by Kyra Davis
I thought about my life and the wonderful times I had had with Anatoly during the year we had dated. I had loved arguing with him and laughing with him. And I had really loved sleeping with him.
If I married Anatoly I could have the very things the average girl on JDate dreamed of: a sexy, tall, Jewish husband and a mother-in-law who lived on another continent. Did I want what the JDate women wanted?
No. Absolutely not. Some people were meant to be married. My sister was one of them, and I had no doubt that Mary Ann would eventually tie the knot with some Prince Charming. Marriage was right for them. But the very thought of putting on a long white dress gave me hives. It just wasn’t me. Right now I didn’t even want to live with Anatoly, but that might change given enough time, say five or six years from now when Mr. Katz had gone senile and I needed help getting him back and forth to the kitty-litter box.
We were only a few minutes away from Ooh La La at this point, and it was clear from his glazed over expression that Anatoly thought the conversation had ended, so I probably should have let the whole thing go. But instead I blurted out, “I want to be Susan Sarandon.”
Anatoly’s glazed expression was replaced by one of complete confusion. “Did I miss something?”
“I want to be Susan, and in a few years I might want you to be my Tim Robbins.”
Anatoly gave me a funny look but didn’t say anything as I turned the car onto Fillmore. I held my breath, waiting for him to say “Yes! I want to be Tim!” but it didn’t happen. I should have known we weren’t going to work anything out. Why had I ever wanted to be with this person? And why wasn’t I over him?
I took a few minutes to search for nonmetered parking since neither Anatoly nor I had any change, but I wasn’t having any success. Eventually I gave up and pulled into a metered spot on one of the side streets. I leaned over Anatoly to grab the Cody’s bag and my hand brushed against his leg. The man could win the Tour de France with those legs. Well-defined calves, solid thighs. I used to love watching those muscles tense when I—
“Having a hard time?”
“Huh?” I looked up at Anatoly, who was smirking.
“Are you having a hard time getting the book? You’ve been down there awhile.”
I grabbed the book and jerked back up. “Just stay with the car in case a meter maid shows up. I’ll be back in a minute.” I left the keys in the ignition and jumped out, slamming my door a little harder than necessary.
My cell rang right as I turned the corner. The words on the screen read Unknown Number.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Sophie.” It was Darth Vader. “I may like to dress up like a koala bear, but I have the temper of a wild grizzly.”
“Okay, who—” But before I had a chance to finish my question there was a beep. Someone else was calling me. “Hold on for a second,” I instructed, and then clicked over. “Hello?”
“Hi, Sophie, it’s Johnny.” He sounded much less cheerful than usual.
“Johnny, I’m on the other line right now, can I call you back?”
“Yeah, okay, but I sort of have some bad news. Well, not bad news exactly, but it’s not good. I can’t believe I’m doing this—I don’t want to do this.”
“Johnny, what are you talking about?”
“I just talked to the boss man, you know, Fitzgerald. I had invited him and his wife to come to my housewarming party and he had said yes, which is great because it could really help my career if Fitzgerald starts to consider me a friend, I mean assuming I stay in politics, which I might.”
“Johnny, can we hurry this up?” It seemed rude to keep the leader of the dark side on hold.
“Oh, sorry. Like I said, I just talked to Fitzgerald and I happened to mention that the woman who interviewed him for the National Review was coming to the party and he got all wiggy and kind of mad. He said he wouldn’t come if you were there and I know I should stand up to him, but I really need my job, Sophie. The rent on my new place is super high and I just signed the lease and—”
“Johnny, it’s fine.” Weird, but fine. “We’ll talk more about this later, okay?” I clicked over without waiting for him to answer. “Are you still there?”
“You put me on hooold!” Darth Vader shouted. Well, he didn’t really shout, Darth Vader doesn’t have those kind of vocal chords, but his voice box did seem to be on a louder setting. “How could you put me on hold when I was in the middle of threatening you?”
“Oh, is that what you were doing? Because normally when someone threatens you, they don’t mention koala bears, or cats. And here’s an FYI, if you want to leave someone an ominous note you shouldn’t sign it with a Pink Panther sticker. You know what you need? An image consultant. Who does Cheney use? He always comes across as really evil.”
“Just stay out of my business, or else!” he said.
And then there was a dial tone.
When I got to the salon, Marcus was walking a client to the door. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite authoress.” He introduced me to his client, Dee Dee something, and then, after exchanging a few air kisses, sent her on her way. “I hope you aren’t trying to whisk me away for a late lunch. My next client is in the girl’s room as we speak.”
I handed him the book.
“You bought me a new one?”
I nodded.
Marcus studied me for a moment. “Why do you seem discombobulated? Is there something else?”
“Darth Vader likes to dress up like a koala bear.”
Marcus paused for a beat. “He said that?”
“Yes, but he has the temper of a grizzly.”
Marcus toyed with one of his dreadlocks. “Maybe this guy isn’t Darth Vader after all. Maybe he’s an Ewok with a cold.”
“Ewoks are nice.”
“Not always. They almost cooked Luke and Han Solo when they first met them.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Sophie, how can I help you with this? This is nuts!”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Um, yeah!”
“I’ve been threatened by a cat-loving Ewok with a cold.”
We were both quiet for a minute and then simultaneously burst into peals of laughter, attracting the quizzical looks of the other people in the reception area.
“I assume you have no idea what number the Ewok was calling you from,” Marcus said once the giggles had subsided, “since you are the last person on the planet not to have caller ID.”
“I’m not the last person on the planet without it, there’s still my mother. Besides, it wouldn’t have done me any good. This guy called me on my cell and his number came up as unknown….” My voice faded out as the full significance of what I was saying dawned on me.
“He has your cell number now?” Marcus’s smile disappeared and he took a step closer. “Sophie, when you said you got a note from Darth Vader did you mean he sent you a note or did you find it somewhere?”
“I found it taped to my front door. He knows my home phone number, he knows where I live and now he knows my cell number.” I swallowed and stared down at the Nokia that was still in my hands. “This is one resourceful Ewok.”
Neither of us laughed this time.
“Do you think I should report this to the police?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
“They won’t do anything.”
“Not a damn thing,” Marcus agreed.
“Do you still think that these threats are related to what happened to Eugene?”
“At first I did,” Marcus said, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “But now I’m not sure. Politicians are crazy, Sophie, but they’re not usually this kind of crazy. This is more San Francisco-State-stoner-college-student brand of crazy. I’d chalk it all up to a prank, but the fact that this guy took the time to find out your cell phone number and your address shows that he’s at least somewhat serious.” He put a hand on my shoulder and his face was painted with concern. “Sophie, you may have another stalker on your hands.
”
I bit into my lip. Last time I had been stalked it had led to a near-death experience. “Why does this always happen to me?”
“I have no idea, honey, but I’m thinking you must have been a serious bitch in a past life.”
“Great, Marcus, that’s just great.” A woman came out of the restroom and, upon seeing Marcus, removed her hair from its ponytail. “I’ll let you get back to work,” I said, and turned to leave.
“Wait. Do you really think you should be alone right now?”
“I’m not alone. I have my nemesis waiting for me in the car.”
“Your nephew?”
“Anatoly.”
“Anatoly’s with you?” Marcus’s tone reflected his relief. I wasn’t so sure that I shared the sentiment. Alone I was more vulnerable to attack, but with Anatoly I was just more vulnerable, period.
I found Anatoly and my car exactly where I had left them. I slipped behind the wheel just as he was hanging up his cell phone.
“You’re not my koala bear, are you?” I asked.
Anatoly gave me a funny look. “Is that some kind of sexual innuendo?”
I shook my head and started the engine, but before I could push the car into Drive Anatoly put his hand over mine. “Sophie, when is the last time you talked to Melanie?”
“She called me around five o’clock last night, but I didn’t get the message until after eleven. I haven’t been able to reach her since. Why?”
“She called me several times yesterday,” Anatoly said. “She wanted to know what I found out about that letter. I was waiting until I met with Tiff to call her back, but she hasn’t been answering her phone. She still isn’t.”
My hand mechanically clutched at the strap of my seat belt. “How many times did she call yesterday?”
“Four,” Anatoly said, “and now she’s not responding to my messages…or my e-mails. This visit to Marcus reminded me that one of her messages said that the only time she would be unavailable was between two and three-thirty today because she was getting her hair done at some place called Changes Salon.”
“Maybe we should call there.”
“I just did. She never showed up.”
I was silent for a very long time.
Finally Anatoly cleared his throat. “Would you like to go to her house with me?”
“Yes,” I whispered. It was the only word I could manage.
Anatoly nodded. “Why don’t we go back for the Harley. It’ll get us there faster.”
14
I used to be a perfectionist, but not anymore. I finally realized that it’s much healthier to just live in denial.
—C’est La Mort
ANATOLY WOVE HIS HARLEY THROUGHT THE TRAFFIC ON HIGHWAY 101 while I embraced him from the back of the bike. I was trying to figure out what I was feeling. I wanted to be angry—angry at Melanie for scaring us like this—but that didn’t work because I wasn’t going to allow myself to be scared. Melanie was one of those people who always sent her Christmas and birthday cards out on time and always returned her phone calls. Unless she had undergone a personality transplant, there had to be something very, very wrong.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to calm myself. “Wrong” was such a loose term. If Melanie, who had never indulged in more than two drinks on any given day, had, in a moment of despair, gotten hammered, she would have considered that wrong—so wrong she would have likely locked herself in the confessional with some priest to repent. That was the kind of “wrong” I could live with.
I clung to this unlikely fantasy as we rode to Melanie’s house. When we arrived, Anatoly waited for me to get off the bike before placing both of our helmets in the saddle bags.
“Maybe she’s home from church by now,” I said hopefully as I studied her ornately carved double wood door from the sidewalk.
“Church?”
“That’s where she’s been,” I said. “I’ve decided.”
“I see.” For once Anatoly didn’t sound sarcastic. Worse, he sounded like he felt sorry for me, as if he knew that I was about to be dealt a terrible blow.
But he didn’t know any more than I did and I wasn’t going to let his pessimism freak me out. I started up the walkway but Anatoly grabbed my arm. “She didn’t pick up her paper this morning,” he noted.
I swallowed hard and stared at the untouched Contra Costa Times that lay on the well-manicured front lawn. “That’s because she was a little out of it. This was probably her first hangover.”
“Ah, this is something else you’ve decided?”
I nodded, pulled my arm free and strode up to her porch. I pressed the doorbell and waited a full minute before pounding on the door.
No answer.
Anatoly stepped onto the lawn and pressed his face against her bay window. Then, when he apparently didn’t see anything of interest, he went to the garage and looked up at the narrow windows that were well beyond his reach. “Come here,” he instructed.
I did as requested and didn’t make a peep when he lifted me up so that I could peer inside the windows. “Is her car there?” he asked, his hands firmly gripping my waist.
“Nope. See, I told you she went to church.”
“It’s Thursday.”
“She’s very religious.”
Anatoly put me back down on the ground. “You could be right. There could be nothing to worry about. She’s a grown woman and she’s been out of contact for less than twenty-four hours, so it’s a little early to alert the police.”
“Why the hell would we alert the police? Melanie was upset and she probably decided she didn’t want to return her phone calls right away. This behavior is not exactly the kind of thing you call in the cavalry for.”
“Not at all. Nonetheless…”
“Nonetheless, what?”
“Instinct tells me that something’s wrong. She was anxious to hear if I could make any sense out of that letter. Anxious people don’t ignore phone calls that could potentially put them at ease.”
“Maybe she doesn’t know we called. Maybe she’s with a lover.”
Anatoly raised an eyebrow. “You know something I don’t?”
“No, but as I’ve told you, I’ve decided that she got drunk last night, so she might have done something else out of character like pick up some stranger in a bar.”
Anatoly gave me an odd look and, despite my distress, I laughed. “Okay, I can’t really picture that one, either, but anything’s possible.” Anything except the thing we were both worried about.
Anatoly looked back at the front door. “She left the porch light on.”
I followed his gaze. It wasn’t immediately noticeable in the afternoon sun, but he was right, which meant that she either left earlier that day with the expectation of coming home after dark or she had left yesterday and never made it home.
“I’m going to walk around the house,” Anatoly said decisively. I considered following him but decided against it. Instead, I sat on the front step and gazed out at the tree-lined street. It was a little after three o’clock and minivans and Volvos were pulling out of driveways presumably to pick young children up from their after-school activities. Were these Melanie’s friends? I stood up and cut across Melanie’s yard to reach her neighbor’s house. A forty-something woman with a perfectly groomed brown bob answered the door. She had a tote-bag slung over her shoulder and her keys in her hand.
“Can I help you?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m a friend of Melanie’s and I was supposed to meet her a half hour ago,” I lied. “It’s not like her to stand me up and I was wondering if you might have seen her today.”
“Who’s Melanie?”
So much for the friend idea. “Your neighbor.” I gestured to Melanie’s house with my thumb.
“Ah, right, of course. She just lost her husband, didn’t she? No, I haven’t seen her. I’m sorry I can’t be of much help, but I have to go pick up my kids.”
“Yeah, okay.” I stepped aside as sh
e breezed past me to get to the Mercedes parked in the driveway. “I don’t suppose you know if she’s friends with anyone else on the block?”
The woman shook her head as she opened the car door. “I couldn’t say for sure, but my guess is no. Her husband was a bit intolerant when it came to the children in the neighborhood, and since most of the people on the block have kids, we kept our distance.”
“Intolerant in what way?” I asked out of idle curiosity.
The woman paused briefly, one foot in the car. “He thought they should all act like Little Lord Fauntleroy.”
I smiled as I watched her drive away. That did sound like Eugene.
Anatoly came out from behind the house.
“Find anything worrisome?” Please say no.
“No.”
Thank you.
Anatoly stuck his thumbs through his belt loops and cast another look at the empty house. “Are you still going to that dinner party tonight?”
“Forgot to tell you, I’ve been uninvited.”
Anatoly smiled slightly. “Don’t tell me Johnny has fallen out of love with you.”
“No, he still loves me but his boss doesn’t. He told Johnny he didn’t want me there.”
Anatoly did a quick double take. “Why’s that?”
“I have no idea except…you know, he called Melanie a while back and asked her if I worked at the National Review. She backed up my story but not very convincingly.”
“Perhaps he thinks you’re working for another publication, one that isn’t likely to feature him in a favorable light,” Anatoly mused. “If that’s the case he’d want to keep his distance.”
“True. But no matter what’s going on with Fitzgerald I still think Anne’s the most likely suspect. Not only does she have motive, but she knew way too much about Eugene when we talked to her.”
“Agreed,” Anatoly said as he directed me back to the Harley. “Come on, I’m taking you back to the city.”
