by J. Bengtsson
“Say pretty please.” I smiled. “And I might just let you.”
14
Dani: Making Contact
It took one pair of scissors, two razors, and three Band-Aids to get the nastiness off RJ’s face, but it was all worth it when I watched him examine his smooth jawline in the small handheld mirror under the warm lights of the camp lantern.
“Damn. I look good.”
The understatement of the year. Shaving that face of his, revealing it one stroke of the razor at a time, had been like a religious experience. The way he pursed his lips when I shaved up his neck. The way his eyes watched me with a mix of both trust and terror. The way he cursed me under his breath when he felt the nick of the blade. Oh lord, I needed a shower.
But any animosity he might have been harboring during the weed-whacking was forgotten when the hunk of a man saw his reflection in the mirror.
“I forgot how fucking handsome I am.”
“And you wonder why I didn’t recognize you, Chad Woodcock.”
Surrounded by mounds of coarse stubble, I bent down and blew them in the opposite direction.
“Whoa, do you have any idea how much that’s worth? You should gather it up and sell it on eBay. If I die, you’ll make a small fortune.”
I really hated when he referred to his death like it was a forgone conclusion. He might not have had any faith, but I still did. Granted, I didn’t know what was going on inside of him, but I knew he was injured just by the way he flinched at the slightest movement or the way his breathing was becoming shallower. Despite the brave face he was putting on, I knew he was struggling. That was why I played card games with him and even shaved him. It was my way of keeping him focused on something other than death. And what could refocus a man’s attention like a woman with a blade to his throat?
“You know I don’t like it when you talk like that,” I said.
His gaze shifted from his reflection to me. He wanted to say something but refrained. It was almost like he was pitying me. And maybe, yes, I was in denial, but until I had no more hope, I would do everything I could to keep this boy alive.
“Sorry.”
I nodded, fighting the tears that had flowed easily all day. I desperately didn’t want him to die. There was just so much more I wanted from him. On my walk back from the store, I’d manifested our post-quake life together, and it was a glorious one. I wasn’t about to give up on it without a fight.
“Actually, instead of eBay, maybe you could donate it to some hairless dude who can’t grow his own beard.”
“I like that,” I said. “Pay it forward.”
“Exactly.”
Our eyes locked.
“You really are a beautiful man—beard or no beard.”
“And you’re a beautiful woman.” He reached out and touched a strand of my hair that had fallen from the elastic band. “Did you know I have a thing for your hair?”
“You do?”
“The way it bounces in those high ponytails. It’s like every time you walk away, your hair flips me off. I love it.”
I laughed because that was exactly what I’d intended it to do. I tossed my hair in his face.
He grabbed the ponytail and tugged me toward him, whispering in my ear,
“If I wasn’t tethered to the earth, you’d already be on your back.”
“No, RJ. You’d be the one on your back.”
His eyes flickered with lust. He wanted me, and I had no doubt that, if he’d been of sound body and mind, RJ would’ve taken me on a ride. But he wasn’t okay. We weren’t okay, because if that building came down on our heads, neither of us would ever long for the other again.
Perhaps reading my mind, RJ let go of my hair and leaned back. His eyes closed. He was so tired. Was it right to keep him from sleep? Maybe it would help his body recover… or maybe he’d never wake up. I couldn’t take the chance.
“Do you want to play some more card games?”
“I want to, but I’m winding down,” RJ replied. “Can we just talk?”
“You’re asking Dani Malone if she wants to talk?”
“Tell me about your job. Your students.”
I launched into a day in the life of a first-grade teacher, and despite having lived life at its highest caliber, RJ seemed enthralled and, dare I say, charmed by my simple stories and the sweet gems that came from the mouths of the innocents.
“It seems like you have involved parents at your school,” RJ said, sounding almost envious.
“Really high, like seventy percent parent participation. I actually have to have a lottery on field trips because so many of them want to chaperone.”
“Do you ever wonder how that happens?”
“How what happens?”
“How some parents are so invested in their kids and some aren’t. It’s like what determines that, you know? How does a kid hit that jackpot?”
Reaching up, I ran my fingers along his shoulder. So comfortable. In some ways, it felt like I’d known him forever, but when he said things like that, I realized how very little I knew about him.
“I take it you didn’t.”
“No.”
So much I wanted to ask him, but by the clenching of his jaw, RJ seemed to not want to emote.
“My mom was a seventy-percenter. Over-involved—a helicopter parent,” I admitted. “It was overwhelming. I never really got to choose my own path. She was always there, bubbling in the blanks of my life. That can be damaging too. I let her decide everything, even my major in college. It wasn’t until I got some space away from her that I was able to explore who I was as a person, and finally I was able to take my life into my own hands.”
“And then you have the thirty-percenters.”
“Your parents?”
He nodded. “Only with a twist, because they were seventy-percenters with my two older brothers. I got the leftovers.”
“I see parents sometimes that clearly favor one child over another. It’s infuriating to watch.”
“It wasn’t just favoritism, Dani. It was straight-up neglect. I didn’t understand it as a kid. I couldn’t wrap my brain around the fact that they loved my brothers and not me. I thought it was me, that I was somehow unworthy. No matter how hard I tried to be good, to be better than my brothers, I never managed to win their favor, and it wasn’t until I got older that I understood why.”
It was then that RJ told me about his mother’s affair, about his father’s rejection, and how he became a second-class citizen in his own home. My heart broke for him. I couldn’t imagine bringing an innocent child into the world, only to blame him for the sins of the mother.
“Is that why you took up singing? To get their attention?”
“Not in the beginning. My real father was a musician, so I already had a natural affinity for music. I could sing from the time I was a toddler and had taught myself how to play multiple instruments from YouTube. But my early talents went unnoticed. It wasn’t until middle school, when a teacher heard me singing at the lunch tables, that I realized I had something special. Then I dove in full throttle, thinking maybe if I could achieve enough, I’d be worthy of my parents’ love. When you try so hard to get attention and still no one cares, it’s crushing. But it pushed me to be bigger and better until I was on top of the world and they could no longer look away.”
“They have to be proud of you now.”
“You’d think. But you know what my mother said to me when I returned home after my first worldwide tour? She said, ‘Sure, you’re famous, but you’re not Bodhi.’ Since then, I’ve compared myself to him. I love the dude, but he’s also my competition. When our band broke up, I had to get the jump on him; release my album before him. Be more famous than him to prove to her that I am better than Bodhi. But then my first album was a huge flop, and I couldn’t face them. I couldn’t face the world feeling like such a failure.”
“And that was when you moved in next door to me,” I said, the mystery of my famous neighbor finally solved
.
He nodded, swinging his arms around. “Now all this. I couldn’t die in a more high-profile way, and yet my mother will still find some way to discredit it. ‘The guy in apartment 411 survived, why couldn’t RJ?’”
“God, RJ, I’m so sorry. No child should ever have to feel unloved. That breaks my heart.”
“And the worst part is, I don’t have a will. She and my dad and brothers stand to inherit my fortune, and they don’t deserve it. Not one penny of it. But the irony is, I’ll only prove my worth after I die.”
The injustice infuriated me. My mother might have been domineering and opinionated, but she would never do what RJ’s family had done to him—never make our relationship contingent on what I could provide to her. I had a newfound appreciation for the woman. I wanted to hug her—tell her I loved her and to thank her for the opportunities she’d given me in life. We might never see eye to eye, but I knew, without any doubt, that if it came down to it, she’d lay her life down for me. RJ couldn’t say the same.
“I don’t remember ever reading about this part of your life. How did you manage to keep this out of the press?”
“Hold up.” RJ chuckled in amusement. “You are a Dayer! I knew it. Who was your favorite? And if you say Bodhi, I will destroy you.”
“Hunter.”
“Hunter? Your favorite Dayer was the choir boy?”
“Yes, RJ. I have a sweet spot for nice, sweater-wearing guys. So sue me. Now, back to you. How did you manage to keep this information out of the press?”
“I pay handsomely for my family to keep their mouths shut.”
Seriously? Blackmail, even? I was pissed for him.
“Not long after graduating high school, I was summoned to Los Angeles to audition for some secret project. They’d seen some of my performances on YouTube. Before I knew it, I was one of five unknown singers in a band with some stupid-ass name. I figured it would be a stepping-stone, a way to get my name out there. None of us thought AnyDayNow would take off, least of all my family, who were relentless in their ridicule of me joining a boy band. But their smug smiles disappeared when the band exploded and the money started pouring in. I might not have impressed them with my singing, but money talks, and pretty soon they wanted a cut of it. Given the shit they put me through, I wasn’t inclined to share.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“Anyway, it caused a huge rift. My mother went on a talk show, where she accused me of being selfish. My oldest brother, Luis, threatened to write a tell-all. It was getting messy enough that the AnyDayNow handlers stepped in and muzzled them with a nice cash payout from my bank account. As part of the shakedown, I also agreed to buy them a house in our hometown with enough room for everyone to squat in on my dime. But here’s the thing about bribes—it’s never enough. They always want more.”
“So, your relationship with them is purely financial now?”
“Pretty much. Yes. You can only take so much.”
Emotion played out over RJ’s face. He’d been reluctant to share at first, but as the truth trickled out, his wasn’t the success story I’d imagined. Behind his confidence, behind his swaggering smile, behind his exceptional talent was a little boy begging to be loved. It was heartbreaking, really. How little children require! A hug. A kind word. A kiss on the forehead before bed. How hard was that? But in a testament to his strength of will, RJ had not only endured, he'd soared.
“I just can’t understand why they’d sell your story in the first place. It only makes them look awful.”
“You’d be surprised what people will do for a payout. You realize, Dani, if you wanted to, you could buy ten Broncos with the amount of money you could get for this story. My god, can you imagine how the media will eat this up?”
“I’d never sell you out. Ever. No amount of money would ever entice me to hurt the ones I love.”
RJ’s brows lifted and I froze, realizing too late what had slipped out of my mouth.
“I mean… I didn’t…” I tried stumbling through some ridiculous explanation before giving up mid-sentence.
“Hey, relax. It was a slip of the tongue.”
Actually, it wasn’t. As strange as it seemed, going through this with RJ, I’d never felt closer to anyone in my life. If what I was feeling toward him wasn’t love, then it was at the very least a strong infatuation.
“I just meant you deserve better.”
“Hey, come here,” he said, pulling me into his arms. “I know what you meant, and I feel the same way. You’ve changed me, Dani.”
In the glow of the lantern, I tipped my head up and accepted his grateful kiss. There was a change in us, a newfound closeness. He’d opened up about his difficult childhood, something I was sure he rarely did. That he trusted me like that made me feel like there was more to us than a one-night disaster.
Wrapped into a space blanket, RJ and I talked until I heard his speech begin to slur and his body grow heavy beside me.
“RJ.” I sat up, cupping his face in my hands. His eyelids drooped, and he shed his blanket as fever encroached on him once again. I watched in horror as he weakened before my eyes. His breathing at times sounded as if it were being passed through a filter. He was alternating hot, then cold, and as the night wore on, it became more difficult for him to maintain his body temperature.
“Oh god, I’m miserable,” he groaned. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”
“Just give the Tylenol a little bit more time to work,” I said, dosing him way more than the recommended amount and giving him more every time his fever spiked. But the longer we remained in here, the less effective the pain medication became. It was like fighting a war with a toothpick.
“I know you’re trying, but I’m way past Tylenol, Dani. I crossed into the fentanyl category a few hours ago.”
I slid my fingers over his face. “I know. You just have to hang in there. Help is coming.”
I said the words, but as the hours passed, I wasn’t so sure anymore. In addition to losing feeling in his left foot, RJ’s skin was tacky and his stomach bloated. His pain, at times, was intense. There was something going on inside him, something unseen causing the inflammation and fever. The truth was RJ was in bad enough shape that, even if help were to come, they still might not be able to save his life. I had to do something besides just sit here and watch him die.
My head popped up, remembering one of the first items I’d shoved in my bag. I hadn’t really thought much about its usefulness, and still wasn’t sure, but anything was worth a try. I dug deep into the unexplored depths of my backpack.
“Do you know how this thing works?” I asked, holding up a long-range walkie-talkie for RJ to see.
He perked right up. “You have a walkie-talkie and you’re just showing me that now?”
“Sorry.” I shrugged. “I forgot I stole it.”
“My god, Dani. This could be our ticket out of here.”
RJ was so excited by the find I refrained from pointing out that rescue workers already knew where we were and still hadn’t come to get us. But I understood his need to connect with the outside world. Down here, in the depths of despair, any small word from above was encouraging.
“Hello, can you hear me?” RJ said into the receiver.
We waited for the reply with bated breath. Seconds earlier, we’d heard chatter on the line.
“You don’t sound like Hector,” said the very young sounding voice on the other side.
“Because I’m not Hector,” RJ responded.
“What did you do to Hector?”
“Kid, Hector’s not here. Do you not understand the concept of a walkie-talkie? Other people can be on the same frequency.”
I nudged RJ. “Be nice. He’s just a kid.”
“I am being nice.”
“No. You’re being Chad Woodcock.”
Groaning, he said, “Fine” before pressing the button once more. “Hey, little dude. Can you bring that walkie-talkie to your dad or mom… pretty please?”
“You killed him, didn’t you?” the kid said, his voice rising to a higher pitch. “You killed Hector.”
Just as RJ had lowered the button to respond I leaned into the receiver and said, “Hector’s fine.”
RJ released the button and glared at me. “Dani. We don’t know if Hector’s fine because we don’t have Hector. Now he’s going to think we’re holding Hector hostage.”
“Oh, right.”
“Let me do the talking,” he insisted. “I have more walkie-talkie experience.”
“Is experience really that important when all you do is push a button and talk?”
RJ put a finger to his lips to silence me before resuming his long-distance conversation. “Look, kid. We don’t have a lot of time. We’re trapped in the parking garage of our apartment complex, and…”
“I’m calling the cops,” the boy blurted out.
“Good, call them. That’s what I want.”
“And I’m gonna tell them you chopped up Hector.”
“Whoa, Jesus Christ. Where in the conversation did you get that conclusion from?”
“RJ.” I tugged on his hand. “He’s scared. Just speak calmly to him.”
“He’s not scared. He’s a little shit who watches too much Law & Order.”
“Look, I get it—you’re the expert with walkie-talkies—but I’m the expert with kids. Just be patient with him.”
RJ rolled his eyes before pressing back down on the button. “All right, Sherlock. Let’s try this a different way. How’d you like to make some money?”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ll give you twenty bucks to let me talk to your mom or dad.”
“Fifty.”
“Fifty? You literally have to walk down the hallway!”
“Fifty.” He held firm. “And I want you to Venmo me before I hand it over.”
Through clenched teeth, RJ replied, “How about you hand it over right now or I put you in the microwave when I get out of here?”
I grabbed the walkie-talkie out of RJ’s hand and pushed down on the button. “One hundred dollars. But you’ve got thirty seconds to get this into your mom’s hand. Go!”