Resist (Songs of Submission #6) (8 page)

The battery on my phone had died, so I plugged it in and went about cleaning my bathrooms, mopping the kitchen floor, doing all the things I’d neglected while I was away. In my mind, the metronome ticked in four-four time. A song was bubbling up, and my verbal mind waited patiently while my non-verbal brain processed the point and purpose of it.

I was on the porch shaking the dust out of the couch throws when the phone blooped. It must be Jonathan saying something that would make me smile. I ran to it.

—are you there?—

—Yes—

—I feel your hands on the phone—

—I miss you already. Can we have a call—

—Can’t. Just checking in. I feel good knowing you’re there, and mine—

The subtext was he felt good knowing I was there and doing what he told me. Which meant, no Jessica. He either thought very little of me believing I was obedient, or a lot believing I’d get the right message from so few words. Or maybe I should just take it at face value.

Bored, I checked my email from the phone. I hadn’t set up digital roaming while out of the country, and then the phone died, and the fact was, email wasn’t my thing. Most of my social interactions were local and done with a phone call or text.

But that couldn’t be said for everyone. I’d given Harry Enrich my information after the B.C. Mod show, and shockingly, he’d used it, sending me a personal note early Friday.

Ms. Faulkner,

It was a pleasure to hear your work tonight. I understand Eddie Milpas has been working to sign you on with us. Why don’t you come by our offices Tuesday to discuss further?

Best,

Harry

PS – Do you have representation?

Eddie had been working to sign me? Sounded like he was trying to put a collar on my neck and shackle me to a display case, but who was I to question?

My phone rang while it was still in my hand. I didn’t usually answer numbers I didn’t recognize, but the green button was a reflex, and I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hello.” The voice was female and tight as a drum. Pleasant, but not effusive. Welcoming, but not warm. “This is Jessica Carnes. Am I speaking with Monica?”

“Yes.” I sat on the piano bench, willing myself not to shake. All of Jonathan’s warnings and the events of my two prior meetings with Jessica blew out my nerves. I had to remind myself to channel him, his utter dedication to self-management no matter his feelings.

“How are you?” she asked.

I had no answer prepared. No story to tell to get what I wanted. “I’m fine. You?”

“Very well, thank you,” she said. I didn’t think I had another nicety left in me, and she saved me from having to come up with another. “You left me a message?”

Oh, she was going to make me ask. She wasn’t giving me an inch or admitting she had made first contact at Frontage. She wasn’t going to admit she’d shown up at my job at whatever o’clock in the morning. “I thought I’d take you up on that offer to meet.”

“Things have gotten a little more complicated since we spoke last.”

“Yes...I...I guess you’re right. I thought you came to see me last night. Never mind.”

After saying that, I felt a sense of relief. I was avoiding immediate repercussions from seeing Jessica, and it wasn’t even my fault. Coward. Yes, that was the craven woman. I wasn’t her any more. But I couldn’t push Jessica. If she wanted to wiggle out she would, no matter what.

“If you feel differently at some point, I would like to meet. We can do it under your terms and talk about whatever you like,” I said.

“Why the change of heart?”

“Things got more complicated, like you said. I feel like I can’t see the whole picture.” That was probably too specific and would leave me little room to flip my story around if I needed, but that was it. I said it, and it was very close to the truth.

“Can you get to Venice in the morning?”

“Yes.” A lump rose in my throat. I was doing it. I was going directly against Jonathan’s wishes. I had to remind myself that I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I was trying to help him.

“I’ll text you the address.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I had nothing else to say, so I hung up.

I’d started an evil thing and had to go through with it because I wouldn’t stand by and watch him get run over. Maybe I was going out on a limb, and maybe I’d make it worse, but how could I sit still while someone was trying to hurt him?

“Fuck,” I whispered. My car was at the Stock.

Chapter 17.

MONICA

A black Corvette pulled up in front of the house, taking the downhill nice and slow. Robert cared about his ride the way most people cared about living things. I skipped down the porch and met him at the curb.

“Thanks,” I said, getting in. I was more or less on the way from the valley, but it was still an inconvenience for him.

“Fucking hill, man.” He put the car in gear and inched downward.

“When I was a kid, I rode my bike down it, no hands.”

“Bet you did.” He paused briefly. “So, car’s at work, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“You went home with the guy from Hotel K? Sam and Debbie’s friend?”

“You got a problem with it?”

“Naw, man. Just curious what his deal is.”

I didn’t know what he meant, and I didn’t want to know what he meant, either. I just wanted to get my car. I didn’t want to hear about anything Robert might have seen or heard. Nothing. Not a word.

We sat in silence down Temple, to Hill, around the block a few times or ten until we stopped at a light a block from the hotel. It was the same light Jonathan had stopped at when he met me after work and told me he’d always love his ex-wife.

“What did you
think
his deal was?” I asked.

Robert snapped out of some sort of reverie. “Huh? Who?”

“Jonathan, the guy from Hotel K?”

“Shit, I don’t know. He was there that time you couldn’t talk, then gone, then....coupla weeks, he was in the corner yacking with Debbie and Sam all the time. But not when you were there. Shows up last night, you’re there. I dunno. Just asking.”

“Asking what?”

“Is it serious or what?”

“Yes. It’s serious,” I said.

“All right. Thanks for letting a guy know.”

The light changed, and I laughed to myself.

“What?” He turned into the lot.

“I thought you were going to tell me that you saw him with other women.”

He looked at me and smiled, turning into the employee level. “Guys don’t rat on other guys.”

“Robert! Don’t even—”

“But there was nothing to rat. Seriously. Stop with the girl style. It don’t suit you.” He pulled in next to my little black Honda.

“Fine. I wouldn’t have believed you anyway.” I blooped my car and got out.

Robert cut the engine and pulled his small black duffel from the back. “You think I’d lie?” He slung the duffel over his muscular shoulder. “I’m not saying I woulda minded getting with you for a night, but I wouldn’t lie to do it.”

“I don’t think you’d lie,” I said, getting in my car. “I think you could misunderstand.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. If I saw him with someone, and it was something, I’d know.”

I looked him up and down. “You know what? I believe you.” I turned the ignition. Nothing happened. Just one click. “Uh oh. Do you have time to give me a jump?”

“Turn it again.”

I did. One click, then nothing.

“It’s your starter.” He walked to the front of the car and knocked on the hood. “Pop it.”

I did. He lifted the hood and chocked it up with the metal brace.

“Should I turn it again?”

“Yeah.”

I did. Same. I got out and stood next to Robert as he shone his phone’s light at the engine, analyzing the mass of wires, compartments, and hoses. I knew what most of it was but not how to fix it.

“All right. If you got a bad starter, I can bang it while you kick it over. Sometimes that kinda gets it going. But you need a new one, probably.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, except… It should be right there. Just back of the battery and down, past these wires that serve the electricity. But there’s bolt holes. No starter.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked more closely then got under the car. I leaned down, amazed at how he would just crawl under a chassis out of curiosity.

“Do you want a proper flashlight?” I asked. “I think I have one in the trunk.”

“Nope. I’m telling you. There’s no fucking starter on this car. It got jacked.”

“My
starter
? Are they expensive?”

“Three hundred. Two? Look, I know it’s weird but...” He shrugged.

“Oh my God,” I said, realizing who would do the surgery required to remove a starter from a twelve-year-old Japanese car. “Fucking Jonathan. Son of a goddamn bitch.”

He’d stranded me. I couldn’t get out to Venice without a car. A cab would cost a fortune, and if a bus that far out of town even existed, it would take hours one way. I couldn’t get the car fixed in time for a meeting in Culver City in the morning. That was why he’d left so easily. He walked away accepting that I had no intention of keeping any promise I made while my legs were spread. I should have known better.

“I gotta get to work,” said Robert. “You wanna call a tow?”

“Nope. I’ll figure it out.”

“How you getting home?”

“I’m not. I’m going to go upstairs and get a whiskey. Then I’m going out. If I can’t drive, I can drink.”

“Debbie’s gonna make you pay for it.”

“Fine. I’m not too broke for a little alcohol.” I took out my phone when we got to the back hall and scrolled to Jessica’s last text. I didn’t want to talk to her. The ice in her voice put me on edge. I had no idea how I would handle our conversation tomorrow.

“You can get some guy at the bar to buy you a few,” Robert said, stopping by the lockers.

“No way.”

—Sorry. Can’t make it out to Venice tomorrow. Maybe somewhere more east?—

“Why not? It’s just a drink.”

“It’s cheating.”

“Girls are crazy. I’m tellin’ you, if I were a girl and I had a nice pair, I’d never pay for a drink.”

—My studio in Culver City, then?—

I loved how she managed to keep it on her turf. If I asked her for an Echo Park location, she’d probably manage to find a place she rented, owned, or regularly patronized.

“If you were a girl with a nice pair,” I said, “you’d be the one all the guys wanted to fuck but hated. You’d have a string of one-night or one-week stands until the guy saw you letting someone else buy you drinks. Then you’d only attract the guys looking to spend a little money and put their dicks somewhere comfortable. You’d wake up one morning at fifty years old with a pair that wasn’t so nice any more, and you’d wish you’d bought your own.”

—Great. Thanks for the change. See you at ten?—

Robert and I walked up together. “You don’t know nothing about men. Sure, we might get a drink for a girl like you to get laid. But being seen with you? That’s what gets
other
girls. See what I’m sayin’?”

“No. I’m still buying my own drinks.”

“Whatever.”

I sat in the corner in the same spot Jonathan had been known to occupy and tried to arrange a car for the next morning. Darren had work the next day, but once he found out what I was doing, he refused to let me drop him off in the morning and borrow his car, texting me like he was my fucking therapist: