It was 3.13
AM. She was taking a bath after awaking from a nightmare – that hadn’t happened
in a long time. Soft music was coming out of the portable Bluetooth speaker
propped up on the sink countertop. She switched it off before dialling his
number on her cell, considering what she was going to say. Definitely not ‘I’m
worried.’
But she did
have a cover story for the call: shy Bahrainian dance partner, Salem, was
finally made to submit and accept that they were going to be glorious entrants
in the end of year Latin dance competition no matter what. Now to invite Jerry
before he slapped down other plans.
I know how busy you are, but I would love,
love, love it if you came to watch me…
Too
desperate. He would be there.
Hollywood could wait. She loved the voyeuristic thrill of him watching her.
Being watched made most people feel vulnerable but when you soared over your
audience, it had the opposite effect.
It sucked
that she had to jockey for his time like this; it used to be just ‘grab n go.’
God, she didn’t know how good she had it when he was home; she basically ran
his life – what a head trip!
Without her
realizing, one of her legs had risen out of the water to dab at the mist
covered window at the end of the bath. When she lowered her leg again there was
a vaguely humanoid imprint to Jerry’s size. She had got his whole head size
with less than the imprint of her big toe. Trying to shape his parts with her own
made it clear how small he was, by comparison. She used her little toe to shape
his arms and legs, and even that wasn’t delicate enough, although the rounded
end of her toe was useful for depicting the bulges of his tiny muscles. The end
result wasn’t very good, and didn’t make her feel less lonely. And now, as she
examined her improvised artwork, condensate started dripping down it, botching
the whole thing. Pressing her toes over it, she smeared the whole thing away.
The call
went to voicemail. Too irritated to leave a message, she hung up. It was a crazy
time of night, so what? She had just been texting him earlier, before she’d
gone to sleep. It was bad enough when he avoided her at home – at least then
satisfaction was within reach, sooner or later – but long distance was just the
worst!
She decided
to try him again in the morning, and finishing her bath, took a sleeping tablet
and went back to bed.
*
“Rafael,”
she said into the phone, “I’m trying to catch a hold of my fiancé. Can you give
me a teeny hint where he might be?”
She didn’t
introduce herself but waited for him to ask who she was, but he didn’t, so he
must have realized. Apparently she had a pretty identifiable voice, deep but
not in an unfeminine way. Jerry once said he could pick her voice out in a
crowded room. She was trying to sound light-hearted, but her tone was going the
other way, into easy flirtation. She held it back. The guy had already seen her
naked, there was no reason to keep yanking his chain.
She had
called Jerry again that morning. No reply. Maybe he was sleeping in. She went
out, and tried again while she was in town. No reply. Now she was sitting
outside, under the flapping awning of the Starbucks by the harbour for an
after-jog brunch, gazing out to the sea, where a sailboat was rippling towards
the horizon, like a toy boat on a sheet of turquoise cellophane. The sea didn’t
impress like it used to. And, how could she forget, it was where that crazy
woman nearly snatched Jerry. The memory came with an unpleasant zap of anxiety.
Rafael
sounded surprised, as if of course he knew where he was, and shouldn’t she? Irritating.
She hated being in the dark. Why did Jerry’s driver know something she did not?
“We figured
it all out,” he replied, “he’s tight with a friend. I come back in a few days
and pick him up.”
“Uh huh.
Which friend is this?” But she could already guess. And lucky, because Rafael
didn’t know.
“It could
be a lot of people,” he mumbled, “uh, I mean, he’s cosy with a lot of people down here,” he
added finished awkwardly.
Jerry…? I don’t think so.
To Jerry,
‘social outing’ meant sitting inside her cheek, chirping indignantly at her
palate.
Rafael
cleared his throat and seemed about to add something – she listened expectantly
– but then he checked himself and stopped.
Bros before
hoes BS, she intuited. She rested her head against her hand, digging her nails
into her scalp. She’d never resented Jerry for his jetsetting fantasy or
whatever, but she wanted to resent it now. Of course, then she’d have to take
that with the fact that she let him
go.
“So, more
on this friend,” she said, “would you have a contact or an address?” The
flirtation in her voice had flattened now.
“Jerry’s a
real private guy, you probably got that already. He wouldn’t even let me see
the place. He steers his entire schedule, and I just take the orders.”
You must have known – no, you do know, she thought, what he was
up to.
She began
grinding her heel into her other foot. Managing her growing exasperation, she
said calmly:
“Jerry
loves to imagine he’s bigger than he really is, so any order coming from him
needs to be met by a huge dose of reality. Which is that he’s the size of my
big toe.”
Rafael
chuckled.
“Don’t
worry! Down in SP, it’s all eyes on him. He’s not going to get forgot.”
That wasn’t
the issue, she thought, getting off the phone. It was all the attention Jerry
received. Not just attention, but obsession.
She thought
about the fan from the beach again – just how ballsy that bitch was, thieving
Jerry right out from under her nose (she was underwater, so technically, above
her nose). Jerry used to be her little secret – and wow was that fun. The
defiant thrill in fitting him somewhere on – or in – her body when she went out,
treating her to a deeply intimate, tingling massage as his tiny extremities
poked and swatted about, and no one knew.
Now he
wasn’t a secret anymore. And sometimes he didn’t even feel like hers anymore.
She twisted
her engagement ring around on her finger until the diamond caught the light. It
didn’t refract like the wild cat, though. She promised herself she would go out
that night, put on the roaring cat head, recharge, blow off this whole thing.
Then she remembered she had to swat off the devil on her shoulder and put on
her big girl boots – no more alcohol.
If Jerry
was staying with a ‘friend’, it had to be Natalie. Or, as Jennifer secretly
called her ‘Iced T’ – which was what Natalie had been drinking at the beach
that crazy day. In high school, she and
Christine used to make fun of iced tea; ‘cocktails with no cock’.
…And now
here she was trying to get excited over this lactose-intolerant mint-flavored
hot chocolate, practically the only thing on the Starbucks menu that didn’t
break her newly instituted 200 milligram per day caffeine limit.
“No, he’s
not here,” Natalie answered over the phone. “He asked if he could come over, but then he changed
his mind.”
Jennifer
placed the phone on table and listened to the sound of Natalie’s voice like she
was taking a test. Did she really believe Jerry was in hiding at Natalie’s house?
She sounded like she was telling the truth. Painfully earnest, actually. Jennifer
almost felt protective over such guileless innocence. But not really.
“Why?” she
asked.
“Me being
out, I guess,” Natalie said with an invisible shrug. “Maybe he didn’t want to
play Catan with Grant!”
Sure, Natalie was attractive, she considered to herself. But she only looked like basically every other generically
attractive girl in existence. So, why her? There had been plenty of generically attractive girls on the beach that day, but Jerry’s little clit slapper had
been trying to launch out of his swim shorts and explode on any available part
of Natalie’s body. A body that, personally, was kind of like a lank teenage boy – just being
honest – and her boobs weren’t even that big.
So that was
it: the male libido was doofy.. There was no explanation. She
rubbed her eyelids against the sunshine.
“—and I’m
slightly neurotic…” Natalie was still speculating, “I mean…that can be a bad
thing…”
“He changed
his mind,” Jennifer clarified, “—like, about staying with you, or about leaving
his studio?”
With Natalie
no longer suspect, she was now thinking maybe Jerry was stuck in his apartment
and couldn’t get to his phone. She’d have to get a flight down there, break in,
rescue him from being stuck behind the bed, poke fun and take him home.
“Oh, no, he’s
staying with someone else, I think,” Natalie concluded, but not sounding
entirely sure.
Jennifer
didn’t say anything for a moment. Who else was there? Jerry’s world wasn’t very
big – haha terrible – but it was true. Unless he flew over to Scott and Tasha’s
house. But why wouldn’t he tell her? Did he have an intimate little fan club
sleepover going on up there she didn’t know about?
“Are you
still there?” said Natalie.
“Right here.”
“I don't get it...you don't know where he is?" There was a flicker of alarm in the other
girl’s voice now.
That was stupidly
reassuring; at least now she didn’t feel like the only one on the planet
quietly going crazy.
“Don’t
worry, I’ve got my theories,” she lied, “but what are your ideas?”
“Honestly,”
Natalie sounded bashful, “I’m a little dumb on the subject of Jerry.”
You think I’m blitzing that exam right now? Jennifer thought.
“When we do
talk,” Natalie explained, “it’s not like spilling about every waking moment.
It’s like, tuning in for a quick recap on our lives.”
The only
other potential contact was his talent agent, Farris. Jerry had his number, but
she didn’t. So that was a bust.
She decided
after she got off the phone with Natalie she’d call Christine. She needed a
sidekick in this, a stabilizer. Maybe even a shoulder to cry on if…if the
situation was really bad. That was too surreal to even think just yet.
Natalie had
begun to chat again, unprompted.
“I think
there was some nervousness between us, as well. I was always really careful
about having any friends over because I thought what if an accident happened?
And – other than the girl he was dating back then – he never mentioned anyone.
I think he was trying to figure out who his friends were in the big scary
world, poor little guy—”
“Wait—”
Jennifer snatched the phone up and cancelled the loudspeaker. She pressed the
speaker to her ear. “What?”
“I mean, I
was happy to be his friend, too.” Natalie giggled. “Having him over at my place
was a treat. Don’t take it the wrong way, but we cuddled a few times.”
“No—" the phone felt rigidly tight in her hand, "--what girl? He was dating someone?”
“Uh, yeah…I
mean Samantha,” Natalie’s voice faltered. And when the other didn’t say
anything: “He didn’t tell you about that?”
Jennifer
let out a stream of air. For a second she was afraid Natalie was going to
conjure up some Tiffany or Amber or other girl she’d never heard before. But, pretty
dark times if she was relieved to
hear it was the other name.
“I know all about that,” she said, smiling
grimly. “They were not dating.”
“I would
agree,” Natalie reconsidered, “It felt very rushed, personally.”
Hello, Natalie. This is reality. We need to
talk: they were not dating.
Jennifer
tried again:
“Oh, they never
happened. At all.”
Samantha
had abducted Jerry right out of
Natalie’s house while she wasn’t looking. It didn’t make sense why Natalie
thought Jerry and Samantha had been dating in any capacity. Unless that was the
cleaned up version Jerry had told Natalie later, out of embarrassment.
Natalie
added:
“Oh, none
of my business and obviously like, water under the bridge now. But it was so
cute how Jerry was super into her after the first date. But scary, too; I
didn’t know who was going to show up at my door to pick him up. Like, I will
not lie; I was legitimately afraid there was some mistake and she actually did
not know Jerry was, you know…pocket size.”
Natalie
then exclaimed:
“I’m
actually kinda jealous about the party he went to! I think they were all
tuxedos and wine-sipping!”
Jealous? About that girl? Oh, give me a break.
“Party?” she repeated, squinting in the sun,
now feeling like she was positively flunking Natalie’s aforementioned Jerry
subject.
Over the
bleached paved footpath, her shadow stretched long. She didn’t feel half as
tall though, and reclined in her seat until the awning buried her completely.
“I don’t
get it; you…met this girl?”
“Am I
allowed to say anything?” Natalie giggled again, this time nervously. “This
feels gossipy. I mean, Jerry’s going to say ‘what are you saying, dude’—!”
“Oh, spill.
Harmless talk between girls.”
“Obviously
he couldn’t do full solo mode. He needed to use my phone to set up the date,
and my old house was our base of operations. So, yeah, I met her.”
A spasm of
anger. Impulsive or not, now she had another theory: Samantha had taken him –
again. With no communication from Jerry in the past twelve hours, it was
starting to look a heck of lot like a messed up situation. Maybe only a messed
up explanation fitted anymore. And it sounded like had been closer to Jerry
than she realized. Or wanted to know.
But she
needed to know.
Finally,
she said:
“You have
her number?”
“But…” Natalie
processed the request. “Do you think Jerry is staying with her again?”
“Right now,
all I’m thinking is, I just better be dead wrong.”
She was
sweating a little too.
“No!” Natalie
groaned in disbelief. “Jerry loves you so, so much. He would never.”
“It’s not,
like, killing me,” Jennifer replied, trying to reassure herself as much as
Natalie. “I know which team Jerry is on.” She was struck by a sudden idea, “— What
if someone she knows has made it their life goal to crush my
boyfriend?”
And that
made it personal.
Natalie
took a wincing breath.
“Ï know
this is frustrating, totally! I’m sure it’s just a big misunderstanding. But,
still, what if I…I’ll see if I can…hang on…”
She had to
hang up and text the number.
This was
not a phone call Jennifer wanted to make here, in public, under the smiling
sunshine. She had no idea what she was going to say, but making it up on the
spot had always worked for her pretty well before.
She
finished her drink and tossed away the unused packet of sweetener. The sun was
coming down harsh and the briny sea air stung. She felt one phone call away
from being in a tailspin of true desperation, and submission to a storm of
emotions.
She didn't
call Christine for a breather; she didn’t lie on the couch and pour herself out
so early into a developing crisis. She needed action.