Design on a Crime

by Ginny Aiken

  "You have a problem," he said, "and you have to do something about it. I'm not worried about you going to jail over Marge's murder. Lila'11 find the killer, I promise you that."

  He stood, came between me and the door. For a moment I feared his strength. Anger, disappointment, and power radiated from him in wave after wave after wave.

  His voice, though soft, came laced with steel. "Ever since Marge brought you here four years ago, I've watched you. Yeah, what happened to you back then stinks, but you had a choice afterward. You could deal with it and go on and do something good with your life, or you could run from reality."

  I glared. "I haven't run from anything, and I've done something good with my life. I've made it to brown belt and am on my way to black. No one's going to beat me up again. I even finished my interior design degree. I've opened my business, and Gussie's hired me. I'd say I've done some good stuff with my life."

  "None of that's going to count in the long run. Especially not when the past still eats you up inside. You can't fight these accusations if you're still fighting demons from four years ago."

  "Stop it! Just don't say anything more."

  Ice chilled my veins. My hands shook. Red dots danced before my eyes, but a blurry kind of black swallowed them up. I fought the urge to vomit, and I wrapped my arms around myself.

  "You don't know what it's like to be me." Each word hurt more to get out than the last. "You don't know what it's like to be pinned, to be slammed again and again, for a hand to squeeze your throat, to know you're about to die because someone else wants something from you and they won't let you get in their way."

  Helplessness burned deep in my soul. I gasped from the pain. When I could no longer hold the panic down, a cry tore free and I crumpled to the floor.

  Did I black out? Did my brain take pity on me and shut down so I didn't have to relive the attack? I'll never know for sure, but I know I thrashed out with my arms and legs, fought the battle I'd lost four years ago. But this time, the man who victimized me was long gone. Tyler took a beating for that pig.

  I only know that after a while I realized that Tyler had pinned me to the floor. His body covered mine, and his hands and feet kept me from flailing anymore. Even though he was in control, I had no strength to do anything about it. Besides, somewhere in the bowels of my mind, I realized Tyler would never hurt me. He was a rarity among men-he was a friend.

  "Oh, Tyler..."

  "Come on, girl. You know you can't go on like this." He rolled off and sat at my side.

  I sobbed.

  He stood, his feet shoulder-width apart. He held a hand out to me. "It's time you did something about this. Take my hand, Haley. Let me help you get your life back. You know you can trust me, you can trust the reverend, you can even trust Lila Tsu."

  An automatic objection rushed to my lips, but I was trembling so much that I couldn't get it out. Tyler took advantage of my rare silence.

  "No one, I mean no one, not me, not you, not any old person on this ugly old earth, can go it alone."

  I tried to argue, but it came out like a moan.

  He went on. "When you're sick, you go to a doctor. I know you do, because you've told me."

  Tyler waited for me to respond, but I could only moan again. Even though I knew his compassion, he was dishing out his just as well-known tough love.

  "You gotta get over this I-can-do-it-all-by-myself kick. You're sick inside, and not because of anything you did. But it will be on your shoulders if you do nothing about it. It's time to find a soul doctor and get some healing going on."

  His words deflated any argument I might have mustered. I couldn't deny three meltdowns, one after the other.

  "You're right." Fear made my teeth chatter so hard that I heard them hit each other. "I'm sick inside, and I don't know what to do about it anymore."

  "First thing you gotta do, Haley, is take my hand. Get yourself up off that floor. Then look around you. Tell me what you see."

  I didn't want to move. I wanted to curl up into a ball, grow a shell around me, one that could withstand a missile strike. That's it. I wanted to be a nuclear missile silo, impervious to attack, full of enough weapons that no enemy would strike first.

  But you can't always get what you want. More than ever, I knew what the song really meant. I didn't think I'd ever hear it the same way again. And if Dutch used it as a stupid joke, Imight ... ah...I'd ...

  For the longest moment, I couldn't think of a thing that might teach Dutch some respect for those who suffered violence or the death of dreams. Then I had an idea, a brilliant one too. If he ever tried to joke about ruined hopes again, I'd take out my mace and zap him.

  Just the thought gave me the strength to meet Tyler's gaze. His hand still waited for me. He'd never moved, never wavered in his determination to help me. Mom's and Dad's words rang in my mind. "You have to reach out and take hold of that hand. It's waiting to help you get back on your feet. "

  True, they'd meant God's hand, but they'd also talked of accepting the help others wanted to give me. Fighting fear with everything I had, I picked my arm up from the floor.

  "Go ahead, Haley." Tyler's voice rang firm and encouraging. "Take my hand. Let me help you find your way back from the hell you've been in. There's hope, girl. And there are many of us who want to help you find it again."

  Marge had said it.

  Mom and Dad had too.

  Even Detective Tsu had tried to make me see it.

  Problem was, I knew nothing beyond the pain and the fear, beyond the stench of man's evil and the agony of God's betrayal.

  Could I do it? Could I reach out and let others in?

  It would take a lot from me, probably all I had.

  It would take what I most lacked.

  It would take faith ... trust.

  But I couldn't go on like this. I'd come to a turning point in my life. Whatever I did next would determine my future more than the capture of Marge's killer would. Which way should I turn?

  I took Tyler's hand.

  Faced with a new wardrobe dilemma, I chose another long cotton skirt and T-shirt to wear. Why didn't anybody tell a woman what she should wear to meet her new shrink?

  I wasn't so sure about this whole spill-my-guts deal, but everyone else seemed to think I'd about achieved world peace by agreeing to meet the woman. Their reaction made me more willing to consider that maybe I really did need a psychologist's help.

  I drove to the Sound and Sea Medical Building, my stomach in more knots than even my wild hair. Tyler had given me the shrink's name; she was a friend of his wife. Aside from that, he'd said nothing about the woman herself.

  I knew she was a licensed counselor, that she shared Tyler's religious fervor, and that she wasn't Asian American like his wife, Sarah. At least, no Asian American I knew had a name like Teodora Rodriguez.

  A blond guy about my age sat at the desk in the waiting room. I gave him my name, and he checked his computer screen. "You haven't been here before, have you?"

  What gave him the first clue? That he'd never seen me until today, or maybe it was my twisting fingers and darting glances. I was curious about the place, unhappy about being here, and looking for an escape route. I thought of Dad, Mom, Gussie, Tyler, Marge ... there was no escape.

  "Ah ... no. You're right."

  "You'll have to fill these out. Dr. Rodriguez will be with you as soon as you're done."

  The door to his left opened. "It's all right, Ryan," the slender brunette said. "I've been expecting Haley. She can come right in, and we can take care of the paperwork while we talk."

  What had Tyler told her that she'd break with office procedure just to get me in her inquisitive clutches? I wanted out even more than before.

  But I'd recently learned one thing. I kept my mouth shut.

  The look she gave me carried a load of humor. "Ty told me to expect the unexpected from you, but silence was the one thing he said I shouldn't expect."

  "Tyler Colby thinks he knows everyth
ing."

  "He does know everything often enough to be a little scary."

  I laughed. "That's true."

  She grinned, then stepped aside and waited for me to walk into her office. "Look, I know you didn't want to come, that your friends and family had to practically twist your arm to get you to make the call for the appointment."

  "Face it," I countered on the defensive, "you're not exactly in the fun industry here. I doubt you're anybody's idea of a beautiful day in the neighborhood."

  "True. But how many beautiful days have you had in your neighborhood lately?"

  Surprisingly bright blue eyes sparkled at me, and although I didn't relax, at least I stopped looking to bolt. "Touche. So are you going to bring the sunshine back?"

  "I'm going to help you see that the sunshine was there all along."

  I snorted. "Maybe in your neighborhood."

  "We only live a few blocks apart."

  "Not hardly. No woman wants my address. Trust me."

  "I was told I could. Have you heard you can trust me too?"

  "How can I? You've no idea where I'm coming from."

  Dr. Rodriguez sat in a comfortable armchair and indicated the matching one for me. Phew! No couch. I couldn't have laid down for a nanosecond.

  With a sad smile, she opened a manila folder and took out a sheet of paper. It looked sickly familiar. My stomach churned.

  She set copies of the police report and my attacker's sentencing records on the Queen Anne cherry coffee table between us. "I hope you forgive me, but I took the liberty to check public records. Tyler said you were the victim of a violent crime little more than four years ago. I found the paper trail."

  She stared until I had no choice but to meet her gaze. "I know exactly where you're coming from. I was also raped, when I was twenty years old."

  That evening, Dad and I went to the Stoker home for dinner. After the turbulent morning, it was about the only place I could imagine going. I had too much on my mind.

  Dr. Rodriguez-Tedd, as she'd asked me to call her-had pulled no punches. After she'd dropped her bombshell, she'd told me her tale. At the end, I'd known she understood most of what I'd gone through. The difference was she'd been raped by a stranger, and in a confrontation with the police, he'd been shot and killed.

  Paul Campbell had been my boyfriend. Date rape is no less rape just because you know the guy that forces himself on you, steals your right to decide, steals something even more precious than that. Paul stole my innocence, my sense of trust, my faith, and any hope I'd had for the future.

  He got probation and forty hours of community service. Even though I'd heard he'd left Washington, at any given time he could show up again. That didn't make a woman feel any too secure. Not this woman.

  But Tedd understood my rage. She understood my need for control. She knew why I fell apart under ridiculous accusations and, ultimately, when my freedom was ripped from me as the cell walls and bars closed in on me.

  She let me scream. She gave me tissues. She even had Ryan run across the street to get me a Starbucks venti caramel macchiato. From what she said, she'd cleared her morning of other sessions to give me as much time as I needed.

  I don't know how I made it home afterward. I'd felt like a wrung-out dishrag when we were done. On the excuse that I had to finish my presentation for the Stokers' redesign, I took refuge in my room and crawled into bed. The adrenaline drain left me so weak that I slept like a log.

  Now, portfolio in hand, I sat on the passenger side of Dad's Taurus as we drove the three blocks between our home and the Stokers'.

  The veal marsala was excellent. So was the boysenberry pie, made from berries that Gussie had canned herself. Now, there was a woman who didn't let even a debilitating disease keep her from doing what she wanted. As we walked into the living room, where I'd do my bada-bing thing, I realized that I'd have to become more like Gussie if I wanted to move forward with my life.

  "I hope you and Tom like what I've put together for you." The easel held my design-board upright, and I liked how it had turned out. I started my pitch. "I'd like to move the furniture away from the walls, Gussie. That'll give you more room to maneuver on those days when you're forced to use the wheelchair all the time...."

  They loved the soft and comfy chenille for the sofa, and the luxurious gleam of the dupioni silk inspired sighs of pleasure. The sassy persimmon stripe and the luscious taupe and cream and gold tapestry also got me a bunch of oohs and aahs. The see-through Thai silk, however, was my coup de grace.

  "I've never seen anything like it," Gussie said, gaze glued to the beautiful fabric. "I can't wait to see it on the windows."

  "Here," I said. "Let me put it up against this one here. It'll at least give you an idea of how the sunset's going to look once the draperies are in place."

  The current curtains were heavy, pinch-pleated antique satin. A full lining made sure no light came through them unless they were pulled all the way back. Since the window faced the street, Gussie and Tom kept them closed for the sake of privacy.

  I tugged on the cord, and the setting sun's russet glow poured in. The knick-knacks on the table in front of the window took me a minute to move out of my way. I was tall, but I still needed help to reach the hardware. I took off my Birkenstocks, turned to wink at the Stokers and Dad, climbed the table, and then held the edge of the silk up to the rod. The yard-length of fabric I'd wheedled from Adrienne for demo purposes was just enough to give the illusion of a curtain.

  At Gussie's sigh of delight, I smiled. "To be honest, it looks even better than I thought it would. I chose the color scheme because these windows face the west. I wanted to make the most of the gorgeous sunsets you'll be able to enjoy once I'm done with the installation."

  "Haley," Dad said. "I knew you had a multitude of abilities and more talent than you knew what to do with, but I have to give you credit. This is spectacular. You've outdone yourself."

  Pleasure rippled through me-a foreign feeling these last few days. "Thanks, Dad." I turned to my potential clients. "So... do I get the job?"

  Tom laughed. "You had the job and our trust from the start, but now that we've seen what you have in mind, there's not a soul out there who stands a chance. How soon can you start?"

  Oh yeah, oh yeah. I had a job. "Since I'm otherwise unemployed-" I rolled my eyes "-I can start tomorrow. I'll place the order for the fabrics and call the furniture showroom for the new case goods."

  I went to fold the Thai silk, but Gussie stopped me. "Could I keep that sample? At least until the room's done. I want to dream on it, honey."

  How could I deny her? "Of course. Tell you what. I'll drape the others around the room. You know, in the areas where I plan to use the specific pieces. That way you can live with the new concept for a while and make sure it's right for you."

  "Oh, that's a better idea," Gussie exclaimed. "Here. See if there's some way to keep the curtain fabric folded over the rod. You know, something like what you just did."

  Back at the window, I again kicked off my Birkenstocks and hopped on the table. A few pins later, I asked, "How's this?"

  "Perfect," Tom replied. "Now be careful on your way down. We don't want anything to happen to our wonderful designer."

  "Oh, goodness, Tom," Gussie chided. "Don't even think that. We'll just have to take care of our Haley. And not because she's our designer or because of what she's going to do here. She's just a wonderful girl, an absolute darling."

  Embarrassed, I crept back down, and began to rearrange Gussie's tchotchkes. Millefiori paperweights fascinated me. Even though I knew glassblowers inserted rods of colored glass into balls of the melted clear glass, I still found the little colored flowers inside solid glass almost miraculous.

  The Limoges porcelain pitcher and its fresh roses came next. They smelled wonderful. Then I picked up a figurine. I'd noticed its unusual weight when I'd moved it to a side before, but now I took time to check it out.

  It looked like it came from the 1920s,
a bronze of a woman, as stylized as art-deco pieces tend to be. It was more than exquisite. It was a true work of art, a treasure.

  And familiar.

  If memory served me right, the piece was an Erte, created by the famous French sculptor. Many of his pieces depicted graceful women in poses that spoke of his time. And the reason I recognized it so easily was because it had been listed in the catalog for the Gerrity auction.

  I put the pricey bauble back on the table. I hadn't realized that the Stokers had purchased the piece. I hadn't thought they could afford something that sold for thousands of dollars and whose peers graced museums all over the world.

  True, it was tarnished on one side, maybe dirty, actually, but patina was important in order to date a piece and determine its authenticity. This one looked as real as real could get.

  But something tickled the back of my memory. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember Marge actually offering the piece at the sale. I went to ask Gussie about the Erte, but embarrassment held me back.

  What if it wasn't the one from the sale? What if they'd had the statuette for years? What kind of designer would miss such a distinctive piece in someone's decor? Especially in a house she'd visited umpteen jillion times. I didn't want to look like some kind of no-clue amateur, so to be on the safe side, I decided to stop by the warehouse the next day and check out the catalog.

  Not long after my rousing beginner's success, Dad and I loaded my board and portfolio into the car and drove home.

  The only words spoken were Dad's quiet, "I'm so proud of you, Haley. You took enormous steps toward your future today. I'll keep praying for your progress, honey."

  I hoped no new attack derailed that progress I so needed to make.

  I rubbed my eyes. Amazing what squinting at a computer screen could do to you. And I'd been at it for hours. No matter how hard I looked, I couldn't make the facts add up. Just as I'd thought, the Erte was listed in the sale catalog. But as I'd also suspected, there was no record of it going up for sale, and certainly none of a buyer.