The Art of Love

by Anne Whitney

  “Sure, I just need to use the bathroom first. Wherever it is.”

  “It’s on the top floor, same as the restaurant. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  I leave Viridian queuing for a table and grumbling repeatedly under her breath as I seek out the bathroom. The top floor is by far the quietest part of the art gallery. Clearly, the crowds haven’t made it up here yet, so I decide to enjoy the peace while I can. As I wash my hands in the ridiculously fancy bathrooms, I think about what I’m going to say to Fitz later. I want things to be right for a change. There’s no reason they can’t go right. We’re owed that after everything that’s gone on lately.

  It takes me a while to notice the man behind me. It’s not until he speaks that I realize who he is.

  “Hello, Marina.”

  No. No, please, not him. Not here, not now.

  I spin around and look my father in the eye. It’s him, it’s really him.

  I stumble backward, running into a wall.

  “No,” I tell him. “I’m not going with you. I’m not going back.”

  He grabs my wrist and pulls me forward with his calloused palm as the crowd stares in disbelief.

  “I’m taking you home,” my father orders.

  Every muscle in my body goes weak, leaving me a quivering mess of anxiety. I’ve become the latest and greatest exhibit - lost girl caught red handed.

  CHAPTER 31.

  The cops file into the room, pushing onlookers backward. A police officer speaks into a cell phone in hurried mutters, staring at me while others swarm in my direction. The look on my father’s face is one of utterly vile smugness. He’s won and I’ve lost, just as I’ve feared since the moment I stepped outside my door and fled into nothingness.

  “Let me go!” I scream, trying to rip away. “Help me! Help me, someone!”

  The police cast a blind eye to the moment unfolding in front of them. My father continues to drag me toward the exit while the finely dressed denizens of New York seemingly admire the piece unfolding. Even as my expensive borrowed dress rips, spilling beads and lace to the floor beneath my heeled feet, no one steps forward to save me.

  "Is that the girl from the news?" A man asks nearby over the chaos.

  "I think so," the woman at his side replies. "Huh."

  I finally rip my hand out of my father's grasp as we enter the chamber with Fitz's piece still in motion. My father gasps at the sight of nudity, giving me the chance I need to turn on my heels and bolt. I only make it a few feet before I am trapped by police officers guarding all of my potential escape routes. Stumbling, twisting, turning, I search for any other options, only to realize within seconds that there is no way out.

  My father catches his composure and charges me again. He almost tackles me to the ground in what some might mistake as a hug - a grandiose display of arms that wrench around my chest and hold me tight as I scream and struggle. The strap on one of my heels breaks as I try to kick myself free. Even swinging my feet wildly doesn't help. In fact, his tight grasp only seems to get stronger and stronger as my body grows weaker and weaker from the expended energy.

  "What are you so afraid of?" my father says, loudly enough that others can hear. "I'm here to protect you from that asshole that kidnapped you. We're going to go home and everything is going to be alright."

  I free my hand and turn around as much as I can. A right hook connects with the curve of his stubble-covered jaw, sending him sputtering to his backside.

  Viridian appears, skidding in a few seconds after us. She’s out of breath, one heel broken off and the other shoe clutched in her hand. From the corner of my eye I can see her trying to plead with an officer, but the police seem just as taken aback by the mess that they only stare and wait for a superior to tell them their next move.

  “Marina, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” my father says, climbing back to his feet. He brushes the dirt off his clothes as the attention turns from the art to the display of another sort. Even Fitz and his partner have broken their stillness to join in the moment, but Fitz shows no sign of backing me up. He’s still lost in the trance of art. “I came all this way to bring you home and this is how you repay me?”

  “I’m not going home with you,” I snap at him. “I’m not going back to being your housekeeper and your slave and your victim. How much have you lied to the police about me? Do they think someone really kidnapped me and brought me here? Me?!”

  Fitz takes a step forward, only for a police officer to grab him by the shoulders and shove his naked body onto the ground. A sickening thud is followed by a pained gasp from Fitz’s lips, then by the sound of frantic, scared gallery goers stepping away, running for the exits, fleeing into the warm spring night.

  “What has that bastard done to you, Marina?” My father takes a step forward as I take two steps back. The wall of police officers grows closer, some even advancing toward me. “You are a victim of that perverted bastard. Even his father says he had something to do with it.”

  So it was Fitz’s father. That figures.

  “Has he done something to you sexually? Did he take your virginity away from you and hurt my precious girl?”

  He turns toward Fitz, coughing and spitting in pain as handcuffs are snapped over his wrists. The lies are growing deeper by the second. The officers haul Fitz off as he cries out once more in pain, his shoulder hanging limply from his side.

  “We need to take you in for questioning, ma’am,” a police officer says behind me. The sudden appearance of a man startles me into jumping away. “It’s okay, we’re here now. You’ll be home safe soon.”

  I slide away from him. “I was safe until this ass showed up,” I said, pointing at my father. “He’s a narcissistic liar and I want nothing to do with him ever again. I want a restraining order. I want to go home.”

  “I’m taking you home,” my father shouts angrily. “To Spokane. Back where you’re safe”

  “No, Dad,” I shout back. “This city is my home now, and I’m never going back to Spokane. Why don’t you just leave and let Fitz go and move on with your life? Don’t you see that I can’t do this anymore?”

  The anger becomes visible on his face. The fine lines at the edges of his dark eyes wrinkle and the skin on his cheeks flushes a deep red. That’s the expression he has when he’s at his most furious. It’s the one that I dreaded more than anything else, because I knew it meant nothing but pain for me. Even in a packed room full of police officers, I feel at risk. Fitz has been dragged away and Viridian and Derek are trying to reason with one of the officers who seems deaf to their pleas. None of them believe me.

  “Look at what that sicko’s done to you,” he says, his voice an unsettling growl. “He’s cut your hair and dressed you up like some cheap whore. He’s made you his little plaything and tricked you. What happened? You were such a good little girl. Are you hooked on crack? I knew there was a sickness in your head.”

  Strangely, I find myself laughing at his attempts at sweetness. I’d always wanted to be his ‘good little girl’ just to please him, to make the anger go away, but now nothing could be worse than that.

  “A good girl?” I ask. “Because that’s all you’ve ever wanted, isn’t it, dad? A good girl to do all your cooking and cleaning and to never disobey you. You beat the shit out of me because it’s the only way a good girl would learn, right? I bet you’ve had the time of your life crying your eyes out and talking about what a great father you are to everyone that would listen.”

  “Marina, stop this now,” my dad urges me. I can see him forming fists with his pudgy hands, but I don’t care anymore. This ends now.

  “Did you tell them all about the time you stubbed a cigarette out on my arm?” I ask, making sure everyone can hear. All chatter around me has ceased. “Or about how you beat me with a hockey stick?”

  “Stop your lies now. You’re a sick girl and it’s time for you to come home and get the help you desperately need, to get the Devil out of you once and for all.”<
br />
  “The lies? I lied every day to myself for twenty years, thinking that one day you might actually change. I can’t believe I was so stupid. So no, Dad. I’m done. I won’t ever let you hurt me again.”

  Filled with courage I didn’t even know I possessed, I step toward my dad. No more shrinking from his gaze. No more desperate obedience and acceptance of his way of things. This is my life now, and I will not let him destroy this weird and beautiful thing I’ve created for myself. I kick off my other shoe, bringing me back down to earth, but I’ve never felt taller in my life.

  “I am not afraid of you anymore, you sick bastard.”

  My dad’s eyes widen, and I know he believes me.

  His fist flies up and strikes my cheek before I can react, and I slump to the floor. The room is spinning and I’m only faintly aware of the scrum of policemen and women tackling my father to the ground as he screams curses at me. Viridian and a policewoman are by my side, helping me to my feet.

  “Sweetie, are you okay?” Viridian asks. My face is throbbing like crazy, but I feel oddly okay. There are no tears. I’ve cried enough because of that man.

  “I’m fine,” I reply. “Where’s Fitz? I need to see him.”

  “Miss Phillips, he’s being taken to the hospital, then he’ll be questioned,” the officer informs me. She’s a short woman with a kind face, who keeps a gentle hold of my arm as I try to regain my balance. “We’re going to need to take you downtown as well to sort a few things out.”

  “Will my Dad be there?”

  “Yes, but he won’t be allowed anywhere near you, I promise.”

  “Okay, but please don’t arrest Fitz. He had nothing to do with this.”

  Derek runs toward us.

  “Which hospital is he at?” He asks. “I’m his brother.”

  The officer gives him the details he needs and then he dashes off, but not before giving Viridian and I the tightest hugs imaginable. We watch as two burly officers drag my ranting father through the gallery, watched by countless surprised visitors who then gawk at me as I’m lead through the hallways and into the back of a NYPD car, with Viridian by my side. The fury of thoughts flying through my head, wondering about the show, what will happen to me now, if Fitz is okay, if he’s injured seriously - all quiet down and I am left with one certainty.

  He can’t hurt me anymore.

  CHAPTER 32.

  I am given a lawyer, more for formality’s sake than anything else, and placed in a dingy interrogation room with him while I wait for questioning. The female officer, who I found out is called Detective Mina Kapoor, has given me her blazer to wear over my ripped dress, something I greatly appreciate as I sit in this cold room. I stare into the large mirrored wall where I know a group of officers are watching me on the other side. Viridian was not allowed to sit in here with me, much to her annoyance, so she is waiting for me outside. I just want this all to be over and done with so I can find out about Fitz and my fate.

  Detective Kapoor finally enters, carrying a hefty file in her arms. With her is a much sterner-looking male officer with thick glasses and his salt and pepper hair practically glued down to his head with gel. They sit opposite me while my lawyer, who can’t be that much older than me, rearranges his documents.

  “Thank you for coming in, Miss Phillips,” Detective Kapoor says, as if I had much say in the matter. “We’re just going to ask you a few questions in regard to your disappearance and what happened with your father. Is there anything you’d like to ask before we begin?”

  “Where’s Fitz?”

  “Mr. Cottrell-Iver is in the hospital. He dislocated his shoulder.”

  After you jackasses threw him to the ground.

  “He’ll be out of hospital within 24 hours or so,” she continues. “Then he’ll be questioned.”

  “He didn’t do anything wrong. He never kidnapped me. My dad made that up.”

  “We received a tip-off from Mr. Cottrell-Iver’s father,” the other officer says, sounding far less patient than his colleague. “He said that you were with his son and he feared you’d been kidnapped by him as, and I quote, ‘part of some sick art project’. Why would he say that, Miss Phillips?”

  I shrug. “I don’t really know him. I’ve only met him twice. He and Fitz don’t get on very well.”

  “What is your relationship with Mr. Cottrell-Iver? Is he your boyfriend?”

  “You don’t have to answer that,” my lawyer informs me.

  “I’m just trying to ascertain the kind of relationship you have with this man, Miss Phillips.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, we’re dating.” I stop for a second and add, “We were dating. It’s complicated right now.”

  “How long did you date?” The officer asks me with suspicion.

  “No offense, but I don’t think that’s any of your business. What does this have to do with anything?”

  “Detective Chapman and I want to get the full picture, Miss Phillips,” Detective Kapoor says. “Can I call you Marina?”

  “Sure,” I sigh.

  “Why don’t we start from the beginning? You were seen with an unnamed man purchasing a train ticket to New York at the Amtrak Station in Spokane on the evening of Tuesday, 12th March. Who was the man who accompanied you?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know his name. He helped me to pay for my ticket when I didn’t have enough money. I thanked him, then I never saw him again. I went to New York on my own, got off the train on my own. It’s not like he kidnapped me.”

  “Why New York? You don’t know anyone here, do you?”

  “My cousin used to live here, but I have no idea where she is. I just wanted to be as far away from my dad as possible.”

  “Are your father’s accusations that you suffer from a disabling mental condition accurate?”

  “I’ve never seen a psychiatrist in my life so I think that accusation is baseless. I’d be happy to see a therapist if that would convince you he’s lying his ass off.”

  “Why did you leave on that specific night?” Detective Chapman asks, in full interrogation mode. His eyes peer at me through his glasses, urging me to break under the pressure. “What did your father do?”

  “He beat me repeatedly with a hockey stick for messing up his dinner.”

  I’m surprised by how matter-of-fact that sentence sounds coming out of my mouth. Only a few weeks ago, recounting the event to Fitz, the mass of bruises still fresh on my skin, had reduced me to a hysterical sobbing mess. Now I’m ready to move on. The detectives and even my lawyer look shocked by my statement. Sometimes I forget how awful these things that were so normal to me really are.

  “Then why go all the way to New York instead of the police in Spokane?” Detective Chapman asks. “Why turn this into a cross-country chase?”

  “I didn’t think he would claim I’d been kidnapped,” I fire back. “Plus, he knows people in Spokane. He’d just tell them I was crazy and they’d send me back home or to some mental hospital, like you were all prepared to do before I fought back.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question as to why you didn’t go to police in your home state. Maybe not Spokane, but the sheriff, the state police...”

  “Are you always this much of an ass?” I ask.

  “Detective Kapoor,” my lawyer interjects before I can say anything stupider. “I feel this line of questioning would be more successful if it were just the three of us, wouldn’t you agree?”

  The detectives share a look and then Chapman leaves us, but not before giving me a particularly dirty look. I sneer back at him, making sure he notices.

  “Sorry about him, Marina,” Detective Kapoor says sincerely. “He’s... He can be a little tough to deal with sometimes.”

  I nod, much happier to be in her company than that of Detective Chapman.

  “I didn’t go to the police because I just wanted it all to be over,” I admit. “I didn’t want any of this fuss or to ever have to see him again. I just wanted to be free of it all.”

&nb
sp; Saying it out loud seems so ridiculous now, considering everything I’ve experienced since arriving in New York. It wasn’t just that I was scared of what my dad might do, and it wasn’t just that I felt as though I couldn’t trust anybody. The last thing I wanted to do was be the center of attention. My escape was the best way I could think of to become invisible. In hindsight, it hadn’t worked very well. Now, the spotlight would be impossible to avoid, but I had no choice. I had to do things properly and move on.

  “I understand that. It can be so intimidating, but we’re not your enemy, Marina. We just want to sort things out once and for all. Let’s start from the beginning. You talk and I’ll listen, no interruptions. I promise.”

  So I talk. I tell Detective Kapoor everything about my life with my father and everything he put me through. She listens attentively as I recount the beatings, the mental abuse, the glorified slave labor he used me for. I talk about arriving in New York, broke and homeless, and being taken in by an odd and charming performance artist with a penchant for tattoos and public nudity. I talk about having friends and a job and being Mary Fenton once my face started appearing in all the papers. To Detective Kapoor’s credit, she doesn’t interrupt me once throughout my tale. She simply sits there, a look of pure understanding on her face, and nods occasionally. My story finishes right back in the gallery, where the confrontation occurred.

  “So that’s it,” I say, bringing the tale to an end. “That’s all there is to know, Detective.”

  There is a short silence as Detective Kapoor processes what she’s just heard. She looks toward the large mirror and gives a curt nod.

  “Marina, do you want to press charges against your father?” She asks.

  “I can do that? And he’ll go to jail for what he did?”

  “Filing false reports, assault, abuse... I’d say he’s going down for a long time if the courts find him guilty.”

  “Yes,” I say, nodding fervently. “Yes, I want to file charges.”