Girl in the Dark (14 page)

I grabbed the plant and hurled it against the wall. A flash of green flew right by Jeannie's head. Shards flew in all directions, one hit me in the forehead, and the soil left a dark spot on the white wall.

Jeannie dived sideways, even though the pot had already sailed past her head, and besides, I never meant to hit her.

The guard twisted both my arms back and handcuffed me. I started bellowing. Like an animal. Maybe I
was
an animal, and that was why things were always being taken away from me. But my fish were animals, too, and
they
had everything they needed.

The door flew open and the small room was suddenly crammed with guards. I can't remember moving my legs myself. They dragged me out of the unit, down corridors, across courtyards, and through other doors. I kept bellowing and tried to wrench myself free. I wanted to get out of there. I didn't belong in here. I'd done nothing wrong.

We reached a cell furnished with only a bed covered in paper sheets. Solitary. It had to be the solitary cell. “Let go of me! Let
me out!” I yelled. No one was listening. I was surrounded by at least five people, and yet no one was listening. “I've done nothing wrong!”

They threw me on my stomach onto the bed. They pulled down my pants. I resisted as best I could, but they were too many for me. “We're going to give you a shot,” the nurse without the white coat said. I felt a vicious stab in my buttock and then almost immediately felt woozy. They undressed me calmly and efficiently.

Which made me think of Rosita.

I was scheduled to have a meeting with Rence from eleven to eleven thirty. I could guess what it was about. I resolved to stay calm; I wouldn't apologize, but graciously acknowledge that I had lost my cool with Van Benschop, and promise it wouldn't happen again. Even though Rence could be unreasonable, even harsh sometimes, he usually came around fairly quickly. I hoped that would be the case again . . .

Stepping into Rence's office, I saw Martha Peters standing by the window. She nodded curtly.

During my first few months at Bartels & Peters I'd tried to forge a bond with her. Since there were nine people in the firm, and Martha was the only other woman besides the receptionist, I was sure the two of us would hit it off.

I'd suggested having lunch when I started working, so that we could get better acquainted, but her only response had been a scowl, as if she had a pesky fly buzzing around her head. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't taken it personally. I felt insulted and asked myself what I'd done wrong. Finally, though, it hit me. Just as there are some grade-school teachers who can make any
child feel she's the teacher's pet, Martha Peters had the dubious gift of making people feel as if whatever they did, they were doing it wrong.

“I've brought in Martha,” said Rence. “I think it's important that she also hears what happened yesterday.”

I wondered what her presence meant, and cleared my throat. “Fine. I'm not going to offer an apology, but I do realize I was a bit harsh yesterday.”

Rence was seated behind his imposing desk. His desk chair was set a few inches higher than the facing chair so that he always towered over you.

“Harsh is an understatement. I'd say ‘aggressive' instead.”

“Lawrence . . .” Martha tut-tutted, but I didn't suppose it was because she was coming to my aid.

“Your behavior was quite unacceptable,” Rence went on. “Out of all proportion. Had the Van Benschops not been long-standing clients of this firm, I would call it catastrophic.”

I waited for the official warning.

He sat back in his chair, his hands stretched out before him on the desk. “I am wondering if you're sufficiently able to keep your business and private life separate.”

I felt frustration bubbling up in me. My voice came out sounding shriller than I meant it to. “It's not as if I
enjoy
being called away on account of my son. If you have a problem with it . . .”

“I'm not saying this for my own sake,” he interrupted me. “I'm saying it for
yours.
You are still young, the world should be your oyster. Instead, I see you floundering. You have big bags under your eyes, do you know that?”

“What are you trying to say? That I can put in for my Touche Éclat on my expense account?”

“Touche what?”

“Touche Éclat,” said Martha by the window. “By Yves Saint Laurent.”

“Come again?”

“Never mind,” I said.

“It's a concealer,” said Martha. “For the bags under your eyes. You may want to try it.”

Rence gave her an irritated look and turned back to me. “I'm considering giving you an official warning.”

The dreaded word was out. “Just . . . ‘considering'?”

“That's what I like about her,” Rence said to Martha, as if I weren't even there. “Sharp as a tack, this one. Reminds me of you, when you were young.”

I could have been wrong, but it seemed to me that the look on Martha's face was one of female solidarity.

“Well anyway, Iris. You did hear me correctly. I said ‘considering,' and now it's up to you to move that consideration in the right direction.”

I nodded. I wasn't being fired just yet.

“And now that I have you both here anyway—could we discuss the appeal?”

“The psychiatric inmate,” said Martha.

“It's an interesting case,” I said, happy to change the subject—but not yet ready to reveal my connection to the case. “The guy was convicted of murdering his neighbor and her little girl. And since he was determined to have developmental issues, he was sent to a psychiatric institution. But he swears he's innocent.”

“Ever since convictions started getting overturned by DNA evidence, we have come to assume that everyone who's in prison is innocent, naturally,” said Rence. “So we can bill even more hours.”

“Exactly,” I said, although I didn't mean it.

“Excellent, my girl. Bringing new business to the firm is a fine
thing to do and one of the reasons you haven't received an official warning
yet.
How far are you on this case?”

“Not very far. I don't have the official court record yet, but I do have all the clippings.”

“Don't get sidetracked by the media,” said Martha, who had once more turned her back to us.

“I'm not.”

“Why haven't you obtained the court record yet? And has the board of appeals given it a docket?” asked Rence.

“Not yet. But it's just a matter of days.”

“Keep on top of it. Do what you have to do. Remember, once a good lawyer sinks his teeth in, he never lets go.”

I nodded, like a good girl.

I called the Hopper Institute and asked to be put through to Mo, to plan a follow-up visit. But Mo told me Ray was in solitary and unable to receive visitors.

“What for?” I asked.

There was a brief silence. “After your visit, drugs were found in his room.”

“What?”

“You don't even want to know how much drug smuggling goes on in here. Which is why we have a policy of searching our residents' quarters after their first visit from someone on the outside.”

“
I
certainly didn't smuggle in any drugs,” I said.

“I want to believe you, and in all honesty, it doesn't really add up. You see, Ray was clean: negative drug test. Most drug users don't have the patience to wait for the drug test to be over. They'll usually smoke or snort the stuff as soon as they get their hands on it. And Ray's never given me any reason to suspect he's using.”

“And I can tell you that I'm one hundred percent positive those drugs did not come from me,” I said again, chagrined.

“In view of the quantity of cocaine that was found in his suite, it's assumed that Ray was dealing.”

“Surely no one can believe that. Just
look
at the guy.”

“Doesn't seem the type. But don't be fooled. You can't go by the way someone looks. We've started an investigation—but no matter what the outcome, there's a chance you'll be blacklisted.”

“But that's absurd! I've got nothing to do with it.”

“You could send a letter to the administration, I guess.”

“If I became his lawyer, would that change things?”

“As his lawyer you are allowed to visit him as often as you like. You'd need to fill out an official application to represent him. I can mail you the forms if you want.”

“Yes, please. You do believe me, don't you? That I didn't bring in those drugs?”

Silence. “I believe you,” he finally said. “Besides, there's been a problem with drugs before Ray arrived. Kind of feels like an inside job.”

“I'm glad you believe me.”

“Fill in the forms and send them back to me. I'll let you know when the permission comes through. It usually takes three days or so. Maybe we can meet the next time you come? I can fill you in a bit more about Ray's time here.”

“I'd appreciate that.”

A few days after I slashed Anna's father's tires, Rosita stood at my door. I'd seen her approach, but I'd quickly ducked behind the double pleats of my curtains—my mother thought the pleats were “richer looking.”

“I know you're in there!” she yelled through the letterbox after ringing the doorbell three times. “Open up—I want to talk to you.”

It was quiet awhile. Then she cried, “I'm not mad. Promise.”

Another silence. Finally she called, “I'm not leaving until you open the door, you hear me?”

I got up and went into the hallway. It was too cold outside to have her stay out there until early the next morning, when I'd leave for work.

She stood in a miniskirt and the kind of boots people wear for motorbiking. So I asked her, “Are you going motorbiking?”

She burst out laughing. “Of course not, silly, it's the fashion.”

I forgave her for calling me silly because I was so happy to see her smiling at me.

“May I come in?” she asked.

“Where's Anna?”

“My stepdad is taking her to the toy store. Can I come in?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” I walked hurriedly ahead of her, to straighten the sofa cushions.

“Heavens, it's tidy in here! Why do we always hang out at my place? It's much nicer here. You even have candles on the table! But you never light them, I see. What's the point of having them?”

“My mother thinks they make it look cozy.”

“They make it look cozy if you
light
them. Come, let's close the curtains and make the room a bit darker. Do you have a light?”

Before I could answer she took out her own lighter. “Go on, close them.”

As I closed the curtains that matched the sofa cushions, which were also chosen for me by my mother, she lit the candles. Then she sat down on the sofa.

“See how nice it is in here, Ray?” In the candlelight her face looked even prettier than usual. “Come sit next to me.”

I did what she said. How could I not?

She sighed. “Ray, what you did to Victor's Jaguar was very bad.”

I kept my mouth shut.

“Very bad, but also very sweet.” She began to laugh. “And funny, too.”

I laughed along with her. It was impossible not to.

She took my hand and squeezed it. Her hand was warm. It was a warm, soft hand. My penis immediately jumped; I couldn't help it. I wanted her to touch it with her soft, warm hand. But at the same time I was afraid.

“But the thing I really wanted you to know is that I regret what I said about . . . well, you remember. I didn't mean to make fun of you or call you an idiot. I think you're great. You do know that, don't you?”

My penis was pointing straight up. I didn't want her to make fun of me again. I folded one leg over the other.

“Why are you squirming like that? Oh, God, don't tell me.” She got up and pulled her miniskirt straight. “So your mother has done all this nice decorating but will not tell you who your father is.”

It always worried me when she started talking about my mother. I tried to think of a way to change the subject.

“Turns out your impeccable mother hasn't been a very good girl, either. Did you know your father is a married man? Married to somebody other than your mother, that is. I guess his poor wife won't be too happy when she finds out.” She started laughing.

I cleared my throat. “Let's go buy the fish for Anna tomorrow.”

Rosita gave me a peck on the cheek.

“You don't want to talk about it? Fine.” She blew out the candles. “Anyway, what I wanted to tell you was, don't worry about Victor going to the police for what you did to his poor car. He can't explain, see, why his car was parked on this street in the first place.” She giggled and flounced out of the room, hips swaying, leaving me sitting on the sofa. I heard the door slam shut and stared at the smoke curling up from the blown-out candles.

Rosita and Anna were already waiting for me when I returned from the bakery the next day. They were both looking very smart. Rosita wore a dress and the navy raincoat that we had recently bought together.

“I feel like a princess,” she'd said when she'd tried it on. I had paid for it, though my savings were almost all gone.

“Ray!” Anna stretched her arms up and came running toward me.

For an instant I wondered if she really meant me. But she stopped right in front of me, her arms still outstretched.

“Hey,” I said. “How you doing?” I handed her the paper bag with the madeleine. But instead of tearing it open, she just stood there gazing up at me.

“Pick her up,” said Rosita. “Can't you see that's what she wants?”

I bent down and placed my hands under her armpits. Carefully, I picked her up. It was the first time I'd ever done that. Anna flung her arms around my neck and gave me a kiss on the cheek. It felt nice. But awkward, too.

“You're blushing,” said Rosita. “How cute.”

The three of us walked to the bus stop. Anna wouldn't stop talking about the fish I was going to buy for her.

“Do you know what kind you want yet?” I asked. “A clownfish, a blenny, an angelfish, a doctorfish . . .”

“I want blue,” she said.

We came home with a magnificent angelfish. Van de Akker had just received it in a shipment from the Caribbean. It was a prize specimen. Anna named it King Kong.

Together we recorded the purchase in the logbook. I put my hand over hers and helped her make the letters. The words
King Kong
wound up smudged across at least four lines. Even so, I didn't mind.

At the door, when they were leaving, Rosita said to me, “It almost feels as if we're a family. You, me, and Anna.”

I stared at the floor.

“Thanks for everything you do for us. You're really a very sweet man.”

She grabbed my chin, tilted my head up, and kissed me on the mouth. Her lips were soft, and sticky with red lipstick. What did this mean? Did the kiss mean she loved me? Did she want to
marry me? Or was it normal to kiss someone you think is “a very sweet man”? And what about Anna's father? And was it right for us to kiss in front of Anna?

She peeled her lips off mine and gazed at me, smiling. I hardly dared look back at her.

“See you tomorrow, Ray.”

Rosita and Anna walked down my front path, turned right, walked ten steps, and then turned up their own front path. I kept on waving at them. Even after they stepped through the front door and disappeared inside.
Family.
She had said it herself. We were almost a family, the three of us. I think that evening I was happy.

I opened my eyes and saw I was lying in a solitary cell. It smelled of disinfectant. It wasn't an unpleasant scent. It reminded me of the cleaning stuff we used in the bakery.

I was dressed in an unfamiliar outfit made of something halfway between paper and cardboard. I shivered. I felt cold. Not because the temperature in the cell was cold; I was chilled from the inside out.

There was nothing to do, nothing to look at. The only distraction provided was a blackboard and a piece of chalk. I picked up the chalk and began to write.
Dear Mother.
I erased it.
Sweet Rosita.
Erased it.
Dear Iris.

I never had a sister before, but I supposed siblings shared their secrets with each other. Hadn't she said she'd help me? I wrote and wrote until I'd filled the blackboard, and rubbed it all out and started over again. I just kept writing and erasing. Until I'd told her everything there was to tell. Even the things that must never be told.