And that was all it took – we’d been inseparable ever since.
Calvin screeched around the corner on his motorcycle now, the angry squeal of rubber on asphalt jolting me out of my reverie and plunking me back into the present moment, where I’d just walked out on that prick of a therapist. We zoomed past my apartment building.
“I’ll just park a little ways up ahead,” he yelled so I’d hear him through my helmet. “Wouldn’t want that goon that’s stalking you to realize I’m around.”
I thanked the babysitter, pleased to observe she’d made grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches to serve an army.
“Much better’n macaroni and cheese, Mimi,” Romeo remarked. “Can we hire her as a cook?”
I tousled his hair and hunkered down before the laptop.
“Therapists, rape”
I typed into the online phone directory.
“Assaulted Women’s Helpline,”
I read. “That sounds pretty good.”
Calvin glanced over my shoulder.
“Yeah, but it looks more like the sorta place to help people right after the fact. Not for long-term treatment. Isn’t there something else?”
I skimmed my finger down the screen.
“Hey, look.
‘Therapy for Male Survivors of Sexual Victimization’.
” I giggled.
Calvin cuffed me on the shoulder.
“Don’t laugh, babes. Men get raped too. And it’s much harder for
them
to talk about it.”
I made an effort to sober my expression.
“Is there nothing else? Maybe just try therapists?”
I glanced over the page.
“Oh, yes.
‘Christy Owens, Therapy for Female Victims of Sexual Trauma’.
”
Calvin blinked.
“I’ve heard of her. Pretty pricey. But she’s supposed to be the best. I think they did a news report about her once.”
I looked up at him and sighed.
“Well, we can’t afford that. I’ll just try therapists in general, like you say.”
Calvin reached over my shoulder and plucked my hand from the keyboard.
“What’s the phone number? That’s where you’re going, love.” He smiled. “Maybe
you
can’t afford that. But
I
can.”
“You can’t spend all your hard-earned money on
that,
” I protested. “Save it for something worthwhile. Like a holiday in the Seychelles or something.”
Calvin wrapped his hand around mine.
“Your well-being is something pretty worthwhile to
me,
” he said. “In fact, it’s more important to me than anything. So? You game to try? Just one session? And if you don’t like her, I promise I won’t waste any more of my hard-earned money on her.”
My phone twanged. I jumped. The rollicking, country-western ditty jarred on my nerves.
“I ought to change that ringtone,” I commented nervously as I reached for the phone.
I glanced at the caller ID. Private number, it said.
“It’s him,” I whispered. “I
know
it’s him.”
Calvin jabbed his hand out.
“Let me take it,” he yelled grimly. “I’ve got a thing or two to tell him.”
When I hesitated, he reached over and snatched the phone out of my hand.
“Hey, you fuckhead. Leave a lady alone,” he hollered into the phone.
“Sooor-ryyy, man!” I heard a forcibly cheery voice with a broad Brooklyn accent ring out. “Jus’ wanted ta ask ya if you’re the owner of this phone? D’you have a contract? Are ya happy with it? Bet you’re like everyone else and you’re always searching for the best deal ‘round. Well, ah’ve got just the thing for you—”
“Shove it up your ass,” Calvin muttered. “And it’s nine o’clock at night. You ought to be home in your bed with your mama.”
I giggled.
“Didn’t ya say something ‘bout a lady there?” the unfamiliar voice harped on. “Well don’ mean a be rude there but you don’ sound too much like a lady ta—”
Calvin squashed his thumb over the red phone icon.
“Bloody salespeople,” he cried.
I giggled again.
“There. You see? Paranoid.” He deposited the phone back in my hand. “You see? It wasn’t anything. Just a bloody salesman.”
I snuggled up against him.
“That therapist’ll sure be good for you. Trust me, babes.”
I logged into Christy Owens’ online booking service, then sighed in disappointment.
“She’s booked up for weeks,” I said.
All the same, I reserved a space for five weeks from now. Calvin curled his palm about my cheek.
“Don’t worry, babes,” he said. “I’d bet my bottom dollar nothing’s going to happen to you between now and your appointment.”
I clapped my colleague, Drew, a sound one across his back. He gulped a mouthful of coffee as he hung up my mobile for me.
“Thanks loads, mate,” I said. “That’ll earn you some brownie points next time I talk to the head honcho.”
Drew shrugged.
“Bloody hell. That prancing sissy called himself a lady,” he muttered as he returned my mobile to me, choking on his coffee.
“Naw. I think he was referring to the lady he’s protecting. The owner of the phone you just called.” I gestured towards my laptop. “Technology these days makes it easy peasy to spy on just about anyone.” I pointed at an app on my screen. “That phone call you just made for me connected my phone to hers, and inserted a tracking programme into hers. It’s undetectable even by the most sophisticated anti-virus. Now I’ll know where that bitch is no matter where she goes. She won’t be able to hide from
me,
so long as she’s got her phone on her. And who leaves their home without their phone these days?”
Drew rolled his eyes.
“Dunno what you’re up ta, Bruno,” he murmured. “And don’ care neither. None a
my
biz, it ain’t.”
I glanced at him.
“That’s why you’re my go-to guy for everything. So. How’re the folks?”
“Just moved outta the fucking stinking city at last, with all them deadly fumes and all that shit. I’m a-telling ya, New York jus’ ain’t the place it used ta be, what with all them hoodlums and thieves and rapists and stuff runnin’ round wild all over the place. Not that ma ole lady’s ripe pickings for a rapist no more.” He guffawed. “They got ‘em a wee neat house up on Long Island now. Haven’t seen it yet. Gotta get ‘round ta visiting ‘em one a these days.” He ogled at me, making faces. “Think the boss’ll gimme a few days off?”
I smiled. This guy wasn’t very tactful, if I did say so myself.
“I’ll put in a good word for you,” I replied. “To return your favour.”
I accompanied him to the door and practically shoved him out.
“Be sure to mark these hours down as overtime,” I said. “It’s after nine o’clock. You ought to be home with your mate.”
Drew laughed cynically.
“What mate? Them ladies all run from me the moment they see ma face. Well, the decent ones, anyways.”
He snapped out a military salute at me before stepping into the elevator.
“It’s probably your accent they run from. Not your face,” I muttered under my breath as soon as the door closed behind him.
*****
I settled my laptop in my lap, curled up on my favourite sofa-futon and typed in “Facebook”. Once there, I created a new account, using the first pseudonym that occurred to me
“Elena Farber”,
I wrote, using the initials of Eli Fabian, Romeo’s father and my first love.
Once I got onto my new page, I browsed around for photos of the top dogs at the Herbert and Mons Clothing Company. And there he was, beaming up at me with his all-round sweetie-pie, football-star, glowing-skinned good looks, the greying hair tousled in slight contrast with his youthful, wrinkle-free complexion. I saved his image to my computer, then uploaded it to my new Facebook account.
“BEWARE! THIS MAN IS A RAPIST”
I printed across the top of my first publication as Elena Farber.
“My name is Elena and I am a temp clerical worker. One morning I was sent to this man’s office to provide administrative services for him. He was alone in the office. The first indignation I suffered was his initial refusal to open the door to me. He insinuated that perhaps I was some sort of corporate spy. When at last he let me in, he literally barked at me every time I turned my head and looked someplace other than the floor.
“‘Don’t look in the other offices. There are company secrets in there,’ he would scold me every time I swung my head about. He locked the office door and then, at last, he cornered me inside the conference room, where he proceeded to carry out that vile and abominable act. I won’t go into that in detail. I’m sure you can watch any number of dramas on prime time TV that depict that act in blazing colours.
“I might add that I am not a virgin. I am a mother and currently enjoy a magnificent and monogamous relationship with a member of the opposite sex. In spite of that, I am not loose. I dress conservatively and not provocatively. The day this happened I was wearing a typical corporate office uniform, and I don’t believe there is anything less provocative than that. I don’t usually look at other men since I am radiantly happy in my relationship. I don’t flirt and if I go out in the company of other men, it’s usually as a couple, with my sentimental partner accompanying me.
“I didn’t report this to the police. I was too ashamed and afraid to. If people knew what had happened to me, I would have become the pariah of society. People would blame ME for what happened. They would think of me as a whore, a slut or a weakling. Or they would start to regard me as damaged goods, while the SOB who did this to me would walk away scot-free and humming a tune of victory. NO ONE would think to blame HIM, look at HIM as the scourge of our society and expect HIM to take a pay cut – as happened to ME – as a consequence of his actions. No. In fact, his cronies probably even patted him on the back afterwards and took him to the pub to celebrate!
“Ladies, if you see this man, run, don’t walk, to the nearest exit. If you happen to have the bad luck of being sent to work as a temp employee in his office, get the hell out of there the minute you set eyes on him. I won’t reveal which city or company he works in lest I get slammed with a libel charge or something. But ladies, be warned:
“THIS MAN IS DANGEROUS!!”
I signed out of Elena Farber’s account and signed into my own personal one. There, I searched for Elena Farber and shared her publication.
“Pass this on,”
I added as a comment.
“All women should know about this. And if you are a man and there is a woman that you love in your life, pass this on for her sake.”
I logged out of Facebook and went to cook up another packet of macaroni and cheese. Calvin waltzed in the door just as we were sitting down to dinner. I glanced up guiltily.
“I’m sorry, sweets,” I said, smiling sheepishly. “I thought you’d be sleeping at
your
place. There’s no food left for you.”
Calvin popped a bag of takeaway out from behind his back.
“Surprise!” he exclaimed.
Romeo ran towards him squealing like a mouse and literally yanked the steaming plastic bag out of his hands.
“We never got that takeaway you went for that other night,” Calvin said, “and I’ve been hankering ever since. So I stopped into Mr. Leong’s on the way over.”
I clambered on top of Calvin as if he were a tree and covered him with kisses.
“I’ve never been happier to see you in my life,” I exclaimed.
Calvin flashed a pleased grin at me.
“Well, if that’s all it takes to get you to eat me up with kisses, I’ll have to bring you takeout every night.”
Romeo started laying out cardboard boxes in the kitchen and spooning the contents onto plates.
“Yippee! My favourite. Chicken wings,” he cried, jubilant.
For once we enjoyed dinner in peace. Nothing happened to jangle our nerves. After our meal Calvin stretched his legs out on the sofa-futon and piled his laptop on top of himself while I curled up next to him.
“What’s this on your Facebook, sweets?” he murmured.
I glanced over at his screen, then explained what I’d done. Calvin frowned.
“Don’t you think you could get into trouble or something for that? Maybe that creep could sue you for libel or something.”
“I didn’t write his name on it,” I said defensively.
“Get rid of it,” Calvin hissed. “Close that Elena Farber account thing. Now.”
I hardened my chin and shook my head.
“I can be just as stubborn as you when I want to be,” I retorted. “If I eliminate Elena Farber’s account, the publication would disappear too. So no way.”
All the same I signed into my own account, checking through my biography. Already there had been a slew of reactions and my – or rather, Elena’s – photo and story had been shared several times.
“Who is this creep, Annie? And who’s Elena Farber?”
wrote Lindsay. In a separate private message she added,
“Isn’t that the bastard we saw outside the subway station a couple of weeks ago? What’s up, Ann?”
“She should’ve reported him to the police, the moron. Creeps like that shouldn’t be running around loose out there, and she’s just letting him get away with it all,”
scribed in a distant acquaintance, a classmate from high school that I hadn’t seen in over ten years.
“No wonder she got raped.”
“Peeps like YOU are probably the reason why she didn’t go to the police to begin with,”
I retorted hotly below her comment.
“Do you see how you’re blaming the victim already?”
A message popped in as I was browsing.
“It’s from Bruno,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
Calvin glanced at my screen.
“What did you do? You changed your settings and made your profile public?” he screeched.
I nodded.
“Of course. I want
everyone
on Facebook to see the photo of that bastard loud and clear.”
I strummed my fingers over the message from Bruno, which I hadn’t opened yet.
“The fact that he’s sending you messages means he’s probably been spying on your Facebook,” Calvin suggested. “Either that, or it’s just a wild coincidence that he just happens to be writing to you at just exactly the same time you’ve published a photo of him all over the net.” He gestured at my mailbox. “Well, open it. Don’t you want to see what he has to say?”
I clicked on the message, casting a cursory glance at the notification that Bruno wouldn’t see if I’d read his message or not until I accepted him as a contact.
“YOU WANT WAR, ANNASUYA ROSE ADLER? THEN YOU’VE GOT IT. I WILL NEVER. EVER. EVER. LEAVE YOU ALONE AGAIN!”
Bruno accompanied his friendly missive with an enormous photo of an obviously dead child, about the same size as Romeo, heart-breaking and innocent, curled into a foetus on a stainless steel slab, burnt and battered beyond recognition.
“I AM DANGEROUS, ANNASUYA ROSE ADLER!
THIS WILL BE YOUR FUCKING LOUT OF A SON BY THE TIME I’M FINISHED WITH HIM!!”