Michael, Antoinette, and Me

 

Part Eighteen

 

 

Easter week occupied Pamala between her obligations at Harvest and responsibilities at Church, excitement bubbling from her face. The idea of festive church events and large gatherings of extended family had my anxiety overflowing and my skin crawling.

Struggling to stay afloat in a turbulent sea of people at Jessica’s event overtaxed me, which affirmed the idea of attending Pamala’s school much better as a muse than a reality.

“I pout I’ve never had a family and now that I do, I whine I have to do family stuff.” The bell over the door announced the arrival of me and my bike as I worked the duffel bag strap over my head. “Mr. Fishman.”

“Well, hello,” he greeted back as if glad to see me. “A backpack is more practical than that bag.”

“Oh, I have one of those, too. A small one, which is getting changed today.” Balancing the bike against my thigh, I dropped the duffel on the bike’s rack. “I need a longer rack.”

“They’re pretty standard.”

“Fix me up, Mr. Fishman.”

He pulled on his chin. “How about I vivisect another rack, weld pieces onto yours?”

I narrowed my eyes, guessing Mr. Fishman may be in hiding just like me. “Sounds perfect.”

“Come on. I have all we need in the basement.”

That childlike face, soft brown eyes, inviting smile all became sinister. My poker face failed.

“Oh, I am so sorry!”

I shrugged. “It’s just, well –”

“I don’t know what dark Grimm forest path you’ve been down!”

“The monsters did not survive. Sometimes I doubt I have.”

“Watch the store for me. I won’t be long.”

As bike, duffle, and Mr. Fishman disappeared through an opening toward the back of the store, irony stood an unwelcome visitor. Mr. Fishman trusted me with his store. I was leery of a basement visit.

The rack was perfect, the duffle secured with three expandable tie-downs.

“Come by sometime,” Mr. Fishman said. “I’ll close up, we can do lunch up the street. Chanticleer has the absolute best sandwiches.”

Half out the door, I watched the soft brown inviting eyes into awkwardness. “Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Fishman?”

“Eh, no. That would be dinner.”

“You do realize I’m a child. You’re an adult old enough to be my much older brother.”

“Yes, yes. I realize all that. You intrigue me. I’m curious about what you’re scared of.”

“Let me save you the cost of an absolute best sandwich. Men being creepy.” I took a step.

He took a handful of duffle.

I glanced the hand, returned to his eyes.

He released me.

“Good choice,” I said. “Thanks for your time. Have a good day.”

Eight miles and change later brought me to Smith’s Army Surplus, the temperatures in the high fifties, colonies of flower spouts poking up here and there.

I could taste spring. I entertained the passing thought of lunching at Chanticleer, Sallying the help, asking whether Mr. Fishman dined there often companied by children of the female persuasion.

Mr. Smith was in his forties, towering, always in denim jeans and a red plaid shirt, close cropped brown hair with eyes to match, a big smile when he saw me, which I believe more Sally than sincere.

“My, child!” Mrs. Smith greeted. “Riding in this weather?”

“This weather,” I greeted back, “is perfect for riding.”

Mrs. Smith was sturdy woman. Hard, sharp, dull white pine hair in a loose ponytail, a tress cutting across her blue eyes, my height. When I first came to Smith’s Army Surplus, I’d mistaken Mrs. Smith for Mr. Smith’s daughter.

“I might kick back fifty this weekend,” Mrs. Smith told me.

“As in miles?”

“Yes. As you say, perfect weather.”

“Going to snow,” Mr. Smith huffed.

“It just so happens I’m planning the same, with a little camping, which is why I’m here.”

“Going to snow,” Mr. Smith grumbled again.

Mrs. Smith rolled her eyes.

“Long-range forecast says –”

“Snow! Where’d you read your long-range forecast? Farmers’ Almanac?”

“Newspaper. National Weather service.”

Mrs. Smith drew a deep breath, hands on the glass showcase sitting between us. “Pines?”

“Of course.”

Mr. Smith leaned across the case, eyeing me up and down, then disappeared.

“He has his ways.”

“So do I.”

She placed a twelve-inch axe and eight-inch knife from the case onto the counter. “Essentials. Are you on a budget?”

“Eh, no. Just space.”

“That bag isn’t nearly large enough.”

“I want a backpack, the largest you have that I can pack and still stand up straight. The first one I got served more as an overgrown purse.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve changed. Grown up.”

I returned the narrowed eyes. “Do you really remember?”

“Tim and I call you the Boot Girl. Your hair was down to your waist, much lighter. You’ve put on some weight.”

Two large rolls landed on the counter. “Tent, just your size. Sleeping bag,” Mr. Smith explained.

“More essentials,” Mrs. Smith said.

“I don’t want you dying out there. Snow!”

“Tim, she’s the Boot Girl.”

His eyes went wide. “My god, Gladys, you’re right!”

I did my ballet curtsy. “Toby.”

“Tim, Gladys,” Gladys said.

“Tim,” I nodded. “Gladys.” It’s not like I wanted either to spunk on my face. I felt a weird kind of kinship. I thought I was a stranger. I wasn’t. I had a nickname. Tim didn’t want me to die out there.

Tim considered the ceiling and was off again.

“Food?”

“Spam. I like the little key. Canned stew. I figured I’ll stuff the duffel with the heavy stuff. I’m only planning four days tops, but I might like it out there. One of my fatal flaws is I over prepare.”

Boots arrived with Tim along with a military shovel, thermal coveralls, and a deep brown fir lined parka. “Shovel. You bury, deep, all your trash or carry it out with you.”

I nodded. “Like I was never there. My boots are good.”

He shook the boots at me. “Waterproof, insulated.”

I did not roll my eyes. “So I don’t die out there.”

“Coffee,” Gladys asked.

“I’ve picked up the habit. Water’s going to be a luxury, too heavy to carry extra.”

Tim presented a small aluminum pot. “Snow, lots of it. Water will be all around you. You can drink cedar water. I’d boil it first.”

“Yes, dear, snow,” Gladys said, rolling her eyes.

“Lots of it! You should put off the camping trip for a week.”

I had seen one weather map with a predicted high pressure from the north slamming into lows from the south, however no one was calling for snow of any amount. “I saw a sign that our snow season is over.”

“What was that? Flowers bursting out?” Tim asked.

“People getting their snow tires switched.”

That drew a chuckle into a laugh.

Watching my eyes, Gladys retrieved an old .38 from the drawer below the display case. “There are bears – and other dangers.”

“Bears won’t bother you,” Tim said. “Unless you bother them.”

“A young woman, alone. Other dangers.”

I shrugged it off, the many faces reeling in my imagination of people who would be dead if I had a gun in my pocket. Holding Gladys’ eyes for a painful moment, I nodded to Tim. “I’m one of those other things in the woods people should fear. Like the bear, don’t mess with me, you’ll be fine.”

The gun disappeared off the glass.

“Besides, creepers don’t wander the Pines looking for people to creep. They do it on Queen’s Highway, in the schools, and in the mall.”

We packed the duffel, the tent tied down neatly on top. “I know it’s simple, but I’m going to put the tent up in my living room before I attempt it at night in the woods.”

“Always a good idea,” Gladys said.

“Keep in mind that when pine branches get weighted down with snow, they can snap, burying you if you’re underneath.”

“Aye,” I offered with a hard nod at the door. “Thank you for your time and the help today.”

“Our pleasure.” Gladys held up a compass for me to see, slipping the device in my jacket pocket. “You can thank me for it later.”

 

After three trips up the step, one with the duffel, one with my backpack, a final trip with my bicycle, I fell to the floor, rolling on my back. I’d not considered how the extra weight would affect my bike riding. “Thirty miles and change.”

I’d painstakingly examined the county map in the library, making a good guess where we turned off the highway, six mile markers from the Red Eagle Diner. I didn’t think I’d have to be Daniel Boone to follow the trail of crushed thickets, broken saplings, and disfigured trees.

“Are you OK, Toby?” Michelle asked, following the creak of the front door.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I didn’t open my eyes, overwhelmed with the smell of gasoline and old oil. “You need a shower.”

“A long one. We need to talk.”

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“Huh?”

I sat up, waving her off. “God, Michelle, shower. Now.”

I followed her into the bathroom with a plastic bag, taking her clothes as she stripped, the shower singing to us.

“That’s part of kind of what I want to talk about.”

I tied the bag, sat on the toilet, watching around the curtain.

“I want to quit.”

I dropped the bag to the floor. “You’re not going to get an argument from me.”

She stopped scrubbing her hands, holding my eyes. “Really?”

“I’ve made it no secret I don’t like you in that environment. That’s why I had you do the party with us.”

“Jessica’s not opening until the fall. I have obligations. To you. Rent, all that.”

“Shawn knows the manager at Woolworths. I think she really likes you.”

“Employment papers.”

I chuckled. “Damn, I’m sitting here looking at your dick and still forgot. You don’t need papers from school now that you’re seventeen. You do need to show identification.”

“You’re looking at my dick?”

“You know what I mean. Have you met with Marcy?”

“That’s my next stop. I mean, well, I really need to quit Connor’s.”

I stood. “Michelle. I’m really proud of you. The way you worked at the party, not leaving the toilet seat up, washing the dishes, cleaning the kitchen more than is your share.” I nodded hard. “Now, your concern for your obligation over yourself. Quit. We’ll work it out. I have plenty of yardwork if it comes to that. It’ll be fun, just us girls.”

“Gosh, Toby, you can’t imagine how relieved I am.”

“I can, actually.”

“One other thing.”

“Yes?”

“Talk to Keith for me?”

“About?”

“I want to break up with him.”

“Oh, I saw this coming.”

“I want to date, Toby.”

“Have a human relationship.”

“Yes, like that. I miss that part of hanging with Levy. Ralph asked me out. Wants to take me to the Franklin Institute.”

“Now, that’s what I consider a cool date. Just why do I need to tell Keith?”

“He’s got a temper.”

“Has he ever hit you?”

“Not yet.”

“Since I fixed you up with Keith, I’ll break you up.”

“Huh?”

“He didn’t come up on you at school my accident.”

Obligations.

 

The tent was not difficult to assemble.

“Going camping?” Michelle asked, working a towel on her hair, a second towel around her waist.

“A couple days. Put some clothes on.”

“Huh. I don’t get it.”

“Naked or almost naked prohibition.”

“You were just in the bathroom –”

“Protocol.”

“I know what that means. It’s in the GED.”

“You’re studying. Good. You’re expected to be naked in the shower.”

“Not in the living room.”

“It’s weird, Michelle. I feel threatened by living room naked or almost naked. Not bathroom naked or almost naked at least with you.”

“I get that. I was in the office at work doing my shift report. Connor came in, shut the door, dropped his pants. Scared the piss out of me. He pretended he just wanted to tuck his shirt in, but he didn’t have to drop his underwear for that, and he certainly didn’t have to wave it at me. His dick is really weird.”

I gave Michelle the traffic cop hand. “All dicks are weird.”

“His is weirder than most, then. He’s got this –”

“Get dressed, please.”

Tapping whispered from the front door. I shrugged at Michelle as she hurried off.

“Mrs. Harris,” I greeted the woman from the rental office.

“Hello Antoinette?” she returned. “The eye looks much better. You cut your hair? Is your mother home?”

“Is there a problem?”

“Eh, well.” She looked to the floor.

“Yes?”

She kept her attention on the floor. “I was wondering. I mean I thought. I need another $200 signing bonus.”

“Of course you do. Wait.” I closed the door, retrieved the money, handed the money off, closed the door again before she could get a thank you out.

“Problem?” Michelle asked.

“Shake down. I like that dress.”

She almost blushed. “I’m going to listen to Jessica, work as hard as I can so I can earn a position where I never have to wear pants again. Good then? To talk to Marcy?”

“I’d hire you.”

“Want to come with me?”

“Eh, no. I’m going to take a ride, talk to Sabbie, see if I can’t catch Keith.”

She rolled her eyes, hesitating. “They’ll be there.”

“I’m going to be gone a couple of days. I want to get that taken care of before I go.”

“Thanks and where are you going?”

“Camping.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been told it’s good for the soul. Anyone calls for yardwork, get a name and number. I’ll call back next week, after Easter.

The doorbell sang two tones.

“Hey, Michelle. Nice dress,” Shawn said past me.

Michelle did blush.

“Hug?” Shawn asked, taking me up. “I’ve got the rest of the day free. I thought we could grab dinner.”

“Harvest,” I said in her ear.

“You’re a mind reader.”

“I have a couple of stops.”

“You always have a couple of stops.”

 

We dropped Michelle at Christian Jones Photography.

 

“I won’t be long,” I said, climbing from her blue Toyota.

“Keith,” I greeted.

“Toby,” he said, straightening from under the hood of a car.

“Going to be around for the next ten minutes?”

“Sure. Sounds ominous.”

“It might be. Sabbie here?”

He nodded. “Office. You OK?”

“Yeah. I got this.”

“You know I always have your back.”

“We’ll see.”

 

“Toby!” he greeted from behind the desk.

“Sabbie. I thought a phone call inappropriate. Michelle won’t be working here any longer.”

“Is this about the dick thing the other day? I mean, it was a joke and –”

“Nothing like that. She got another job, twice the money, more to her liking.”

“It’s just as well. He really stunk at this job. He was a lot of fun to mess around with, though.”

My instinct was to defend. “Good. I’m glad this works out for everybody.” My priority was to get out of the room.

“Wait.” He wrestled a wad of money from his pocket, peeling off bills. “I owe him two day’s pay.”

I accepted the $30, hurting myself not rolling my eyes. “Thanks.”

 

Keith leaned against the car. “So, Toby, here we are.”

“Yes. Here we are.”

“This is about Michael.”

“This is about Michelle.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Sir Keith. Here we are.”

“If I remember correctly, I pledged to serve and protect women.”

“Michelle is a woman.”

“Michael has a dick. He’s a boy with a stuffed bra and a dick.”

“Do you even like Michelle?”

“I guess, sure. Why not?”

“I was asked to deliver a message. Michelle is breaking up with you, effective immediately.”

“Ha. What an asshole. He can’t even do it himself.”

“She was afraid you’d hit her.”

He shrugged. “I just might have, come to think of it.” He leaned in my face, yelling, “Because he’s not a fucking girl.”

Shawn bounded from her Toyota, her advance cut off by a car.

“Everything alright here. Hi, Toby.”

“Hi, Bobbie. Sure.”

Keith took two steps back. “Sure, Officer Martin.”

“Remember what I told you, Keith.”

“I do, I do!”

I burned to know what Officer Martin had told Keith.

 

“I’ve always loved Easter,” Shawn said absently.

“I’m a bit puzzled by a rabbit with eggs. Why not an Easter chicken?”

Sitting on the Harvest veranda, Shawn nodded. “The bunny’s a symbol of fertility, as are eggs.”

My raised eyebrow stopped her.

“Oh, I thought it a serious question. I wasn’t talking about the rabbit anyway. Church. You know. All the girls dressed up like stepping out of a fairy tale.”

 I sighed, my cheek resting on my right palm. “Yeah. As a child, my clothes were not my own. I had a couple of Easters there in church, marveling at the finery, my powder blue dress, a smug on the sleeve I made worse trying to get out, a sock that wouldn’t stay up.”

“Like the Little Match Girl. Seeing them, seeing yourself.”

“Stop that.”

Pamala plopped down looking first to me, then Shawn, back to me. “Oh, I know that look.”

Sitting straight, I dropped my hand to my lap. “Wasn’t intentional.”

“Oh, it never is.”

“Anyway.” I glanced Shawn, turning to Pamala. “I’ll be going away for a couple of days.”

Pamala rolled her eyes. “I kind of saw this coming. You finding an excuse to duck church, the family weekend.”

“Oh, Pam, trust me. If I didn’t want to attend church with you, I’d just say that. Same with that nightmare of an extended family of yours. You’d say, I understand.”

“If I said I really, really wanted you there with me, you would, unless you had a great excuse.”

Shawn smeared a tear on her cheek with her palm. “It’s Jody.”

“It is.”

Pamala’s face asked the question.

“You know already, Pamala. The less you both know, the better it is for you.”

“I’ll go with you,” Shawn said.

“It’s a farther walk than sanctuary.”

“I remember. Oh, Shawn should go with you. You always think you must do stuff alone.”

“I leave at first light.”

Pamala laughed. “Always so dramatic!”

“I like to think romantic. I’m planning to be back by Saturday so I can get all decked out in my Easter finery and partake in all the pompery and circumstancing. At the first rape joke, I’ll put that cousin of yours in the hospital, demonstrating for your father what you meant my terrifying.”

“I have never loved you more than in this moment.”

“Me, too,” Shawn agreed.

Pamala took my hand. “I have to be home tonight. I’ve got that report I have to finish, school early, back here after.”

“I figured.”

“Shawn will stay the night with you.” Pamala looked at Shawn, nodding.

“Eh, well, I would –”

I sighed the deepest sigh that had ever been sighed in the entire history of sighing. “I have an early morning, too.” I wanted to add, We need to talk. I didn’t want something like that hanging two or three days. Pamala was pushing Shawn on me thinking I needed to get even for her fucking Jessica.

I didn’t feel uneven. Shawn was a thing of beauty. Maybe I did wish to fuck her. I certainly didn’t feel I had to fuck her.

 

“Cold,” Shawn said, having walked me to my exterior door, turning me, my back and her hand to the door over my head.

I drank her cobalt eyes, her eyes feasting, unbuttoning her coat, my hands to her waist. “Better?”

“A little. What if –”

“There are no what ifs, Shawn. The reality is I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to devastate you.”

“I know –”

“You can only imagine. You cannot know.”

She nodded sharp and fast.

“I want to be wrong. I want to find a canvas bag stuffed with laundry. I’m not wrong.”

“I can go –”

“Let’s just imagine a long diatribe on obligation and responsibility from me here.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Are we going to kiss? I feel like we’re going to kiss.”

Shawn glanced over her shoulder. “Well, Pam’s not coming up on us screaming.”

The door opened, we stumbled, managing to keep our feet.

“Oh, oh,” the elderly woman from across the hall said, working past us.

“Sorry,” I called after her. “Hung then. Before you hate me.”

We gathered each other up.

“I could never hate you,” she breathed in my ear.

“That’s just not the way the universe works.”

 

I’d dismissed the 26° low with a shrug, then added another layer of thermals, my overalls, and parka. Dancing naked at sanctuary for thirty minutes with The Tower and hot chocolate nearby was one thing. I learned on my long bike ride in the cold and the wind, my hands catching fire, that I do mind the cold in large helpings.

The fourth day off full, the moon watched down on me, painting the quiet landscape in surreal silver as I left well before first light, me wanting to be beyond urban morning commuters before the sun made her appearance. With a sigh to the canopy of stars, I dismissed the low-pressure system sitting off the Carolinas.

I had thought the Red Eagle Diner was only about thirty miles out, not two star systems, make a right at the Milky Way. Exhausted and overheated, I dropped my bike and bag far enough off the parking lot as to not be seen, working out of my parka and bibbed coveralls. Though tempted, I did not stop in for a hardy breakfast. Being a suspicious character didn’t matter much but would once the story broke.

I stowed the rolled coveralls in my parka, tying them down next to the tent on the duffel bag. “So far, so good,” I said to no one. I resisted the temptation to take a nap. Ladden down as I was, travel was slower than anticipated. Squinting toward the cloudless sky, I judged half my daylight gone.

As Locke, Borrows, and I returned to the highway, I caught what I thought might be a billboard or sign knocked over. Halfway beyond the fifth mile marker, fifteen feet into the brush, sat a dumped refrigerator. I puzzled there on the shoulder of the road, wondering how a refrigerator would meet its end in such a manner.

As I remembered, no path or road existed. Tire imprints trailed off, a sapling still pushed to the ground, a pine tree scuffed. Walking my bike into the Pines thirty feet, I dropped my backpack to the ground, retrieved the knife and red bandana, one of twenty bandanas, cut a two-inch strip, tying the marker eye level on a sapling.

I carefully Daniel Booned hints of the trail until I lost sight of my first marker, back tracked to see my marker, tying another. After tying my third marker, I checked the compass in case something were to happen to my breadcrumbs as unlikely at that would be.

At the sixth marker the song of the distance highway was more memory than substance. Sameness marched off in all directions, wind a vague caress, the trees creaking in whispers to each other as shade dropped a curtain around me. Clearing a healthy area, digging a hole in the sandy dirt, I kindled a fire then erected my tent.

Guessing at temperatures in the low 30’s and dropping, I still stripped to my bottom layer of thermals, worked into my hooded sweatshirt, hung my wool socks over a tent rope to air out. My insulated boots kept my feet warm, the downside was the sweating.

I symbolically feasted on a can of beans, my celebration of a job-well-done that first day in Locke’s house.

 

Day Two.

 

I puzzled against the darkness, wondering why I didn’t think to bring a watch. Michelle suggested I take her transistor radio. “Oh, Michelle, just the thought of being consumed by overwhelming quiet brings me to orgasm.” Well, almost.

The Pines were not overwhelmingly quiet.

The moon hung in the sky about where it did the morning before. I didn’t need a watch.

Deep sigh.

I rekindled my fire more out of desire, out of habit, than out of necessity.

“You aren’t going to dance with me?” a voice whispered across the cold forest air.

“Antoinette, hi,” I greeted.

The image shimmered through the fire’s dancing fingers. “Hi, October.”

Sitting cross-legged, I squirrelled around to see if I were still sleeping in the tent. “I could.”

“You cut your hair.”

“I did.”

“I loved your hair.”

I twisted my face as if I’d bitten into a lemon. “Dull, unkempt, always. Compared to yours. Always prim, proper. Not a hair out of place.”

“Is that how you saw me?” The image giggled dismissively. “Dad demanded I be Miss Perfect. Oh, how I envied you. Larry, that’s my brother Larry, working on his stupid model airplane, flicked his brush as me, putting the tiniest spot on the sleeve of my favorite dress.

“Oh, that won’t do! Dad said, giving away my favorite dress. A dress you wore to school, and nobody cared it had that tiny little dot on it.”

I narrowed my eyes, “How are you here?”

The image wavering behind the dancing flames, said, “Maybe you have a brain tumor.”

“I’d read about –”

She laughed, the tone and tenor reaching up painting the trees. “I’m kidding you. You should see your face. That’s what killed me. Not seeing your face, silly. A brain tumor. By the time they figured out what was wrong with me, I was dead.”

I nodded. “Do you know why I’m here?”

“To dance with me.”

I had meant in the Pines. Hers was a good answer, dancing naked as morning crept into the darkness. Almost naked anyway. I wore my socks and boots, armor against the sharp brush, pine needles, and thorns littering the forest floor having taken the lesson of a broken bottle.

Antoinette was gone, leaving me to doubt the encounter. I wanted to know whether she knew Jody Demarko, whether there was some Dead Girl Club. After all, what’s the use having a dead girlfriend if I can’t pump her for information.

Dressing, I once again affirmed aloud I did not know what Antoinette was but accepted that she was. The encounter was jarring, the most real experience with her I’d had, an in-depth dialog with information I could check. Still, I found her more gravy than grave.

The wind came up with the sun, temperatures hanging below freezing. I packed my coveralls with the tent, thankful for the parka, erasing my campsite. Placing a marker, I check my compass, the previous marker, then sure of my bearings, pressed on.

I lost the trail twice, not hopelessly.

“Twenty-one,” I proclaimed, tying a marker on sapling, exhausted, the sun calling down the day slipping away. “One more,” I promised.

The trail seemed to go off in all directions.

I dropped my bike, the backpack, clocking the clearing where Bill Locke turned his truck around. I had done a great job hiding our visit. “Hi, Jody.” I nodded to the grave only I could have seen.

“Well, that’s the hard part.”

My military folding shovel was great for compact storage, terrible for a serious excavation. It’d taken six hours with a good shovel and Borrow’s almost help to dig the grave. I cleared the camouflage revealing the dig, nodded, set up my tent off to the north, dug a hole, built a fire as night quietly embraced me.

I wasn’t four-boys-rape-me tired. I still needed sleep, too tired to bother to eat.

 

Day 3

 

I did not wake up refreshed. Sluggish and cold, I brought the fire to life, snuggling in my parka, digging in my backpack. With a quarter of my water in the aluminum pot with coffee grinds, I balanced the pot in the fire.

“Don’t bother me this morning,” I told the almost complete darkness beyond the fire. I wanted to continue our dialog. I didn’t wish to dance naked or otherwise.

“Fuck.” With the drop in temperature, the wind, and unseen clouds overhead, I knew that low pressure system off the Carolinas had come to visit.

Urgency screamed at me. “Fuck you,” I answered, eating Spam out of the can, sipping God-awful coffee from an aluminum cup, enjoying the song of the wind, the whispering of the majestic pines as they swayed overhead.

 

I only needed to see her face. “I should flip a coin,” I told the grave, hovering in my thermal underwear, boots, and parka. I figured I didn’t need to get dressed. I’d be working up a sweat.

The flashlight wedged in nearby branches didn’t reveal much. I didn’t need details to dig a hole. Without the moon, I had no idea what time it was. My first guess was Jody’s head would be to the south. I had no reason, just a guess. I knew whichever I chose, it’d be wrong because that’s the way the universe works.

My shovel penetrated the sandy soil north.

Three hours later, I stood in a serious hole up to my hip, heaving at the cold air, finally able to see the dark clouds overhead. Anyone else may have said ominous clouds.

I like dark clouds and what they bring.

Refreshing the fire, I added water to the pot, replacing it, spooning through half a can of beans. A snowflake landed on my nose. I crossed my eyes. “Bring it.”

For the next two hours, snow flirted with me, wind whipping squalls around. I so much wanted to dance naked, digging instead. I quit the shovel not wishing to hit her, pulling at the dirt with bare hands, revealing canvas.

As I guessed, I dug out the feet side, still not certain the bag wasn’t stuffed with a month’s laundry. Carefully, my hunting knife created a twelve-inch slit, which I pulled open like Superman his shirt.

“Fuck.”

Feet, naked, soft, pale, bluish. “Beautiful.”

The ligature marks circumnavigating her ankles reached out and slapped me in the face.

“Cry later.”

My anger drove me against the dirt until I had nothing left, exposing the north side of the canvas bag. I coffeed, finished my beans, watching the wet snow plop on the ground through the windless air beyond my fire.

I sat on Jody’s chest, my knife penetrating canvas, blade up, ripping a slit perfectly. Again, Superman.

Jody Demarko’s hazed pale brown eyes watched me, her soft, flawless flesh mocking death. I expected her to smell – she didn’t. Everything smelled of rich damp soil. I expected her to speak – she didn’t.

Her cream sweater and denim jacket matched what the newspaper reported she was last seen wearing.

 

After I reburied Jody, I cut a dozen large pine branches making a tent for my tent, preparing for the worst. Much of snow stayed high in the trees. I still had three inches on the ground with no sign of it letting up.

I’d considered making a run for it. I had shelter where I was, plenty of food, plenty of water dropping from the sky.

I get out of pomping and circumstancing.

I puzzled no one saw it coming, not a single weather person. Well, Tim Smith did. I did. I saw the low-pressure system.

Sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, outside the tent, I said, “Well, there’s that witch, too. If you make it back.”

I chucked. There, sitting, watching snow pile up around me, I never felt at risk. “Because I over prepare.”

 

After feeding the telephone, I said, “Hey.”

“Toby!” Michelle answered. “What the –”

“Calm down. I’m OK. I don’t know what time it is. I don’t even know what day it is. But I’m OK.”

“Thank God.”

“God had nothing to do with it.”

“Just an expression.”

“I’m still a couple of hours out. First phone booth I found working.” It was the second. “Spread the word. I know some people must be worried.”

“Not a one.”

“Huh?”

“I was, you know, with eight feet of snow and all.”

“It was only two feet and change.”

“Expression, Toby. Anyway, Pam told me you’re of the storm or something. It’s your home. Nothing to worry about, you dancing your little heart out.”

“It’s been just like that.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I did.”

“I have phone calls to make. Want your messages?”

“No.”

 

Mable Rodgers was well into her seventies, slight, silver hair twisted on top her head, ashen complexion, bright brown eyes, too comfortable at my table sipping tea with Michelle.

“Toby!” Michelle greeted, standing. “Need help?”

My backpack fell from my shoulders. “Me, never.”

She hugged me. I allowed it.

“This is Mable,” she presented.

“From across the hall. We kind of met. Hi.”

“Toby.” She nodded.

“It’s been a time,” Michelle said, returning to the table.

“I don’t know what I’d done if not for Michelle.”

I was too tired to wish to know any more.

“The snow,” Mable insisted. “I’d have starved to death.”

“Michelle is generous and helpful that way.” I thought I could jump to the end of the story.

“Boy, is she!”

Michelle blushed.

Slipping away, I returned with my duffel bag, tent, sleeping bag, overalls, and parka.

“Do you need any help?” Michelle asked again, half standing.

“No.”

One more trip, I added my bicycle to the pile in the living room.

“Hungry?” Michelle asked. “I can make –”

“I need a very long, hot shower and a long nap.” I gave Mable a single sharp nod. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“I’ve been meaning to knock, you know, introduce myself –”

I gave her my traffic cop palm. “Shower. Nap.”

 

I didn’t need sleep as much as I needed my own bed, distant voices invading my scattered dreams. Though I couldn’t hear what they were saying, I put names to each: Pamala, Shawn, Michelle. The absence of Mable was a relief.

After a bathroom stop, I entered the living room, rolling my eyes. “OK, who’s first?”

Shawn got me first, whispering in my ear. “You were missed.”

“How was Easter?”

“Snowed in at Pam’s.”

“You couldn’t have picked a better place.”

“I know.

Pam held me. “Good time?” she asked.

“Very. Bitter sweat.”

Michelle provided coffee. “Hungry?”

“I’m good. What did I miss?”

“Mr. Stenholm called – a number of times. He didn’t believe you were camping, I guess.”

“About?”

Michelle shrugged. “Wouldn’t say.”

“I need to see him anyway. In the morning.”

“A couple of people called. The storm messed up their yards. Said they were on your list.”

I closed my eyes. “Who?”

“Oh, not to worry. I plan on going over in the morning. I can drag branches, rake a yard.”

“Look at you, eager beaver. I’ll accept the help, give you a garage key. Keep track of what you do for who. Tell them I’ll bill them later.”

“I started a notebook.”

“Good. Keith?”

“Came around once, late, drunk. Banged on the door. I wouldn’t let him in. Mable said she was going to call the cops. That chased him off.”

“Maybe I’ll get the cops to talk to him.”

“Anyway. One other thing, then I’m off to bed. Branches in the morning. You remember George? From the dinner?”

“I thought Ralph asked you out?”

“This is a whole different thing.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Really. George and I really got along. He kind of guessed, eh, well –”

“You’re not a natural girl.”

“Yeah, that. Anyway, he’s got a younger sister. The school has a spring formal coming up.” He looked across me, Pamala on my right. “She’s overweight. She's got no confidence.”

“I guess the kids in school mocking her all the time would do that,” Pamala interjected.

“I guess.” Michelle looked at her hands. “George said he really liked me. He asked if I’d take his sister to the dance. I said yes.”

I narrowed my eyes at Michelle, her at the head of the table on my left. “I don’t see where this is an urgent problem –”

“George wants Michael to take his sister to the dance,” Shawn said. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“I promised Toby she’s getting a girl roommate.”

“Michael taking a girl to a dance. I did not see that coming.” I shrugged. “The only problem I can see is I doubt they’ll be doing much ballet.”

“I was going to ask Shawn –”

“It’ll be my pleasure.”

Michelle nodded sharply, standing. “Thanks, to both of you. I’m off to bed. Work in the morning.”

“How about –” I started.

“JC Penney, two miles up the highway. I got a dark suit – and a pink tie – yesterday.”

“She’s really come a long way since I met her,” Pamala said, Michelle’s bedroom door clicking shut.

“How’s Dad’s back?”

“Better. He’s back to work. We won’t let him leave the office, hardly.”

“Good. Staying the night?”

“I am. But, I have to drop Shawn off.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You two have been hanging out, huh?”

“It’s not like –”

“I’m kidding. Take a shower. I’ll walk Shawn home.” I caught Shawn’s cobalt eyes. “Unless you wish to stay.”

“Eh. I can’t.”

The three of us stood, Pamala and Shawn embracing like the end of the universe was upon us.

 

Crisp air embraced us, stars’ shimmering smiles dancing around barren branches, houses mostly dark, our shoes marking cadence on cold concrete.

“She obeys you so well,” Shawn sighed.

I took her hand. “It’s more like she knows what I need.”

“I don’t wish to get in the habit of keeping anything from either of you.”

“It’s not about that. Have you ever had a relationship with a girl?”

“Odd question. Pam asked it: Have you ever fucked a girl?”

“She would. That’s not my question, though. We human beings are animals. I mean, we’re just another animal among a mess of other animals on the planet. Given the core instinct of any animal is our Darwinistic drive and impulse to procreate, that is to say fuck, the fucking part is easy. Actual relationships are hard.”

“Eh, fuck, Toby. Me without my decoder ring.”

“I read sociology, psychology, anthology textbooks. For years now, I’m read popular magazines and magazines meant for adults, particularly the letters and forums sections. You see, Shawn, until recently, I’ve not had an actual human relationship.

“Pamala is my first human relationship with a living person.”

“Living person?”

“I know how weird that sounds.”

“How about your parents?”

“Though I lived in their house, they never knew me, I never knew them.”

“Oh, I so get that.”

“I thought you might, which brings us back around to my question.”

“Mine first. Living person?”

I bit my lip. “I fell in love, real and true, back in first grade, I guess. Just the glance of her melted my bones, stopped my heart. For reasons I still can’t reason, I could not talk to her. I was terrified of her. Years. All I could do was watch her.

“Out of school, I’d pretend we were friends. Even more than friends. I imagined walking with her, us reading books together. Then, she died.”

“Fuck, Toby.”

“Along the way, given the nightmare at home – imagine the worst – it was worse than that – I'd leave the house, find my way through the woods, kindle a fire, and dance terrible ballet naked.”

“Sanctuary. Appropriately named.”

“Soon after Antoinette died, there she was, as real as you or me, dancing with me. She continued to be my best friend, eventually became my lover.

Shawn stepped in front of me, wrapping me up. “Damn, girl. That is so beautifully tragic,” she breathed in my ear.

“I truly believe it’s why I’m even alive today.”

“Antoinette?”

“Yes?”

“I mean, that was – eh, is – her name?”

“Yes. Antoinette Blanc.”

She held me tighter. “She lived on the other end of my street, down by the river. I remember the story. Died of a brain tumor. You borrowed her name?”

“Stole it, her whole identity. She wasn’t using it.”

“Wow. I want to drop to my knee, again.”

We released each other, holding hands, walking.

“Please don’t.”

“Let me see. No. I’ve never had a human relationship with a girl or a boy other than superficial brushes with people. My parents don’t know me. Their relationship is with the show I put on.”

“Persona. Literally means mask you wear.”

“That’s perfect.”

“We have a relationship. Me and you. You and Pam. Not long ago, I stood on the lawn of an asshole and denied Pamala as to not upset my customer.”

“Persona. We talked about this. Nothing gained my disturbing the sensitivities of people in a position to tip you.”

“It was in that moment, Shawn, when I denied the most important thing in my life, when I realized what your life was like. I wanted to run to you. I wanted to hold you so long and so tight, all the pain would melt into the sidewalk.”

“You’re going to make me cry.”

“You have no idea.”

Shawn’s sigh should have flattened the shrubbery. “Jody.”

“Your aunt should be getting notification within a couple of days. I marked the trail.”

“Good. It can be over. Did you Antoinette her?”

“No, and not for lack of trying. I did sit on her chest, I told her she was beautiful, that she was missed, that she was loved. I spent way too much time talking to her to not call it creepy.”

“Then you kissed her.”

“I did. Like a mother might.”

She pulled me to a stop, clocking all directions. “I do not know how your body can restrain a soul so tragically beautiful as yours. Jessica was wrong. A person can be worthy of worship. You are wrong. I cannot hate you.

“If you don’t kiss me now like you kissed me at the dinner, I’m going to drop to knee.”

 

Pamala glanced over the top of the book as I entered the bedroom.

“That didn’t take long.”

I dropped my coat on the floor, wrestling with my sweater. “Seemed like a geological age.”

“I assumed you found Jody, that you didn’t want me butting into the conversation.”

“Yeah, we should do a gypsy act.”

“She OK?”

“I think so. I took about five hundred words to tell her I understand.”

“No one does, you know. Until now.”

“Another Little Match Girl. I know.”

“I cannot imagine what it would be like to have my parents hate me like yours do you. With Shawn, she hides herself so her parents don’t even know they hate her.”

“They don’t deserve a daughter as beautiful as she.”

“Can we keep her?”

“Yes.”

Naked, I worked under the blankets, my hand teasing at her light blue smiling cloud pajama bottom hem. “How early do you have to be up?”

“Doesn’t matter. I would like to finish this chapter.”

“Read aloud?”

“Kidding.”

“You shaved?”

Pamala squirmed uncomfortably. “Jessica said, well, she was too amused, came close to mocking me.”

“That must have ruined the mood.”

“If the smell of floor cleaner, urinal cake, and moldy mops didn’t ruin the mood, Jessica wise cracking as she buried her face in my wooly mammoth wasn’t going to.”

“I love you real and true.”

“Thanks to Jessica, I know the difference.”

“There is that.”

 

I wore a cotton A line dress, dark blue with flowing roses, dropping almost to my knees, swooping neckline revealing the gold pendant, comfortable once again in my shined to perfection black army boots, comfortable as to say now I was dead.

“Toby,” Jennifer Reeves greeted, standing behind the desk, the glass door closing behind me. Her slim hand flowed as if by magic to her chest. “Jennifer.” Her summer sky at noon blue eyes held mine, the hand reaching out.

I’d danced naked alone in the woods, returned to my former high school to strut the halls, gone camping in the Pines, and just taken the Speedline underground. After bellying up to those fears, I didn’t understand why this stranger terrified me so much – like Antoinette terrified me.

I eyed the hand down my nose. “I’d rather not.”

The hand withdrew. “Oh?”

“Nothing personal.”

“I meant Oh, I understand. I guess you wish to see Mr. Stenholm.”

“Mr. Clark said you are a legal assistant.”

“So not polite to talk behind a girl’s back.”

My poker face failed. “It wasn’t like –”

“Toby! Kidding. Yes. I’m a legal assistant. I’m the reason the lawyers look so good.”

“All this time, I thought Mr. Stenholm was smart.”

She winked. “I let him think so.”

The speaker on her desk crackled. “Jennifer?”

She pushed a button. “Mr. Stenholm?”

“When you get done with your office gossip, you may send Toby in.”

She blushed, looking over her shoulder. “Of course, Mr. Stenholm.”

I held my hand forward.

Puzzlement covered her face, her hand coming to mine.

“One Little Match Girl to another.”

“Huh?”

“I meant to say Oh, I understand.”

 

“She’s a looker, huh?” Stenholm greeted, ushering me in, closing the door. “Clark told me what you said.”

I dropped to the small sofa, Stenholm on the far side, yellow pad at the ready.

“Did I grow a dick, Mr. Stenholm?”

“Toby!”

I shrugged. “Then don’t talk to me as if I have one. It’s not only disrespectful to me, but to all women everywhere, including your eye candy out there.”

“Eye candy! Jennifer is one of the finest researchers –”

“That, Mr. Stenholm, is my point. Now, if you’re going to make excuses for your toxic male environment, this conversation is going to get ugly.”

Mr. Stenholm deflated. “I apologize.”

“Good fucking choice.” With an eye roll, I opened a tan folder. “I have some things. My bother?”

“You know, Toby, the way you talk sometimes, I forget you’re a child, forget you’re a girl. Treat you as an equal.”

I held his eyes. “We are not equals.”

“Maybe that’s what scares me.”

“Good. That’s a healthy attitude. My brother.”

“Everything worked out, just as we planned.”

“Did Mr. Clark have to suck a mile of dick?”

Stenholm chuckled, rolling his eyes. “And, here we go again. There was no dick sucking required.”

“I read a lot. I do so love a good metaphor. I do get your point, Mr. Stenholm. You and I are often too familiar with each other, a familiarity that should only come after we bury a body together.”

He shared a sharp nod. “Understood. Your father, or rather October’s father did have questions.”

“And?”

“Clark used big words and spoke quickly.”

I laughed, more like a dismissive giggle.

“Mark, well, he didn’t much care.”

“Sounds about right, the entitled little asshole.” I handed a sheet of paper from my folder.

“Who might this be?”

“Works the rental office where I live. When I needed a place to live, I cried on her desk, told a bullshit story about my violent father going to kill my mother, dropped a year’s rent with a $500 signing bonus on the desk.”

He chuckled. “She’s come back to the well, huh?”

“Bucket in hand. I do so love a metaphor.”

“I assume you don’t wish to move right now.”

“I’ve not gotten unpacked yet.”

“We’ll write some papers up.”

“Talk fast with big words?”

“Like that. We’ll get the lease transferred to the LLC.”

“That’s a whole lot easier than what I had in mind.”

“Which was?”

“You don’t wish to know. Next.”

He held the paper at arm’s length. “You want to buy a cab company?”

“I really don’t. Jessica wants to contract the company.” I nodded toward the sheet of paper. “Jane says she’ll not be in business by the fall. I want to see what I can do to keep her from failing.”

“Because?”

“Out of the fucking goodness of my fucking heart.”

“Toby! It’s a legitimate question.”

I took a deep breath. “She got beaten, gang raped, left for dead. When they wet-vacuumed her off the asphalt and stitched her back together, she was awarded a settlement. A slick talking shiny shoed salesman, likely using big words, faked the financials and projections of the cab company, effectively stealing all her money against the promise of income.

“I want to see what it’s going to take to make the company healthy.”

“Let’s start by, well, can we look at the current situation? The books?”

“I’ll get an investment banker to give you a full report.”

“I want to look back, too. I want to look at the settlement, investigate the sale. Is that OK?”

“Why ask me?”

“You’re paying for it.”

“Good. Do it. Put Jennifer on it.”

“Sure. Why?”

“She doesn’t have a dick. I like that quality in a person.”

“You think Jane got railroaded because she’s a woman.”

“You’re catching on, Mr. Stenholm.”

“Anything else? What about that business we spoke about?”

“I took care of that. As they say, the less you know. I do have a question.”

“You always make things sound so ominous.”

“This could be. I need a private detective.”

“There are many firms –”

“I want a bottom feeder. Scum of the earth. A real card-carrying asshole. A guy I can only trust because he’s taking my money.”

“I have never hired such a person. I have defended one.”

“Get him off?”

“Barely.”

“Sold.”

“Clark!”

The door opened. “Mr. Stenholm?”

“Rich Serling’s file.”

“Hi, Toby. The whole file?”

“Yes.”

Back to me, I sensed he wanted to pat my hand like a doting grandmother. “This property.”

“Do you mean the too-good-to-be-true property that can’t be mine because the universe won’t let me have anything good for long? That property?”

He sighed. “It has a no-build clause in the city zoning.”

“There was a house –”

“The house was one hundred-fifty-three years old. The clause is new. Older than you, but new.”

I shrugged. “No rabbits for me. Why?”

“Details are sketchy. A group of people were claiming the location is a Lenni-Lenape graveyard.”

“Since the property had an existing structure, no proof was required.”

“Would you like to come work for me?”

“Do you suppose, then, the property was haunted? The ghosts either burned the house down or drove the people mad, the family burning the house down?”

“Eh –”

“The answer is no.”

“You seem pretty sure of that.”

“I am. Ghosts don’t exist. However, I do. I’m going to add visit Tom Thomas to my list. He was going to dump the property on me. Ha, ha, you can’t build! Funny guy.”

“He may not know.”

“I’ll read him. I’ll know if he knows. People aren’t complicated. Sometimes I wish they were.”

“I’m looking into how hard and fast that ruling is. We’re not done.”

I barely shrugged. “The lot is going for chump change. Maybe I’ll buy it anyway, drop a statue of Henry Hudson in the center with a plaque detailing his discovery of the native population and how he cheated them out of Long Island. A few gardens would be nice. I like roses, but from what I’ve been reading, daisies are less work. Maybe hydrangea. A long wall at the back of the property.”

“I can never tell when you’re kidding.”

“Look at this face. I’m kidding now.”

James Clark entered with an inch-thick file, which he passed to Stenholm who passed it to me.

“Hang onto it.”

“Mr. Stenholm!” Clark objected. “That’s the confidential file!”

“Nothing in there that’s not public record.”

I thanked Mr. Stenholm, and not just for the file. I learned confidential was just a word with no real meaning. I was happy I didn’t get the law firm involved with my Jody Demarko decisions.

“Clark will drop you off,” Stenholm said as we stood.

“I’m good. I’m sure Mr. Clark has important things to do.”

“Maybe Jennifer?” Mr. Stenholm offered.

“I’m still good. The underground terrifies me. I’d read a couple of things arguing that running at irrational fears can diminish them. I’m doing like a science study.”

 

Five blocks west, I caught a bus for about a mile north, walking again another eleven blocks. 20-yard trash containers lined up to the street from the building, dozens of workers in construction clothes and hardhats scurrying about, machinery everywhere.

“Mr. Goldman, Butch,” I greeted, Butch Falcon with a clipboard next to John Goldman on the street side of the fence.

“Toby,” Butch greeted with a nod.

Mr. Goldman wrapped me up. “Good to see you,” he said in my ear.

“Good being seen, John.”

Goldman kept my hand, which I didn’t find too creepy.

“Sale went through, huh?” I asked no one.

“Two weeks,” Falcon said, watching the distance. “We have provisional permission to get started.”

“Such a wonderful surprise,” Goldman said.

“I was on my way to your office, thought I’d take a side trip.”

“Terrible, huh?”

“I don’t know if I’m sadder for me than I am for you.”

“What happened?” Falcon asked.

“Indians died,” Goldman said.

“Indians?”

“Yep. Buried on the property I want to buy and build on.”

“Indians?” he repeated. “They’re dead. Why should they care? Dig ‘em up and move ‘em. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

I waved it all away. “Not worth the trouble, not worth arguing about. Even that morning when I climbed the chain link, when I stood in what little was left of the burned-out house, I knew the property wasn’t going to be mine.

“That’s just the way the universe works. Who am I to fuck with the universe?”

Goldman put his arm around my shoulders. “You’re too young to have seen all that you have.”

“We’ll find another property.”

“We’ll see what the universe has in store for us.”

“Hey, Butch.”

He looked up from the clipboard. “Toby?”

“Can you get me on the scoop thing?”

“Front loader, Toby,” Goldman said. “Let me find you a hardhat. It never fails with any major construction job, the asshole financing it will want to play with the equipment. That’s just the way –”

“The universe works,” I finished.

 

I was not pleased with the hour I wasted pushing the front loader around, doing actual productive work. Perfect symbiosis came in less than ten minutes. I thought the men would laugh at me, tiny next to the machine – and a girl in a delicate blue dress and red fleece coat.

I believe they wanted to laugh, maybe mock me. They Sally-ed me, humored me. After all, they had a good guess I was paying their salaries.

“You come back when you’re old enough to shave,” Rich Katz, the foreman told me. “I’ll give you a job.”

I appreciated the patter.

 

I wiggled to get comfortable on the high stool like a hen might in her nest, my Mary Janes hooked on a rung, hands in the lap of my pale white Antoinette dress, head turned to my left. “How’s this?”

“I can’t believe how much you don’t look like you,” Marcy said. “Stagnant, flat. Like a school photo.”

“The wig’s close to my natural color.”

“I know.”

I may have blushed a little.

“Your eyebrows, Toby.” She rolled her eyes, coming around the camera, fluffing the wig.

“A school photo is kind of the idea.” I didn’t wish to explain I wanted to capture Antoinette in the emulsion. “Michelle said her assisting wasn’t a good fit.”

Marcy adjusted a light, returning to the camera, releasing the shutter. “I’m not gay at all, but I’d fuck you.”

In the millisecond second before I laughed, the shutter snapped again.

“That’s the photo, the instant in which you’re not trying to be something.”

“Lightning in a bottle.”

“Good way to put it.” She held her left hand high. “Just your eyes. Look at my hand.

Shutter.

“Perfect. You are beautiful. As I said –”

“You don’t have to fuck everything you find beautiful.”

“Like that.”

For thirty minutes, Marcy worked me around as we spoke of nothing. Finally, she said, “I can’t hire Michelle because she’s not a girl.”

“Oh, I assure you, Michelle is very much –”

“She’s not a natural girl.”

“You’re not making any since. All this time, you stuck me as openminded.”

“Oh, Toby, I’m as openminded as they come.” She bit her lip. “Each fall, my bread and butter is in school photography - elementary through high school. Pays my bills for the year and then some. Frees me up to do what I want to do. There’s a lot of myth and madness out there concerning people who society would not consider normal. Candidly: Many if not most people believe homosexual men are child molesters. As much as you and I know one does not follow the other –”

“The social culture believes it. If the unwashed they out there discover Michelle’s not an actual girl –”

“Michelle in fact is a boy.”

“Semantics.”

“Semantics don’t matter. Perception does.”

“I do understand what you’re saying, and I do agree with you. I was wandering beyond the scope of the original question.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“Oh, I agree with you. I just don’t agree with the social culture.”

“You said it yourself at the party.”

“It was a dinner.”

“About having that kind of power over someone’s life.”

“Did a Michael Borrows avail himself of your services?”

“Asshole. Yes. He might have been pretty if he wasn’t falling down dunk, asking me for a blow job. He thought I should at least kiss him.”

“Trust me in saying that’s the least of his offenses against humanity.”

“No shit?”

“Print me copies. I want that kind of power over his life.”

“Done.” She kept my eyes. “I have a wedding in two weeks. I’d like you to assist. Set up, take down. Carry equipment. Change film. Pose groups.”

“I’m really not good with people.”

“Oh, you’re great with people. I watched you at the party. You’re just not comfortable being good with people. It’ll do you good.”

“It may.” I narrowed my eyes, slipping into my coat. “School photos?”

“What about them?”

“Do you archive?”

“We have storage.”

“If I give you a name –”

“It’s easier if you show me a yearbook.”

“I don’t have a yearbook.”

“Library. Just give me the publication number and her name.”

 

“Don’t think me weird,” Charlotte said, stepping back in the fitting room at Valkyries Drycleaners and Formal Wear.

“Not a chance,” I answered, twirling to feel the silk on my thighs.

“It’s just, how do I put this. I feel such a privilege dressing you, making this dress for you. You are so beautiful.”

I watched myself in the full-length mirror, the black silk dancing. Having stepped out of myself, seeing me as Antoinette, I agreed.

“Try this, just for fun.”

She plopped a wide brimmed cream hat with black hatband on my head, stepping back again. “You look like a movie star.”

“I need sunglasses.”

“I have a pair.”

“I was kidding.”

“No, wait.”

She left, returning quickly.

“Damn,” I said through my teeth. “Should I walk like a runway model now?”

 

“Jane,” I greeted.

“Toby. I wanted to say –”

I gave her my traffic stop hand. “I want to see what I can work out.”

“As in?”

“First things first. May I get the limo in an hour for about two hours, maybe less?”

“Where to?”

“Off the books.”

“Sure. Ralph isn’t –”

“Not a problem. Second. I’ve met with my law firm and my financial advisor.”

She swallowed hard.

“I’ve engaged my law firm to look into the settlement and your purchase of the cab company.”

“Forgive me for asking: Why?”

“Because they’ve been times in my life when I was really fucked and no one bothered to reach a hand out. If we can prove you were fucked, well, we’re going to fuck them back harder.”

“What do you need from me.”

“I need your books, all your records.”

“I’m behind –”

Again, the traffic cop hand. “Doesn’t matter. We need to do a complete assessment. I’m hoping it’s not a postmortem.”

“Limo, one hour. Your apartment. He’ll have a box with him.”

 

“Toby?” he greeted when I opened the door.

“I assume you’re Hank.” I relieved him of the box.

“I am. Ralph’s said a lot about you.”

“More about Michelle, though, I bet.”

“You would win that bet.”

I worked my new floppy hat on my head, placed my sunglasses, light red suede bag loose on my arm, tan folder in my hand.

“No coat.”

“It’s a beautiful spring day. Maybe I want to show off my new dress. Like it?”

“Silk has always been a favorite of mine.”

 

Hank was in his forties, built sturdy a perfect frame for his dark suit, a serious man, brown hair my color, eyes similar. He recoiled when I gave him the address.

“Do you know where this is?”

“Seven blocks west of the hospital.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” I’d ridden by bike past the property, the street I’d seen people lounging on porches the day I took the GED. For reasons I wouldn’t share with Hank, I wanted to project an image.

Hank parked illegally in front of the corner property, coming around, opening my door, offering a hand, which I took.

“I’ll come in with you.”

“I’m good, Hank. Stay with the car.”

I crossed the glaring sidewalk, the sun over my left shoulder cutting sharp shadows. Mastering the five concrete steps with little difficulty wearing my three-inch formal sandals, I turned the doorknob, pushed the door open and because I do live a cliché, as I filled the opening, I announced into the dim office: “Mr. Serling. I need a detective. It’s a matter of life and death.”

 

Part 19