Silver Lining

by Diana Simmonds

  “Holy frijole,” she said to the ruins. She felt sick with shock and disbelief and her heart thumped in her throat as she realized the levels of rage and revenge in Natalie’s actions.

  “Revenge for what?” she whispered to the fractured image of herself that stared back from the shattered mirror. “What did I do to deserve this?” Her own puzzled eyes looked back at her, in multiples of no answers.

  Amanda made her way through the apartment, stopping to peer into Natalie’s studio, which looked much as it usually did, although the white furry rug and lights of the morning’s activities were still there and shoved roughly into one corner. But Natalie’s laptop and video camera were gone. Amanda went on into the kitchen. It was untouched, as far as she could see. That makes sense, she thought sourly, given your total lack of interest in cooking or eating at home. Fearfully Amanda pushed open the door to her own small study and looked in. Her laptop lay on the floor and as she picked it up its screen began doing convulsive things involving striated light patterns, then it flashed to black and stayed that way.

  Amanda tenderly laid the dead machine on her desk and stood back to take in the full extent of the red spray that now decorated the room. Natalie had repeated her favorite four-letter word on each wall in carelessly drawn capital letters that covered the surfaces regardless: pictures, photographs, a calendar, a whiteboard and even the window were daubed. It was a complete and utter mess. Amanda opened the top drawer of her two-drawer filing cabinet. The Rolodex was intact. She tucked it under her arm and returned to the living room, double-locked the front door, slipped both bolts and hooked up the safety chain; then she sat down with her phone in shaking hands to call a locksmith and her friend and lawyer.

  The incisive way her buddy said “Jan Mattson” as she answered the phone made Amanda feel instantly better, if only slightly. “This is a curly one, Amanda,” said Jan after Amanda explained what had happened. Her voice on speakerphone sounded metallic yet thoughtful. “You’ve been together long enough for her to pull a palimony stunt on you, you understand that?”

  “That’s why I’ve called you,” Amanda said, sniffing and wiping tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand and feeling the bruise on her forehead. “I don’t want to be unfair, but I don’t want any trouble either and I want her out of here. She’s scared me. You should see the place. It’s crazy stuff.”

  At the other end Jan cleared her throat tentatively then said, “Um, does she have any reason to trash the place? I mean, like a real reason?”

  Amanda snorted. “You mean am I seeing anyone else? Ha! I wish. We’ve not touched each other in six months and I’ve been so busy at work I couldn’t have got it on with anyone else if I’d wanted to and, actually, I haven’t wanted to. I’ve been so damn tired all I want to do at the end of a day is come home and watch TV.”

  “Could that be part of the problem? Have you neglected her?” Jan’s voice was quiet, lawyerly and reasonable.

  “Oh, give me a break, Jan! You know what it’s like in this town—at my end of it. You put in your seventy hours or you go scrub bathrooms. And Natalie has never complained about the money.”

  “I’m sure she hasn’t, at least not to you,” said Jan soothingly.

  “What are you getting at? What have you heard?” Amanda’s tone was sharp as she sat up straight and really listened.

  “Nothing, really, nothing that matters anyway.” Jan’s tone was intended to pacify but instead alarm and anger shot up Amanda’s spine.

  “Has she been talking to our friends?”

  “Shaz and Barb mentioned they’d seen her at a club recently and she was very sour when they asked her where you were and how you were.” Before Amanda could respond Jan hurried on in soothing tones, “But I’m thinking out loud and trying to figure out what Natalie’s up to. First of all, are you sure you want out, in this way?”

  Amanda paused and thought for a moment. Jan was asking the question that had been lurking in the back of her mind since she had walked in on the unexpected tableau. And that was only twenty-four hours ago. She took a deep breath and let it out in a long, teary sigh.

  “Oh God,” she sighed again, tremulously. “I can’t believe it, but the answer is yes. I—uh—I don’t want to have anything to do with someone who can behave like this. I feel…” She paused and thought for a moment. “I feel like a fool. I feel like I’ve been made a fool of. I feel insulted. Dirty. Stupid. I’m wondering whether I should have an AIDS test. And I’m probably being melodramatic about the whole thing. And unreasonable.”

  The silence on the other end seemed deafening and accusatory to Amanda’s raw nerves, then Jan’s voice came warmly down the phone.

  “Amanda, I don’t think you should beat yourself up.”

  Amanda let out a strangled snort. “I don’t have to, Nat did that.” She gasped; it was the first time she’d admitted it out loud. She heard Jan’s intake of breath.

  “Are you serious?”

  Amanda sighed. “We had a bit of a tussle. We bumped heads, she slapped me a few times.” She hesitated then went on, “It’s happened before. That’s really why I want out. I can’t handle it. I don’t want to handle it.”

  Jan’s silence said a lot, and then she sighed. “You two were always a strange pair—ask any of our friends. But that’s not the point. Natalie has stepped way over the line with this—and I mean the vandalism to the apartment, not the—sorry, I might laugh at this point—the big dick.”

  Amanda’s shoulders relaxed and she giggled. “Don’t Jan! It’s too awful. I feel like such an idiot.”

  “Well look, we’ve all been made fools of by someone, sometime. The most important thing, from my point of view, is to make sure she doesn’t make more out of this than she already has. I think we should require her to take an AIDS test.”

  “Oh God, really?” Amanda’s heart lurched and the pit of her stomach was suddenly awash with fear.

  “Just for peace of mind,” Jan said soothingly, “but also to underline our concern at her behavior—and that you don’t know what else she’s been up to.” She paused, and then went on, “It would be helpful for me—if it ever comes to court. Hitting you was good, by the way—if you see what I mean.”

  Amanda heard her own giggle mingling with Jan’s; it was a good sound. “Okay. Can I change the locks?”

  There was another pause then Jan said, “I’d rather you didn’t ask me that, I’d rather you told me you’ve already done it.”

  Amanda giggled some more. “That’s what I meant. I did, I changed the locks.”

  “Okay, well, we might have a bit of bother over that. Let’s deal with it when we have to. But the hitting is something else. And it’s not you who should be ashamed, by the way. Meanwhile, photographs will be important, so if you’ve got an intact camera, or even use your phone, but take snaps of everything she’s done. Do you want to call the police into this, by the way?”

  “Must I? They’ll take one look at this and be so not interested in a pair of brawling lesbians.”

  “I hate to agree with you, but you have a point. Although domestic violence and criminal damage is what it’s called and from where I’m sitting that’s ugly. But we’ll fight fire with fire, if necessary.”

  “Yuk. Okay. I’ll call you back later. And thanks, Jan, I appreciate everything.”

  “Don’t mention it, kiddo, let’s get you out of this mess, then I’ll send you the bill.”

  Amanda shivered and tried not to look at the red paint that disfigured her living room, but the smell of it was pervasive; she couldn’t get away from it. Miserably she dialed the doorman and asked him for the phone number of the neighborhood locksmith.

  “You had a robbery, Miz McIntyre?” he asked anxiously.

  “Not exactly, Joe. More a breakout than a break-in. Don’t worry about it; I’ll fill you in later.”

  By the time the locksmith fitted new barrels to the door, tested the keys and handed them over in exchange for a substantial check, A
manda had begun to feel less shaky and more resolute. She methodically photographed the apartment, then, realizing that Natalie would inevitably return some time soon, hid the camera at the back of the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet. Then she reluctantly turned her attention to the mess.

  * * *

  “Domestic trouble or something else?” asked the detective, her clear blue eyes frankly appraising Amanda’s face and body.

  “Domestic,” said Amanda reluctantly. She squared her shoulders and looked the detective in the eye. “I came home unexpectedly yesterday morning, caught my girlfriend in a compromising situation and left. I stayed at a friend’s last night and got back today to find the place trashed.”

  “And your, um, girlfriend, is where now?” The junior officer was busy writing in her notebook, but Amanda saw her mouth twist in a smirk.

  “I have no idea,” Amanda muttered, an angry blush suffusing her cheeks.

  “Happen often?” The young officer’s expression was almost neutral but Amanda caught a flicker of disdain in her eyes.

  “No. Never, I don’t do violence,” Amanda said sharply.

  “So who did you stay with last night? Is she the cause of the trouble?” The distaste was more obvious, as was a flash of curiosity.

  “Not ‘she’ officer; as I said, a friend, a good friend. But frankly, it’s none of your business.”

  Detective Novak took a step forward and with it, took control of the exchange. She held up her hand. “We have to ask questions Ms. McIntyre,” she said soothingly, then turned to her colleague. “But we don’t make assumptions, Officer Shelton.”

  The junior officer opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it and looked around the room instead.

  “Would you mind showing us all the damage, ma’am?” The detective smiled at Amanda and the corners of her blue eyes crinkled comfortingly. Amanda could not help but smile back and feel more secure.

  “The kitchen’s okay but my bedroom and the study are like this. And I don’t have much left by way of clothes. They’re slashed to shreds.”

  Amanda led the two officers through the apartment, and Officer Shelton made more notes and began popping photos on a small camera.

  “Were you threatened with physical violence?” The junior officer had a ready knack of getting under Amanda’s skin.

  “As I said, I wasn’t here. It was like this when I got home.”

  “Ah, right. So you haven’t actually been assaulted?”

  “Take a good look at my wardrobe and the walls, officer. And the wreckage of the table—the sculpture was valuable and a gift from my grandmother. If that’s not an assault, I don’t know what is! But actually, yes, she did hit me.” She indicated her cheek. “A slap across the face, I think that counts as assault, wouldn’t you say?”

  Again Detective Novak stepped in to stem the growing friction. “Sherry, get some shots of the clothing, please. Ms. McIntyre, perhaps you could answer some questions for me. Let’s go sit in your living room.”

  “Sure.” But as she and the tall, good-looking blond cop left the bedroom, the sound of fists pounding on the front door told Amanda that Natalie had returned.

  “Let me in, you bitch!” screamed the familiar voice. “You can’t do this! I’m gonna fuckin’ punch your fuckin’ lights out, Amanda!”

  Amanda’s stomach turned over and her heart began to thud. She looked at Detective Novak, feeling paralyzed partially by fear and partly by embarrassment. The officer’s expression was grim and she stepped in front of Amanda.

  “Let me handle this,” she said softly, straightening her cap and moving lightly to the door. As she opened it and stood back Natalie almost leapt into the apartment, propelled by rage, her fists raised and the veins in her neck pulsing beneath reddened skin. Then she saw that it was not Amanda in the hallway and she stopped dead, eyes wide and blazing with fury.

  “What the fuck…” she hissed and glared about as Officer Shelton came up behind Amanda, nightstick in hand. Detective Novak quietly closed the door behind Natalie and stepped between her and Amanda.

  “Are you kidding me?” Amanda saw then that Natalie’s pupils were pinheads of black and her pale face shone beneath the fine sheen of sweat. She was iced to the eyebrows. “What the fuck you playing at, Amanda? Get these bitches outta here!” Natalie lunged toward Amanda and Detective Novak put out her arm and stopped her dead while Officer Shelton semi-crouched and made ready to strike.

  “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, ma’am, I’d think again,” Detective Novak said in a steady voice. “Is your name Natalie…” She glanced at her partner who holstered her gun, consulted her notebook and said, “Marcus. Natalie Anne Marcus.”

  “And if I am? So fuckin’ what?” Natalie’s chin was belligerent but her eyes flicked nervously from one officer to the other and a trickle of sweat ran down the side of her face; she brushed it away with her jacket sleeve.

  “Ma’am, watch your language please. And I’ll ask the questions.” Detective Novak seemed easily in control and Amanda felt relieved by that. Also, she realized, nobody could hear her heart nor know that her dry mouth made it impossible to speak. Detective Novak turned to her and smiled reassuringly.

  “Ma’am, would you mind giving us five minutes with Ms.—uh—Ms. Marcus? If you could wait in your bedroom perhaps?”

  Amanda swallowed hard and nodded meekly. “Sure,” she whispered and stepped away, unwilling to turn her back on her enraged ex-lover, noting that Officer Shelton still held the nightstick even as she began to shepherd Natalie into the living room. Reluctantly Natalie did as she was told, but before she complied she turned and directed a murderous look at Amanda that seemed intended to strike her dead. Detective Novak watched the look and stepped quickly between Natalie and Amanda, her tall, black leather-jacketed form blocking any further flow of venom. The detective smiled warmly at Amanda. “I’ll be with you shortly, just wait for me,” she said softly, and Amanda let out a deep sigh of relief as she retreated up the hall to her bedroom.

  Chapter Eight

  Amanda climbed onto the couch beside Malcolm and sat down cross-legged, leaning into his encircling arm and shoulder. She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes as the TV newscaster droned gloomily about the economy and the day’s fresh financial disasters.

  “Do you want to watch this or shall we give it a miss?” Malcolm asked.

  “The off button feels like a really good idea right now,” Amanda muttered. “I think I’ve had enough drama for one day.”

  Malcolm aimed the remote at the TV and the screen crackled and went dark. He leaned back into the cushions and brushed strands of dark blond hair back off her forehead. Amanda sighed again, this time with contentment seeping through and submerging the anxiety and unhappiness.

  “You want to tell or you want to sit on it for a bit?” Malcolm asked as the relative quiet of the apartment settled about them. “Although I don’t recommend sitting on it, you might get piles or something worse.”

  Amanda grinned despite her weary dejection. “Life is looking pretty shitty right now, but it could be worse, I think,” she said.

  “It could always be worse, unless you’re dead of course, but that’s not the point. What’s happened today?”

  “After Natalie trashed the apartment and I called the police? Or after a detective who looked like Cagney in Cagney and Lacey came in and fixed everything? Did you ever watch Cagney and Lacey? It’s lez-cult viewing. Or how humiliating it felt to go have an AIDS test and have to explain why, although I didn’t mention the words dildo or porno movie?” She sneaked a look at Malcolm; his eyes remained closed but he was grinning.

  “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” he remarked, peeking at her through his eyelashes.

  “Okay, so I had a long talk to Jan Mattson. Remember Jan—my lawyer pal?” Malcolm nodded. “She said I could lay charges against Natalie and it would all get very disagreeable, but the nice detective would be pissed off with me if I didn
’t; or I could use the trashing to stop Natalie going the whole palimony route, because if she does I’d lose my shirt—and probably my bra too.”

  “Could Natalie do palimony? You’ve supported her! When did she ever pay for anything?” Malcolm sat up, suddenly paying full attention.

  “Not the point apparently. We’ve been together more than two years, so she could claim she was being housewife or househusband or something, thus enabling me to go out and hunt woolly mammoths on Wall Street.”

  “But that’s ridiculous!”

  “It’s the law.”

  “Bloody hell. So what are you going to do?”

  “Jan is talking to Natalie’s lawyer and if I’m lucky, apparently, I will only have to pay her about forty grand and she’ll disappear out of my life forever and take her strap-on with her.”

  Malcolm spluttered and sat up. “Forty grand! You are kidding me!”

  “No. And Jan advises that’s cheap. If we went to court she could claim half of everything and it would cost me more than fifty grand in legal fees and no guarantee of winning.”

  “My bloody oath, that’s rough. You sure?”

  “Jan’s as sure as anyone can be and I’d rather take her advice than risk a horrible public scene and have to sell my grandmother’s apartment and give Nat half the proceeds.”

  “Whoo! I don’t believe it.” Malcolm flopped back on the sofa and ran his fingers through his thick hair until it stood up comically all over his head, reminding her in passing of Kramer and Seinfeld.

  “Well, you’ve never lived with a lover, so why would you?” Amanda leaned over and rearranged his hair, then examined a slight chip in her nail polish and frowned. “Time for a manicure,” she added.