by Jenna Rae
Chapter Seventeen
“What she really has, the thing that sets her apart, is her finesse.” Lola had overhead a stranger say this in a grocery store. She means it, Lola thought at the time. She truly admires whoever it is.
Olivia, that character who’d suddenly appeared—she had finesse, didn’t she? Lola could picture Olivia, smiling, confidently steering a classic convertible on a winding highway in the Italian countryside in late spring. Olivia was wearing a beautiful, colorful scarf over her long, smooth, honey-colored hair. And a hat, a wide-brimmed hat with a low profile. Where was she going? Was she meeting a friend for a picnic? A lover for a tryst? A contact for the handoff of some important secret technology? She certainly wasn’t going to the pharmacy for multivitamins or deodorant. She wasn’t wearing sweatpants or eating crackers out of the paper sleeve or slurping tepid coffee out of a chipped mug. Lola sighed.
Olivia wasn’t a schlumpy, awkward slob who could barely make eye contact with people and went around looking like a panhandler. Olivia wore beautiful designer clothes with casual aplomb and sported discreetly expensive shoes. She was well read and cultured and sophisticated. She treated everyone with respect, and people were both thawed and a little awed by her simple elegance. She had a wonderful smile, one that made everyone’s heart lift, and her mellifluous laugh drew amused, admiring chuckles from all who heard its gentle sound. She enchanted Lola.
She was an orphan but not a foster home kind of orphan like Lola. Olivia had some romantic beginning plus great resourcefulness and imagination, and somehow she ended up traveling and learning and becoming increasingly chic and wise. How, exactly, Lola would figure out later.
She’d have an adventure—Lola wasn’t sure what that would be—and it would change her life forever. Worlds would open up to her and she would learn to be the elegant lady Lola imagined. She would save someone, employing great cleverness and creativity, and this would be life changing. She would fall in love with a woman who was married to a man and the woman would break her heart. She would retreat from her wonderful life, unable to bear the pain of seeing her beloved with the loutish husband. Olivia would take random lovers in her travels, unwilling to bare her heart again. But she would meet someone, a woman with a tender, gentle spirit, someone so kind and honest that Olivia would begin to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she should open her heart one more time.
Lola’s stomach rumbled, and she clucked in irritation until she glanced at the clock.
“Three o’clock?” Olivia had sucked up six hours like they were nothing. Lola should shut down the computer and figure out what to do, pronto. Olivia wouldn’t just sit there lollygagging in a fantasy. Olivia would make a plan.
Only, as a child, she would be called “Liv.” There would be an older, distant relative. No, a neighbor. She would teach Olivia to command respect without having to demand it. Lola looked up, trying to imagine how the woman—Mrs. Sutton—would say it. She and Olivia would be outside on a bright, cool day, and Mrs. Sutton would stop and inhale the intoxicating sweetness of a flower—a peony, maybe—and point out how the flower kept its perfume curled within its petals like a secret.
Like the flower, a lady would only reveal hints of her beauty, Mrs. Sutton would advise, and only to those who dared come close enough and proved themselves worthy. Lola stopped to picture the scene, trying to get the details just right, and noticed that it was dark out.
She looked at her watch: eight o’clock? She checked her cell phone, but there were no calls. And she’d spent the day playing with Olivia’s story instead of in the real world dealing with the mess of her life. Things between her and Del were worse than ever and she was clueless as to how to make them better. What would Mrs. Sutton tell Olivia in the same situation? The sound of Del’s approaching motorcycle made the question suddenly urgent.
“Blankets warm, but they also smother. They lie still and wait to be used. Is that really what you want to be?” It was Mrs. Sutton’s voice, and Lola made a face.
“Mrs. Sutton might be imaginary, but she gives good advice.” Lola nodded at her own words. “Don’t rush down there like a puppy.”
Mrs. Sutton nodded her approval. “Earn her respect,” she counseled. “Have some dignity, dear.”
Mrs. Sutton was right. Lola waited until Del had been home several minutes before heading downstairs. She fought every impulse. She didn’t ask Del where she’d been or if she was okay. She didn’t offer to make dinner or apologize for not having done so already.
When Del said she was going back out again, Lola masked her feelings and said, “Be careful. Good night.”
“Well done, dear,” whispered Mrs. Sutton.
Whether Del noticed Lola’s reserve or not, she gave no sign of it, and Lola felt a surge of disappointment. What had she imagined, that Del would rush to her side and ask her what was wrong? As Del dashed out to roar away on her bike again, Lola closed her eyes. Mrs. Sutton’s approval felt hollow.
“Okay. I kept my dignity. I kept my self-respect. I didn’t smother her or baby her or demand attention and reassurance from her. That’s good, right?”
But Mrs. Sutton had retreated into the world of fiction, and Lola was alone and feeling empty. She dozed in front of the TV for hours, unable to sleep and unable to decide whether keeping her dignity and self-respect would mean losing Del. If it wasn’t already too late. She knew she’d messed things up by being a bad lover, but it was hard to believe that this was the only problem or even the biggest one. The real problem, maybe, was that Del had never stopped loving Janet.
But was it that simple? Del was going through something, obviously. Being shot was traumatic. Combine that with Janet’s showing up after hurting Del so badly, Janet’s appealing to Del’s desire to protect innocent people from harm and Lola’s dimwitted attempts at caretaking her—it was no wonder poor Del was troubled. If she needed a little space, then so be it. Lola turned things over in her mind until she drifted into an uneasy sleep just after dawn. It was nearly nine when she awoke with a start from a frightening dream and dragged herself to the shower. Determined to avoid the trap of Olivia’s world, Lola forced herself to run an errand.
“Leave the house,” she commanded herself. She trudged to the farmers’ market and wandered around, unable to choose anything. She wasn’t even sure why she’d bothered walking all the way over here, except that it gave her something to do besides wallowing in self-pity and self-loathing and writing. She made her desultory way around the stalls of produce and breads and jams, unable to appreciate even the simple beauty of the lovely foods around her. She’d just decided to give up and go home, thinking vaguely about how she could land Olivia in a farmers’ market and see what would happen there, when she heard someone call her name.
“Lola Bannon, how dare you show your face? I’m so mad at you! You didn’t call me!” The voice came from behind her.
Lola whirled around to see a woman, a stranger with dark hair and wide, dark eyes, staring at her in what seemed to be mock outrage.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
Lola flushed. “I’m sorry.”
“Wow, that hurts the ego!”
“I’m sorry.” Lola didn’t know what to say. Suddenly, she recognized the woman from the Meetup. “Sterling?”
“Ding, ding, ding. Give the lady a prize!” Sterling was laughing again, even louder, and Lola was embarrassed. Several people were sending curious glances their way and Lola flushed. She’d had a horror of public spectacles for as long as she could remember, and having someone hollering at her across asphalt at the top of her lungs was definitely in the category of public spectacle, as far as Lola was concerned.
“Hi, hello. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you at first.”
“Well, hi, hello to you too. But I’m really hurt. You not only didn’t recognize me, you didn’t call me!”
“I’m sorry.” Lola started edging away.
“Seriously.” Sterling leaned close. “Why didn’t you cal
l me?”
“I just felt kind of funny about it.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know,”
Sterling was staring at her, and Lola scrambled for an answer. “I just thought my girlfriend might not like it.”
“The jealous type, huh?” Sterling smiled suddenly. “Is there some reason for her to be jealous?”
“No!” Lola was embarrassed. “Of course not.”
“Because you think I’m unattractive.” Sterling seemed hurt by this, and Lola rushed to erase the hurt in her eyes.
“No, but—”
“That’s good.”
“Well.” Lola was flustered and unsure how to proceed. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does.” Sterling leaned in again, far too close, and Lola took a step back. “Don’t be scared, kitten. I’m no big, bad wolf.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to get going.”
Sterling grabbed her arm. “Hey, I’m just kidding around. I don’t want to make you mad. I just moved here and I don’t know a lot of people. I kind of feel like the cliques are closed to me, you know?”
Lola nodded. “It’s hard to go to a new place and make new friends.”
“I feel kind of shy, actually.”
Lola nodded, though Sterling didn’t seem especially shy to her.
“Sometimes when I’m nervous I say things, and I don’t mean them the way people think.”
Lola considered this. “I’ve put my foot in my mouth more than once.”
“Can I show you the picture I took?”
“I don’t really have time right now, I’m sorry.”
“Please? It won’t take long and I’d really like to know what you think. I’m starting my career over and it’s so hard.” She seemed to be fighting tears.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ve always wanted to be a professional photographer, but it’s more about sales than about shooting pictures, and I really, really need some help to make sure I’m going in the right direction. Please?”
“I guess I could look, but honestly I can’t really help you. I don’t know anything about photography or marketing or anything. And I wasn’t exactly Miss Popular at that thing either.”
“I just want a second set of eyes, you know, two minds are better than one, that kind of thing. Please? I could really use a friend right now.”
Lola wasn’t sure how to get out of this. “I guess,” she finally muttered.
“Great!” Sterling grinned easily at her. “Why don’t we meet for coffee sometime and you can see the picture and we can talk. Okay?”
“Okay. But no promises, Sterling. I really don’t know what I could possibly—”
“Could it be tonight? I’m pretty anxious to get started.”
“Well, I—”
“You’re the only friendly face I’ve seen in weeks,” Sterling proclaimed. “I’m not asking you to be an expert. I’m just two seconds from running back to New Mexico and giving up on my dream, and I need a tiny bit of support from somebody, please?”
Lola gave a reluctant nod. They set up the time and place and Sterling smiled broadly.
“I really appreciate this, Lola. See you tonight!”
Lola finally got free and could go home. She gave up on her resolve and decided to write about Olivia and forget about Del and about Janet and Sterling and about everything. Olivia was twenty-six and was studying art. Lola stopped and looked over what she’d already written. It was well over two hundred pages, and she’d already given Olivia her challenging, enriching childhood, her turbulent adolescence and the beginnings of her fascinating adulthood. But it all felt pointless.
“Where is this going, Olivia? Why are you here? What are you all about?”
After a minute of silence Lola laughed aloud. Of all the voices in her head, the one she really wanted to hear was absolutely silent.
Chapter Eighteen
“But they already basically cleared me yesterday!”
Phan’s shrug was nearly audible over the phone. “One more round today, they said.”
“Did they say why?”
“Listen, you know they’re just covering ass. Answer the questions, jump through the hoops. No biggie.”
Del rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay.”
Nothing had changed since the day before. So what was going on? Was this the department taking the opportunity to fuck her over? It was hard to know. Sometimes she felt like part of the department, one of the family. Sometimes it was like she was only there because they couldn’t find a way to get rid of her. Was that paranoid? She couldn’t be sure. Dealing with the SFPD often felt like dealing with Janet. Del never quite knew what the real rules were. It was murky in her head when it came to both. She was always wondering what was really happening, what she was missing. She remembered going to meet Janet at Steinhart Aquarium, right after it reopened. It had been one of their first dates, and Del had been thrown by Janet’s suggesting it. Janet definitely seemed more like a nightclub, rock concert, fancy restaurant kind of gal. But Del was already head over heels and secretly delighted that there seemed to be more to Janet than met the eye.
Del waited by the entrance to the first exhibit, keeping an eye on the time as Janet was ten minutes late, then twenty. By the end of the half hour, several families had asked her for directions to bathrooms and elevators, three parents had complained to her about a creepy guy near the swamp exhibit, whom Del scared off with a prolonged glare, and one youngster had asked to see her gun. Is it that obvious, she wondered, that I’m either a cop or security guard? A second kid sauntered over and peered up at her with narrowed eyes.
“Who’re you here to bust, lady?”
“Sorry, bud.” Del hid a smile. “I’m just here to see the fish.”
The boy scowled, clearly disgusted by her seeming lie, and stalked away. Del had to smile. Maybe cops really were born and not made.
“Making friends, I see.”
Del slid her gaze toward the voice. Janet was dressed like a runway model in what appeared to be bridal lingerie paired with red, five-inch fuck-me heels. She looked like an incredibly expensive hooker posing as an angel. Del raised an eyebrow and grinned. Appropriate or not, the look was definitely alluring.
“I’d like to make friends with you.”
Janet batted her eyelashes. “I sincerely hope you and I are more than friends.”
Del grinned again, nodding.
Janet sashayed past her and stood watching a mosaic of colorful fish in a large tank. Some darted, some meandered, some circled, but Del didn’t see anything fascinating in their movements. She tried to make eye contact with Janet, to no avail.
“I’m glad to see you, Janet.”
Janet nodded absently.
“Are you glad to see me?” Del was shocked to hear the question come out of her own mouth. She sounded pathetic! Usually, femmes were all over Del, plying her with compliments and begging for their own in return. She’d played with them, teased them, made them come to her for so long that it was disarming to have a girl just stand there and expect to be catered to. Where the impulse to do so came from, Del couldn’t imagine. Still, there it was. She wanted this girl like none other, and she’d do whatever it took to get her.
“Ever wonder,” Janet asked in a barely audible voice, “how much they think?”
“The fish?”
“Yes, my darling, the fish.”
“Yeah, no.”
Janet laughed. “Nobody—it’s like they’re just—nobody wonders. You see a pretty fish, and you think that’s nice. I’m glad they put that pretty thing in a tank so I can see it. Then you see another fish and another and another. And you forget about each of them two seconds after you’ve seen it. So what was the point? What if that fish there or that one,” she pointed, “had a great destiny somewhere else?”
“Janet?”
“What if,” Janet continued as though she hadn’t heard Del’s voice, “it was in love with an
other fish somewhere, but it got taken away? What if it’s miserable? But all you see is the pretty fish, and it never occurs to you that it might have feelings or thoughts or hopes. You just think it’s there for you.”
A little girl standing near Janet burst into tears. “Mommy,” she wailed. “The fish are sad. They want to go home!”
The mother glared at Del, who shrugged an apology.
“I guess you’re right. I never thought about it. What made you think of it? Is everything all right?”
Janet smiled and linked arms with Del. “Oh, I’m just being silly. Take me to the jellyfish, sexy. They look like pretty girls with their skirts blown up. The Marilyn Monroes of the marine scene.”
Del had laughed at the image and now wished she’d taken the time to follow up on that fish thing. What had Janet been trying to tell her? Maybe the only way Janet could share pieces of herself was indirectly. If so, Del had missed the point, at least at the aquarium that day. How many other clues had Del missed? How many times had Janet tried to reveal her true nature to Del, only to be let down by her obtuseness? Del shook her head, trying to focus on the present.
“No.” Del had answered the same question six times, varying her sentence pattern enough each time to sound, she hoped, authentic. “I was not investigating a crime. I was visiting an old friend. Then out of nowhere I got shot. Then the building burned down, and now my friend is missing. I don’t know more than that.”
There was another hour of the same after that, and Del was sent to wait on a bench in the hallway like a kid in trouble waiting for the principal to see her. She hummed inside her head, wondering what kind of music Janet liked. What kind Lola liked. The silence Lola seemed to crave made Del crazy. Who wouldn’t want to listen to music? It was like enjoying water as soup. Maybe Lola just hadn’t had the chance to learn about music, to appreciate it. Beckett had probably hated music. It sounded too happy.
Del finally got called in and was told in a terse two minutes that she was off the hook. None of the five members of the panel really believed her, but they weren’t willing to go on record with their doubts, so she was cleared. The case was out of her hands completely. Not that it had ever been in them, Del reminded herself. The theory seemed to be that Janet had stumbled onto the cover-up of something and had been coerced into silence. That meant it had nothing to do with Del. The department would, Del guessed, end up deciding to bring in the feds and turn it all over to them. Janet’s connection to the department and to Del made things hinky, and her vast fortune would mean the Missing Persons report Del needed to file would get flagged as indicative of a possible kidnapping. As soon as there was a kidnapping, the feds loved to rush in and play big shot. They also would want control of the task force that Captain Bradley, long known to his underlings as Captain Wonderbread, had assembled as a result of the department-wide boxfuls of reports on the dramatic uptick in missing women in the city.