Turning on the Tide

by Jenna Rae

  “Baby?” Janet’s voice was low, seductive. She spoke softly, as she always did when she wanted someone to lean in to her. When Del didn’t respond, Janet dipped slightly forward. Her expensively full breasts strained against the light fabric of her dress, and Del stared across the room at her. Janet stared back.

  “Just tell me what’s going on, Janet.” Her voice was shaky. Janet’s flimsy excuse for a dress was practically see-through and damned distracting.

  Janet shrugged, sat up straight. She was the obedient schoolgirl now, ready to turn naughty the minute she thought it would get the reaction she wanted.

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “I’m doing a story about predatory sexual behavior, specifically photography. You know, upskirting, taking pictures in locker rooms, hidden cameras in bathrooms, stuff like that. The victims often don’t even know they’re victims, and the ones who do figure it out don’t get much justice. Nobody seems to think it’s much of a crime if somebody gets stalked or spied on or any of it. The cops don’t care, or they can’t do anything, and you know women underreport crimes in general, especially sexual ones.”

  She seemed to be waiting for some kind of response, so Del nodded agreement. It was truer than she cared to acknowledge, and she recalled the overwhelming despair she’d faced daily, and especially nightly, when she’d done her stint in sex crimes.

  “Even aside from the generalized misogyny of your profession, my darling Del, people generally still think women with overt sexuality deserve sexual violence. Not to mention, our system rewards criminals instead of defending the innocent. Well, I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”

  She projected earnest innocence with every syllable. Del hated to admit it, but she almost believed her. And the reality was that Janet was right. How many women had faith in the system? And how wise were those who did believe that society cared about protecting them?

  “Sit with me.” Janet stroked the couch next to her. “Please, baby? I just want to talk to you. I’m sorry I said mean things about that girl. I didn’t realize you’d saved her life. I can see why you feel responsible for the poor thing. She seems nice, very nice. I didn’t mean to make you mad. Please, forgive me? I want us to reach some kind of—”

  Del shook her head, planted her feet more firmly. “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Del was in agony. It would be so easy to take Janet in her arms. She would want Del with the same kind of hunger Del felt. She would be wild and willing and daring. Del drew in a shaky breath and let it out slowly.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “You still want me, baby. I can tell. You didn’t have to come here. You could have called me. You wanted an excuse to see me. And that’s okay. I understand that. There’s always been a connection between us, and there always will be. I think we could make it work this time.”

  “Janet, stop.”

  “Baby, I messed up, and I regret it more than I can say. I hurt you, and I’d give anything to take that back. But can’t we move past it? Can’t we start over and just love each other again?”

  For a moment, it seemed possible. After all, Del’s career had recovered, mostly. Janet wouldn’t do the same story twice. Del could come home every night to this beautiful wildcat, who’d rub against her and purr and scratch and demand sex every single day and pout when Del was late. She’d never be afraid of Del, never flinch away from her touch. She’d never have to be babied or soothed or reassured that she was safe. She’d never wake screaming and crying in the middle of the night. She’d be affectionate and confident and exciting and fun.

  Life was an adventure with her, and it would never be like that with Lola. Janet had made Del feel alive in a way she never had before and still missed. Maybe Janet was right and they could just start over. Maybe they could put the past away and start fresh. Maybe it could work.

  Janet seemed to see Del’s hesitation. She came and stood in front of Del, only an inch or two away. One delicate strap was slipping down off her shoulder, exposing nearly all of a perfect, surgically enhanced breast. She licked her lips and smiled the sure smile of a woman who’s won. The dress slipped a smidge more, and Del reached down to hitch it back up, annoyed by Janet’s smug self-assurance.

  The feel of her skin, where the back of Del’s hand grazed it, changed things. That little brush of skin started a flood of memories, and Del groaned aloud, wishing she could stop the tide. The first time they kissed. The first time they made love. The first time Janet said she loved Del and cried when she said it.

  “I don’t love you,” Del barked. “And you don’t love me.”

  But it didn’t matter, right at that moment. Del’s brain was screaming at her to stop, but her body wasn’t listening. She was kissing Janet, and she didn’t want to do that, did she? Or to run her hands down Janet’s sides or wrap her arms around Janet and pull her close, right?

  Janet’s body pressed against Del’s and ignited the old hunger, and Del made a sound that was half growling, half laughter. She grabbed Janet’s legs and hitched her up. Janet straddled her, laughed against her mouth, squealed with pleasure.

  It felt like coming home, bearing Janet’s surprisingly substantial weight, feeling her breath against Del’s mouth, hearing her little giggles. Her hair tickled Del’s arms, her breasts pressed against Del’s. Her strong legs gripped Del’s hips, and Del was breathless. She nipped little kisses at Janet’s open, searching mouth and felt Janet’s desire and pleasure. Del groaned. She walked them over to the couch, and Janet laughed again when Del yanked at the little dress she wore.

  “Tear it,” Janet whispered, and it was just like the first time.

  Del refused to think. She yanked at the hem and felt it shred like paper. She shook her head.

  “I hate you,” she said. “I fucking hate you.”

  Before Janet could reply, Del was kissing her again. Janet leaned back, forcing Del to lower them both onto the couch.

  “Show me how much you hate me.”

  Del dove into her, kissing her neck, her breasts, the hollow between her collarbones, her tiny hands and her tiny fingernails, painted scarlet to keep her from gnawing on them and bare at the tips where she’d been at work chewing the paint off. Janet squirmed and wiggled and made the little sounds that Del had always liked, moans and giggles and murmurs of pleasure and excitement.

  “Love me,” Janet whispered, her glittering eyes boring into Del’s.

  Del hesitated. This was wrong. It was a lie. But Janet lunged up at her, grabbed and kissed her, and Del groaned. She bit Janet’s shoulder, and Janet gasped and squealed. Del kissed her, almost whimpering at the pleasure of Janet’s hungry kiss, the way she wanted to devour Del’s mouth with her own. She stroked Janet’s hip as though absently, and Janet responded as she always had to Del’s teasing caresses. She twisted around until Del’s hand fell, as if of its own volition, between Janet’s legs.

  “Come on, baby, please?” Janet was panting into her neck, pressing her heat against Del’s unmoving hand, begging for her touch. Del kept her waiting for a few seconds, laughing at Janet’s groan of impatience. But she was as frustrated as Janet and gave in. She stroked and petted Janet, who whimpered and screamed and begged for more. It was like the old days, when Del felt like the whole world was reduced to her body and Janet’s tangled up together in blissful, easy pleasure. Janet’s throaty sex laugh, low and intimate, filled Del’s ears and made her shaky with lust. Janet pushed against Del’s hand and seemed to pull Del closer and closer with a power belied by her tiny frame.

  Del was dizzy, breathless. Her body was responding, but something was wrong. Some part of her was withdrawing. Lola’s face appeared in Del’s mind—her warm eyes, her shy smile, her guileless gaze steady on Del’s, because she would never lie, would never use anyone, would never play games to get her way. Del closed her eyes. She remembered pushing Lola, bossing her, telling her she was nothing but broken pieces.

  “Oh, no.” Del clos
ed her eyes. “That’s what I was doing. Trying to make her act like you.”

  She pushed away, retreating again to the wall of windows. “Sorry. I can’t.”

  “Sure you can, baby,” Janet whispered. She followed Del, smiling coyly.

  “This isn’t a game.”

  Janet smiled. “I like games, and so do you. You want me.” She sashayed toward where Del stood and ran her hands down her body, over her torn excuse for a dress.

  “No,” Del mouthed. “I don’t.”

  “I know you do. And I want you. We belong together, don’t you see that? You want to tell me what to do?” Her eyes brightened. “That sounds like fun, baby. Tell me what to do, come on, let’s play. Then you can punish me for being a bad girl.”

  Del shook her head, unable to speak.

  “I’m yours, baby. Just come on and take what’s yours.”

  Del turned around, swallowing hard. “That’s not what’s happening here. I don’t want you anymore. I love Lola. I’m only here because you said you were in danger.”

  Janet held out her hand. “If that’s true, then why did you kiss me? Why did you touch me? Why did you make me want you all over again?”

  “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. It was completely over the line and inappropriate.”

  Janet’s face ran with huge, mascara-stained tears, and Del felt like a monster. Why do I always feel like a monster? Maybe I am a monster, after all.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated. She tried to turn away, but Janet grabbed her arm.

  “Baby, why can’t you even look at me? It’s because you still want me. You still feel something for me. And you feel guilty about that, right? You think you owe something to that poor woman. You think you have to be loyal to her. But it’s not fair to stay with her when you still love me.” Her voice was honeyed, soft.

  “Stop this.” Del shook her head but couldn’t pull her gaze away from Janet’s wide, lovely, and, it seemed, totally earnest eyes.

  “She can’t give you what I can, baby. She’s all sugar and no spice, and that’s not enough for you. End it, my darling Del. Let her go. She’ll find some nice, boring accountant and be happier without you, because she’ll never be enough, not for you.” Janet ran her hand down to Del’s and squeezed it, pressed against Del, licked her lips. “Tell me you can live with that fat, pathetic doormat and be happy, and I’ll walk away. But you can’t, can you?” Her tears were gone. They had been an act, like everything she did.

  “You don’t know anything about me and Lola.”

  “I know you’ve been lying to yourself. I know you’re not happy. She’s not enough for you. If she was, you wouldn’t be here, hungry for love and affection. She doesn’t give you what you need. She can’t, and it’s better to be honest about that and stop stringing her along. Face the truth now, before she gets hurt even worse.”

  Del narrowed her eyes and snorted. “You’re lecturing me about the truth?”

  Janet peered up at her with wide, wide eyes and twirled a lock of hair around a finger. Now she was a what? Penitent, heart-of-gold, naughty schoolgirl slut?

  “Being dishonest cost me the most important thing in my life, baby, you. See how mad you are? If you didn’t still love me, you wouldn’t still be so mad.”

  “So you made up a story to get my attention, right? It’s okay.” Del softened her voice and her expression. “I understand. We do crazy things for love sometimes. I won’t be mad, I just want to know.”

  Janet shook her head, and her dark hair fell into her face. “I didn’t, baby. I promise! I want you back, sure. But that’s separate. Someone’s trying to kill me! You—”

  Suddenly, the window behind Del exploded with a giant crash. Janet screamed, and Del pulled her down. She kept herself between Janet and the window, and they duck-waddled over a sea of broken glass. What happened? She tried to clear her head. Rock? Earthquake? Bomb? Gunshot? They headed for the front door and into the hallway. Del shut the door behind her and sat against the wall. She was getting lightheaded, and her arm was numb and wet all the way down to her fingers.

  She looked Janet over. She had some minor cuts and was pale and wide-eyed, but she didn’t seem to be seriously injured.

  “Janet, look at me. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, baby, I’m fine—but you! Oh, my God! You’re bleeding so much! Oh, God! Help, somebody help us!”

  Janet was hysterical, and Del ignored her. She had Janet snag the cell phone from Del’s pocket and hand it to her. First she called dispatch, then Phan. He was brisk, businesslike, efficient. Thank God.

  She forced herself to make the next call. This was the hard one, and she shushed Janet before dialing. Del took a deep breath. There was no pain yet, not in her body.

  “Hello?” Lola’s voice made Del want to cry, though she couldn’t have said why. Janet crawled back toward the door, and Del didn’t stop her. Get yourself shot, she wanted to say. Go ahead. She had a moment of clarity, wondering if Janet was trying to distract her. Or did she already know that it was safe? She tried to pursue that thought, but Lola said hello again.

  “Sweetheart, listen, I’m fine, so I don’t want you to worry.” She heard Lola’s breathing turn loud and fast, and she debated how to continue. “I’m totally fine. I got hurt a little, but it’s just a flesh wound, no big deal. There’s hardly any blood,” she offered. “Anyway, I’m going to the hospital in a minute.”

  “What hospital?”

  “General, I think.”

  “On Potrero?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you get shot, were you shot? With a gun?”

  “Sort of. It’s not serious. Don’t get upset and then try to drive, okay? I’m fine.”

  “You promise?” Lola’s voice was shaky. “You promise you’re okay? It’s just a—” A strangled sob turned into a rising, hysterical laugh. “A little gunshot wound?”

  “Seriously, it probably won’t even leave a scar. I promise.” She lowered her voice. “I’m sorry. I promise, it’s okay.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes. I love you.” And she hung up.

  “I love you too.” Del whispered into the empty phone, wincing as her arm began to hurt. Janet came back, wearing another little white dress and holding a large towel. She wrapped it around Del’s arm.

  “I’m so sorry, Del. I shouldn’t have come to you. I can’t believe they shot you. I never wanted you to get hurt! I’m sorry, my darling. What if they’d killed you? I wouldn’t be able to live without you, baby. Never, never.”

  Del gritted her teeth as the fabric squeezed her arm, but she ignored Janet. How was she going to tell Lola where she was when she got shot? Guilt flooded through her. She’d done a lot more than knock on Janet’s door, hadn’t she?

  She pictured trying to explain how she loved Lola, but then her ex-girlfriend was standing there practically naked, and it was just a little too tempting. How sex with Lola wasn’t quite enough to satisfy her. How Janet was so amazing that Del couldn’t resist her. Explaining any version of the truth, no matter how sanitized, was more than Del could face.

  Janet was saying something, but Del couldn’t focus on the words. Her arm started to hurt in the burning way that she remembered from the time she’d been sliced by that drug dealer’s girlfriend, what, ten years back? She could almost see that moment when the teenaged girlfriend, a tiny, blank-eyed junkie, practically tripped over her own newborn.

  The baby was what distracted Del, she remembered. The junkie girlfriend was shuffling through an inches-thick layer of garbage on the floor. She bumped something, a bundle of rags, it looked like, with her foot. The bundle twitched and started crying, and Del was startled to realize it was a baby. She edged forward. The baby couldn’t have been more than a day or two old. The cord had been tied off with a rubber tourniquet, which, like the baby, was covered with feces and urine and vomit and snot. The smell was suffocating, close up. Del eyeballed bruises on the baby’s arms, torso, face. Blank, black eyes dar
ted wildly out of the baby’s—his, her, whichever—battered, gaunt, filthy face. Had every second of that newborn’s life been a nightmare of hunger and cold and pain and aloneness and fear? It certainly looked like it, and Del goggled at the child, frozen in mute, agonized horror.

  Del had encountered a lot of disturbing things in her years on the force, but the sight of that baby shocked her, more than it should have. Terri Laughlin, that was the name of the junkie girlfriend, Del remembered now. She was vaguely aware that she was no longer on patrol and in the junkie’s house and staring at a terrorized infant. But at that moment, Del felt more like she was that patrol officer, unable to do anything but gawk. She watched as Terri Laughlin lunged at Del with a knife, got her in the thigh. It took a few minutes for it to hurt, just like this. Del lost a lot of blood back then, more than now, and she passed out. She only remembered the baby, later, in the hospital, and it took a team of four over an hour to find the baby in the piles of junk food wrappers and dirty clothes and unopened mail that littered the floor.

  “It was dead,” she said to Janet, who looked at her in confusion and alarm.

  “What, baby?”

  Del nodded, but that made her dizzy, so she stopped. “Poor kid never had a chance.”

  “I don’t understand.” Janet was getting wavy.

  “Donaldson, that was my partner back then, he said the kid would’ve been doomed, anyway.” Del tried to laugh but couldn’t summon the energy. It turned into a sob. “Maybe he was right. A lotta kids, it’s like their whole life is a tidal wave that just pushes them along. They don’t ever really have a choice. We think they do, but they don’t. Everything they know tells them to go a certain way. I dunno, maybe. But shouldn’t the kid have had a chance? Shouldn’t everyone get a chance to make the right choices, at least once?”