She rubs her stomach. “He’s an active one. See how much he’s kicking. Do you see the bump, bump happening here? I’m so glad he’s almost due.”
I lean over, and sure enough, I see the tight T-shirt throb on one side of her bulging tummy.
“Alright, what’s the big secret?” Mandy’s eyes shine with anticipation.
“I want to talk to you about Peter. Promise me you won’t tell anyone . . . not even to Steve.”
She nods vigorously, leaning towards me. I pause for a few seconds, and then picking my words carefully I tell her about how I discovered Peter and Bobby in bed together and the threats Peter has made if I tell anyone.
Eyes bulging, she heaves, breathing heavily. “So what are you going to do?”
“What would you do if you found Steve cheating on you?”
“Ah, but that would be different. At least I know it would be with another woman.” She taps her chin with her index finger. “I would give him another chance, and then if he didn’t stop, I would leave him.”
“You’re not suggesting that I give Peter another chance? If it weren’t for my parents, I would have left him as soon as I found out. I wouldn’t care if I have to go back to Calcutta, but my parents will disown me. It’s a huge loss of face for them.”
“Have you discussed this with Kathy? She seems like a reasonable person.”
“No, I don’t know how she’ll react. Peter is her brother and she’ll likely defend him. Also, what can she do for me?”
“You’re probably right. Have you asked Peter to stop seeing Bobby?”
I sigh impatiently. “What good is that going to do? He can promise me one thing and do something else.”
“Why does he want to sleep with Bobby when he’s got you?” Mandy laughs.
“You don’t understand. Peter and I . . . you know . . . we’ve never done it.”
“Oh, oh, are you telling me what I think you’re saying?” Mandy’s raised brow makes me cringe. “You’re still a virgin,” she whispers. Then she belts out a throaty laugh. “Seriously, with someone like you in his bed . . . and he doesn’t do anything.”
I nudge her arm. “It’s not funny when you’re in my shoes.”
She wipes her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’m not laughing at you. Something is wrong with that man. So what are you going to do?”
“If someone can confirm that he’s cheating on me with Bobby, then my parents will believe me. Otherwise it’s his word against mine.”
“And you want me to be that person. Ohhh . . . do you want me to take a picture when I catch them?” She giggles.
Even I smile at how preposterous this sounds. “Believe it or not, I’ve toyed with that idea.”
“Hmm . . . ” Mandy fingers her chin. I can sense her brain churning.
She struggles out of the couch. “I should get going soon. Steve will be wondering about me. I agree with you that we’ve got to expose the two lovebirds. Keep an eye on Peter’s movements. If you see him disappear by himself, let me know. We’ll be a tag team watching both of them.” As she leaves she assures me that she will keep my secret and she will help me any way she can.
I feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. Opening up to Mandy seems to bring some levity to my situation. Somehow I believe that she will help me pull through this mess.
·12·
Three weeks later, while I am tidying my room, I hear voices and keys jangling at the door. I freeze. Peter’s voice drifts in. “Come on inside. I don’t think she’ll be home for a while.”
The door slams with a thud. Bobby’s repulsive voice says, “That woman has ruined everything between us. Why do you put up with her?”
“We’ve gone over this before. My parents wanted me to marry and produce grandchildren for them. They don’t know about you and me.”
“Please tell me you haven’t had sex with her.”
“Of course not.” The disgust in Peter’s tone is unmistakable.
“Good . . . because I couldn’t bear to share you with anyone, not even a woman.”
“Well, we’ve got the afternoon to ourselves.”
I hold my breath, praying that they won’t come into my bedroom.
“Shall we?” Bobby’s voice is husky and smooth.
“Not here. Let’s go back to your apartment. I don’t want the bitch walking in on us like she did last time. There’s no chance of that happening at your place now that you’ve moved in by yourself. Good riddance to those two bimbos.” Peter’s voice sounds closer to the bedroom now.
I brace myself for Peter to come in. He doesn’t. Instead I hear a drawer open and close in the bathroom, and I give a sigh of relief. Soon the outer door slams, and there is silence once more. An idea now comes to my head and I rush to the kitchen for the phone and dial Mandy’s number.
“Please, God, let her be there,” I pray, drumming my fingers on the counter while the phone rings. She could be busy tending to the baby. But she picks it up.
I skip the pleasantries. “Can you do me a favour? Please knock on Bobby’s door in a few minutes.” I explain to her what I would like her to do.
She giggles. “I’ll take the baby with me. They have to let me in if I’m holding Jason. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
I hang up and then immediately call Wendy. I tell her I would like to move in with her for a few days. With a bit of luck, Mandy will have accomplished her mission in the next twenty minutes and then I can be out of my apartment right after. I dash around, gathering up things to throw into my overnight bag.
An eternity passes before the phone rings. I dive for it, almost tripping over a chair.
Mandy can’t stop chuckling. “You should have seen Bobby’s face when he opened the door. His unbuttoned shirt revealed a wimpy chest, and he was annoyed. I told him I needed a place to nurse my baby because I forgot my apartment key and Steve wasn’t home. I walked right into his bedroom, pretending not to hear him when he yelled to me to stop. Oh, my . . . what a sight. Peter was under the covers trying to hide from me, but it was too late.”
I start to laugh but my desperate situation keeps me from sounding as giddy as Mandy. “I’d better go now,” I say, and we hang up.
Suddenly I sense a presence in the room. I whisk around and stifle a gasp. My heart leaps in fear at the sight of Peter’s angry face.
“Uh . . . uh, you scared me. When did you come home?” How much did he hear?
“That was Mandy, wasn’t it?” He advances, full of rage.
I glance around, hoping to escape, but with Peter between me and the door, I have no way out. He is inches from me and breathing heavily. He grabs me, his fingers closing on my arm like a vise.
“You’re hurting me. Please let me go,” I gasp.
He pushes me towards my bedroom, drags me inside.
“What do you think I’m going to do to you?” Every word is slow and measured.
“Please let me go.”
“You’re not going anywhere today.” He throws me violently on the bed.
“What are you going to do?” Terror mounts inside my chest. I choke back my screams. I turn my head wildly looking for anybody to help me.
“What I should have done as soon as we got married.”
“Please don’t do this. Think about Bobby. You love him. I swear I won’t tell anyone. You can see him as often as you like.” I am willing to promise him the moon if he will only let me leave right now.
“I don’t need your permission to see Bobby. You and I are going to make a baby today. And if it doesn’t happen today, then we’ll try again until you get pregnant, you bitch.”
He pins me down on the bed. I struggle to get up, but he straddles over my hips and locks his fingers around my wrists.
“I’ll scream,” I say.
With a whack, his right palm lands on my cheek. “Don’t even try.”
I’m stunned. I knew he was capable of many things, I never dreamed he would strike me. My cheek burns and the tears roll, from the pain and the humiliation of my situation.
I twist my hips sideways and he loses his balance—but only for a moment. His fury only intensifies. He fist slams into my face. “You are going to stay still.”
He tugs and pulls at my shirt. He unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants down. Even in my worst nightmare, I could not have imagined the first time with my husband would be like this. My mouth tastes of blood, as Peter curses and struggles to pull my jeans down. I close my eyes, bracing for the inevitable. He comes down on me, but he is limp. Tentatively I open my eyes. Peter’s face, directly above mine, is contorted in fierce concentration. His laboured breathing revolts me. Then it dawns upon me that I can move my arms. With only one thought in my head—to inflict as much pain as possible—I reach between his thighs and grab. “You bitch!” he roars. For a moment he lifts his weight off me. I spring from the bed, grab a lamp and throw it at him, and sprint for the door. Grabbing my purse from the kitchen counter I dash for the stairs. I do not stop until I reach the subway entrance.
I move to the far end of the platform before I steal a glance behind me. No sign of Peter. A train rolls into the station. I step inside a half-empty cab. Only when the train leaves do I begin to feel safe.
Across the aisle, a woman stares at me. I must look awful. I catch my reflection on the glass window beside me. Disheveled, my hair tousled and with obvious signs of trauma on my face, I can hardly blame the gawkers. Tears stream down my face. I wipe them with my handkerchief. Despite everything, I am still holding on to this sad piece of a once-white fabric.
Wendy’s store-top apartment never looked as welcoming as it does now. I wipe my tears, but I can’t hide the angry welt on my face. And I can only imagine how terrible my bruised eye must look.
“Oh, my dear Lord. What happened to you?” she says when she opens the door, her words tumbling out in a hoarse whisper. She wraps her arms around me while I cry. I shudder and tremble with every sob, as she rocks me with soothing words.
Then she helps me to her couch, and as I sit there, still sobbing, she takes my hand and says quietly, “You can’t let Peter get away with this. Look at what he’s done to you. You must report him to the police.”
I quake at the idea of talking to the authorities. “Maybe we should wait till tomorrow.”
“No, you go today. Make that beast pay for what he did to you.”
I swallow a lump. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
“And you are never to go back to him. You’ll stay with me for as long as you need to.”
I nod gratefully. She picks up the phone and dials the emergency number—she hands me the phone.
Within the hour, two officers appear at the door. They ask many questions—but I can tell that they don’t believe the rape allegations. While my face proves battery and assault, they want me to go to the hospital so a doctor can examine me and tend to my bruises.
Reluctantly I agree to go, and Wendy accompanies me. A few hours later, I learn that I am still a virgin and Peter will be charged with assault and battery.
As soon as we return to Wendy’s apartment, I call home. It’s around breakfast time in Calcutta, and Mama will be within earshot when the phone rings.
“Hello . . . hello . . . who’s this? Jie-Lan? . . . can’t hear . . . ” Mama’s voice, speaking in Hakka, breaks over the phone line.
Static fills my ears, but I manage, “I left Peter today.”
“You . . . what?”
“I’m ending my marriage with Peter. He did some terrible things to me today.”
“I can’t . . . you. Who did . . . things?”
I sigh, glancing at Wendy who mouths, “What’s going on?”
“Mama, I’ll write you a letter.”
I wonder if she heard anything I said.
“Did you tell them everything?” Wendy hands me some ice cubes in a plastic bag. “Put that on your face.”
I glance at her concerned face and shake my head. “Thanks, I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I press the ice pack gently on my cheek, the cold soothing the pain as I explain what happened.
Wendy drops on the couch beside me. “We’ll take care of each other.”
·13·
“Where have you been all week?”
I raise my head to meet Daniel’s eyes.
“What the . . . what happened to your face?”
He runs his fingers along my cheekbone and down to my chin before dropping them to his side.
I quickly glance around in case anyone saw this, but there’s no one around to pay attention. I had hoped that a week after the incident the discolouration and swelling on my face would be gone. That was wishful thinking, of course.
“I . . . I tripped over a hole on the sidewalk,” I tell him.
“That’s unfortunate.” He grips my shoulders willing me to look at him. Miserably, I raise my gaze, which has been fixed on the white dots on his black tie. “Who did this to you?” His urgent, concerned look demands an answer.
“Please . . . let’s not discuss this here.”
“Okay, meet me for coffee later.”
I nod, glad for the reprieve. Too late I realize what I have committed myself to. It’s one thing to see him at work, where we are mindful of the business environment, even though he has pushed the limits a few times. Without those boundaries, I don’t know if I will be able to keep my defenses up.
That afternoon, with some misgivings, I enter the coffee shop near Wendy’s apartment.
“Your husband did this to you, didn’t he?” Daniel says as soon as I sit down across from him.
“I told you . . . I had an accident.”
He casts a sceptical look at me as he rises. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Two creams and two sugars, please.”
While he waits in line to buy our coffees, I crack my knuckles. It never occurred to me that Daniel would notice my absence from work. He had been distracted and curt the last few times we met. In fact, he seemed to have been avoiding me.
“So, tell me what happened.” He interrupts my thoughts as he sets two mugs on the table.
“Why don’t you believe that I had an accident?”
“Because I can spot the difference between a slip and fall and this . . . this . . . ” He reaches for my cheek, caressing gently with the fingertips.
I surprise myself by not flinching. His stroking soothes, and causes something else—a yearning I cannot define. I decide to tell him the truth. “Peter and I got into an argument last weekend. He lost his temper and hit me.”
Daniel mutters an expletive, his eyes deepen. Quickly, I continue. “I’m fine now, and I’ve left him.”
His jaws relax. “Good. Did you report him to the police?”
“Yes, I did.”
His eyes search my face and arms. He lifts my chin with a finger, turning my face one way and then another. “If I ever see that low-life . . . ”
“Thanks, but I can take care of myself.”
“Fine, I won’t go near him, but I can’t promise that I can stay away from you.”
I don’t want him to, but the specter of Papa’s fury makes my breath catch in my throat. He will never accept my seeing a fankwei.
“I can’t go out like this with you. It’s not even appropriate for a married person like me to be out drinking coffee with you,” I say with as much severity as I can muster in my tone.
“You just told me yourself that you left your husband.”
That is true. And I plan to file for divorce, though I don’t know how my parents will react to that. Without any refere
nce to the attempted rape—the shame feels raw and personal—I’d told them everything that had happened.
Now, as Daniel holds my gaze, a flutter in my heart raises my spirit, despite my physical pain.
Some weeks later, I lean against Daniel’s office door, watching him talk to Tom, the paralegal, whose long-winded explanations show no sign of slowing down. A few minutes ago, when I came upon them, I had stepped back and was about to turn away when Daniel had called out to me to wait. Finally Tom leaves, brushing past me, and Daniel reaches for the doorknob and shuts us inside. I duck past him to stand by the desk. With a few quick strides, he covers the distance between us, puts his arms around my waist, and brings his mouth to mine.
Surprised and stunned, I kiss him back, releasing all my pent-up longings. It has been almost a month since Peter’s blows and attack upon me.
I squirm out of his embrace, alarmed at my brazen behaviour and the deep desire that has stirred this response. “I can’t,” I tell him, breathing heavily.
He releases me abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.
His fingers run through his hair, rumpling the blond waves as the brooding eyes watch me move to the far end of the desk. “You are the most attractive woman I’ve ever met. How can you kiss me like that and then turn me away?”
I bite my lower lip to stop it from quivering. “I didn’t come for a social visit. I actually came with some work.”
He glances at his watch. “It’s noon now. Let’s go out for lunch first.”
I hesitate.
“You’ll be safe in a restaurant. I won’t ravish you.”
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. My head shouts a warning, but my heart shouts it down. Without a word, I nod. He goes to the door and holds it open for me.
We arrive at Joey’s, a diner located five minutes away. The interior is dim and romantic. When my eyes adjust to the dark, I note the half-filled tables in the centre and a few empty booths along the back. In the background, Dan Hill croons, “Sometimes when we touch . . . ”
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