“Sue,” Tom called. “You here?”
“In the supply room. Gotta check the back- up tapes. What do you need?”
“The Boss in?”
“Haven't seen her.”
Tom took a step back, and surveyed the office. “Her door's closed. Coast is clear. Listen Sue, what's up with her?”
Sue shrugged. “I don't know. She's been vague and forgetful lately. Not like her at all.”
“Loses her train of thought. Did you notice her struggling for words at the staff meeting? That's not like her at all. Normally sharp as a tack.”
Sue glanced out the door. Two teachers were passing through the office on their way to the staff room. She waited until they'd gone and lowered her voice. “Do you think we should talk to her?”
“I tried. As diplomatically, as I could.” Sue arched her brows. Tom chuckled. “Okay, so I asked her outright if she was okay.”
“And?”
“I don't know. It was like she didn't hear me. Like she was someplace else.”
“Do you think we should call her family?”
“Yeah, you should.”
“Me!?”
Em didn't need to overhear that conversation to know she was slipping away. Away to that other world.
*
Em covered Ron with his robe and left him dozing on the floor. She un-muted the TV, concentrating first on a German news channel, then flipping to Canadian, to Spanish, and back to German again.
“God, Em, you’re perfect. Beautiful. Sensual. Seductive.” He leered at her from his position propped on one elbow on the floor. “You’re in great shape, obviously work out and your skin is perfect, not a blem…. What’s that?” He sounded alarmed.
“What?”
“Em, did I do this to you?” He rose and walked over to her.
“What?”
“The bruises.”
“Oh, Ron.” She laughed.
“Em!” His grip on her shoulders tightened, his hands rigid with the same tension that filled his voice. “This is no laughing matter. Did I do this to you?”
“No.”
“Then how did you get them?”
“Fighting.”
“Fighting!? What on earth are you talking about?”
“Sparring, ground fighting. You know,
grappling.” He had a bewildered look on his face. “Jiu jitsu. I train regularly with a group that is mostly soldiers.”
“Soldiers! Em that makes no sense. You’re out there trying to stop war. Why on earth would you do anything with soldiers, let alone learn to fight?”
His question shocked her. She closed her eyes and prayed for an answer. “I came to have a whole new respect for soldiers when I worked with them,” she said. “They choose to fight and die for us, often for the wrong reasons. Deliberate death at the hands of another human. What could be worse? Deliberate killing at someone else’s command? How can I not respect that?”
“And if you have your way, they will all be out of jobs.”
“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” She beamed and her eyes sparkled.
“But, jiu jitsu? My God! You could get hurt. Badly.”
“Nah. The guys go easy on me. The older ones call me young lady and I remind the younger guys that I could be their mother. I’m training for my brown belt. Sensei says it will take five years. I say two, three at most. We’re negotiating.” Em grinned and clapped her hands. “See that’s what I mean about parts of my other life creeping in. It’s like I can answer your questions from my subconscious if I don’t think about it. Ask me more stuff.”
He seemed happy to comply. “Your fingernails?”
“No matter how short I file them, I always manage to break a few.” She laughed with the sheer pleasure of the conversation.
“Why jiu jitsu?”
“I kind of got into it by accident when I participated in a couple of self-defense sessions with a guy from the military. I started with his club. At first it was scary and intimidating. Not the people, they were great, friendly and welcoming, but the sport itself. But, I love the physicality of it.” That was true, she realized, not an exaggeration. “This is embarrassing, but I almost bit a grappling partner once, stopped myself just in time. I guess that means that I would do whatever it took if I was ever in a real fight.” She stopped suddenly. “Wow, did I just say all that?”
“Yeah.”
She threw herself at him and kissed him soundly. “Thank you, thank you.”
Before Ron could ask another question his stomach rumbled loudly. Em giggled. “More later. Let’s shower and eat.”
Em watched as Ron finished preparing the omelets, moving expertly about the kitchen, knowing instinctively where to find what he needed in the unfamiliar surroundings, handling the utensils with an ease that spoke of experience.
“You done cutting the fruit?” he asked. “Excuse me a sec.” She ran from the room cursing under her breath. “Not now, damn it. Not now!”
Ron,” she called as she peered into the kitchen. “You there?”
“Back already? I thought you were going to check the laundry.”
“Uh, I….”
“Breakfast’s about ready. Have a chair, Madame.”
The television blared. “What the hell,” Ron said and headed to the living room to turn the volume down.
“United Nations forces took control of the army posts after Miracle Madame neutralized the junta leaders and their inner circle. She then appeared in the flooded areas and facilitated the entry of relief workers. We take you now….”
Em waited in the kitchen twisting her napkin into a tiny ball.
“Jesus, Em.” Ron stood squarely in the doorway, his face a mask of fury. “You were there at the same time you were here. Are there two of you? Who am I sleeping with? You or an identical twin? Or an alien? Fuck! Do you have any idea how hard this is?”
“You think it’s easy for me? I’m the one out there facing the bullets.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I see the news. I watch helpless to protect you. Helpless!”
Hell, this conversation is going nowhere but downhill. Em had no idea what to say. She didn’t want to have to say anything. She wanted someone else to take the responsibility for a while.
Ron’s face crumbled. She thought he was going to cry. He swallowed. “I’m sorry, Em. Please, come have breakfast.” She released her breath and relaxed in her chair. “Do you own an apron?” he asked.
“No. Why?”
“You don’t seem particularly domestic.” They were leaving the fight behind. He was fixing it. She said a little thank you under her breath. “I’m not. But you like to cook. I bet you collect aprons when you travel and you actually use them.”
“Yep.”
“What kinds of things do you like to make?”
“Antipasto, shrimp stroganoff, crab crêpes, cannelloni, beef Wellington. Stuff like that.”
“Wow. Gourmet. I’m impressed.”
“You might be impressed, but the kids would rather order pizza.”
“They’re too young to have an appreciation for the finer things in life,” she said. “But, what about spaghetti?”
“Never. Not even to impress a date.”
“Not even to impress me?”
“Nope. Stereotypical.”
“Will you make dinner for me sometime?” she asked with no hint of teasing.
“Of course. What would you like?”
She thought for a while. “Surprise me.”
*
When Em stood naked in front of the TV, Ron had taken advantage of the opportunity to study her in full light, somewhat sheepishly, knowing that she was unaware of his scrutiny. I studied her too. Come on, name one man who wouldn’t.
Ron saw her not only as hard and determined, but at the same time as soft and yielding, and terribly vulnerable. Studying her, Ron believed there was more to his love for Em than filling empty spaces and finding security. It was the completion of one soul by another.
Guardian, humans went so overboard. It was sex, man, sex. Nothing more than hormones.
Bruises on her thigh and three angry red spots on her wrist as if someone had gripped her too hard; the words “abusive husband” flashed across Ron’s brain only to be immediately dismissed because everything in him revolted at that image. The image revolted me too as did her jiu jitsu training. I cringed each time I watched her in the dojo.
I sent her on a quick mission. I wished I could do more to keep her away from Ron, but too soon she was back. That’s when I had the brainwave. It would blow Ron’s mind to see the latest news. I turned up the volume on the television. And they had a beautiful colossal argument. A lovely little monkey wrench in the works. Maybe she’d see now that her darling little Ronnie wasn’t for her.
“Or maybe not.” It was Mentor hovering at my left shoulder.
*
They chatted away the afternoon. Answering Ron’s questions continued to fill in gaps for her. She told him that she'd gone sunbathing topless once, had been to a rifle range, and learned to shoot a .38 Special, a 9mm Glock and a Ruger. She’d been such a sharpshooter that the owner offered free rounds with both a .44 Magnum and a .357 Magnum. Beginners luck, but it had been fun. She’d gone to the range to see what it was like and no, she could never imagine pulling the trigger to shoot either animal or man. From jiu jitsu, she had some idea of what she would do in a fight, but wondered what it might take to drive her to kill. She couldn’t come up with an answer. Neither could Ron.
Ron confessed the hurts and frustrations of his life, admitted his bitterness at the judgments based on looks that limited his choices, and still prevented him from being considered for roles he prized. He even talked about his humiliation at Susan’s hands.
“God, Em, I’ve told you things I’ve never discussed with anyone, not even Tony. I’ve never even examined them this closely myself.”
“Where did you find the strength to remain so positive about life in spite of all that?”
“I’d be dead without my sense of humor. For me, the only truly serious things are losing one’s health or being in a life-threatening accident. The rest of it; if you can’t laugh you’re truly fucked.”
Not to mention the strength of humor as a shield against all the hurts, Em thought.
“Are you married? Do you have kids?” Oh God. Her mind went blank. A crucial question and she had no answer. Why? Why don’t I know?
“I think you do. I saw tiny marks on your stomach and thighs. Stretch marks I think.”
“Show me.” He pointed to the faint lines. Her eyes filled with tears. “God, how could I not remember something that important?” She sobbed, tears streamed down her face. Ron held her, rubbed her back and wisely kept silent until the sobs lessened.
“Em, memories are coming to you slowly. The knowledge is in you. It will come back to you. It will.” Eventually she stopped crying. They lay on the patio divan and she dozed fitfully in his arms.
*
“Will you let her remember everything?” Mentor asked.
“I don’t think so,” I hedged.
“Too painful?”
“Yes. She loves them too.”
“Well, then.” Mentor’s words carried neither censure nor approval. Shit, now what was I supposed to do?
“Stop using those bad Earth words, for one thing,” Mentor said as she walked away.
*
Em muttered and fumed as she flipped through the channels looking for the news.
“What’s wrong?” Ron asked.
“I don’t believe this. Some actor has been found guilty of assault and is being sent to jail but the judge is going to let him out every day so he can finish his film.”
“Makes sense to me. His absence would hold up the whole movie.”
Em glared at Ron. “I can’t believe you said that. Anybody else would simply serve his or her jail term. Are you condoning a double standard?”
“No, but a lot of money is involved.” Money! The best argument he could come up with was money. Surely he wasn’t that shallow. “Don’t get me started on money. Money should not run the world and actors’ salaries are obscene.”
“I disagree. We actors work hard for our money.”
“For God’s sake, get real. If anyone deserves that kind of salary it’s the doctors who put you back together after an accident, or the teachers in the classrooms with thirty plus kids, or the social workers trying to save families.”
“Of course they are deserving, but they have job security. Their careers don’t depend on the vagaries of public opinion and popularity. An actor might have only a few years to earn a living.”
“Well, break my heart. The big stars can make anywhere from hundreds of thousands to a few million a year times, oh, let’s say one year, and never have to work again. How does that compare with a social worker or a teacher? Talk about unfair. Then some sitcom starlet who trucks bundles of money to the bank each week is having ‘the hardest year of her life’ and ‘oh such a difficult time’ adjusting to marriage to Mr. Beautiful.”
“Just because she has money doesn’t mean she doesn’t have problems too.”
“I know that. But does she have to broadcast her woes to the world? Whatever happened to ‘discretion is the better part of’?”
“For some people, talking helps,” Ron said. “Well, they don’t have to blab indiscriminately. Anyway, that’s not the really offensive part.”
“It gets worse?”
She should have heeded the anger in his voice, changed the topic, and avoided the whole stupid argument, but she was too worked up. If she didn’t yell about something, she’d explode. “She has a chat line to help young girls because she has gone through many of the same experiences.”
“What’s wrong with trying to help?” He sounded bewildered.
“Oh, come on Ron, it’s nothing more than an excuse to snag more bags of dough.”
“Aren’t you being just a bit judgmental?”
“But, she’s playing with people’s lives here. She has no training or credentials of any kind and she’s going to be counselor extraordinaire.”
“Lots of people do that sort of thing. They’re just trying to help. To make things better.”
“What you Hollywood types don’t realize is that you have so much influence and that influence carries a huge responsibility. Too many of you just get out there and say whatever. And another thing, who are you to decide what is right for others? Just because media promotes you as some sort of gods?”
She was on a roll and her tirade made her feel good in some perverse way that she thought she should have been ashamed of.
“There are even some celebrities who think they should be part of political decisions, attend summits, for Christ’s sake. Just because of who they are. What makes them think they have the kind of background or expertise needed to be part of those processes and decisions?”
“Isn’t that what you do?” he asked. “And didn’t you use us Hollywood types to get your message across?”
There was a dreadful silence. Em stared at him and then just crumbled. Fell to so many pieces that she didn’t think she’d ever be able to put herself back together.
*
Ron couldn’t believe they were arguing again. Well really, what did he expect? I couldn’t leave them all cozy and lovey-dovey forever, now could I? Mentor was off with another Power. I had a few minutes of free rein and I used it to my advantage.
As the argument grew and raged, I gloated at Ron’s discomfort. Then something happened. Em, my lovely Em, lost control. I never wanted that. I never wanted Em to hurt. Their argument had gotten completely out of hand. I couldn’t understand what went wrong.
“You see!” Ooh, boy, Mentor back already. “You let your emotions rule and played with theirs and look what happened. I know you’re a Drone, but even so, you can’t possibly be that stupid.”
I felt like a worm.
Ron wanted to bite back his words, but it was too late. I wanted to take back the argument, but it was too late. Ron wanted to hold Em, to take away the horrible hurt. I wanted to hold her, to take away the horrible hurt. Ron was scared to move, afraid she would reject him.
I was scared too.
*
“Touché,” Em’s voice quavered.
“Oh, Em.” Ron grabbed her roughly and pulled her close. He cradled her head to his chest, and circled her with his other arm. “I shouldn’t have said that. Please, forgive me.”
“But you’re right.” Em cried silently, soaking his T-shirt with her tears.
“No, Em. I was wrong. What you see and the terrible situations you walk into…. You operate on a level far above anyone else. I had no right to compare.”
“But I’m no better. I have no right to criticize.” He was trying to make her feel better and somehow she felt worse.
“Please don’t.” Ron didn’t know what to say, but he was smart enough to hold her close, caress her, and use his voice to try to calm her. A long time later she felt the tension ease slightly.
“Ron, I—”
“No, don’t say anything.” He picked her up effortlessly, it seemed, and carried her to the bedroom and made her lie down. He undressed her and massaged her neck and back. Pampered as a baby, she felt limp and relaxed as the remaining tension released slowly and Ron made tender, sweet love to her. He had it right. It was the only thing to do.
Much later they showered and dressed for dinner. Ron wore his suit pants and one of the light sweaters from the closet. Em pulled on a pair of jeans and a black tank top and reached for a jacket. “Em, wear this.” He held out his dress shirt for her. She slipped into it. He did up the buttons and rolled up the sleeves several times.
“I can’t wear this. I look like a little kid.” The mirror said she was a child trying to play grownup. Mirrored her feelings exactly.
Ron stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “You do look like a kid with the shirttails reaching almost to your knees. Cute.” He kissed the top of her head. “Please,” he said. “It’s important to me.”
Em didn’t like the lost little boy look on his face. For him, me wearing his shirt will be the only tangible thing he’ll have to represent our time together. Maybe if I wear it he’ll feel that he can hold a part of me after I leave. She couldn’t deny him that. She nodded agreement.
They walked to a small restaurant, ordered beers, and sat on the terrace overlooking the ocean. “May I ask you