Fear of Heights

by Mara White

  Ideal makes a quick call and speaks in his heavily accented Spanish. He doesn’t seem to explain the situation, just doles out instructions like he’s running the show.

  “Is he your boyfriend, Katie?” Emily whispers. “I met Jaylee. He’s hot. Can you believe I went to Rikers Island?”

  I snort at her questions. That’s Emily: no second thoughts about ogling men, even in a dire situation. I worry my fingers waiting for instructions from Ideal. I’m dying to ask her exactly how the hell this happened.

  “Since when do you have so many guys in your life?” Emily asks, her eyes glued to Ideal as he uses his teeth to tear up someone’s pillowcase into long strips.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s making you a blindfold.”

  He tells Emily to contact me first so I can go to the precinct and help with the story. Ideal will disappear until the news frenzy blows over. Although it’s not any worse than some of the other stunts I’ve pulled lately, I want to make sure Emily is okay with the plan. She was the one abducted, and this is her life.

  Ideal’s phone rings and he gives someone more directions. Emily and I stare at him, both of us entranced by his command of the situation. When he gets off the phone, he folds his torn pillowcase into a thin strip. I can see Emily eye his strong arms covered in tattoos and a stupid little ping of jealously rises in my chest.

  “Can we switch clothes, Kate? This stuff I’m wearing isn’t going to cut it for a news brief.” I take in her jeans and white T-shirt, a simple ponytail - she’s never been so normal.

  “Where’d you get clothes from?” I ask, wanting to know every detail of what happened over the two weeks.

  “Lisel brought back clothes after I told her my size. God knows where she got them. She also brought underwear—really, anything I needed.”

  “They treated you well, the couple? Was there anyone else there?”

  “Lisel wouldn’t let anyone else come inside. Only the guy that gave her money, and even for him, she kept on the chain lock. They were really nice, once I got past being held against my will. It was only that asshole guard that got under my skin. He told me he’d come after me when everyone was out. But Lisel told him she’d turn him in if he tried anything with me.”

  “Thank God! I’m so glad Ideal hit him. So do you have any idea who he works for? Is he with a gang? A Trinitario? Was he with the Colombians?”

  “I have no idea, Kate. What do I know about people like these? They took me out of the blue in the middle of the street. He shook me and screamed about drugs, and when I refused to answer him he knocked me unconscious. I woke up in some shithole apartment tied to a chair.”

  “They thought you were me,” I say, appalled at her suffering—it should have been mine.

  “They thought I was full of shit, until I convinced them to bring me a smartphone; I just Googled images of us together at some parties. When I showed them the pictures, they decided I was telling the truth and they dumped me with this old couple. I’ve been here ever since.”

  “Come here, Emily,” Ideal says; she hurries right to him. He brings his arms around her to position the blindfold. I can tell, from her slightly open mouth and the sudden appearance of her nipples through her shirt, that I’m not the only one who finds the blindfolding erotic. Emily looks so innocent, and Ideal so rough. The contrast between them feels forbidden and alarming.

  “I’ll walk her to the car. He’s on the avenue waiting. I’ll keep going from there. Wait five minutes, then you leave, Kate. Use the other side of the building to get to the street. Take your time walking home. Then get your ass to the station as soon as she calls.”

  Ideal brushes past me with a blindfolded Emily in tow. She reminds me of the eight of swords card from the deck of tarot: it symbolizes a loss of power and direction. But really, that’s a perfect card to describe me, not Emily. I might honestly say she’s never seemed better.

  The goodbye kisses and reunification hugs are all over; ahead of us awaits business and some serious lying to pull off.

  Chapter 17

  Twenty-five minutes later, I arrive at the station. Cameras and reporters are everywhere. I have to push through the crowd to get to the front desk. I sign in, and they tell me Emily is making a statement to the police. I sit in an orange chair attached to the wall. No seems to notice me or figure out that I’m her sister. Twenty or so minutes pass as I worry about our plan, then a flushed and tear-stained Emily rushes into my embrace. She sobs in my arms and I start to doubt her ability to carry through with our carefully crafted truth. Part of me wonders if she’s already told them.

  I give her my phone to call Doug and our father. She bawls as she speaks to them, saying that she’s okay. I cry too. I’ve never seen her this emotional, this raw. I’m just glad to have her home. Except for her splinted finger, she wasn’t even hurt. I wonder how many missing NYC women actually show up alive.

  I thought with Emily safe, I could rest, but now my worrying focuses elsewhere. Someone will have to pay for this lost profit—the drugs and the money. If not Ideal, than Jaylee in jail, or his father, or me and my family. The more I think about it, the more everyone connected seems vulnerable.

  The news of her recovery buzzes all around me. I’ve gone silent, just now considering what repercussions this could bring. Maybe I could have prevented it by getting their drugs back to them. I just assumed we could reimburse them for their loss. I realize now that I’m a key player in a game I don’t even know how to play. It gets worse when I try to make it better. I want it to stop, but I think it’s too late. Like a terrified animal, I scramble, only to dig myself in deeper.

  Later that night, after hours at the station, Emily is home with Doug. At my dad’s request, a private security firm is parked outside their apartment. I’m sure whatever low-lifes took her are mad they didn’t get their ransom, but I doubt there will be any immediate retaliation against Emily. They’re in the spotlight now, so surfacing would be incredibly stupid. There are more news trucks than police cars hoping to get a shot of the rich Upper East Sider who’s been missing for nine days. Robert has sided with my dad, and they’ve asked O’Connor for police drive-bys until he can install a new security system.

  Robert’s brought his computer to bed; he’s scanning stocks in his pinstriped pajamas. I’ve got a new translation of Javier Marías that I’m excited to finally get started. I’m eager for everyday life to distract me.

  Instead, I sigh and put the book down, feeling disappointed that Emily’s freedom hasn’t brought me more relief. We may not get along, but I know that I love my sister. I’m glad she’s okay and I’m satisfied with the escape. But something still doesn’t sit right.

  Maybe it’s just now that reality has set in, I’ve got time to think about the baby. About Jaylee. My tryst with Ideal. Or maybe it’s the state that my family is in. I can only see Robert as a controlling pervert, and my girls will probably need therapy thanks to all my indiscretions.

  “I’m going downstairs to watch the news,” I tell Robert. “Do you want to come? I think Dad made a statement, and Emily too—any interest in seeing it with me?”

  “Why, Kate? Let’s put it behind us,” Robert says, removing his reading glasses.

  “Well, sure, but I’d just like to see how they present it, you know, as a disappearance or a kidnapping.”

  “It’s the news! They’ll try to make it as salacious and inflammatory as possible. Eventually they’ll do a goddamned 20/20 episode and Emily will get all the exposure she’s craving—an Emmy for nighttime family drama.”

  “Why are you reacting like this, Robert? You’d want to watch if it were your brother.”

  “Okay, okay. How about you just watch it from bed? I’ll pull it up on the computer—which channel were you thinking?”

  “Okay. I was going to get ice cream—”

  “I’ll get it for you.”

  Robert throws back the covers and pulls on his robe. He’s in a mood. Maybe he’s just ti
red of the police department and the violence. He deals with this stuff at work; no wonder he’s reluctant to let it into his home. I ignore his offer for the computer and turn on the set in our room that we never use. I switch it to Fox; I might as well watch the biggest doozy in the bunch. It’s the headlining story, so I get myself comfortable, with my head resting on my hands and my feet on pillows. My back is sore and my chin will bruise if it hasn’t already, but Robert won’t notice, he never does. When I cut my hair, he asks me if I got new glasses. I could give my rings away and six months later, he wouldn’t even realize they were gone. Those rings have spent ages gathering dust and resentment in the bottom of my jewelry box.

  My body is tender; I’ve been through the wringer. However, when I think back over the events of the day, instead of remembering the stings of the blows, I see Ideal’s fingers, his braids, his naked stomach as he switched shirts. I can’t shake the sweetness of his friendship, taste the memory of his blood on the tip of my tongue. Today should have been traumatic, but somehow what I remember is the closeness with Ideal, and the joy of rescuing Emily.

  My dad looks old and dowdy as he mounts a podium and clears his throat to read a prepared statement. His gut is increasing, and so is the ruddiness of his face. He got the good daughter back, the one who makes him proud. Emily looks beautiful and dazzled by the rush of so many cameras. She does have a great face for TV. She’s said that herself, but I made fun of her and belittled her ambition. I’m determined to salvage our sisterhood, to try to understand her better.

  I’m glad I didn’t stay. I feel like my lies would have been embarrassingly obvious. Emily makes it plausible that she was oblivious of her captors. She’s innocent and ditzy and pulls it all off brilliantly. But they’ll figure it out eventually. She was “missing” way too close to home. They’ll realize it’s not a coincidence—the Whitland sisters and their run-ins with gangsters.

  Robert walks in with a pint of ice cream in the crook of his arm. He’s also got another drink. Lately, he’s been drinking a lot.

  But who am I to judge? I’ve been using sex and danger to self-medicate. There’s no right way or wrong way to deal with these feelings of bleakness. How do you process death the right way? What’s the correct way to respond to irrepressible lust? What if your wife loves another man? What do you do with a rotting marriage, falling apart in the palm of your hand?

  Have a drink, some fucking ice cream, or how about sex with strangers you meet on the street? Is there an elixir for existential doubt? Drink your Manhattan, Robert. Eat the cherries. Swallow down the horror that is sometimes life itself. I don’t know how to help you. I can’t even seem to help myself.

  He sets his drink on top of the dresser, then reaches down and turns off the power on the TV. I’m not sure what game he’s playing. He already looks like he’s consumed enough booze for the night.

  “I’m watching it, Robert! They were just about to do the story!”

  “I’m so sick of this. Can you just let it go?”

  “But it’s my family on the goddamned news! Why don’t you want me to see it?” I grab the remote and turn it back on.

  We can bicker like children, but we’re so inept at discussing the real things between us. Robert gulps the last of his drink, then reaches behind the television and disconnects the cable from the wall.

  This is stupid. Robert’s trying to stymie me again, and purposefully keep me out of the loop.

  “Are they going to say something that you don’t want me to hear?”

  “I’m sure they’ll bring up my involvement in the case—because I’m linked to you, because—” he sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

  “Let me watch it!” I say, rising to my knees. I move as if to dash for the outlet. I can’t not watch it now. It obviously affects me.

  Robert tackles me to the bed and traps me under his weight, pinning my arms behind my back.

  “Ow!” I scream and he quickly rolls off me, still holding my arms.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Kate,” he apologizes.

  He doesn’t know how sore I am, that earlier today I took a serious beating.

  “Whatever you don’t want me to know will be easy for me to find out. I can watch the news tomorrow or use the Internet, you asshole!”

  He looks at me with watery, bloodshot eyes that seem sad. The pressure is visible in every angle of his face. I don’t like the nervous feeling that’s running straight from the back of my neck down to the tips of my toes. My own intuition is throwing pins and needles at my face. Something is about to blow. Maybe the truth I’ve been dreading.

  It’s a moment that suspends itself in time, a sort of slow-motion realization that reminds me that ignorance is bliss. My happiness lives in darkness: use a flash on it and within moments it’s severely overexposed. All of the darkness, the only contrast, disappears into blinding light.

  “I worked the case that put his father in jail,” Robert says slowly, articulating each word.

  These few words bang an imprint on my skull.

  Oh God. I can’t breathe. It was Robert who ruined Jaylee’s life. Then Jaylee set out to ruin Robert’s. Maybe I knew this, but refused to see it. Jaylee and Robert have been at war all along, for reasons that have nothing to do with me.

  “My firm represented one of the cops with the most serious charges at the thirtieth precinct. The Dirty Thirty scandal, they called it—back in the early nineties. Drug dealers took the brunt of it. We threw them under the bus to negotiate our clients’ acquittals.”

  “Oh God. I can’t listen to you! I won’t!” I wrench my hands from his to cover my ears. If I can physically block it all out, then I won’t have to hear the sound of my broken heart splitting.

  “Fuck you, Robert and fuck what you do! Did he know? Does he know? Did he know when he met me?”

  I’m screaming. I won’t remove my hands from my ears because I don’t want to know the answers to my own terrible questions.

  Robert rushes at me and holds me as tightly as he can. It’s a forceful hug and it hurts both my mind and my body. I don’t know who’s good and who’s bad. Has Robert really been protecting me? Am I just a joke in some intricate game?

  “It was my boss’s case, but it was the first one where he was willing to show me off. I was still a nobody, looking for a break—that case was key in guaranteeing partnership at the firm. I didn’t call the shots by any stretch of the imagination, Kate. But I did do a lot of the groundwork. I built a watertight case. The scandal was a huge deal, the kind of opportunity that only comes around once.”

  “It’s common knowledge? Everyone but me knows? That’s what you were afraid of them mentioning on the news?” I ask, rocking my body.

  “Well, they’re making the connection, and trying to link the pieces together. In the beginning, I honestly did worry about retaliations. The dealers had to be sacrificed in order for us to make our case. Most of the cops got out on perjury alone, but the Dominicans had no defense, and that was when the Rockefeller laws were strong. Most of them got life.”

  “Like Jaylee’s father.”

  “They would end up in jail anyhow, sooner or later.”

  “How noble of you to help them out with the process.”

  “It’s been so many years, Kate. So many cases. I never thought I’d revisit it again. But I guess a son doesn’t easily forget the man who put his father away.”

  “I’m not angry at you, Robert, for doing your job—I’m angry because you lied to me. You treat me like a second-class citizen! Don’t I deserve your honesty? You could have stopped this from the very beginning!”

  “I could say the same to you! At least I’m trying to protect you, Kate! At what point—please do tell me—could you have handled the truth?”

  “Are you joking? Do you even hear yourself? I lost a baby—I almost lost my own life! Or what about Janinie with the drugs, or Emily going missing—when the hell were you planning on telling me?”

  “We all le
t it go too far.”

  “It ruined our marriage and almost destroyed the lives of our children. What were you waiting for? For him to fucking kill me? To land me in jail, Robert? Because that happened, if you don’t remember!”

  “What I mean, Kate, is that it became very real—whatever it was that transpired between you two. At some point, it was too late. I didn’t think I could destroy it without destroying you.”

  “So the money and the deals you made with Jaylee. They had nothing to do with me. I was just the means to the end.”

  He never loved me. I was nothing more than an easy way in. A tool for leverage so he could avenge his father.

  “I told you outright that our exchanges had nothing to do with you.”

  “Once, Robert. You said that once. The other times, you lied!”

  Robert crosses the room and closes his computer. He sits on the bed and stares at the wall. He would have continued to keep me in the dark if it weren’t for the newscast. I know how he likes his women. He wants them to be quiet and compliant. I’m done being lied to. I’m done being contrite.

  “I wanted it to be about other things, Kate,” he says while massaging his eyes. “But I think, from the moment I saw him look at you, I knew it was about you. For him, at least, and then it became that way for me too.”

  “Tell me what the ten grand was for.” He’s going to tell me everything whether he wants to or not.

  “Incentive to get him to become a willing informant. I was contacted by the DEA, Kate. I had no choice. I hit him to make it look like—well, truth is, I was more than happy to hit him. He was already so far gone on you.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me how Jaylee feels about me! It’s clear to me now that what was more important was how he felt about you!”