MRS. TANDY BURST INTO the security office, a sullen-looking Micki beside her.
“I’ll call you back, Cyn,” Baker said into the phone. He hung up and extinguished his cigarette.
“I will not tolerate any violence in my gym classes,” the teacher said. And as Baker stood up, she added, “The slightest provocation and she gets physical.”
“What happened?” Baker asked evenly.
“One of the other students—”
“Rhonda,” Micki interrupted.
Mrs. Tandy flashed a withering glare at Micki, who then clenched her jaw and stared past Baker. “One of the other students,” Mrs. Tandy began again, “apparently said something Micki didn’t like. Micki shoved the girl so hard she went flying backward halfway across the floor, where she tripped and fell over an exercise mat.”
With the image of Rhonda falling on her ass still fresh in her mind, Micki had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from laughing.
The teacher said, “Maybe she thinks that because of that … unfortunate incident last term, I’ll look the other way when she behaves like this. I’m making it clear right now that that is not the case.”
“I understand,” Baker said. “I assure you it won’t happen again.”
“It better not, or I’ll have her dropped from the class. Which means”—she turned to Micki—“you won’t graduate in June.”
The humor vanished from Micki’s face.
“I’ll see to it this doesn’t happen again,” Baker reaffirmed.
With a pronounced lift of her chin, the gym teacher turned abruptly on her red-sneakered heel and left.
The cop and the kid stared each other down, Micki reflecting miserably that certain unpleasant experiences in her life seemed to continually repeat themselves. She noted the rise and fall of Baker’s chest. He looked extremely angry. And disappointed. Actually, that was something new.
“What happened?” he demanded.
“What’s the difference.” She turned away, putting her books on his desk.
He yanked her around. “Answer me. I asked you what happened, and I expect an answer.”
“Rhonda didn’t think I could hear, but she whispered to Sonya that the only reason a boy would ever go out with me is to fuck me.”
“Oh, Jesus, Micki; for chrissakes. But she didn’t touch you, did she?”
“All I did was push her!”
“What’s it going to take to get it through your head that you can’t go around assaulting people just because you don’t like what they say? Didn’t we go over this already? It wasn’t even that long ago.”
“I’m not gonna just stand around and listen to that shit.”
“Then say something back if you can’t walk away. But keep. Your hands. To yourself.”
She glared at him, then looked out the window.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” he asked. “Keep this up and you won’t graduate; you could even be expelled. And then what, huh?”
Stone-faced, she was staring at a dead-looking tree across the street.
Baker’s expression went dark: she was ignoring him! “You’d better—” But he stopped, eyes growing wide. He reached out and tried to draw her toward him, but she stiffened and resisted. Still holding her by the shoulders, he shook her slightly till she met his gaze. “Do you think,” he asked, his voice low, “that because I’m angry that means I don’t care about you anymore?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Do you think,” he continued, heart pounding, “that means I don’t”—he took a deep breath—“love you anymore?”
Face full of panic, she tried to wrest herself from his grip.
But he held on tight while the remainder of the words spilled out: “Because I do love you, Micki—like you were my own kid, my own flesh and blood. And I’m only angry because I don’t want to see you make the same mistakes I made.”
In a sudden burst of noise, a couple of kids ran down the hallway, giggling. Baker let go of Micki, strode over, and shut the door. As he walked back, he asked, “Do you want to know the real reason I’m here instead of with my squad?”
There was a spark in her eyes.
“It’s because I couldn’t control my anger. I may’ve been angry for the right reasons, but the things I did were wrong. I”—aware of how closely she was looking at him, he started to sweat—“I actually broke a guy’s jaw once, a perp I had in custody. He was a cold-blooded murderer, a real scumbag. But because of what I did, the entire thing went to shit. In trying to save my ass, the DA’s office let him plead to a nothing sentence.” His eyes bore down into hers. “And I have to live with that.”
Her brow creased. Deeply.
“Please, Micki. I don’t want you following in my footsteps. Not like that, anyway. And look at you: you’re so young; you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Don’t fuck it all up.”
She turned away.
His shoulders sagged. “I really don’t know what else to say; I really don’t. Y’know, I’m only your legal guardian till you turn eighteen, but—” Micki looked back, and his heart started hammering in his chest again.
“But what?”
“Well …”
“ ‘Well’ what? What’re you gonna tell me? That I have to have a full-fledged parole officer for the rest of my life?”
“Well, there’ll probably be a lot of legal hurdles, but—but—”
“But what?”
He ran his fingers through his hair and heard himself say, “I—I want to adopt you.”
There was a beat before she said, “You what?”
Though he felt as though the ground beneath him had fallen away, he heard himself still talking. “At the very least, I want you to think about coming to live with me.”
“Live with you? How d’ya know y’won’t change y’mind tomorrow? People fall in and outta love all the time, right?”
Baker caught his breath. “That’s romantic love, Micki. This is different.”
“Yeah … well … I dunno. I … I dunno …”
He felt a painful lump in his throat. “Look, I’m not going to pressure you. Take your time and think about it. All I need from you right now is a promise that you’re going to try really hard not to get into trouble like this again.”
The passing bell rang.
“You have English class now?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“How’s Mrs. DeGroot?”
“Better than Newsome.”
Baker nodded. “Go on, then. I’ll see you later.” But as he watched her leave, he wondered how long it would be till he got his answer.
♦ ♦ ♦
THAT NIGHT MICKI HAD a dream:
She was a little kid. Her father wanted to buy her and the other kids stuff to eat. The other kids were two boys that were her friends, and another girl. But she went to buy herself two cans of Sprite and was upset to see the clerk had opened both without her permission. Not much more than a closet, the store was crammed full of magazines and candy bars, odd novelty items hanging down from the ceiling. She reached into her pocket, proud she had her own money to spend. But while getting out some change, she began to feel strange, as though she was observing herself putting the shiny coins on the counter. The space felt much larger than it had just moments before.
Back outside, the pavement was baking, the sun so hot the sky was white. She saw that her father and the other kids had gone on top of some sort of double-decker bus that was moving slowly down the street. Alone on the sidewalk, she walked alongside them, noise and people streaming all around in the circus-like atmosphere of Times Square. Then the boys started waving, and she felt she had to wave back—had to smile—as if she were having a good time, like they were all playing the same game. But the boys, joking and laughing, were now wearing motorcycle helmets and superhero costumes as if it were Halloween, while she was still wearing her old T-shirt and shorts.
Keeping pace with the bus, she continued walking, knowing she was supposed to meet them all at Entertainment World—an “adult” entertainment place. The boys had no idea where they were going—or what it meant. But she did. She knew exactly. Unlike the other kids, who would remain safely on the bus—remain children—she, streetwise and jaded, was already much older than her years. Walking along, she continued to wave, even as she kept a wary eye on the street. She realized she didn’t need to be following the bus to find Entertainment World. She already knew where it was.
♦ ♦ ♦
ON FRIDAY, BEFORE MICKI left for work, Baker showed up at her apartment to give her Cynthia’s number again, but this time on a list with several others, including Malone’s and Gould’s.
“You hold on to these,” he said, raising up the index card and waving it slightly. “I’ll be at Cynthia’s tonight, but I’m not sure for how long. If you need me, try my number first. If you get the answering service, call hers.”
Distant and dull, Micki’s response was: “Uh-huh.”
“Are you depressed because it’s Valentine’s Day and you don’t have a boyfriend?”
Her eyes flashed. “I’m through with boys!”
“Micki—”
“You think I’m kidding?”
“I think you just need some time to heal; I can’t picture you as the type to stay celibate for the rest of your life. Besides”—he tucked the list under a corner of her telephone—“boys around your age tend to be especially big assholes anyway.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m thinking that maybe what Rhonda said was true.”
His tone was gentle. “Don’t say that. Y’know, I’m sorry about what happened over that Reiger boy in the auditorium. He seemed like a nice kid. You ever see him at all?”
“No.” And she looked away.
Baker bowed his head.
The silence grew heavy.
He looked up. “I’ve got to buy an anniversary gift for—a friend. I’ll be going out to Fortunoff’s in Westbury on Sunday; I thought maybe you’d like to come along. You could help me pick out something.”
“Me?”
“We could spend the day out there, and then you could stay over again like last week.”
She gave him a canny look.
As he was leaving, he said, “Have a good night at work.”
Over at the window, she watched him cross the street, get in his car, and light up. He always looked so confident. So self-assured. What could he possibly want her for? What if he woke up one day and decided she was nothing more than a burden—a mistake?
What if he woke up.
♦ ♦ ♦
THAT NIGHT, MICKI HAD another dream.
Wearing black patent leather Mary Janes and a short, crinolined dress, she couldn’t have been more than five. Her hair was cropped to just below her ears.
Her father, standing over her, said, “The dress’ll have to come off. It’s dirty.”
Feeling very small, she tried to hold back the tears. She didn’t want to take off the dress. “No, it’s not!” she argued in her high-pitched voice, for she’d been extra careful to keep it clean.
“Yes, it is,” her father insisted.
And when she looked down, she saw that it was all stained.
♦ ♦ ♦
ALL OF SATURDAY AFTERNOON, the snow and sleet kept coming down, making the walk to work a slippery, nasty mess beneath her worn-out sneakers. For the entire shift, Micki kept to herself more than usual, then went home and spent a restless night—fearful of dreaming, fearful of waking.
When she saw Baker’s car on Sunday, trolling down the street in search of parking, she suddenly resented the intrusion. Instead of saving him some trouble by going down to meet him, she planted herself on the bed and glared at the wall. What was the point of going to the stupid store with him anyway? But when he knocked, she opened the door and found him smiling down at her.
And the day seemed full of possibility.
♦ ♦ ♦
THE DRIVE TO LONG Island was a breezy escape under a sky of turquoise blue—engine humming, radio blasting. With few cars on the road, they cruised along at sixty for most of the trip. Once inside the store, Micki was awed by all of the things on display: fancy knickknacks and fine jewelry, shiny silver tea sets and glittering crystal, kitchen gadgets, clocks, watches … But too afraid to actually touch anything, she kept close to Baker while they combed through the floors.
They settled on a large, earthenware bowl heavily decorated with patterns of small vines and leaves in brown, gold, rust, and forest green. And though Micki was the one who’d spotted it, she still had no idea who it was for—and never asked.
By the time they got back to the city, the sun was disappearing below the horizon, igniting an incredible mixture of fiery pinks and blues. Micki did some homework while Baker watched hockey on TV. When she finally joined him in the living room, a commercial was on, and she picked up a novelty catalogue that was lying around on the coffee table. There were pictures of bathmats, mugs, bookends, bookmarks, purses, wallets, hangers, coasters … She jumped up and ripped the catalogue in half. Then she took one part and ripped it in half again.
“What the hell are you doing?” Baker asked.
Shaking with rage, she shouted, “I hate this shit! Why the fuck is it everywhere? It’s everywhere; every fuckin’ place y’look!”
Standing up and holding out his hand, he said, “Give it to me.” The page that had sparked her reaction was in two large pieces on top. When he put it together, he saw a picture of ice cubes shaped like naked women’s breasts with the caption: “A bevy of beauties to brighten up any beverage.” Another picture showed a roll of toilet paper depicting a woman stripping further with each square. Yet another advertised a deck of cards illustrated with women in various positions and in various states of undress.
“What’s the big deal?” he said. “It’s just a joke.”
“Fuck you.” She stormed out of the living room and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Mouth hanging open, Baker stared after her. Then he tossed the torn pages onto the coffee table, went to the study door, and knocked. “Micki?”
“Go away!”
He entered the room and saw her sitting in the dark on the floor. She had her back against the bed, arms wrapped around bent knees. When he switched on the desk lamp, she turned away, pressing her left shoulder against the mattress.
“Leave me alone,” she said.
He sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of her. “What’s going on here?” he asked.
Tears were rolling down her face. “I wish I was dead.”
“Because of that?”
Eyes full of fury, she said, “How would you like it if they were selling ice cubes shaped like—like—like your—y’know …”
He let the image fill his mind, then chuckled. “I don’t know. I, um, I have to tell you that—well—I think this is one of those things that doesn’t quite have the same effect when you reverse gender.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “I suppose there are lots of reasons for that.”
“But you think that kind of shit’s okay?”
He opened his mouth to answer, then placed his elbow on his knee and rubbed his forehead instead. “I don’t know. Maybe not.” He tried to imagine himself as a woman. “I guess it is kind of obnoxious.”
“Men hate women; that’s the truth, isn’t it? I mean, look at all those sick magazines.”
“Only some men hate women. And, yeah, some men like that stuff because it’s a put-down. But some men just don’t realize that it would upset anybody. They see it as a joke; that’s all.”
“Like you,” she retorted. “So that makes it okay?”
He rested his index finger across the crease between his lips, then said quietly, “No. No it doesn’t.” And he was reminded of an old Greek fable he’d once heard as a kid. When he said he wanted to tell it to her—at least, as best he could remember—her expression became guarded.
“Two boys,” he began, “were playing by a pond, throwing rocks to see who could hit the most frogs on the head. After a while, an old man happened by and said, ‘What on earth are you doing?’ One of the boys answered, ‘Don’t worry; we’re just having some fun. It’s just a game.’ So the old man said, ‘To you, it’s just a game, but the frogs hurt for real.’ ”
It took a second before Micki’s face relaxed. “So you understand what I’m saying, then, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so. But your reaction is sort of out there—way out there. I mean, I know women who don’t like any of that stuff—or the magazines for that matter. But I’ve never seen anyone react the way you just did.” Yet, in his mind’s eye, he saw himself ripping up the smut rag Falrone had sent him.
Looking down, she played with the grey shag carpet. She was always surprised at how rough it felt beneath her fingers.
“Have you ever talked to Dr. Lerner about this?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“What does that mean?”
She merely shrugged again.
“Well—do you know why it gets to you this way?”
“It’s wrong!” Eyes still on the rug, hands clenched into fists, she felt fresh tears welling up. As she wiped at her face, she said, “You must hate the way I cry so much now.”
“It doesn’t bother me.”
“Yeah, right. You probably think I’m weak—and—and naïve—can’t handle the big, bad world.”
He snorted. “Not exactly.”
She looked up at him, her face full of pain.
His eyes turned sad. “What I think,” he said, “is that right now you’ve got … open wounds. You’re sort of falling apart so you can put yourself back together.”
When the tears continued to roll down her cheeks, she turned her head.
“Listen to me, okay?” he said. “It’s all right for me to see you like this. I’ll never tell anyone anything—except maybe Dr. Lerner.”
She changed positions so she was sitting cross-legged like he was. A childlike expression was looking back at him.
“Sometimes,” he said, “you’re like a little girl.” When she started to object, he interrupted. “I like the little girl, Micki. I like all of you. And that includes whatever you were before and whatever you’ll become as a young woman. I take them all, sight unseen—unconditionally.” As her eyes became edged with tears again, he reached forward to gently stroke her face. Then he pulled her silver cross out by its chain until it came to rest on top of her shirt instead of under it. When his hands were once again on the carpet between them, she moved her right one forward just enough so their fingers touched. He gave her a reassuring smile, then stood up. “I’m going to start dinner. Why don’t you take a few minutes, and then come set the table for me.”
Watching him leave, she thought about what he’d said: “You’re falling apart so you can put yourself back together.” She worried that maybe she was just falling apart.
♦ ♦ ♦
IN THE DARK OF early morning, Micki woke up, remembering the end of a dream:
A whole squad of uniformed police officers were walking toward her on a Times Square subway platform, two of the men pushing an empty baby stroller. It was her stroller from when she was a baby.
Short as it was, the dream was disturbing, and though she wanted to go back to sleep, it was difficult to block it from her mind. All at once, she sees a young girl, brightly lit, standing in a long, dark corridor. Her hair, wavy and blonde, is being tossed back by a fan-blown breeze while around her, side-lit and misty blue, is a rolling fog—like in a movie. The girl’s eyes widen in horror, and Micki’s heart starts to pound: she is looking at herself.
The scene shifts, and now she’s somewhere else, lying on her stomach in an empty room. She feels a pulling sensation in her leg, and it starts to cramp up, reminding her of the episode as an infant. But then she’s hanging above the bed, looking down at herself and seeing that the dress she’s wearing is dirty. Even worse is the filthy blonde hair, the grime no longer camouflaged by bright light: it’s a wig.
Back in her body, she feels as if she’s waiting—waiting for something terrible to happen. And though she tries as hard as she can, she can’t lift or turn her head, her entire body dead, like she’s been drugged. There’s a quick flash of blue neon on the wall, its shape the outline of a girl’s head. Oversized musical notes are burning …
And then she’s back in Baker’s apartment, heart thumping, eyes open wide. And though she has yet to see his face, Micki hates her father.
♦ ♦ ♦
BREAKFAST MONDAY MORNING WAS strained, almost an exact replica of the week before. Baker tried first coaxing, then pressuring Micki to talk, ultimately demanding to know what was wrong. Retreating into a shell, she felt guilty for her silence—as if she were lying.
“Maybe—maybe you could talk to Dr. Lerner at the end of my session,” she offered.
“Sure,” he replied. But his tone was decidedly cool.
She withdrew even further.
And so for the entire drive to the high school, he was left to wonder if he were to blame. Apparently, he wasn’t going to find out anything until her session that afternoon.
The school day stretched ahead like a prison sentence.
♦ ♦ ♦
AFRAID HE’D MISUNDERSTOOD, MICKI said, “I need to see Dr. Lerner alone first.” They’d left the parking lot and were approaching the main entrance to the hospital.
“I’m well aware of what you meant,” Baker snapped. Walking quickly, he ignored that she was running to keep up with him.
Micki stopped in her tracks. “You’re angry with me, aren’t you.”
He halted, his back to her, the leather of his jacket expanding and contracting as he breathed. With a slap of his thigh, he spun around, about to fire back a response—until he saw the pain in her eyes. He closed his mouth, took out his cigarettes, and lit one, cupping his hand around the match. In the soft, mid-afternoon light, his tall, lean figure stood out sharply.
Micki felt very small.
He exhaled a large cloud of smoke that dissipated instantly in the cold, dry air. “I’m not angry at you.”
“’Cause I—”
“It’s all right,” he interrupted. “You go on ahead. I’ll get some coffee in the cafeteria, then head on up myself. I’ll wait in the hall. You come get me when you’re ready.”
So they entered the hospital together, but Micki went up in the elevator alone.
♦ ♦ ♦
DARK AND BROODING, MICKI walked into Dr. Lerner’s office and sat in the seat she always chose.
No one said anything.
A door slammed somewhere.
Lerner waited.
Micki said, “Um—yeah—I dunno.” She could already feel the tears stinging her eyes. “Things are starting to happen.”
Lerner’s voice was gentle. “What kind of things?”
Outside the window, the sky was a blank wall of grey: no birds, no sun … Micki tried to shut out all the images that were running through her head. Once she put everything into words—heard it out loud in her own voice—there’d be no going back. But she couldn’t keep it locked inside her any longer, either. “I think,” she said, “some of my memory’s coming back.”
♦ ♦ ♦
THERE WASN’T ENOUGH TIME. Micki wanted to talk to Dr. Lerner more herself, but Baker was surely waiting in the hall by now. Eyes and nose red from crying, she checked her watch for the third time.
“Do you have to leave early?” the doctor finally asked.
“No, but—well, I was hoping you could explain to Baker what’s been happening to me. He’s angry ’cause of the way I’ve been acting.”
“There’s no need to hurry your session, Micki. No one’s scheduled next hour. After you’re done, I’ll have plenty of time to talk with him. But I think you should tell him these things yourself.”
“No!”
“Then maybe you should wait until you can.”
“No! Please—I—I need him to know now.”
“Why is it so urgent?”
Micki started crying again.
Normally, Dr. Lerner wouldn’t have played intermediary. While she might have given a parent or guardian a generalized update on a juvenile patient, she wouldn’t have served as an informational conduit. The very fact that a patient was unable to broach an issue with someone, usually indicated they weren’t emotionally ready to accept the consequences. Plus, Micki’s conclusions painted a horrific scenario that devastated her self-esteem—even though she’d been utterly blameless. And just a child.
Heart heavy from all she’d heard, the doctor looked at her patient, her gut telling her to do as she’d been asked. “Let’s finish the session first, and then we’ll discuss this again.”
♦ ♦ ♦
IT WAS TEN TO four. Just when did Micki plan to bring him in? Pacing the hallway, Baker was playing with a pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket.
The door opened. “You can come in now,” Micki announced.
But as he walked through, she edged past him. He grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”
Face pasty-white but blotchy, eyes wide and dry but red, she said, “I’m gonna wait out here.”
He opened his mouth to object, then shut it again, letting her go and slamming the door after her. With a thud, he fell into the chair beside the one she’d vacated just moments before, then whipped out his pack of Camels and lit one, deciding it didn’t matter anymore how many fucking cigarettes he smoked. As of Friday, he’d been trying to cut down, but since breakfast, he’d had so many that he was already into Wednesday’s rations. Wearing black jeans, a black turtleneck, his black leather jacket, and a black expression, he sulked.
“You’re upset,” Lerner observed.
“Well, why shouldn’t I be? I don’t know what the hell is going on with that kid. Did you know that I asked her to live with me?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I was going to talk to you about it first, but things just sort of … happened.” Eyes piercing into hers, he asked, “Do you object?”
Her expression was kind. “No.”
“Yeah—well—I don’t get it, okay? Yesterday we had a nice time—a really nice time—and she stayed overnight. But then this morning she was totally different, all upset and depressed, pretty much giving me the silent treatment. Last week it was the same thing. Exactly the same. And what really gets me is that she won’t talk to me. I can take anything so long as she doesn’t shut me out. I thought I had an understanding with her, but I guess I was wrong.” He took a furious drag on his cigarette, then exhaled the smoke through his nose. “And look—look at this! She won’t even stay in here to talk with me now. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to think?”
“Perhaps I should tell you what it is she couldn’t say to you herself.”
“Sure. Go ahead. Knock yourself out.”
The doctor paused, then said, “Micki had some very disturbing dreams recently. But even more importantly, these last two weekends—when she stayed at your apartment—she had flashbacks.”
Baker’s brow furrowed. “She dropped acid?”
“What?”
“LSD flashbacks?”
“Oh! Oh, no. These are memory fragments of traumatic events. You’ve probably heard about this sort of thing with Vietnam vets. The experience is very vivid. It feels like it’s actually taking place in the present.”
Baker sat up straight. “So she’s remembering stuff.”
“Yes, but these are horrible memories.”
He slumped back. “So being with me—staying at my apartment—is triggering horrible memories. Great. Just great.”
“I think you’re misinterpreting this.”
“Oh, really? And just how do you figure that?”
“It’s only because she feels safe enough now—safe enough with you—that these things are being able to surface.”
He let this sink in. “So what is it she remembers? Or are you not allowed to tell me?”
“She wants me to tell you the flashbacks as well as the dreams, but I need to know if you’re ready to hear them.”
Nodding, Baker adjusted his weight in the chair, then sat back to listen.
♦ ♦ ♦
WHEN THE DOCTOR WAS finished, Baker was silent, his mind still racing, everything he knew about Micki falling into place. Put into a different context, her odd and over-reactive responses had taken on a completely new meaning. The pain in his heart was unbearable.
“You’re certainly very quiet,” the doctor stated. “Have you nothing to say?”
“What’s there to say? What does Micki say? What does she make of all this?”
“First I’d like to hear how you put all the pieces together. I’m interested in your professional opinion.”
“I’m no expert in interpreting this kind of stuff.”
“I think you’re trying to avoid the issue.”
Extinguishing his cigarette, he said, “It’s sick. I don’t even want to say it.”
“Please.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m basing this, you understand, on more than what you’ve just told me; I’m taking everything into account.” The doctor nodded, so he continued, “I think her father pimped her out—sold her for sex since she was just a little baby. I think he had photos or movies taken for kiddie porn, too.” When the doctor said nothing, Baker began to feel disconnected—as if time had stopped inside the little office. He could feel his face growing hot: perhaps he’d been way off base.
But then Lerner slowly nodded. “Micki sees it that way, too.”
His eyes grew moist.
They sat awhile until the doctor stood in closure. “I can’t tell you any more than that.”
Baker remained seated.
Her voice gentle, Lerner said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sergeant, and we can continue then.”
“I just—I need a minute.”
“Why don’t you let Micki see how you feel?”
“Because she already saw me about to cry last week. Right now I think she needs me to be strong.” And the very act of stating that seemed to pull him back together. He arose, feeling even taller than usual as the doctor passed to open the door. Then he stepped into the hallway, and the door clicked shut behind him.
Micki was standing just in front of the opposite wall, her expression vacillating between a defiant “fuck you” and a desperate plea for comforting.
Arms outstretched, he said, “Hey, kiddo. Come here.”
Her lips started to tremble.
He took a step forward, opening his arms wider. She flew into them with such force that it was more like the full-body check of a hockey player than a child accepting a hug. But he held her close, and she buried her face in his chest.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” he said as he smoothed her hair.
She knew as well as he did that that was a wish more than a prediction. But it was exactly what she needed to hear.
♦ ♦ ♦
WHEN HE FLIPPED ON the switch, the entryway was flooded with light, the apartment beyond still draped in shadow. Silent. Empty. Baker locked the door behind him.
Gym bag, drugstore purchases, and jacket were tossed onto the club chair while he made his way to the kitchen, going straight for the Coke. Ice cold, full of fizz, two glasses disappeared, one right after the other as he gulped them down, relishing the burn. Then he took out a brown paper bag, the pungent aroma of its contents seeping into the air and causing his stomach to growl. An unexpected guest in his refrigerator, the leftover half of a sandwich inside would never know the pleasure of even a single overnight stay.
He took it out and placed it on the counter, layers of heavy white paper wound around it, tightly folded, neat and precise, as if it were a present. Once unwrapped, it sat proudly and fearlessly in the middle of the plate while he licked his fingers clean of the golden-brown mustard that had oozed out from beneath the top slice of bread. He brought it to the table and picked it up with both hands. But despite his mouth watering and his stomach rumbling, he sank his teeth very carefully into the thick pile of spicy beef on rye. Gould hadn’t been lying last month when he’d said the place he was recommending—a small establishment in Rego Park—had some of the best kosher deli in the city. And as Baker took another bite, a grin spread slowly across his face.
After the session with Dr. Lerner, he hadn’t wanted to take Micki straight home. He’d suggested getting something to eat and, to his surprise, she’d agreed. And though it was obvious they were driving quite a bit out of their way, Micki didn’t say a word. Baker parked half a block down at a meter, and they hurried out of the cold to be greeted at the door by warm, humid air saturated with the scent of hot pastrami and knishes. Alone on a nonexistent line, they stood next to the cash register, where a sign said “please wait to be seated.”
A kitchen door opened, and a waiter with little hair but lots of wrinkles, grunted at them and said, “Follow me.” Shuffling forward, he led them into the midst of the fully mirrored walls of the tiny restaurant while Micki pointedly stared straight ahead at his skinny, stooped back. But when they’d reached their table and were waiting for him to put their menus down, Baker caught sight of their reflection, a grin spreading across his face much as it had just now. He’d nudged Micki and motioned with his chin for her to look at the silvered glass, as well. Side by side, the two of them looked like different-sized versions of each other.
Their overstuffed sandwiches arrived in short order on thick white plates that were placed on the table with a heavy clunk and a curt, “Enjoy.” Neither Baker nor Micki actually ate much of anything, and neither of them said much of anything, either—big gaps of silence in between small talk. And yet, it didn’t feel awkward.
Late afternoon turned into early evening, and other patrons, most of them elderly, began arriving for dinner. Baker asked the waiter to wrap up the rest of their meals and they’d left. Then he’d dropped Micki off at her apartment. But only because she’d insisted.
He finished off a third glass of Coke, surveyed his empty plate with disappointment, then called Dino’s Pizzeria for a small pie to pick up. After that he hung his sweaty gym clothes in the bathroom and his jacket in the closet before putting away the drugstore items—including a new box of condoms. With all of the conflicting studies and stories about dangers and side effects, Cynthia had become increasingly concerned about staying on the pill. She’d switched to an IUD, but wasn’t entirely confident in it yet. And after what she’d just been through, well, would he mind using condoms, too, for just a little while longer?
As he was slipping the box inside the dresser drawer, pushing it underneath some underwear and socks, his eyes fell on the copy of Playboy tucked away in the back. Heavy, glossy, and slick with its own sense of style, it was something he’d always taken for granted—simply bought without giving it a second thought. But nothing in the world existed in a vacuum. This magazine was the genteel end of a spectrum of materials for which, and from which, a lot of evil and ugliness had been, and would be, perpetrated on women. And young girls. Even little baby girls. Baker closed his eyes. He wanted to crawl into bed and go to sleep.
When he left to pick up his pizza, he made a quick detour to the garbage chute first.
♦ ♦ ♦
UNABLE TO SLEEP, MICKI stood in the darkness, letting the moonlight wash over her. Spilling in through the window, the pure white light felt soft upon her skin, and minutes passed illuminated in the cold, spectral glow.
She wondered what Baker was doing.
After her session, when she’d gone with him to the deli, he’d asked about her classes, about her teachers, about Tony and Sal at Bel … But eventually he’d asked if she’d be afraid to stay over at his place again. She told him “no.” At this point, it seemed just as likely she’d have a flashback at her own apartment as his. She’d rather be at his place anyway—though she didn’t tell him that. Besides, she might not have another flashback for a long time. Dr. Lerner said her mind would only unveil as much as she could handle, and she was finding it difficult to deal with what she already knew.
She got back into bed and bundled herself up in the blanket, feeling very much alone until she recalled Baker’s arms wrapped around her. She’d felt safe there. Very safe. But he couldn’t hold onto her forever.