“Margaret, go put your clothes on. I’ll deal with this,” Evan directed from behind her.
Margaret scurried off to the bedroom, my bedroom, quietly obeying Evan’s command. Then there he was: Evan, in all of his half-naked glory. This was not at all the scenario I had played out in my mind, but I was relieved to discover that he had moved on. There was no need for him to be angry with me anymore. I felt sorry for Margaret, however. She had no idea what she was in for.
“I was wondering when you’d come crawling back.”
“Evan, I just came by to get some things. I had planned to talk to you later.”
“Who do you think you are? You can’t just come trespassing wherever you like. You don’t have any things here. This is not your home anymore,” Evan fumed in his usual intimidating manner.
“All right, then we’ll talk another time.”
“I have nothing to say to you. What do you have in your hand?”
“It’s my mother’s urn.”
“Nothing here is yours. Put it down and get out.”
The temptation was still there—to avoid conflict at any cost, to do the irrational thing that Evan demanded in order to avert confrontation with him, to take the easy way out. I chose instead to stand my ground.
“I’ll leave, but I’m taking my mother with me.”
I turned to go, but before I knew it, Evan was upon me.
“You’re not taking anything, you bitch!” he shouted, slapping me hard with the heel of his hand. It made contact first with my cheekbone, before grazing up to my eye and knocking me to the floor. I was shocked. Despite all of the hateful things Evan had done, he had never hit me before.
I wanted to hit him back, to take all of my anger and resentment toward him and pack it into one solitary blow. I wanted to strike him in a vain attempt to reclaim the years of my life that he had stolen from me. I wasn’t worried for my safety. What did I have to lose? But if I hit him, I would be just like him—and I had become better than that. I stood up with my mother’s urn in hand, looked Evan square in the eye, and made my way to the door.
Evan hated to be walked away from. He grabbed my arm and spun me around.
“What do you hope to gain, Evan? To prove that you’re in control? You can do whatever you want, but you don’t control me anymore.”
“What if I kill you?” he threatened in a strangely calm voice.
“I’m already dying, Evan. You still lose.”
Disregarding what I had just said, he raised his hand to strike me again. Suddenly, the front door unexpectantly flung open.
“Who the fuck are you?” Evan bellowed as Wilbur came charging toward him.
“I’m the guy who’s gonna kick your ass if you don’t let go of her right now!”
“Is this why you left? For this piece of shit?” Evan scoffed.
“No. I left because of this piece of shit,” I answered with a trembling index finger pointing right back to my tormenter.
It wasn’t very clever, but it was all I had at that moment.
“I came back to L.A. because I thought I owed you an explanation, but now I realize you’ve taken enough from me. I don’t owe you anything.”
And with that, Wilbur and I strode out the front door. It occurred to me that I had never seen that panicked, enraged look in Evan’s eyes before, and he had never before threatened my life. He looked as though he might actually kill me. I pictured him coming after us with some sort of high-powered weapon, but thankfully, he did nothing. His empty threats remained with him in the house. Only the sound of our footsteps could be heard as we made our way back to the car. Evan was a coward, just a roaring lion with no teeth.
“How did you know?” I asked Wilbur.
“I just had this feeling,” Wilbur replied. “Actually, I could see through the window from where I was parked.”
“Well in that case, what took you so long?”
He looked at me with shock in his eyes until I started to laugh. Then he laughed along with me.
“You really do have a weird sense of humor.”
“But it’s one of the things you like about me, right?”
“It’s one of the things I love about you,” Wilbur replied without a hint of irony.
He said love. He wasn’t exactly saying that he loved me per se, but he used the word “love” in a sentence, in reference to me. Love conquered war after all.
“Thank you, again.”
I was forever thanking him.
“You missed Margaret, the naked coworker.”
“Oh…are you…all right with that?” Wilbur asked.
“Of course,” I said softly, placing my hand on his thigh. I was all right with it. I just hadn’t expected it…or maybe I had.
“Evan went on a lot of ‘business trips.’ I had suspected at some point that there may have been someone else, but I guess I really didn’t care enough to ask.”
The truth was, seeing it in the flesh—literally—made me feel insignificant. I had spent years letting that bastard control every aspect of my life—everything I did, even how I looked. It wasn’t as though I wanted Evan at that point, but a big part of me thought that he would never stop pursuing me, even if it was just a matter of pride. I knew that he didn’t love me, not in the typical way that people love one another. Not in the way I loved Wilbur, or the way that Wilbur could potentially love me.
“Your eye’s starting to swell. Let’s go back to the hotel and rest for a bit.”
“No, no. I’m fine. Let’s get out of dodge. I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“Let’s at least get you some ice.”
We stopped by a drug store and bought an ice pack. It was the kind you have to get sort of violent with in order to break it and mix the contents. Wilbur did this for me, then held it to my eye
“I got it. It’s okay,” I said though I enjoyed his nurturing attention.
“You need to file a police report.”
“I just want to be done with him. I don’t even want to think about him again. Besides, he’s a lawyer. He’ll probably turn it into some breaking-and-entering scenario that will land us in jail.”
Wilbur nodded his head in reluctant agreement.
“I won’t let him hurt you again.”
I basked in Wilbur’s protective statement for a moment.
“Let’s not let that demonic a-hole ruin our day,” I joked with a crooked, half-swollen smile.
Even through my face was throbbing and the ice pack made it hurt all the more, I finally felt vindicated and free.
CHAPTER 35
We hardly spoke a word until Barstow; even after we passed through, the conversation was sparse. I suppose it was mostly my fault, as I’d become consumed by the desolate highway. It was the same dusty, desert road I had taken when I first received the news. Every Joshua tree and sagebrush we passed reminded me of Jerry’s words of doom. The first time I had traveled that path, I had been running away from my life, but this time I was inching toward it—the promise of a life that could be built, a good life that would end as soon as it was established.
I kept my eyes out for the coyote, waiting for him to jump out from behind a rock or bush at any moment with that sadistic smirk. I refused to let him catch me off guard again, which is precisely why he never materialized.
As we approached Misty’s place, it felt as though it had been years since Wilbur and I had first been there. In reality, it had been only slightly more than a few monumental weeks.
Misty jumped up and down, before sprinting the stretch of walkway in response to our car pulling in, her breasts bouncing every which way.
“Hi, Roomie!” she gushed.
“Hi!” I squealed as I embraced her in a bear hug.
I had really missed her contagious enthusiasm.
“Where’s your stuff? And more importantly, what in the hell happened to your face?”
“Evan happened…to my stuff and my face.”
“Don’t worry; he won’t be a
problem again,” Wilbur said as he put his arm around me and kissed me on the cheek.
“Oh,” she whispered with unusual concern.
I knew Misty was thinking the same thing I had thought: that Wilbur and I shouldn’t be together. That it wasn’t fair. It was one thing for me to think it, but her judgment made me feel incredibly selfish.
I shook off the feeling as Misty made us dinner. We had veggie sandwiches on grilled Portobello mushrooms with quinoa salad on the side, all organic, of course. We chatted as though we had known each other for years. I cleared the dishes when we were through. It already felt like home.
“I have to get ready for work,” Misty announced, disappointed.
“How about we go play some slot machines at the Imperial Palace?” I asked Wilbur.
“Really?” Wilbur replied. “You like them, huh?”
“I’m somewhat of an expert gambler,” I quipped. “Might even consider making a career out of it if this whole nursing thing doesn’t work out. Besides, I hear there’s a cocktail waitress that serves up some killer Long Island Ice Teas.”
“What about your face?” Wilbur laughed. “I don’t want anyone thinking I did that to you.”
“That’s what makeup is for! Come ’ere, darlin’,” Misty cooed as she signaled me to follow her into the bathroom. On the counter lay a vast array of glorified war paint. With an expert hand, she packed it onto my face as though we were both going to serve cocktails—or pick up tricks.
Misty handed me a distractingly low-cut, skin-tight dress, which I promptly slipped into. Without hesitation, she reached into the dress and scooped up my breasts, forming them into what appeared to be ample cleavage.
“There ya go. Now no one’ll be looking at your face,” Misty said with a twinkle in her eye. “Is it my imagination, or are those things bigger than the last time I saw you?”
I looked down at my cleavage in the mirror.
“Yeah, I guess I’ve put on a few pounds.”
“Eating beetles, earwigs, and whatnot in Africa? Who woulda thunk it?” Misty marveled. “You look good. When I first met you, I thought a strong wind might blow you over.”
I felt like we were teenagers getting ready for the prom—only my incredibly handsome date was minus a corsage and I was sporting a camouflaged shiner.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea, you and Wilbur?”
“I know; it’s probably not. I just couldn’t help it. He’s so amazing.”
“I know he is, but what about…when you’re gone?”
I found it interesting that she was more concerned for him, than for me. Even though she’d known him better and longer, I was the one who was dying!
“We’ve talked about it. I’ve been taking really good care of myself. Eating right, exercising, I’ve been trying to do right by other people. I think it’s helping. I feel like I’m getting better.”
I could tell by the look on Misty’s face that she wasn’t convinced, which caused me to ramble on even more.
“Things are looking up for me. My life has taken an amazing turn for the incredible. My number can’t be up just yet!”
I tried to smile as I said this, but as the words tumbled from my lips, I realized just how ridiculous they sounded. I decided to abruptly change the subject.
“I’m not sure if I ever told you that the Imperial Palace was my mother’s favorite place on Earth. She used to go there all the time. She was friends with quite a few of the cocktail waitresses, although it was way before your time.”
“Hmm, I wonder if Hilma knew her. Hilma’s worked there since Bugsy Siegel was burying bodies in the desert.”
“Wow, that is a long time.”
When we emerged from the other room, Wilbur’s eyes popped open, as did his mouth.
“What do you think? Black eye less obvious?” I inquired with a modest grin.
“Uh, yeah,” he said, ogling my cleavage. “You’re all good.”
No one had ever really paid attention to my breasts before. Along with a number of other aspects of my life, they had been next to nonexistent. It was refreshing.
When we arrived at the casino, I had to have Misty point out my winning machine. I had been too intoxicated to remember which one had delivered the goods. I planted myself down with Wilbur beside me, hoping to score a repeat win while stone-cold sober.
Wilbur and I gambled and laughed and had an amazing time. I wanted to draw the same joy from gambling as my mother once had. The truth was, it was more the company than the activity that I found gratifying.
Misty repeatedly stopped by our machine to offer us cocktails.
“On the house, one night only,” she would say each time, even though when you gamble in Vegas, the drinks are always on the house.
Much to Misty’s disappointment, I stuck to water and Wilbur had only one beer. After a few hours we decided we’d had enough and no significant win was going to occur. We were content just to break even.
“I guess I’ll stick to nursing,” I joked, as we went to say our goodbyes to Misty.
“Oh, wait. Come over here. I want you to meet Hilma,” Misty urged, grabbing my hand. “Just a warning, though, she’s a little rough around the edges.”
Misty wasn’t kidding about Hilma. She was reminiscent of something I had seen in the Cradle of Humankind in South Africa, a living relic of the past doused in makeup—enough that it would likely require a chisel and hammer to remove.
“Hilma, these are my friends, Stacia and Wilbur.”
“Hello,” Hilma replied in a deep, raspy, three-pack-a-day voice.
“Misty thought you might have known my mother. She used to come in here all the time. Her name was Nova Uqualla.”
“Come in here? Ya mean as a patron a’ this fine establishment?”
“Uh-huh.”
Hilma let loose a creepy, demented laugh.
“I knew her. But she wasn’t any customer; she worked here.”
“No, you’re mistaken. I know it’s been a long time, but my mother worked at Las Vegas Memorial.”
“As what?” Hilma cackled.
“She was a nurse.”
“I don’t think so, hun. The Nova I knew spent five nights a week cocktailin’ here. Wouldn’ta had time to be any nurse.”
She cackled again.
“I don’t recall her mentioning any daughter, neither. But you do look a awful lot like her.”
Her cackle morphed into a horrible smoker’s cough.
“Maybe you’re thinking of someone else,” I suggested, gingerly.
“How many people could have that name? I knew her. Indian woman, always cryin’ over that husband a’ hers. Was sorry to hear it when she died, though.”
“Wait,…husband?”
“God, what was his name—he was Romanian or Russian, er somethin’, right? It’s been so long, memory’s failin’ me.”
“How long did she work here?”
“My guess would be about eighteen or twenty years.”
“Her…husband,…did you ever see him?”
“Yeah, he would meet her here all the time, go check into a room for a while. We could never figure out why they didn’t jus’ take it home. She was a mystery, that one.”
“Is there anyone here that might remember the man’s name?
“Naw, I’m the only dinosaur left, darlin’.”
“If you happen to remember it, would you call me? I’m staying at Misty’s.”
“Will do, but I wouldn’t hold yer breath,” Hilma snorted. “Sorry. Dementia’s a bitch.”
Then she just walked off. She’d transformed my mother into a lying whore and thought nothing of it. I turned to Wilbur who had heard the whole thing.
“I want to go to Las Vegas Memorial.”
“Now? It’s almost eleven o’clock.”
“Hospitals are twenty-four-seven. She worked there. She worked there for as long as I can remember. It’s why I became a nurse, to follow in her footsteps.”
“Did you ever
see her there?”
“Yes…well,…only when she was dying…as a patient. She would tell the nurses she worked there. But no one actually knew her, I guess. She said she worked in a different department. She never told me which one though. I was so young I never thought to ask until she was gone. Please take me there,” I insisted, becoming progressively more distressed.
“Of course. Let’s go.”
I hadn’t been to Las Vegas Memorial since she died, as I had moved away from Vegas shortly afterward. I got a chill as I walked through the doors. A rotund, red-faced security guard approached us, bearing a nametag that read “Buck.”
“Emergency room is that way,” Buck instructed us flatly. “Sign in here.”
“No, I’m all right. I just have a question. Is there anyone around who’s been here for a while, say twenty years or so? My mother used to work here, and I’d like to see if anyone remembers her.”
Buck examined me begrudgingly, clearly unenthused with his job and definitely unwilling to go the extra mile.
“It’s important,” I insisted, opening my sweater slightly to expose my newfound cleavage.
“Mark’s been around for a long time and he knows everyone. Let me give him a call,” Buck replied with slightly more enthusiasm. “Mark, what’s your location?” he spoke into his walkie-talkie.
“Coming your way,” Mark replied in a jolly voice.
“Someone here’s got a question for you.”
“Okie dokie, be right up.”
A gray-haired security guard with a thin frame and a potbelly approached with an outstretched hand.
“Hi! Can I help you?”
“I hope you can,” I said, shaking his hand. “My name is Stacia Uqualla. My mother, Nova Uqualla, used to work here about twenty years ago. I was wondering if you knew her.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Mark said, shaking his head.
“She was a nurse. Here, wait…I have a picture of her,” I said, digging through my purse to find my wallet. I handed the picture to Mark.
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