Marine

by Shiralyn J. Lee

  “Thank you, that’s very kind.”

  Gray handed her a five-dollar bill, and when the woman reached out to take it, a tattoo of the marine emblem on her lower arm caused her to look more closely at the woman. “Nikki?”

  The woman, who had her eyes downcast and her hand out to receive the money, slowly raised her eyes. “Yes?”

  “Nikki, it’s me, Gray…Lara.”

  “Lara? Is that really you? I thought you went away.”

  “I did. But I’m back now.”

  Drugs had taken a toll on Nikki’s looks. She used to have men and women flirting with her, but now she was just a shell with wrinkles around her mouth, eyes half-closed from the effects of whatever she was on, and she stank worse than a public toilet.

  Withdrawing her hand and shying away, Nikki shook her head as if she was remembering something but couldn’t quite understand what it was.

  This was one of the saddest things Gray had ever seen. This woman used to be in her life, they’d shared their home, secrets, and their bodies. But the Marines was a place for tough people, people who could handle what they experienced. Nikki wasn’t one of them. Instead, she’d turned to drugs after her first deployment, and she fell fast and hard. She had gone missing for almost two weeks, and when the police finally picked her up, she’d become one more name on their list of statistics. When they brought her home, it was less than a day before she disappeared again. She was hooked on cocaine, and Gray had pleaded more times than she could remember for her to get help, but she never did.

  For months, Gray found herself living as either Nikki’s caregiver, searching the streets for her, phoning hospitals and police stations to see if she’d been admitted, or just pacing the rooms in her apartment, fretting over where her girlfriend could be. The relationship had taken its toll on Gray, and when Nikki had finally admitted she’d prostituted herself to men to get a cheap fix, Gray couldn’t take it anymore. The ultimatum was ‘clean up or get out.’ Nikki chose the life of drugs.

  “No, no, no, no, I don’t need you,” Nikki chanted under her breath. “You keep your money. See, I have everything I need right here.” She pointed to the trees behind her, and a dirty orange one-man tent erected in the thick of the bushes that was now her home. “See, I live just like a queen in my own castle.”

  “Nikki, please let me get you some help, a hot meal at least.”

  “No. No charity from you, or your dog.”

  Zabba sat at Gray’s side, patiently waiting, drooling with his tongue out.

  “There must be something I can do for you, just name it, anything.”

  “Get away from me, as far away as you can.” She grabbed at her hair, and sensing that she looked dirty and dishevelled, she tried to smooth down the matted strands. “I can be beautiful again, see. It’s not just you who can look good. Men want me, they pay me so they can have some of this.” She ran her hands down her body, smoothing them over her chest and stomach. “I’ve still got it, got the looks, so don’t you be coming here criticising me when you don’t know the first thing about me.”

  A shudder ran through Gray’s body, reminding her of how things had been, and how sickened she’d felt when she had gone through the hell of losing Nikki. She couldn’t do it again, even if it was just as a friend trying to take care of her. Nikki was lost to the devil, and there was no coming back from that.

  “Get out! Get away from me. You’ve got no business being in my home. Get away, get away,” Nikki ranted, and walked away, back to her tent, where she felt safe in her world of delusion.

  A man and woman who’d seen the latter part of Nikki’s rant, approached Gray and asked if she was okay. Gray had no idea how she felt anymore. She had fantasized over Nikki while she had been away, put her mind into a place where she thought that one day they could possibly pick up where they’d left off, but seeing the truth for herself had conflicted everything she’d dreamt about.

  “You shouldn’t be here alone, not with so many drug addicts around,” the man told her.

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Gray answered.

  “Good job you’ve got your dog with you, who knows what she might have done,” he continued.

  “Thank you for your concern.” Gray decided against going any further and turned back the way she’d come from, continually looking back at the bushes that Nikki had disappeared into.

  •••

  The Fremont apartment where Gray and Michelle lived overlooked the river, and let in a lot of natural daylight through large, floor-level windows. They both had contemporary tastes, and liked the décor of grays and whites, and it was the white painted brick walls that had attracted them to the apartment in the first place.

  Gray huddled on their charcoal-gray sofa, a glass of white wine in her hand, her thoughts filled with concern for Nikki.

  Holding her phone in front of Gray’s face, Michelle wiggled it. “Here, call her parents. Let them be the ones to take care of Nikki. You can’t take care of the world if you have to take care of you first, now can you? Well?”

  Gray raised her eyes to look at the phone, and slowly absorbed what her friend was telling her. “Do you think they’ll want to know?”

  “My bet is they’ll appreciate knowing where their daughter is. Even if they don’t do anything, at least you’ll know you tried to help.”

  “I could have done more. She needs money, I could give her enough to pay for a place to stay for a while, and for food and—”

  “And drugs. That’s all she’s interested in while she’s out there on the streets. You can’t help her with money, Gray. She needs medical help, and her parents are the ones who can get her that. You know I’m right.” She gently laid her hand on Gray’s shoulder, and in a softened voice, said, “Just call them, Gray.”

  Dread traveled through her like an icy chill. Nikki’s parents were kind hearted, had given Nikki everything she had ever wanted, and yet it still hadn’t been enough to keep her from the evil traits that drugs offered. Gray took the phone and keyed in the number. A hesitant answer of ‘Yes?’ was the start to an uncomfortable conversation.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Is Zabba going to get some doggy treats? I think he is, yes he is,” Michelle said to him in a heightened voice.

  Zabba sat next to the kitchen island, his head tilted and his one ear folded down as he waited for Michelle to give him a cookie. One of her friend’s, who had two dogs, made her own peanut butter and pumpkin cookies, and had given some for Michelle to try out on Zabba. She had recently opened up her own dog treat company, and was testing out the flavours on all of her friends’ pets to see which ones would be her better sellers. Zabba drooled as Michelle showed him the cookie. She’d taught him to show her his paw when he wanted something, and his paw was definitely letting her know he wanted that cookie.

  “There’s a good boy,” she said and held her hand out flat for him to take his treat. “What’s on TV tonight, anything worth watching?” she asked Gray, who was snuggled under a fleece blanket on the sofa.

  “I don’t know, I haven’t checked.” She turned the TV on and surfed through the channels, but nothing caught her attention. It was either home renovations, or save a relationship, or cooking shows.

  “Well, see what’s on the news; you never know, they might report some good weather and we can go down to the water’s edge and have a picnic this afternoon.”

  Gray scrolled through the useless channels until she reached AWN; America’s World News. A flash of adrenaline increased her heartrate as her first thought was her encounter with Tabatha. There had been no contact since they’d said goodbye in Jelawur, and an instant desire to know what she was doing overwhelmed Gray. She picked up her phone and Googled Tabatha Steel, and was shocked to read that Tabatha Steel had quit her job with AWN over a controversial matter that hadn’t been made public.

  “Did you know that Tabatha had quit her job with AWN?”

  “Hmm? What?”

  “Tabatha, she qu
it her job.”

  “No, I didn’t know that,” Michelle answered with a touch of interest, as she made her way over to Gray to check out her find. “Go on, tell me more.”

  “It doesn’t give the reason why she quit, just says the parting with AWN was mutual. Mutual?” She slapped her phone down on her lap and stared at Michelle with wide eyes. “All she ever said about her job, was how passionate she was about informing the world how the women were being so badly treated. There’s no way she would have left without there being a reason to push her out. She wanted America to open their eyes, and they did, and they listened.”

  Michelle positioned herself so she was facing Gray sideways on, and rested her elbow on the back of the sofa, propping her head up with her hand. “The media have conditioned us to believe what they print to be true before we’ve even had time to think for ourselves. We don’t know the real story here, because they don’t want us to know.”

  “I should contact her.”

  “Well, I’m up for a bit of juicy gossip.”

  Gray wasted no time finding Tabatha’s Facebook profile, and posted a private message: Hi, I’m back in Seattle and just found out you’ve left AWN? Do you want to meet up? Her immediate self-critical questions kicked in—what if she doesn’t want to see me? What happened in Jelawur has no place here. What if she sees my message but doesn’t want to reply? Fuck! I should have just left things the way they were.

  Moments later, under her message, a notification appeared that Tabatha had seen it, and a strong sense of regret caught hold of Gray, as her pulse rate heightened. She felt foolish, immature, and expected a response of a simple no.

  “Fuck! I’ve experienced situations where my life’s been a split second away from death, and yet this is shit is scaring me.”

  “I don’t think you’re scared, babe, I think you’re excited. You just don’t know it, that’s all.”

  A message from Tabatha appeared on the laptop: There’s nothing I’d like more than to meet up with you. My schedule’s tight, can we meet in an hour at Gil’s Coffee Shop?

  Gil’s Coffee Shop is a five-minute walk from my apartment. Why don’t you come here instead?

  Okay, text me your address, and I’ll see you shortly.

  •••

  Looking at the clothes hanging in the wardrobe, Gray fussed over what to wear. She liked plain colors and clean lines, yet she didn’t feel as though anything she had was good enough. Tabatha was a girlie girl, her long blonde hair always shiny, her makeup perfect, and her clothes colorful and pristine. Fuck. Why am I so nervous? She tapped her fingers over each hanging garment, making herself believe that either the color wasn’t right, or the style wouldn’t go with her jeans. “Michelle!”

  “What?” Michelle answered from the kitchen.

  “I need your help.”

  “Hang on, I’m just cutting a slice of pizza, do you want some?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, that didn’t sound friendly.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated.”

  “Good job Tabatha’s coming to sort that out then, isn’t it?”

  “So not funny.”

  Michelle entered the bedroom, holding a slice of pizza to her mouth as she ripped a piece from it with her teeth. “So,” she tried to say with her mouth full of pizza.

  “What should I wear?”

  Taking a look at the clothes hanging in a neat line, Michelle pointed out an olive-green shirt she liked. Swallowing the remainder of the pizza, she then said, “I remember you wearing this to the club and you looked good in it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You really like her, don’t you?”

  Gray ignored her comment.

  There was no time to waste; the front door buzzer went before Gray had taken the shirt from the hangar. “Shit, she’s early. Let her in while I put this on.” She grabbed the hangar and slipped the shirt from it. Casting the hangar onto the bed, she slipped on the shirt and buttoned it up, then checked her hair in the mirror. “Wax, I need wax.” She rushed out of her room and into the bathroom, where she opened the cabinet door below the sink, plucked out a pot of Crew hair wax, and ran her finger over the opalescent product. She warmed it up by rubbing her hands together, then smoothed it through her hair, and spiked the tips.

  Michelle opened the front door and, trying not to be star-struck by the presence of a celebrity, she smiled and stepped aside for Tabatha to enter.

  “Gray, you have a visitor,” she yelled. “Please, do sit down, Gray will be with you shortly.

  “Thank you.” Tabatha walked gracefully over to the sofa and sat on the end cushion.

  A quick giggle escaped from Michelle’s lips as she headed down the hallway to offer Gray her thoughts. She had a light bounce in her step, and happily hummed while drumming her fingers along the wall. Meeting Gray at the bathroom doorway, she stopped and gave her a look of curiosity by arching her eyebrow. “So, Miss. Blonde locks is waiting for you in the parlour. I’ll make myself scarce and veg out in my bedroom. Go to her, oh wise one.”

  “Idiot.”

  Tabatha flexed her fingers, then clasped her hands together on top of her lap. As soon as she heard Gray’s footsteps heading towards her on the laminate floor, she stood and made direct eye contact with her. Engulfed with stirring adoration, and an overwhelming desire to fling her arms around Gray, she forced herself to hold back, and not be so needy. “Gray,” she said softly. “Wow, you look amazing.”

  There was something about this woman that made Gray feel weak at the knees. Her stomach flipped over, and a sensation of butterflies filled the hollow void she’d been feeling. “I think you’re the one who looks amazing.” She reached for Tabatha’s hands, and pulled her in close, kissing each cheek, as though they were mere acquaintances.

  Dropping her shoulders, and prizing herself away from the greeting, Tabatha subconsciously grabbed the gold ring attached to the chain around her neck. She pushed her finger through it and brought it to her chin—her gaze still fixated on Gray. She’d naively expected more from their meeting, her memory of their encounter was still fresh in her mind, and their parting in Afghanistan had been quite hopeful of meeting up again on a level where they’d be passed all the awkward paranoia. With a sigh emitting through her words, she said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Sit down. Do you want a drink, or anything?”

  “Gray, I didn’t come here for a drink. I have something to tell you, and I’m not sure how you’re going to take it.”

  Gray tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes, unsure of where this conversation was headed. “Is this going to be one of those, I like you but I don’t think I can be with you, conversations?”

  “No, not at all. I haven’t been completely honest with you. AWN made me sign a contract, renouncing me from publicly being the person I am. I have an image to maintain, and that image was a part of gaining viewers. I mean, how many war reporters are sexy, right? As far as the public were and are aware, I’m straight. This being said, I actually married a man a few years ago, and we never applied for a divorce. Don’t get me wrong, we didn’t marry for love. Fuck that. It was the network, pushing us into something so we’d appeal to mainstream viewers. The fan mail I get from the male population is more than any of their other reporters, so they needed me to keep my private life to a minimum.”

  Unprepared for Tabatha’s confession, Gray sat down on the sofa. ‘So, you just used me?”

  “No! It was nothing like that. I’m really in to you. I thought you felt the same?”

  “Tabatha, I fucked you, but I don’t know you, and you certainly don’t know me.”

  “I know you have compassion. I know you like me. I know you share this apartment with your best friend, Michelle. It’s a really nice apartment by the way. I like that light fixture over the kitchen island.”

  “Those are just facts. You have no idea what’s inside me. I’m damaged goods. I have no sorrow when I kill an insurgent
fighter, and I definitely don’t rent a U-Haul when I meet someone, that just about sums me up.”

  “Gray, I can see beyond that.”

  “Oh really? Because I don’t give much of myself away.”

  Tabatha stood, and made her way towards the door, looking back over her shoulder at Gray. “I think I made a huge mistake coming here today.”

  “Yes, I think you did.” Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that out loud. “Tabatha, don’t go, please. I’m not feeling like myself lately. Come and sit back down, so we can talk properly.”

  Sensing a tone of regret in Gray’s voice, Tabatha let go of the door handle and turned around. Taking a few slow, hesitant steps, she made her way back to the sofa and sat down. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “When I’m in Afghanistan, it’s like I don’t have anything to prove. I’m who I want to be. I like to swear, sometimes I’m worse than the guys, but I also like to laugh with them. And when we lose someone we’ve become close to, it’s like a piece of our heart’s been torn out, and if we show our emotions at the time, it can jeopardize why we’re there. So, we bottle it all up, or as much as we can. Iggy’s death…”

  Placing her hand on Gray’s shoulder, Tabatha showed her compassion through the large pupils in her eyes, by keeping their expression soft, and her blinking to a minimum. Keeping her body posture open, she spoke in a low, quite tone. “I know you’re hurting, I can see it in your eyes.”

  “I hate feeling this way, and seeing Nikki again hasn’t helped either.”

  “Nikki, I don’t know who that is?”

  “My ex. Look, I’m not someone you should get involved with. Not right now. It wasn’t the right situation when we hooked up, I’m not saying it wasn’t right, because what the hell is right when you’re in the middle of an impoverished country?”

  Covering her mouth with her hand, Tabatha edged away from Gray. Although they were both fighting the same battle for the same reasons, they weren’t fighting it in the same way. She’d only reported on the deaths, and the tortures, whereas Gray had been responsible for ending lives, or capturing persons of interest. “Perhaps our timing was wrong? I hope we can remain friends at least. I’d hate it if we never spoke again.”