“I spat in his face and said I hoped his eternity would be one of horror and misery, the same as my childhood… then I killed him. The twenty-thousand is not payment for the tattoo. It is payment for the peace you brought my niece, who could not find any before you, payment for your silence. I hope you will be able to use it to help others like her and like me, because you have a gift. I will come in next Friday. It is the only time I am free at two in the afternoon. Then I will leave California forever.”
Something told me I shouldn’t have said yes to her. I mean, I never verbalized my agreement, but she really didn’t give me a choice. I was a victim of her confession; it wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it wouldn’t be the last. I also did not want her money. I got it. I mean, I couldn’t imagine what she had been through, what any of my women had been through, but it was getting to a point where I could feel something building in me, and I knew I needed to do something about it.
***
I drove out to my parent’s house the next day. I knew my mom was at some trade show with Cherry to see new designers and lines for the following bridal season, so Pop would be on his own.
I pulled up alongside his newest project, a 1978 Ford F150. It was actually one of the first trucks he owned and said he should never have given up his old one. When my parents first left the desert and moved out here, Pop had driven an eighteen-wheeler for a while. I was still in high school, so Mom stayed behind. But when I was seventeen, she said I was old enough and responsible enough to be on my own and not to do anything stupid. She wanted to be with Pop. Every few weeks, they came home, made sure I hadn’t burnt the place to the ground or gotten some girl pregnant, then went back on the road. I was lucky I had a hefty allowance and looked older, because a seventeen-year-old guy with a box of condoms, his own car, and a house with no parents meant a freedom no one else my age had. There was a B-average rule though; if I dropped below that, Mom would have to come back home, and when they wanted to lay on the guilt, my parents were fuckin’ professionals.
“Hey son, what brings you out here?” Pop was wearing khaki Dickies overalls. A pile of red rags were at his side, his hands covered in grease.
“I need to talk.”
He stood up.
I wasn’t a huge talker. It probably would have helped if I had been. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just started talking. Pop leaned against the truck, trying to wipe his hands, and listened as I began.
“I know you have a pretty good idea of what my job entails for the women I help. But the thing is, some of the shit they tell me —”
“Don’t tell me anything else,” he interrupted.
“I am going to fucking explode, Pop.” I ran my fingers through my hair which needed a cut.
“I know you are. You need a woman,” he stated.
“Pussy isn’t helping anymore.” I smirked and shook my head.
“I ain’t talking about pussy, son,” he added, his voice serious. “I’m gonna tell you something I have only told one other person, Nicolas. I should never have laid that shit on your mom, but she could tell it was eating me up.” He shook his head back and forth a couple times before he began. “A woman came to me. Her husband had lost his job and she had a kid. Anyway, she wanted to know if there was any kind of program or aid she could sign up for. Well, I took the papers to her house when she didn’t show up. She answered the door, black and blue. Her husband came to the door, yelling about how they didn’t need charity from the man his wife was screwing. And from the look of their house, they didn’t need it either. The whole scene between me and him, it was ugly. No other word for it. I wasn’t sure what to do without calling the police and making it worse. After that day, I asked myself if calling them would have made anything better. In her case, yeah, it would have.”
He had been wringing the red cloth meant to clean his hands as he spoke, staring at the ground. “He killed her. Beat her so bad, he killed her. She wanted to know what aid was available because she was trying to leave him. He was a drunk, but he had enough money for a great lawyer, and I knew his sentence wouldn’t be a long one. Their kid was gonna be sent into foster care ‘cause they didn’t have any other family, but I made sure she went to friends of ours. Now, I’m telling you this, Nicolas, to say, I’ve been living with that for over twenty-five years. You know, whatever you tell me stays with me, so if you want to talk, I’m happy to carry the burden with you. But you have more than one story, I know that. All these years I had your mom.” He looked toward the house. I guessed he was just used to Mom being there. But he looked back at me and continued talking.
“Someone owed me a favor who happened to be staying at the same state-run facility as that woman’s husband. So I called in that favor, and two weeks into his stay, he had an accident.”
Fuck.
It took me a minute to find the right words. “Pop, I appreciate you sharing, but I just can’t.”
He walked up to me, almost in my face, and spoke quietly. Not with anger, not with aggression, but with what sounded like remorse, “The only other person that knows about that is your mom. I know you can handle that, and I wish I had been strong enough not to say anything at all to your mom, but she just knew. That’s what you need. You need someone who is gonna help you carry the burden. That’s the same reason I kicked you out when your mom was going through chemo. I’ve got her back and she’s got mine. Besides us, who has your back, Nicolas?”
I thought I’d gone there to talk, but I didn’t tell my pop anything. As usual, he knew what to say. What I did do was decide I would anonymously donate the twenty thousand to the women’s shelter where my mom used to work. I felt like my pop’s story was a sign.
***
It was just after ten p.m.
Zack said we’d had a busy day and invited me to have a drink with him and Teensy at her place. I dropped the truck at home and walked the six blocks up a steep-as-shit hill that led to her million-dollar home. I heard Zack yell out what sounded like, “Rock that sweet ass in my fuckin’ face, you slut!”
I took a step back and thought maybe I’d turn around and just go back home tonight. These days were killing me. Days, weeks, months, fuck… I needed to go to sleep and wake up, never.
“Nico!” Teensy opened the door hurriedly. “Won’t you come in?”
“How did you know I was here? I didn’t knock.” I took in the panel on the wall just inside her front door. It was a Starship-Enterprise-worthy security system complete with video feed from different parts of her house and property.
“I have really good security,” she said, putting in a code. “I have to. I get a lot of psychos. Actually, I really need an assistant to help me get all my restraining orders sorted out,” she said, adding that to her mental to-do list.
Teensy did have a huge motherfucking dog, a Great Dane named “B.A.B.” which stood for “Bad Ass Bitch.” Thankfully, B.A.B. had a weekend play-date with her brother and two sisters out in Norco. She was Teensy’s protection when she did private parties. There were hand signals for all sorts of great tricks, and Teensy had perfected getting them into her routine. She had, unfortunately, had to use B.A.B.’s tricks more than once when the men got out of hand, but a dog that big, growling and drooling right in front of your crotch? That makes any man back the fuck off.
“Hey! Snatch-master 3000! Come over here and untie me!”
I followed Teensy through a hallway to see Zack tied up and hanging above a pool table. Everything about her place gave you the feeling of indulgence, from the huge vases of flowers arrangements to the red and black pool table. It wasn’t oppressive like some über-rich homes. Teensy had put her touch on it to make everyone feel like they were walking into an accommodating upscale hotel.
Teensy opened the cupboard that housed the pool cues. “Wanna game, Nico?” she asked, giving me a sly smile.
“Sure.” I smiled back, thinking this was going to be a much needed break from reality, my best friend bound and tethered, hanging�
�actually almost swinging—from the ceiling like a chandelier.
I chalked up the cue while Teensy racked. “So… Zack?” I paused for greater effect, holding back my amusement at his expense. “How’s it hanging?”
Teensy and I both busted out in laughter.
“Here, Nico.” Teensy handed me a bottle of Bud. “I know you don’t like a glass.” She broke, determining she would be solids.
“Fuck and you, man,” he said firmly as I laughed my ass off. “Teensy? Baby-doll? This has been fun, but either we fuck or you let me down.” Zack was on the edge of getting pissed.
“Can you please excuse us a moment, Nico?” Teensy asked, leaning her cue against the table.
“Of course.” I leaned back, watching their banter and drank my beer.
Teensy walked over to the cabinet with the pool cues, took out what looked to be a table tennis paddle, walked over to Zack, and smacked the back of his jeans-clad thigh.
“Argh! Fuck!” Zack yelled out.
In a sweet, cooing tone, Teensy spoke to Zack as she pulled him toward her by the chin. “Now, now, Zacky…” she said as she dragged a long, blood red fingernail down his neck, “you know that when you don’t address me properly, you have to be punished.”
“Fuck! Off! You said you were trying out the new pulley. You tried it out. Get me down so I can play pool with Nico. Now! Fuck!”
His body jerked around, swinging him back and forth. He was totally helpless, suspended above our forgotten game, and I was pretty sure, even if he wanted to, there was no way he could have gotten himself down.
Then Zack started to say something again. As soon as he inhaled to speak, Teensy slapped the side of the pool table with a huge flogger. I jumped, startled by the sound, but Zack let out a shaking exhale, and I felt the air in the room change. The pool game was gonna have to wait, and, almost as if the Universe had answered my question of how to get out of there as quickly as possible, my phone buzzed with a text. Without looking at the message, I apologized and made my way to the front door as I heard Zack yell out, “Yes, Mistress T!”
I laughed as I walked down the street, back toward the highway. Zack and Teensy were good together. I thought they had both met their match, and Becca and Teensy got along well, too. The only problem was, Zack didn’t want to give up his freedom. But his no-strings-attached lifestyle was just as soulless as mine.
My phone chirped at me. I forgot to read the message. I swiped the screen as I rounded the corner to head up the back alley toward home.
Nico,
I’m on your doorstep.
I need help.
Moira
Moira was actually one of the few clients I had that listened to me. She was twenty-two with a fantastic Rockabilly style she wore well. Her hair, which was naturally dark, had been bleached almost white and arranged into huge rolls and twists. To me, she looked like a 1950’s Hollywood starlet. In reality, she was a girl that wore the shame of abuse at the hands of her own brother. I knew his name was Scott. He was twelve years older than her, and when she told me her story, I tried to get it out of my head as quickly as it poured in.
He stayed in the family home all through College to save money then started his Master’s degree. He met his wife in his last year, and finally, at the age of twenty-seven, he left home. At seventeen, when her little niece was born, Moira told her parents what had happened, and they kicked her alternative ass to the curb. She admitted, at the time, she was drinking and getting high almost every day, but that was how she coped. After that, she couch-surfed. Now, she managed a clothing store downtown and took classes to become a bookkeeper.
I ran the last half-mile, knowing in my gut something was wrong. I swiped my phone and called Zack’s cell.
“Nico,” Teensy answered. “I took him down, the big baby. You can come back if you want. He’s just getting dressed-”
“I think I might need some help, Teensy. Can you come to my place? I’m sorry, might be nothing,” I puffed. Thank God I’d quit smoking. “Client,” I said.
“We’re on our way, Nico.”
Past the white, double garage and down the steps, I ran around the corner to see Moira slumped on the porch of my place.
“Nico.” She smiled, her teeth covered in blood.
“Jesus, fuck, Moira. What the fuck?” Taking off my sweatshirt, I made a pillow and arranged it under her head. As soon as her torso moved, she screamed out in pain. “I have to call an ambulance.” I tried to stay calm, but the truth was, I was freaking the fuck out.
Zack and Teensy arrived while I was on the phone with 9-1-1. Zack ordered, “Keys”, took them from me, and opened the door to my place. He and Teensy arranged towels around Moira to keep her stable and try to make her more comfortable. I saw Teensy at her face with a washcloth, but before she could clean her up, Teensy told Zack to take photos and said it would be important for evidence.
Zack and I took my truck and met them at the private hospital up the road. Teensy stayed with Moira in the ambulance and somehow convinced them she was her cousin. We sat in the waiting room and stared at the frosted doors hoping someone, any-fuckin’-one, would come out and tell us something.
After the police finished interviewing the paramedics, they came to Teensy and me. Zack had gone to get coffee. Since Teensy and I had sat in a tense silence, I hadn’t known until that moment, that Moira had told her everything. “Her mom called her two months ago. She and her parents have been estranged for years now.”
“You mean your aunt and uncle?” the officer enquired.
“We’re thrice removed,” she replied, and I could see the confusion on the officer’s face as he scribbled on his note pad.
“Please continue,” he said, eyes setting on her hair and make-up.
Teensy told the story relayed by Moira, in a discreet, quiet voice. “Moira now has a niece who is about five. The grandma was noticing a change in her behavior, one that was familiar because she’d seen it in her own daughter years before. So she offered to babysit a few days ago and took her to their family doctor. He said there was evidence she’d been… well…” She stopped and looked at Zack approaching us with three cups balanced in his hands, little red, plastic stirrers and sugar packets threatening to fall from his fingers.
“It’s important we get the entire story while it’s fresh in your mind,” the officer said.
As she continued, I learned that Moira’s mom, Judy, called her daughter-in-law, Stephie and said it was important she come over to speak to her right away… without her son. The next call she made was to Moira. Her dad, Aaron, couldn’t believe his son was capable of such a thing. An appointment was set up for the daughter-in-law with the same family doctor and child protective services, and she didn’t need any more convincing. She had known for months that something just wasn’t right with her little girl.
Moira filed a statement, explaining there was a history of abuse from her brother, then mother and daughter moved to a hotel. Now, not only was CPS involved, the police were also involved. When the police had gone to gather evidence and interview Scott, he snapped. It didn’t help that Stephie had asked for a divorce, and that Moira had shared her history.
Moira’s tattoo was a beautiful mural of the Swallows returning to Capistrano. I loved transforming the blank canvas of her back into the Mission, with palm trees, roses, and bougainvillea climbing around. It was her hometown, and the Mission held some of her happiest memories as a kid. But every now and then, she would come in and get a new Swallow.
Teensy’s statement ended with Scott following Moira after work. She just happened to be coming down to the shop. The knowledge of her little niece suffering like she did had brought all that pain to the forefront again. He chased her into the alley next to my garage and violently beat her for having his wife and child taken away from him. If there was any silver lining at all, he was definitely going to be arrested.
I had just finished giving my statement when Moira’s parents, Aaron and Judy, a
rrived at the hospital, the police spoke with her father while her mother spoke to a staff member. With all my women, all the broken birds that came to see me, not one of them had ever led me to the situation I currently found myself in. I had never been face-to-face with the abuser, the enabler, or the monster… until now.
My heart was racing, pounding out of my chest. I gripped the padded arms of the waiting room chair, prepared to rip it to pieces in an effort to control my rage, but it didn’t help. The rubber soles of my boots screeched across the smooth floor as I came to a halt, slamming Aaron Frieze into a wall. I was holding him off the floor by the lapels of his fuckin’ blazer. I pulled my arm back, ready to smash his goddamn face in. The arms of the two officers, a security guard, and Zack were pulling me off, all of them barking orders at me.
Mr. Frieze, his ashen face full of remorse and regret, stared back when I yelled, “She fuckin’ told you! And you turned your back on her. And now it fuckin’ happened again! This is all on you, you cocksucker!” I stopped fighting the arms holding me. “I’m fine! Let go of me.”
“Sir, let’s step outside.” One of the security guards appeared, flanked by another to escort me out of the building.
I should’ve been there for Moira. What a fucked up, selfish move I had just made.
Judy Frieze walked up to me, pushing past the guards and the cops. She looked to her husband, whose face was now red, his eyes glassy and swollen, then to me. She put her hands on my cheeks and met my eyes, and I was sure they matched her husband’s.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you,” she said again, brushing my hair from my face. It was a mothering gesture, and it undid me completely. Every emotion, every single ounce of rage in me needed to get out, and I, in turn, had to get the fuck out of there.
Chapter 5
I left Zack and Teensy with my truck and walked the couple miles home. What a fucking day.
Nico Page 5