by Elle Casey
Aimee stood up and walked out to her car, not even bothering to lock the front door. What was the point? The thieves had keys anyway.
She arrived at the hospital at ten o’clock. The emergency room was packed. She sat in a corner with an icepack given to her by one of the nurses, wrapped in her kitchen towel and held to her head. She watched as men, women, and children came in, suffering from illness, accidents, and who knows what. She hated that she had to be here. She was a statistic now – a battered woman. When Jack had gotten violent with her once before, he hadn’t even remembered it the next day. He said he didn’t believe her when she told him what he’d done. The bruise on her arm from him grabbing it and squeezing it that time could have been from anything, he’d said. But he stayed away from her after that when drinking. And he drank rarely. She knew that deep down inside, he didn’t believe in his innocence any more than she did.
Jack was a liar and a cheat. Aimee prayed that he would see the truth about himself when he woke up in the morning and looked in the mirror. She wanted to hate Tiffany for taking him away from her, but at moments like this, she had perfect clarity and knew the truth – Tiffany had done her a favor. The thought made her smile. And it almost made her feel sorry for Tiffany. Almost.
“What’s the smile for?” said a familiar voice.
Aimee looked up into the eyes of none other than Kiki.
“Oh ... hey, Kiki! Um, nothing. Just thinking about my ex.”
Kiki raised an eyebrow as she sat down next to Aimee. “That’s different. Normally when people think about their exes, it’s not a smile I see. Especially in the E.R.”
Aimee smiled, not wanting to elaborate. Instead, she asked, “How’s your friend?”
“Better. I just sat with her for a couple hours to keep her company. No one else is visiting her.”
“That’s sad. Is she a friend from work?”
“Yeah.”
“Where do you work anyway?”
Kiki stared at her for a few seconds, making Aimee wonder what the big secret was.
“Are you in the FBI or something?”
Kiki smiled and then laughed for a second, before saying, “Aimee. Do I look like I work in the FBI?”
Aimee shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe you’re undercover.”
Kiki stopped laughing. “Undercover as what?” Her smile slowly left her face, making her look almost sad.
“A supermodel?”
Kiki grabbed Aimee across the shoulders in a spontaneous hug, her smile back full force.
“Owowowow,” said Aimee, wincing and grinning at the same time. “What was that for?”
Kiki released her. “Sorry about your head. That was for not saying I’m undercover as a prostitute.”
Aimee looked at Kiki, aghast that she would say or even think such a thing. “What? Why on earth would I say something like that?!”
Kiki raised an eyebrow but said nothing; she just looked down at herself and then back up at Aimee to stare at her silently.
The gears started turning in Aimee’s head until the final connection clicked into place. She felt her face getting red and hot. She leaned in and whispered to Kiki, “Are you saying you’re a ... lady of the night?”
“No. I’m not saying that. But I’m also not saying I’m a supermodel, either.”
Aimee frowned at her, sitting back and talking in a normal tone again. “Okay. So you’re not a ... prostitute, and you’re not a supermodel – even though I know you could be one if you wanted to be – so what are you then? What is your job, I mean?”
“I’m an exotic dancer.” Kiki watched Aimee steadily, her expression giving nothing away.
“Whoa. That means stripper, right? That is so cool. I wish I could do that,” said Aimee wistfully.
“You’re nuts,” said Kiki, shaking her head. “You obviously have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Aimee shrugged. “What’s there to know? You dance around to cool music, you strip down to your undies, and guys pay you wads of money to shake your butt. Sounds easy and fun to me. I have natural rhythm you know.”
Kiki looked at her wryly. “First of all, where I dance, it’s full nudity. And second of all, you don’t always have to dance just on stage. Sometimes it’s in guys’ laps. And there are drugs and pimps trying to get in on the action and recruit ... it’s awful.”
“Then why do you do it?” asked Aimee softly. She kept the rest of her thoughts to herself, not wanting to hurt Kiki’s feelings by making her feel bad about her choices. Why would a girl this beautiful and this smart do something she obviously hated, when she could probably do anything with her life?
Kiki didn’t answer for a second. Then she said, “I’ve been asking myself the same question for a while now.”
“I hear ya,” said Aimee, taking the blood-stained kitchen towel off her head and resting it in her lap. “I need a job, bad. Maybe you could give me the number of one of those pimps. I can’t seem to get a job doing anything else.”
Kiki’s face hardened. “I’d never let you do that. You’re a nice person ... smart and cute. You don’t want that kind of life. It’s not like Pretty Woman out there. Girls are beaten and killed every day.”
Aimee looked at her, searching her eyes. “I guess we both need to find a new job, huh?”
Kiki nodded, looking off into the distance. “Yeah. Big time.” She focused her attention back on Aimee. “So, what happened to your head, anyway?”
“Well, I’m a bit of a klutz, actually.”
Kiki frowned and then put her hand on Aimee’s arm and squeezing it gently. “Listen, Aimee. Anytime a girlfriend tells me she’s a klutz when I ask her about a bloody injury, it makes the hairs on my ass stand up.”
Aimee laughed, feeling all warm inside because Kiki had called her a girlfriend. “No way do you have ass hair.”
“Whatever. My point is, ‘I’m a klutz’, is code for ‘My husband or boyfriend beat me.’” She pulled her hand off Aimee’s arm. “So, tell me what really happened. I’m not going to judge.”
Aimee felt tears coming up in her eyes. Why does she care about what happened to me?
“And no tears,” Kiki said, pointing at Aimee’s face. “Those come later, after you tell me and preferably when we have alcohol in front of us.”
Aimee laughed in spite of herself. She liked Kiki’s style of bossiness. It felt different than Jack’s. “Well, when I got home from our book club meeting, Jack – my ex – was there.”
“Did he break-in or something?”
“No. He has a key.”
Kiki rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. You didn’t change the locks.”
“No, I didn’t. I guess I should have?”
“Of course you should have; why are you even asking me that? That’s the first thing you do when you kick your man out. That’s Breakups 101, babe.”
“Oh. Well, I’ve never done a breakup before, so I didn’t know.”
“Okay, so the asshole came in with his key. Then what?”
Aimee started to squirm. “Well, he wanted to know where ... some of his things were, and I told him I didn’t know. So he got mad.”
“What was he looking for?”
Aimee looked down at the speckles on the floor tiles. “Just some stuff.”
“Some golf clubs, maybe?”
Aimee’s eyes shot up to bug out at Kiki. “Did he call you? Talk to you?” She felt herself go into full-fledged panic mode, her blood pressure instantly maxing out. Visions of a life behind bars began haunting her brain.
Kiki put her hand on Aimee’s arm again. “Hey, relax. I’ve never seen the guy. But I did see your sale of a particularly valuable set of man-toys in the parking lot tonight, remember? I may not be a rocket scientist, but I can put two and two together.”
Aimee frowned. “Oh. Yeah. Well, Jack is ridiculously smart, and he knows I did something with them. So he got mad and kind of came after me. I slipped in some orange juice he made me spill and landed on my ass.�
�
“Looks like you landed on your head.”
Aimee half-smiled. “Yeah. My ass and my head. They both hurt.”
Kiki reached over and rubbed Aimee’s back a couple times. “They’ll heal, don’t worry. And for the record, Jack is not ridiculously smart. He let you go, right?”
Aimee thought about the logic for a second and wanted to agree. But something kept her quiet. She had a hard time getting into her own corner.
“Say it,” demanded Kiki, suddenly serious.
“Say what?”
“Say ‘Jack’s an idiot’.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s true. And if you can’t see the truth of it now, well, just say it because I’m bossy and I told you to. Either way works for me.”
“Fine. Jack’s an idiot,” said Aimee, smiling tremulously.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” asked Kiki, a mischievous grin on her face.
“Yeah. It kinda does. Jack’s an idiot.”
“There you go.”
“He’s a flaming idiot.”
“Oooh, I like that one.”
“He’s a flaming, asshole idiot!”
Kiki smiled, but then her eyes went up, her attention suddenly pulled away.
Aimee followed Kiki’s gaze to see what she was looking at.
Standing in front of them was a cop in full uniform. He looked intimidating as hell, but Aimee couldn’t decide if it was the gun on one hip and the club on the other, or the fact that he was totally gorgeous.
“Hello,” he said, glancing back and forth between Kiki and Aimee.
“Hello, officer,” said Kiki politely.
Aimee tried to answer, but the words got stuck in her throat. She couldn’t take her eyes off his face and body. He had blondish brown hair – kind of curly-wavy – broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and thick, hairy arms. He looked like a giant green-eyed summer bear – docile at the moment but deadly when angry.
Kiki nudged Aimee’s arm, jolting her out of her daze.
“Oh, uh, hi. Officer ... ,” she squinted up at his chest, “ ... Officer Cleary. Hi.”
Kiki nudged her again and whispered, “Don’t overdo it,” under her breath.
“May I talk to you for a second?” he asked Aimee.
“Me?” She could feel the panic rising again. And she had just started to feel better, calling Jack names. Now she was back to seeing herself in prison garb – a bright orange jumpsuit – rooming with a woman who called herself Butch.
“Yes. Please. I just want to talk to you for a minute ... ask you a few questions. We can do it in private if you prefer.”
Aimee asked the first thing that popped into her head. “Am I under arrest?”
The police officer looked at her with a confused frown on his face. Then he smiled a little. “Did you break the law?”
Aimee looked at Kiki, her eyes as big as saucers.
Kiki shook her head ‘no’.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Okay, good. After you.” He gestured for her to walk in front of him, toward the front doors of the emergency room.
Aimee looked back at Kiki as she started to walk away. “Can you wait?”
Kiki checked her watch. “For another ten minutes. Then I have to get to work.”
“Okay. I’ll hurry,” she said, glancing up at the police officer as she walked past him to go outside.
He pointed to a bench just outside the doors, usually taken up by smokers if the butts on the ground were any indication, but currently unoccupied.
Aimee sat down and stared at her hands gripping her towel in her lap, unsure what to do or what to expect. She prayed he wasn’t going to ask her about the sale of a certain set of golf clubs.
“I see you’ve been injured,” he began.
“Yes. I fell.”
“May I ask how it happened?”
“Well, I’m a bit of a klu ... ” She started to give him the same story she’d told Kiki, but then decided that if Kiki knew the code for ‘my ex beat me’ then the cop probably did too. So she opted for a slightly altered version of events. “Actually, what happened is, I was in my kitchen getting some orange juice, and I dropped the container. And then before I had a chance to clean it up, I slipped on it and landed on my ... butt ... and my head hit the floor.” She looked up at him and noticed the intensity of his gaze immediately. She wanted to hold it – to stare back at him – but she couldn’t. She felt like she was lying, and she didn’t want to lie to him. He was a cop, yes ... but he seemed ... nice, too.
“You know, if you’re involved in something that you want to tell me about, maybe I could help you.”
Aimee looked up at him. “Involved in something? Like what?”
Officer Cleary looked back at the emergency room. “I noticed your friend in there. Do you work together?”
Aimee looked at him in confusion before comprehension finally dawned. She couldn’t help it ... she burst out laughing. First a little and then a lot.
He got a frown on his face. “Did I say something funny?”
Aimee put her hand on his arm, noticing right away how warm and strong it felt. “No, sorry,” she pulled her hand away and put it on her heart. “I’m just dying a little right now, realizing that you think I’m even remotely capable of working with Kiki.”
“I don’t think it’s so remote at all. No offense, but it seems to me a perfectly reasonable assumption.”
Aimee rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Me? An exotic dancer? That’ll be the day.”
The officer took a deep breath and then let it out. “Well, okay. I may have very slightly misjudged your friend, but I stand by my original assessment. And if you’re in trouble, I’m here to help.”
Aimee stopped laughing and looked up into his eyes. They were kind, she could see that. She also noticed the concern there. “Do you always hang around the E.R. looking for damsels in distress?”
“No,” he smiled, “I don’t. I happened to be here bringing someone in for detox. I just got lucky seeing you on the way out.”
Aimee smiled. “Well, that’s nice to hear you say. But I’m okay, really.”
“Yes, but I don’t think you’ve told me what really happened.” His smile was gone now, and it was replaced with something more dangerous-looking. “You’re wearing a wedding ring, but your husband isn’t here with you.”
Aimee felt herself scooting away a little.
He watched her and then relaxed his posture, smiling. “Don’t be afraid. I just ... I guess I get this feeling that you’re in some kind of trouble, and I can’t shake it. I usually go with my gut on stuff like this. I’m rarely wrong.”
“I thought that gut-stuff was only on T.V.”
“Nope. It’s real. For some of us.”
“Well, to clarify, I am technically still married, which is why I have the ring on. But my husband ... left ... several months ago. So I’m on my own now.” Aimee looked through the glass leading into the waiting area. “My friend has to leave soon. I need to get back. I’m sorry.” And she really was sorry too. Even though he was intimidating, he made her feel safe with his concern and his gun.
Officer Cleary pulled a business card and a pen out of his front shirt pocket, writing on the card as he talked. “I’m going to put my personal cell phone number on my card. I want you to keep this handy. If you ever need help, night or day, you call me. Don’t hesitate, just do it. Okay?” He handed her the card.
Aimee reached out and took it from him, looking down and noticing his full name. “Joseph Cleary.”
“That’s me. But you can call me Joe.”
She looked up and noticed he was smiling. “Do you always give out your personal cell phone to damsels in distress?”
“Only the really pretty ones.”
Aimee blushed so hard, she was afraid her hair was going to catch on fire. She stood suddenly, anxious to get away from him. Not because she didn’t find him attractive, but because she had no idea what to do in a situ
ation like this. Jumping from an ex-husband’s attack to the warm happiness of a cute cop giving her his number and practically promising to be her knight in shining armor was too much for her brain to handle right now. “Thanks, Joe. I have to go now.”
Joe remained seated. “No problem. Good luck in there. Remember to call me ... if you need anything or want to talk about what happened.”
Aimee waved the card at him. “Thanks.” She walked away, sliding the card into her purse. She wanted to look back to see if he was still there, but she forced herself to keep her eyes forward. She concentrated on walking as carefully as possible so she wouldn’t trip. She didn’t trust herself not to do something colossally stupid right now, especially since she had an audience made up of the cutest guy she’d ever seen up close. Jack was handsome in a lawyerly kind of way, but Joe Cleary? He was something else entirely.
Aimee pushed open the door of the E.R. and practically ran over to sit with Kiki, who was smiling as if she had a really good secret.
“What are you so happy about?” asked Aimee, sitting down, feeling slightly flustered.
“Oh, I don’t know ... maybe that hot cop making a move on you in the E.R. It’s kind of sweet, actually.”
“He wasn’t making a move. He was just doing his job.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Yes.”
Kiki frowned at her.
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
The nurse opened the sliding glass window at the desk and said, “Aimee?”
Aimee stood. “That’s me. I’ve gotta go. See you soon?”
“Sure. Two weeks.”
“Have a good night ... at work.”
“I’ll try,” said Kiki, unfolding her long frame from the waiting room chair.