by Lou Harper
She folded her hands in her lap in a gesture that was an exact copy of our mom’s. “Why don’t you tell me? It’ll make you feel better, you know it. Your habit of bottling up your feelings isn’t healthy.”
“You’re a nurse, not a shrink,” I grumbled, but I knew she was right. I still had a hard time getting the words out. “You remember when I got arrested?” I asked at last.
“How could I not? Mom cried for weeks and Dad was spitting nails. You got this close to getting a real hiding.” She indicated a quarter-inch space between her thumb and forefinger.
“Don’t I know it.” My parents didn’t believe in corporal punishment, but I’d made it exceptionally difficult for them to stick to their principles.
“You got off easy only being grounded for the rest of the school year.” She picked up her cup.
I hadn’t just been grounded. I’d had to account for every minute of my time and hadn’t been allowed out of the house any farther than the backyard, aside from going to school. I still got off easy. “I know,” I said.
“So, what about it?” she asked, sipping her coffee.
“My date was the cop who arrested me.”
She made a choked sound and spat some of the coffee back into the cup. “What? How? Did you know it was him?”
I handed her a napkin. “No, of course I didn’t.”
“How could you not?” she asked, dabbing coffee and spittle from her chin.
“Would you remember someone you saw for twenty minutes nine years ago?”
“Under the circumstances—”
“While high?”
She screwed up her face. “No, probably not. He didn’t know who you were either?”
“I’ve changed a lot since.” In addition from the long, black hair and the eye shadow, I’d also been rail thin back then. Currently I kept my hair short and naturally brown. I was even a few inches taller—my last growth spurt hadn’t hit me till I was eighteen. I’d put on some weight and muscles after the accident, thanks to the physical therapy that started me swimming regularly. You had to know me well to connect me to that scrawny kid.
Charly nodded. “True. How did you realize it was him, then?”
“He recognized my tattoo.”
“Oh. Oh! I hope you used protection,” she said sternly.
“Charly!” I loved her, and she was a nurse, but talking about my sex life with her weirded me out.
“Don’t get in a huff. I care about you.”
“I know you do. And I always use protection.” These days remained unsaid. Yeah, I’d done a lot of stupid things back in the day, and gotten away with them too. Up to a point.
I opened the last box and took out the two chocolate croissants and put one on Charly’s plate. I claimed the other one for myself. I’d probably skip lunch. The failing of most chocolate croissants is that all the fillings on the inside and the two ends are plain pastry. However, Porto’s dips both ends of their croissant into melted chocolate, so you get it from end to end. Simple and brilliant.
“The whole thing was Riley’s idea, wasn’t it?”
I knew she meant the hustling. Riley and I had met in fourth grade and quickly became inseparable. Charly had disliked Riley from the start, not without reason. He and I had always pushed each other toward edgier stuff. Smoking pot, taking X… There’d always been something new and forbidden to try. He came up with the idea of how we could make some extra money for drugs and clothes. And he’d been the one who had wanted us to get our own place in Hollywood the moment we turned eighteen. But I’d gone along willingly every time.
“I don’t remember. It really doesn’t matter now,” I said.
“He was always a bad influence on you.”
“You can’t put all my fuck-ups on him.”
Charly had her stubborn streak. “That boy’s trouble. You stopped acting up when he was out of the picture.”
“And it only took a ton of bricks to knock some sense into me.”
“I keep thinking you could’ve gone to college if it wasn’t for him.” She waved at my wall of books as if there was a connection.
“Charly, I’ve never had the desire, and I’d probably be just where I am now.”
“But are you happy working at Fred’s?”
“I’m not unhappy, which is more than a bunch of college graduates with their crushing student loan debts can say.”
Charly pressed her lips into a thin line while she stacked the plates and carried them into the kitchen. On her way back, she said, “You could do worse than a cop, you know.”
I couldn’t believe what she was suggesting. “He looked at me like I was dirt.”
“He did?”
“Toxic sludge.”
She threw herself back down on the sofa. “Well, the hell with him. His loss.” Charly had an unwavering high regard of me, despite all the evidence to the contrary. She seemed especially upbeat today. Her big brown eyes had a dreamy sheen.
I had a suspicious thought. “Tell me, Sis, what are you doing in Burbank on a Saturday morning?”
“Oh, I just had a craving for Porto’s,” she said dismissively, but the tips of her ears turned pink.
“They have one in Glendale. That would’ve been closer. You’re hiding something.”
The pink spread from her ears to her cheeks. “Michael lives nearby.” She tried to suppress a happy grin but failed spectacularly.
“Oh-ho! Tell me all about this Michael person,” I urged her.
And while she gushed about Michael, the greatest guy on earth, I almost completely forgot about my own troubles.
Nick didn’t show his face in the store for the whole next week. I knew I should’ve felt relieved, but that annoying pang behind my sternum refused to go away. I had to take pills just to get a full night’s sleep. At work, Olly kept giving me pitying glances. I told myself the whole disaster would fade from my memory eventually.
My hopes went up in flames in an unexpected way. Getting home one afternoon, I picked up my mail and then checked in on my downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Gallagher. When I’d once asked Mrs. G about her age, she’d replied, “Older than the hills but younger than dirt.” She lived alone and managed well enough, but I checked in on her every couple of days. I once read a news article about an old man who died in his apartment and nobody realized it till the neighbors complained about the smell. It had struck a chord in me, and I’d wondered how he’d ended up so alone. Had he outlived all his family and friends? What a depressing thought. Maybe he’d been cursed too.
Mrs. G was doing fine that evening, and after a brief chat, I left her watching The Simpsons and took the stairs up to my own apartment. The red envelope stuck into my doorjamb screamed for attention. It made me think of Christmas cards—utterly out of place in June. Maybe another religious pamphlet, I thought. Did those things ever work?
I opened the envelope, but instead of religion, I found a photograph of a naked teenager in it. He was kneeling on the floor. Shot from behind, it gave a good view of the curve of his ass, his bare feet and every single bump of his spine, but not his face. Yet I would’ve recognized that boy even if it wasn’t for that black spider tattoo. I couldn’t tell when and where the picture had been taken, but it had to have been many years ago. The blur of furniture in the background gave me no clue as to the location. Not even the hideous pattern of the wallpaper.
“Son of a bitch!” I shook with rage. Nick must’ve left it there. I didn’t care what he thought of me, but he didn’t have the right to be such a vindictive asshole.
I drove all the way to West Hollywood like a demon on a mission. His building looked different in the daylight, but I recognized it. I parked illegally in the red zone and charged up to Nick’s apartment. As fate would have it, he was at home. I hardly had to bang on the door before it opened.
He was shirtless, hair wet. “Wha—”
“You asshole!” I yelled at him and punched my fist in his chest. I might have punched a boulder for all the effect
it had.
Before I could try it again, he grabbed my arm and yanked me inside. “What the hell is your problem?”
“What is my problem? Look, motherfucker, I don’t know how you got that picture, and I don’t care. I did what I did and don’t need some self-righteous asshole to rub my nose in it. And I don’t care if you’re a fucking pig!”
He held both my wrists firmly across my chest and used his body to press me to the wall so I couldn’t move at all. I could’ve tried head-butting him, but the chances were I would’ve knocked myself out. Not to mention he probably would’ve had me hog-tied in thirty seconds flat. So I glared very hard and took special joy from my spittle having landed on his mug.
I’d hoped to get a rise out of him, but instead he put his cop face on. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I struggled against his hold in vain frustration. “Let me go!”
His grip tightened. “I’ll let you go if you calm down.”
“I’m calm.” The steel in his glare said he wasn’t buying my crap. I took a deep breath and let it out. I repeated it a few more times. “I’m calm.” I wasn’t, not entirely, but mostly under control.
Nick released my wrists and took half a step back. “Start from the beginning.”
I scrutinized his expression but still couldn’t get a read on him. “You didn’t leave a photo at my door?”
“I did not leave anything at your door. I swear,” he said solemnly.
I searched for signs of duplicity in his eyes but could find none. “Oh.” I began to suspect that I’d jumped to conclusions so fast because I’d wanted to find a reason to hate Nick. Instead, I’d given him more reason to hate me. A flush of mortification spread across my face, and I had a sudden urge to get out of there.
Unfortunately, Nick blocked my way. “Do you have it with you? The photo? Show me.”
I reluctantly pulled it out of my back pocket and handed it over. As his face folded into an expression of contempt, I regretted coming here at all. Having Nick’s naked chest inches from me only made me more miserable. I could’ve counted every single strand of dark hair spreading over his chest. I saw a dab of shaving cream hiding behind his right ear. It would’ve been so easy to reach out and… I smothered the thought.
Nick gave me a suspicious look. “Are you all right?”
No, I wasn’t. “Look, I’m sorry I bothered you. It was a mistake.” I grabbed for the photo, but he didn’t let it go.
“Why don’t you leave it with me? I could—”
“No! Absolutely not.” I tugged the picture out of his grasp and shoved it back into my pocket. The last thing I needed was a naked picture of me making the rounds at a police station.
Nick continued to stand perturbingly close, showing no intention of backing off. “Do you have any idea who this is from? Other than me, of course.”
“No clue,” I lied. Because now that I’d come back to my senses, I knew it must have been Riley. His MO exactly, and he’d had plenty of opportunities to snap incriminating pictures of me back in the day. A couple of years later, once I was back on my feet, he’d materialized out of nowhere and wanted to get back together. He’d said he’d missed me and needed me. More likely he’d needed money. I’d kicked him to the curb. Riley had never taken rejection well, but I hadn’t heard from him since. God knew what had gotten into him now. Maybe he was down on his luck. I would’ve thought of him sooner if I hadn’t been so hung up on Nick.
“Jem.” Nick put his hand on my shoulder, but I jerked away.
I didn’t want his pity, and everything else was out of the question. I had to get out of there before I embarrassed myself more than I already had. “I need to go. I parked illegally; I’ll get towed.” I yanked the door open and fled like a bat out of hell.
Chapter Three
I didn’t barge in on Riley. I’d already spent all my energies making an ass of myself in front of Nick. I couldn’t imagine what he thought of me now. I must have graduated from slut to insane slut in his mind.
I drove home. My apartment greeted me with cold indifference. For a second, I thought I heard padded feet on the hardwood floor and expected a cat to trot out of the other room, before I remembered with a pang that Pancake had been gone for almost a year. Fragrant smells of cooking drifted in from one of the neighboring apartments, making my stomach growl. I shoved the stupid photo back into its envelope and dropped it on top of the pile of junk mail next to the phone. I could shred and recycle the whole pile later.
I zapped some frozen curry and poured myself a tall glass of juice. I ate in front of the television. One of those How Do They Do It? shows was on. Who wouldn’t want to know how frankfurters, snow blowers and stamps were made? As the narrator’s voice droned on, my thoughts wandered off, looking for trouble.
Riley. He’d visited me once in the hospital. I’d tried to tell him how good it was to see him, but the words didn’t cooperate. He’d looked at me with such horror. He couldn’t leave fast enough, as if being broken was contagious. I’d seen him again a year later, after I’d been put back together. He’d been eager to pick up where we’d left off then, but I’d told him to take a hike. He’d kept sending emails with photos of the two of us from the old days. I blocked his address and then changed mine. I hadn’t heard from him again. Till now.
I hated that I missed him still. He’d not only been my first, but we’d once shared a bond I’d thought would never break. Two misfits against the world. Alone, we would’ve been a couple of sad losers, but together we’d become the rebels all the other kids had secretly envied. We’d skipped classes, pulled pranks, smoked weed behind the school.
I smiled as I remembered one of our shoplifting excursions. Riley had distracted whatever security person had been around by acting and looking suspicious, while I—scrubbed clean for the occasion—stuffed shiny bracelets and necklaces in my pockets. I even stopped to politely ask the salesperson for advice on what I should get my sister for her birthday. She was full of helpful suggestions, but sadly didn’t have anything with giraffes—which I’d insisted were my sister’s favorites. When I’d unloaded my loot back home, Riley had looked at me with such pride. We’d made out like a pair of horny rabbits.
Why did he leave the photo? Had he meant it as a taunt or a temptation? He’d always had a strange sense of humor. He must have left the photo to get a rise out of me, but he wasn’t going to succeed.
I rinsed out the plastic tray from my dinner and dropped it into the recycling bin. Before going to bed, I looked up Riley’s address in the online white pages. Just in case. I was surprised to find he was still listed under the same address we’d shared many years ago.
No matter how drained I felt, memories of Riley didn’t let me rest. We’d connected through an instinctual understanding that the same thing set us apart from the other kids, even before we’d known its name. We’d made our first fumbling discoveries together.
I’d worshipped Riley—he’d seemed so clever and worldly compared to me. Once, he’d stolen a magazine from somewhere—he’d said from an uncle’s house—and we’d studied the glossy pictures of naked men together with a mixture of horror and awe. Without Riley, I would’ve stayed in the closet much longer. I had to give him credit for that. When I closed my eyes, I could imagine his fingers brushing my skin and his voice whispering into my ear, telling me he’d look after me, would love me always, and other sweet lies. They’d haunt me in my dreams.
Once, in high school, I’d caught a dodge ball square in the chest. It knocked the breath out of me, and I ended up on my ass. That was exactly how I felt catching sight of Nick as I left work two days later. At least I managed to stay upright this time. My steps faltered between the thrill of seeing him and the desire to flee. I pulled myself together and kept on walking.
“Good evening, Officer,” I said, stopping at a safe arm’s-length. Nick cut a handsome figure in his jeans and the navy blue polo shirt hugging him tight.
He didn’t correct
me this time. “You look good, Jem.” He stepped closer, and for a second, I thought we might embrace, but then he stuffed his hands into his pockets. I followed suit.
I’d had a long day, had no energy to be sociable. “What do you want?” Rising irritability seeped into my voice.
Nick didn’t fluster easily. “To talk. Can we sit down for a coffee?”
I did not want to talk. Nothing good could come of it, I knew. “Yeah, okay.” Obviously, I had a masochistic streak.
I kept my lips zipped while Nick led me to a small café a block away, and opened them only to ask for a chai latte. I let him pay, didn’t even offer. We sat at one of the two minuscule tables on the sidewalk. The other one had been occupied by a guy with dreadlocks, mumbling to himself. Cars swooshed past us, chasing the tail end of the rush-hour traffic.
“You have a temper, you know,” he started.
“You bring it out in me. Normally, I’m sweet and even-tempered. Just ask Charly.”
“Your sister, right?”
“Yup.”
“That’s not her real name, is it?” he asked casually, like a man picking up a conversation with an old friend.
I knew what he was doing, steering us to neutral waters where I’d loosen up. It was working. “Nah. It’s Charlotte. She couldn’t say Jeremy when she was little, and that’s how I became Jem. In revenge, I started calling her Charly. Unfortunately, she liked it. There you have it.”
“My sister’s eight years older than me. When I was a toddler, she and her friends used to think of me as an interactive doll. She had a guilt attack later when she thought dressing me in girl’s clothes turned me gay.”
“Did it?” I had to admit, imagining Nick as a baby in a pink dress was amusing.
“Hardly. But it took me a while to convince her. Family can be a blessing and a nuisance.”
“Hmm.” I slurped my tea and wondered why we were there. I found out soon enough.
“Did you find out who left you that photo?” Nick asked in the same light tone.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You should file a police report. If someone’s stalking you—”