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.