by Alexi Venice
Well, she’s not going to get any fight from me , Amanda thought. I’m tired of fighting—with her or anyone else. I’m not fighting for her. I’m not fighting for work. I’m not even fighting for myself. I’m done.
She sank to the floor of the shower and raised her knees to her chest, letting the heavy stream pelt her head and back. Jen needs to figure out for herself if she wants me.
Two
The next day
Amanda sat alone at her vast kitchen island, her iPad open, displaying her worst nightmare. The nude photo was even worse than being held at gun-point by her assistant, Mel, then watching the gunfight between Tommy and Mel, where Tommy ultimately killed her.
Amanda stared at the front page of SFGATE, the primary online news service for the Bay Area, at two photographs of herself: one fully-nude selfie intended for only Jen, and the other the headshot in bed with Roxy. Well, it was sort of a chest shot too. She studied the incriminating evidence of their romp. Roxy must have taken it on her burner phone that was stolen by the North Koreans.
Sleepy in the afterglow of cunnilingus, Roxy and Amanda stared googly-eyed into the camera. Amanda’s eyes were glassy with impairment. She thought her stare was vacuous, like she had been bitten by a vampire and was in a trance, occupying someone else’s body. Roxy, on the other hand, looked sharp. Sated but sharp. Damn her for taking advantage of me .
Amanda recalled being hopelessly enchanted by Roxy in New York and Cape Cod. Charisma and competence were Roxy’s sexiest characteristics, not her body. Her body didn’t compare to Jen’s, which Amanda now considered to be the gold standard—toned, tan, and tight. Like her mind, however, Roxy’s body was stealthy. Her lanky walk. The way she handled a gun. She was capable in the field—turning the tables with a knife during a game of stabscotch and shooting several Korean assassins, both in New York and later in front of Tommy’s house in San Francisco. In terms of a ripped body, something to admire and hold onto during sex, however, Roxy’s body didn’t compare to Jen’s.
Yet, there was something about Roxy’s dark demeanor that radiated sex appeal. Her nimble movements, her rebellious attitude, her lippy, vulgar language, and, most of all, her brilliance. Jen had been right: Roxy was a savant, memorizing details and numbers, even calculating long numerical equations with ease. All that computing power was a critical tool in solving international crimes. An MI-6 savant. Amanda had always been attracted to intelligence, especially if the person possessed a skill that Amanda didn’t have, and Roxy possessed plenty of those.
Oh yes, Amanda remembered, she couldn’t forget Roxy’s accent. The Scottish brogue added an element of sophistication to her mysterious ways, tempering the darkness that ran so deep. Was it the accent that finally lured me to bed? Or, the way she kissed? Or, her fingers? She has wickedly talented fingers. Shit! Why am I reliving this when I need to think of a way to win Jen back?
Incapable of dragging her eyes from Roxy’s photo, Amanda wondered if she still felt something for her. She felt obligated to call the question, having been dumped by Jen. After declaring that they were “done,” Jen had informed Amanda—by text, no less—that she, Tommy and Kristin had departed for a two-week vacation at the Dawson family compound on Sandy Lake in northern Wisconsin.
To add insult to injury, Jen had texted that she and Kristin would resume living in Jen’s two-bedroom apartment when they returned to San Francisco.
That was 24 hours ago, and Amanda was still counting, by the hour, her life without Jen and Kristin. How could Jen do this to me? Cut me off unceremoniously like hanging up on a telemarketer? Especially for something that happened in the past. Roxy and I had a one-night stand—well, and into the next day—but a one-time romp that never happened again. I confessed and repented. Goddammit, I thought she was over this!
Amanda slapped the counter, her heartbreak progressing to anger. She pushed away, slid off her stool, and stomped over to the coffee pot, where she poured herself another cup, her motions jerky and pissed. Now, what the fuck am I supposed to do while I’m on administrative leave?
Her office was being professionally cleaned to remove Tommy’s blood stains from her carpet and Mel’s blood stains from the wall. She was also supposed to see a therapist—approved and certified by the SFPD and the DA’s Office—for the trauma associated with fighting Mel then watching Tommy kill her. More therapy. Great. I suppose I should call Susan’s office.
After pacing around the kitchen counter a few times, Amanda stopped and looked at her iPad screen again, tapping it back to life. The photos had an intoxicating power over her.
The fully-nude selfie was no surprise. She had mentally prepared for it, in addition to preparing her parents and others for its release. In it, she lay on her side, one hand over her head taking the pic, and her other hand resting on her hip. The selfie was the entire length of her body, her breasts full and one knee bent, showcasing the top of her pussy to her lover. There was no mistaking who she was and what she wanted. She had sexted it to Jen on her burner phone while trying to win her back.
The pose wasn’t as bad as some, but it was unbecoming of a professional, especially an elected District Attorney.
She and her media relations manager, Chance Greyson, had anticipated that only this pic would become public so had prepared a statement to counteract it. They had also taken engagement photos of Jen and Amanda, snapped only a week ago on the golf course, to accompany her formal statement.
Amanda had considered that situation professionally survivable, and Jen had been fully on board, amused even, since she had been the recipient of Amanda’s impetuous sext. Why did Jen ask me if I had texted this pic to Roxy too? Doesn’t she realize that I had broken things off with Roxy by the time I took this pic? Does she really think I’m that big of a cheat? A serial liar?
Amanda looked again at the pic of Roxy and her. So sad. So gaudy. On display for public ridicule. And, now she was alone, simmering in her constituents’ eyes with two nude photos and no media release to counteract them, since Jen had forbidden her from using their engagement photos.
Amanda had contacted Chance in a panic, and he was working on something, but he was taking forever. He had told her to call her parents, Jack and Chloe, and Mayor Woo right away, but she still hadn’t called either. She had told her father a week ago, and he had advised her to preemptively release the nude selfie on a busy news day. Chance had offered to do that a few days ago, but Amanda had stopped him. Now she was paying the price because, if she had preemptively released, at least she would’ve had the benefit of Jen’s and her engagement photos—before Jen saw the Roxy selfie.
What the hell. Time to call my parents. She dialed Jack’s number on her cell.
“Hi, Honey,” he said. “Your mother and I saw the photos.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Guess you decided not to preemptively release.”
She sighed loudly.
He waited a second. “I’m not going to say, ‘I told you so.’”
You just did, though, didn’t you? “Thanks Daddy.”
“Who’s the blonde?”
“Roxy MacNeil, an MI-6 agent.”
“I take it she’s why you and Jen split up a while back?”
“Yeah. I was with Roxy in New York when I took a bullet, and then we were extracted by the CIA to Cape Cod.”
“Were you on something?” he asked. “Your eyes look a little weird.”
“Yes. I was high.”
“I’ll explain the situation to your mother.” He paused a second, then asked, “And, Jen? How is she taking all of this?”
“Not well. She disinvited me to her family lake cabin. She, Tommy and Kristin left yesterday.”
“Oh. I see. I’m sorry. How long will they be gone?”
“Two weeks,” she said, biting back a convulsive sob.
“And, you’re on admin leave?”
“Yes. Just me rattling around my new house alone.”
“We should go somewhere and do some
thing.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“I don’t know…sailing?” he asked.
She met that suggestion with silence.
“Napa?” he asked.
A sarcastic cough then more silence.
“Sorry. Forgot you don’t drink,” he said. “Paris?”
She wasn’t about to confess she fell off the wagon. “I don’t think so.”
“A beach walk?”
“I’ll do that alone later today.”
“Want to visit our place in Molokai?”
She liked Hawaii, and their house there was very comfortable. “I do like the bakery on Molokai. I could go for some warm sweetbread right now.”
“Sleep on it. We’d be happy to take you. You can’t mope around your house alone for two weeks.”
“I know.”
“What about your therapist? Have you seen her lately?”
“No, but I’m going to because of law enforcement protocol. I was in the line of fire twice last week, first by Mel Valentine then by Kara Montiago.”
“You’re going to talk to her about these photos too, right?” he asked.
“Of course. I just have to call her office and make an appointment.”
“Want me to do that for you?”
“Ah… No.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Could you call Mayor Woo for me?” If her tone was any more apathetic, she would be declared dead.
“Of course, honey, but you don’t sound well.”
“That’s because I didn’t sleep last night. I’ll take a nap today.”
“Will you call me later?” he asked. “I can drive up to walk the beach with you.”
“No need,” she said, barely able to squeeze the words out through the ache in her chest.
“Promise me,” he said, then changed his tone to a stern warning. “If I don’t hear from you by three, I’m driving up there.”
“I’ll text you.”
“I promise it will get better. Jen will come around. You’ll see.”
Tears stung Amanda’s eyes. “I’m not…so sure…this time.” There was a long pause while she pressed her eyelids shut and stifled the cry that wanted to strangle her. She lay her cheek on the counter, the cool granite a salve to the raw pain.
“Are you still there?” Jack asked.
“Yes. I need to sleep. Talk to you later.”
After the call, she brought her thumbs to her temples and rubbed in a circular motion, trying to erase the vice-like grip of her headache. Her mind spun in a thousand directions, each one pointing to Jen and the sickening feeling of having done something reprehensible, cheating on the one woman she considered her soulmate. If I could just get high, I could avoid all this fucking pain. On the other hand, taking drugs won’t help, and I should make an effort to stay sober. I just need to go through the hell of being publicly humiliated and losing my lover. To feel alone. Truly alone. To hit rock bottom, so I can decide where the fuck I want to go from here.
Amanda slid down the side of her kitchen island into a heap on the bright, shiny floor. She drew her knees to her chest and hugged her legs, allowing her face to fall against them. The tears flowed in tiny streams down her blotchy cheeks, soaking her leggings. She cried in silence even though she wanted to scream at how unfair life was. How stupid she had been. How she would take it all back if she could. But no sounds filled the air, only her excruciating, silent tears. The worst kind. The kind that strangled her windpipe and reminded her that a black abyss was nearby.
Three
Sandy Lake, Wisconsin
“Hit it!” Jen yelled from the deep, blue water in the middle of the lake.
Jake, her younger brother and partner in crime, slammed the throttle on his tricked-out ski boat, pulling Jen out of the water at the end of a 75-foot rope. She rose gracefully on a slalom ski, a huge bubble of spray encasing her until she burst through it, planing out on the water’s glassy surface.
Sunglasses perched above her nose, a huge smile on her face, Jen cut an athletic silhouette against the late afternoon sun, skiing with an easy grace indicative of a childhood devoted to the sport.
Kristin, not sure whether to be scared or excited, bounced on Tommy’s lap, clutching her pink plastic cell phone in her hand. She insisted on bringing it everywhere.
As Jen cut from one side of the wake to the other, sending 20-foot rooster tails of spray into the air, Kristin realized that her mommy was having the time of her life, so her whoops quickly turned gleeful. She clapped her hands against her phone and shook her bare feet against Tommy’s legs.
Tommy was in awe of Jen’s skiing, again impressed with this woman who had stolen his heart, briefly completed it, broken it, distanced herself from it, mended it, and finally befriended it. But, make no mistake, she still held it in the palm of her hand. Here she was again, making his heart burst with pride while he held their daughter and watched the show.
Flying across the water at the end of a rope, Jen was in her element. She caught a glimpse of a rainbow in the spray her ski created before she shifted her weight and cut the opposite direction across the wake. The rainbow didn’t appear every time she made a rooster, so when it did, she delighted in the good omen, basking in the late sun of the day and the ability to reconnect with the frivolity of her youth. In contrast to her serious medical practice, the simple sport of water skiing allowed her to forget about the stress of her job.
She cast her troubles aside, but Amanda’s face suddenly appeared. God. Amanda. Why am I thinking about her?! Why do I wish she were here, watching me ski, enjoying this moment with me? Go away, cheater. Let me live my life!
Jen cut harder with her ski, leaning down closer to the water as she pulled on the rope with all her might. Jake was driving fast, faster than they had gone in their youth, but Jen weighed a few more pounds than she did in her teens, so she required a bit more horsepower this summer. Plus, Jake had told her that faster was easier because the ski carved across the surface better.
Unfortunately, the edge of the wake was also larger behind Jake’s boat. As she came out of her turn and sliced through the wake, the rudder of the ski skipped then popped out of the water. She knew she was going to fall, so she quickly released the rope and rolled onto her shoulder and back, skimming across the water. Instinct took over and her hands flew to her face, covering her expensive sunglasses. When she came to a stop, a wave washed over her head and she went under briefly, but was relieved to find her glasses still on her face.
Jake had already turned the boat and was coming back for her, so she quickly loosened the ski boots and removed her feet, holding the ski tip up in the air, so he would know exactly where she was. Patrick, her studious brother, came to the driver’s side of the boat behind Jake and grasped Jen’s ski while she swam to the ski rope and pulled herself to the swim platform at the stern.
“Awesome wipeout, sis!” Patrick said above the purr of the boat engine.
“Thanks. That fall took me by surprise.” She hoisted herself onto the platform, rubbing her neck. “I felt every bit of it.”
“Looked like the wake popped the back of your ski.”
“Must have. I misjudged my speed and angle when I made my cut.” She rose to her feet on the platform, steadying herself against the rocking motion of the waves while pulling in the ski rope.
“Mama!” Kristin yelled. Tommy set her down, and she scooted onto the back seat, her toy pink cell phone in her hand as she watched Jen loop the rope.
After a few seconds, Jen hung the coiled rope on the canopy rack then scooted across the back of the boat to land on the seat beside Kristin. Tommy tossed her a towel, and Jen wrapped it around herself, so Kristin could sit on her lap.
“Do you like watching Mommy ski?”
Kristin answered by holding her phone to her ear and saying, “Yes.”
“Mommy will teach you to ski someday.”
Kristin shook her head and said into her phone, “Nooooo.”
Tommy laughed. “Smart girl.”
“Why not?” Jen asked Kristin.
“Scary!” Kristin said, still talking on her phone.
Jen flicked away corkscrew curls from Kristin’s eyes. “You might change your mind someday.” To the group, Jen asked, “Is anyone going again?”
“I’m beat. I had my tasty waves, now I need a cool buzz, and I’ll be fine.” Jake flashed a white grin.
“Nice line, Jeff Spicoli,” Tommy said.
Jake chuckled. “You watched Fast Times at Ridgemont High ?”
“I lived it,” Tommy said.
Jake nodded knowingly. Not a particularly large man, he had a lean, athletic build that attracted the ladies. Fulfilling the stereotypical baby-of-the-family role of the four Dawson children, Jake was a character who liked to ignore rules.
Patrick had no idea what they were talking about. In contrast to Jake and their other brother, Duncan, Patrick was blessed with intellectual acumen. A small, wiry man bearing a cautious smile, he usually preferred to stay inside and study his thick compendium of Dungeons and Dragons, preparing to lead a campaign as the Dungeon Master. After days of prep work, he would skype his long-lost college buddies, so they could play a several-hour game. He shared a competitive streak with his siblings but channeled it much differently.
“Sounds like we all need a beer.” Jen slid the cooler out from under the dashboard.
“I’m down with that since I can’t do water sports,” Tommy said, basking in the 80-plus-degree sunshine, his hairy chest turning bleach-blonde before her eyes. His right arm was still in a sling to prevent him from overusing it, as he recuperated from his gunshot wound, courtesy of Amanda’s assistant, Mel. He had gone down with her first bullet but had rallied to shoot Mel before she killed Amanda.
Jen passed out beers and a juice box for Kristin, and they air-toasted before drinking. The day was so sunny that Jen didn’t even need a coverup after skiing. She air-dried in the hot sun, as Jake drove slowly from one end of the lake to the other, returning to their family point after an hour of listening to music and watching their neighbors ski.
