Close Encounters

by Kitt, Sandra

  When Carol arrived home from her classes, the red indicator light was blinking on her phone. There were five recorded messages. She took her time putting away her coat, setting down her tote bag, removing her shoes. She realized she was stalling, putting off the moment when she would have to listen to each voice, hoping that one of them would be Lee. She knew that he understood she was annoyed by that awkward scene in his apartment. He’d said so in several messages right afterward, when she’d still been too angry to reply, and then he hadn’t called again, leaving her to imagine the worst.

  Carol finally pushed the playback button on the machine and listened to the whirring rewind. The five messages played through. None of them was from Lee. The simple solution, of course, was to call him herself. Put an end to her misery… and set aside her stubborn pride. But she couldn’t.

  And yet she’d been sustaining herself for nearly a week on dreams and fantasies. A vivid memory of the first time they’d made love was enough to give her pleasurable sensations in flashback. Hearing his voice had penetrated her emotional blockade and thrown her into confusion. It was obvious that her defenses were not ironclad.

  She missed him.

  But apparently Lee had taken his signals from her and cut his losses. Just when she realized she might very well be falling in love with him.

  When her phone started ringing Carol didn’t move. She waited out the recorded greeting to hear who was calling.

  “Why are you making this so difficult…”

  She quickly broke in.

  “Hi, Wes. It’s me.”

  “It’s about time. I was going to give you until tomorrow morning before I called the police and had them break down your door.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Well, I’m serious. How are you doing?” he asked, his voice softening. She’d told him everything about the scene with Karen and how she’d walked out on Lee.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Right,” he muttered. “I know that tone. Last heard when you were about sixteen and making yourself and everyone else miserable.”

  “Wesley, if you’re going to give me a hard time, I’m going to hang up the goddamn phone!”

  “That’s my girl,” he crooned. “Them’s fightin’ words.”

  “All right, all right. I’m not going to let you bait me. I’m not going to get upset.”

  “Good. Now we can talk.” Again his tone changed. “I’m sorry, Carol. This whole thing sucks. I’d like to take the guy and punch out his lights. But I suggest something easier and less likely to land my ass in jail.”

  “You want me to sue,” she murmured flatly.

  She still felt the same way she always had about the idea. But maybe her brother was right. Why not take the money that no one could dispute was owed her?

  Still, what to do with the uneasy sense that it was blood money, a payoff? That it was buying amnesty for the police department and selling her out. That it would not give her peace of mind or make everything all right. It would not make up for the cruel circumstances in which she and Lee had been brought together, or the silly way in which they had parted.

  “Of course,” Wes began, “this is an open-and-shut case. The city would rather spend millions to settle suits against the misconduct of law enforcement officers than train and retrain them properly. Unfortunately, not coming down hard on the cops in the first place may have convinced them they’re entitled to behave like jerks. Not on my tax dollars, they’re not. Let’s fight to get some of those bucks back.”

  “Wes, wait a minute—”

  “Look, we haven’t really sat and talked about how to do this, so don’t shoot down the idea yet. Sorry—I shouldn’t have used that particular term.”

  “Never mind.”

  “Let me come and see you, okay? We can have dinner together. I’ll even pay for it. I bet you could use the company.”

  “I don’t want any company.”

  “What about Lee Grafton?”

  She gnawed her lip and closed her eyes.

  “Were you getting it on with the guy?”

  “Don’t be vulgar and rude, Wesley.”

  “If I’m going to represent you, you have to tell me the truth. I’ll take your hostile response to mean yes. I’m sorry, Carol.”

  “What are you sorry for?”

  “You’re my sister. I know you can take care of yourself, but it sounds like you got blindsided on this one. And if I can put in another two cents’ worth of observation, it seems to me that he mattered more to you than you’re willing to admit.”

  “Can we talk about something else?” she asked quietly, furious that she was about to cry at her brother’s peculiar but endearing way of sympathizing with her. Tears weren’t going to do her one bit of good.

  “Sure, if you like,” he said. “Have you heard from him?”

  “I don’t want to hear from him,” she said forcefully.

  “Yeah, right. I don’t believe you, but okay, we’ll drop that line of questioning. I reserve the right to recall the witness at a later time. What are you going to do?”

  “Lick my wounds for a few days. Get back to my life. I’ll get over it.”

  “How much damage has been done?” Wesley asked in a surprisingly gentle tone.

  “Enough.” Carol’s voice quavered softly. “A lot. I miss him.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll give you one more day to feel sorry for yourself, then I’m driving in, I’m taking you out to dinner, and I’m going to let you cry on my shoulder. If you plan on getting violent, I refuse to be the fall guy. Otherwise I’m there for you. Are we clear?”

  “We’re clear. Wesley?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t know why I ever thought you were a pain in the ass.

  He howled with laughter. “The feeling’s mutual—even though you take a lot of explaining and a ton of work.”

  Carol sighed as she put down the newspaper. At first she’d thrown it into the garbage, ignoring the temptation to scan for any further news on her case. She’d straightened the studio, gotten her things together in preparation to leave work for the day, and finally given in. She found what she was looking for—a page two story in the local news section that revealed that Carol Taggart, innocent shooting victim, was considering filing a lawsuit against the NYPD and the City of New York.

  She didn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified. She’d already allowed Wes to prepare preliminary documents for presentation and file for a settlement in a wrongful injury and negligence suit. Wes’s attempts to explain that the suit was not personal but a mere formality in a pro forma settlement had not made a difference to her. She was still plagued by a disturbing sense of betrayal—of herself… and of Lee.

  Her stomach positively cramped with anxiety at the thought of how this latest indictment would play out now that the press had broken the story. What would Lee think?

  She wasn’t going to go there. There was already plenty of room for doubt. What if Lee wasn’t as guilty or as insincere or as hypocritical as he’d been portrayed? What if, like her, he was a victim of circumstance and other people’s manipulations?

  Carol resumed packing her tote bag, already dreading the trip home, and wondering how long this incessant mooning was going to continue before she got over Lee Grafton. She told herself it was just as well that she had walked away from a relationship with trouble written all over it—but she didn’t convince herself for a moment. Someday she would wake up and realize she no longer felt anything for him, she told herself. But she didn’t believe that either.

  Wishful thinking.

  As Carol picked up her two sketch pads, several loose sheets fell out from between the pages and fluttered to the floor. She bent to retrieve them and stood transfixed as one of the images caught her attention.

  It was the quick sketch she’d done of Lee posing for her class. It managed to capture the essence of the man she’d come to know. Broken lines indicated his hair. The side of his face, seen
from behind his right shoulder, revealed his cheekbone, nose, chin, and jaw. The long line of his back was interrupted by his arm and elbow. And underneath his arm, solid dark lines depicted the holster containing his automatic.

  She stared long and hard at the picture. It was accurate. It was good. It exactly captured the way she saw Lee. Which was confusing, because it didn’t fit the image of him that Wesley and Karen had tried to paint. Briefly, Carol was tempted to crush the delicate drawing. Instead she slipped it protectively between the pages of the pad and placed it in her bag.

  “Hi.”

  She jumped at the sound of the voice and turned to find Matt standing in the studio doorway. He was wearing a sports jacket with a scarf draped around his neck and carrying his saxophone case.

  “What are you doing here?” Carol asked.

  Matt took his time approaching her, regarding her with speculation and interest.

  “I was in the neighborhood. Went to see a friend and talked to the club manager at Winston’s about doing a few weekend runs. I gave him some dates.”

  “And?”

  “And I thought I’d stop by and say hello. Looks like I just caught you.”

  Carol headed for the closet and removed her coat. “Just. I’m finished for the day.”

  “So how are you doing?”

  “I’m fine. And yourself?”

  Matt shook his head ruefully. “I swear, we sound like we don’t even know each other.”

  She shouldered her tote bag and headed for the door, flipping the light switches one at a time. “Maybe we don’t,” she said as she waited patiently for him so she could lock the studio.

  He picked up his horn and joined her in the hallway. “Look, maybe it would be better if we could just forget everything that’s happened recently. All right, so it ain’t gonna happen between us anymore. We can still be friends.”

  Carol strolled to the stairwell leading to the first floor. “We were friends before this past month, Matt. That hasn’t changed as far as I’m concerned. I was always proud of the fact that despite the divorce there were no hard feelings.” She glanced sideways at him. “At least I didn’t have any. And,” she continued, “I guess I didn’t mind that you seduced me again. It was very nice. I don’t regret it.”

  “Yeah.” Matt chuckled proudly. “We were kickin’. Still had the right stuff.”

  They descended the stairs and approached the exit. Outside, it had begun to rain. Matt cursed softly in annoyance. Carol turned to wait it out on a long bench against the wall, just inside the entrance. Matt sat next to her.

  “So why did you really track me down today?”

  “Now you sound like the old Carol. Trying to second-guess everything I say.”

  “That’s because the new Carol knows that people still lie to her and try to use her,” she said tightly.

  Matt turned toward her. “It’s that cop, right? You should have known you couldn’t trust him, Carol. What did he do? Dump you as soon as he got what he wanted?”

  She shook her head. “No. I was the one who walked away.”

  “So you’re getting back by filing a suit against the city?”

  Carol sighed. “Bad news travels fast.”

  “It’s not bad news if you walk away with a few mil. That ain’t chump change, even after the lawyers take their cut. You could do a lot with that kind of money.”

  She had not given a single thought to what she would do if she were awarded even a portion of the money Wes was asking for. The money might bring closure. It wasn’t going to buy her happiness.

  “I suppose. I haven’t started making a list yet.”

  Suddenly she realized something. Her mind cleared as if someone had dashed cold water in her face. She turned sharply to Matt.

  “How did you know about the lawsuit? The papers only said I might take legal action.”

  Matt shifted, crossing an ankle across the opposite knee. “I got a call from the legal counsel of NYPD. They want me to give a deposition in the case.”

  “You?” Carol said in genuine surprise. “Why? You had absolutely nothing to do with it.”

  “I haven’t responded yet. I figured I better talk to a lawyer myself. Maybe Wes. Just in case.”

  “Just in case, what?” Carol asked, her interest growing. “How did you get involved in this?”

  “I guess because I’m your ex-husband. A couple of those cops you spoke to at the hospital interviewed me.”

  She frowned. “I didn’t know that. Why didn’t you tell me they contacted you?”

  “I figured all the players knew the same thing. Full disclosure and all that. I just hope that white cop gets what he deserves for playing you the way he did. Suspension isn’t good enough.”

  “He was suspended?” she asked, stunned.

  “That’s what I heard.”

  Carol could only stare at Matt. Suddenly he seemed to have more inside information than even her brother.

  “Why was he suspended?” she asked. “I guess you know that, too.”

  “For shooting you, I guess,” he said.

  “But he said … they weren’t a hundred percent sure. Was his partner suspended too? He wasn’t alone when the shooting occurred.”

  “I don’t know,” Matt said indifferently. “Probably.”

  Carol was confused, and she stared at Matt warily. Everything he was telling her only increased her uneasiness. She shook her head.

  “This doesn’t make sense, Matt. Why would the department suspend him? My suit is against the city. I haven’t named or blamed any particular person.”

  “So maybe he’s the sacrificial lamb.”

  “But … whose sacrifice?” Carol murmured. Then, all at once she understood. “You told them, didn’t you?” she blurted out.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You told the police, someone, about me and Lee.”

  “You don’t know that. Why would I do that?”

  She jumped up and stared down at him in angry bewilderment. “To get even. That’s always why people try to do other people in. Because they get mad when things don’t go their way. And they want to get even!” she almost screamed at him.

  He jumped up to face her. “Carol, I didn’t tell them you were seeing him.”

  “But, you told them something. You told them enough. Oh, my God,” she moaned, trying to figure it all out. “Was it because I wouldn’t give you another chance? Because I was attracted to Lee?”

  “How about because he could have killed you!” Matt reminded her.

  “Matt, you had no right.”

  “I had every right. How could you forget that you’re a black woman who’s had more shit done to you by white people than anybody I know.”

  “To damn all white people is to damn my family. To say that because I’m black I’m a victim is just an excuse to give up! You don’t have my permission to make me a victim. Yes, I was the one who got hurt. But if I can forgive what happened, you need to accept it. It’s none of your business after all.”

  “The guy is using you.”

  “You say that because he’s white,” she scoffed. “My parents taught me—”

  She stopped as what her parents had always taught her suddenly occurred to her—that people prove themselves by their actions. That sincerity can’t be disguised. She picked up her tote bag from the bench. “I wish you hadn’t interfered, Matt. You’re wrong about Lee Grafton, but I don’t owe you any explanation as to why. It was my decision to trust him … to forgive him.”

  “You’re making a big mistake,” Matt said firmly.

  She shook her head. “Why is it everyone thinks they know better than I do what’s good for me?”

  Carol left him standing there and walked out into the rain. In a few moments she was so wet that no one would have guessed she was crying.

  “Goñyo,” Barbara whispered in frustration.

  She paced the living room, sidestepping her daughter’s toys on the floor. She clasped her hands to
her face and swept back her long hair, sighing with pent-up nervous energy. She had never been good at waiting, trying to relax, or having days off. She thought about her job constantly. It was as if, despite her child, and her mother’s constant presence, her only life was with her team.

  She stopped in front of the window and gazed out. It was raining lightly. Car tires hissed on wet pavement, and the bleak, mostly deserted streets made her feel confined, isolated. Scared.

  Barbara sat in her mother’s recliner and clicked on the TV. Nothing but endless talk shows of people complaining and crying. She surfed rapidly through the channels with no idea of what she was looking for. The images flew by. Finally she clicked the set off, plunging the room back into silence. She felt like she was suffocating. What was she going to do if Mario decided to tell on her? She had no assurance that the department would back her up. She could be tossed out just to ward off press and criticism.

  Like Lee.

  She took a deep breath. Lee had told her to stay calm. Nothing was going to happen to her. The department wasn’t going to sacrifice her on the altar of public opinion. He had assured her that his suspension had nothing to do with her.

  Maybe not. But if they found out about Mario …

  So Lee had been getting it on with that woman. She couldn’t see it. He was too smart to get that close to anyone involved in a case. But the reminder that she had been doing exactly the same thing increased her agitation.

  “Shit!”

  She gnawed on a fingernail and jumped, startled, when the doorbell rang. She frowned, listening. It rang again. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

  Barbara looked out the living room window, trying to glimpse whoever was standing on the stoop. It was a bad angle and she could see nothing.

  Her inclination was to ignore the bell. But what if it was someone from the department? It might even be Lee. She hurried down the long, dark hallway to the door. Once more she tried to see the figure through the peephole. Two men, standing with their backs to her, were talking quietly. From the department, she thought.

  She opened the door. “Yes? What is—”