Sworn Enemies, Secret Lovers

by Eve Rabi

  With a knot in my stomach, the type a boy scout would be proud off, I stand up and pace.

  So much to hide about Iraq. Can’t possibly tell the truth and nothing but the truth. It bothers me that I have to lie and omit some important things that transpired in Iraq, but what choice have I?

  No time to be moral. I crossed that moral line when I began a relationship with Reed almost two years ago. It doesn’t matter that I was a POW – it was wrong, and I will pay for the rest of my life for that black crossing.

  During the day, with my hectic schedule, I’m too busy to think of Reed and Wyatt. But at night, when I’m all alone, I ache for Wyatt and Reed.

  I stare at the phone and for the millionth time, I think about calling them. But, I don’t. Instead, I seek temporary oblivion in little blue pills that calm and sedate. One is no longer enough. I need three. Then there’s the uppers, to wake me and keep me sharp. Just like in the past – I’ve come a full circle.

  My cell phone rings. The Caller ID shows it’s Maya. Quickly, I cut the call. She’s called about thirty times so far. When I knew she’d be in class, I called and left a spritely voice message, telling her that I’m okay and sorting stuff out with Damien.

  But her incessant calls and repeated requests to call her back tells me she doesn’t believe me. Too bad. No need to drag her into this quagmire. It’s my shit and I will deal with it on my own.

  Got to prepare with Wallace Grey right now. Wallace will be prepping me for the live interview.

  “He’s worked with Clinton during the Lewinsky scandal,” Damien says.

  Of course, I’m a fantastic protégé, eager to learn and after just two sessions, Wallace declares that I’m ready, widening the size of Damien’s perpetual grin.

  ***

  The day of the interview has arrived and I’m oddly calm. Well, a bit numb, actually.

  Dex, my stylist, chooses my dress for the television interview – lilac, simple, but clinging in all the right places, a pair of black peep-toe sandals, a strand of pearls, and small iridescent earrings that catch the light when I move my head.

  My hair is soft and tussled. I wear pale pink nail polish, nude lipstick, and heavy makeup, but craftily applied in neutral shades.

  It takes a village to get this simple but chic look, but Damien will have it no other way. Grudgingly, I have to admit, dog that he is, Damien is great at this.

  “Expect tough questions from Maria Jenman,” Wallace says. “She’s a professional, but she will go for the kill and she will sneak in a question that will throw you. Trick is for you to swing at it and hit it out of the ball park.”

  As the hour nears, my mouth gets dry and beads of sweat form on my upper lip.

  “Five, four, three, two … we’re live!”

  The questions flow and I regurgitate our rehearsed responses. No problem. From the corner of my eye, I see Damien nodding, so I assume I’m doing okay. I exhale and lean back into my chair.

  “How do feel about losing a baby?” Maria asks.

  “Wha …?”

  How does she know about the baby? I creep to the edge of my seat. Finally, she’s pitched her throw question and thrown me.

  “You had a miscarriage while in Iraq, right?”

  I never admitted that, never denied it.

  I stare at her. How could she possibly do this to any woman on live television? How do I feel about losing a baby? I think about Wyatt. It’s been nine days since I held him, since I touched him, and I miss him so much. This is how it feels to lose a baby.

  “Megan?”

  “I … I …”

  “Do you need a drink of water, perhaps?”

  Someone is shoving Kleenex in my hands, but I don’t wipe my cheeks. I just stare at her as a tsunami of tears flow. Before I can stop myself, I’m sobbing with my head on my knees, looking like the mess I am inside.

  “Commercial! Commercial!” Jake frantically mouths. “Get them to go to commercial.”

  “No!” Damien gestures. “Keep rolling. No commercial! Don’t stop rolling.”

  As if possessed, I get up, rip off my mike, and stagger off the set and out of the building as cameras roll behind and in front of me. With roaring in my ears, I stumble past security and into the street.

  A Mercedes screeches to a halt next to me. From the driver’s seat, Jake shouts, “Get in!”

  I stand and stare at him. He jumps out, shoves me into the car, and speeds off. For a while, he drives like a maniac and soon we’re out of everyone’s sight.

  As we pull into a driveway, he says, “My house. Let’s go inside.”

  When I don’t move, he opens the door and leads me in.

  Inside, he pours us both a drink. “Drink it.”

  When I stare at my drink, he forces me to drink it, then sits me down and covers me with a blanket. Instantly, I fall asleep.

  When I wake up, I’m still on the couch and Jake and Bailey are watching me on TV.

  The presenter says something about me having an on-air breakdown.

  “Megan!” Jake hops to his feet. “Can I get you something?”

  “Water, please,” I croak.

  Jake walks to the kitchen.

  Bailey looks at me, nervousness in her eyes. She doesn’t have to worry, I know Jake loves her and I don’t have the heart to tell him anything. They will work it out, I guess. Jake returns with the water and Bailey walks away.

  “Did I have a breakdown?”

  “Maybe. We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “No!” I throw off the blanket and stand up. “I was just stressed. I’ll be okay.”

  “You sure?” Worry lines crease Jake’s forehead.

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you go back to him?” he snaps.

  “I had to.”

  “Bullshit! Nobody has to, Megan!”

  “I had to, Jake.”

  “He’s got something over you! Right?”

  I look at him silently, then turn my head away.

  “I knew it! It’s probably something new, or he would have wielded that a long time ago.”

  We are interrupted by Bailey carrying their whimpering baby.

  Jake simmers down at the sight of them. “Hey, Lucas, buddy!”

  I’m doubly shocked – this could be Damien’s son, but he looks so much like Wyatt. “He’s beautiful, Jake. Can I…?” I hold out my arms.

  Bailey hesitates.

  “Sure,” Jake says.

  Bailey reluctantly hands him to me.

  Ignoring her bad behavior, I hold Lucas close to me. “How old is he?”

  “Ten months,” Jake says.

  Same age as Wyatt. That band around my chest tightens. He’s a quiet little boy, unlike Wyatt, who would be wriggling like an earthworm by now.

  “He’s been ill,” Jake says.

  “Oh. Sorry to hear that. What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t know yet. We’re having tests done.”

  I hug the poor baby closer and pretend it’s Wyatt I’m holding. Luckily, they’re in the room or I’d kiss him. Imagine, if he’s Damien’s son, then Damien and I both have had babies around the same time. How ironic is that?

  “Damien’s here!” Jake announces in a tense voice.

  I stiffen and hand the baby back to Bailey. Bailey takes Lucas and almost runs out of the room. Silently, I brace myself for his wrath.

  Reading my mind or sensing my fear, Jake says, “Don’t worry, Megan, I’ll handle him.”

  To our utter surprise, Damien is smiling. “Nothing to worry about,” he says. “They loved your loopiness. They want you even more. Five point six million viewers tuned in to see you. We’ve rescheduled and guess what? They expect more than eleven million to watch the reschedule.

  “Eleven million?” I’m stunned.

  So is Jake, by the looks of it. He just gapes at Damien.

  “Let’s go home,” Damien says and takes my arm.

  “I think she needs a hospital,” Jake says.

  Damie
n shakes his head. “She’ll be fine. Just needs to sleep it off.”

  Without an argument, I, once again, pick up my shoes and follow him quietly into his Corvette.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The rescheduled interview goes a lot better. Somehow, Maria reduces me to tears again, but this time, I stay and see it through. When the interview ends, a collective sigh of relief is heard in my camp.

  Crossing it off my list is the best part. One down, fourteen to go. Fourteen, then I get to go back to my baby and honey. Can’t wait. Thinking about it energizes me.

  When Damien goes out of town for a day, I drive to Wyatt’s daycare center at 7 a.m. and park a distance away.

  Soon, I watch Reed pull up and get out of the car. He unbuckles Wyatt and talks to him. When I see Wyatt, I start to cry and it takes every bit of effort not to rush out and try to hold my baby. I’m so affected, I can barely drive home. I crawl back into bed and sleep almost thirty-six hours straight.

  I’m drained and exhausted and I fear I’m at the breaking point. But I know I cannot break down now. Got to stay strong and focused.

  But my mind keeps drifting back to Reed and Wyatt. What if I took my chances and told Reed everything? What if Reed, instead of running off with Wyatt, stays and fights with me and tells me he will wait for me, however long it takes?

  I smile sadly at the fantasy. That would be another dream come true.

  But I cannot take such a chance, so I will not tell Reed.

  ***

  “Hello, Zarina.”

  I freeze. Only one person would call me that – Mahmood.

  “Are you there?”

  I clear my throat. “Who is this?”

  “You know who this is, Zarina,” the voice says. “I’d like to talk to you.”

  “‘Bout what?” I ask. “I mean, thank you for everything and all, but, what do we –”

  “How’s lovely Wyatt? I saw him the other day and he’s really grown. We can hardly believe it.”

  We. My mouth goes dry. “This is an open line, please!”

  “Relax. No one is watching you. We know that for a fact. Except us, that is.”

  Except us? Shit!

  “When?” I ask.

  “Tomorrow, noon, at Squire Oval. Come alone, please.”

  “How do I know I will be safe?”

  “You will be. Trust me.” He hangs up.

  I stare at my phone. What the hell can he want from me?

  ***

  Squire Oval is bustling – moms with strollers, office workers with take-out lunches, and joggers.

  I know that I will be safe here. Guess if they wanted to harm me, they would have done it a long time ago.

  I wait five minutes before Mahmood appears, nondescript – dark jeans, black T–shirt, a baseball cap, coffee and newspaper in hand, blending in nicely with everyone else around. I’m dressed down too – sweats and sneakers.

  “Always a pleasure to see you, Megan,” he says and points to an earpiece.

  I nod my understanding and watch my words. “I can’t ditto that, I’m sorry.”

  He sits next to me and smiles. “It is Allah’s grace that we meet again after so long. When I saw you on TV, I just couldn’t believe it. So good looking, I hardly recognized you. You’re on so many magazine covers, your face is on billboards, the television adverts – you are so famous now!”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re tailing me too. Why?”

  He cocks his head. “We noticed you’ve gone back to your husband.”

  “Why you guys watching me? What have I done to you? I wanna be left …”

  “First of all, we aren’t watching you – we’re just … noticing you. And by the way – we think it’s a good idea that you haven’t gone public with your baby. Good move.”

  I stare at him as I digest the way he threw Wyatt into the conversation. “What do you want, Mahmood?”

  “Well, Zarina, it pains me to ask … but we could do with some sponsorship …”

  “Sponsorship? You mean … shit! You guys want to blackmail me?”

  “Aww, Zarina, we wouldn’t put it that …”

  “Please! Don’t call me Zarina!”

  He raises both palms in a surrendering motion. “Let’s call it a … a donation.”

  My chuckle is mirthless.

  “Five million,” he says in a low voice.

  “WHAT?!” I stand up, a picture of Damien’s furious face flashing in my head. “Are you fucking out of your head?”

  “Calm down, calm down.” He gestures for me to sit, all the while motioning to his earpiece. “Still fiery, I see. Love that about you.”

  With a clenched jaw, I sit down. “I don’t have that kind of money.”

  He sighs and looks at me.

  “What if I don’t …?”

  He reaches into his top pocket and produces a picture of Reed and me in the bunker, embracing. Nearby on the bed is Wyatt. “We have a few of these.”

  I gasp. “When did you …?”

  Ignoring my question, he stands up. “You have five days, Zarina. I will call you on Monday to arrange a meeting place.” He turns to leave.

  “Wait! Mahmood! I don’t have access …”

  He hurries off, leaving me shaking with fury.

  ***

  Back home, I’m unable to concentrate on anything. If I had the money and if Damien wouldn’t find out, I’d quietly pay them. But I don’t have that kind of money, and Damien will find out, and he will probably think I gave it to Reed or something. How I wish I had Reed to talk to right now, to confide in.

  After mulling over my decision, I finally decide to tell Damien the truth and maybe enlist his help. I know that Damien is going to blow more than a gasket, but I have no choice. I give him a censored account of the blackmail, taking great care to omit details of Wyatt in the photograph, in my life.

  “He’s calling me on Monday to arrange …”

  Damien’s eyes, as he listens, become dark and add to my fears. When I’m done, he stands up and paces, his eyes hooding. His failure to yell and shout and tell me what a fuck-up I am and how all of this is my fault makes me most uneasy.

  “Do as he says,” Damien says in a voice that is foreign to me.

  My relief at his reaction and words is overshadowed by my confusion.

  “We don’t have five mill …”

  “I’ll get it.”

  “You will? You’ll get it?” Now, I’m just relieved. I know he has connections, sometimes in low places, but I have to admit, I’m impressed with Damien.

  When Mahmood calls me on Sunday, not Monday, and arranges for us to meet at a local motel, I run the details by Damien.

  He in turn briefs me on what to say and what to do.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mahmood opens his motel room door and smiles pleasantly. “Thank you for coming, Zarina,” he says, looking me up and down.

  “Cut the crap, Mahmood,” I snap. “You’re blackmailing me and I don’t like it.”

  “Zarina, Zarina, Zarina! It’s not …” He pokes his head out the door then retracts it.

  “Are you wired?” he asks.

  “Wired? No! Who do I want to hear the details of my time in Iraq? The FBI? The CIA? Are you nuts?”

  He strokes his clean-shaven face and stares at me.

  I throw out my arms and utter a sigh of exasperation. “If you must. Go ahead.”

  For a moment, I actually think he’s going to frisk me.

  But then, he waves dismissively. “I trust you.”

  I lower my arms. “I don’t have the money as yet.”

  He jerks back and stares at me. “But …?”

  “Look, I came personally to tell you that. I mean, I don’t have that kind of money lying around. I have to borrow it and I will have it by tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Same time, same place, tomorrow?”

  “Please,” he says. “We really need to sort this … this … issue out.”

&nbs
p; “Fine,” I pick up my handbag to leave.

  “Eh, wait! Stay and have some tea or …”

  “What?” I point to his ears, my eyebrows raised.

  “I’m not wired today.”

  “Oh. Why?”

  “They trust me.”

  “So I can speak freely?”

  “You can. Sure.”

  “Okay,” I put my bag on the table. “I have a question …”

  He gestures for me to go on.

  “Was that you in the grey suit? That day? Dark glasses …?”

  He smiles and shrugs.

  “You’re working for the CIA, right?”

  He jerks back, an I’m-not-telling smile on his face.

  “Okay, so I know I’m not going to get answers from you, but I will say this – thank you for all you’ve done for Reed and me. I do appreciate it.”

  His expression turns serious. “My pleasure. But I must say, when I heard you were shot while fleeing … that you were at the Green Zone … that your life was hanging on a thread …” he shakes his head slowly. “I felt like I had failed in my mission and I wanted to quit the …” He stops and swallows hard. “I think I’ve said too much.”

  “No, no, you haven’t, and I haven’t said a word to anyone regarding my suspicions about you and who I think you really are … I’ve kept my word, Mahmood.”

  He shakes a finger at me. “I was very very relieved about that. Thank you for understanding.”

  I shrug. “Hey, I owe you.”

  His smile disappears. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save Leeanne.” His face contorts with pain.

  At the mention of Leeanne, my eyes start to sting and that survivor’s guilt I’ve been experiencing since I reached the Green Zone intensifies.

  “You did what you needed to do. It wasn’t your fault.”

  For a few moments, we stand in silence, staring at the ground as we relive that fateful day in our minds.

  Right now, besides Reed, Mahmood is the only one who knows exactly what happened to me and what I really went through. A feeling of kinship hovers between my blackmailer and myself, so much so that I’m not angry with him. In fact, I’m not even mad that he’s blackmailing me right now.

  I touch his arm. “You tried. You really did. Don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m at fault. If I didn’t send those emails, if I didn’t …” My eyes blur with tears.