Barring Complications

by Blythe Rippon

  “What else do you remember?” Genevieve asked.

  Victoria dropped her eyes. “I remember you turned my whole world upside down. I remember forgetting to breathe when you were near. I remember wanting so badly to stop time.”

  After a long pause, she looked up to see Genevieve staring at her.

  “Wow. That’s a lot of honesty for a first date.”

  “This hardly feels like a first date,” Victoria said.

  “So I’m the only one with first date jitters?”

  “Hmm. I didn’t say that.”

  Genevieve raised her champagne flute. “To reunions.”

  “To reunions. So, do you still wall climb?”

  “It’s been a while. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been swimming a lot lately.”

  “How’s that working out for you?”

  “It’s challenging, but I’ve got some great motivation.”

  Victoria was on the verge of reaching out and taking Genevieve’s hand when the waiter arrived with a second bottle of champagne.

  “Oh, no thank you, I have to drive,” Genevieve said.

  Victoria had forgotten. She had forgotten the cars outside, or even that there was an outside, a world beyond their table. She glanced out the window. “Have you found your way around DC okay?”

  “Bethany’s taken me to a couple of the hot new restaurants. She tried to take me to a gay bar once, but she showed up at my house wearing mom jeans and a North Face fleece, with her hair in a ponytail, and I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to get out the door.”

  Victoria almost snorted out her bouillabaisse.

  “Oh, she also had a Camelbak water bottle. Who brings a water bottle as a prop to a bar? She said she did some research and ‘the new lesbian does her shopping at REI.’ I couldn’t get her to admit where she’d gleaned this information.”

  Victoria’s eyes filled with tears as she tried to contain her laughter. “God, I wish I had been there for that. What were you wearing?”

  Genevieve raised her eyebrows. Recalling an earlier conversation with Sonya about badminton, Victoria realized was making quite a habit of asking women about their attire.

  “I was, I don’t know, in normal going-out-in-DC clothes.”

  “Well, next time Bethany tries to take you to a gay bar, I want to come too.”

  Genevieve paused. “You’ve changed.”

  Victoria shrugged. “In some ways.” She thought for a moment about how Genevieve had changed since college. She was more certain about what she wanted, more confident of her place in the world. But she had the same big eyes that drank up the world around her, that drew people to her and made them love her. Her wit and charm were still overwhelmingly the same.

  After dinner was over and they had each had more than their fill, Genevieve reached for her purse. “Well, shall we split it?”

  Victoria held up her hand. “No need. It’s taken care of.” Wallace had given the restaurant her credit card number when he’d made the reservation. He had been discreet enough not to ask any questions about who Victoria might be treating to a very expensive dinner.

  Genevieve started to protest, but Victoria interrupted. “It’s really my pleasure. I’m glad I got to take you to dinner.”

  She felt buoyant as they walked to their cars, and when they arrived at hers she reached for Genevieve’s hands. “Thanks for tonight,” she said, and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. She let her lips linger a second longer than perhaps she should have, but Genevieve smelled too good not to. “Goodnight, Genevieve.”

  “Goodnight, Tori.”

  They got into their cars and drove their separate ways. When she pulled into her driveway twenty minutes later, Victoria realized she had forgotten to ask Genevieve for her cell phone number.

  Chapter Four

  Genevieve

  It wasn’t like they had a standing date or anything. They’d certainly never discussed it. They had just met at the Harbour Club every Friday at seven p.m. for the past six months. Even when things hadn’t ended well, they’d still met outside their changing rooms the following week and walked to the pool together. And last Friday had been so wonderful that Genevieve had been humming all week.

  She stretched while she waited outside Tori’s dressing room. She didn’t have a watch on, but it didn’t matter—she knew she’d been there around twenty minutes. All day long she’d had a bad feeling about tonight. After thirty seconds each on her quads, hamstrings, shoulders, and calves, she started getting angry. And worried. And feeling angry about worrying, because why should she? It wasn’t like she had any claim to Tori.

  At last she gave up stalling and marched to the pool without looking back. She jumped straight in and began swimming. Her strokes were hard and angry, and before she’d completed her first lap she was gasping for air. Of course Tori was running. That’s what she did—she bolted when things got hard or real or complicated.

  Fool me twice, shame on me, she thought.

  Some water went up her nose, and now she was angry and coughing, too. She’d swallowed her pride to reconnect with Tori. She had been the wronged party, and yet she was reaching out again despite having received no apology.

  She was just finishing her tenth lap when, instead of hitting the wall and turning around, she launched herself out of the pool, snatched up her towel, and ran to her private room.

  Swimming was out of the question now, whatever was going on. Either she’d just been stood up, or something had happened. They might not have verbally agreed on their Friday night swims, but Tori was punctual and considerate, and it was unlike her to fail to show up without making an effort to communicate her change of plans. When she had walked out all those years ago, she had confronted Genevieve face to face rather than simply avoiding her. Genevieve could not shake the fear that something was very wrong.

  She didn’t bother showering. Her swimsuit was going to stink tomorrow, but she stuffed it into a plastic bag and threw it into her duffel. She yanked on jeans and a sweater and slid into loafers. She was slinging her bag over her shoulder and climbing the stairs two at a time when a young man on his way down to the locker rooms stopped her.

  “You’re—you’re Genevieve Fornier! You were…I just wanted to say that you were fantastic back in December during oral arguments at the Supreme Court. You were really…I’m really glad to meet you.”

  Genevieve mumbled her thanks and tried to walk around him.

  “My name’s Wallace Young. I was Victoria Willoughby’s clerk this past session.”

  “You were?” She stopped and looked at him for the first time. He had kind brown eyes, closely-cropped hair, and wire-rimmed glasses. He seemed the type Tori would trust. “Do you know her phone number?”

  He knit his brows, suddenly suspicious. “Why?”

  She was going about this all wrong. “I’m sorry. Wallace, you said? It’s lovely to meet you.” She held out her hand and smiled, but she couldn’t suppress her nervous energy. He shook her hand warily. “It’s a little complicated, Wallace, but Tori and I usually swim together on Fridays.”

  “Tori?” he asked, blankly.

  “Victoria. Victoria and I usually swim together on Fridays. But she didn’t show tonight, and I’m suddenly worried. So, do you know her number?”

  “Wait, if you two are friends, shouldn’t you know her number?”

  “Right. Well, since we weren’t supposed to talk until after the decision came down…” She could tell she was really losing him. Losing it.

  “How about I call her? She did tell me she was swimming tonight, so it’s strange that she’s not here.” He pulled his cell out of his pants pocket and punched a couple of buttons. As he waited for an answer, they met each other’s eyes and then awkwardly looked away.

  He probably thought she was a psycho. And how embarrassing would it be if it turned out that Tori was just fine? Or out on a date?

  He hung up. “No answer.”

  Genevieve’s throat ti
ghtened. Her nervousness must have been contagious, because Wallace seemed concerned, too.

  “It’s probably nothing. But, um, do you know where she lives?” she asked, fidgeting with the strap of her duffle.

  He nodded. “I’ll drive.”

  Her hands were shaking, and she was positive she shouldn’t be operating a motor vehicle in this state. Wallace set off at a brisk pace in front of her, and she hurried after him.

  She was winded when they got to the car, but even after they had pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway she still hadn’t caught her breath. Her hands were sweaty.

  “So, do you think it’s the stalker?” Wallace asked.

  “Stalker? She has a stalker?”

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  Genevieve’s crossed leg swung back and forth erratically. “No, we never talked.” She paused. “About it. We never talked about it.” He executed a particularly deft lane change and she grabbed for the handle above the door. “How do you know about this stalker?”

  His eyes narrowed. “There was an incident with my former roommate, and I had a few meetings with the Supreme Court Police. This past year, she’s been harassed by a reporter and followed around town by someone else. I guess they can’t get his face on a camera. But he was in her backyard once.”

  “He knows where she lives?”

  “They think so. But they assigned a detective to tail her and the stalker disappeared. Or at least, started keeping a pretty low profile.”

  “Oh.” She pondered the implications of the Supreme Court Police getting involved. Tori wouldn’t invite such an invasion of her privacy unless she was seriously concerned. “I don’t suppose you or I could do anything to protect her that the Supreme Court Police couldn’t do.”

  “Well, there’s been no contact from the stalker since before oral arguments in the Iowa case. Everyone assumed he was going to try to prevent Tori from voting in some way, and clearly he didn’t. Once the decision came down, the SC Police stopped their surveillance.”

  Genevieve clutched the handle more tightly. “Can you drive faster, please?”

  He nodded and she closed her eyes, hoping to avoid carsickness.

  “So, what, we think this stalker is a homophobe?”

  “That was the working theory.”

  “But this doesn’t make sense.” Genevieve tried to get her rational mind to master her fear. “Why would he suddenly reappear now?”

  When no answer was forthcoming, she pried open her eyes and turned to find Wallace chewing on the inside of his cheek.

  “You weren’t online today?” he asked.

  It took her a minute to realize what had changed: her pounding heartbeat seemed to have stopped altogether. “I buried myself in work today. Why?”

  “Victoria was giving a talk at Georgetown Law’s graduation ceremony. Afterwards, some women came up to her and said she was a role model to them, because she was the first lesbian justice. She thanked them for the compliment and said she wished she’d had a role model when she was in their position. Someone got it on their iPhone and uploaded it. Everyone is taking this as her big coming out moment.”

  Genevieve felt sick. She could have blamed the hotrod driving, but lacked the energy to lie to herself.

  Wallace was careening down residential streets now, and she was so turned around that she had no idea where they were. The houses on the tree-lined street were beautiful, and she would have found the neighborhood charming under other circumstances. She closed her eyes again. The radio was off and the silence in the car felt oppressive.

  “So you and Victoria know each other from law school, right?”

  “Yes.” She hoped this line of questioning didn’t get too far advanced before they arrived at Tori’s house.

  “Yeah, she mentioned that. She said if anyone could win that case, you could. Your arguments were brilliant. And you’re so much more personable than Nic or Jamie—I doubt either of them could have swayed Kellen.”

  He continued talking about the case, but she tuned him out. If she hadn’t been crazy with worry, she would have been fascinated to hear his side of things. As it was, all she could concentrate on were the sirens in the background.

  Wait, sirens?

  She opened her eyes and craned her neck as Wallace turned a corner.

  The block ahead was closed off and filled with squad cars, ambulances, and a fire truck. She was out of the car before Wallace threw it into park. Racing to the barricades, she tried to squeeze through but was stopped by a gruff police officer. He was trying to talk to her, and she knew she should answer. But all she could do was try to see over his shoulder.

  “Is she okay? What happened? Can I—please, can I just—”

  He grabbed her shoulders and pointed her so she was squarely facing him. “Slow down. You can’t get through right now. You’ll have to wait. If you give me your name, I’ll see if someone can come speak with you.”

  “Genevieve Fornier,” she mumbled. The officer took a step back and released her shoulders. She continued to peer around him, hoping to see something informative, while he spoke into his radio.

  “Where is she? What’s going on?” Wallace asked, panting behind her.

  “I don’t know anything, and this guy won’t let me through!” Genevieve threw up her hands.

  “Well, let’s just see him stop the two of us!” Wallace blew past her and began weaving between police cars. She took off after him as the police officer yelled for them to stop. They only got about four squad cars closer before five federal agents descended on them.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” barked an deep voice. An imposing man in a different uniform shoved the agents aside and stood in front of them with his arms crossed. Staring at Wallace, he said, “You? Haven’t you caused enough trouble lately?”

  “Is she okay?”

  “I’m not a doctor.”

  “Pollard, please.”

  Genevieve felt like she was watching a tennis match.

  “We’re loading her into an ambulance now. She’s fine enough to protest that she doesn’t need a stretcher. She’s losing that argument.”

  “Can I ride with her, please? Sir?” Genevieve hoped her polite choice of words would trump the frantic vibrations in her voice.

  “And you are?”

  “They’re friends,” Wallace said. “I think Victoria would appreciate seeing Genevieve. And if she doesn’t want company, she’ll say so and you can escort us back beyond the barricades.”

  Pollard rolled his eyes. “You’re killing me kid, you know that? ID. Both of you.”

  Wallace reached into his back pocket, but Genevieve was so frustrated that she wanted to grab Pollard and shake him. She took a deep breath. “My purse is in your car,” she said to Wallace.

  He tossed her the keys and she started running. Every step filled her with a feeling of helplessness—she was sprinting in the wrong direction, dammit! She pressed the unlock button on the key fob about twenty times before finally reaching the vehicle. Yanking open the door, she grabbed her purse off the passenger floor and eyed her gym bag. Bring it or leave it? She couldn’t believe these were the decisions she was making right now. Choosing the wallet and cell phone, she left everything else.

  She silently thanked Bethany for the gym membership and the half-marathon registration as she sprinted back to Tori’s block and snaked through the cars. After thrusting her license into Pollard’s hand, she put her hands on her hips and tried to keep her panting quiet while he scrutinized her ID. He handed it back to her, but before she and Wallace could move he held up one hand while activating his radio with the other. “If she’s stopped ranting about driving herself, ask her if she wants to see Wallace and—” He squinted at Genevieve and butchered the pronunciation of her last name. They all listened to static, then a woman’s voice on the other end simply said, “Yes.”

  Pollard grunted and walked away, then looked over his shoulder and called, “Coming?”


  Genevieve and Wallace shared a look of annoyance before falling in behind him.

  They passed half a dozen more black cars before approaching an ambulance. The rear doors were open, and Genevieve saw two figures hunched over a gurney inside. As they got closer, she heard voices listing vitals. She had never really bothered to learn what those numbers meant, so she wasn’t sure how panicked to be.

  She was now close enough to discern Tori’s exasperated voice. “Oh, for crying out loud, I have a black eye, not a heart arrhythmia. Is this really necessary?”

  “Madam Justice,” one of the EMTs said, “this is standard protocol for someone in your position. We’ll let you know before we give you any special treatment.”

  Now Genevieve could see Tori propped up on the stretcher, a blood pressure cuff on her right arm and an ice pack on her left cheek. Without waiting for an invitation, she jumped into the ambulance, knelt next to the gurney, and took the ice pack away from Tori’s face. Her cheek and temple were dark red, and in some places already turning purple. Genevieve shuddered and returned the ice pack to the bruised skin, swatting Tori’s hand away. “I’ve got this.”

  “Are we ready?” came a voice from the front of the ambulance.

  She turned to Wallace, who stood next to the back doors looking competent and authoritative and all of the things that Genevieve was merely feigning in that moment.

  “I’ll drive and meet you there,” he said.

  Nodding, she turned her attention back to Tori, who looked like hell with her disheveled hair, rumpled suit, and exhausted eyes. She was trembling slightly, and Genevieve couldn’t tell if it was from fear or the ice making her cold. She was vaguely aware that the EMT, the driver, and Wallace were discussing logistics, but all she could do was look at Tori. Brushing her fingers against Tori’s jaw, she said just about the lamest thing she could have in that moment.

  “Hi.”

  Tori closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. “Glad you’re here,” she murmured.

  Genevieve studied her face. Worry lines creased the soft skin between her eyebrows, and there were a couple of scratches on the cheek not covered with ice. She wanted so badly to kiss them, to take away the pain with her lips.