Running Into Trouble

by Mina McShady

  “Oh yes, Helen. Sorry to bother you so early.” Actually, Bob wasn’t sorry at all. He had been watching the clock since five a.m., waiting for a suitably “civilized” time to call Helen without waiting so long that Eli and the little slut Jennifer would wake up, buy a clue, and get themselves to their respective homes.

  “No problem. So what’s going on? I have to be at work in an hour.” Helen didn’t mean to be that blunt, but she’d heard the teasing tone in Bob’s voice that always crept in when he had a juicy piece of gossip that he wanted to dole out in little pieces to prolong the pleasure of telling it.

  “Eli was here last night. Still is here, actually. The poor thing and good ol’ Matt got into a car accident on the way to the party. Two car accidents in one night, how awful!”

  Oh no, thought Helen, feeling the stirrings of panic. Did I do that? Did all my negative thoughts actually make Eli have a car accident?

  “Oh my God, is he okay?”

  “What? Eli didn’t tell you?” Bob grinned and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, positively gleeful with malice. Clearly Eli was keeping secrets from Helen. Perhaps the perfect couple was having problems. Bob hoped so. The R&M club was much more fun when people weren’t too happy.

  “Um, er, no,” said Helen, aware she had just revealed the extent of her estrangement from Eli. Of course, it was just like Eli to “forget” things. He’d been “forgetting” to paint the computer room for nearly two years.

  “Oh dear,” said Bob, affecting concern. “I’m sure he just didn’t want to worry you.” He waited for a few seconds. He wanted Helen to beg for information.

  “Bob,” said Helen, dangerously low on patience. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d just tell me why you called.”

  “Oh Helen, I am such an idiot. I am such an insensitive pig. You must have had a real trauma last night. I am so sorry. You know—”

  “Bob—”

  “Oh yes, why I called. All right. I let Eli spend the night here. He needs a ride home, and I thought I’d try to catch you before you left for work.”

  “Bob,” said Helen, trying hard not to sound completely exasperated. “I totaled my car last night. I have to take a taxi over to the Hockville airport just to get a rental, and I have to be in the office by eight. I’d really appreciate it if you could give Eli a ride home, or call him a cab.”

  “Oh Helen,” said Bob, stalling for time. Helen had to catch Eli and Jennifer together, she just had to, or his day would be ruined. “I hate to break it to you, but both of my cars are out of commission. The Beamer needs a battery and the coupe is leaking transmission fluid. And cabs just won’t come to the hills. It’s a maze. They get lost.”

  “Okay then, sure, I’ll pick him up. I’ll be there in about an hour.”

  “Great”

  “Bye.”

  Helen replaced the receiver into its cradle and stared at the phone as if it held the answers to all her problems. Actually, she realized, it did. She would call in sick to work. She’d be able to rent a car and collect Eli without stressing out too much. She could spend the day with Eli, if he’d let her, or she could get a head start on appeasing her insurance company for last night’s accident by filling out its innumerable required forms.

  -Eli Hawthorne-

  Jennifer C is such a cool chick, thought Eli, rolling off her sweaty body. It was really convenient that Bob Robertson kept so many different types of condoms in his bedside table. Eli removed the condom filled with warm semen, stretched the open end, and tied it into a knot.

  “Wow, that’s quite a trick,” said Jennifer, giggling.

  “That’s nothing. Check this out,” said Eli. He looked around the room and found a post-modern garbage can with a wide mouth. He quickly sized up the distance, assessed the weight of his condom-turned-projectile, and threw it towards the can. It followed a long, arcing trajectory and landed in the waste receptacle. Eli smiled at Jennifer and playfully ran his fingers through her hair. Soft, he thought.

  “He shoots, he scores!”

  -Helen Kale-

  “Where are you going today, ma’am?” The taxi driver was a young guy, probably no more than twenty-two. He was sort of cute, too, if you liked the landlocked surfer type. But he’d called her “ma’am.” Although she’d thought of herself as almost thirty since she’d turned twenty five, hearing “ma’am” always made her feel old.

  “Hockville Rent-a-Wreck, please.”

  “Sure thing, ma’am.”

  Helen looked out the window as the driver headed down Steepclimb toward the freeway. Bob had sounded strange over the phone, like he knew more than he was actually telling her. She knew he was a terrible gossip. He was one of those friends in whom you only confide information suitable for public consumption. She figured he was probably just excited to have found out that she and Eli aren’t the perfect couple after all.

  Surprisingly, Helen wasn’t sure if she minded. She and Eli didn’t have a perfect relationship. But, then again, nobody did.

  -Jennifer Champion-

  The excitement of being naughty was wearing off. Jennifer was thirsty, hungry, sticky, and just a little bit bored. She’d already scanned the décor in Bob’s master bedroom (chrome heavy bachelor minimalist) and counted the slats in the Venetian blinds (there were seventy eight.) She shifted restlessly in Eli’s surprisingly hairless arms, wondering if he shaved them, and thinking about all the other things she should be doing. She had to check on Nasty, rework her training schedule to account for the previous night of random debauchery, and, most of all, get some real, uninterrupted sleep.

  Still, part of her enjoyed the lingering contact with Eli. He was warm and friendly. Plus, watching the guy she’d had a hopeless crush on for so long drool lightly onto his pillow caused her ego to swell pleasantly. She felt solidly good and satisfied. She knew their encounter was just a one-night thing, and she was okay with it. She’d done what there was to do, and seen what there was to see. It was time to get up and move on.

  But she didn’t want to just leap out of bed, especially considering that there was no way she could do it without waking Eli from his light coma. She decided she would wait about an hour. Then she would start making noises about coffee and breakfast and showering. Besides, sleepy Eli was kind of cute, even if his breath was pretty vile.

  -Helen Kale-

  Waiting in line at the Rent-a-Wreck with a collection of rumpled and weary locals and a few foreign tourists, Helen’s mind flickered back to her conversation with Bob about Eli’s second car accident. She wondered whom he’d been with and why the hell she hadn’t she asked Bob that question when she’d had the chance. She hoped it was one of his old slacker buddies and not one of the preening, Lycra-clad women from the R&M club. It was so easy to imagine herself at some R&M club get together, moving from one clot of people to the next and trying not to hear the hum of gossip churning in her wake.

  Helen tossed her head and took a deep breath, attempting to shake off her tenacious anxiety. But instead of dissipating, her worries about Eli’s accidental companion (he must of had one, he doesn’t have a car) pulled her down into guilt and shame. She’d spent hours the other night fantasizing about Eli getting into a car accident (and being in a plane crash and being mauled by a mountain lion). That was definitely sending negative energy into the universe, the kind of negative energy that so many people believed could harm both the negative emitter and the people close to them.

  Helen exhaled a low sigh, which she quickly transmuted into a dry cough to avoid discomfiting her line mates. It was frightening to think that she had the power to change Eli’s destiny, even if the power was partial and oblique. It couldn’t be true, could it? She could buy that her evil thoughts might affect her behavior, causing her to use bad judgment or wear unflattering clothing which, in turn, might have negative consequences for her own life. But how could what she was thinking and feeling have had any affect at all on someone driving down a road miles away?

&nbs
p; Helen looked at her watch. She’d been waiting for ten minutes. She needed something to distract herself from her aching mind, a diversion. Helen didn’t really believe she could be responsible for Eli’s accident (the second one). But, just to fill the purgatory of waiting in line, she decided to try creating her own reality on a modest scale. Instead of wishing to turn back time and thereby wipe out her car wreck and her stupid fights with Eli (which was definitely impossible, or at least clearly beyond her powers), Helen imagined the line moving quickly and efficiently, a smiling counter representative with a clean blue vest, and a medium-sized sedan that smelled of new car rather than of stale cigarettes.

  And it did seem that the line was moving along at a nice clip, although she wasn’t sure whether the line was really moving quickly, or if it just seemed that way because she'd been so lost in thought. As she moved closer to the head of the line, she saw the row of weary clerks, each of whom seemed to be looking down at the counter instead of at the people in front of them. To Helen, this made them seem even more discouraged than she was. Then she realized that everyone was reading from laminated scripts, probably written by MBAs to presumably cover every contingency.

  Soon, Helen found herself in front of petite, slender woman with a very large head. She had frizzy hair and thick glasses that made her face look both very young and slightly insectoid.

  “How are you doing this, um, morning, ma’am?” said the clerk whose nameplate read Mary.

  “Do you really want to know that?” asked Helen, with a tired smile.

  Mary raised her head and looked at Helen with wide, wary eyes. Usually when customers deviated from the usual range of scripted responses, they were volcanically angry about something she was powerless to fix. She squinted, flogging her brain to come up with something innocuous to say that wouldn’t get her punched, shot, or fired. Although the woman appeared to be rounded, light, and pleasant, Mary knew that spontaneous rage could strike anyone.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t get into it,” said Helen hurriedly, recognizing the fear on the clerk’s face. “I’d like a mid-sized sedan, please.”

  -Eli Hawthorne-

  Someone had stolen Eli’s arm or, at least, cut off the circulation. Eli looked down at Jennifer C contentedly nestled against his shoulder. She looked so happy and peaceful that it made him…strangely restless. He felt like leaping out of bed, taking a shower, and running home, if Bob would loan him a pair of running shoes. But he knew that would impolite. Rude, even. Something that Hell’s Bad Boyfriend would do. Well, Eli wasn’t going to be that guy. Jennifer had been such a great sport. He wasn’t going to interrupt her sleep and rush her out. His arm could stay dead for another hour.

  -Helen Kale-

  Helen smiled as she pulled onto the freeway, heading for Bob’s house. Her modest attempt at “creating her own reality” had paid off. Once the clerk had realized that Helen wasn’t going to pull out a gun, start screaming about some corporate conspiracy, or take off her blouse, she was positively grateful. Helen received her car quickly, and Mary had taken pains to make sure she got a “non-smoking” car, something her regular customers would sometimes request. It even smelled like “new car.”

  Deeply inhaling the new car scent, Helen felt her body relax. She decided she’d try imagining her meeting with Eli. She hoped that, by visualizing positive outcomes, she could nudge events in one direction or another. She realized that it might even give her a feeling of control, the satisfaction of doing something, especially in situations when it might be in her best interests to stay quiet and give Eli “space.”

  Her car sped along as if on autopilot, and Helen imagined herself greeting Bob, grasping his hands and giving him a quick hug. She followed him into the kitchen, an oversized room with an ostentation and rarely used chef’s island decorated with slightly dusty copper pots and pans. At the kitchen table, she poured herself a strong coffee from a large press pot. She savored the coffee for a few minutes, trying to calm her fluttering, over-caffeinated heart. No, she thought, that’s why I don’t drink coffee. She re-envisioned the scene, replacing the coffee with a large mug of citrus-infused chamomile tea. As she took a sip of tea, Eli shuffled into the kitchen wearing a shy smile on his face.

  “Hi there,” he said, looking into Helen’s eyes with an embarrassed yet hopeful expression.

  “Hi yourself.” Helen smiled gently, feeling surprisingly calm and whole. Eli sat down next to her and took her hand. She rested her head on his shoulder. Somehow, she just knew they had an unspoken agreement to treat each other with the utmost care.

  Oh my God. Helen whizzed around a sharp corner and found herself flying by the same place where she had totaled her car the night before. Unconsciously she pressed her foot on the brake, causing the car to squeal, as though it, too, was afraid of what might be waiting just out of sight. But, really, there was nothing. Just trees highlighted by dim sunlight peaking through the morning’s pale gray clouds. She was alone on the road.

  As she had done so many times before, Helen parked in front of Bob’s house, and followed the path to the front door. She rang the bell and waited. Nothing. Wondering if the bell was malfunctioning somehow, she rapped on the door. Still nothing. This time, she rapped more insistently, bruising her knuckles. Impatient for her reunion with Eli, she grasped the door handle and turned. It opened easily. Helen didn’t know why she was surprised. Nobody locks their door in the Notch, after all.

  “Hello, is anybody there?” Helen stood in the foyer, afraid that going further would be intruding, even if Bob was expecting her.

  “Hello, Bob?” she called, raising her voice.

  “Good morning, Helen. Eli’s waiting for you in the master bedroom.”

  Bob’s voice was muffled. She couldn’t quite make out what he was saying.

  “Excuse me? What did you say?”

  “Eli. He’s in the master bedroom.”

  Helen shrugged. It was strange that Bob hadn’t offered her a cup of coffee or even really greeted her. Maybe, she thought, he was just hungover from last night’s Thing. Certainly he hadn’t had time to call the Crawford’s Notch Cleaners, which was his usual routine after a party. Helen stepped over red and yellow plastic cups and noticed her shoes sticking to the floor.

  She climbed quickly to the second floor landing, which was strewn with more overturned cup, makeshift ashtrays and a broken bong, as well as some fairly random items of clothing—several mismatched socks, a Death March T-shirt, and a black lacy bra. Wishing she hadn’t worn her delicate open-toed sandals for her reunion with Eli, Helen gingerly made her way around the obstacles until she arrived at the bedroom door. This wasn’t what she was expecting at all, but she tried to think positively. She could wake up Eli gently and then bring him to recuperate.

  As quietly as possible, Helen opened the door and found herself in a new world.

  -Jennifer Champion-

  When she opened her eyes and saw a stunned Helen Kale staring down at her and Eli, she hid her face under the comforter because some primitive part of brain believed that if you didn’t look at it, it wouldn’t exist. But Jennifer realized this was patently untrue when she felt Helen’s soft yet surprisingly strong hands with their long, lacquered nails attempting to pull the covers off her body and expose her completely.

  Knowing herself to be “in the wrong,” the injuring party rather than the victim, Jennifer willed herself not to fight against Helen. The lacquered nails tore at her face, marking her skin. Jennifer closed her eyes and covered them with her hands, but otherwise remained still, feeling the pain of accumulating cuts and blows.

  -Eli Hawthorne-

  He held a sobbing and struggling Helen firmly in his arms. Although she wasn’t as wild as she’d been before, he wasn’t going to take any chances. Jennifer, naked and curled on the bed in the fetal position, was bleeding from her face, arms, and back. He knew some of her blood was drying under Helen’s fingernails, becoming black and crumbly. The thought of it made him sick, but
there was no way he could let her go.

  -Jennifer Champion-

  “Oh my God, what happened to you? Your face…” Nasty trailed off, running out of air. Besides, she decided it would be mean-spirited to enumerate the numerous scratches, bruises, and bandages that had been, according to rumor, inflicted by Eli Hawthorne’s very jealous, and apparently psycho, ex-girlfriend.

  Seemingly unfazed, Jennifer stared at Nasty, who was, contrary to doctor’s orders, smoking a cigarette. Her skin was the pale blue of hypoxia. It had clearly taken a lot of work for her to squeeze out that single sentence in a voice as scratchy and dry as a cornhusk. Normally, Nasty’s extravagant self-destructiveness would either cause Jennifer's throat to constrict with anger or her eyes to sting with sadness. But today she felt nothing.

  For the past two weeks, her life had been a surrealist swirl of perpetual surprise. As she experienced one shock after another, her reactivity threshold had plummeted. It had to. Otherwise, she’d be hyperventilating. But now Jennifer wondered if she wasn’t on her way to becoming an emotionless shell. Even her eyes were slightly out of focus, trained on some empty spot between her and Nasty’s eyes. She blinked and willed herself to concentrate, to return to the present.