The Wild Zone

by Joy Fielding

  “You want one keycard or two?” the clerk asked, handing Jeff back his credit card.

  “One is fine.”

  “One it is.” The young man lifted the plastic keycard above his head as if it were a trophy. “This way.”

  Jeff followed him out of the lobby, reflexively assessing the boy’s flaccid frame, absently drawing up a series of exercises that would add bulk to the scrawny arms that hung lifelessly at his sides. As was often the case with men who were self-conscious about their height, the boy’s posture was horrible, his head hunched between his shoulder blades and held in, turtle-like, as if he was already bracing himself for a doorway that was too short to comfortably walk through. “I’m sure I can find the room on my own,” Jeff said, wondering if it was a good idea for the boy to leave the front desk unattended.

  “Got nothing better to do.”

  He sounds just like Tom, Jeff thought, shielding his eyes from the preternaturally bright light of the evening sun as he followed the young man along the side of the one-story structure. For the second time that day he felt the uncomfortable sensation of someone shining a flashlight directly in his face.

  “You don’t have any luggage?” the boy asked.

  Not even a toothbrush, Jeff thought. “I travel light.”

  “That’s the best way,” the clerk agreed, as if he knew.

  Probably never been out of Buffalo in his life, Jeff mused, again thinking of Tom. The first trip Tom had ever taken out of Buffalo had been to Miami. Next stop, Afghanistan.

  They stopped in front of a door that was painted navy blue and embossed with a brass number 9 in the shape of a fish. “Here we are,” the young man said, slipping the keycard into its slot and then having to do it three more times when the door failed to open. “They get temperamental sometimes,” he explained, finally pushing it open and flipping on the inside light to reveal a king-size bed whose blue and silver bedspread was a pattern of quilted waves. “Thought you might appreciate some extra room to thrash around. I’m a pretty restless sleeper myself,” he said, handing Jeff the keycard. “Especially in this heat. You want me to open the window? It’s kind of stuffy in here.”

  “It’s fine,” Jeff said, although in truth, it was oppressive. Still, he was anxious to be alone. He needed to lie down, to think things through, decide his next move.

  “There’s a drugstore two blocks down, if you need a toothbrush or some deodorant,” the clerk offered, leaning against the doorway and transferring his weight from one foot to the other, “and there’s a McDonald’s around the corner, if you get hungry.”

  “Maybe later,” Jeff said, feeling his stomach cramp at the thought of food.

  “Name’s Rick. If you need anything—”

  “I won’t. Thank you.”

  Jeff stepped inside the room, kicking the door closed with the heel of his right foot, watching Rick’s puzzled face quickly disappear from view. Had he been expecting a tip? Jeff wondered. Or maybe he’d been hoping for an invitation to come inside. Maybe that’s why he’d been so accommodating, personally accompanying Jeff to his room, giving him a discount he hadn’t asked for and a king-size bed he didn’t need.

  Or maybe the kid was just lonely.

  Jeff sat down on the end of the bed, his hands sinking into the blue and silver waves of the bedspread, his tired face reflected in the large, shell-framed mirror on the opposite wall. A rectangular TV sat on the right side of the low dresser, its blank screen reflecting the turbulent green waters of a roiling sea depicted in a painting that hung above the headboard. What am I doing here? Jeff wondered again, falling backward across the bed.

  He checked his watch, saw that it was almost nine fifteen. No point in going to the hospital now, he decided. Visiting hours were no doubt over, and besides, he had no energy to confront his mother now. Even in her weakened condition, he’d be no match for her. He wasn’t even sure what hospital she was in, he realized with a start. He’d assumed it was Mercy, which was about ten blocks from there, but maybe she was somewhere else. He’d have to call Ellie, find out.

  Although not now. Now he was too exhausted. He’d call his sister first thing in the morning, he decided, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and checking for messages, laughing when he heard Tom’s indignant voice demanding to know where the hell he was. Damned if I know, Jeff thought, dropping the phone to his side.

  He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the stale air fall across his body like a heavy blanket and listening to the fan of the broken-down air-conditioning unit whirring impotently from the far end of the room.

  Seconds later, he was asleep.

  He dreamed he was walking along the wooden pier of a busy marina, a variety of expensive boats bobbing up and down in the nearby ocean, women in tiny bikinis laughing and raising tall glasses of champagne as their husbands threw heavy anchors overboard and their ships set sail in the wind. Above him, an army helicopter circled noisily, so that at first he didn’t hear her calling out his name. But then suddenly there she was, standing in the shadow of a high mast: his mother, looking young and lovely, although even from a distance of fifty feet he could make out a hint of reproach in her eyes, as if he’d already done something to disappoint her. “Jeff,” she called excitedly, waving him toward her. “Hurry up. Over here.”

  And then he was running toward her, except that no matter how close he got, there was always one more boat to get past, one more sail to circumvent, and then another, and another. And suddenly the helicopter that had been hovering above was lowering itself to the pier and his mother was skipping toward it, lifting her skirt above her knees, preparing to climb inside. “Mom,” he called out, but she refused to look at him. Just then a marching band of pimply-faced teenage boys appeared, their brass horns and woodwinds blasting out a raucous version of “The Star-Spangled Banner” as his mother took her seat beside the pilot, laughing uproariously as the helicopter lifted off into the sky.

  “Mom, wait!”

  His mother stared down at him reproachfully. “You look just like your father,” she said.

  And suddenly the helicopter began spinning around in a series of increasingly small circles, and his mother’s laughter changed into screams of panic. The national anthem grew louder, rising toward the sky, as the helicopter began careening wildly out of control. Jeff watched helplessly as it crashed against the side of a fast-moving cloud and plummeted into the sea.

  He sat up with a gasp, fresh beads of perspiration breaking out across his forehead. Beside him “The Star-Spangled Banner” continued its insistent tune. “Jesus,” he muttered, the word as much a prayer as an exhortation, as his hand groped through the waves of the bedspread for his cell phone. What the hell was that all about? he wondered, the dream breaking up like a bad signal as he flipped open the phone. “Hello,” he said groggily, what remained of his dream evaporating with the sound of his voice.

  “Jeff?”

  Was he still dreaming?

  “Jeff?” the voice asked again.

  “Suzy?” He shook his head in an effort to clear it.

  “Are you all right? Dave told me what happened at the gym. I’ve wanted to call all night. I feel so terrible.”

  “Don’t. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  “I must have dozed off. What time is it?”

  “Around ten. I can’t talk long. Dave just fell asleep. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Maybe if I talk to your boss, explain what happened . . .”

  “No. It’s all right.”

  “It’s not all right. You lost your job.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it matters. Damn it. It’s all my fault.”

  “None of this is your fault,” Jeff said.

  “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. You must hate me.”

  “Hate you?” Jeff asked incredulously. Then, before he could stop himself, before he knew the words were even forming,
“I love you.”

  Silence.

  “Suzy?”

  “I love you, too,” she said.

  Another silence, a heartbeat longer than the first.

  “What do we do now?” she asked him.

  “You have to leave him.”

  Suzy took a deep breath, released it slowly, almost purposefully. “I know.”

  “Right now,” Jeff instructed. “While he’s asleep. Do you hear me, Suzy? Just get in your car and go straight to the Wild Zone. I’ll call Kristin, tell her what’s going on, get her to take care of you until I get back. . . .”

  “What do you mean? Where are you?”

  He almost laughed. “I’m in Buffalo,” he said, convinced now he must be dreaming. “I don’t know how it happened. One minute I was standing in front of this travel agency, and the next I was in a cab heading for the airport.”

  If Suzy was surprised, she didn’t let on. “I’m glad.”

  “You are?”

  “It was the right thing to do. I’m sure it meant a lot to your mother.”

  “I haven’t seen her yet,” Jeff admitted. “I was planning to go first thing in the morning.”

  He felt her nodding her head as she absorbed this latest bit of information. “It’s probably better if I wait till morning, too,” she said.

  “What? No. Listen to me, Suzy. You need to get out now. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”

  A sudden intake of breath, then, “I’m sorry,” Suzy announced curtly. “There’s no one here by that name.”

  “What?”

  “No, I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”

  And then another voice, a man’s voice, as clear and as menacing as if he was sitting right beside Jeff. “Who are you talking to, Suzy?” the man asked just before the line went dead in Jeff’s hand.

  “Suzy?” Jeff said, jumping to his feet. “Suzy? Are you there? Can you hear me? Shit,” he cried helplessly, pacing back and forth in front of the bed. “Don’t you touch her, you miserable son of a bitch. Don’t you touch her. I swear, if you lay a hand on her, I’ll kill you.” He sank back down on the bed, burying his head in his open palms. “I’ll kill you,” he repeated over and over again. “I swear I’ll kill you.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  HE DECIDED TO CALL the police.

  “AT'T, 411 nationwide,” came the recorded message when Jeff punched in the number for information minutes later. “For what city and state?”

  “Coral Gables, Florida.”

  “For what listing?”

  “The police.”

  “I’m sorry,” the recorded message said, somehow managing to sound appropriately contrite. “I didn’t get that. For what listing?”

  “Never mind,” Jeff muttered, snapping his cell phone shut in exasperation. Assuming he’d been able to reach the proper authorities, just what had he been planning to say? “Hello, officer? I think you’d better send a car out to one twenty-one Tallahassee Drive right away; I’m concerned my girlfriend’s husband might be beating the crap out of her”? Yeah, that would go over well.

  Although he didn’t necessarily have to go into specifics. He didn’t have to give the police his name or the reasons for his suspicions. He could just be a concerned citizen calling to report a domestic disturbance. Except what if there’d been no such disturbance? What if Dave had chosen to accept his wife’s story of a wrong number without question or fuss? By alerting the police, by sending out a patrol car to investigate, Jeff would only be confirming Dave’s suspicions and sealing Suzy’s fate.

  In any event, he doubted the police would be very quick to act on the word of an anonymous caller. They’d want details. At the very least, they’d demand to know who was calling, and when Jeff refused to tell them, when he refused to provide any explanations whatsoever, it was unlikely they’d pursue the matter further. They couldn’t very well go chasing down every vague, unsupported complaint that came their way.

  So calling the police was out.

  Still, he just couldn’t sit here and do nothing.

  “Kristin,” he decided, pressing in her number on speed dial and listening as the phone rang three times before her voice mail picked it up.

  “This is Kristin,” her voice purred seductively. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Damn it,” Jeff said, clicking off without leaving a message. What was the point? He glanced at his watch. Of course she wasn’t answering her phone. It was ten o’clock. She’d be at work. “What the hell is their number?” he wondered out loud, searching his memory for the digits he usually knew by heart and finally having to call information again when they failed to materialize. “South Beach, Miami, Florida,” he told the familiar recorded voice. “The Wild Zone.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t get that,” the voice said, as Jeff had been expecting. “For what listing?”

  “Shit.”

  “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?”

  “No, I fucking can’t,” Jeff hollered.

  A real person suddenly replaced the recorded voice. “What was that name again?” the woman asked.

  “The Wild Zone,” Jeff repeated, feeling his fingers clench and trying to block out the unwanted image of Dave’s fist connecting with Suzy’s jaw. “Can you hurry, please? It’s really very important.”

  “Is that a business?”

  “It’s a bar in South Beach.”

  Yeah, right. Very important, Jeff could almost feel the woman thinking. “Here it is,” she said after several more seconds.

  The recording suddenly returned with the correct number and the offer to connect Jeff directly for a small additional charge. Seconds later, Jeff listened as the phone rang once, twice, three times, four. . . .”

  “Wild Zone,” a man bellowed over a combination of loud voices and louder music.

  “Put Kristin on the line,” Jeff said, hearing Elvis in the background, belting out “Suspicious Minds.”

  “She’s busy right now. Can I give her a message?”

  “I need to talk to her. It’s an emergency.”

  “What kind of emergency?”

  “Just put her on the goddamn line.”

  And then nothing. Were it not for Elvis wailing away— We can’t go on together —Jeff might have thought he’d been disconnected. What was taking Kristin so long?

  “Hello?” she asked in the next instant.

  “Kristin . . .”

  “Jeff?”

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Are you all right? Have you been in an accident?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Joe said it was an emergency.”

  “It is.”

  “I don’t understand. Where are you?”

  “I’m in Buffalo.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Did your mother die?”

  “No. Have you heard from Suzy?”

  “What?”

  “Suzy Bigelow. Have you heard from her?”

  “Why would I hear from her?”

  “Because I told her you’d take her to the apartment, hide her from her husband. . . .”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “That emergency just about over?” Jeff heard a man call out. “You got a bar full of thirsty customers.”

  “When were you talking to Suzy?” Kristin whispered into the receiver. “I thought you just said you were in Buffalo.”

  “I am. Look, it’s complicated. I’ll explain everything as soon as I get back. In the meantime, if Suzy shows up at the bar, just get Will to take her to the apartment, and don’t tell anyone where she is. Okay?”

  A second’s silence, then, “Do you want me to come out there?”

  “No. It’s okay. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow,” Kristin said before hanging up.

  “Shit,” Jeff s
pat, dropping the phone on the bed. He could still hear the confusion in Kristin’s voice but knew it wouldn’t be there for long. She was a smart girl. She’d have his relationship with Suzy figured out in a matter of minutes. Would she be upset or would she simply take it in stride, accepting these unexpected developments the way she did with most things in life she couldn’t control? “Shit,” he said again, trying to understand what was happening to him. Could he really have fallen in love? And was that what love was—this overwhelming feeling of helplessness? After pacing back and forth for several minutes, Jeff stuffed his phone back inside his pocket and headed out the door.

  TEN MINUTES LATER, he found himself standing in a small line at the all-night drugstore around the corner from the motel, waiting to pay for a bag of disposable razor blades, a toothbrush, some toothpaste, and a package containing three pairs of white Jockey shorts, the only color they carried. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to keep his balance, his mind spinning, replaying the day’s events over and over again, like a deejay spinning records at a busy Miami nightclub: Suzy on the phone first thing that morning, Suzy across from him in the diner, Suzy in his arms at the motel, Suzy on the phone just moments ago, Suzy in his head, his brain, his heart.

  Had he really told her he loved her?

  Had he meant it?

  I love you, he heard himself say.

  “How much did you say that was?” an elderly white woman at the head of the line was demanding of the young black man behind the cash register. “I think you’ve made a mistake. That can’t be right. Check again.”

  “Five dollars and thirteen cents,” the cashier repeated with a roll of his eyes at those waiting.

  I love you, too, Suzy whispered in Jeff’s ear.

  “I thought the deodorant was supposed to be on special.”

  “It is. Two dollars and eighty-nine cents. That’s the special price.”

  “I’m sorry. That can’t be right.”