Scandalous

by Murray, Victoria Christopher

  But then in the next frame, I had a vision of prison.

  So instead of doing what I wanted to do, I did what I needed to do: I drove away, twisting my car down to the fourth level, the third level, the second level, and then the last turn that let me out into the daylight.

  When the sun hit my eyes, my mind went blank. I had no thoughts at all. I drove mindlessly through the streets of L.A.: down Wilshire, to LaBrea, past the furniture stores and the plant shops and the video stores like I did every single day.

  My trembling hands guided the steering wheel; I just aimed my car toward home.

  ***

  “Jasmine! What the heck?”

  I stopped in the foyer of our apartment, wondering what was Kenny staring at. I mean, yeah, I was a little disheveled, but--

  --and then the thoughts came back. The thoughts and the memories.

  “Oh God,” I whispered. “Oh, God.”

  I didn't have enough in me to stand. My knees buckled, but before I could hit the floor, Kenny caught me.

  “Baby, what's wrong?” He wrapped his arms around me, held me up, and led me to the sofa.

  He held me tight as we sat, and for the first time since I'd left my office, I felt safe. But the video still played in my mind. I could see it. I could feel him.

  “You're shaking. What's wrong?” Kenny was frantic. “What's wrong?” he asked again.

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “You have to tell me, baby. What happened to you?”

  I knew I had to tell him. But my lips trembled; I didn't have enough in me to say a word.

  “Jasmine! What! Happened!”

  I opened my eyes, looked up and stared straight into his. There I saw all of his love and his concern.

  “What happened?” he whispered his question this time. “You can tell me. You have to.”

  I nodded and did what I always did to Kenny. “I…I…I saw an accident. And, I think…I think the lady, the girl…I think she…died,” I lied. “It was horrible. Awful!”

  It took a couple of moments for Kenny to register my words, but then all he did was pull me close once again. “Oh, baby, I'm sorry you had to see that.”

  I sobbed; I couldn't even tell my husband the truth. Because if I told him this truth, I'd have to tell him the truth of what happened the night before our wedding. And what happened the day after. Kenny hadn't done anything to deserve that pain.

  So I lied, and I cried. And Kenny did what he seemed born to do: he held me until I had nothing left inside. He held me until the sun dipped over the horizon. He held me until I said, “I'm feeling better now, and you can't hold me like this all night.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  That made me smile, a little. “Really, I'm better now.” I sat up, and the memory of what happened rushed me. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head.

  “Are you all right?” Kenny asked.

  I took a breath and nodded. Opened my eyes and faced him. “I'm fine. I just have to…get all of that out of my head,” I said, speaking the first words of truth since I'd come home.

  Kenny nodded. “It may take you a little while to get over that.”

  He had no idea how true his words were.

  “Listen,” he said, “are you hungry?”

  I knew this was his effort to help me to think about something else, to help me begin to forget. “Yeah,” I said, even though I couldn't imagine eating a thing.

  “Good. Then I'm gonna go pick up the food from Yee's.”

  “Oh my God. I forgot.”

  “That's okay. I'll just run over there.” He stood up, took my hand, and helped me to rise to my feet. “Are you gonna be all right?” I nodded. “I'll be back in ten minutes,” he said.

  He kissed me again, then held my hand as I walked him to the door. I locked it behind him, checked it twice, then turned around and faced the empty apartment. What was I supposed to do now? What was one supposed to do after being raped? Especially after being violated and not being able to talk about it.

  That part was as painful to me as the crime. Roman had attacked me, and I would never be able to say anything. He was going to just walk away, and I couldn't stop him.

  Because I could never go to the police.

  I'd been a stripper, a high-class prostitute, and I’d had consensual sex with Roman. The police would never believe that he'd raped me. How could someone like me be raped?

  I took a breath and stepped toward the bedroom. The only choice I had was to forget. I had to wash away all that had happened…and I would start with a shower to get Roman's stench off of my body. After that, I would work on getting what had happened to me out of my mind.

  The moment I stepped into the bedroom, the telephone rang, and I knew right away who was on the other end. This was just like Kenny--to check on me even though not even five minutes had passed since he'd left.

  “I'm fine,” I said, the moment I picked up the phone.

  “You certainly are, Jasmine. That’s just one of the reasons why I love you.”

  My mouth was open, but no words came out. I stood frozen, shaking.

  “I'll see you tomorrow, baby,” Roman said. “Bye.”

  And then he hung up.

  I dropped the phone like it was a snake and watched it bounce against the carpet. Slowly, I sank onto the bed. Had the man who'd raped me just called and spoken like we were going to hang out tomorrow? How had he gotten my number?

  Well actually, that was easy enough. He'd called 411 Thank God I was listed with just a number and not an address. But still, he knew more about me now. What did that mean? Was he going to find a way to come after me again?

  The thought made me tremble, but I shook my head. Stood up. No, I wasn't about to just sit down and take this.

  I had no idea what I was going to do, but there was one thing I knew for sure: that man was never going to touch me again. Never! No matter what I had to do.

  Chapter 14

  I felt like I was in hiding. Although I wasn't too much undercover. I was hiding in plain sight: right in my home. This was the safest place for me; even though Roman had my telephone number, I had to believe that he didn't know where I lived.

  The sound of the running shower let me know that I had at least a few more minutes to come up with another excuse for Kenny. I had to tell him something since, once again, I wasn't going into work. Yesterday, I'd told him that I wasn't feeling well. I guess today was going to be an extension of that lie.

  When the shower stopped and Kenny stepped from the bathroom into the bedroom with water drops still glistening on his chest and a towel draped around his waist, I was ready.

  “Morning, babe,” Kenny said as he leaned over the bed and then gave me a hug. He sat on the edge when he asked, “Feeling better?”

  I kinda nodded and shook my head at the same time. “I'm okay. But I think I'm going to take one more day off.”

  Kenny bobbed his head in a nod as if he completely understood. He waited a few moments before he said, “That accident really affected you, didn't it?”

  “Yeah.” I paused as if the accident that I'd lied about was on my mind. “I just need a mental health day.”

  He smiled. “Mental health. I like that.” He stood and moved across the bedroom. “Not quite a sick day, but you're still not well enough to go in.”

  As he dressed inside the closet, Kenny kept talking, but his words and his voice never made it into that space where I could hear him.

  It had been about thirty-six hours since I'd been raped. It was a hard thing to say, but I'd been raped.

  Roman had wanted to have sex with me. I'd said no, I'd fought him, and he'd taken me anyway, one hundred percent against my will. So that was the definition of rape, right? It didn't matter that I'd known him and had cheated with him. He was still the criminal and I was still the victim.

  But the thing was, there was no one who would believe me. I had no bruises, no cuts, no scrapes. And this man had been my honeymoon lover; who would e
ver believe that this was rape?

  I rolled over to Kenny's side of the bed as if lying where my husband had laid his head would change my perspective. But whether I was on my left side or my right, this was still all so wrong. I'd never be able to convince anyone and even if by some small miracle I was able to do that, I'd lose my husband when the entire truth came out.

  I sighed. Talk about sleeping in the bed you'd made. I'd made this one and all I could do was lie in it, alone.

  “Babe?”

  I had to blink a couple of times to bring Kenny back into focus.

  “I've been calling you; you looked like you were a million miles away.”

  “Sorry. I was just thinking about…the accident.”

  He frowned as he strolled toward me, now fully suited up. “Do you think you're gonna need to talk to someone about this?”

  “What? Are you talking about a psychiatrist or something?” I laughed, though it sounded more bitter than sweet.

  “That's what I'm thinking, babe. I mean, this accident did affect you in a way that nothing else has. I'm starting to get a little worried.”

  I nodded. “It was just…that the accident happened…right in front of me.” I looked away when I said, “It was like it was happening to me when I saw that girl die.”

  Kenny hugged me again because that's just what he always did. “You're safe, Jasmine. You'll always be safe when you're with me.”

  I closed my eyes to block the tears that I felt rushing forward and I held him tighter. Was it possible to feel innocent and guilty at the same time?

  He kissed my forehead, then told me that he'd be home by 5:30, as if he needed to say that. I knew exactly what time that he'd be home. My husband, Mr. Dependable. I’d mocked the trait before, but being attacked had given me new marital clarity. Dependable was the kind of husband Kenny was, and that was the kind of wife I was going to be.

  Another kiss, then he said goodbye before he sauntered into the living room. It would take Kenny about two minutes to stop in the kitchen, grab a yogurt drink, and gather the briefcase that he always packed the night before and leave by the front door. I counted the seconds in my head. Sure enough, by the time I got to sixty, the front door opened, then closed.

  The lock clicked, but still, I jumped from the bed, dashed into the living room and checked the door twice. Then I checked out the windows, making sure they were all closed and locked. Yes, we lived on the third floor, and yes, it was going to be eighty-five degrees today. But Roman was a special kind of crazy, and since I couldn't tell anyone anything about what was going on, I had to take my own precautions to stay safe.

  Not that I really thought Roman was going to appear. I hadn't heard from him at all yesterday--hadn't heard a thing since he'd made that call to me the night before last. My thoughts were that he'd done his dirt and now he'd slither on to his next victim.

  But I still had to act in my just-in-case mode.

  Once I felt safe, I strolled into the kitchen for a glass of orange juice. Yesterday, I'd spent the day in bed wrapped beneath the covers, waiting for that call from Roman to come. By the time I'd crawled out of bed just fifteen minutes before Kenny came home, I realized I had wasted my day. So after yesterday, I wasn't going to give Roman my today. He'd gotten away with a crime, but he wasn't going to get another moment of my life.

  I grabbed the new Essence from the stand in living room where our mail piled up and returned to the bedroom. I'd told Kenny that I was taking a mental health day, and I meant it. On my agenda: relax, relate, release. Just chill and meditate. And after I'd done that, I was going to expunge every memory of Roman from my mind.

  Inside the bedroom, I climbed back into my bed and then picked up the telephone. There was one thing I had to do before my mental health day began.

  I dialed the number, and when my assistant, Laverne picked up, I put on my best stuffed nostrils/sore throat/congested chest voice.

  “Laverne,” I said, barely recognizing myself. “I'm still not feeling well.”

  “Gosh, you sound terrible. Even worse than yesterday.”

  “I'll be in tomorrow, though.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” And then I coughed for good measure. I said, “Definitely. Is there anything going on that I need to know about before I head back in there?”

  “No, just about everything has been quiet on the home front, except….”

  She paused. “You've been getting these calls.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck were already at attention.

  She said, “You had five calls, all really weird, but I wrote down every message.”

  Calls? What… calls?” My too-sick-to-come-to-work voice was gone.

  “Well, the first one came in yesterday at about eight-thirty right after you called in and all he said was, 'Tell her Roman called.'“

  I noticed the way she put a special emphasis on he.

  “Then,” Laverne continued, “he called back every two hours--exactly every two hours. Like calling you was his job or something.”

  I wanted to stop the conversation right then. I could hear the curiosity in Laverne's tone, and I needed to nip this now. But I didn't stop her, and she kept going:

  “Every time he called, he said something crazier. Like, 'Tell her the Roman Empire has risen.'“

  What?

  “Then next,” my assistant kept on, “he said, 'Tell her the empire will never die.' And when he called again, he said, 'Tell her the empire strikes back.' I almost called security.”

  “No,” I said, talking even though I was holding my breath. “Don't call security. Don't call anyone. He's just…a friend…making jokes.”

  “Jokes? None of it was funny. He sounded pretty scary if you ask me.”

  “He's okay; really, he is,” I tried to assure Laverne through my trembles. “Has…has he called today?”

  “No, but if he does, what do you want me to tell him? Should I tell him that you're home?”

  “No!” I shouted. I really wanted to tell Laverne to tell Roman that I'd moved out of the country and was never coming back. But instead I said, “Just…tell him that I'm taking a few days away. With my husband. And that I won't be back for a while.”

  “Oh…kay,” Laverne said slowly after a moment of silence. “Jasmine, are you sure that everything is okay with this guy?”

  “Yes.” I didn't even bother to return to my sickly voice. The way my blood pressure had shot up was enough; now I sounded sick because I really was. “Roman is just a friend. We like to joke with one another, and we like to….” I stopped. I'd given her enough of an explanation. “Just tell him what I told you to say.”

  I could hardly breathe by the time I hung up. It had been naive of me to think that Roman had really gone away. I guess in my heart, I never truly believed that. That's why I'd stayed home. That's why I was locked up in this apartment like it was Fort Knox.

  Pushing myself up, I paced back and forth, going from one side of the bed to the other, trying to figure this all out. There had to be a way to stop Roman; there had to be something that I could do. But what? Go to the police? No! Tell Kenny? Triple no! Still, I couldn't let him torture me like this. How long would it go on?

  I thought and I wondered. I paced and I pondered. Then, I got up the nerve to do what I had to do. In the back of my closet I found the box with all of my souvenirs - jewelry and other trinkets. Gifts from my…dates…over the years. And underneath it all was the shirt that Roman had given me.

  Why I had kept it, I don't know. I hate to think that maybe somewhere, subconsciously, I wanted to hook up with Roman again. Or maybe it was that subconsciously I knew I would need his number someday. Well, I was glad to have this shirt right about now, even though I trembled as I thought about what I had to do.

  It took me a moment when I went into the bedroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, stared at the white T-shirt, then snatched the telephone, and dialed the number before I could change my mind. On the other end,
the phone barely rang once before he answered.

  “I've been waiting for your call, Jasmine,” he said without saying hello.

  How in the heck did he know it was me? This guy was getting scarier by the minute. “Roman,” I said his name calmly, even though the memory of what he'd done made anger boil inside of me. “This is it. No more calls, no more visits, nothing.”

  “I don't think so, Jasmine. I would've thought by now that you’d know we would always be together.”

  My anger burst into rage. “Do you remember what you did to me?”

  “What?” His tone was so full of innocence that for a moment, I wondered if what happened, really happened.

  “You know what,” I said. My jaw was so tight, it was hard to get my words out. But I was clear; he heard me. And to make it clearer, I added, “You. Raped. Me.”

  He raped me again when he laughed. “Is that what you call it? Call it what you want, sweetheart. Having sex, making love, rape, it's all the same to me. Whatever you want to call it is fine with me.”

  I needed to end this phone call before he heard my tears or sensed my fears. So I took a deep breath and said, “You don't want to mess with me,” in a tone that held all kinds of threats.

  “No, Jasmine,” he said in that voice that he'd always used when we were having sex. “You're the one who doesn't want to mess with me.” A pause. “Look, let's just get together tonight and talk about this. Obviously, you're upset about something….”

  I had to pull the phone away from my ear to stare at it for a moment. Really? Did he think that I was upset? Really? Did he think that we were going to get together? “That's not going to happen,” I said, pressing the phone back to my ear.

  “Let's just meet tonight,” he kept on as if I hadn't spoken, “and we'll work it out.” “This is the very last time that I'm going to say no, and it's the last time that we're ever going to speak.”