“Hey, sweet girl,” Lou said. She took out her equipment to draw blood, and Tabby closed her eyes, like she always did when she saw a needle. “It’ll be over fast,” Lou promised. “Then I’ve got some apples for you.”
She was monitoring Tabitha even more closely these days, because once her progesterone level started to drop, birth would be imminent. When that happened, Lou planned to be here. She’d already set aside a sleeping bag and had packed a small satchel, just like a pregnant woman preparing for labor.
The zoo wanted to capture the birth on videotape and post it online in hopes of drawing more visitors. Lou was sure that marketing move would work, because there wasn’t anything cuter than a wrinkly baby elephant with long eyelashes and a curving trunk.
There was a lot that could go wrong during birth, though, and Lou was trying to prepare for any outcome. If the baby was trapped in the amniotic sac and Tabitha couldn’t free it so it could breathe, Lou would be ready to intervene. Veterinarians would also be on call in case Tabby fell ill after the birth or started to hemorrhage. There was only one variable that deeply worried Lou. She didn’t know if Tabitha had ever seen a baby elephant during the years she’d been in captivity, because Tabby had come to the zoo via a sanctuary and her prior history was unknown. Lou was doing what she could to prepare Tabitha for motherhood. Everything in the elephants’ enclosure was jumbo size, which meant the baby might seem even more alien, so Lou had begun introducing smaller objects to the enclosure. She’d put in a plastic ball yesterday, and Tabitha had approached it warily. She hadn’t stomped on it, which was a good sign, Lou thought.
Lou just prayed that the gentle elephant’s maternal instincts would kick in, trumping the vicious side nature sometimes exhibited. There had been one terrible case at another zoo where an elephant violently rejected her young while the baby cried actual tears. If the worst happened—if Tabby tried to hurt her baby—Lou and the other keepers would need to act instantly. Lou had the closest bond with Tabitha, which meant she was the least likely to be attacked. She hadn’t told anyone, but if danger arose, she was fully prepared to get into the enclosure and try to calm Tabby in order to save the baby.
“All over,” Lou said, withdrawing the needle. She gave Tabby a few apples, then began her daily head-to-toe inspection. By now Tabby was a pro at the exam, but when she’d first arrived at the zoo, Lou had needed to teach her how to cooperate. The whole process had been broken down into steps. First, Lou let Tabitha use her trunk to investigate a long pole with a pool float attached at the end. When Tabitha was comfortable with the device, Lou tapped Tabitha’s foot gently with the float and immediately fed her a yam. Lou repeated that exercise—gentle tap, yam—until Tabitha learned to associate the pole and float with her favorite treat. Like most elephants, she was incredibly smart, so she caught on within a day.
Once Tabby mastered that step, Lou reached the pole into the enclosure while keeping it a few feet in the air above Tabitha’s foot. The elephant waited for the tap, but when it didn’t come, she initiated contact with the pool float, raising her foot to touch it. “Good girl!” Lou cried, delighted, and she gave Tabby a few extra yams. Maybe this was what it felt like for parents when their kids made the honor roll, or got accepted to Harvard.
Lou began gradually moving the float closer and closer to the exam area, until all Tabby needed was the sight of Lou in a particular place to recognize that it was time for her checkup. The daily exams were critical: Carrying around ten thousand pounds took its toll on an elephant’s extremities.
Tabby’s feet looked good today. One of her toenails was cracked, but not too badly, and Lou cleaned it out before feeding the elephant more treats. Her tail was healing nicely, too. Some people might think Lou was in control of the situation—after all, she’d trained Tabitha to lift up her feet—but Lou knew better. The exam would take place only if Tabitha agreed. Otherwise, the massive mammal would simply walk away, leaving Lou pleading with her from behind the barrier.
After all of the elephants were examined, Lou let them out of the enclosure so they could explore. Lou packed up her equipment as Tabitha made her way to the pool and waded in. Lou had heard pregnant women loved to swim because their heavy bodies felt so lightweight in the water, and she sensed Tabs felt the same way. Lou leaned against the fence, smiling, as she settled in to watch.
How could humans do such terrible things to these gorgeous creatures, like hunting them for their ivory? Lou wondered. Animals could be cruel to one another, but at least they had sound reasons for their actions most of the time. Young male elephants were clearly miserable when they were pushed out of their families by their mothers; Lou had seen video footage of them standing around the outskirts of their herds, yearning to be let back in. But only by being ostracized would males seek out new partners and mate. The elephant matriarchs were just ensuring the survival of their species, Lou thought. What excuse did humans have for their actions?
Lou spend the rest of her shift updating charts and feeding and observing the animals. She also led a group of schoolchildren on a tour. “Elephants can poop as much as three hundred pounds a day!” she told them. That was always a crowd-pleaser.
She was wrapping up her shift, mixing vitamins into the elephants’ evening meal, when Jamie called.
“Hey, I was about to call to see if you could pick me up at the apartment tomorrow around eight so I can bring my stuff over,” Lou said, cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear while she measured out the correct dose of vitamin E. “It should only take me one trip.”
“What were you thinking?” Jamie screamed.
Lou fell back, as if Jamie’s voice were a punch bursting out of the phone. The vitamin bottle slipped out of Lou’s hand and shattered against the floor.
“I don’t—what?” Lou asked.
“Mike has a temper? Christie and I don’t get along? There’s tension in our house? How could you say all that to a reporter? Damn it, Lou!”
“I didn’t!” Lou finally managed to get in against the torrent of Jamie’s words.
“Yes you did!” Jamie said. “You talked to some blogger at the coffee shop when you were taking a break! Really, Lou? That empty beer can Mike threw at the TV five years ago?”
“I didn’t know she was a blogger!” Lou protested. “She said she was thinking about applying for a job! She gave me a cookie.”
“A cookie? You sold out our family for a fucking cookie?” Other people had talked to her in this tone, the one that proclaimed they thought Lou was obtuse. But Jamie never had, not until now.
Tears flooded Lou’s eyes. She thought about Kaitlin’s eager smile, and the way it had dimmed when Lou had turned the conversation away from Jamie’s family. Jamie was right; she’d been stupid. She should’ve figured out what was going on.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Jamie exhaled loudly. “Just don’t say anything to anyone ever again about my family, okay? If someone brings up Mike, you walk away. Do you understand, Lou?”
“I understand,” Lou said. Her nose was running, and she wiped it with the edge of her sleeve.
“Okay,” Jamie said. “I’ve got to go. Eloise is yelling for something.”
Jamie hung up before Lou could ask whether she should still move in. This was the sort of situation that paralyzed her. How mad, exactly, was Jamie? Angry enough to cause a permanent shift in their relationship? Maybe Jamie was tired of all the trouble Lou caused, of the broken lamp and burned Tupperware and forgotten Pull-Up and day of junk food that had made Eloise sick. Lou thought about calling Jamie back to ask, but she worried it might make her sister even more upset.
Lou knelt down and began to pick up the shards of the vitamin bottle, putting the glass into a dustpan before reaching for a broom and sweeping up the smaller pieces. She couldn’t stop hearing Jamie’s words—Don’t say anything to anyone ever again about my family.
/> She knew her sister hadn’t meant to be cruel. Like the mama elephants who needed to reject their sons so that the species could flourish, Jamie had a good reason for lashing out, for pushing Lou away. But this was the first time Jamie had ever made a distinction that separated Lou from her family.
Lou was on the outside now, yearning to be let back in.
•••
She needed to have a serious talk with Mike and Jamie, Christie decided as she held two shirts up against her black skirt and decided on the gold button-down. First Jamie had forgotten to pick up Henry from a friend’s, and while he hadn’t been in any danger, what if he’d been waiting at a mall or something? Then, no one had bothered to tell Henry what was going on, so he’d had to learn the details of the shooting via YouTube. YouTube, for God’s sakes!
Christie was meeting a new mark tonight at a hotel, then she was planning to go straight home and call Jamie and demand a meeting. Jamie was usually the one who summoned Christie for chats, suggesting they all “get on the same page” when it came to Henry’s bedtime (fine, so Christie let him stay up late when something good was on TV) or keeping his study schedule up-to-date (she’d forgotten he had a Spanish final, but she could pretty much guarantee that in another ten years, he’d forget everything except how to say “hola”).
But what Jamie and Mike had done was far worse than any of Christie’s transgressions. Christie’s ire mounted while she dressed for her appointment and freshened her makeup. She picked up her purse and checked to make sure she had the disposable cell phone in the outer pocket and her own zipped inside. She drove the now-familiar route to the hotel and parked in the hourly lot, since it was an expensible fee, then went to the room Elroy had rigged with a camera and audio-recording device. Elroy had kept the same room they’d used the previous night, and Christie expected the same scenario to unfold. She smiled as she remembered how her last client had shown up at the hotel, a CVS bag containing a box of condoms in hand. He’d torn off his pants almost before Christie shut the door behind him. Elroy had knocked a moment later, and Christie had slipped out. She wondered how long the cheating jerk had waited for her to return with the champagne. She hoped his wife had already changed the locks by the time he got home.
Christie stepped out of her Miata and smoothed her skirt, wondering if her mother’s exes had known the extent of her cheating. They must’ve; her mother hadn’t exactly been discreet. Once in high school, Christie was crammed in the backseat of a friend’s car with a bunch of teenagers and someone had said, “Hey, isn’t that your mom’s car?” Christie’s mother drove a distinctive ancient yellow VW Bug, which had been parked in front of a neighbor’s house. The neighbor was a creepy guy who always mowed his lawn shirtless. Rumor had it he’d hit on one of the cheerleaders the previous year after hiring her to babysit.
Christie had just tossed her head and laughed, as if her insides weren’t being pierced, while the others in the car went suddenly silent. Funny how certain memories could smack back into you as crisply and powerfully as if they were occurring all over again. She could still feel the warm sun on her face, and hear the echo of the song that had been playing—Bon Jovi’s “Always.” To this day, she reflexively reached to switch off the radio whenever she heard his voice.
She’d told herself she’d never be like her mother, but had Christie fared any better in relationships? A lot of men had whispered they’d loved her, but none had loved her well. None had ever cupped her face in his hands, or stared deeply into her eyes, the way men in romantic movies did. No one had ever moved past her in the kitchen, putting one hand on her hip to gently steer her aside, the movements so practiced they seemed flawlessly choreographed, the way she’d seen Mike do with Jamie. Mike had good hands; Christie would give him that. They were as strong and well shaped as the rest of him.
Christie turned off her car and headed into the hotel, bypassing the check-in desk since she already had the key to the room. She stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the seventh floor, then stared at the numbers lighting up atop the doors. When she reached her floor, she walked down the long corridor, fit her key into the slot, and stepped in.
She paced the room, feeling unsettled. Something was off, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe the bad energy from last night’s cheater still lingered here. She tried to open a window, but they were fastened shut, probably to prevent suicides, she thought. Finally she opened the minibar and took out a small bottle of gin and another of tonic and mixed herself a drink, taking a big swallow. She flopped back on the bed and picked up the remote control and began flicking through channels. Half an hour passed. Her glass was empty, so she got up to make another drink.
Finally, just as she was reduced to reading the card listing the hotel’s outrageously priced menu for M&M’s and Oreos, she heard a rap on the door.
She stood up, not bothering to put on her shoes, and went to look out the peephole. On the other side was a guy named Jim, whose face was already blending into those of the other losers she’d tricked. He was tall and thin, with graying hair and glasses and an overbite, and he probably didn’t deserve his wife.
Scumbag, Christie thought as she pulled open the door.
“Hi there,” she said. For some reason she couldn’t summon her usual enthusiasm for her job. She tried to shake off her dark mood and smile seductively.
“Hey, baby,” Jim said. Did he even remember her fake name?
He walked into the hotel room like he’d paid for it—like he owned it—and when the door shut behind him, he engaged the flip lock that would prevent it from opening, even if someone had a key. “Don’t want a maid interrupting us,” he said as he leered at her.
Christie tried to smile back, but she knew it looked forced. What was wrong with her today? It seemed impossible that the gloss had worn off her new job so quickly.
Jim strode to the minibar, shedding his coat. “I see you got started without me,” he said back over his shoulder.
Something about this guy really chafed her. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, feeling goose bumps, and not the good kind.
“I couldn’t wait,” she purred.
He poured vodka into the other cut-crystal glass and didn’t add a mixer. He took a healthy swig, sat down on the edge of the bed, and patted the spot next to him.
She walked over, feeling as if she were moving through mud. She had to get in the game. Elroy was watching and listening to everything, and she felt like she might still be on probation.
“So,” she said. “Tell me what you like.”
“I like you,” Jim said. “Come here.”
When she’d “bumped into” Jim at the coffee shop he frequented every morning before work, accidentally grabbing his red-eye latte instead of her own cappuccino, the word that came to mind was milquetoast. Why was this guy contemplating extramarital affairs rather than geeking out by playing video games? In high school, she wouldn’t have let him give her his lunch money.
Men had all the luck, she reflected. Just because this guy had a steady job and presumably wasn’t wearing fishnet stockings under his Dockers, women were probably lining up to sleep with him. It was D.C.’s fault. All the pencil-necked policy wonks had warped the expectations of single women in the city. Jim clearly thought he was George Clooney’s rival. Just look at him, patting the bed again, expecting her to heel like a dog.
She tried again. “Now that you have me here, whatever will you do with me?”
Jim just smiled. How many teeth did he have crammed into that mouth, anyway? It looked like more than the usual number.
He set down his drink on the nightstand, then stretched out a hand toward her. She danced backward. “Tell me,” she said. She needed to get him to say it before he got too close.
But suddenly he stood up, reached for her, and crushed her against him. His hands were everywhere, fingers scrabbling up her skirt lik
e roaches.
“Wait!” she yelled. She tried to pull away, but he was surprisingly strong for such a thin guy. His arms gripped her like a vise and he seemed to have sprouted four hands. They poked between her thighs, pulling at her thong and making the elastic cut into her legs. His tongue was wet and thick, jamming its way between her lips when she opened her mouth to yell, as effective as a gag.
He pushed her back onto the bed, her knees buckling as they crashed into the edge of the mattress, and then he was on top of her, reaching for his belt buckle. She couldn’t breathe. He was pushing into her lungs and pinning her with his body. Where was Elroy?
The extra lock. He couldn’t get in. She was vaguely aware of someone pounding on the door.
She tensed her neck muscles and jammed her head forward, banging Jim’s forehead with her own. He cried out and lifted a hand to his forehead, and she wiggled out from beneath him. Her blouse was torn, and she clutched it, trying to cover herself.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she yelled.
“Jesus, I think you gave me a concussion!” he said.
“You had no right,” she said. She was shuddering uncontrollably. “No right!”
“Oh, come on.” His glasses were askew and there was an ugly red mark forming on his forehead. “You wanted this, you cocktease. You were practically begging for it in the coffee shop.”
Christie was struggling to put on her shoes, her own head beginning to throb. She could still feel his insistent fingers running up her thighs and into her panties, taste his stale breath in her mouth.
“You loser,” she spat out. She felt tears form in her eyes.
“Oh, I’m the loser,” he said. He wasn’t coming after her anymore, but his attack wasn’t over. He’d just changed his weapons to words. “Listen, you fat bitch, keep loading on the makeup and dyeing your hair because you’re probably a dog underneath it all. What’s the problem, you want money or something? I’ll pay you twenty bucks. That’s what you’re worth.”
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