Forbidden: A Standalone (39 page)

“And?”

“And we nail him.”

“You’re such an optimist,” I mumbled.

She shook her head and stared at the fenced-in area behind the facility. “Did you tell your therapist?”

“Yes.” I didn’t elaborate.

“He has to report it.”

“Isn’t there some kind of privilege?”

“Not when the law’s broken.” She pushed off the car and faced me. “I can’t let this sit. It’s rotting my stomach. Since you told me, all I can think about is helping you. I have a corporate client messaging me right now about three million in a Burmese account he can’t access because of a subpoena, and I don’t even care. All I care about is making this right for you.”

“Okay, wait—”

“We may have different idea about right—”

“No, no, no. Stop.” I had my hands up, and she clapped her mouth shut. “I’m the only one who can make this right for me.”

“You’re not an island.”

“Yes, I am. We all are. We have to manage our own shit. We can’t put it on other people.”

“Okay then. You’re an island in an archipelago. I’m the island right next to you, and I’m here for you. I’m going to pressure you to go through all the legal channels available to you.”

I shook my head. “I wanted to meet you so you’d talk me into that. Didn’t work, you know. I still feel like it’s pointless.”

“I’m your lifeline to reality. Don’t hold on to this forever.”

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

My sister nodded and held me as a mother should. If she didn’t talk me into it on that day, she would soon enough. Unless Elliot had told already.

fiona

“W
e can’t go back to this,” Elliot said, leaning back in his chair.

His office at Alondra was the exact opposite of his office at Westonwood. Here in Compton, he had a plastic office chair with worn grey fabric on the back, a desk with enough folders to hold back a tsunami, and white horizontal blinds with a dusting of black soot. The window overlooked a parking lot.

“Back?” I said from the chair across from him. “I don’t want to go back. I want to go forward. I don’t have anyone else. And I trust you.”

He pivoted his pen half a quarter inch from the top, then spun it ninety degrees. “I can’t go back to sitting on this side of a desk from you anymore. I have to listen and be objective, and I’m not objective anymore.” He fussed with the pen again.

“I’m really trying to keep my shit together,” I said with a cracked voice.

“Me too.” He rocked back in his chair, moved his pen over, then snapped it up and thrust it into a cup. “I want to hear it. I want you to talk to me. But I’m not safe anymore. I want to tell you that up-front. I can’t look at you from a distance.”

“I’m just going through the day, and I either feel nothing or I want to break stuff. And honestly, I prefer the feeling of wanting to break stuff. So, safe. Not safe. Whatever.”

His face was so tender, so compassionate and real, that I wanted to fall into its warmth. He looked at his watch. “Let’s go for a walk.”

***

My shoes cost something like twelve hundred dollars. I could have thrown them in the trash and forgotten what they looked like before I even got home. The couple two benches down didn’t seem to mind the fast food garbage everywhere, or the graffiti, or the patches of brown grass. If the lingering background scent of urine bothered them, I’d never know. I’d stopped smelling it when he brushed his fingers along the back of my neck.

“Once it’s out, they’re going to talk about my past. And I want you to know I’ll never apologize for it. Never. I lived the way I wanted. I may or may not change that. It’s my choice.”

He smiled and looked down as if trying to hide it. I ignored the smirk. I wasn’t done.

“And you’re going to hear about it. You’re going to know. Men and women are going to come out of the woodwork, and guess what? I’m not denying one goddamn orgy.”

A laugh shot out of him as if it wouldn’t be contained.

“What?”

“I love how you are.” He put his hand over mine. “And I’m not being sarcastic. I love how you’re not ashamed of what you chose.”

“Well, yeah, I have plenty of shame. About things I lied about, and when I hurt people. I’m not happy about that stuff. But, all right, moving on.”

“Moving on,” he said into my cheek. “What do you want to do?”

His lips pressed on my skin. I leaned into him.

“I want you to do whatever you’d do if a patient told you she was raped by the creek.”

“Administrator, then law enforcement.”

“My sister Margie’s going to the cops. She’s a lawyer.”

“I think this is the right thing. Are you ready though?”

“No. But let’s do it anyway. I mean, it’s a waste of time in a way. But since he’s getting out, I think the world needs to know. I think Westonwood made him bold. If I don’t say something, he’s going to get out and use Los Angeles as a bigger hunting ground.”

“Jail is a tough hunting ground.”

“He’s not going to jail. The most that’ll happen? I’ll be the least popular girl at all the parties, but hopefully it’ll keep people from being alone in a room with him.”

“I think it’ll go better than you think.”

I didn’t have such high hopes.

“I left Deacon.”

“I figured.”

“How do you figure?” Maybe I was defensive. I had the right to be. Since when was I so predictable?

And was he assuming I’d left for him? Because I hadn’t, and I was about to run to my own defense when he leaned back, spread his legs and arms over the bench, and took in the view of the Compton park. He bounced one foot a couple of times.

“We break down and rebuild ourselves every seven to ten years. He built the last Fiona. But now you’re rebuilding yourself, and he’s just going to try to stop you.” He turned back to me, and his smirk made me want to slap him and kiss him, in that order. “You didn’t invent this.”

“Why are you sitting here with me if I’m so predictable?”

“You walked into my office and demanded to see me.”

“Fine. My bad.” I got up and walked. I didn’t know what direction I was walking in, but I’d figure it out.

Of course he came after me.

Of course he grabbed my arm and pulled me to him.

It wasn’t like he was inventing this either.

“If you hadn’t come, I would have found you.”

“Then what? I’m not your project. I’m a girl you want to fuck. So instead of just saying to yourself, ‘I want to fuck her,’ you made up this line of bullshit about saving me from Deacon, from myself, from everything. What are you going to lose to make excuses for your dick? Huh? You already lost the girlfriend. You’re this close to losing your job. All that for a fuck? Yeah, I get why you have to make up big reasons about rebuilding yourself. I get it. But let’s do this instead.” I stepped toward him until my chest was an inch from his and I had to tilt my head back to face him. “Let’s just fuck. You don’t have to save me. You don’t have to pretend you love me. You. Just. Fuck.”

“Fiona…” His voice was low and soft.

“Scared?”

“Come on.”

“Afraid you might not measure up?”

He smiled. “I measure up.”

“Then what are you scared of?”

“Nothing, just—”

“
Bok bok bok
.”

“You daring me?”

“I’m daring you to let me blow your mind. Nothing more. Nothing less. I’m daring you to stop trying to save me. Just take what you want without all the baggage.”

“What’s in it for you?” he asked.

“Getting you off my back.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He stepped away and looked off into the smoggy horizon, a little smile on his face. I had my reasons for wanting to sleep with him, not the least of which was the fact that I liked him. A lot. I liked the way he spoke and the things he said. I liked his openness and vulnerability. He had beautiful hands, and deep inside him was a sexuality I wanted to experience.

But, yeah, the reasons.

“Let’s do it,” I said. “It’ll be fun.”

“Fun?”

“Yeah. Not too many men can resist a night with me.”

“I’m not too many men. I’m one man. And when I have you, Fiona, I’ll be sacrificing my career. So when I finally take you to bed, I won’t be changing my life for a little pussy. I’m changing it for a woman.”

“If you wait, doctor, I might not be around when you’re ready.”

“You’ll wait.”

He was right. I would. I’d changed in Westonwood. Partly it was Elliot. Partly it was Warren. And partly, well, who knew? But I was going to wait because I had the feeling he’d be worth it.

fiona

T
he Thing existed for people exactly like me and was closed to gapers and hangers-on. No reservations required, but it was still the hardest meal to get in Los Angeles, unless you were me.

The second-floor dining room was accessed through the restaurant kitchen and up a narrow flight of stairs, where a man waited. His name was Diego, and he was a star. If he knew your face, you were in. If he didn’t, you could go eat downstairs or go home. Not his problem.

Once you got through the door, the space opened up like a whore’s legs. Two floors and fifteen thousand square feet. Windows that let the street see that something was happening up there, even if it was inaccessible.

The rectangular tables were set in a herringbone up and down the huge space, and everything was glow-in-the-dark white. Literally. The lights were shut for ten minutes every hour, and the tables, plates, and wall designs became visible in glowing green.

One dish was served to everyone. The Thing wasn’t about the food.

I waved to Baby and Mindy in the back and made my way across the floor. Karen leaned on me. Arrow waved. I could tell from across the room he was jacked.

“Hey!” Baby cried, kissing my cheek. I could smell her makeup. “We were just talking about your brother.”

“Jonathan?”

A plate with food appeared in front of me. Karen waved hers away.

“The one and only,” Baby said, shifting the hump of beef stew around his enormous plate. “He’s making my brother nuts. Won’t take pills. Wants booze, the one thing Warren can’t get in.”

“You guys!” Mindy laughed. “You all are so crazy!” Her pupils were vinyl records with blue pencil around them.

“Jonathan’s fucking with him,” I said. “He’s not a user.”

“Oh, he uses,” Baby said. “Uses that dick. It’s famous.”

“And the hands,” Mindy added. “I had bruises for a week.” She bit her lower lip.

By the look on her face, I was forced to imagine things I didn’t want to imagine. She was twenty-six, and my brother was not in her fucking age group. But that didn’t matter. Not a bit. Maybe in a different universe her comment would have stirred some emotion in me, but in mine, I was supposed to chuckle and blow it off. The conversation continued around other matters of no importance, and I seethed. I was sober. That was the problem. And the glass of wine I sat sipping did nothing to bring me to the plane of jacked-up silliness these people took so seriously. I was an outsider.

“That’s my brother, bitch,” I said too late and too loud. “He’s six-fucking-teen.”

The table dropped into silence.

“Go do a line, Fiona,” Baby said. “You’re being a drag.”

Had she fucked my brother? And why did I care? He was a big boy. I knew he was sexually active with Rachel at the very least. He could decide what to do with his dick, though I didn’t want to picture it, ever. Period. But for some reason, the thought of Baby fucking him was about to put me over the edge, even without imagining the act itself. Something about it being Baby Chilton.

The lights dropped, and the room exploded in glowing green shapes. The dim echo of conversation went on, and I bit my lip before I could speak.

Why aren’t you letting yourself think the obvious?

Is it because you love your brother?

Why isn’t that comfortable for you?

Elliot’s voice warmed me. Calmed me. With the lights out, I was back in his office under hypnosis.

Use different words to describe yourself.

Loyal.

Protective.

Capable of love.

I was uncomfortable. Emotionally out of sorts. A line of flake would have fixed that nicely, but I wanted to sit inside the discomfort and understand it. More proof I was crazy. But the ten minutes of dark was the perfect time to stare inward and observe the tangle, and the titter of my friends’ voices was the perfect sound to back up against. I was another stroke in a larger painting, and even my discomfort over my brother’s initiation into my sick life seemed like the right pigment.

Which didn’t mean I was letting Jonathan make my mistakes. Once he was out—

The lights went on, and though nothing significant had changed for anyone else, two things had changed for me.

One, a tiny shift in my perception of myself and my ability to change the lives of people I loved.

Two, Deacon stood across from me.

Baby was looking at him like she wanted to eat him alive.

“Fiona,” he said as if stating a fact.

I crossed my arms. I wasn’t doing anything I should be ashamed of, and not because he hadn’t given me permission to snort shit or whatever, but because I didn’t want to. Because I’d come to The Thing looking for food and companionship.

“Deacon.” I stood.

“Oh hey,” purred Mindy. “I remember you! I—”

“I’m bringing you back to Laurel Canyon.” His eyes never left mine.

For a second, I thought that was what I wanted. To be lost in the sharp calm of his world, where everything could be predicted and what was unplanned had a response.

I opened my mouth to tell him I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was clean. I was just eating and having a glass of wine. I wasn’t even driving home. But I snapped my jaw shut.

You are a grown woman.

And he was just another drug.

fiona

Why do you want to know?

I’ve been with Deacon a long time, and you never said anything about that. Was it because there was a connection with us? You and me?

I can’t see my own connections.

So?

So.

Debbie, are you going to answer my question?