The Grim Room

CHAPTER 2

            Rebecca looked deeply into her boyfriend Jake’s eyes, running her slender fingers through his hair, smiling, thinking of their future together. With her other hand, she flicked a random hair off her red scissored bangs, a line of demarcation between hair and forehead. They were in her studio apartment on Waller Street, one block from Haight in San Francisco.

            Jake pulled back, shooting a cuff of his Brooks Brothers suit, checking his watch. He was such a handsome man. A second year graduate student at UCSF, studying in the neuroscience department. He was unlike any man she ever dated.

            “We better go, babe. It’s 7:15. Reservations are for 7:45. With traffic…”

            She smiled, her eyes beaming. “Right. Captain Jake, taking the helm.”

            A smile crept onto his pale face. His hair, dark and reminiscent of JFK in the early 60s, was combed perfectly. A flower was pinned on his suit. Always the bastion of punctuality. But it was good; Rebecca was too lax with these things.

            “C’mon, babe. You only turn 28 once!”

            Crimson rose to her cheeks. Blushing, she pulled Jake close again, their faces inches apart. “I love you, Jake Gobel.” It was nearly a whisper, but more direct and forward than the other times.

Jake’s lips moved towards her and their mouths touched. Soft kisses which soon turned to open mouths and tongues slithering. She felt his anticipatory energy and knew where this could go. But they had someplace to be. Joe’s Crab Shack—her work—for her birthday dinner.  

            “I love you too,” Jake said, his fingers holding her chin. “We better go, honey.”

            Her iPhone rumbled on vibrate in her purse. She dipped her hand in, keeping it inside—hiding it from Jake—and glanced at the screen: Alison Jones. Her best friend. Why would Alison be calling her right now? She knew she and Jake were going out to dinner. She better not be thinking of asking Rebecca to cover a shift. No, Alison could be selfish but she wasn’t that bad. Rebecca turned the phone over in her purse and hit the ignore button.

She smiled at Jake. “Let’s go. I’m ready.” She slung the purse’s strap over her shoulder.

Jake took her hand and together they made for the door. Right as they were about to exit, her phone vibrated again. Rebecca sensed some weird intuitive feeling; her heart started beating one note harder. Why? What was this? Something must be wrong. But still, she let it ring.

Holding the door open, waiting like a gentleman for her to pass first, Jake said, “You need to answer that, babe?”

“Why, thank you, kind sir. No, let’s go.” Sometimes she felt she didn’t deserve Jake; he was too good for her. But that was her insecurity talking; she had always been the one to follow, not lead.

They arrived at Jake’s 2014 BMW i8—a gift of his trust fund—the sleek, aerodynamic body reflecting off the moon’s glow. It was cold out, almost about to rain it seemed, and the breeze was steadily growing.

“Crap, forgot my coat,” Rebecca said. “I’ll be quick.”

Jake cocked his head, shooting a cuff again. “Hurry, babe!”

She sighed and turned, flipping her bangs in slight irritation. It annoyed her—just a little—when he rushed her. One of their things. Every couple experienced that though, right?

Just as she was reaching the door and pulling her key, her stupid phone buzzed once, this time indicating a text message. Fully delving into medium mode irritation, she whipped the thing out, her key in the other hand. The screen said: Alison Jones: “Call me asap. It’s important.” Aghhh: how annoying. Typical Alison: Couldn’t she wait until tomorrow like a normal friend? Why did she always have to bust in on Rebecca’s plans like this, make things so difficult? Ugh.

Rebecca fiddled with the key—sometimes it stuck—and went inside. Running over to her bed, sticking her purse on the down comforter, she opened her closet and found her coat. Catching herself in the standup mirror on back of the closet, she thought: Should I call her real quick or not?

She snatched her Revlon lipstick and puckered her lips, looking at her eyes in the mirror, applying the gloss on her lips. She mashed her lips together. This was a special night. She and Jake would have fun. That was the key word: fun. He’d been so busy with school lately, focusing on research papers and being in the lab at UCSF, studying fat books with titles she couldn’t even pronounce, and she’d been writing in her “spare” time, working five shifts a week at Joe’s Crab Shack.

She picked up her phone and called.

“Happy birthday!” Alison said.

“Thanks. What’s going on? Jake’s waiting outside at the car, probably blowing a gasket right now. We’re in a hurry Ali, could you make it fast?”

“I didn’t mean to worry you. But I needed to tell you.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes, plopping onto the bed. “Ok. I’ll bite. You finally slept with Timmy?”

“Ew, gross. Hell no. That’s never going to happen.”

“Then what, Ali, c’mon.” She glanced up at her alarm clock, the red digital numbers saying 7:24. Shit.

“Well, it’s out of the blue.”

“Ali,” Rebecca said, pulling the phone away from her face, irritation now creeping all over her body. “WHAT IS IT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!”

“Ok, ok. Calm down. I was at Smuggler’s Cove earlier…”

“Why do you go to that shithole bar, Ali? I don’t get it.”

“Because it’s close to where I live, okay.”

“Ok, fine. You’re at Shithole Bar, and…what?”

“I was sitting a few seats down from Silver…”

“Oh, God, that guy’s such a freaking creep Ali. Why do you go—”

“…And I heard Silver say, ‘Chris Doyle just got out of Folsom State Prison.’ He was talking to some creeper guy at the bar.”

Time seemed to stand still. The clock seemed irrelevant; everything did. It was like that feeling when all your plans are ruined after hearing some devastating news. And all of the sudden she felt this upwelling of emotion; fear, sadness, guilt, and…desire. Desire for what? For Chris to be okay? That he was not scarred from his experience? That she could…see him?

“Listen, Ali. Um. I gotta go. Jake’s going to kill me if I wait any longer.”

As if answering her, she heard Jake’s loud, booming voice from the front door. “Hey babe? What’s going on? You okay in there?”

Rebecca moved the phone down, licking her lips. She yelled back, “I’m fine sweety; give me one second. Putting on lipstick.”

“We’re gonna be late!”

She didn’t respond. Instead, she lifted the phone, her hands trembling, and said, “I’ll call you later.” Then she hung up.

It was close to midnight when she returned to her apartment.

Placing her keys in the bowl, she walked over to her bed. Chris Doyle. She knew this would happen eventually, but she wasn’t ready for it now. She whipped her phone out. The text was fast and to-the-point: Ali: You still up? A minute later the reply: Yup. Rebecca’s response: Call me.

Rebecca pressed “accept” before the first ring finished.

“How was your birthday dinner?” Alison asked.

“Good. Fantastic, actually. I love that man.”

Alison laughed. “Oh, you are a lucky girl, you know that right?”

“So, are you going to tell me about…him?”

“Well, there isn’t much to say. I already told you. I was sitting a few tables away and I heard Silver say it. That’s it.”

“Any clue where he’s living?”

“Judging from what we know I’d say he’d be living with his brother, right? Somewhere in the city.”

Rebecca took a massive, slow breath and eased it back out. “Yikes. What should I do, Ali?”

“What do mean, ‘what should I do?’ Don’t do anything. Forget about him, Becca. He’s a ghost from your past. You remember how much pain he caused you?”

This old argument. It wasn’t an argument, really, so much as a pleading from Alison to let go of her painful past. It always went the same way, just like some of her arguments with Jake. “Look, Ali. We’ve done this talk before. It wasn’t because of Chris that I was in so much pain but—”

“Because of your mother, right? I know this one, Becca.”

“My mom put the guy in prison, okay? I feel guilty. You think that was fair, what she did?”

“Becca. I love you. But you’ve got to grow up, stop blaming your parents for your problems and your pain. Face reality.”

“Funny coming from you.” She regretted saying this the instant it came out.

“That was uncalled for.”

“I’m not protecting Chris, if that’s what you think,” Rebecca said.

“Yes. You are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“He was a coke dealer, Becca! And an addict! I know he never physically hit you, but the emotional abuse?”

“It was my fault, Ali. I allowed myself to be in it. And there were good times. Lots of them. I can’t just shun him from my life, Ali.”

“That’s exactly what you can, should, and will do. Jesus, Becca. What are you thinking? What about Jake, huh?”

“What about him? I’m not talking about getting back together with Chris? Are you nuts? I’ve moved on, ages ago! I’m just talking about seeing him. We never got closure; he was arrested so suddenly. It was terrible, Alison.”

            “I know, Becca. You’ve told me the story too many times. These last eight or nine months have been so nice without all the Chris talk. I shouldn’t have told you what I heard, but I knew you’d be pissed at me if I didn’t.”

            “Thanks for telling me. You’re right. I would have been pissed.”

            “Just be careful, Becca. Don’t go doing anything stupid, okay? You’ve got so much in front of you.”

            Rebecca snorted, finding the retort ridiculous. “What are you, my mother?” Another fat silence permeated the conversation. “He’s here, in San Francisco. Maybe you could talk to Silver, ask him—”

            “Talk to Silver? Are you crazy? That guy is a nutcase. No way. I will not help you find Chris. Sorry. If you had any brains you’d let it go. Why get caught up in the past like that?”

            “I gotta go, Ali. You wouldn’t understand. No one does.”

            “Oh, c’mon, grow up. That same refrain, ‘nobody understands,’ is crap. You can’t really think that’s true.”

            “Have you ever been in love before, Ali, I mean truly in love?”

            “You know I hate this conversation.”

            “Yeah, because you know I know the answer.”

            “Didn’t you say you had to go?” Alison said, now the one annoyed.

            “I love you, Ali. Let’s talk tomorrow. Too much Pinot.”

            “Right. Happy Birthday, Becca.”

            Rebecca sat on the bed. She was mildly buzzed, on the leeward side of intoxicated. Thankfully, Jake hardly drank compared to her, and he’d driven. Hey: it was her birthday! A girl’s gotta have fun! While they walked on the beach she was close to drunk. Not all the way there, but close.

            She thought about the letter Chris gave her the one time she visited Folsom State Prison. The drive up north on I-5. Prison Road. The imposing granite walls, rolled barbed wire fences, guard towers, the double arches. The American River flowing along the side of the institution. She recalled being led along the halls by a guard to the Visitor Processing Center.

            Chris had only been in about six weeks but he already appeared different. Afraid, guilty feeling, she tried to hold back the tears as she talked with her now ex boyfriend behind bars. They sat at a table, holding hands.

            “Are you alright?” she said.

            He glanced down, studying her hands in his. “It’s not so good in here, Becca. The gangs. There’s this one inmate, they call him Kid Maniac. He cornered me a few days in, made me join his crew. It’s probably for the best; I need to keep joined with people in here to survive.”

            She clasped his hands. “I love you Chris. I’m so sorry. My mother, she—”

            “It’s okay, Becca. I don’t want to talk about that. It wasn’t your doing. It just…happened. I’ll be out of here before you know it.”

            And then the same massive-muscled guard walked over and tapped Rebecca’s shoulder. “Excuse me ma’am, but we have to take him back now. Visiting time is over.” That’s when he slipped her the letter.

            Like a baby being ripped from its mother, it was over. Chris stood, and another guard walked up, leading him away, back to his cell. They caught eyes one last time, as he was drifting off. Chris mouthed the words, I love you, and Becca smiled through her brewing tears. Then he was gone.

            A knock on the door startled her. She glanced at her clock: 12:19. Who on God’s Green Earth would that be? For a second, she sat still and thought: Am I crazy? How much Pinot did I drink? I must be imagining things.