William nodded and thanked the Sergeant. The two men walked to the door, exchanged a few more words I didn’t catch, and the door closed.
Without thinking I curled up on the bed in the fetal position.
“William?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“Do you mind if I just sleep for a couple minutes?”
“Of course not. Here...”
I heard him rustling around, and then felt a blanket fall over me. I thanked him gratefully and fell asleep.
I awoke slowly with light on my face and the smell of bacon in the air. My stomach rumbled as a smile came to my lips. Then I flinched. My face hurt.
That opened the door to memories. The horror of what happened last night. How close I had come.
And then another thought hit me. I did not know this room! Where the hell was I?
I turned a little, looking behind me. Just to make sure. Half hoping.
No one. It was just me in this giant bed. It was relief, but I wouldn’t have been sad if William had taken me home.
Wait.
My eyes took in the room. It was stately with expensive looking furniture. Also uncommonly spacious. There was money in this room. Was it William’s?
I got out of bed, slowly, sore throughout my body. I was dressed in a silky, though large, nightgown. Butterflies filled my belly. Did he dress me? Did he take care of me?
I thought back to the night before.
I remembered falling asleep in the trailer. That was the last clear thought I had. From there everything was filtered through a strange haze. Cars starting, shaking, rattling. I vaguely remembered a nightmare. Dusty was in it, but details were elusive. Did I ask for William, or were those all dreams?
I did have dreams of him, though. Many. His arms around me in a field of wild daisies. Us on a winged horse, him sitting behind me, holding me tight. The two of us dancing slowly, no one else in the room. In every dream there was William and his pain staking beauty pressed against me in some way.
Usually each dream sequence ended in us kissing, or getting further, or going for home base. I smiled just thinking about a couple of the last dreams.
Could this be his room?
I surveyed the art. Then the clear dresser tops. The lack of personal items. No, it was a guest room. But in his house?
At the mirror I had a quick look, then stopped dead. I couldn’t process the image that looked back. Her face was heavily bruised along the left side. Her left eye was bloodshot and half-closed. Her throat had hand and finger marks etched into her skin. Her shoulder, the skin peeking out of the nighty on her chest…
My heart sank. I shook my head, tears rushing to my eyes. Deflated, I reached for the terry cloth robe that was laid out at the edge of the bed.
Three steps outside the door had my mood seeped further into the ground. I was in what Gladis's house. Not with William.
It was just as well in the state I was in.
In the parlor I found Gladis. Her face lit up when she saw me. "Hi dear!" She didn’t look twice at my bruised face or neck. “Breakfast is cooking and OJ is fresh squeezed. Do you want a mimosa?”
I smiled. It hurt. “No thank you.” My voice came out in a hoarse croak. I glanced my hand over my neck. “Orange juice straight up will be fine for me.”
She nodded without noticing and led the way to the main living room. Once there I plopped down in one of the overstuffed chairs and received a glass of OJ from Lady, who never seemed to be off duty. I then noticed an older man seated across the room. He was drinking a mimosa and lounging.
Seeing me notice the stranger, Gladis said, “Jessica, I would like you to meet my old friend George Herbert. Or should I say, my young friend of long-time acquaintance?” George and Gladis both shared a laugh. Old person joke.
“Hello, Jessica,” he said in a rich but scratchy voice.
“Hi George.” I carefully sipped my orange juice, wincing as the acid needled my cut lip.
Gladis started talking again. “George, here, is a doctor. I knew him before he got his degree. Well, degreezz, plural. He has quite a few. Spent too much time in school for my taste.”
“That’s why you got away!” he said humorously.
Their eyes twinkled as they looked at one another. I looked away awkwardly.
“Well, ladies,” George boomed. “I have to use the little boy’s room. If you’ll excuse me?”
His air current brought the smell of bacon wafting closer. My stomach rumbled.
“Jessica...” Gladis’s eyes were intent. “Tom Davies explained what happened last night.”
I figured this talk was coming. Best to just get it over with.
I gave her a “go-ahead-though-I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it” kind of nod.
“I must admit that I’ve never had anything like that happen to me. I’ve been roughed up a time or two, o’ course, but that’s a different kind of hurt--one that was more accepted in my time, unfortunately.” She swatted the memory away. “As I was saying, I have not been in your shoes. I have, however, been there for a friend that was in a worse situation. Much worse if I may be so blunt. So I do feel like I have some idea of the feelings and circumstances that this type of...trauma inspires.”
She paused, still looking at me intently. I analyzed my glass.
“You seem like a strong girl,” she went on. “but even a strong girl can get weighed down by dark feelings and black memories. I don’t want that for you so young in life.”
I sighed, my patience exhausted. “Gladis, I am not sure what Tom told you, but nothing actually happened. It might have, but didn’t.”
Her smile was understanding. “I know, dear. I know that. I had Dr. Collins come in last night to look over you. No physical, permanent damage. You did what many women could not—you fought back the demons and granted your own salvation. Now, I know you aren’t a religious girl, but I would call that opening up and letting God direct your hand. Whatever you call it, you fought back...and won!”
Oh good, an eighty-year-old cheerleader.
“I can see you are the type to hold it all in," Gladis relentlessly continued, "but trust me, it will fester. It will live in your soul and fester. I saw it happen. So...I took the liberty of asking a trusted friend to be your guidance.”
“Gladis, you’re talking in riddles.” I shook my head. Time to go home. Bacon wasn’t worth this torture.
“I am trying to get this out without losing your trust or friendship.” Her voice took on a gentle quality. “I had a daughter—I know to tread lightly in these matters.”
My brain stuttered on the word had. She continued talking before I could properly digest.
”I asked Dr. George to be your shoulder. He is a psychiatrist.” The last sentence came out in a rush, which was rare for her slow drawl. She sunk back, apprehensive. She was waiting for my tantrum.
I just sighed. I had never been to a shrink, but many of my friends had, and they swore those doctors were essential. L.A. lifestyle and all that. I would have tried one but they were expensive and I didn’t have medical or money. Or much to talk about.
“That’s fine, Gladis. I know you’re trying to help. If you think it best I’ll talk to him. But not today. Today I want to eat food and veg out and watch T.V. Or read. Or daydream, maybe.”
Gladis smiled big and leaned toward me. “Good girl! C’mon, let’s go eat before Dr. George eats it all. One day I’ll tell you all about the story of George and I!”
Ew.
Later that day I was sitting in the Rec. Room, as Gladis called it, watching Gladiator on the giant TV with surround sound. Well, I was actually just watching Russell Crowe—same difference.
My mind kept slipping to my dreams of William. As my groin started to tingle, my memories would slip sideways to the real William. Apollo. Times like when we were by the trailer and his eyes reached into my soul and clutched my heart. Or the thrill that went through me when I saw him for the first time by the bull pen. Or the soft bariton
e of his voice when he was holding me after the Dusty fiasco.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
What the…!
“Gladis! You scared the shit out of me!”
She laughed. “Sorry, honey. I wasn’t quiet coming in. You were so lost in thought, with such a sublime expression on your face, that I thought I would give you a moment before I ruined it. Who is he?”
I played dumb. “Who is who?”
She smiled with the familiar twinkle in her eyes. “You know who.”
I sighed and repositioned on the couch. “William Davies.”
Her expression suddenly faltered and her twinkle dulled. My heart sank.
“Ah,” was all she said before she positioned a little more deeply into the couch cushions.
“Bad choice?”
“Well... bad choice in terms of availability. Great choice in terms of a good looking, well-groomed, great character and a good-hearted young man. He is a catch, girlie. A great catch, most would say. Which is why the availability takes a fall. Every single girl that has heard of him, and some that aren’t single, are vying for his attention.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “I know. I was told not to bother. And I haven’t really. I‘ve just played the damsel in distress, mostly. Not by choice! Just sort of happened. And he was always there to just...I don’t know, try to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”
“Yes. He would do that. He really is a fine-standing young man. His parents did him good. Just be careful of your heart, dearie.” She smiled kindly and reached to pat me on the knee.
I knew that pat. That “it sucks, but you have to move on” pat. I knew all this. Someone that gorgeous, that on top of his game, that...perfect, would be unreachable. Probably even for beautiful Lump, or witty Flem. One always had memories, though. And dreams.
Gladis was looking at me like she kicked a puppy. I shrugged and smirked. In a Southern accent I said, “He don’t know what he’s missin’ now do he?”
Gladis laughed. She was about to settle back and watch Gladiator with me, but then said, “I almost forgot to tell you—Tom Davies said he would call your boss to let him know you wouldn’t be in tomorrow.”
Geez, Tom was really putting his nose in it. Not that I wasn’t grateful, but still! The man apparently thought money meant he ruled the world.
I shook my head. “I am not missing Monday. I have only been there a short while and I am not missing a day already. Not a chance. I don’t want to be labeled as that girl.”
“What girl?”
“The one that has worked less than a month and already calls in sick.”
“But you have a legitimate excuse. You can’t go in looking like that, with your face ‘n all.”
“I have make-up. Ugly people look worse than this all the time, and they still have to go to work.”
Gladis and I both laughed at the absurdity of my statement. She shrugged like I had done a minute ago, and settled down with me to watch Russell Crowe get dirty.
Chapter Ten
The next couple weeks was a shit storm. Everyone at work wanted to know what happened to my face, my throat, etc., but no one wanted to come out and ask. I was the center of attention everywhere. I kept my mouth shut about the whole thing, and so did Candace, but that just made it worse.
Lump and all the girls were in contact non-stop. I got an email or call or text from each at least once a day. I had long talks in the evenings, usually curled up in bed. Except for Lump and Claire, who were both in Australia. They emailed mostly, since the time difference was so different. I felt loved. And connected.
I missed all of them, but was glad I was exploring the world in my own way. The one thing I always left out of my stories was Apollo. I didn’t want to hear the collective, “Go for it!” I was tired of ending up squished by hot men. This time I would heed Gladis’s advise and just stick to dreaming about him. He had as many suitors as stars in the sky, so I made myself a black hole.
Gladis thought that analogy was just terrible…
By the end of a two weeks I looked mostly normal again. By the end of a month I was seeing Gladis’s friend George regularly. It was helping, but I never admitted it. No one needed to know my crazy could be fixed. It kept me unpredictable.
By the end of two months, I had a date. With a guy from the I.T. department. He was fairly good looking, nice enough body, seemed really nice if not a little dry, was smart, and seemed mature and put together. He was exactly my speed.
As I was closing everything down, Candace popped her head in my cube.
“Hey Jessica. You want to come to happy hour with Ty and I?” Candace asked, leaning against my flimsy cube wall.
“You guys bump uglies yet?” I asked with a leer.
As expected, she giggled. “No! I am being good.”
“Until when? He obviously likes you! The guy freaking sent roses to your work.”
Her face was red. “I’m just…” She angled her head and picked at her nail. “Waiting a while.”
“Making him work for the goods?” I waggled my eyebrows.
“At least two months.”
“And how long has it been?”
“Officially?” She waited for my nod. “A month and a half.”
“Prude. Anyway, can’t tonight. Going out with Randall.”
“Oh right. Shoot. Sorry, I forgot. He’s a nice guy. Kinda quiet, though.”
Juniper leaned out of her cube and said, “That man is as useless as teats on a bull! My computer is still on the blink!”
Candace matched my eye roll.
“Juniper, he works on servers. Not your computer. That’s Don you want,” I hollered. You couldn’t just talk to Juniper, you had to holler. It was something I learned in the second week.
“Him, too! They’re so dumb, if you shoot them through the head, they’ll heal.”
Candace and I were quiet for a moment, hoping she’d go away.
“Anyway,” I said, giving another tiny pause in case Juniper was still actively listening, “Randall is picking me up at 6:30 so I have to run home and change.”
“Poop. Well, fine. But it was supposed to be really fun. Oh well. But, if you change your mind, Ty and I are going to Ester’s. Or if you get stood up.” She smiled and headed away.
That wasn’t a nice thing to say. Now I probably would get stood up!
At 6:15 there was a knock on the door. I was mostly ready, mostly looking glamorous in new clothes, and mostly nervous.
I opened the door to Gladis and a bottle of champagne.
“Hey Glads, what’s up?”
“Hello dear. My, you look lovely!”
“Oh thanks. I have the date tonight with the IT guy.”
She nodded and pushed past me. The ol’ broad had manners, but she chose when they suited her. At present, they obviously didn’t.
“I remember. That’s why I brought the bubbly," she said, moving to the kitchen. “You have to have someone here to answer the door and usher him in for a drink while you finish getting ready.”
“But...I’m ready.”
“That doesn’t matter. It’s how it’s done, dear.”
“Uh, okay. But what if he knocks on your door?”
“I left instructions at the house.”
She had it all covered. I let her open the champagne, poor two glasses, and we sat in the living room to live out 1946 when this kind of thing was normal.
When the doorbell rang, I paused.
“What’s a’matter, dear? Are you constipated?”
“Wha—Gladis, don’t ask people that.” Over her laughter I said, “No, I am waiting for butterflies.”
“Ah. Well, wait upstairs. I’ll bring him in.”
As we moved, Gladis glanced at her watch. “He is late, but no matter. Hurry on, now. Come down in ten minutes. Shoo!”
“Gladis, really, I--”
“Get up there girlie!”
I sighed, making sure she heard, and climbed the stairs. Then, because I had
nothing else to do, I hid so I could spy.
The door was answered to a very confused Randall, who stammered while asking for me. Gladis, in all chipper cordiality, showed him in and I presumed poured him a glass of champagne. Then to small talk. Poor Randall was probably bored to tears, because he wasn’t a word smith.
Staring at my phone for time—also playing a quick game of solitaire—I started down the stairs in exactly nine minutes.
As I walked into the living room to greet my guest, Randall stood up in a hurry and accidentally ruined the moment by spilling his drink. Gladis then made it worse by clucking her tongue loudly and fretting while they cleaned it up.
Not a great entrance.
Finally both pairs of eyes looked up at me, whereby I immediately ignored Gladis’s frown. She would not like a botched entry, fearing my sails would deflate. If only she’d known my track record. At least this time I hadn’t been the cause!
Randall finally did deliver. His eyes were wide and starry. They slipped down my form fitting dress, a style which flirted with casual but still pointed towards glamorous. They snagged briefly on my br**sts before he shook his head to wiggle them loose, back to my face. He’d never seen me outside of work. Which meant, this was the first time he’d seen me actually try to look good.
Apparently I was a real dog at work ‘cause he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Hi Randall. Are you ready to go?” I asked sweetly.
“Oh...yes. Yes. Sorry about the...” He gestured toward the dark spot on the rug.
“It’s fine.” I smiled to try and dispel his uneasiness. His face lit up. C’mon man, it is just a dress and a little make-up. It is not like I transformed or anything!
I led the way to the door. As I was about to open it, I was pushed aside by a frail old woman wearing a scary mask of disapproval. Through her teeth she whispered “Men should open a ladies door!”
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