by Cohen, Celia
She took me inside. The Rathole was a sad-sack, barren place, furnished with one long wooden table and a couple of chairs. The lighting cast an uncomfortable glare, and the sallow wallpaper had been fading for years, deliberately neglected. The room looked like a bad movie set, which was exactly what it was supposed to look like. It could work wonders on a guilty conscience.
Randie pulled the curtains across the two-way mirror that separated The Rathole from the observation room behind it. She turned off the microphone that normally let someone in the observation room listen in. We were cut off. Anything that happened in there was going to happen without witnesses.
“Sit down,” she said, and I sat. She leaned against the table and gave me a piercing look. “Now what the fuck is going on?”
I had never heard her use an obscenity before. It seemed so violent, she might as well have hit me.
“Noth—”
“And don’t give me any of your ‘nothing’ shit.”
“Okay, okay. Just give me a minute.”
Randie came over and put her hands on the chair’s arms, penning me in. “You don’t have that option. Spill it. Now.”
I spilled. Not only did I spill, but I gushed and I groveled. Once I got started, it was a torrent of words, and every single one of them was self-incriminating. No one could wipe the Fifth Amendment out of the Constitution as cleanly as Randie could.
I didn’t want to stop talking, because I didn’t know what would come next, but eventually I had to. For a while there was silence. Randie appeared to be thinking, but she did not seem upset. Her voice was mild when she spoke.
“We can’t have this,” she said. “You should have come to me, but I guess you didn’t know that.”
“You mean I’m not in trouble?”
“Not with me.”
She went to the telephone, mounted on the wall by the observation room mirror, and asked the Beer Belly Polka for an outside line. In horror I watched her punch in my home number. I wanted to bolt, but there was no place to go. Randie was the only person I had ever run to.
My mother must have answered the phone because Randie said, “Hello, Dr. Ives. This is Lieutenant Wilkes at the police station...No, everything’s fine. When there’s something wrong, we come to the door, like the Marines...If you don’t mind, I’ve asked Wendy Lynn to stay and help me out this evening. I hope you’re not having her favorite meal...Oh, she tends to skip dinner? Well, I’ll make sure she eats. I’ll bring her home myself, so ,you don’t have to worry. Bye-bye.”
Randie punched in another phone number, one I didn’t know. “Hey, you,” she said, a tenderness in her voice I had never heard before, “I’m heading out now. I’ve got Kotter with me. See you in a few.”
She hung up and turned to me. “Come on, Kotter, let’s get going.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To my world.”
I was confused, but I shut up. I didn’t imagine anything bad could happen to me in Randie’s world.
We went to her car, a later model of a Jeep Cherokee than the one she owned when I met her, and she drove toward the park, stopping in front of the modest house I would come to know so well.
“Is this yours, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, but I share it.”
I didn’t know what I would find inside—a boyfriend, kids, elderly parent—but I certainly didn’t expect a goddess. There stood Julie, upright and towering, in a flowing shift of vibrant red, black and green, the colors of her African heritage, its vertical stripes making her look even taller.
Randie, still looking spiffy in her police uniform, kissed this angelic creature and took her hand. She looked at me, and she nodded yes to the question roaring in my head.
I felt cold and warm at the same time. I felt disoriented, but I also felt more centered than ever before. I knew that for the rest of my life, I had a place to come to. Randie had taken me in. Once she had found a lonely kid and made her a part of a team, and now she was showing me there were other people like me and it was all right.
I swayed at the force of it, and Randie came over and gripped me as though I might fall. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“I just didn’t expect this.”
“Do you want to leave?”
“No, no! That’s the last thing I want.”
Then Julie spoke. Her voice was untroubled, as flowing as the shift she wore, as though it rose from a deep and peaceful place within. “Goodness, Randie, what have you done to this child? She’s as scared as a trapped rabbit.”
“I did scare her. She needed to be scared. It wasn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.”
“Well, she doesn’t need to be scared now. She needs to feel welcome.” Julie came over and grasped both of my hands in hers, and I found myself relaxing in spite of myself. She had the hands of a healer, gentle and soothing and giving. I didn’t know then what she did for a living, but I knew whatever it was, it involved helping others. “Kotter, I’m Julie. Although you didn’t know about me, you’ve been a part of my life for a long time. Randie is always talking about you. I’m so pleased you’re finally here. Now can I get you something? Soda or juice?”
“Just some water would be fine, ma’am. Thank you.”
Julie gave Randie a long look of mocking sorrow. “Has Randie been filling you up with that militaristic crap? You don’t have to say ‘ma’am’ to me. ‘Julie’ is fine.”
She went into the kitchen and returned with some Evian in a glass that had the seal of the Hillsboro Police Department etched in it. I was thirsty. It had been a trying afternoon.
“Well, Julie,” Randie said, “we found out why Kotter has made herself so scarce of late.”
“Why is it?”
“It seems she was seduced by that student teacher.”
“The one who made her stay after school?”
“The very same.”
Randie and Julie regarded me speculatively, much the way a jury eyes the prisoner in the dock, gauging whether she is capable of committing the crimes of which she is accused. I shrugged. Guilty is as guilty does.
“Girls will be girls,” Julie said and laughed. I heard the liberating chimes of heaven in that laughter and felt saved. I was becoming more captivated with her by the minute.
Randie came up behind me and wrapped her arms around me, cradling me against her. I was getting more affection in this room than I’d had in a lifetime.
“What do you think we should do to you, Kotter?” Randie asked.
“I don’t care. Do whatever you want. Just let me stay here forever.”
“Personally, I think we should feed her,” Julie said. “It’s just spaghetti, Kotter. Is that okay?”
“You bet,” I said.
“Just spaghetti” turned out to be homemade pasta and tomato sauce from scratch. Julie enjoyed cooking. More precisely, she enjoyed cooking for others. We kept talking as she got the meal ready and sat down to eat.
“The problem with Kotter being seduced by the student teacher,” Randie said, mortifying me, “is that they are doing it in public places.”
“Oh dear. That won’t do,” Julie said.
“No, it won’t. I suppose we’re going to have to bring the student teacher here, too. I’m inclined to drive to her place, cuff her and put her in the back seat of a patrol car, but it might be counterproductive. What do you think, Julie?”
“Undoubtedly it would be. The rapport will probably be better if Kotter just invites her.”
They were toying with me. There was nothing to be done but sit and take it. Life would be full of these moments.
By the end of the evening, I had agreed to bring Jaws to their house, although I was as nervous about it as any girl taking her date home for the first time.
If I was fidgety, Jaws was positively stricken when I told her about it. “I don’t care if she is your friend. She’s a cop! Student teachers go to jail for molesting students, or haven’t you heard?”
“You on
ly go to jail if you don’t cooperate,” I said. In a perverse way, I was starting to enjoy this. Randie’s intervention had given me the upper hand in a relationship that otherwise had gone almost exclusively Jaws’ way. “Consider yourself blackmailed.”
The next evening was Friday—no police class. It was dark and cool, with a wild wind rattling the brittle autumn leaves. I slipped out of the house without telling Wendell and Lynn where I was going. They had a dinner party at the college president’s house, one of those command performances, and wouldn’t be able to do anything except get exasperated when they discovered my absence.
I jammed my Police Softball League champions’ cap down against the wind and stuck my hands into my jeans pockets. I kept thinking about what I was doing. I was going to meet my girl, I was taking her over to Randie’s house, and society be damned. I didn’t feel like a kid anymore.
Jaws and I had arranged to meet in the Hillsboro Library parking lot. Nobody we knew would even think to go to the library on a Friday night.
Jaws drove a dark green Mustang convertible with so much power it practically needed clearance from Mission Control. Everything about it was brazenly erotic, its lean, sleek chassis and leering grillwork, supple leather seats and haughty tinted glass. I loved that car.
Jaws was parked in the shadows, the motor running against the evening chill. I slipped into the passenger’s seat. Normally she did something obscene to me as soon as I got close enough, but not tonight. I gave her a look. The warmup suit and cross-trainer shoes she favored were replaced by khaki slacks, loafers, a turtleneck shirt and tasteful V-neck sweater.
“Christ! Where are you going? To a job interview?”
“What about you? You look like an undercover cop.”
“Is that supposed to be an insult?”
“Oh for God’s sake, just give me directions to where we’re going.”
Jaws was nervous, all right. She drove to the house without speaking. Julie let us in, greeting me with a hug and Jaws with a warm handshake. “Randie’s on her way,” Julie said. “Kotter, why don’t you get a couple of Cokes out of the refrigerator and make yourselves at home? I’m in the middle of stroganoff.”
We had barely popped the tops on our sodas when we heard Randie’s Jeep Cherokee pull into the driveway. Jaws’ shoulders tightened. Then they tightened some more as Randie entered. She was in uniform. The mirror-bright hat brim, the spit-shined shoes and the gold lieutenant’s bars on her collar gave her a look of blue steel.
It had its effect on Jaws. She had that sweaty glaze that comes when all you can think about is calling your lawyer.
Randie’s eyes did a slow scan of Jaws, taking in the broad shoulders and the big hands and the athlete’s build that no clothes could civilize. Randie’s search was so thorough, she should have had a warrant.
“Hey, Lieutenant,” I said. “This is Jaws.”
“Kotter, considering the circumstances, you might as well call me ‘Randie’ when you’re in the house.”
That sure surprised me. Someday I would figure Randie out, but now was not the time. The last thing I expected from her was this Officer Friendly routine.
Jaws was disarmed. Her natural cockiness returned, and she smiled at Randie. Personally, I thought it was a little premature to be feeling comfortable, and I decided to keep my mouth shut as much as I possibly could. After all, I hadn’t even gotten through the introductions without being thrown for a loop.
“Have a seat, you guys,” Randie said.
Jaws and I sat on the sofa at a polite courting distance. We didn’t touch.
Randie and Jaws had a lot of mutual friends through Randie’s involvement with the Police Softball League and Jaws’ college softball team. They had a very pleasant conversation going until Randie paused, suddenly thoughtful, and said, “So tell me, Jaws, whatever were you thinking when you took a high school student into the towel room and sexually exploited her?”
Jaws gasped. She turned so stone still, she forgot to breathe. Randie got up and stood in front of her.
“Well?” Randie demanded.
“I—it—it was mutual,” Jaws croaked.
“Mutual? It’s mutual when you find a kid fooling around with her friends and turn it into such a big deal that she fears for her academic standing, her future and her family life if she doesn’t do exactly what you say? It’s mutual when you order her into her gym clothes and lock her in a room where you have an absolute hold over her? Is that what you call mutual?”
“Oh my God,” Jaws said hoarsely.
“You can tell the school district it was mutual. You can tell your college adviser it was mutual. You can tell Kotter’s parents it was mutual.”
“Lieutenant, please don’t do this. I’ll do anything you say. I swear to God I’ll never touch her again.”
Randie chuckled. “No need. Fortunately for you, Jaws, it was mutual,” she said mildly. “Come here, Kotter.” She put me in front of her, both of us facing Jaws, and wrapped her arms around me protectively. “Kotter’s the baddest kid I know, but she’s going to be a good cop, and I’m not going to let anything interfere with that. So listen up, Jaws. Kotter has got to spend more time at the station again, and you two have got to stop doing it in public places. Understood?”
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
Randie’s infernal chuckle came again. “I thought you all were going to call me Randie.”
“The problem is, you keep acting like a lieutenant,” I said, which was a very brave thing to do, considering that Randie had me folded against her. All she did, though, was give me an affectionate squeeze. I wasn’t the villain tonight.
Julie was waiting patiently to serve dinner, so we moved our discussion to the table. She had prepared her usual masterpiece—the stroganoff and a vegetable medley and some homemade bread that came from the oven, not from one of those tinker-toy breadmakers.
“After we finish dinner, Julie and I are taking you two out,” Randie said. “Have you ever heard of the Hollies?”
We hadn’t. Randie smiled and explained. It was a discreet retreat snuggled into the foothills out past the Buena Vista Country Club. If you didn’t know where it was, you’d never find it.
A discerning clientele liked it that way. Patrons could escape to its finely furnished rooms, small gourmet restaurant, bar with walk-in fireplace, mountain trails and nightly live music that was always soft, urgent and throbbing. Its official name was the Forest House, but it was universally called by its nickname because the two women who owned it both were named Holly. Fortunately one was tall and one was short, so they were known as Big Holly and Little Holly.
After dinner, Jaws and I helped Julie clean up, while Randie changed out of her uniform. She came back looking really slinky in a clingy black shirt and slacks, and Julie slipped into the bedroom with her before they said they were ready to go.
Randie drove us out there. The evening had gotten even colder. The heater was going full blast, but the Jeep window beside me still felt like ice. I looked outside. Bold constellations were the only light, burning above the silhouettes of pine trees bending and shaking in the wind. It was so dark and peaceful and perfect, sitting there in the back of the Jeep, with Randie and Julie in the front and Jaws next to me primly holding my hand. I wouldn’t have cared if some omnipotent presence had reached down and sealed us for all eternity in that moment in time.
There was no landmark for the Hollies, only an inconspicuous break in a low stone wall. I had passed by countless times without knowing what it was. Randie turned in, the gravel lane crunching under her tires. We followed the drive as it twisted through a thick grove of pines until we came to a clearing where the tidy brick inn was situated, its first story windows lit charmingly by single candles like something out of colonial times. Outside the Jeep, snatches of music were blown to us on the wind.
The Hollies were doing a business that Friday night. The parking lot was filled, mostly by cars with local license plates that had come for the even
ing, but also by some with out-of-state plates there for the weekend.
Randie put an arm around me and walked me toward the door, leaving Julie to take care of Jaws. “Whatever you see here stays here,” she said. “Okay?”
I nodded, quite curious now. As soon as we entered, shrugging off the chill, I understood why. I saw a couple of teachers from school at a table for two, leaning toward each other so closely their breasts nearly touched. I saw a softball coach from the team we beat in the semifinals melted against another woman in a slow dance, and if I wasn’t mistaken, I saw a U.S. senator, who must have arrived in that Mercedes in the parking lot with the out-of-state tags.
“Well, look who it is!” said a large woman with a voice to match. She strolled up as if she owned the place, which of course she did.
“Hello, Holly,” Randie said, a lilt of challenge in her tone. I wondered why, but not for long.
Holly wrapped Randie in a bone-crunching hug, and Randie crunched back. When their bodies finally separated, they left their hands locked in a sizzling grip that made them look like a couple of arm wrestlers sizing each other up for combat.
“What are you doing here, copper? My protection money is all paid up,” Big Holly said loudly. Heads turned. The U.S. senator looked as though she was going to pass out.
“Haven’t you heard? The rates are going up,” Randie said.
Big Holly disengaged from their handshake and gestured at me. “What’s this? A junior partner?”
“You guessed it,” Randie said.
“So I have to start paying for her, too?”
“Not necessarily. Only if you want to save your kneecaps,” Randie said.
Big Holly tried to say something back, but she couldn’t keep herself from laughing. Randie laughed, too, and they got so silly about it they set most of the customers off, too, particularly the ones who clearly had seen this routine before. The senator looked vastly relieved.