by Lynn Ames
23
Lynn Ames
Jay sighed, turning her attention back to the coverage. CNN stayed with Kate live as she rescued the child, and then began interspersing images and audio of the reporter assisting other victims with the footage shot earlier of her interviewing the senate majority leader, anchoring a newscast, background information about her, commentary about the capitol, and speculation about how many people might have been in the building at the time of the explosions. They interviewed experts about the type of incendiary device that might have been used, other experts about the hot issues in New York state politics at the moment, still more experts about what person or groups might have been behind the attack, and everything else CNN could think of to round out the dramatic story that was unfolding less than ten miles from Jay’s hotel room.
When she got tired of CNN’s experts, Jay flipped the channel to WCAP. There was the dark-haired journalist, crawling on her stomach in what appeared to be a very unstable area of the capitol, trying to reach a middle-aged man who was partially buried under a piece of the ceiling.
Although the image was dark, Jay could see that Kate’s once immaculate suit was shredded and covered in blood, her face and hands streaked with ash and small cuts. Her voice sounded tired and strained as she talked to the man and began digging at the rubble. The sight made the blonde’s guts clench. “Oh, Katherine,” she sighed sadly.
At 11:45 p.m., when Jay couldn’t stand it anymore and it looked as though the station was about to end its coverage, she called the front desk and hailed a cab to take her downtown in the vicinity of the capitol. The closest the cabbie could get her was two blocks away. He pointed out the direction in which she needed to go and shook his head at her; everyone wanted a piece of the action, he reasoned.
Kate had just emerged from the wreckage that was once the capitol.
Knowing she was off the air, she spoke into the microphone to Phil, thanking him for hanging with her and assuring him that she was fine. He scolded her affectionately for ignoring his orders, then told her she’d done a fantastic job; take the rest of the night off. She laughed at him as she unclipped the microphone, effectively severing their audio connection. Turning to Gene, she gave him a huge bear hug and a kiss on the cheek; his blush was visible even in the moonlight. She thanked him for his dedication and professionalism, and for his friendship. Handing him her earpiece and microphone, she told him to take the satellite truck and head home.
And then Kate walked off alone, moving over to a marble bench in front of the fountain on the Empire State Plaza just across the street from the capitol, where she sat down heavily, putting her head in her hands.
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The Price of Fame
From some thirty yards away, Jay watched as the reporter hugged her cameraman and then walked off by herself. Part of her resisted going further, not wanting to intrude on this heroic woman when she seemed to want to be alone. Jay could plainly see that the anchorwoman was exhausted both physically and emotionally. But a bigger part of her was desperate to offer comfort, so she followed her heart.
As Jay got closer, she began questioning what she was doing; she couldn’t believe how nervous she was. What if she doesn’t remember me? Or what if she does remember me but she doesn’t want to see me?
Heck, the last time she saw me I was pretty much catatonic. She recalled with a painful jolt that awful night nearly four months to the day after her skiing accident when the compelling stranger had saved her once again, this time from being raped.
Jay was heading back up the hill from the library after a long night of studying for her Art History final. It was a nice early May evening; the stars were out in abundance and the moon shone brightly. She looked up to the night sky to enjoy the view and was startled when she was tackled from the side, pulled off the path, and slammed to the ground.
Jay struggled, trying to escape, but her attacker was much bigger and stronger than she. He pinned her arms to the ground with his knees and smashed his fist into her jaw. It was then that she saw the knife and the fact that he was wearing a stocking mask. Her eyes reflected her terror as, without saying a word, he ripped her blouse open with his free hand and cut her bra off with the blade. She screamed once before he backhanded her again across the face, his hands roughly twisting her nipple as he reached down lower to unbutton her blue jeans. Jay tried once more to squirm free and was rewarded with a punch to her midsection. She grunted as the air exploded from her body, closing her eyes and willing it to be over soon.
And then the weight simply disappeared off her, replaced moments later by the safety and comfort of that tall, dark stranger, who had come to her rescue for a second time.
At first, when she heard her name being called, Jay thought the insistent voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she didn’t trust it. She didn’t trust anything right then; she just wanted to die.
Then the woman had spoken again. “Jay, honey, are you hurt? I need to see. Can you straighten out your arms and legs so that I can see where you’re hurt?”
At the term of endearment, said with such compassion, the young co-ed looked up momentarily with glassy eyes, trying to focus on the face gazing down at her with such concern and tenderness. Could it really be her, or is my mind playing tricks on me? She had thought so often about 25
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the tall, dark stranger, she wondered if this wasn’t a figment of her imagination.
Then she’d been wrapped in warmth. The tall woman’s sweatshirt smelled sweet. Just like her, Jay thought through the numb haze of shock.
For two days afterward Jay hadn’t spoken a word. The few friends who knew of her ordeal had been very supportive, and the rape counselor from the hospital had found her a great therapist. Over the course of the next year, with the help of that counselor, she had been able to work through the devastating effects of the incident. She still had occasional nightmares, reliving the horror in her sleep. But always, always she remembered that feeling of safety she had gotten from the hand holding hers that night: that tender, compassionate voice and presence that had been her salvation.
Vaguely, Kate was aware of footsteps echoing on the marble walkway. She looked up slowly, trying to focus her abused eyes, thinking dimly to herself, Wow, you must be more tired than you know; you’re hallucinating. For five years she had tried hard not to dwell too much on the memory of the one woman who had made her consider the possibility that love at first sight might be more than a cliché. Now, for the second time that day, Kate found herself thinking about Jay. Not only that, this time she was seeing her as if she were really here, in Albany. She thought about the very first time she had looked up to see the same vision; it had been the autumn of 1981.
Kate grumbled one more time to herself about the absurdity of tennis being a fall sport in Vermont, much as she had been doing for all of her four years on the team. The temperature hovered in the high 40s and it was all she could do to hold onto the racquet. Her hands were freezing.
She applied more sticky powder to her hands on the changeover and rubbed them on the grip. She hated using the stuff, but already she had lost the racquet out of her hand twice. Most of the other matches were over, and a crowd had gathered to watch what was being billed as the best match up in the conference. Kate was the #1 singles player on her team and ranked second in the division overall. Her opponent, a bulky, 5’8” redhead with wild curls, was top ranked and had yet to lose a match that season. Kate’s only loss of the year had been to that same woman on her home court; she intended to return the favor.
They were locked in a tight third and deciding set; it was a psychological battle as much as a physical one. Kate had lost the first set in a tiebreaker, 7-6. She had come back to take the second set 7-5, even 26
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though her opponent had been up 5-3 at one point; the dark-haired woman simply refused to lose. The score was 6 games all and 6 points all in the final tiebreaker, and Kate would be serving the
next two points with a chance to finish the match. They had been at it for nearly three hours, and dusk was fast approaching.
Kate was tired. She had been up late the night before, first studying for an Economics exam, then giving the late newscast on the college radio station, and finally working on her independent study paper in Abnormal Psychology. She put all that aside, though, as she pocketed the balls and headed to the baseline. She had been oblivious to the crowd to that point, so intent had she been on out-thinking and out-slugging her opponent.
So when she stepped up to the baseline to serve and began her ritual of bouncing the ball twice with her racquet and then twice with her hand, she was surprised to hear a loud chorus of shushing noises. She chanced a moment to look up and was shocked to see the large number of spectators gathered on the hillside just above the court. She scanned the crowd quickly, noting most of the members of her team, as well as the opposing team. She also glimpsed a couple of her friends and several faculty members. And then her eyes were drawn up slightly higher, to a figure standing a little apart from the rest. Oh my, thought Kate. A young woman was standing there, her hands in her lacrosse team sweatshirt pocket, sea green eyes sparkling down at her and long golden hair reflecting the dying rays of the sun.
The senior’s heart nearly stopped beating, then began to beat double time when the woman smiled a full, brilliant smile at her. Kate smiled back reflexively. “Gorgeous” was the word that popped into her mind, before she remembered what she was supposed to be doing. The entire exchange hadn’t taken more than several seconds, but to Kate, it had seemed like the world had momentarily stopped turning.
She shook her head and began the ritual over once again, bouncing the ball twice with her racquet, and then twice more with her hand. Then she arched up, releasing the ball and initiating her powerful swing simultaneously. The serve caught the service and sidelines, spinning away from her opponent, who made a hapless lunge toward the ball. Ace, 7-6 in the tiebreaker, and Kate was serving for the match. She stepped confidently over to the deuce court and went through her ritual one more time. She knew it was silly, but it was something she’d been doing ever since she was old enough to hold a racquet; an even number of bounces for the first serve, and an odd number for the second. She launched herself upward to meet the toss and sent a blistering serve down the middle. Her opponent managed to get her racquet on the ball, sending a reasonably strong topspin backhand back across the net; Kate, however, 27
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had anticipated the shot and followed her serve in to the net. Moving forward gracefully, she put the ball away with a crisp high forehand volley to end the match.
The crowd erupted in cheers, and she waited for her opponent to meet her at the net to shake hands. As she walked off the court, gathering her tennis bag and sweats, the senior looked back to where the vision had been standing. The blonde gave her a huge grin and a thumbs-up, then she was gone, melting into the crowd of spectators no doubt heading for warmer surroundings.
Kate smiled at the memory for a second until, unbidden, thoughts intruded about the third and last time she and that woman had crossed paths, seven months after the tennis match and some four months after the incident on the ski slope.
Kate was walking down the hill from the college radio station on her way to meet friends downtown following the 11:00 newscast, enjoying the light breeze and the moonlit night, the smell of pine trees strong in the air. She had just taken her tennis team sweatshirt off with the intent to drape it over her shoulders when she heard what sounded like a struggle.
Kate looked around, aware as she did that there had been a series of sexual assaults on campus in the previous two months. She spotted a small movement in the bushes just off the path some twenty feet ahead.
Throwing the sweatshirt to the ground, she broke into a run, yanking the bushes aside with her hand as she reached the noise. What she saw enraged her. A beefy man, his face covered with a nylon stocking, was straddling a young woman; he was in the process of pulling her pants down. She also saw the glint of steel in the moonlight.
Heedless of the danger, she coiled her body and launched herself at the man, careful to get under his arm so that the blade would be aimed upward, away from his victim. She knocked him sideways and off of the woman, her momentum sending both the assailant and her careening into a nearby oak tree. The man caught his balance first, slashing at Kate with the knife he still held in his hand; she tried to roll away, but he managed to slice her right shoulder. Blood immediately poured from the wound but, furious, she ignored it. Pushing to her feet she smashed him in the stomach with one of her long legs, following that with a knee to his groin. He howled in agony, and she used that opportunity to kick the knife from his hand. As he recovered and reached for it on the ground, she stomped on his wrist so hard that she could hear the bones snap. Just as she was about to take a shot at his head with her foot, a local policeman came running up, his gun drawn, warning the man to move 28
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away from the weapon and lie face down on the dirt. He cuffed him and looked up into cerulean blue eyes.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” Kate sighed. “But there’s a woman over that way a little,”
she pointed over her shoulder, “who may not be.”
“I’ll radio for an ambulance right away, backup should be here shortly.”
“You worry about him, I’ll see what I can do for her.” And with that, Kate already was streaking back toward the path.
She looked around for a moment, trying to locate the woman, before spying the reflective tape on the back of a pair of running sneakers. And then she realized why she had had such trouble spotting her: the victim was curled into a tiny ball, lying huddled near where Kate first had encountered her and her assailant. She was in the fetal position, with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, which were pulled up to her chest. The sight broke the senior’s heart.
She moved quickly, but carefully, trying not to traumatize the woman any further. Bending down, she began speaking softly to her.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now.” When she got no response, she tried again. “Can I just get a look at you, see where you’re hurt?” Again, nothing. Kate didn’t want to add to the woman’s misery, but she knew she had to get a better handle on exactly how far the scumbag had gotten and whether or not he had cut her with the knife. In the position the victim was in currently, she couldn’t even see her face.
“Hey, I only want to help you. He can’t hurt you anymore, I promise.
Please.” It was a plea. The woman began to rock back and forth as if in mute comfort. Kate decided she had to make a move; she simply couldn’t chance waiting any longer. Reaching out tentatively, she touched the woman on the back. The traumatized victim lifted her chin inches from its position tight against her knees as if noting someone else’s presence for the first time. Kate gasped.
“Jay,” she cried. “Jay, is that you?” All the while her mind was praying that it wasn’t the young woman whose face had been visiting her in her dreams for months. Oh, God, not her. Tears sprang to Kate’s eyes.
She gently wrapped an arm around Jay, who flinched involuntarily at the contact.
Although she was stung by the reaction, Kate refused to pull back.
“Jay, honey, are you hurt? I need to see. Can you straighten out your arms and legs so that I can see where you’re hurt?”
Seeing a flicker of a response, Kate continued her coaxing. “I just need a peek, Jay, then I won’t bother you anymore, okay?”
With tremendous effort, but without looking up, Jay loosened her death grip and dropped her arms to her sides. Kate moved forward 29
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instantly and, as gently as she could, examined Jay to determine her condition. Bile rose to her throat as she noted the ripped blouse, the cut bra, the half-opened jeans and the scrapes and bruises that liberally covered her chest and abdomen. She could see the swellin
g on the young woman’s jaw and the beginnings of a bruise there, as well as her split lip. She noted the bruising around Jay’s nipple, too. God, she wanted to kill him.
Kate didn’t want to ask the next question, but she knew she had to.
Softly, circling Jay with her good arm and stroking her blonde hair, she asked, “He didn’t penetrate you, did he, honey?” She closed her eyes against the answer, knowing that if it was in the affirmative, she might well take matters into her own hands and strangle the bastard.
Jay couldn’t seem to find her voice. Instead, she shook her head no.
Kate squeezed her eyes shut as the tears of relief leaked out of the corners; thank God for small favors.
At that moment she heard doors slamming and the sirens of additional police cars. She looked down and was suddenly aware of how painfully exposed and vulnerable Jay looked. Kate remembered that she had dropped her sweatshirt just a few feet away and she moved to retrieve it.
“No, don’t leave me.”
Kate moved back to her instantly. “It’s okay, Jay, I’m not going anywhere; I just want to get something for you to put on. Watch me, you’ll see, I’m right here.” She inched away slowly, making sure that the young co-ed could still see her. She picked up her sweatshirt quickly and returned to her side. “Here, let me help you put this on, okay?”
Jay nodded her head numbly.
Not wanting to startle or frighten her, Kate described what she was going to do next. “Jay, I’m just going to help you get your jeans zipped up, okay?” Getting no reaction, she reached down slowly and put her hands on the waistband. Jay didn’t pull away, so she grasped the zipper, pulled it up, and refastened the button. “There you go, that’s better, huh?”
Kate was alarmed that Jay seemed to be so far away, unreachable, really, with the exception of that one exclamation when she had let go of her. So far, that was the only verbal indication that Jay even knew the senior was there.
Two police officers approached, one male and one female, both looking at Kate with a question in their eyes.
