Jane Doe

by Victoria Helen Stone

  He gets home from work and heads straight for his exercise room. He reappears forty-five minutes later to put a pot of water on the stove and then he disappears for what I assume is a quick shower, because he’s wearing a different T-shirt and sweatpants when he emerges to dump a box of macaroni into the steaming pot. No booty calls so far. My man is still faithful.

  He turns on a football game and sits at the kitchen table to eat his meal, but before he’s done, he looks up, startled at something. He mutes the TV. I hear it then. The doorbell ringing.

  Oh my gosh, it’s Mr. and Mrs. Hepsworth!

  Before I even see them, I hear Steven exclaim, “Dad!” with great joy. Then I hear the clap of male back patting before Steven leads his dad into the living room. Rhonda follows behind. No back pats for her.

  “What are you doing out here?” Steven asks.

  “Oh, we had an early dinner with that new minister from Brooklyn Park Christian. We were about to pass your exit and I realized we hadn’t stopped by in months. Thought I’d drop in and see the new fence.”

  Steven’s chest puffs out proudly at that, and he leads his father out to the patio. I hear a low murmur of conversation through the door. Rhonda stays inside, staring at her phone. I hope she has a hot online boyfriend to fill her days, but that’s probably a bit risky for a preacher’s wife.

  Steven and his dad return and they discuss the new minister for a while. Rhonda faces away from them, straight into the camera, and I see her lip curl with contempt, though I’m not sure for what. Her husband? His son? This life she lives?

  The pastor excuses himself to use the restroom, and as soon as he’s gone, Steven’s gaze goes to Rhonda. He glares at her back for a long moment before he finally approaches. “Stay the fuck away from Jane,” he says, and I gasp and bounce with gleeful surprise. What the hell is this?

  Rhonda rolls her eyes before she turns to face him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Every time I turn around, you two are huddled up together gossiping. I don’t want you influencing her.”

  “Influencing her to do what? Use her brain? She’s even dumber than your last little piece.”

  “Just leave her alone.”

  “You think I give a shit who you date? She’s the one who’s trying to kiss my ass and get in good with Daddy. It’s pitiful.”

  “I don’t see you discouraging her.”

  “Yeah, because I couldn’t care less.”

  “Don’t fuck with me,” he warns.

  “My God, you’re insane, you know that?” She swings back around toward the camera and raises her phone to dismiss him. A door opens offscreen and Steven moves away. I watch Rhonda’s eyes slide to the side as if she’s still wary of Steven’s presence. When her husband returns, Rhonda heads straight for the front door.

  “We’d better get going, darling,” she says. She doesn’t wait for him to agree before she leaves.

  What in the world was that? I bounce again and clap my hands, then click back to the beginning so I can pay even closer attention.

  Does Steven think she’s going to tell me something I shouldn’t know? Is it about him abusing Meg? It makes sense. Rhonda hates his guts; there’s no reason she wouldn’t want to sabotage a new relationship for him. I should see if I can get her alone for a cocktail. But this Jane isn’t a drinks-with-the-girls kind of woman. Maybe coffee instead. Or tea.

  Once they’re gone, Steven is agitated, pacing back and forth across the kitchen, swiping his hand through his hair. He drinks two beers in quick succession. Then he gets out his phone.

  He dials someone and gets no answer. I dig my phone from my purse and see that I missed a call from him at 8:30. He probably wanted to know if he could drop by for a quick curbside handy.

  Setting down the phone, he turns the game back on, but a few minutes later he’s back on the phone sending a short text. It wasn’t to me. His phone buzzes. He texts again. He smiles a tight little smile and mutes the TV again to make a phone call.

  “Hey,” he says. “Long time no see.”

  He paces back to the bedroom and this is the video I saw a few minutes ago, phone already pressed to his ear and charming grin in place. “Come on, it wasn’t like that. I just got busy with work.”

  Ah, this must be a girl who put out too quickly and never got a second date.

  “Vanessa,” he coos. He’s supposed to sound sweet but he sounds whiny. “That’s not true. Don’t be mean about it. You were always such a sweetheart.”

  His grin flashes again. “Okay. Got it. That’s good news, because I was calling to see if you’re busy tonight . . . Nah, it’s not that late. We could grab a drink somewhere. How about that pub?”

  Whatever she says, Steven’s smile fades and he rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Okay. Sure. Next time, then. Yeah, I’ll call you.”

  He tosses his phone on the bed with a curse. God, he’s really riled up. Is it just because he wanted to yell at Rhonda and call her names and he isn’t allowed to? Now he needs another woman around to humiliate?

  “Fucking bitch,” he mutters, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about Vanessa or Rhonda or all of us. Probably all of us.

  He leaves the room for a few minutes, but before the camera can go to sleep, he’s back. He turns off the lights and gets into bed with his phone. The screen lights up. I hear a woman speaking in Japanese, then the distinctive sound of spanking and weeping. Then the dulcet tones of porn sex, the woman high-pitched and desperate, the man guttural and in control.

  I watch until he finishes, then I get out my cat’s favorite feather toy and let her chase it around the living room. Every pounce, every twitch of her head, reminds me of that tiger. And of myself.

  She finally flops onto the scarred wood floor with a yawn, and I do the same on the couch. It’s been a long day, but in three days I’ll be Steven’s special girl, and I can’t wait.

  CHAPTER 33

  My mom called again. I blocked her. Good riddance.

  This time in Minneapolis is really helping me work out my issues. I feel more in touch with my feelings already.

  That was a joke.

  CHAPTER 34

  It’s Thursday and I feel like a girl getting ready for her wedding night. Instead of white, I wear black, of course. Steven’s favorite black bra and a pair of transparent mesh panties. I’ve unbuttoned my delicate dress too far again, but whenever I catch Steven’s eye across the office, I smile and look shyly down, a blushing bride.

  He’s practically strutting through the day. Tonight he’ll accept the precious gift of my womanhood. If only this weren’t an office romance, he could shout it to the world.

  He leaves a few minutes before I do, but he’s waiting by his truck when I come down. “Ready for dinner?” he asks with a wink.

  I nod and duck my head as he opens my door. I can’t quite meet his eyes.

  “I’m making burgers,” he says. “Sound good?” He closes the door on my quiet “Yes.”

  We pull out and he takes my hand. After kissing my knuckles, he laces his fingers through mine and holds my hand on his thigh. I play my part by not jerking my arm back to my side of the truck.

  After a few minutes I clear my throat. “I’m not very good at it,” I say in a rushed whisper.

  “At what?” Steven shoots me a puzzled glance.

  “I . . . I mean sex. I’m not really . . . It’s hard for me to relax about it.”

  He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “It’ll be great.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Listen, Jane.” We’re waiting in line at a long red light. He turns to me, raising my hand for another kiss. “I’m in love with you.”

  “Oh gosh. Steven! Oh my gosh! I love you too. I really do. I know it’s only been a few weeks, but . . .”

  “But it’s something special. This isn’t some cheap one-night stand like you’ve had before. It’s going to mean something. All right?”

  Wow. Can it ever really be special with a trashy girl
like me? Stay tuned.

  But this is what Meg wanted. I know that. She was so sick of dating. So sick of the constant grind. She wanted someone who’d tell her it was special. Someone to cuddle in the morning. Someone to hold hands with in the car.

  My hand is sweaty and I desperately want it back, but I keep right on squeezing.

  “Relax, baby,” he murmurs. “It’s gonna be so good.”

  I smile nervously, but I nod in agreement because I want to please him.

  He glances toward my chest. “You wore that bra I like.”

  This time my smile is wide and sure. “I wanted to make you happy.”

  “Oh, I’m already feeling real happy, babe. Come here.” I lean in and give him a kiss, but the light turns green and the car behind us honks. We giggle like teenagers and drive out of the city.

  When we get to his house, Steven heads straight out to the grill. As soon as he’s out the patio door, I grab two beers from the fridge, one stout and one light. After popping the tops off both, I drop four pills into the stout and swirl them around. It’s bitter enough that he won’t notice any difference.

  When he comes back inside, I sidle up for a long, deep kiss, sucking lightly at his tongue until he groans. “Here, sweetie. I got you a beer.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  He’s in a great mood, nicer than he’s ever been. “I should cook for you next time,” I say.

  “Yeah? What would you make for me?”

  “Beef stroganoff?”

  “Ick. Mushrooms.”

  “Okay, then . . . fried chicken.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  I don’t know shit about fried chicken. “I promise to make all your favorites. I can’t wait.”

  He clinks his beer against mine. “Drink up. We can’t have you feeling uptight tonight, can we?”

  I giggle and shake my head, then take a long pull on my beer as he supervises with a pleased smile. “Good girl.”

  “You’re good at watching out for me,” I purr.

  “It’s nice to find a woman who appreciates that.”

  “I do. I really like it. The way you take care of me.” I lean up for another kiss and he pushes me back to the counter so he can press his hips to mine for a few seconds.

  “God, you’re hot.”

  I take another drink of beer as he leaves me to go to the fridge. “Cheese?” he asks. He sets cheese and ground beef on the counter, then leans back and finishes his first beer. I hope he swallowed all the pills in that last long pull.

  He gets us both another beer and slides mine across the counter toward me even though I haven’t finished the first.

  “Maybe I could cook and you could have your dad and Rhonda over or something.”

  “That sounds nice, but we wouldn’t want my dad to think we’re shacking up or anything.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.”

  “It was a sweet thought. You’re going to make a great wife someday.”

  “Stop. Don’t tease.”

  “I’m not teasing you, babe. I’d like to settle down soon, and I’d love it to be with a girl who wants to be a wife and not just a husband in a dress.”

  “I think it would be nice to be a wife. And a mom. My mom never got to stay home with me.”

  “Yeah, she probably put you right into day care, huh?”

  “She had to work.”

  “Sure. But if you had a good, steady guy like me, you’d want to do it right, wouldn’t you? Take care of our kids. Take care of my house.”

  His house. Of course. “I’d love that,” I whisper.

  He sets down his beer to frame my face with his hands, and the fingers on my left cheek are freezing and wet. I try my best to look dreamy. “You deserve that, Jane. You just need the right guy to make it happen.”

  “Is that you?” I ask softly.

  “I think it could be. Are you the right girl?”

  I sigh. “I hope so.”

  “Demure,” he says, then kisses me gently. “Sweet.” Another kiss. “Godly.”

  A strange thing to say when I can feel his erection against my belly, but everyone has their turn-ons.

  “I love you,” I murmur against his mouth.

  He kisses me again, then heads out to cook up some red meat.

  I take my second beer to the couch and put my feet up. We’ll both enjoy this more if I’m tipsy. He’ll feel like he’s taking advantage of me, and I might be drunk enough to enjoy it.

  The pills won’t hit him for an hour. We’ll have plenty of time to consummate our love.

  Sure enough, we’re done with our burgers in fifteen minutes and Steven is giving me a tour of his house. It’s obviously going to end with his bedroom. I ooh and aah over the judo memorabilia and ask if I can come watch him spar sometime. “It must be so sexy,” I purr, “watching you fight another man like that.”

  “Then you can definitely come watch sometime.”

  He leads me to the bedroom and begins edging me toward the bed as he kisses me. His hands go for the flimsy buttons of my dress, and I remember that I had to find a new button for that last one he popped. “Let me see you, baby,” he whispers. He sits on the end of the mattress and unfastens two more buttons.

  I ease my dress off my shoulders, still holding it up, as if I’m shy.

  “That’s it. Take it off.”

  I let it drop to the floor.

  “Oh yeah. Look at you.” He’s still fully dressed, and if I were really as shy as I pretend to be, I’d feel vulnerable right now, presenting my body to him for approval. “God, these panties.” He slides his hands around my back and straight down my underwear to cup my ass. “So hot,” he whispers.

  “You like them?”

  “Hell yeah I do. Did you pick them out for me?”

  I nod.

  “A dirty little secret for your man?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Take off your bra.”

  I reach back and unclasp the strap, then cup the fabric to me and wait for him to push my hands aside. He does. He doesn’t compliment my breasts; he just paws at them for a while. I know they’re not exactly what he likes, but they’re here, so good enough.

  Surprise, surprise, there’s not much foreplay. We climb under the covers and we have sex. I try for hesitant warmth, eager to please him even though I feel ashamed about it all.

  He’s not the worst I’ve had, but he’s in the bottom quarter. Halfway decent lay, terrible lover. He doesn’t even make a reluctant offer to go down on me.

  Afterward I snuggle close and stroke the sparse hairs of his chest as if I can’t get enough of touching him. One minute later he’s snoring.

  Unsure if it’s the drugs or just a male postcoital nap, I say his name a few times. He grunts something as if he’s trying to answer but can’t rouse himself. I nudge him. He snorts and then settles back into a deep sleep.

  The pills were only antihistamines, but allergy drugs are a surprisingly effective sedative when you mix them with alcohol. There are warnings about it on the package, but the mixture is one of my favorite antidotes to my own bouts of restlessness. I only take two, though, and I chase mine with cocktails instead of dropping them in beer. He’ll hopefully sleep like an exhausted child for a good eight hours and wake pretty refreshed. Unless he has a heart condition.

  I get up and walk naked through his house to retrieve his phone from the living room. I’ll enjoy this video later, watching myself move free and languid like a feline through his rooms. I take the phone back to bed and use his limp hand to access the fingerprint lock. It’s cozy here, and I settle beneath the sheets to explore his life as he sleeps deeply beside me.

  Text messages first.

  I read through several weeks’ worth of conversations with his dad, but they’re all wholesome as hell. Nothing good there, aside from access to his dad’s number, which I transfer to my own phone.

  There’s no need to view my own conversations with him, so I move on to “Ted.” It look
s like Ted is his little brother. I don’t remember hearing his name, but the texts are mostly about Dad, with Steven haranguing his brother for not bringing his kids to the church often enough. Ted wants to, but it’s nearly an hour drive for them, and Bethenny is still struggling with the postpartum even though the little one is ten months old now.

  Steven helpfully advises that spending time praying with Dad could go a long way toward helping her buck up. So understanding.

  Then there’s Vanessa, his failed booty call. He’s deleted whatever messages he sent when they were seeing each other, and Monday’s are just a version of “You up?”

  Other than that, most of the texts are just verifications and reminders. He doesn’t leave a trail.

  I check his email, but it’s only work stuff. I forward a couple of important documents to my anonymous email account, then delete the evidence from the sent folder. Maybe I can set him up for something after all.

  After that, I forward his entire contact list to myself. Then I see the Tinder app icon on the second page of his phone. Score!

  The profile photo doesn’t show his face. He’s a deacon, after all. Instead, it’s a standard shirtless-in-the-mirror selfie with only the bottom half of his smirk showing. There are a couple more pics of his chest, taken when he was a little more tan and cut than he is now. Fair enough.

  I click on Profile and find a few women he’s been matched with, but most of them he’s organized into lists. The top list is titled Nice Tits. There’s also Dateable, Slutty, and Hit That.

  Hit That has four women in it. They’re all white with hair ranging from blond to light brown. He calls all of them “baby” in conversation, just like he calls me. Now I don’t feel special.

  The last contact with each of them was around April. He hooked up with all of these women almost immediately after Meg’s death, as if he were trying to screw a demon away. Good. I hope he was roasting alive with guilt and regret.

  I screenshot the interactions and send them to myself. The other lists are full of typical come-ons from Steven and a few topless shots from women. I capture those conversations too. Why not?