by Jenna Rae
“Del, I don’t know who you’re talking about. Are you okay?”
Del shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t know, maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe I just don’t know anything.” She swallowed. “I’m thirsty. Donaldson wouldn’t take the dealer outside like I wanted. Like procedure dictated. Left me in an impossible position, you know? We should have taken him outside, the girlfriend, too, but Donaldson liked to hit suspects. Did I tell you that? That’s why we had to stay in the shitbox house and couldn’t get control of the situation. Donaldson was a shitty cop. Hated me. Hated women in general. Hated gays even more. His two favorite words were bitches and fags. Waited half an hour to call for a bus. Beat the shit outta the dealer while I bled in the piles of garbage on the floor. Probably five, six feet away from the baby. Baby mighta made it if Donaldson had bothered to try to save it. Laughlin was just a kid. Maybe sixteen, seventeen. Just had a baby—funny, I can’t remember now, if it was a girl or a boy. Not that it matters, but still. Laughlin, she killed herself two years later. Pregnant again. Took a whole shitload of pills. That baby was a boy. Lived four months in an incubator, suffered like crazy until his body gave out. His name was Ronald. Ronald Aaron Laughlin. First baby, I don’t know. Used to, can’t remember. Aw, fuck it.”
“How can I help you? I think you’re going into shock.”
“It’s getting dark,” Del thought she must have spoken aloud, but she couldn’t be sure. It was hard to remember if she was on the floor in the middle of the drug dealer’s rented house on West 91st in LA or in the hallway outside Janet’s million-dollar loft in San Francisco.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God!” Janet’s voice was far away.
Del could see Janet clearly for a moment, and she almost smiled. Janet’s face was red and splotchy.
“Is this what you look like when you actually feel something?”
“Del? I—”
“I love Lola. I love her.”
“Maybe you do. But you love me, too, and I love you. I always have and I always will.”
Del tried to say something, but it came out as a groan.
“I’m right here for you. Whatever you need.” She was reaching for Del, but everything was getting wavy again and dark, and Janet’s arm looked like a long noodle stretching out in front of her.
“Like one of your crazy-ass pictures.”
“Baby? Del, what are you talking about? Del? Del?”
Del closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall. That was a bad idea. Nausea pushed her thoughts away, and she could only swallow hard and try not to vomit. Her arm burned more now, and the burning seemed to spread all through her. A thought kept flickering at the edge of her mind and escaping. What was it? She followed it into blackness and knew no more.
Chapter Twelve
Lola’s heart hammered while she waited for an answer from the nurse at the front desk. She clutched her keys so tightly they hurt her fingers, but she couldn’t loosen her grip. Those keys were keeping her grounded so she could stand here and wait to find out where Del was. Finally the nurse flicked her gaze in Lola’s direction.
“Okay, now, let’s see—Mason?”
“Yes, she’s a cop. Inspector Adele Mason. SFPD.”
“Right. Hold on a minute.”
The nurse seemed almost as casual as she was distracted. She was answering the phone, tapping on her keyboard, nodding as she blithely responded to at least three people who were talking to and yelling at her from Lola’s side of the counter.
Come on, come on, Lola’s mind screamed, and she fought to keep a pleasant, patient expression on her face. At about the moment she’d decided to jump over the high counter, Del’s partner Tom Phan appeared to Lola’s right. She clutched his arm.
“How is she?”
“Fine. Passed out, up now. Lost some blood, but she’s okay. They’re gonna give her some antibiotics, some pain pills, stuff like that. It’s a flesh wound, left arm, missed the bone, missed the artery, she’s too damn stubborn to get really hurt. Couple of cuts from a broken window, nothing major. She’s okay, I promise.”
“Thanks, Tom, I really appreciate it. Can I see her now?” She tried to move him faster by speeding up herself, but Tom wouldn’t be hurried.
“Can I get you anything? Coffee?”
Lola shook her head. “No, thank you. Were you there? Did you get the person who shot her?”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t there. She, uh, she’ll tell you about it.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but where is she? Why are we going so slowly? What aren’t you telling me?”
“We’ll be there in a sec. Listen, take a minute to catch your breath.” He looked over her shoulder at someone and gave a hard look.
Curious, Lola turned around to see Janet.
“You?” She had never been so blindly angry in her life. “She was with you?” Janet looked up at her, her face blank, but Lola could swear her eyes were twinkling. She was wearing a white minidress—with no underwear—and was covered in blood, Del’s blood.
Lola forced herself to stop. Several cops, in and out of uniform, were watching her closely. She wouldn’t embarrass Del by falling apart. She forced herself to sail past Janet as though unaware of her. She hadn’t fooled anyone, of course, but at least she hadn’t made a scene.
Then Tom opened a door and there was Del, perched on a gurney. Lola’s anger vanished, Janet vanished, everything was gone but Del. Lola rushed forward with a cry and gently hugged her, examining her with careful attention. Her left arm was swathed in bandages, and she was covered in blood. Her eyes were sunken in her pale face. Blood was smeared where she’d rubbed her mouth, pushed her hair back from her forehead.
Lola pasted on a smile, and Del offered a weak shadow of a grin in return.
She reached out her hand, wanting to warm Del’s colorless cheek. “Are you all right? Are you in a lot of pain? Do you need anything?”
Janet sidled into the room, and Lola turned slowly to face her, ducking eye contact with Del.
“I know,” Janet sulked, her voice low, “nobody wants me here. But, baby, I wanted to see for myself if you were okay. I never meant for you to get hurt. I love you! I always have and I always will.”
Del didn’t respond, and Janet smiled sadly.
“I’ll be here when you’re ready to come back to me, no matter how long it takes. I love you so much. I’m so sorry! I should never have put you in danger, my darling. I’d give anything to keep you safe.”
She slipped back out of the room like a wraith, and Del mumbled something.
“What was that?” Lola frowned. “What did you say?”
“I’m sorry she came here. I told her not to.”
Lola felt an ache drop like an anchor deep inside her chest. She should respond to Del’s words, she knew, but what could she say? What did it mean that Janet and Del had been together? Had they been together at other times? Would Lola know they had been together if Del hadn’t been shot? Who shot Del? Why? Did it have something to do with Janet? Were they lovers? Lola recalled the night she decided to seduce Del. That strange, terrible night happened after Janet’s return. Had Del turned to Janet for the kind of sex she wanted because Lola was a terrible lover? Lola hoped Del would say something that would somehow make it all better, but she didn’t.
They stayed quiet until a doctor came in to examine Del. Then another doctor, then a third. It took almost two hours before they made the decision to keep her overnight and another hour before Del and Lola were alone in a private room.
Lola waited until Del was settled in and they were alone to ask, “What happened?”
Del picked at the sheet. “I went to Janet’s.”
Lola couldn’t respond. She couldn’t compete with Janet. She was not young or beautiful or exciting or bold. She was boring. She was too quiet and too shy and too insecure and too frumpy. Fat too. Old. Unbeautiful. Unglamorous. A nothing and a nobody, compared to a beauty like Janet. Who wouldn’t pick Janet? Janet, who wa
s unbroken. Janet, who wasn’t a weak, stupid, worthless, pathetic, broken coward. The ache in Lola’s chest sharpened and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying.
Finally she could speak and asked, “Why?”
“Figured she was probably lying, but I needed to be sure. A lot of women have gone missing, dozens more than usual—yes, I know how fucked up it is that there’s a usual number of missing women every year. Anyway there’s been an uptick. I needed to know if her bullshit story was really bullshit or if maybe it was real. She’s done stories before, I found them after—she’s done some on trends in crime, stuff like that, it’s right up her alley. I figured it was possible she might actually be in trouble if she knew something about the missing women. I figured, if there’s any chance, I had to check and she wouldn’t talk to Phan.”
Lola waited.
“She lives in this big loft. Big windows. No drapes. Giant pictures everywhere, all her. All weird. She was stonewalling me. Playing games. Then I got hit, through the window, I guess.”
“Do you know who shot you?”
Del shook her head.
“Were they trying to shoot you or her?”
“I don’t know. Yet.”
“Did it have anything to do with the missing women?”
“I really have no idea.”
There was a long pause while Lola tried to decide what questions to ask. Maybe she should wait and talk to Tom, rather than keep haranguing Del.
“I’m sorry.”
“For getting shot, or for going to see Janet, or for going to see Janet and not telling me about it?”
“Yes.” Del made a face, obviously trying to lighten the moment.
Lola’s composure collapsed. A sob burst out of her, and she pressed her lips together to stifle it.
“Sweetheart?”
“You’re not funny, Del. You could have been killed. And for what?”
Del shook her head.
“Do you still love her?”
“Honey, no, I don’t. I love you.” Del’s voice was strangled.
“But you still feel something for her, right? Don’t answer right away. Think before you say anything. Just, please, don’t lie to me. I can handle anything, as long as you’re honest with me.” Lola held her breath.
“I don’t love her. I—it’s hard to explain. I was so hurt, and I never got a chance to just tell her to fuck off. I never asked her why she did it, or if she ever really loved me, or whatever. I thought I didn’t care, but she showed up, and I was pissed.”
Lola watched her, trying to gauge what her words really meant. “And?”
“I guess I still feel connected to her in a way. I think it’s because she was the first person I actually fell in love with. I don’t know. But I don’t love her anymore. I love you, not her. She’s just someone from the past, someone I hate.”
“You may hate her, but you’re still attracted to her.”
“I swear I’m not.”
“I saw the way you looked at her. My God, she’s perfect! And she’s sexy, she can walk in a room and make everyone want her, including you. Especially you.”
Del shook her head, and Lola fought to control her hectic breathing.
“She’s a better lover than me, right? She loves sex, she never gets scared.”
Looking at Del’s guilt-stricken face, Lola knew she was right. She shook her head, hugged her middle. “She can have anyone she wants, and she wants you.”
“It doesn’t matter what she wants. I’m with you.” Del’s voice was strained.
“Why would you want me when you can have her?” Lola was breathless. The ache in her chest was expanding, and she tried to fight it. If she could only breathe!
“You’re the one I love. You’re the one I want. I don’t want her.”
Del’s face was pale and drawn, and Lola relented, worried that the stress of arguing would delay her recovery. Now was not the time to get into this. If Del did still love Janet, it wasn’t something she’d chosen but something that had happened to her. Berating her for it wasn’t going to do any good, and it wasn’t fair.
“Stay away from her, Del. Please? She wants you back, and you still want her. Of course you do. But I love you, and I want you to stay away from her.”
Her voice was low, and she hated how pathetic she sounded. The ache in her chest filled her. She could almost imagine it circling around her lungs like a cat and settling in for a nice, long nap. She eased in small sips of air, afraid to disturb the pain and make it worse.
“I don’t want her. I want you. I’m not going anywhere near her, I swear.” Del’s face was gray. Her voice was barely audible. “Okay?”
“Just get better. I can’t think about anything else until you’re better.”
“I promise, I promise I’ll make this up to you.”
“Yes.” Lola looked out the window at millions of lights from cars and houses and stores. She couldn’t see any stars at all. “Okay.”
“I have something to tell you.”
“Whatever it is, just tell me.” Lola braced herself.
“I want my Giants sweatshirt.”
“Huh?” Lola frowned.
Del made a face. “Would it be a real pain to get it now? It’s pretty cold in here, and I’d be more comfortable wearing my own clothes. Plus, I’d really like some chocolate chip cookies.”
Lola stared at her. “Are you serious?”
“If it’s too much trouble—”
Lola went home, got the sweatshirt, and drove around until she found a twenty-four-hour grocery store for the cookies. She wandered the aisles listlessly, in no hurry to get back to the hospital and unsure of the reason. She’s okay, Lola told herself. Shouldn’t I feel more grateful for that?
She watched a handsome young man smile at a beautiful young woman, who blushed and returned the smile.
It’s not Del’s fault she finds Janet attractive. Who wouldn’t? She’s ten times prettier than that girl, and that girl is ten times prettier than I am. Or ever was, even before I was a broken-down, worn-out old cow.
She waited for Orrin’s voice to chime in. Instead, she was awash in classical music floating down from the store’s speakers and surrounded by the sounds of shopping carts and low voices and someone talking to Jesus a few rows over. Lola stood for a moment, lost and alone in a supermarket somewhere in the city, fighting an urge to simply walk away.
I could just leave the car I hardly ever drive. Leave the house I don’t even live in. Leave Del and start all over in a new place by myself. She’d done it once, though of course she’d left no one and nothing behind, before. Would she really leave Del to recover on her own? No, of course not. Not really.
“I’m stuck,” Lola whispered to herself. And she felt like her feet were cemented to the floor. She tried to take a step and could not. Okay, she thought. I’ll stay here. That’s okay. It’s as good a place as any, right?
She didn’t even realize she was crying until a trio of heavily tattooed teens with outrageously colored hair came up and asked her if she was okay.
“What? Oh, yes, thank you.”
The tallest kid, a girl, maybe, shrugged. “You need help?”
“No, thank you. I’m just wasting time. You ever want to not go where you’re supposed to go?”
At this, the trio broke into stuttering laughter.
“We’re in high school,” croaked the one with the most piercings. “We get it.”
They looked like comic book characters and were dressed more appropriately for an apocalyptic battle than a trip to the grocery store. That seemed right, somehow. They were heroic, weren’t they? What more heroic act could there be than continuing to try after the world has exploded? These kids had been born into a reality that was already dying, but they kept getting up out of bed every day and taking the time to put in their various piercings and make their hair stand upright and arrange to meet each other. They were clearly heroic, simply for bothering to try—absurdist survivors on parade
!
And to check on a crying stranger in a grocery store in the middle of the night? They were teenagers. They were supposed to be sullen and selfish and surly. But they were heartrendingly, disarmingly sweet. Lola was absurdly grateful for their simple kindness. It let her move her feet and come back to life.
She nodded and thanked the teens for their concern, then made her robotic way to the register and car and finally back to the hospital. She dropped off an extra bag of cookies for the nurses on her way back to the room, where she found Del fast asleep.
Lola put Del’s cookies in the cupboard provided to patients for personal items and the sweatshirt on the chair. She rubbed her face and stretched out on the chair and drifted off. When in a chaotic dream Janet came flying out of the darkness at her, Lola snapped awake and went to get a cup of coffee.
She spent a long time reviewing all of the choices she’d made in the two years since Orrin’s death. On paper, she’d done pretty well, striking out on her own and finding success personally, financially and professionally. She’d come out as a lesbian, become a published author and a homeowner, joined a book club, fallen in love for the first time in her life, survived Christopher James and even managed to make a friend in Marco.
“Not too bad, really,” she murmured to herself.
But there were things she’d do differently if she could, weren’t there? She looked over at Del, restless in the grip of some vivid and, if her frown was an indication, distressing dream. What if making those choices differently meant she and Del were apart instead of together? Suddenly restless, Lola abruptly jerked up out of the reclining chair and started stalking the hallways that wound around the floor. There was a middle-aged woman roaming the halls at a slower pace than Lola, and they passed each other four or five times before Lola got more than an absent nod from the woman. The IV pole the woman was leaning on started to tip as the woman rounded a corner, and Lola was luckily close enough to snag it and keep it upright.