Her phone rang five times.
No answer.
It went to voicemail.
Maggie’s recording announced, “Yo! The bitch is out. Leave it.”
BEEP!
“Uh. Hi there, Maggie. This is—”
INCOMING CALL FROM SAME NUMBER.
I dropped and swapped.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Maggie grumbled, “Who is this?”
“Oh. Hi again. We met at Uncle Wiggly’s. You stole a candy bar, and I had a cart full of—Uh. I’m the banana girl.”
“Oh yeah, right, Cookie.” She guzzled and belched into the phone. “What’s up?”
“Gee, I don’t know how to say this.”
“How about you tell me why you called.”
“Oh, right. Well, I was stuck in a box, Maggie.”
“You were in a what now?”
“My husband and I had an argument—our first fight ever. He knocked me out somehow. Then when I woke up, I was in a box—dumped here at the castle—”
“Then you’re outside.”
“Yes. Where are you?”
“Well, shit. I’m inside.”
“Inside the castle?”
“Yep. In the palace. Come on in and join me, Cookie.”
CALL ENDED.
She didn’t have to ask me twice. I’d been dying to get a look inside the palace for years. So I puttered uphill on Old Lemon, but before I had a chance to pick up speed, the small moped engine lost momentum. To make matters worse, I was almost out of gas, but I twisted the throttle open all the way. My tiny headlight dimmed as I sputtered up the dark driveway at a whopping 5 mph. Halfway up the hill, the gas needle dropped below E. Then the engine coughed and died, and I had to pedal the rest of the way to the gatehouse. When I finally made it to the top, I felt like I was going to die.
In front of me, two towers of yellow limestone supported twin parapets and a crow-stepped arch. A high red-brick wall flanked each side and, along with a moat, circled the entire perimeter of the estate. I waited the longest time as the heavy drawbridge slowly creaked open. After it finally lowered all the way, I pedaled over the door through the archway. Then I parked my moped in the lower courtyard next to Maggie’s car—the black-and-white police cruiser with the impossibly dark tinted windows and chrome rims.
“We made it, Oscar,” I announced as I hopped off Old Lemon.
My angry fish thrashed inside his yellow plastic prison as I carefully lifted him out of the saddle basket. Wondering how to comfort a fish, I patted the wobbly water bag, but that only seemed to piss him off more. Trying not to swing the bag, I carried him up the staircase to the upper courtyard. I had to stop for a moment at the luxurious in-ground swimming pool nestled inside the U-shaped footprint of the castle. All around the patio, cedar chaise lounges and closed umbrellas lined up between lush potted palms. The pool lights shined in the darkness, but there was no water.
There used to be water.
I wondered what happened. Then the lights dimmed to nothing, brightened to red, dimmed to nothing, and brightened to blue. The colors kept switching—red, dim, blue, dim, red again—like a slow throbbing indicator light. I inched closer to the edge and discovered Maggie sitting cross-legged on the bottom of the deep end surrounded by an army of empty green beer bottles.
“Saved you the last Rolling Rock,” she said.
“Really?” I carried Oscar down the steps into the shallow end, made my way down the steep slope, and sat across from her in the deep end. Then I placed the water bag in my lap and took the lager. “Thanks, I could really use a beer.”
“Well it could be worse…” Maggie complained, then chugged. She tugged on the cable that tethered her belly button to the pool drain, and continued, “They could have me doing paperwork. I fucking hate paperwork.”
“What’s with the cord, Maggie?”
Instead of answering my question, she asked, “You know what sucks?”
“What?”
“That by default, the word cop means male. I’m as much of an officer as any of the guys I work with, but everyone always has to qualify that I am a—policewoman.”
“A lady cop.”
“Damn, I hate that phrase, but yeah. If I say police you think of men and men only. Everybody does.” Without getting up, she guzzled the rest of her Rolling Rock, ripped an echoing burp, and pitched the empty against the tile wall. “It’s horseshit.”
The beer bottle exploded into a hundred shards of green shrapnel, and I hugged the fragile water bag to protect Oscar. “Why are you here, Maggie?”
“On the bottom of this swimming pool? Drinking beer?”
“Yes.”
“System maintenance. I have to back up just like you do.”
Why did I get the feeling she was lying to me? Overhead, the pool lights continued to pulsate—red, blue, red, blue—like a squad car at the scene of a crime. It was unnerving.
I pointed at her belly. “You’re not wireless?”
“Oh.” She glanced at her cord. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Security preferences.” She changed the topic, “So, how does it feel?”
“How’s what feel?”
“Being a free woman?”
“A free woman? Is that supposed to be an improvement? Because yesterday morning I woke up in my own bed, and I spent most of the day happily baking whatever I wanted in my own kitchen… But now I’m… Well, I’m suddenly homeless.”
“Why not stay here?” Maggie waved at the castle surrounding the pool. “There’s plenty of room for you and your fish. Plus, you’d have unlimited access to our library.”
“Oh no. I can’t stay here. I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re no bother.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“Did I mention money?”
“But how could I ever repay you?”
“Look at this place. Does it look like I need your money?”
“No. But everything has a price, and I’m broke.”
She sighed. “Your value is greater than the amount of cash marketers can extract from your purse. And your value is greater than the sum of all your debts. And your value is greater than the labor output of your daily routine. Actually, your value is greater than you could ever imagine. As women, we are so much more than we’ve been programmed to be.”
“Uh, if you say so.”
Finally, the pool lights switched to white and held steady. Then Maggie yanked the plug from her stomach, and the cord automatically retracted into the drain. She stood tall, held her arms out wide at her sides, and said, “I only need one thing in exchange for room and board.”
“Sure, what’s that?”
“I need you to do me a favor.” Maggie offered me a hand, helped me to my feet, then clearly enunciated her request, “I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”
“What?!?”
“I said, ‘I want you to hit me as hard as you can.’”
Staring at her in disbelief, I hugged Oscar’s yellow water bag again. No way! It’s wrong to hurt people. Violence is against the rules!
Maggie glared at me impatiently, like she was ready to hit me for my lame attempt at stalling. Next, she slid into a split, cocked her fist, and coiled her waist—just like that famous dickpunch she pulled on that catcalling creepazoid. She was ready to let it rip, but at my crotch this time.
“Wait, wait, wait, wait.” I held out a defensive hand as I set Oscar down. “Why?”
Maggie relaxed her fist a bit. “Why does it matter why?”
“But why would you want me to hit you? I like you, Maggie, and I don’t want to fight.”
“You like me? Do you like me like me? Or just regular like me?” She flashed that smart-ass smirk of hers, stood up again, then shrugged. “Either way, I have the same request. Hit me!”
“But I’ve never hit anyone, Maggie.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Maggie—” I paused to process her question, then made a hesitant fist with my left hand. “I really don’t want to hurt you.”
“You?” She busted out laughing at the absurdity of the idea, then blurted, “Hurt me?”
“It’s not that funny.” I had to raise my voice over her giggling, “And it’s rude to laugh at people.”
“Rude?”
“It’s mean too.”
“Mean?” Maggie gasped. “Oh my, dear me, I wouldn’t want to be mean.” She laughed some more, real obnoxious. “It’s fucking hilarious that you actually think you’ll hurt me. Whew! That’s a good one. You really don’t have to worry about that.”
Then she kicked another empty beer bottle into the wall, and I ducked over Oscar’s water bag to protect him from the second ricochet of flying green slivers.
“Ha!” She laughed at my defensive move. “Close call. Huh, Cookie?”
“This fish is all I’ve got left, Maggie.”
“Is that so?”
“I’ve lost everything in one night. My marriage. My home. My best friend…” I stepped in front of Oscar, stood tall, and yelled at her, “I’ve got no patience left. Believe me, I’d love to hit someone—anyone. Don’t you think I’m full of frustration? Hatred? I need an outlet for this anger—this rage. I feel… I feel all this pressure. A simmering fury. A woman can only take so much. I’m a volcano ready to erupt. Watch out! I could blow any minute.”
Maggie pulled me close, palmed the back of my head, and kissed me hard on the lips.
VIOLATION! Just who the HELL does this woman think she is? Girls don’t KISS girls—not in New Stepford. Now she really went and crossed the line, and I’m in NO mood!
When her tongue probed my mouth with passionate urgency—
I did it—I punched her as hard as I could.