by Roxy Sloane
In the evening, when Maggie arrived, the three of us sat together on the sofa. I still hadn’t explained anything, and all Mags knew from B was that I’d had a panic attack but that Emma Rose was alright. In her calmest voice, Bianca asked me, “How did you get those marks I saw on your arm?”
My hand went reflexively to the bruises, but I couldn’t speak. B gently reached over and pulled up the sweatshirt sleeve, revealing the damage from my mother’s panicked fingers. “How did you get these marks, honey?” she asked again. “Who did this to you?”
All I could say was, “It’s all too much. It’s all too much.”
Then the two of them went to the kitchen and whispered furiously, stealing glances at me through the partition. After a while, Maggie came back and sat with me, holding my hand, and then Bianca brought me a bowl of buttered penne pasta, a bottle of water, and the other half of the valium. It (and the food) calmed me enough to finally get me talking.
I told them about Emma Rose. I told them what had happened at work earlier that day. I told them I had lost Jackson Ford, as my author and probably also my lover, and that I had no idea why. Bianca’s face was a blank slate, but a myriad of emotions flashed across Maggie’s expressive features.
When I was finished, Bianca held me. “Oh sweetheart,” she said. “You’re getting it from all sides.”
The act of telling them had exhausted me, and I had no energy left to process. They knew that instinctively. Bianca suggested we all hit the sack and talk in the morning. I suspect that they stayed up discussing how to proceed, but I was in a valium-induced sleep soon after I crawled into Bianca’s bed.
When I woke the next day, my head ached and I felt like everything was moving slowly, but at least I was functional. I could hear my friends clanging around in the kitchen, and I had barely stepped out of bed when Maggie appeared in the doorway.
“Hey,” she said in the most soothing voice I’d ever heard Maggie produce. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m in some alternate universe,” I replied.
“Well in this universe, Bianca and I can cook,” she joked. I couldn’t smile.
“Stay,” she said. “We’ll bring it in here.”
I went to the bathroom, and when I returned the two of them had brought in a tray of scrambled eggs, toast, sliced cantaloupe, coffee, and tea. We all got into bed, and Bianca served. I felt chilled, and B jumped up and got me a sweater. I didn’t touch my plate, but I did want to talk.
“Should I go to the Berkshires?” I asked.
“No,” they both replied as a chorus.
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing,” said B, “your boss specifically told you not to. And for another, with his erratic behavior lately I would worry about you. It also sounds like. . . like he’s not ready to see you. Yet. It might make things worse.”
“But—”
I looked from one concerned face to the other. I felt like my heart was being wrenched out of my chest. Finally I said, “I can’t stand him hating me. And not knowing what I did, what he thinks I did. This feels wrong.”
They glanced at each other. It wasn’t the response they were expecting.
“I have to know what happened,” I said. “I have to fix this.” Suddenly I had energy. I started to get out of bed, upsetting some of the plates. Bianca and Maggie reached out for me with steadying hands.
“No, honey,” said Mags. “We need to talk. We need to talk this through.” I looked at their faces, etched with worry, and I sat back down.
“What good is talking when there’s something I don’t know,” I pleaded. “Something’s missing. None of this makes sense.”
“Okay, let’s just talk about what we do know,” said Bianca. “When was the last time you spoke to him?”
“Wednesday morning.”
“What happened?”
“We’d had a fight about the book. The day before. He thought I was putting Louise’s demands before his needs as a writer. He was right, so I dealt with Louise and then I apologized by email. And Wednesday morning he apologized to me, too. He sent me a signed first edition of The Sun Also Rises—”
“Holy shit,” Mags breathed.
“—and we talked by phone. Everything was great. It was great. He said he would come visit on the weekend. We were fine, it was all fine.”
“And you didn’t speak with him after that?” asked Mags.
“No. Not until Friday morning when he called the office.”
They looked at each other, stumped.
“What could have happened?” Bianca said, thinking out loud.
“Maybe someone else talked to him? Told him some bullshit,” Maggie speculated. “That other editor at work, the one who’s so jealous of you, maybe she got involved?”
“Jennifer Carpenter?” I said.
“Yeah, maybe she told him something to piss him off,” B agreed. “So she could get the job. I mean, she did get the job after all, right?”
I thought about it, but it didn’t feel right. “I guess it could be Jennifer, but she really looked shocked when I got to the conference room. And the way she was gloating. . . she was pleased, but definitely surprised. I don’t know if she’s that good an actor.”
“What about Luke?” asked Maggie, her tone dark. “Doesn’t he want you back?”
“No, Luke and I talked it out and I’m pretty sure he’s come to accept that it’s never going to happen,” I replied. “And Carolyn said he tried to turn off the speakerphone, to end the call. If he was trying to take me down, he wouldn’t have stepped in like that.”
Bianca rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, as if her brain ached. Suddenly she stopped. “Hold on,” she said. “When he was on the phone with you he said you needed to be ‘punished.’ So maybe this didn’t come from someone else who’s out to get you. Could you have done anything to him, anything at all, that he would think warrants this kind of punishment? Even by accident?”
I looked at her blankly. “The only thing I’ve done is push him about the book.”
“He was so angry, in that first email,” said Mags, nodding. “Maybe he’s still resentful. Or maybe he’s stuck on the manuscript and blaming it on you.”
“Maya Angelou has this amazing quote,” said B. “‘When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.’”
“Could this be payback?” Maggie asked anxiously.
“I don’t know,” said Bianca. “That would mean he’s been playing her for weeks. I find that far-fetched. He might act like kind of a jerk sometimes, but I don’t think he’s a sociopath. He’s just a man who thinks he’s been wronged.”
I nodded, listening in anguish. But what if Mags was right? Had I been played? Could I have been so off-base about Jackson, about our relationship? I ran through our encounters in my mind and a chill ran down my spine as I recalled how unresponsive he had been, even after our phone sex. The ignored phone calls. The clipped replies to my emails. The way he’d disappear. I remembered how livid he’d been when I showed up at his home. How controlling in our sexual encounters.
But then I remembered the hotel. The way he’d kissed every inch of my body, taking it slow, the way we’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms and the way he’d opened up to me afterward. It couldn’t be.
“No,” I said. “That’s not possible. I lived it, I know. The night in the hotel—he wasn’t pretending. There was a perfection to it. We connected. I know what I felt. We weren’t just together, we made love. And I know we didn’t call it that, but that’s what it was.”
And then I said it.
“I’m in love with the man. And despite what he’s done, I know that he’s in love with me. I know it. Nothing changes that.”
And with those words came a kind of clarity. Bianca and Maggie could feel it too. They looked at each other. Then Bianca said, “I believe you.” Mags nodded in agreement. I sighed, relieved they weren’t going to try and talk me out of it, or worse—pity me for believing
what I did.
“So how do I fix this?” I asked. “How do I find out what’s changed? If I can’t go up there, do I call? Email?” We thought about it.
“I wouldn’t email—there’s just too much room for misinterpretation, and you’ll never know if he even read it or not,” said Bianca. “That’d drive you crazy.”
She was right. I nodded. “Then I’ll call.”
“But what will you say?” asked Maggie. “What if he just hangs up?”
I was resolute. “I at least have to try.” But then I realized I had no idea where my phone was. “Where’s my bag, B?” I asked.
“I’ll get it,” she said, standing up. Then she paused. “Maybe you shouldn’t call on your phone. What if he’s screening?”
“Here, use mine.” Maggie handed me her cell.
I took the phone and swiped to the keypad. For a moment my fingers hesitated over the screen, my heart pounding in my chest, my stomach clenching up.
“We’ll be out in the living room,” said Mags, tugging Bianca toward the door. “We love you.” She shut the door behind them, leaving me alone.
I took a deep breath and I dialed. Then I held the phone to my ear, closing my eyes and pressing a cold hand against my hot cheek. And then I heard a woman’s recorded voice: “The number you have reached is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and dial your call again.”
I looked down at the phone and checked the screen. There was no error. I’d dialed the right number. I went out to the living room and shook my head at my friends’ expectant faces. “The number’s been disconnected.”
“Oh, honey,” B said.
“I’m sorry,” Mags whispered. “Come sit.”
We sat silently on the couch, everyone lost in her own thoughts.
“I just feel so helpless,” I said. “I can’t make anything better. I can’t help my mother; she’s just slipping away. And now, Jackson, it’s the same thing. I’m losing everyone. And I can’t stop it.”
“You’ll never lose us,” said Bianca. “But you are helping Emma Rose. You’ve made sure she has the best care possible. You’ve made sure she gets cutting edge treatments, a great doctor and the kindest nurses.”
“You’ve made sure she feels loved,” added Maggie. “Whether or not she understands you’re her daughter. You’re there for her, and you show you care.”
“And as for Jackson,” said Bianca. “Maybe you can’t go to the Berkshires. Maybe you can’t call him if he’s going to change his fucking phone number. But you know what? You do have this meeting on Monday. You can confront him then. Face to face. It’s better that way, anyway. He won’t be able to hang up or slam the door. He’ll have to listen.”
“I’m just so mortified,” I admitted. “I don’t know if I can walk back in that office.”
“Listen,” Bianca said. “My first time on a runway, I slipped. I fell flat on my face. In front of a huge crowd, who all had their eyes glued to me. I was appalled. But I got up, I finished my walk, and then do you know what I did when I got backstage? I cracked up laughing. And then the designer and the other girls laughed too. If I’d been apologetic, or just run away and hid my face, I probably never would have worked for that designer again. Instead, I became a regular.”
“You’re amazing, B,” I said, smiling through my pain. “That was really brave.”
“Thank you,” she said primly. “But I’m not the only one who’s brave here. And my point is, people are going to take their reactions off of you. So on Monday, you’re going to double down on the sexy. You’re going to wear that pencil skirt you have with the slit. The one that says, I’m all about that business and yes my ass looks good to boot. And heels. You’ll wear your hair up, keep your head held high, and when you strut in there you’re going to look them in the eyes like the badass you are. You know why?”
I shook my head, but Bianca’s fierce tone had gotten a smile out of me.
“Because you don’t have anything to be ashamed of! You’re a sexual being! What the fuck! You didn’t do anything wrong, and your private life is yours to live however you want, and nobody else’s business. Someone else played your private call on that phone line. That wasn’t you. You didn’t do that. If they see you’re not willing to be a victim, you won’t become one. I promise.”
It was proactive. It was a plan. I sat up a little taller on the couch.
“And you need to remember that with Jackson, too,” said Maggie. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You need to get angry. Because whatever he thinks you did to him, it doesn’t justify this. He should have talked to you. You’re both adults. He owes you a fucking explanation.”
“She’s right,” said Bianca. “Monday is a fact-finding mission. That’s what Monday is. Because, sure, maybe he’s been misled. Or there’s some terrible confusion, or some lie he took at face value and shouldn’t have. And maybe you two can work that out. And maybe not. But either way, you need to take a hard look at who this man really is, not just who he says he is or who you think he is. The real Jackson Ford.”
I nodded my head, sick over the idea that I might find out he wasn’t the person I thought he was, but realizing that I needed to know the truth.
“And you’re going to need your strength, so you’d better eat,” said Mags, pushing the plate of cold eggs and toast towards me.
“Yeah,” said Bianca. “You can’t go back in the ring like this.”
I looked at the eggs, and forced myself to take a bite. The toast was better, and seeing me eat seemed to calm my friends down a little.
“So what time is this meeting on Monday?” asked B.
“Eleven.”
“I’ll be there for you. I’ll call in sick,” she said.
“And I’ll call myself and say I’m sick,” joked Mags. “So I’ll be there, too.” I smiled. “Ahhh, there you go,” she said victoriously.
“Look, you guys,” I said, “you don’t have to do that.”
“No, we don’t have to. But we want to,” replied Mags. “Who held me every night for a week while I cried myself to sleep when my brother died?” she asked.
“Me,” I replied, remembering the pain she’d gone through, and how hard it had been to see her tear herself apart.
“I don’t know if I would have gotten through Patrick’s suicide without you, Ellie. I would do anything for you.”
“Thank you.” She put her arm around me and I leaned into the hug.
“And who took me to the emergency room when my appendix burst? And slept in a chair for two days?” asked Bianca.
“That was me, I guess.”
“Damn right it was you. We’re not any better a friend than you are, Ellie. We stick together no matter what.”
I looked into their faces.
I felt stronger. I felt loved.
We spent the rest of the weekend playing Scrabble, drinking wine, and binge-watching all of the Hunger Games movies. When we were hungry, we ordered out. Hour by hour my heart felt stronger, my mind clearer.
On Sunday night, I went to sleep early. I dreamed of Jackson. Even in my sleep, I couldn’t erase him.
I woke up, groaning his name, thrashing in my sleep and awakening Maggie and Bianca who were in bed beside me. “Ellie, wake up, wake up!” Maggie shook me, a bit too vigorously, and helped me sit up in bed. “It was just a dream.”
I nodded, shaken by the dream I couldn’t quite remember, the sense of loss still lingering. There were tears on my cheeks and I wiped them away.
“Are you okay?” B asked.
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Nightmares. Go back to sleep.”
When they were both sleeping again, I slipped out of bed. Went to the bathroom, closing the door. I didn’t turn on the light. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I brought my shaking fingers down to my wet pussy and gave into my aching need. Within minutes I came, memories of Jackson flooding my mind. I waited until my breaths slowed, and then I went back to bed.
In the morning, when I awoke, Bianca and Maggie were already in the kitchen. I came out of the bedroom to find them fully dressed, setting the table.
“What time is it?” I asked, my head foggy.
“Good morning,” said B. “It’s almost seven. We thought we’d have a quick breakfast here, then go to your place so you can get ready.”
“Okay,” I said. My voice didn’t sound like my own.
We sat and ate soft-boiled eggs and tea. I didn’t have much of an appetite. Maggie cracked a bunch of silly jokes, so I knew she was nervous. But inside, I was calm. This was my last stand, and it might not end well, but it was all I could do and I’d give it my best. And no matter what happened, at least I would know where I stood with Jackson. I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life worrying what could have been if I’d just tried to talk it out with him.
After breakfast, Maggie drove us to my place in the Jeep. They helped me pick out a green silk blouse, heels, and the pencil skirt Bianca had requested. I put everything on and stood for their approval.
“You look great,” said Mags.
“Like a warrior,” said B.
“Really?” I asked, looking down at my outfit.
They nodded.
“You got this,” Mags reassured me.
I put on my makeup while they helped me with my hair, pep-talking me the whole way through.
Then we drove to DR.
When I got out of the Jeep, B leaned over. “Remember,” she said. “Fact-finding. You don’t have to solve everything today.”
“Alright,” I said. “I got it.”
“Love you,” called Mags.
“We’re going to park the car and then we’ll be down in the lobby coffee shop, waiting for you,” Bianca promised. “As long as it takes. We’ll be there.”
