Unzipped?

by Karen Kendall

  “TINA,” said Hal, “I can explain—”

  She burst into tears. “You know everything!”

  “Huh? Well, not quite,” he admitted modestly.

  “You’re working with the FBI! You brought in the police!”

  “What?”

  “I was forced to do it,” she sobbed, rivulets of inky mascara running down her cheeks, “blackmailed.”

  “Do what?”

  “He gave me the little memory stick thingy, and instructions on what to do.”

  Light dawned on Hal. “Greer Conover.”

  “Yes, him. The rat. He said he’d skin Binkie alive and make a hat out of him. He said he’d have my granny kicked out of the nursing home. He said—”

  Hal tugged her dress up so that she was decent and got her off his lap. “Sounds like he said a lot of things.”

  “He did. And he took naked pictures of me that night we went out. He said he’d put those on the Internet and make sure my dad saw them.”

  Paris Hilton, eat your heart out.

  “Greer,” Hal told her, “has always been such a friendly guy.”

  “He’s an asshole,” she sobbed. “With a pencil dick.”

  Hal choked.

  She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “You’re going to fire me, aren’t you?”

  No sense in lying. “Well, yes. But I’ll give you a very nice severance package if you’ll cooperate with a police investigation.”

  SHANNON SLAMMED into her apartment and sank down onto her leopard upholstered chair. The many faces of Marilyn stared at her as her tears came, hot and humiliating and unwelcome.

  Outside, the rain started, too, beating steadily down on the roof and splattering the windows in cooperation with gusts of wind.

  The Marilyns witnessed her realization: that she’d gone and fallen in love with Hal Underwood.

  She’d turned him into the hot guy that all the chicks would dig. But now that she’d transformed him, she’d give anything to have him all to herself, just the way he was the day she’d met him. Shaggy, baggy and awkward. Sweet.

  What had she done to him? She’d turned him into the kind of guy who banged his receptionist on a whim. A guy who knew the power of his looks and money to ignite female fantasies.

  The thought of him with his hands on Tina’s breasts sickened her. She felt bile rising in her throat as she looked at her fake bearskin rug. The rug where he’d so tenderly made love to her the other night.

  Shaking, she hurtled toward it and rolled it tightly, wishing she could set it on fire or ram it down the garbage disposal or flush it down the toilet.

  She settled for cramming it into the coat closet, where she wouldn’t have to look at it.

  Hal could have at least thought of her for the split second it took to remove the microphone. He must have had to anyway, so Tina wouldn’t find the wire.

  She imagined the whole scenario.

  Squeeze, baby, squeeze! And Hal would have obliged with gusto. He might even have pinned Tina’s wrists over her head so that she wouldn’t find his secret; gotten excited over her willing captivity…

  But he’d have gone into the bathroom, ripped off the equipment and stuffed it into his pants pocket. Then he’d have ditched his clothes and come out naked.

  As for Tina…she’d have been a one-step strip. No way had she had on anything under the tacky piece of plastic wrap she’d worn.

  Stop thinking about it. Just stop it! Shannon searched for anything that would block the images from her mind. Vodka. She had a bottle in the freezer. She walked into the kitchen, opened the freezer door and stared at the almost-full bottle. Icy cold, opaque with frost, it beckoned her. She slammed the door on it.

  Too many people in L.A. had tried to block their problems that way. Altering the mind didn’t alter the reality to which you returned.

  She put on loud music instead: an old, punk-inspired, angry Red Hot Chili Peppers album, which fit her mood perfectly. She turned it up to screaming level, knowing that she’d have complaints from the neighbors any moment, though she hoped the onslaught of rain would kill some of the sound.

  Within five minutes, she heard pounding on her door, and sighed. While she wanted to ignore it or tell Mrs. Parker—it had to be Mrs. Parker—to do something biologically impossible, she couldn’t.

  Shannon turned down the music, opened the door and found a wet Hal on the other side.

  “Can you believe it?” he exclaimed.

  She stared at him scathingly. “That you got laid? Here’s a news flash for you, Hal. That woman probably humps her own doorknobs. So don’t be so proud of yourself.”

  His jaw dropped open.

  “Congratulations. You’ve graduated from Suave School. I’ll send you a bill. Now get out.”

  “Shannon, you don’t understand—”

  “I understand perfectly. She fell into your lap all wet and juicy and you couldn’t say no.”

  “That’s not what happened at all—”

  “Squeeze, baby, squeeze!” she shouted at him. “I was listening to the whole thing, remember? So don’t lie to me, no matter how well you’ve learned to do it. I taught you, after all. That’s the sick part.”

  Hal started to look angry himself. “I’m not lying to you. But what the hell are you so upset about, anyway? You also taught me to go out with other women, Shannon! I was supposed to move on, remember? I wasn’t cool enough for you, with my white socks and all. So what right do you have?”

  “None,” she shouted. “None at all. Except that I thought you were still this pure, cerebral guy, someone better than that. And I’m sorry that I changed you, because I liked you a lot better before!”

  Shannon put both hands on Hal’s chest and shoved, knocking him off balance.

  “Is that right?” he said, his soulful blue eyes snapping with temper. He put his hands on her door frame and leaned in toward her, his breath hot on her face.

  “Well, I’ve got a news flash for you, too, babe. You’re capricious as hell, impossible to please and I’m done pandering to your every whim. Don’t you dare pull this territorial crap when you don’t want me yourself. Got it? And you go ahead and send me that bill. I’ll include a hefty bonus for you to stay away from me.”

  And Hal walked away without a backward glance. His slouch was gone and for once his posture was perfect in the pouring rain. It didn’t look awkward or assumed. Rage became him.

  Shannon took one step after him and then stopped. She went inside, curled up on her lip sofa and sobbed herself to sleep.

  22

  HAL TRIED to get control over his temper as he drove away from Shannon’s apartment. The weather was horrendous and fit his mood to a tee. Cold spring rain sluiced down his windshield and increased the night gloom.

  It was late and he was in for a long day tomorrow, filing the police report with Tina.

  Though he had insisted that she find another job, he’d promised his receptionist that he would not allow anyone to turn Binkie into a hat or turf her granny out of the nursing home. As for Greer Conover’s nude pictures, he’d do his best to see that they weren’t published, but he couldn’t guarantee anything.

  He supposed he could understand why Shannon thought he’d slept with Tina. She’d heard what sounded like a highly enjoyable date, followed by a definite come-on, a sexual command and slurping noises.

  If he’d been in her situation, he probably would have thrown off his earpiece, too. Who wanted to listen to a friend…no, a lover…engage in naked acrobatics with somebody else? Just the thought of Shannon with another man made him crazy. But then, Hal had been stupid enough to fall in love with her.

  She was just being unreasonable and territorial. She’d certainly given no indication of returning his feelings.

  But what really pissed him off was her accusation that he’d lied to her.

  Hal might be a workaholic with antisocial tendencies. He might be competitive and not have much fashion sense. But he had never been
a liar, and if she didn’t know that by now then she wasn’t as bright as he gave her credit for being.

  Hal pulled into a convenience store along Route 4 in Farmington, and got gas. He swiped his credit card through the machine, pulled out the nozzle and twisted open the cap to his tank. He inserted the nozzle and began fueling up.

  Something didn’t make sense to him. Shannon was supposedly too cool to care if he slept with another woman. Wasn’t she? Hal applied male logic to the issue.

  Since she had gotten so upset, either she wasn’t as cool as she claimed, or she did, in fact, care for him. Or maybe both.

  He frowned. They’d had a fight about his male logic before, however. Male logic and female logic didn’t work the same way, although of course male logic was superior and always would be.

  He finished with the gas and sealed his tank. After climbing back into the Explorer and hitting the road again, he decided he needed a female perspective on the situation, and called Peg from his cell phone.

  “Whah? ’Lo?”

  He’d obviously woken her up. “Peg, it’s Hal. I know it’s late.”

  “Is it Mom? Oh, my God—is she okay?”

  “Mom’s fine. I’m having woman trouble.”

  “You can’t be having woman trouble. You’re dating your computer.”

  “I am having woman trouble,” he repeated. “And I need your advice.”

  “You mean you got laid?”

  “Yes.”

  Peg praised God, all His angels and Shannon Shane, Image Consultant. Then she demanded to know what poor girl had had the bad judgment to sleep with him.

  “Shut up for a minute, Peg, and answer this question. If a woman claims you should date other people, but freaks when she thinks you slept with someone else, what’s up with that?”

  “Well, duh, Hal. She’s jealous.”

  “What if she’s too cool to be jealous?”

  “Nobody is too cool to be jealous. And maybe she just didn’t realize before that she had a thing for you.”

  “Before when?”

  “Before you slept with someone else! Wow, that means you got laid twice. We should alert the press.”

  “I didn’t sleep with anyone else.”

  “I’m so confused,” said Peg. “Hal, it’s after midnight. Can this wait until morning?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Good. Because…oh, no. Now I’m going to have nightmares about my brother having sex. Gross! And I was having the best George Clooney dream, too.”

  “Well, pardon me, Peg. I didn’t mean to disgust you or interrupt your rendezvous with El Cloon.”

  “He’s wearing a Speedo,” she said dreamily. “Small. Yellow. Stretchy.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Banana-flavored.”

  This was far too much information, even in a fantasy. “And on that note, I’m outta here, Peg!”

  “G’night.”

  He hung up. Was it possible that Shannon cared for him? Or was she just a spoiled, fickle woman who wanted to drive him crazy?

  He thought about the things she’d confided to him: her issues with her adoption and her experience with the director in L.A. Somehow, he couldn’t just write her off. But he didn’t exactly feel like sending her flowers right now.

  He drove home through the rain and let it cool him down a little. He thought about what he could do to get through to her, to make her listen to him, believe him about Tina. He thought about what he could do to reach her cool, emotionally scarred, L.A. heart.

  LILIA ANSWERED the phone at Finesse when Shannon called in.

  “What’s wrong, hon?”

  She hated to lie to her friends, and it was colossally lame for her to not go in today, but she couldn’t drag herself out of bed. “I don’t feel well. Stomach virus. I only have two appointments in the afternoon, and with your help, I’ll reschedule them both.”

  “My help meaning that you’ve forgotten your Palm Pilot again?”

  “How did you know?”

  “It’s in the kitchenette next to the fruit bowl.”

  Shannon produced a weak laugh.

  “How are you going to stay organized when you can’t even remember to take your Palm Pilot with you?” Lil’s tone was mock-severe.

  “I’ve got a mind like a steel trap,” Shannon mumbled.

  “You’ve got a mind like a steel drum,” Lil corrected. “Empty and echoing.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk.” She got the client phone numbers from Lil and told her, “I’ll be in tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Feel better, sweetie.”

  Shannon hung up the phone and stared at the abstract painting on her bedroom wall for a while. As usual, it promised the keys to the creative universe and failed to deliver. She closed her eyes again, couldn’t fall asleep, and reluctantly swung her legs out of bed.

  The hardwood floor was cold and rather dusty. If she were a person who cared more, she’d vacuum. But she couldn’t bring herself to care.

  She shuffled downstairs in her pj’s, discovered that she’d run out of coffee and almost bawled over the fact, which was just pathetic. If she ordered a couple of gallons of coffee and three dozen doughnuts, would Krispy Kreme deliver? Doubtful.

  Shannon drank a cup of ice water and ate the three stale fortune cookies in her cabinet, grimacing over the little paper predictions inside.

  “You will be successful beyond your wildest dreams.” Well, obviously. Just look at me. She tossed that fortune into the trash.

  “You will be lucky in love.” Yup. A vibrator never lies to you or cheats on you.

  “Pull your head out of your ass.” Oh, perfect. She laughed. This one was in Jane’s handwriting, and Shannon spent a few minutes trying to figure out how she’d gotten the tiny piece of paper out without cracking the cookie.

  Obviously a corner of it must have been peeking out, and she’d just tugged on it until it came free. Then she’d written her own version and stuffed it inside. Yup—there was glue residue on the cellophane wrapper.

  Breakfast consumed, Shannon flopped onto the lip couch and explored the offerings of daytime television. Finally she muted the volume and just watched various people run around and make gestures with their lips moving. The one thing she refused to do was think about Hal.

  At eleven, she ordered a supreme pizza. When it arrived, she systematically picked off every black olive on the gooey disk and then ate the entire thing while her stomach stretched tighter and tighter.

  She passed another hour in extreme regret for her piggyness, feeling bloated and sick.

  During the hour after that, she popped cherry-flavored antacids and groaned a lot. And when the soaps came on, she watched two female stars scheme, bitch and then tug each other’s hairpieces off in a public fountain while their wet designer clothing stuck to their breasts.

  Come to think of it, she’d auditioned for the role of one of their daughters—the one who’d driven off a cliff in the second episode of the season, leaving her illegitimate newborn and a mysterious buried box behind.

  Shannon was trying to remember what had been in the box when her doorbell rang and she had to maneuver her bowling ball of a stomach off the couch to see who was there.

  A guy from an overnight delivery service stood outside with an envelope. She signed for it, thanked him and accidentally burped before closing the door. She looked down at the return address and her pepperoni-encrusted heart stopped.

  The envelope was from the Home for Little Wanderers. She stared at it while her heart did a backflip and then launched into a tap sequence. Slowly she sat down and pulled the cardboard tab to open the packet.

  There were two letters inside. One was from the adoption agency. The other was in a plain, white, sealed envelope.

  The cover letter was simple and to the point.

  Dear Ms. Shane,

  Thank you for contacting the Home for Little Wanderers regarding your adoption. We have searched for and found your file, which contained the following seal
ed letter from your biological mother. It was her wish that should you ever require more information about her, we would forward this to you.

  If you have further questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to contact us and we will do our utmost to help you.

  Sincerely yours…

  Shannon stared at the white envelope and swallowed. The pizza roiled in her stomach. She went to the kitchen, got a knife, and took a deep breath before slitting open the seal.

  My dear daughter,

  Please know that I love you and have loved you from the moment I knew you were inside me. Though I have not been able to hear you say your first words or see you take your first steps; though I have not been able to share your life and watch you become the beautiful young woman that I know you are; I hope that you can feel my love from afar, for the circumstances of my life do not permit me to meet you.

  Giving you up for adoption was the hardest decision I have ever had to make. I struggled with the dilemma every month that I carried you and for the precious month that I truly mothered you. Please understand that I didn’t make the decision lightly, and that it took more from me than I could ever hope to give you.

  My dear, I could not support you. Taking you home to my parents was not an option. Marrying your biological father was not an option. I was told of a wealthy childless couple who wanted you desperately and could give you everything that I could not: constant attention and nurturing, a comfortable home, good schooling and a happy life.

  Please understand that I made my choice, in the end, for you. I still remember your sweet, milky baby scent, your tiny fingers and the way they clung to mine, and the way you nestled in my arms. You will be with me in my heart until the day I die.

  All my love,

  Your Mother

  Shannon read and reread the letter, her tears bathing the slanted, loopy handwriting. Her mother hadn’t signed a name, hadn’t left an address—not even a phone number or e-mail.

  The circumstances of my life do not permit me to meet you. What circumstances? But no details appeared. No way to contact her in order to ask them. The letter was tender, loving, but it was also a very sweet entreaty to be left alone. It was clear that Shannon wasn’t welcome to turn up on her biological mother’s doorstep for a long-awaited reunion.