Fix It for Us (21 page)

“
I’ve known Neil for years … He and Randall are really ‘good friends’ – almost like brothers. Have a little ‘business’ going on.”
  

I hear it all in my head.  Even Suzette’s snarky tone.  Brothers.  She knew they were

brothers.  And the “business.” Their “business” was – porn?

             
It all makes sense, even though I don’t have complete recall.  The pieces come together for me, in my little cubby with Gail and Davis as witnesses. 

             
“It’s not entirely clear, but I’m pretty sure I was…sexually assaulted…” Now, I begin to weep softly.  Davis sweeps his arms around me and says, “Oh God no, baby.”   He pulls me firmly into his chest.  Gail keeps a hand on my back.  I can feel Davis’ shoulders and arms tense and release repeatedly.  I continue, “I have a vague sense that Randall…umm…videotaped me…with him.  I think that kind of might be what is being reported as ‘production and distribution of pornography’ and evidently I wasn’t the only one.  Suzette said they, Neil and Randall had a business.  I think Neil might be a worse person than I already think he is.  Davis, what do I do?  Gail? How do I face the people in the newsroom?  What do I do with what I know?  Do I go to the police?  I don’t have any real evidence.  It’s just faulty recollections.”  I feel a bit frantic.

             
They sweep into action, my saviors, Gail and Davis.  They sit me down in my desk chair and pull their own up close to me.  I am never without someone holding my hand or patting my knee.  They are making a safe zone for me.  After deciding there is not enough information to go to the police with yet, we agree to tell everyone at the station that I became lightheaded from low sugar levels.  It makes sense, I
was
on my way to lunch.  Gail thinks I should go home and get in touch with Dr. Matt.  Davis agrees.  I do, too.  I didn’t have the opportunity to speak with Dr. Matt as much as I should have over the summer.  After a bit more time to calm and regroup, we, all three of us, walk through the newsroom together.  When people ask, Gail tells them emphatically that I had a bout of low blood sugar and that Davis gave me a sugar pill.  Everyone seems to buy the story.  When we reach the exit, she gives me a hug and tells me to take the rest of the week off, but to keep in touch.  I argue that I can return to work, but both she and Davis shut it down.  I have to admit, it is a relief to leave the station.  I want to get away from the newsroom.  I want to go home.

***

We engage in only the most minimal of conversation in the Escalade on the way home.  I know what Davis is doing.  He’s just being there for me.  Davis is amazing.  I don’t deserve him.  He parks in the garage and we get out of the car and continue our slow journey to the condo. 

Once inside I tell Davis I am going to the bedroom to call Dr. Matt.  He pulls me in for a reassuring hug and a kiss on the forehead.  I can sense he is being cautious with me.  What must he be thinking, now
, knowing that I was possibly sexually assaulted?  He has been as quiet as I have, but I’ve seen him run his hands through his hair a couple of times and his jaw tense.  Those are not good signs.

             
In the bedroom, I sit immediately on the edge of the bed and pull my cell phone from my bag.  I search quickly for Dr. Matt’s number in the contacts, because even though I probably know his number by heart, I just don’t trust myself with anything at all right now.  It rings twice and his secretary answers.  She knows me well and tells me Dr. Matt is in session right now, but he will out a bit before the hour.  She assures me she will let him know I called and that it is an emergency.  I will need to wait about 15 minutes to talk to him.  I spend the time sequestered in the bedroom.  Not ready to talk to Davis about all of this yet, I go to the bathroom and wash my face with soap and water to clean off the tearstains and mascara smudges.  Alternating between softly chanting my mantra and breathing with exaggerated exhalations, I feel calmer when my cell phone rings at me from the bed.   I take the position I was in before, sitting on the edge of the bed, and answer.

             
“Hello?  Dr. Matt?

             
Dr. Matt’s familiar, soothing voice answers, “Hi, Biz.  What’s going on? What’s the emergency?”

             
“You know how I’ve been trying to recall what happened early last summer, when I was living at that Randall guy’s house and then woke up…” I’m finding it hard to continue.

             
Dr. Matt goes on for me, “…naked?”

             
“Yes…Umm… well, it turns out the guy I was with before him, Neil.  Remember, I talked about him?”

             
“Uh…huh.”  He confirms that he recalls.

             
“Well… I have this new job at a TV station and a news story just broke.  Neil’s been arrested for sexual assault and creating and selling pornography.  And they are looking for his brother, Randall.”

             
I hear Dr. Matt inhale a bit and say, “Oh.”  He is as surprised as I was.

             
“Dr. Matt, I had a big panic attack when I heard the news.  I also had some brief, fuzzy recollections.  I think I may have been raped, but I can’t remember anything concrete.  Why can’t I remember anything?” I am once again in tears by the time I say the word “raped.”  “It seems possible, but not entirely real.  Could I possibly be making it up?”

             
There is the briefest of pauses and then Dr. Matt asks me, “Biz, where are you?  Are you somewhere safe?”

             
I assure him that I am.  “Yes, I’m at home with Davis.  He’s in the next room.”             

             
“Tell me about the panic attack.  Are you recovered now?” It’s so comforting to have someone ask me about the attack that knows about the disorder.

             
“It was bad.  Sudden.  I couldn’t get my mantra or counting or anything going.  I really felt like I was dying, even though I knew I wasn’t.  It was the strangest feeling.  I collapsed, fainted I think.  Then Davis found me and gave me a Xanax and I slowly settled down, but during it I had flashes – of Neil and Randall.  It’s irritating that I can’t recall anything clearly.”  I know Dr. Matt can hear the frustration in my voice through the sobs.

             
“Hmmm,” Dr. Matt hums for a moment into the phone, “Well, Biz, we have talked about the fact that possibly you are repressing the memory of being violated by Randall, but given your ability to recall some of the time before it possibly happened and afterward, when you ‘woke up,’ and the fact that these men have done this to others… is it possible you were drugged?”

             
It never occurred to me.  I repeat Dr. Matt’s last word like I’ve never heard it before, “Drugged.” Before I can say another word or ask more questions, Davis comes flying through the bedroom door, grabs the TV remote off the bedside table and flicks on the television to KTTA.

             
“Look, Biz.”  Davis commands me, pointing to the screen with the remote.  “Gail just called and said to turn on the TV.”

             
I’m confused and move my gaze from Davis to the TV screen while telling Dr. Matt, “Davis just came rushing in and turned on the TV.  Something must have happened.”  I push the speaker button on the phone.

             
It’s one of the anchors from the station doing what looks like a promo for the five o’clock news.  Neil’s mugshot appears on the screen again.

Neil Ireland, arrested
earlier today on charges of sexual assault, creating and distribution of pornography, and violations of the Mann Act, will go to court this evening for a bail hearing.  He is expected to be granted bail as he is not considered to be a flight risk.  Mr. Ireland is a teacher at a local private school and lives in town with his wife and two children.

             
Two children?  A video of Robyn, Neil’s wife, holding what must be their twins, appears on the screen.  She doesn’t look as mean and vicious as she did when she confronted me in the cafeteria last year.  She was angry and pregnant then, and now she looks like an exhausted mother of toddlers.  She’s surrounded by reporters.  She’s asking for her privacy and says the charges against Neil are false.  She is still defending him and his behavior, but now she’s also one of his victims. 

             
The promo continues,

A
n unconfirmed report says that a ‘date rape’ drug, such as Rophynol or GHB, may have been used during these alleged sexual assaults.  More on this case, as well as all the news, weather and sports at five o’clock.

             
The anchor finishes and a commercial comes on.  Davis mutes the television.  I glance at him and then at the phone in my hand.

             
“Dr. Matt, did you hear that?  Rophynol? GHB?  Is that what you were talking about when you said I could have been drugged?”  I question sadly.

             
Davis is pacing the length of the room, arms swinging, his face red, eyes blazing.  I think I hear him muttering something about “effing roofies…”

             
“Yes, Biz.  That’s what I was proposing.  Rophynol has a strong amnesic effect.  And you seem to have all the symptoms of amnesia surrounding the time you can’t recall.  We’ll never know for sure, but if those reports are confirmed, it would make perfect sense.”  Dr. Matt tells me his suspicions as sensitively as he can, while still being direct.

             
I am lost.  I don’t know what to do next, so I ask him, “What do I do now, Dr. Matt?”  I look between the phone and Davis frantically pounding back and forth.

             
“Is Davis still there?”

             
Davis stops in his tracks and turns to look at the phone in my hand.  “Yes, Hello Doctor, I’m here.” he answers.

             
The doctor delineates a plan.  “Davis, I want you to keep an eye on Biz.  Biz, if you think you need to, I would like for you to take another Xanax in an hour.  I’d like you to rest.  Lay down.  Try to sleep.  Inviting more anxiety will not help with anything.  It will only muddy any recollection or problem solving you have before you.   Can you do that, both of you?”

             
We answer simultaneously, “Yes,” and for the first time since the news story broke, we
really
look at each other.  Davis comes over to sit next to me on the bed.  He puts his arm around my waist, cupping his palm on my hip.  I lean my head on his shoulder.

             
“Okay, Biz, I am going to go now.”  Dr. Matt is saying good-bye.  I wish he didn’t have to.  “My next patient is here, but I want you to call at anytime, okay?  You have my on-call number.  You and Davis will have much to discuss tomorrow, but for now, please just rest.”

             
I agree, “Okay, I will.”

             
Davis interjects, “I’ll make sure she does.”

             
The three of us say our good-byes, I hit the END button on the phone and allow Davis to hold me a bit longer.  We do as the doctor said.  I get into a tank top and boxers and climb into bed.  Davis puts my purse and a glass of water next to my bed, so I can take my medicine in a little while, then he closes the blackout shades.  The room is dark, except for the dim glow of lamps we must have left on this morning.

             
Davis takes off his shirt and jeans, gets into bed next to me and pulls me close.  I put my head on his chest.  I have no idea why he is not running from me as fast as he can.  I would be.  But he isn’t.  He’s here and he whispers warmly into my hair by my ear, “I am so sorry this is happening to you, Lizard.”

             
To us, Mavis, it’s happening to us.

***

              Dr. Matt was right.  Sleep was a good idea.  I can tell it the minute I open my eyes and become aware of Davis spooned around me.  I know he is awake because his fingers are running through my hair and then going back and smoothing it with his palm in a soothing pattern.

             
When my eyes are fully open, I spy my water glass on my night table.  A flash of recollection hits me and I suck in a breath. 

Davis leans over my shoulder and with his hand, turns my face toward his,  “What is it?  What h
appened, Lizard?  Baby, what?” he rapidly questions.

I recount what I can.  The glass triggered a vision of me…in Randall’s kitchen, drinking.  Drunk, really.  Randall snatching the cup from my hand, tak
ing a drink, swishing it around – splattering it over the sides.  Could it be could he really have drugged me?

Davis sits up suddenly.  His back
is to me now.  His head in his hands.  Running his fingers repeatedly and violently through his hair, his muscles tense in his back and shoulders.  I can’t help but appreciate how physically compelling he is, even while we are in the middle of something so personally devastating.

“This is killing me, Biz.”  There is palp
able rage in Davis’ tone.  Low. Dark. What is he saying?  Is it too much for him?  Is he leaving me?  Breaking up?  My mind is flying in all directions – many of them negative.