Broken Pasts(4)

“Put it on,” she whispered excitedly. I detached the card, smiled at the hastily scrawled 'I love you' and slipped off the eye of Horus necklace. I put the new necklace on in its place and did a ridiculous and completely embarrassing, wine inspired runway show.

I had just traded a symbol of protection for a symbol of love.

I should've worn both the necklaces.

***

Rhea spent the remainder of the afternoon in her bedroom playing video games while Jamie and I looked at magazines whose sole intention was to destroy a person's self image and sense of beauty.

“Jamie,” I said and I tried to keep my voice low so Rhea wouldn't hear. I mean, I could at least pretend that she wouldn't hear. How is it that little kids always manage to eavesdrop on the worst conversations? They were all natural-born sleuths, I swear it. “Have you ever had an … ” I stared at the article in my hand and fought through a lump in my throat to articulate my question. “An orgasm?” Jamie looked up suddenly, face horrified.

“You're not just bringing this up now, are you?” she asked, face locked into this terrible expression of dismay. She still looked pretty with her smoky eyes and red rouged lips, even in the baggy gray sweat suit she was wearing. I looked away and shrugged.

“I'm not saying I haven't had one. I'm just not … sure.” Jamie put her wine down, closed her magazine and took me by the hand.

“If you're not sure if you've had one, then you haven't had one. You would know.” I frowned and tried to peek around the corner without leaving my stool. Rhea already had penises on the brain. The last thing I needed was her running back to Glen's house and telling him that Mommy never had an orgasm. Wouldn't that be nice?

“Well, when … ” God, I can barely say his name. I shook myself of the fear and continued. “When Gary and I first got together, the sex was great, but – ” Jamie cut me off.

“But it wasn't orgasmic,” she said with a sigh. “Dear God.” Jamie stood up, opened the freezer and pulled out the bottle of Jäger. “We're going to need this,” she said as she retrieved a pair of glasses. “This is okay. This is normal.” I raised my eyebrows and swept a bit of stray hair from my forehead. It sounded more like Jamie was reassuring herself rather than me. “The average age for a woman's first orgasm is twenty-eight, so that means some are earlier and some are later. You're just on the … the later side.”

“Where did you read that fact?” I asked skeptically. “That doesn't sound right.” Jamie ignored me and gestured at the living room window with a raise of her chin.

“Can you please close those curtains?” she asked as she poured our drinks. “Some weirdo's driving up and down the street. I don't like to be stared at when I'm wearing the world's ugliest sweat suit.”

“You could've packed a bag,” I whispered as she started to talk over me.

“You do masturbate, right? Most women have their first orgasm while masturbating.”

“What's masturbation?” Rhea asked as she skipped into the kitchen and sniffed the glass of Jäger that was sitting in front of my abandoned magazine. “Gross, that smells like black licorice. I hate black licorice, but I like the red kind.”

I groaned and grabbed the blue and white curtains in one hand when I saw him.

Gary.

Gary was sitting in a white car that I'd never seen driving down the street in front of my house. His brown hair was clean and combed back and his face was pleasant and relaxed. He in no way looked the part of a stalker. But that's all I could think. Stalker. He turned the corner and disappeared around the block. I stood frozen in front of the window, certain that he'd come back around at any moment.

“Masturbation is when a person touches themselves to feel good,” Jamie said as Rhea stuck out her tongue and opened the refrigerator, obviously uninterested.

“She's nine,” I said to Jamie by way of explanation as I tried to keep the fear I was feeling out of my voice. It was just a coincidence. Had to be a coincidence. Gary had to make home visits for some of his clients. There was always the chance that he was just out here for a work thing and had decided to drive by. I noticed then that my hands were shaking.

“So what?” she asked. “Ray started masturbating when he was six months old.” I didn't respond, just waited to see if the white car would reappear. It didn't. Finally, Jamie came over and stood beside me, putting a hand to my forehead to see if I was okay.

“You don't look so good,” she told me as I finally got the strength to draw the curtains. I checked the front door next and then the back. The windows came next. Jamie waited until I was out of Rhea's sight and grabbed me by the upper arms. “What the hell is going on with you?” she asked, all serious now. She had her prosecutor face on. It's not something that can be argued with or ignored. Jamie demands attention when she's like that.

“Gary,” I said. She continued to stare at me, waiting for an explanation.

“Mom?” Rhea asked as she came around the corner and saw us standing there. “What are you doing?”

“Hey,” Jamie said and her face lit up for the briefest of moments as she stared my daughter's big brown eyes down. “Why don't you go pick us all a movie to watch? We'll make beds on the floor in the living room. It'll be fun.” Rhea nodded enthusiastically and disappeared again. When Jamie turned back to me, I slumped and let my guard down. There was no point in trying to hide it from her anymore. “What's going on?” I looked up and caught her gaze with mine.

“It's Gary,” I said. “And he's stalking me.”





CHAPTER 4

I stared at the phone number on the notepad that Jamie had left me.

PPSD was scrawled across the top of the white and pink lined paper with the tiny butterfly silhouettes. I had bought it for Rhea to take to school, but she hadn't wanted it.

“Butterflies are for pussies,” she'd said defiantly. Glen would've burst an artery to hear her talk like that. I'd just ignored it and let Jamie pull it from my hand where she'd jotted down the information for Personal Private Security Detail.

“They are awesome,” she'd told me as she tapped the paper with her bright, red fingernails. “During our last case, we had a whole slew of psychos picketing around the office. They were so convinced that this guy was innocent that they were attacking anybody involved with the case. So,” she slapped the pad with the back of her hand. “We hired PPSD. They sent over these big burly guys in camo.” She noticed my twitching lip and paused, putting her hand on my arm for reassurance. “If you prefer a guy in a suit, they've got that, too. They're all ex-military or martial arts geniuses or whatnot and most of them are tight.” I rolled my eyes.

“Jamie, the last thing I need is a new man. Trying to get rid of my old one here, remember?”

“They'll protect you, Theresa,” she protested. I was already shaking my head. “Just until you learn to use that gun, get some new locks, change your phone number … ”

“How much?” I asked skeptically. Employing a trained soldier twenty-four/seven could not come cheap.

“I'll give you some money,” Jamie had said and then paused. “And if you need him longer, you could always dip into your house money.”

“No.” That was that. Jamie had written me a massive check that I felt horrible for taking and had taken Rhea to school for me only after I had sworn on my life that I would call as soon as she had left.

“This is nuts,” I told myself as I picked up the phone and dialed the number.

“Personal Private, this is Emily. How may I help you?”

“I, uh.” I had no idea what to say. That my ex-husband may or may not have been purposely driving down my street last night? That he'd been a little weird in the parking lot the night before? That my best friend was paranoid and it was really nothing and I had no idea what I was doing. “My husband is stalking me.” Emily tsk-tsked and I could hear keys pounding a million miles an hour as she typed.

“You were right to call us,” she said, taking control of the conversation. I couldn't have been more grateful. “We have a couple employees who specialize in stalking. They can act as a witness to your case and help you document the incidents. Without that, the police can't do a thing.” She paused. “Have you gone to the police yet, Ms. … ” It took me a moment to realize I hadn't given her my name.

“Theresa McMaster. And, uh, no. I haven't gone to the police.” I hadn't even thought about doing that. I mean, it wasn't such a big deal yet, right? “I feel silly,” I admitted as Emily continued typing.

“Why's that?” she asked me as she made a little ooh in the back of her throat. “Nathaniel is free and he's absolutely lovely. What's your budget, darling?”