Promises

by Susan Rodgers

  Steve was waiting for him in Jessie’s living room. He was sitting at the grand piano staring limply out at endless stars and a vivid pale moon through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall.

  “Do you think she’ll be okay?” he asked soberly.

  Josh thought for a moment. “No.”

  “Will you be okay?” Steve turned his head and looked at his best friend, a man who only a few years earlier was found in a garbage dump by a girl who instantly loved him.

  Pause. “No.”

  Steve got up then. The piano bench emitted a sharp squeal on the cherry stained wooden floor. The ungodly sound yanked Jessie back to a brief consciousness.

  “Well, okay then. Now that we’ve got that figured out.” Steve moved forward and threw an arm around Josh, and then led him towards the front entry of Jessie’s condo.

  After the door slammed shut behind them - the man she loved and, by his side, her very good friend - Jessie pulled the sweet pink duvet up around her ears, the way her father used to when she was a child. She grasped Tedsy, the teddy bear as damaged as she, and she cried violently into the soft pillow for her daddy and for Sandy. She had been prey to such pain before, and did not want to know it again, but there it was, like some dark monster at the bottom of a quicksand pool, bottomless and hopeless and blacker than black, pulling her below a place of light and sun and sky towards an abyss that claimed her without remorse.

  ***

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jessie did not go back to Josh’s house after that. He gathered up her things and put them in a box and then gave them to the concierge in her building. If she wanted space that badly, then so be it. He had thought they were stronger. He thought they could survive whatever life threw at them.

  He kept a small stuffed tiger that he bought for her one day when they were wandering the market in nearby New Westminster. The tiger had made the journey from Africa. She commented on its stripes. Jessie thought they were remarkable, and the tiger, enduring. She had a thing for tigers, Josh had discovered that day. There were a few on a small table at her place-wooden, jade, stuffed. Jessie told him they were supposedly these ferocious creatures, but were really just seeking love the same as the rest of God’s animal kingdom. Josh thought Jessie was a tiger, someone the world saw as larger than life, but who was really just a girl who wanted to be loved. He kept the tiger. He put it on his bed, where it sat on her pillow and threatened to snarl at anyone who came near.

  Deuce kept his word. He waited for Jessie to leave rehearsal later that Saturday. Hung over as hell, she was a lousy failure as a singer and dancer that day, but then again, Priya had heard the stories from the party Jessie attended the night before. She knew about the breakup with Josh. The demanding choreographer was forgiving.

  Kayla, on the other hand, was pissed. She plunked down in a velvet seat beside Jessie in the empty theatre as they watched Priya instruct a smaller group of dancers on stage. Kayla threw angry looks at Jessie all through rehearsal, looks that would have meant instant dismissal for any other dancer, male or female. Now she would have her say, regardless of the consequences.

  “Jessie, I realize everyone’s worried about you, but I have to tell you, I’m not. I’m just fucking pissed. Can you please tell me what my brother did to deserve this shitty treatment?”

  Sinking lower in her seat, Jessie closed her eyes and fingered her water bottle. Her skull hurt. She let Kayla rattle on as she pushed dark sunglasses onto her head to help corral stray wisps of hair. The glasses would be welcome later under the relentless beating of a hot, wayward sun.

  “I mean, he loves you, goddamnit! And you go off and get drunk and sleep with Ryan Forester? Geez, girlfriend, what the hell?!” Kayla was close to tears but Jessie had nothing to give her. She was almost too sick and tired to care. Almost.

  “Jessie! Speak to me! Help me understand. Please.” Kayla’s voice was rising in pitch. People were starting to notice.

  Jessie looked up at the dancers on stage who were staring at them. Petite red-headed Erin with the lovely Irish lilt, expressive spiky-haired Keira, even friendly Benjie…they were all super pissed at her. She told herself she didn’t give a damn what people thought. But here was Kayla, Josh’s sister, close to tears, aching for her brother. So many people hurting, Jessie thought absently. I’ve left a trail of destruction. Like a minefield. Everyone’s blowing up around me.

  “Kayla,” she said numbly. “I’m really sorry. I am. Truly.” She got up and pushed past the belligerent Kayla and started up the aisle. She wanted to go outside. She needed a smoke.

  “Jessie! Damn it!” Standing, planting both feet securely in the aisle, Kayla cried out to her. Josh’s little sister was a picture of dismay, her shoulders sinking as she watched her boss walk away.

  The aisles at the Orpheum were ramped so that theatregoers in the back could see over the heads of those in the front. Jessie reacted to Kayla’s cry by turning and studying the frustrated girl below her. Kayla threw up her hands, unsure of what to say, completely exasperated.

  Then, “Jess. Am I fired then?” Out of loyalty to her brother she had honestly thought about quitting, but Kayla still held out hope for Jessie and Josh. She prayed that this breakup was just a bad bump on the tumultuous road of celebrity romance.

  Jessie felt her own eyes grow misty. God, if she could just keep Kayla close then maybe she’d always have a little part of Josh around. But that might depend on Deuce. For now, he had all the power. He was calling the shots. God, what if Kayla quit? Jessie willed Kayla to hang on, not to leave her.

  “Not yet,” Jessie croaked. She tried to smile at Kayla but it came out crooked.

  Kayla watched her boss walking up the aisle, digging a smoke out of the pack in her legwarmers. She was devastated, but inside she was also secretly pleased that she could still dance in Jessie’s troupe. She hoped that relations would improve between these people she loved. Maybe Jess and Josh could work things out. Kayla cursed the public nuisances that were eroding a sweet relationship with stupid pranks. Josh was an awesome brother, a lovable guy whom many of her girlfriends had idolized over the years. He didn’t deserve this shit. She bounced back up to the stage and grabbed her water bottle, took a lengthy swig and then did some stretches. Kayla had work to do. She was one of Jessie Wheeler’s dancers.

  Outside, Jessie leaned against the beautiful old Orpheum and lit up a smoke. She saw Deuce now, parked outside the building. This time he swung open his door and wandered over, digging out a monogrammed silver lighter as he approached. Flicking it with a manicured nail, he touched it to the end of his own cigarette. They smoked there together, the stalker and his prey, their ribbons of ash testament to the angry one-sided ardor that smoldered between them.

  “Meet me here at seven,” he demanded after tossing his butt wickedly on the sidewalk and snuffing out its life with a heavy black boot. He handed her a matchbook. She assumed rightly that there was an address printed inside the cover. She’d stick it in her stalking journal later. Jessie nodded, staring straight ahead, her stomach tightening.

  He left her alone then. She puffed on a second cigarette that she hoped would quell her nerves before she took her shaking hands back inside. Jessie would stop at the lobby ladies’ room before going back into the theatre. She had the overwhelming need to puke again.

  Matt drove up in the Audi just after Deuce pulled away. He was running late that day because he’d stopped into the local police station again in the hopes that he would have a chance to talk to the officer on the slashing case. The week prior, an email had arrived from the young cop with a pristine image of the dagger. Matt researched the nasty weapon in more detail but hit a dead end right off the bat. The model and serial number were illegible – the numbers were filed off. Ownership couldn’t be proven. There was still some expectation that light would be shed on the blade’s insignia. Matt was hoping the youngster would have some answers today, but it turned out he was at home that day with the flu.

  Shrink
ing down in the car, Matt surreptitiously watched Jessie finish her second smoke before her despondent trek back into the storied old Orpheum’s warm embrace. She hadn’t noticed him arrive, so orchestrated were her thoughts on whatever was on her mind. She looked like shit. He knew how she had gotten home from the party the night before. One of his men took over the private security at nightfall, hoping for a call. But Steve and Josh showed up and, well, that was it. It was a fucked up night, for sure.

  Laying his head back against the seat, Matt closed his eyes. Sleep was evasive these days, particularly since the meeting with Charles and Charlie. Charles in particular was demanding answers that Matt simply couldn’t provide.

  Before he knew it, the dashboard’s digital display read six p.m. in rather bright blue numbers, and Jessie’s rehearsal was long over. Matt cursed and drove a palm into the steering wheel. He wouldn’t eyeball Jessie again until two days later, when she left her condo for the Keating building downtown, sporting a significant ugly bruise on her left cheek.

  ***

  Jessie had long since learned that the secret to enduring sex with someone you didn’t care for - in fact, with someone you detested with every ounce of your being - was to close yourself off and become someone else. Fortunately as an actor this came easily to her. Grace Hanadarko was still her woman of choice these days, but occasionally she resorted to a fictional character her mind created, a darker version of herself based on her mother’s reclusive hardened actions after the sudden tragic loss of Jessie’s father. Living inside her head was easy. She was not so much frightened of Deuce herself anymore as afraid of his power to hurt her loved ones. So she co-operated as best she could. Tonight was a test night. What would he expect, how would he treat her, what would his conditions be? Would they change? She was giving up Josh, temporarily, she told herself. Deuce would see that she was trying to please him, that she was afraid, that she would bow to his wishes, and that he was in control. Hopefully he would be pleased.

  She left the Guardian home that night. Like a dog looking for a place to piss, she decided she would be wise to source out the territory before she dared dig out the pistol. If she made the wrong choice, if she played the Knight when she should have moved her Bishop, then she’d be fucked. And so would Josh.

  Jessie was coolly surprised at the residence Deuce chose as his home away from home in Vancouver. He was a man of affluence but the apartment was grungy. As she looked around, she realized she was in a place that came with sub-par furnishings garnered likely from people’s curbs. A droopy sofa, an old television with rabbit ears, a scratched pine school desk. If she looked underneath the desk she bet she would find decades old clumps of chewing gum. They were on the sixth floor of a building in the Commercial Drive area of the city, East Vancouver. There was an A & W bag on the floor and the faint smell of onion rings in the stale air. A lightning flash reverberated throughout her body as she recalled the dismal evening when Terri died, when she and Josh sat in his pick-up and shared a bag of onion rings. Deuce probably bought his from the exact same fast food restaurant. The thought made her sick.

  Sitting above her on the window ledge, Deuce watched Jessie take in her surroundings. He felt a thrill of satisfaction. There she was, the little shit disturber that emptied his lounge when she left. No matter that she filled it again with her fame. He hated her, he told himself. He hated her and he loved her. Deuce couldn’t stand the fact that Jessie was living her life without him, that she loved someone else. Not even just anyone else, either - a druggie with a temper. A self-important sunuvabitch whom even the regular public heartily disliked. No matter. Josh was gone now, if Jessie knew what was good for her. She was obedient, he remembered from long ago. She only put up enough of a fight to make things interesting, to show that she wasn’t broken - yet. In fact, in the interest of keeping up her wild side, he didn’t plan to break her too soon, if at all. He would need to be careful because he knew Jessie was just spirited enough to end his game, if she so chose. Dealing with this fiery woman required careful thought and delicate balance.

  He handed her a Reidel Vinum crystal wine glass half filled with an expensive blackberry and cocoa Merlot, which Jessie found bizarre, given the shabby environment. It seemed he was celebrating. Eyeing each other cautiously, they smoked and sipped their wine for a while without speaking. Deuce spied a tremor in her hand as she awkwardly arced the cigarette towards her lips. A quake of excitement tingled through his bones when he noted a simmering fire in Jessie’s eyes. It was not apparent that afternoon outside the Orpheum, but it was obvious now - a steady anger was playing beneath the surface. Curious, he tilted his head and watched her. Then she spoke.

  “Let’s get on with this.”

  “What?” he asked, cocky.

  She waved an arm around. “This. Whatever the hell you brought me here for.”

  He laughed sardonically. “My dear, dear girl, what’s your hurry? Do you have other plans?”

  Jessie slouched and sipped on her wine. She took one last long pull and then extinguished the smoke.

  “This isn’t going to last forever, Deuce. You know that.” She forced herself to meet his steely gaze.

  He shrugged. “Your choice. You have all the power here, Jessie.”

  She drew in a breath. In one very final ultimate way, she could indeed have power.

  “Yes,” she said, just to piss him off. “I do. I can end this if I choose.”

  His eyes narrowed as he took that in, and his heart quickened as he realized that she was talking about suicide. “Don’t be foolish, little girl,” he warned. “There are a lot of great things about life that make it worth living.”

  Inside she felt tears threaten as she thought not without friends. Not without Josh. Not without Sandy and Rachel and my dad and Terri. Not without Josh. Not without Josh.

  “You won’t win, Deuce. I will. This time it’s my turn to win.”

  “Oh, well, where’d you find that little bit of spunk in you, Jessie? Did it come with all that money you’ve made over the last ten years or so? With the two Oscars on your shelf? Or with some inflated sense of self-importance that came with all that fame?”

  She stared at him and then generously poured herself more Merlot. She would need all the alcohol in the seedy little apartment to find the courage to get through this night. She changed tack.

  “Nice place you have here, McCall.” She glanced furtively away from him. Every time she looked at him she either saw him on top of her, grunting away like some hungry dog, or screaming like a mad man as he shoved his dagger into Sandy’s chest and belly. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping ridiculously that by doing so she would eradicate the nasty visions of that horrific evil day.

  Deuce was a keen observer. With a stocky finger he reached out and touched her cheek, and she instantly recoiled. Instantly, his demeanor changed. He hit her hard, so hard that the back of her head bounced off the wall behind her and the expensive wine glass flew across the room, its red beverage a bloody trail of rage littering the couch and carpet. She cried out and covered the hurt cheek with her hand, gasping as it quickly bloomed pink. Then she straightened and prepared herself for further battle. She might be numb, but she had experienced something sacred with Josh, and it was worth fighting for.

  “Fucking bastard,” she said, spitting at Deuce.

  He grabbed a handful of hair and furiously shoved her head back, then ripped open her top and forced Jessie down on the maltreated couch that matched her battered spirits. As he heartlessly violated her for the first time since Charleston, where he had abused her in front of Sandy, she disappeared to that safe insulated place deep inside where she could hide.

  Somewhere off in the distance, though, she could hear him laughing. He was rough, and she fought back a little against him. What she would soon figure out was that he liked it that way.

  When he finally let her leave with the promise that she’d be back in a few days, Jessie was sporting a great red welt on her cheek in accompa
niment to a bruised lip.

  Deuce was grinning cruelly from ear to ear as he watched her limp down the hall. He had his Jessie back and he had no intention of sharing her.

  Oh, but wasn’t life sweet?

  ***

  For the entire duration of the next day, Jessie hid at home. She nursed her cheek with a bag of frozen peas and a daylong Netflix-a-thon. She viewed a whole season of Saving Grace again. She needed Grace to help give her the courage to see this through. And she needed Grace’s redneck angel, Earl, to remind her that perhaps there was indeed a God and, if worse came to worse, there was a better place than earth to where she could retire.

  Jessie was expected at the Keating building on Monday, and so her day of hiding was just that-one day. News of the break-up with Josh and her surprising behavior at the party Friday night was leaked to the media. On Robson, a boisterous and ruthless crowd of paparazzi welcomed her with expensive lenses and curious stares.

  Charles was on the phone to Matt the second he saw Jessie walk in his door. His second call was to Deirdre. Jessie heard him calling someone a son of a bitch bastard, but she didn’t know to whom he was referring. She wished she could tell him it was Deuce the fuck McCall.

  Magda, Charles’ Assistant, leapt up abruptly and stared when Jessie walked by her desk. She reached out and grabbed Jessie’s arm so that the girl would stop.

  “Honey,” she said. And that was all. When Jessie started walking again, her head down, Magda added, “I’ll get you some ice.”

  Jessie closed the door of her office and prepared herself for Charles’ knock. It didn’t come. Instead he burst in, unapologetic. He planted his expensive black dress shoes and stared at her, incensed.

  “Enough,” he hissed between his teeth. “Speak before I fire Matt.”

  Jessie sank down in her chair. “Don’t fire Matt,” she whispered. “This isn’t his fault. I ordered him to leave me be.”

  “Whose fault is it, Jessie?” Then, “Oh, wait. I think I know.”