by CD Reiss
—Tell her I’m going to work day after tomorrow—
—What are you doing now?—
—I’m under my covers—
—Alone?—
—y—
—A crime—
I smiled, and the feeling of levity cracked the brittle shell of sorrow, if only for a second, and tears streamed down my face.
—Don’t make me laugh, fuckhead—
—May I join you under those lucky covers?—
When I read the message, I didn’t feel his request in my loins, but on my skin. I wanted him to touch me. Kiss me. Breathe on me. Talk to me. Hold me for hours. The desire wasn’t just between my legs, but in my rib cage, my marrow, my fingertips. Could I give up the consuming protection of loneliness and indulge in a few hours with Jonathan? Was I worthy of a little comfort? Probably not. And I hadn’t forgotten the submissive thing. No. He was going to drag me into a pit of defilement and humiliation. Seeing him would only draw him closer to me than he should be, ever.
I texted:
—I need you—
I hit send. I shouldn’t have. I should have made a much cooler, distant statement. At the very least, I should have been witty in admitting I was a filthy, repugnant mess of need. But I didn’t. Three words and I’d debased myself.
I felt hopeful for the first time in days. I got out of bed and crawled into the shower, setting it for hotter than it needed to be. I had no idea how long I’d been in bed, but it was seven in the morning according to my clock. I hadn’t seen or heard from Darren, and I assumed he was with Adam. I should have called him, but the idea of reaching out, even to the only person in the world who would understand my sense of failure, made me flinch as if my face would get slapped.
My skin was raw and pink from heat and friction when I stepped out of the shower. I dried my hair and pulled out my brush. A twisted black hair tie was wrapped around the handle. Gabby had put it there when she worked on my hair for the Eclipse show. I put my palm on my wet hair and stroked downward, curling my fingers to gather a strand, just enough to string a bow. The sensation was nothing like when Gabby did it with her care and artistry. And all that was gone. All that talent went into the nothing and nowhere. All the music she would have made would never exist.
I hurled myself under the covers, naked and half wet, grabbing my phone on the way.
—don’t come nevermind—
I heard a phone ding from the living room and, soon after, a voice so close it shocked me.
“Too late,” Jonathan said. “Your front door was open.”
—go away—
A blast of cold air hit me as the covers were moved, and in the next breath, I caught his new scent. He pulled the covers over us just as his phone dinged. He pressed his front to my back, spooning me, his clothes taking on the dampness I hadn’t gotten around to toweling off.
“I’m sorry, Monica.” He put his face in my wet hair and draped his arm around me. Ah. What’s this text I have here? It says go away.”
I sniffled.
He slid his arm under my neck and held the phone in front of our faces with both hands. His breath tickled my ear. “Let me text back. Hang on.”
—I’d rather be here for you—
I waited for it to appear on my phone. He nuzzled into the hair pooling at the back of my neck as I typed back.
—And then what?—
His fingers flew across the glass.
—And let’s talk about the rest later. Today, you are the goddess my universe revolves around.—
In the seconds it took my phone to bloop, I had a million thoughts, not the least of which was that he was crazy. Out of his mind. Didn’t he see who he was curled against? For fuck’s sake, I’d killed my best friend, first with carelessness and then with ambition.
I started texting back:
—you have the wrong....
But then I felt his lips on my shoulder and his warm breath on my skin, and my sorrow dropped out of me. I couldn’t finish. My chest hitched and heaved, and the tears came so hard I couldn’t breathe. His arms held me tight from behind, and his voice twisted itself into little nothings of comfort. I went into a timeless blackness where I let everything spill out, because he’d catch it. I knew in every cough and sob, every hitched breath and chest spasm, that he’d hold me together. Whatever fell apart, he’d put right. I couldn’t curse him for not being everything I needed or failing to commit to me completely. I didn’t have space to reject his idea that I was submissive or the will to deny him control over me. He was there, and he was exactly what I needed.
When the crying slowed, I turned to face him. In the dark, I found his lips by following his breath and kissed him. He opened his mouth, stroking my tongue with his in a gentle dance. I wove my legs into his.
“Thank you,” I whispered, breathing it without a voice.
He started to answer, but I kissed away whatever came next. I pushed my hips into him. He was hard, and I was ready. I kissed him again, so I wouldn’t hear any objections when I pulled his shirt from his waistband. I wanted him naked against me. I wanted to feel good, if only for a minute, and to forget everything for as long as it took us to bind together and fall apart. I hadn’t earned it, but I wanted it.
A little light went on under the covers, and a bloop preceded a ding, but we ignored it. He rolled on top of me, mouth attached to mine, and stroked the length of my body. I gasped. The touch was so comforting, so distracting, a bow suddenly dragged across silent strings.
“Hello? Mon?” The voice sounded far away.
Jonathan and I separated.
“What was that?” Jonathan asked.
I twisted around. My phone was lit up under me. I must have rolled on top of it and answered the call by accident. Too late to reject the call.
“Hello? Darren?” I whispered. For some reason, I couldn’t engage my vocal cords.
“I’m downtown.”
Jonathan pulled the covers off us, and the light seemed as blinding as the air was cold. I already missed his warmth on my body.
“I need you to post bail, or I’m going to miss the wake.” He sounded dead, emotionless. “I found Theo. I hurt him. There are bail places all around here. So can you come?”
“Yes, I’ll come.”
“Thank you.”
I glanced at Jonathan as Darren started giving me the details. He was still fully clothed in a blue polo shirt and jeans, sitting up against the wall. I was naked and crouched beside him. He stroked my shoulder.
“What happened?” he asked when I clicked off.
“Darren beat up Gabby’s boyfriend. I have to bail him out.”
“Why are you whispering?”
I shrugged. I had no idea. All I knew was, I could whisper fine, but I couldn’t speak out loud.
“You’re not speaking at the wake, I guess?”
I shook my head.
“Where’s it going to be?”
“Here.”
He looked at his watch. “In seven hours? Are you prepared? How many people?”
“It’s tomorrow.”
“Debbie said it was Saturday. Today.”
Oh God. Darren had said he’d miss the wake, and I thought he meant he’d miss it tomorrow. How long had I been under the covers? Had I slept more than I thought? I stood up, panicked. It was Saturday. I had to put out food. Clean the house. Make myself emotionally presentable. And I had to bail Darren out of jail? With what money? And what time?
I must have been a sight, naked in the middle of my room, hands out, not knowing what to do first. Jonathan got up and grabbed my wrists. I had no words.
“Calm down.”
I nodded.
“I’m going to take care of it.”
“No,” I whispered. “It’s my job.”
He held my hands, pressing them together between his palms. He spoke in the voice that broached no questions, but he didn’t tell me to spread my legs or come. “I have to work for a few hours today. I’ll send a
crew here to clean up, and I’ll get food in. How many people?”
“Jonathan. Please. I don’t want it to be like this, like I’m using you.”
“You’re not using me. You’re mine. You are my own personal goddess. It’s my job to make sure you’re happy. And if I can’t make you happy, I won’t feel right if you’re not taken care of as best as I can. So please, tell me how many people so I can feel right.”
“A hundred?” I whispered.
How was I going to fit a hundred people in my thousand-square-foot house? Jesus, what were Darren and I thinking? Jonathan squeezed my hands and brought my attention back to his face. He seemed unfazed by the size of the guest list.
“I have this,” he said. “I can take care of it between doing ten other things. Lil will take you downtown. I don’t want you driving. Do you have enough to get him out?”
My mouth opened, but not even a whisper came. Did I have enough to bail Darren out of jail? I had no idea. How much did something like that cost? And how was I going to actually take money from Jonathan? I’d get my mother to mortgage the house if necessary. I’d supplicate myself before her, promise to stay on the narrow path, and eat four tons of shit on a hot tar shingle to get Darren out in time for his sister’s funeral, but I wasn’t taking money from Jonathan.
I nodded. “I have it.”
He kissed me tenderly, stroking my cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be in touch. Pick up the phone, okay?”
I nodded because I didn’t want to whisper again.
CHAPTER 12
Jonathan left gingerly, as if turning his back on me long enough to get to work making arrangements to prepare my house for a wake was going to give me enough time to fall apart again. He walked backward to the Jag, watching me, the red in his hair catching the morning sun. I waved and even managed to smile a little. I was determined to get through this, even if it meant pretending my shit was together long enough to restore his faith in me. When he drove down the hill, I felt as if he pulled part of me with him.
Lil showed up in Jonathan’s Bentley spaceship thirty minutes later.
“Ms. Faulkner,” she said. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine.”
“Something wrong with your voice?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, whether it was my voice or my mind or something else entirely, some trick of the universe. I was getting frustrated. The condition I’d initially attributed to too many tears and hurt was starting to feel like something more intractable.
“I wanted to say,” Lil said, “and I hope I’m not being inappropriate, but my wife’s brother took his own life. So my sympathies. It can be hardest on the family.”
I screwed my face up, trying not to cry again, because she’d called Gabby family. She was exactly that. My sister. And having that recognized was like a bucket of cold water. “Thanks, Lil,” I whispered.
“Where are we going today?”
“Going to bail my brother out of jail.”
CHAPTER 13
Five thousand dollars.
Apparently, Darren had gone after Theo with a broken bottle, which according to the State of California was a deadly weapon.
So, five large. Cash.
I swallowed hard.
The big lady with the skinny glasses behind the bulletproof glass seemed sympathetic. She’d tolerated my whispering and slid a notepad under the glass once she realized I could hear fine but couldn’t speak.
“There’s three bondsmen across the street. You pay five hundred, and they forward us the rest. But you don’t get it back. Kaylee. That’s the one I like. Best with first-timers and ain’t no glass in between you so she’ll hear that little voice you got. All right, young lady?”
I nodded, ripping the page from the notebook. I took the papers and forms she gave me that detailed Darren’s infractions and went outside.
Lil stood by the car, which was perched in a loading zone, pretty as you please. She handed me a paper cup of tea. I didn’t know how she knew I liked tea. I didn’t know if Jonathan had detailed all my foibles and preferences to her or if she just paid incredible attention, but I took it and thanked her.
“I have to go to the bondsman.” I pointed across the street at a yellow and black sign marked Kaylee’s Bailbonds.
Lil opened the car door.
“It’s just across the street.” I had to lean in close to Lil so she’d hear me over the din of rush hour traffic.
“I told Mister Drazen I’d take care of you. So just get in. I have to drive around to the parking lot anyway.”
I got in, feeling silly and childish. I could have run across the street in half the time, quarter-time if I jaywalked. But Lil was doing her job with sincerity and kindness, and I didn’t have the heart to disrupt her. I sipped my tea in the backseat, hoping the hot liquid would reconnect my voice to my lungs, but when I tried to make a sound, there was only breath.
I felt that there was a choice at the deepest parts of my being not to speak, some fear that my voice would break the world or call up beasts that would rend me and everything I loved to tatters. But I couldn’t locate that dark place and explain that it was doing more harm than good, that I needed the fear to go away, that everything in my life would be torn to shreds by simple inaction if I couldn’t function as an artist and member of society.
I breathed. Panic was going to get me nowhere. I had to get through the day and bail Darren out in time for the wake. Sleep. Eat. Go to work tomorrow. Breathe. I would figure it out if I could keep the anxiety at bay.
Lil pulled in behind the bondsman place and let me out as if I were a celebrity arriving at a red carpet event. “Mister Drazen said if you needed anything, I should let you know he’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks.”
“You should let him help you.” She gave me a meaningful look that said she knew I had reservations about taking help from Jonathan.
I nodded to her and walked through the back door.
The space had no aesthetic pretentions whatsoever. The grey industrial carpet was worn in the high-traffic areas. The fluorescent lights buzzed behind the dropped ceiling, yellowing the piles of papers lying on every surface, every metal shelving unit, veneer desk, and unoccupied black chairs. The occupied chairs, three of them, held people of varying ages and ethnicities, all talking on phones or tapping into aged beige computers. Out the front windows, downtown Los Angeles hummed by.
A middle-aged woman in big dark glasses shuffled past in slippers and a multicolored shift. Her coffee cup was one third full of sludge.
“Hi,” I whispered. “I’m looking for Kaylee?”
“Cat got your tongue?”
“Laryngitis.” It was the only answer I could come up with that would make any sense. Telling her a part of me thought using my voice would shatter the world might have seemed a little crazy.
“You putting up a bond?”
“Yes. I don’t know how.”
“You got cash?”
“Some.”
“Go on and sit by the desk at the front.”
I did, slipping into the cushioned office chair placed in front of it. The bronze plaque that was really made of plastic had the name KAYLEE RECONAIRE cut into it. I had about two hundred dollars on me, which was more than usual because I’d never emptied my bag from my last shift at the Stock.
The lady with the sludge coffee placed herself on her chair with a sigh. “Do you have the forms?” She held out her hand.
I handed over the stack. She had exactly enough clear space on her desk to look at them, spreading them into three neat piles. The pink stub, the stapled and clipped form, all had a place.
“Any relation?” she asked.
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No.”
“So?” She leaned her elbows on the desk. “We have to assess if he’s a flight risk. It’s our money you’re talking about, so there will be personal questions. Like, does this gentleman care i
f you’re responsible for him? This is not just assault.” She indicated the papers. “It’s battery with a deadly weapon, honey.” She raised an eyebrow as if I were some girlfriend battered into bailing out her own personal douchebag.
I leaned in so she could hear me. “We broke up a long time ago. He’s like a brother to me. He’s not some ex I can’t stop fucking because I’m insecure.”
Kaylee looked at me for a second before laughing. “You nuts, girl. You got a job?”
“I’m a waitress at the Stock downtown.” I swung my thumb behind me since it was about five blocks north.
“How much cash you got?”
“I have two hundred on me.”
“You’re short three.”
“I can go to the ATM,” I said.
“You can only get two hundred from the machine.” She blinked. I blinked. Then she said, “I ain’t letting you off the hundred. I’m running a business here.”
“You take collateral?”
She gave a knowing, snorty kind of laugh. “Whatever collateral you got I gotta hold in my hand, and it’s gotta be worth ten times what I need. I don’t see any jewelry on you I’d take.”
I stood and picked up my shirt, showing her the Harry Winston navel ring. I was stepping in a pile of shit, and I knew it. Using my current boyfriend’s gift to bail my past boyfriend out of jail was the stuff Jerry Springer shows were made of.
Kaylee leaned forward, dropping her glasses low on her nose. “That real?”
“Yes.”
She held out her hand, her face a mask of disbelief. I took out the diamond and handed it to her. She snapped open the top drawer of her desk, pulled out a jeweler’s glass, and used it to inspect the diamond, which to me, looked like the hugest, most sparkly thing ever dug from the earth. I sat back down as she made little humming noises, turning the rock around under the glass.
She slid it back to me. “I can get in big trouble, young lady. I don’t think you understand I’m running a business here. I don’t take stolen merchandise.”
I gasped. How could she? Was she insane? I was absolutely stunned wordless by the implication.