Why Visit America

by Matthew Baker

  “Could you take off the headsets?” the detective asked.

  “Hold on, we’re almost to a save point,” Ishan said.

  “Look at how pretty that unicorn is,” Valerie exclaimed.

  “Let’s kill the unicorn with a spear,” Raelynn whispered.

  “I happen to have had a lot of meaningful conversations with her, personally,” Gabrielle said.

  “Daniela threw up on a priest once when she was drunk,” Ishan said.

  “Don’t tell the cop that,” Gabrielle hissed, swinging blindly at him, backhanding the couch instead.

  “She’s not the kidnapper,” Valerie said.

  “She’s so innocent,” Raelynn said.

  “But then why hasn’t she been answering her phone?” Gabrielle said.

  “She’s probably just too overwhelmed to pick up,” Bryce said.

  “She must be getting so many calls from reporters,” Liam said.

  “Do you really think she’s going to be okay?” Gabrielle said.

  “She’s the type of person who always takes the last piece of pizza,” Ishan said.

  Max wished he hadn’t mentioned pizza. Max was tired of being fat. He was on a strict diet. He wasn’t allowed to have cheese. He wanted pizza so badly the desire felt almost erotic. Glancing over, he realized the sidekick had wandered off to search the rest of the penthouse.

  “Did she ever talk about visiting her child?” the detective said.

  “I actually had a couple of kids go through that same nursery,” Ishan said, punching something in the virtual reality.

  “You have children?” the detective said, sounding almost incredulous.

  “I felt morally obligated to contribute these fine genetics to the national gene pool,” Ishan said.

  “He’s only half joking,” Gabrielle said.

  “I love kids. Kids are awesome. I definitely wanted to have some. Leonidas, the youngest one, just graduated to academy. He got to make a speech at the ceremony,” Ishan said.

  “Oh that’s right, how was that?” Gabrielle said.

  “I wasn’t there. I had work. I think his mom might have made it,” Ishan said.

  * * *

  Annie walked back from the clothesline carrying a plastic basket full of laundry, feeling a tenderness in the bruise on her thigh, from when she had bumped her leg. A detective in horn-rimmed glasses was standing at the door to the trailer with a badge hanging from his neck. His eyes were haunting. Behind him stood an assistant, who was smiling eagerly, like a traveling salesperson, and had this pesky aura that was irritating even from afar.

  “You here to talk about Daniela?” Annie said bitterly, crossing the yard toward the door.

  Annie let the detective into the trailer. The assistant came too. Annie set the basket down on the floor as the detective and the assistant scanned the trailer, probably judging all the clutter. She hardly had room for the cops to stand. The trailer didn’t even have a closet. Her hallway was lined with cardboard boxes of clothing. Her cupboards were packed with stacked cans of food. She loved living in a narrow cozy space. The trailer was a chrome antique on a set of cinder blocks, with a rounded ceiling and a linoleum floor and crocheted seat cushions on all the chairs, and was crammed with all her treasures, the multicolored chakra crystals she kept over on the ledge by the sink, the mismatched knitting needles she kept in a carton by the television, the collectable stuffed animals she kept in a pile on the couch, the tarot decks and the moon charts she kept handy on the shelf over the bed. Sunlight shimmered on the dusty window overlooking the mobile homes next door. The center of the table was occupied by her latest bargain, an ancient cassette player with a working radio, which was surrounded by mounds of other finds, bisque dolls and painted doorknobs and nutcracker figurines and a baggie of vintage buttons from the flea market.

  The assistant went to use the bathroom, probably wanting a chance to judge the decor in there too.

  “Make sure you put the seat down afterward,” Annie hollered.

  “You’re a housecleaner?” the detective said, noticing the uniform on the hanger hooked to the cupboard.

  “A housecleaner, a cashier, a server. I’ve got more jobs than hands. The minimum wage in this country is shameful. You all should do something about that.”

  “I’m just a cop. I don’t control the minimum wage,” the detective said.

  “Well, talk to somebody,” Annie said.

  The detective inspected a crate of yarn.

  Annie said, “I flunked out of academy. I’m smart. I just don’t test well. I get flustered. It all came down to a single history exam. I failed, big time. Got off track on the bubbles, filled in the answers for the wrong questions, didn’t realize until the time was already up. That’s the reason for having to work jobs like these. No degree. You happen to have a cigarette by any chance?”

  “How long have you been separated from Deon?”

  Annie reached into a drawer for a pack of menthols. “We split up before she was born.”

  “Daniela is your only child?”

  “Yep.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Long time ago now.”

  “How long?”

  “Would have been back around the time she graduated from college.”

  “Did you visit much when she was young?”

  “Hardly at all.”

  “You weren’t close with her?”

  Annie shrugged. “I visited her more when she was in nursery.” She lit a menthol. “She loved that place. She couldn’t get enough. Making crafts, doing gymnastics, putting on puppet shows with her friends. It’s heaven for a kid that age. I loved watching her. But even back then, I just had all of these jobs. I mean, different jobs than now, but just as many. I sleep, wake up, drive to work, work all day, drive back home, collapse, and then just sit and recover. I would have liked to have visited her more. I just didn’t have time. I didn’t have the energy. At the end of the day, coming home, I would just be too exhausted.”

  Annie took a drag from the cigarette. She was so angry, so furious and disgruntled, a feeling that had been simmering in her the past few days. All of the times she’d had to watch that clip of her stealing the baby.

  “As a parent you’re supposed to do what’s best for your child,” Annie said, glaring at the rug. “That’s what galls me, is just the unfairness. She knows better than this. She knows right from wrong. She’s educated. She had all the benefits of growing up in the system. She knew exactly what she’d be depriving that child of when she did what she did.”

  * * *

  Deon came out of the stairwell carrying a paper bag full of groceries, favoring his foot with the bunion, which always got aggravated when he wore his oxfords. A detective in horn-rimmed glasses was waiting at the door to the studio with a badge hanging from his neck. His eyes were soulful. Behind him stood an assistant, who was smiling intensely, like a virgin missionary, and for some reason just had this aura of utter incompetence.

  “You come here looking for Daniela?” Deon said wearily, turning the key in the door.

  Deon brought the detective into the studio. The assistant came too. Deon set the bag down by the fridge as the detective and the assistant scanned the studio, probably looking for signs that the baby had been there. Deon wouldn’t have had anywhere to hide a baby. The studio didn’t even have a closet. His clothes hung on a wheeled rack over by the shikibuton. His food was stored on a bookcase over by the electric stove. He loved living in a single open space. The studio was on the top story of a converted warehouse, with a cement floor and a vaulted ceiling and rough old brick walls, and had plenty of room for all of his toys, the astronomy telescope he’d been using to observe the stars, the tatami mat by the radiator where he’d been practicing meditation, the brewing kit he’d been tinkering with over by the boiler, the didgeridoo and the steelpan he’d been trying to learn how to play. Sunlight poured through the massive windows overlooking the river below. The center
of the studio was occupied by his latest work, a gigantic figurative sculpture made of welded chains, which was surrounded by a sprawl of tools, band saws and tin snips and chipping hammers and a drafting table cluttered with sketches of past projects.

  The assistant asked to use the bathroom, probably to make sure nobody was hiding in there.

  “Jiggle the handle a little after you flush,” Deon called.

  “You’re an artist?” the detective said, inspecting the fume hood on the ceiling.

  “Always have been. I can still remember being brought a ball of clay for the first time back in nursery. That feeling of the clay in my hands. Being able to mash it up, squeeze it, flatten it, roll it. To make shapes. I’ve had a good long career. Pieces commissioned all over the country.”

  The detective crouched to examine a ukulele.

  Deon said, “Being an artist is a time-consuming business. Demands all of your attention. Your every waking moment. I’m grateful for having gotten the opportunity though. That’s the best you can hope for in this life, I think. To have a purpose. To get to contribute. Guess you’d understand.”

  “I’m just a cop. I don’t have any artistic ability,” the detective said.

  “Oh, investigating must require some creativity too. You want a drink?” Deon said.

  “How long have you been separated from Annie?”

  Deon twisted the cap off of a bottle of kombucha. “We divorced while she was still pregnant.”

  “Daniela is your only child?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Many years ago.”

  “How many?”

  “I suppose that would have been when she graduated from college.”

  “How often did you visit her back then?”

  “Not much at all.”

  “You weren’t close when she was young?”

  Deon smiled. “You know how kids are. Parents are just a nuisance.” He drank some kombucha. “I went to visit her once at the academy. She was still young then. I tried talking to her some, but she just looked bored. She’d hardly answer my questions, just say yes, no, uh-huh. She kept looking at the door. Finally she asked if she could go play. I stood at the windows and watched her running around out there with a huge group of kids, shooting squirt guns, laughing and yelling. She was happy there. She had great friends. She had so much fun. I didn’t want to bother her. I didn’t come around much after that. I was busy with the sculptures anyway.”

  Deon gazed at the sculpture. He was suddenly overcome with emotion, with helplessness and distress, as all of the sadness of the past few days hit him. All of the times he’d had to watch that clip of her taking the baby.

  “I was proud of her,” Deon said, on the verge of crying. “As a parent that’s all you want for your child. She found a calling. She had a vocation. She was good at what she did. I don’t know why she would have thrown all of that away for a baby. I just don’t.”

  * * *

  Mariela had just come down from the pole, striding back through the curtains, walking into the dressing room, where the lights above the mirrors had a soft white glow. Claire was waiting there. Claire looked strangely nervous.

  “There’s a cop asking for you at the bar,” Claire said.

  Mariela drank a cone of water from the machine.

  “You want me to cover for you, say that you left, got sick or something?” Claire said.

  Mariela dropped the crumpled cone into the trash can.

  “I know why he’s here,” Mariela said.

  “I’ll lie if you want,” Claire said.

  “He’s not here for me,” Mariela said.

  Mariela had seen him come into the club. She had been inverted, her legs wrapped tight around the pole with her hair hanging down toward the stage, that moment that the lights had caught his eyes in the door. A beautiful detective with a badge hanging from his neck by a chain. Leaving the dressing room, she strolled barefoot out into the club, past the clusters of patrons chatting in the shadowy booths around the stage, silhouettes holding fluorescent cocktails under the black lights. She had been working in the club less than a year. She liked the feeling of power that she got walking through the crowd. All eyes on her. The detective had a sidekick, she realized now, sitting there next to him. The sidekick looked like a total milquetoast. He was sipping a cream soda. He had probably never been laid. Mariela sat down next to the detective in the neon haze at the bar.

  “You see that chick coming out to dance?” Mariela said.

  The detective glanced at the stage.

  “I’m back on again after her song is up. You’ve got until then. Ask what you want.”

  Claire climbed onto the pole as the song began to play, a fusion of bebop and techno with an almost noir feel.

  “I’m looking for Daniela Ndukwe,” the detective said.

  “I haven’t seen that chick in years,” Mariela said.

  “You were in nursery with her though.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You were at academy with her too.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You were friends with her there.”

  “Frenemies,” Mariela said.

  The detective watched her motion at the bartenders for a drink.

  “Emphasis on the enemies,” Mariela said.

  Hunter came over.

  “You can’t drink while you’re working,” Hunter said.

  “Now isn’t a good time to say no to me,” Mariela said.

  Hunter poured her a glass of mescal.

  “You heard about the kidnapping?” the detective said.

  Mariela drank a swig of the mescal, then set the glass onto the bar, nodding.

  “We already went by your apartment. We’re going to have a patrol car stationed outside of your building in case she tries to come by. We could use your assistance here.”

  “She wouldn’t come to me for help,” Mariela said.

  “Then who would she go to?” the detective said.

  Claire twirled around the pole as the tint of the lights changed from purple to scarlet to orange.

  “The chick is selfish,” Mariela said. “She’s a planner. She’s a schemer. And she always puts herself first. I can’t even tell you how many times that she used me to get ahead. We were the same class, born a week apart, grew up in neighboring cribs. Learned how to crawl together, learned how to talk together. Slept in the same bunk in nursery, once we were old enough to have beds. Lived in the same hallway in academy, once we were old enough to get rooms. We were inseparable. And we were charming. We were friends with everybody. We ran that social scene.” She glanced over at the detective. “I don’t know if you have friends like that from the system. Maybe you know what it’s like. To be that close with somebody.” She turned back toward the mirror behind the bar. “I was her first kiss. On the weekends we used to have sleepovers in the dorms. We would mess around sometimes after the other kids fell asleep.”

  “Daniela’s bi?”

  “I don’t know if you need to put a label on it. We experimented sometimes. We were curious,” Mariela said.

  Claire slid down the pole with a look of desire as the beat of the song changed tempos.

  “We were competitive too. With everybody, but especially with each other. We were like rivals. I’ve never had another relationship that intense. I don’t know how to describe it. We were that way even when we fooled around, like we were both trying to outdo each other. Each trying to be the better kisser, to turn the other one on more. We were that way about grades, that way about extracurriculars, about sports and choir. And especially about other friends.” The mescal shimmered in the glass. “We had a falling-out right before graduation. A pretty bad fight. Afterward we drifted apart.” Mariela frowned. “We were headed in different directions anyway. I didn’t even apply to college. I wasn’t like her. She had always wanted to have some impressive job. I just wanted to be able to have adventures. To travel. I d
id, too. I went straight from graduation to an airplane. Picked up jobs here and there for cash. I’ve been all over the planet. Caribbean, Africa, Europe, Asia.”

  “How long have you been back?”

  “I only came home to have a baby. I got knocked up a couple years ago. Thailand. Some college kid in a hostel.”

  “You decided against having an abortion?”

  “Goddamn, you cops are nosey,” Mariela exclaimed, reaching for the mescal, shooting the detective a look. “I’m a vegan. I don’t even eat chicken eggs. I couldn’t kill a human embryo. I’d feel guilty.” She drank another swig. “Jada’s her name. A cute kid. She’s one now. Learning to walk.” She held the glass. “I’m saving up to go back overseas. I don’t know where next. I just want someplace new. Brazil, maybe.” She downed the rest of the shot, swallowed, and then put down the glass again. “Life is about experiences. I think so, at least. I was never like her. Daniela, I mean. I didn’t care about careers. Success didn’t matter to me. I just wanted to experience as much as possible. Meet amazing people. See the world.”

  She glanced over at the detective again, then hesitated when she saw his expression, the way that his mouth had tightened. That desperate look in his eyes. This wasn’t just a job for him, she realized. He actually cared. He was worried.

  “She’s been missing for almost a week. We’ve got roadblocks on every highway out of the District. Her car hasn’t been seen once. The trail is going cold. We’re running out of time. I need you to help me, Mariela. Please, I’ve seen what can happen to kids out there,” the detective said.

  Mariela scowled at the mirror as the lights turned blue.

  “I’d do anything for her. I don’t know why. After all of these years. After everything she did to me. I hate that it’s true. I hate it. But it’s true. The moment her face popped up on the news, I knew. I’ve traveled all over the globe, I’ve met all kinds of people, and to me she’s still the most important person in the world,” Mariela said.