by Jesse Jordan
My phone buzzes, and I see it's from Ian. Fuck him and his cheating, lying ass.
He told me. He told me he was off the market, that he wanted to be exclusive with just me. And that was after waking up with a horrible headache. Why'd he have to lie to me? Why'd he have to.... why'd he have to break my heart?
“You okay, Tinkerbell?” the guy next to me, a black guy who looks like he might spend his nights gangbanging, asks. “You don't look too good.”
“Bad day. Saw... well, saw my boyfriend kissing another girl,” I reply, sighing. Sometimes, it's good to just offload your soul to a stranger, I can get the feeling Catholics have with confession. “Buncha bullshit.”
“Damn, muthafucka was creepin'?” the guy asks, and I nod. “That's stone-cold shit right there. I did that, my lady'd cut my balls off.”
“I didn't think about that at the time,” I reply, and the guy chuckles. “Maybe I should have.”
“Don't worry girl, you ain't my type, but I ain't blind. You got what it takes to get yourself a man anytime you want. Lots of brothers out there in the city, you know?”
I know he's trying to be helpful, but it's hard to smile, so instead, I nod. “Maybe. Thanks for trying.”
“No problem. Hey, this is my stop. You have yourself a good night.”
The guy gets off, and I get off three stops later, heading for my apartment. I'm still thinking when I see Carl's car, and he gets out, calling to me. “Hey, Mary!”
No. I know that I may not be understanding things very well right now, but there's no way that I can trust Carl. I know that Brenda's getting drugs from him, and I know that Carl's got some sort of thing for me that I don't fully grasp. Either way, he's bad shit, and I turn around, walking away without saying anything. When I hear the roar of his engine I break out into a run, glad that I'd worn my only pair of non-boots today. Still, my backpack is heavy with all my stuff in it and I think about getting rid of it, but I need it. Besides, as I hear the car pull out behind me, I don't have time to do anything but run.
I turn, cutting down a street and wishing for not the first time that I lived in a better neighborhood than I do. Someplace with parks, or even backyards. A neighborhood where I could avoid a man in a car without him simply rounding the corner and speeding up a little. Regardless of if I'm fully rested or not, in shape or not, I'm not outrunning a fucking sports sedan.
“Stop, you dumb bitch!” Carl yells as I try my best, cutting through an ice rink's parking area to get a few feet on him. “Get the fuck back here!”
I don't take the time or energy to reply, it's night time now and I don't have the visibility to spare. Instead, I push myself, cutting a block south before seeing a chance.
It's not quite a high school in Compton, but the five-foot high vertical bar fence that surrounds Chase Street Middle School does surround the entire property. I grab the top and vault, hoping I don't impale myself on the pointy tops as I dig for purchase.
“Mary! MARY!” Carl calls behind me, and I hear him slam on the brakes, but I'm over the fence before he can get out, running through the property. I know this school decently well, I did trash cleanup here as part of the community service portion of my parole one weekend, and there's an advantage: six streets are accessible from the property. I turn left, slowing down and catching my breath, listening for Carl to see if he's trying to pursue me on foot, or if he's going to patrol around the property in his car, or just leave me the fuck alone.
My phone buzzes, and I glance down, seeing that it's a message from Carl. Don't do this, bitch. It just makes it worse for you.
I ignore him and think. We were going south, so the easiest way for him to go around the building would be to do it in a counterclockwise circle. So, if I head north, I should be able to get to Lanark Avenue without him catching me.
But Carl's smart, he's going to expect me to think... my phone buzzes again. Carl again. Pick up, or else my next call is to your parole officer. Hillary's not going to like what I have to say, and trust me... I'll pass whatever you think she'll put me through.
It doesn't matter, I won't let him shake me. I make a decision, there's a bus stop next to the school, but Carl will expect me to go for that. What I need is some other exit, so I head the opposite way from the bus stop, out to the strange little corner where Elkwood Street goes off at an angle. I jump the fence and run, turning left and then right after three blocks before I let myself slow to a walk. My t-shirt's soaked with sweat, and I look for a street sign. Okay, Ingomar... I know the area still and I head up the street, which comes out onto a relatively main road. I see a bus stop and jump on, not caring where it goes except to put some distance between me and Carl.
I get lucky when I see the bus number and the route, it doesn't exactly go to Pierce but it goes pretty close. I get off about a half mile from campus and walk, trying to not look nervous. I find myself falling back into some of my old junkie habits, doing my best to look cool, calm and collected even though I'm nervous as hell, and every engine sound I hear makes me want to jump out of my skin.
I cross onto campus, looking for the building that maybe, just maybe, could be a refuge right now. Pierce College is actually one of the better-funded junior colleges in Los Angeles. Mainly because a lot of the guys who can't quite academically qualify for a scholarship to USC or UCLA but are talented athletes come here, and transfer when their grades are good. A lot of Pierce grads have gone on to the NFL, the NBA, places like that.
Because of that, the alumni association has big bucks. And since they must spend it somehow, they spent part of it by making a “Student Learning Center” that's open twenty-four hours a day.
I go inside and show the desk staff my student ID, heading upstairs to one of the 'study pods,' which are just little cubicles that have lockable doors. I find an empty one and set my stuff down, locking the door but leaving the lights on. Exhaustion washes over me, and my phone buzzes again. I look, seeing that it's another call from Ian, but I'm too tired to answer, my body just isn't listening to my brain right now, and I close my eyes, hoping that nobody thinks sleeping in one of the pods is that big a sin.
I wake up with a stiff neck, my left hip tingling, and understanding a little bit the meaning of the word headache. I didn't eat dinner at all last night, and after sleeping with my head on a desk and in a folding chair all night, my body is hurting.
I stand up, stretching and hearing enough pops in my spine to qualify for a string of firecrackers before I roll my shoulders. I take a second to draw in a big breath before I sigh, trying to figure out what to do. I can't go back to my apartment, not until I know Carl isn't going to be there. I can't even go to my job, there's no way I can do that, Carl knows about the job, and my boss is probably a junkie or involved in dealing too, or both.
I glance at the clock and see that it's just after eight in the morning, I need to do something. I decide to call Hillary, she is my parole officer and maybe she can give me some help. That's what she's for, supposedly.
“Hello?” Hillary says when she picks up, her voice rather perky for this time of morning.
“Hillary? Hi, it's Mary Waller. Uh.... I need some help or at least some advice.”
“Mary. I was just thinking of giving you a call, I got a message on my machine this morning from Carl Godwin, saying he thought you might be using again. And you've stopped going to NA meetings. Care to explain?”
I take a deep breath, Carl wasn't just blowing smoke. Still, I can't just level accusations at him without some sort of proof, or else I come off as a junkie just trying to play the blame game. “I explained to Carl, Hillary. I quit going to his group because I was having problems with the timing of it, that's all. I'm trying to really apply myself at college, and so I wanted to go to a group closer to my apartment. And I'm totally clean, I swear.”
“You're not talking like a jonesing junkie, I'll give you that much,” Hillary says. “So, what's got Carl's crucifix in a twist?”
“I think... well,
he's kinda possessive, or maybe just too protective,” I reply, trying to sound level. “I think his feelings were hurt when I stopped going to his meetings. They got more hurt when I told him I was looking for another group, that's all. He just doesn't believe me when I tell him it's nothing but convenience's sake.”
“I see,” Hillary says, with a sort of bored tiredness that reminds me that she probably oversees a couple hundred cases. Some girl in her twenties on parole after her first smack bust isn't high on her priority list. “Okay, well, you're scheduled to come in next week for your monthly check-in. I'm just telling you now, be ready to give me a full spectrum test, hair, urine and blood. And I'll be watching you drop trou, just a warning. Got it?”
“I gotcha. Hillary, I'm clean as a whistle, seriously.”
“I hope so. You've been an easy file so far, Mary. Let's keep it that way, okay?” Hillary says. We say our goodbyes, and I stretch again, trying to figure out what to do. I see I've got three missed messages, two from Carl that are the same sort of slightly threatening but not provable in court stuff that he sent before... and one from Ian.
Dear Mary,
Please call me. I understand that you saw something that made you angry, made you feel betrayed. But it wasn't what you think it was. I swear. Please, give me a call, so we can talk. I need to know that you're safe.
Ian
I'm almost tempted to call him, but I don't know. What if...
My phone rings and I see a number that I didn't expect. Brenda. I should tell her to fuck off, she was kissing Ian, but I answer it, if for no other reason than pure habit. “Hello, Brenda.”
“Mary.... oh God, Mare, I'm sorry. I... I fucked up so bad.”
I can hear the desperation in her voice, but I honestly don't care right now. “If you're calling for sympathy, you've reached the wrong number.”
“No... No, I know that I don't deserve any. Ah fuck it hurts, it hurts so bad. He cut me off, Mary. He told me to try and seduce Ian. Someone who works there is one of his customers, and he told me... he told me if I didn't fuck Ian he'd cut me off. He was crazy about the fact you left him. He would do anything to break you and Ian up. Ah, Mare...” Brenda says, breaking down into pained sobs. “Mary, it hurts, it hurts so bad!”
Good. That's what you fucking deserve, I think, but I don't say. She's being tortured enough. The monkey's definitely digging in hard before she can get it off her back. “Why are you telling me this? Guilt?”
“Yes,” Brenda admits in between sobs in a whispery, lost voice. “But also.... oh, I was so fucked up yesterday Mary, but I remember his face, the pain he was going through with what I did to him, to you... I'm sorry.”
“I hear you. Brenda, I'm not saying I don't understand you, but....”
“But this might be the end of our friendship,” Brenda says, in a voice that lets me know that the fact might be more painful than even the physical pain she's going through. “I know. But, I'm going to hold onto hope. I need something to hold onto, anyway.”
“Hold onto it, Brenda. Get yourself clean again somehow. Where are you?”
“At my place,” she admits. Brenda has a cheap apartment in the student housing blocks that sort of is a dorm, but not really since Pierce is a community college. “I can't go out right now. I'm not... I can barely walk, you know how it is.”
“I know,” I whisper, thinking back to my first big kick after I nearly OD'd. I'd been in so much pain, and the heroin had fucked me up so much I literally shit myself, and didn't know it until I woke up in police custody. “Listen... do you want me to check on you later?”
“I.... thank you.”
“Later. And keep Carl away. I see a Mercedes, and I'm ghost, got it?”
“Got it. Thank you, Mary. I'm sorry.”
I blink, nearly crying. “Yeah. Me too.”
Brenda hangs up and I put my phone in my pocket, trying to think. I need food, and there's a Jack-in-the-Box that's about a half mile away. I've still got a few dollars, and there's an ATM there... if I've got any money in my account. I might, but it's not much. Ah well, that's what debit cards with overdraft protection are for.
After getting a steak and egg burrito combo, the most calories per cent on the breakfast menu, I sit down and eat, forcing myself to think things through.
Ian wasn't lying. He wasn't kissing Brenda, or at least he wasn't trying to. Instead, she was trying to make things look the way they did because of Carl.
Ian's message was true. He does care about me, and his voicemail...
I've only eaten half my burrito, but I pull out my phone again, dialing Ian's number. I barely have a chance for it to ring once before he picks up, hope in his voice. “Mary?”
“Ian.... oh Ian,” I greet him, nearly crying. “Ian, I need you.”
“I need you. Where are you?” he asks. “Mary, about yesterday....”
“I know. Listen, I really need to talk to you face to face, this isn't something that I think should happen over the phone. Can you come get me? I'm in a Jack-in-the-Box on the corner of Canoga and Oxnard near Pierce College.”
“I can be there in twenty minutes. I don't want to ask... but are you safe right now?” Ian asks, and my heart melts at the concern in his voice. “After what happened last night, we're in some deep shit, and I need to know you're safe.”
“I'm dirty, sweaty, smell like an old gym sock.... but I'm safe. I'm in the restaurant, and I'm not going to leave until I see your car out front. Nobody else knows where I am.”
“I'll be there in twenty. Mary, thank you.”
“Thank you. I'll see you in twenty,” I tell Ian, hanging up without saying what I want. There'll come time for that later though when I can see his face.
Chapter 12
Ian
Mary's nervous when I come into the restaurant, her hands clutched around her backpack like a shield while I approach. When I get close I slow, trying to reassure her feelings. She looks like hell, and I don't want to freak her out anymore. “Mary?”
Mary sets her bag aside and surges out of the seat to hug me, saying nothing but I understand all the same. I hug her back, making sure to be gentle and comforting, not crushing her with the desperate feelings inside me.
“Okay, let's go to my place,” I reassure her. “You'll be safe there, I just moved in and there's no way anyone can track me there, and the guys are meeting us there. I want there to be no questions, no doubts between us.”
“I like that,” Mary says, letting go and getting her bag from the seat. We leave the restaurant, but she says nothing else as we drive to my house. Mary looks around a little, and I can understand, she's probably surprised by the sheer normality of my neighborhood. There's no mansions, no big places. Just normal looking twenty-five-year-old ranch style houses lined up one right after another, all in earth tones, with regular looking cars parked in their driveways. To fill the silence, I explain.
“When Joey and Rocky both moved out of LA to Ventura County, it was sort of stupid for us to all drive from our various places to Burbank to do any sort practice or recording. I mean, the three of us like to hang out together from time to time too, and since none of us are surfers or anything like that, it felt silly for me to keep my apartment in Huntington. So, I started looking around. I wanted someplace closer, especially with Rocky's idea of maybe putting in a studio at his place, but I wasn't ready to splurge on something big in the hills or anything like that. Canoga Park was a good compromise. And despite the tank tops, jeans, and rock music, I kinda like the quiet suburban life.”
We park outside my house, where there are two cars waiting for us, and I'm glad that I gave my brothers keys. “What's this?” Mary asks though, confused. “You have three cars?”
“No,” I answer, shutting off my engine. “Like I said, I asked Rocky and Joey to come here with Cora and Andrea. You need to hear from all of us what happened at the studio, and they need to get to meet you.”
“Why?” Mary asks, and I look over, taking her
hand gently.
“Because like I said in my voicemail. I care about you. And I care about them. I can't keep all the sides of my life apart like that. I won't demand many things of you Mary, but I can't be asked to keep you separate from the rest of my family, and these guys, they're my family. I'm godfather to Rocky's son, and practically another uncle to Joey's nephew.”
Tears start to form in Mary's eyes, and I think for a moment she's going to ask me to take her away when she smiles, wiping at her eyes. “Thank you.”
Her words make me realize the fears she had, and I almost slap my forehead at how stupid I've been. Running away from a mother who abused her, exploited by an ex-boyfriend, going to jail, even being hurt by her friend and group leader, all Mary has wanted is someone to accept her. I swallow the lump in my throat and nod, getting out to go around to open the door and escort her into my house.
As soon as we open the door I hear conversation stop and footsteps approach, and of course, it's Cora who sticks her head out of the living room first, and she smiles. “Hey guys, Joey poked around in the kitchen. You hungry?”
Mary nods nervously, and Cora grins, stepping forward and taking Mary's hand. “Then come on. It's not much, Ian's shopping habits are terrible, but peanut butter on toast is always good.”
Cora bundles Mary a little ahead of me, and I go into the living room, reassured by just how casually normal everything looks. Rocky's sitting on the carpet by one end of the couch while Joey and Andrea are snuggling together on the other end. Cora leads Mary to a spot in front of my coffee table where there's a plate of quartered up pieces of toast and a little bowl of peanut butter before she goes and sits down on the couch behind Rocky, who gets up to slap hands with me. “Hey bro, sorry we used our keys.”
“No problem, that's why I gave them to you guys,” I reply, clapping backs with him. “Joey, thanks too.”
