Returning Injury (14 page)

When she went to the laundry room to take out the towels, she looked out the window and saw the rain really coming down again. Only an occasional lightening flash lit the sky and the thunder had quieted to a dull grumble. Rain had been coming down off and on all day, and now it was getting cold. She wondered if it ever hailed at night. She only remembered it hailing when it was light outside.

She finished folding the towels then wiped off the kitchen counters and table. Lily would have to go outside again before bed; she still had to go number two. Rebecca wouldn’t even attempt to take Lily out in the rain, because the second rain hit Lily’s face, she would take off running back to the front door. Sometimes Rebecca wished she would just go in the house. Number two would be easy to pick up and flush.

Rebecca decided to make herself an espresso because she wanted to get more work done before bed. Even though she already knew everything she needed to know about Angie and her work, she was afraid she might miss something. She knew Angie had a general idea about who she was and what she was doing, but it was Rebecca’s job
to come up with what was saleable to the media and public, what they wanted and needed from Angie.

Making an espresso always reminded Rebecca about the cruise she and Jack took to Bermuda. Their butler kept asking them if they wanted an espresso; neither Jack nor Rebecca had tried an espresso before, so the first two days of their cruise they said no. But on the third day, feeling a little sluggish, they agreed to have an espresso– they were hooked. Jack bought an espresso machine when they returned from the trip.

As Rebecca finished making her vanilla espresso, she heard Lily scratching and barking at the front door.

“Oh, no, Lily.” Rebecca looked outside then turned to talk to Lily, “Lily, honey we were just out there. Why now, when it’s pouring?” She looked back out at the lightning and heavy rain coming down. Sighing, she said, “I’d only do this for you. Come on,” and slipped on her jacket and shoes, then grabbed Lily’s leash. “Lily, sit.” Rebecca attached the leash. “Oh, wait a minute.” She ran through the kitchen to the garage door with Lily jumping at her legs. She turned off the alarm and walked back to the front door. She took another glance out the window. “Are you sure you can’t wait?”

Lily tilted her head to the side knowing Rebecca was talking directly to her.

“You are so cute. Let’s go.” She opened the front door and stepped into the rain. “Lily, you need to be quick about this. We don’t want to get struck by lightning.”

In the yard, Lily sniffed around for a minute but was more interested in looking up at the rain, then lifting her paws to wipe her eyes from the rain hitting them.

“Hurry up!” She gave a quick tug to the leash.

A loud thunder crashed and Lily started barking.

“Lily, hurry up!” Rebecca was starting to get scared. She decided to walk a little farther out into the yard to get Lily moving around, hoping she’d remember why they were outside.

Lightning flashed to the right of her, and in that moment she thought she saw somebody leaning up against the garage. Rebecca was in shock and couldn’t move. She waited for the next lightning flash to look again. There was nobody there. Her heart settled down, and she giggled to herself just as she noticed Lily squatting. “Oh, thank God.” She couldn’t believe how nervous she was alone in dark, stormy weather. Lily finished her business and took off running for the door. Rebecca ran after her with her head down to avoid the rain in her face. “Good girl!” she yelled as they ran. She would pick it up in the morning.

They were soaked. Rebecca threw her wet jacket onto the bench by the door as she headed to the kitchen to reset the alarm, then both headed straight to the fireplace. Lily pulled a green ape from her toy box, and Rebecca played tug-of-war with her for a few minutes, before sipping her espresso and getting back to work.

Rebecca’s thoughts returned to Bermuda again where they had leased a sailboat to take them around the island.

The captain was a pig. He started talking about going to the U.S. and going to “titty bars.” Jack stopped him and he apologized. Later the captain told them that whenever just a single couple chartered the boat, he knew it was so the woman could sunbath topless, which
he constantly let Jack and Rebecca know he was fine with. He said he always left his co-captain home so the couple would feel more comfortable.

To get away from the captain, they went to the front of the boat where there was a pad to stretch out on. They lay facing each other and Jack held Rebecca’s hand. After a moment of quietly looking into each other’s eyes, Jack said, “Aren’t you going to take your top off?”

Just as she had that day on the sailboat, Rebecca burst out laughing and started thinking about Angie and her story. “Oh, the experiences we women have!” She hoped she could make the connection between Angie and other women who were making a difference or who had been victims and not only survived, but thrived in their lives.

Just such a woman was Leslie, a woman she recently helped promote. Leslie had produced and directed a documentary about her road trip across the United States. It was called
Sunset to Wonder: All Women’s Journey across the United States.
Rebecca loved it. The documentary actually began in Sunset, Florida, close to Miami, and ended in Wonder, Oregon, close to the west coast. The documentary’s opening shot was a homeless man standing in the middle of the road blocking a Mercedes from driving. The homeless man was trying to get some money from the rich man. Leslie captured unbelievable footage, filming all the fancy expensive cars, then two blocks later, a homeless shelter in Miami where there wasn’t enough room to house all of the homeless. They were lying
on the sidewalks and standing on the corners with their belongings. Women were prostituting themselves, walking around in dirty, raggedy bras and short shorts or underwear.

When Leslie started the filming, she wanted to document extreme poverty versus great wealth in the United States. Leslie realized that there was something deeper going on, and until women were treated better, there would always be poverty. Leslie’s filming started to document this reality. Although poverty wasn’t in your face everywhere, women being treated as objects was in your face and it was everywhere. Leslie videographed cars, trucks, vans and cabs with paintings, banners and advertisements for strip clubs, Hooters, adult video and toy stores, and other businesses using women to sell their product, everything from women’s thighs, to women’s cleavage and butts. There were large billboards along the highways, both in small towns and in large cities, advertising the same types of degradation of women.

Leslie was brave enough to stop at some of these strip clubs, adult stores and massage parlors along the highways to talk to women, and some of them were brave enough to talk to her on film. Sometimes Leslie had to pay for their time. Although these women didn’t always give the answers Leslie believed to be true, it was obvious that the women were hurting under their tough exteriors and were possibly being controlled by traffickers, pimps and prostitution rings.

Leslie felt that some of her most dangerous filming occurred when she filmed men walking into those places. She filmed openly, but often from her vehicle so she could get away quickly. She said she wanted them to see her doing it so she could get a response
from them, a reaction. And she always did. The men did not want her filming them. Some became angry and Leslie would just remind them of the First Amendment and that they were in a public place.

Leslie’s journey consisted of truckers honking at her for no reason, the Don Imus controversy playing out on the radio, overnight stays at hotels that had pornography in the rooms and escort ads in the phonebooks. During late night TV on the big network channels, she recorded some of the Girls Gone Wild ads and nine-hundred numbers being advertised by women in lingerie.

Leslie clearly showed how toll highways didn’t have the billboards and ads for strip clubs, adult stores and massage parlors. Money seemed to clean up and clean out the seedy businesses and advertisements. When Leslie was on highways with the degrading messages, she said she felt angry, tense; she didn’t feel proud to be a woman. But when she was driving on toll roads, she felt safe, happy and good about herself.

During her documentary Leslie made a plea to women in the sex industry. “I know you are hurting. And I know this isn’t always your choice, but there is help out there. Please talk to somebody. I know you want and need money, but this kind of money doesn’t buy security; it buys danger. Making this choice so you can have money is like deciding to walk into fire so you can avoid getting burned. Please trust you are worth more. I know you are worth so much more.”

Imagining Angie and Leslie working together, Rebecca took a few notes.

After Leslie’s road trip, she started working on another documentary to help women. One episode was about an eye-opening
experience on a plane from Miami to Boston. Leslie was sitting in first class, and the plane was preparing to land. A little girl a few seats back in coach started to cry. Leslie knew that her ears were probably bothering her, and she wasn’t old enough to understand why. The mother was doing all she could to quiet her baby. Leslie heard a man, sitting directly behind her, getting very upset. He kept mouthing off about the “crying brat.” He was loud and obnoxious, and she hoped the mother couldn’t hear him. Then he said, “Why can’t she shut the little bitch up!”

Leslie was furious when she heard that comment from a grown man. She knew if she didn’t say something to him, she would regret it for the rest of her life. So when the plane landed and everybody was reaching for their luggage in the overhead compartment, Leslie looked at him and said, “That is really inappropriate to call a three-year-old a bitch.”

He said, “I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

“I think
you
should take a look in the mirror.” Leslie said, and that was the end of it. She had had the last word.

Not long after that incident, Leslie started a Stop the B-Word Campaign. She used the acronym BWORD: Being Women Of Respect and Dignity and Because We’re Optimistic in Reversing the Damage. She started the campaign to encourage women to be mindful of the B-Word and the impact it makes on all of us. Her website stated:

We have high hopes that we can change the frequency by discouraging the use of this degrading word against women. We are offering a sign-up sheet for anyone willing to do one or all five from this list:

• Personally make the decision to stop using the B-Word.
  
• Invite your daughter to stop using the B-Word and to sign the sheet. (This could be a great mother-daughter bonding and communication tool, teaching the importance of being a young woman of dignity and respect.)
  
• Make your home a B-Word-free environment.
  
• Tell the men in your life (husband, sons, father, friends) to stop using the B-Word around you.
  
• Encourage your friends to stop using the B-Word and to sign up for our campaign.
  

Give yourself a hug if you have already eliminated the B-Word from your life, but please sign up to help support the rest of us. By signing, you will be kept updated on how we are doing with signatures and how many brave men have joined us.

It’s said that if women lead, men will follow... Let’s see what we can do together.

And Leslie was proud to relay the message to women that, “For anyone who has lost faith in men, I just want you to know that we have just as many men signing up for our Stop the B-Word campaign as we do women.”

Leslie learned as much as she could about the injustices toward women like how women drive much more than men, but airbags in cars were designed to save the average-sized man, not the average-sized woman. She uncovered more about women’s heart disease, the symptoms and other issues regarding women’s health. She learned how eighty-seven percent of cosmetic surgery is performed on women and how women who have breast implants are three times more likely to commit suicide.

She pointed out how the photos in newspapers were about seventy-nine percent men and twenty-one percent women though women make up fifty-one percent of the population. She wondered what messages were being sent: that women are only twenty-one percent important? She also noted that the majority of the photos of women were women as victims or women in the background: the passenger in the car, not the driver; the nurse, not the doctor; the wife of the president, not the president.