, she wished the creature would kill them quicker—that, instead of picking them off one at a time, it would just leap at them while they were holding one of their tedious meetings. Too bad science fiction creatures were rarely efficient….
Her cell phone rang when she was on page sixty-five. It was the detective. She looked at Stacy and the boyfriend anxiously as the phone rang, but they did not stir. She glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was three forty-eight. She went into the hall to talk.
“Where are you?”
“I’m downstairs.”
“I’ll be right down.”
She glanced into the bedroom, to make sure that Stacy and the boyfriend were still sleeping peacefully. However, she was so wary of leaving them alone for long that she ran out of the apartment and down the stairs. The detective was standing directly outside the door when she opened it.
“Come!” was all she said. She held the door open only long enough for him to step in the door, then she ran back up the stairs. He followed her.
She had time to run to the bedroom and make it back to the kitchen before he got up the stairs. She turned on the lights. He was winded from the walk up the stairs:
“Sorry I couldn’t come over sooner. For whatever reason, people kept getting killed in the city.” There was a wry smile on his face.
“That was inconsiderate of them.” She hugged him.
He was smiling when they detached, but then frowned as he watched her fidgety nature. “Why are you so on-edge?”
“I told you what happened with Stacy and her boyfriend—plus, I’ve drunk about six cups of coffee.”
He grinned. “How are your friends? Still sleeping?”
“Yeah, but I have to watch them.”
His frown deepened—
“Damn it, Holmes,” she cut him off, “—don’t play detective right now.” He laughed. “What do you want then?”
“Just stay here with me for a while. Convince me that the world isn’t crazy.”
“Too late for that: I spent the night going from crime scene to crime scene, looking at dead people.”
She looked at him closely. “How do you stand it?”
“What?”
“Tonight, when that woman called me on my show and set me off…she pushed me over the edge. Don’t you ever get pushed over the edge?”
“Going over the edge isn’t always a problem, Vera. The problem is coming back once you’ve gone too far.”
Vera thought about it for a while. She smiled. “Kiss me, Holmes. Help me to find my way back.”
They kissed. She melted into him. Time seemed to fly past—
Someone cleared her throat conspicuously. They looked up to see Stacy standing there.
“Did I interrupt anything,” she said, smiling.
“You’re up?” Vera said, still basking in the dreamy aftereffects of the kiss.
“Yeah.” She looked at the detective. “When did you get here?”
“I invited him over,” Vera said, trying to head off any confrontation. And then, to change the subject, “How are you feeling?”
“I feel great. I feel like I’ve slept for a week. I’m reenergized.”
Vera looked at her uneasily. “How’s your boyfriend?”
“Snoring.”
“Are you sure you guys are okay?”
“We’re fine. You can go home if you want.”
“But—”
“No buts, Vera. We’re fine. Besides,” she said with an insinuating smile, “you two look like you need some privacy anyway.”
Vera blushed, realizing that she was still holding the detective.
“Go home,” Stacy said again. “Everything’s fine here.”
The detective suggested, “My car is right outside.”
Vera was still unsure.
“I’ll call you later,” Stacy said. “Go home—get some sleep…or whatever,” she said, smiling again.
Vera sighed. “Okay, but expect my call. Turn your phone ringer back on.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said with a mock military salute. She then bent down and picked up Vera’s bag, which was still by the door. “Get home safely,” she said, handing Vera the bag.
Vera was still preoccupied as she and the detective walked down the stairs to the car. She felt so anxious that she thought she would not be able to sleep that night. The six cups of coffee practically guaranteed that. However, soon after she sat back in the passenger seat of the detective’s car, she found herself fast asleep. Her dream was a bizarre montage of women chanting, “Claim back your pussy!” and geriatric porn. When the detective roused her in front of her condo, she shuddered. He was standing outside, holding the door open for her. She looked around confusedly.
“We’re here already?” she said.
“You’ll be able to go back to sleep soon, sleeping beauty.” He helped her out of the car and she leaned against him as they sauntered up to the door. Once she had opened the door for them, he whisked her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way. She was on the verge of sleep again when they were in front of her apartment. He put her down and she unlocked the door. He carried her to her bedroom and helped her into bed. The next thing she remembered was waking up in the morning. She was still in the same clothes. She looked around, but the detective was not there. She felt groggy. It was nine thirty-five. She groaned and closed her eyes. It occurred to her that her phone was ringing. It was still in her pocket. It had been muffled under the covers. She took the phone out of her pocket and looked at it. It was her agent. As soon as she answered the call her agent screamed:
“There you are!”
Vera was still groggy. “Huh?”
“Everyone’s been calling me about you—the press, talk shows. They’re saying you tapped into something amazing!”
“What are you talking about?” Vera sat up straighter on the bed, leaning against the headboard with a confused expression on her face.
“The entire ‘Claim back your pussy’ thing!” her agent said joyously. “They’re saying it’s a new movement.”
“A what?”
“A movement. People are already printing out T-shirts! I had a couple shipped to me this morning.”
Her agent’s enthusiasm was suddenly annoying; Vera imagined the woman counting dollar amounts already. She groaned. “What do you want?”
“What do I want?” she said in disbelief, exasperated with Vera for not seeing the big picture. “This is the mother load, Vera! This is the moment we’ve been waiting for: media saturation; total iconic status…!”
Vera was frowning. “What are you expecting me to do?”
“Now is the time to hit the airwaves. I have you booked on two shows today!”
“Two shows? …When? …Where?”
“Don’t worry about that. Just get ready. I’ll have a car waiting outside your apartment in twenty minutes. Wear something casual yet stylish—that yellow pants suit will be perfect.” She hung up the phone before Vera could ask her what the hell she was talking about. Ve
ra stared at the phone, as if begging it to explain what had just happened. She vaguely remembered her agent saying something about a car and twenty minutes. She got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. She remembered Stacy. …She would call later, when she was in the car, driving to wherever her agent had booked her. She had a slight headache—a caffeine hangover—the aftereffects of six cups of coffee.
Thirty minutes later, when she finally made it downstairs, a limousine was waiting outside her condo. She got in. The driver could not tell her which show she was being taken to: he only knew the address. Vera remembered Stacy. She dialed the number. There was no answer. She did not want to go through this again. She tried not to surrender to her wild speculations: thoughts about Stacy and the boyfriend acting out some unconscious suicidal streak within Stacy. The idea seemed laughable in the light of day; and yet, Vera could have said that about her entire weekend.
Vera sat back in the seat and closed her eyes. The reality that she was on her way to a studio to do a talk show hit her suddenly. She remembered her agent’s excited call, but still could not really grasp what had happened. She tried to will herself to understand how all this had happened. She tried to analyze the bizarre statement she had made on air. Was “Claim back your pussy!” really some kind of life-changing statement? She had no idea. All that she knew was that she was a hot commodity now. She knew she was supposed to be happy, but she somehow could not bring herself to be excited. Deep down, she knew that it was all silly. Whatever show she was booked on, she would have to pretend to be the over-the-edge woman she had been last night. She tried to remember what exactly she had said; she practiced the verbal rhythms she had used in her mind. …She was hungry, and her headache was worsening.
When she got to the studio, she realized that she was to be on the popular new talk show of an author named Zane—who specialized in erotica for women. Vera was to be the first guest. Her mind was numbed by the prospect of it, and yet what was there to do but go on with it? Soon, she was in the greenroom. There was food there, and she ate. And then, the show began. Zane introduced her by saying, “Here is the woman who told us all about the power of pussy!” Instantly, women started chanting, “Claim back your pussy! Claim back your pussy!”
How to Kill Your Boyfriend (in 10 Easy Steps) Page 22
