Fear of Heights Read online

  I stare at his relaxed brow, wondering just how open he is, and roll on my side, pulling the sheet up to cover me.

  “Is it weird if I ask you about Jaylee?”

  “Everything about this,” Ideal says, gesturing to our bodies, his fingers splayed wide except for the two that hold his cigarette, “is weird. It don’t matter to me. What you wanna know?”

  I make myself comfortable, spooning up against his warm body. I admit to myself that in this man’s arms I feel safer than in Robert’s. I’m cuddled up to the richest, deepest possible source of information about Jaylee‘s past. I should take full advantage of the fact that Ideal will share anything with me.

  “How long have you known each other?”

  “Pfft, seriously? I known Jaylee my whole life.”

  “Are you friends? Or were you ever friends?”

  “Yeah. I mean, we went to school together. Our parents knew each other. Both our pops were in the game.”

  “Are you the same age? You seem older.”

  “Same school class, but I’m older. I got held back—they said I was hyperactive. I couldn’t pay attention.”

  “What happened in the park-house bathroom—was that common practice for you two? Something you two did together?”

  Ideal pinches me in the ribs, eliciting a scream and a squirm. I respond with a weak punch to his pectorals. He smiles and groans, and brings his fingers up to cage his face.

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Goes back to the eighth grade. We was both into the same girl. I finally convinced her to give it up for me—was both our first time. I thought it was love, only come to find out Monday morning she gave it up to Inoa the night after. That shit broke my eighth-grade heart.”

  “Oh. Was Jaylee in love with her too?”

  “Fuck if I know. You’d have to ask him. Everyone at school knew what had gone down, and Jaylee and I were set to fight after the last bell. I was ready to kill the guy—trying to defend her honor and mine.”

  “Did you fight?”

  “Naw. After school he just walked up to me and smiled. Put his arm around me and offered me a smoke. Said we should talk it out over a bottle of Brugal.”

  “And you worked it out?”

  “Something like that. We got trashed in the basement of his building. Sang songs together—we threw up on the floor. Decided no women would come between us—that women were bitches and we’d never let them break our hearts again.”

  I shudder in the realization that by sleeping with Ideal, I’ve rekindled a long rivalry between Ideal and Jaylee. And to what end? Lust is only a poultice on the surface of my affliction. There’s no cure for being chronically inadequate—for coming up short in everything you do.

  “So is that why you wanted me? To get him back for the eighth-grade slight?”

  “No. Jaylee and I spent years using chicks for sex, and we weren’t shy about sharing or going for the same girls.”

  “The same girls at the same time?”

  Ideal ignores my questions, but his smile is telling. He readjusts his pillow and places his arms behind his head.

  “We were both fucked up by our pops getting locked up, and I think we used the sex like a distraction—a way to kinda get back at the world. We were just kids—pissed off, no way to fight for our families.”

  “But you weren’t friends?”

  “Naw, man. Competition! From women to the game. That kid bit into my paycheck.”

  “Ideal, you’ve never in your life gotten a paycheck.”

  He just smiles at me.

  “What about the bathroom?”

  “To be honest with you, I’d been waiting on that one for a while. See, I saw you together at el Malecón—but, shit, I‘d heard about the two of you long before that. Had to see it for myself to believe that he’d changed. Something about the way he looked at you—it was different. He’d gone all territorial.”

  “So this,” I gesture to the bed and my naked form, still snuggled tightly to his, “this is payback?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, yes and no. We’d been up all night dealing and drinking. I could tell he wanted to go to you but I pushed it, teased him—told him he’d gone soft for a woman.”

  If only you knew, Ideal, just how much I needed him with me on that very night. How much that abandonment hurt me, and how much it influenced my decision to finally end it. Your pressure convinced me that he cared about drugs more than he’d ever care for me.

  “And the fight?”

  “Oh, that was just sparring. We’re in different gangs, Kate. But that shit goes nil when it comes to the cops. That night we were working the same job. DDP and the Trinitarios are on the same side if we up against cops—or Colombians, for that matter.”

  “Then I arrived at the park?”

  “I could have just left you two alone, but like I said, I was pushing him. Part ‘cause I was fucked up, and part ‘cause of our history. He was wound so tight, I was almost scared when I went in there.”

  “For Jaylee or scared for me?”

  “For Jaylee. Seemed like he was ‘bout to crack. I wouldn’t let nobody hurt you, Kate.”

  I don’t know whether I want to hug him or hit him.

  “We’d do that kind of shit from time to time, but it was always all about us, not about the girl. But that day was different. I could tell he was in love with you and that made me push it even harder. To see if he’d break.”

  “Were you jealous or were you angry?”

  Ideal traces the curve of my breast and runs his fingers down my side, gliding over my ribs and the dip of my waist, then rising again over my hip. His hand comes to rest heavily there and he snuggles his face into my neck.

  I’m not so sure I want his affection right now. But I don’t move away.

  “Ninguno. I wanted to see his reaction. See if he’d still go through with it, or see if he’d kick me the fuck out. But what I saw blew my mind. He was in deep; I could see his fucking struggle. That he cared, how much he was torn. Completamente aficiao. I couldn’t look away. You two got some kind of crazy, fucked-up psychological shit between you.”

  “Then why do you think he let you stay?”

  “Fuck if I know. ‘Cause he couldn’t let me win. Jaylee ain’t one to back down. That’s not his style. But it was sort of a lesson for me too.”

  “How?”

  “I think it showed me—it’s stupid to run from emotions. It turned me the fuck on to see the power between the two of you. I wanted to have it, to know if I could make it happen too.”

  “Did you?” My mouth goes dry with this, and I lick my lips and swallow. My body tenses awaiting his answer. Are we just having sex or is this something more serious?

  His fingertips begin gentle circles around the arc of my hipbone. Then suddenly he grabs my ass, squeezes it, and gets up off the bed.

  “Let’s go find your sister. I got some ideas about where she’s at.”

  “No more talking?” I sit up, bringing the sheet back up to cover my chest.

  “You ask too many questions, girl,” he says, stepping into his pants. He quickly lights another cigarette. Then, with it clamped between his lips, he pulls a messy stack of papers from the nightstand next to the bed and hands them to me with a flourish.

  I scan through the papers, expecting scribbles, but instead see official-looking files. “What are these, Ideal?”

  “List of possible suspects, as of yesterday, courtesy of the thirtieth precinct,” he says exhaling a stream of smoke, chin tipped toward the ceiling.

  “And they just gave them to you?”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘gave.’ Get your clothes on. I got places to be. I can do the first few today, and you and me‘ll do the rest on the weekend.”

  “What did you do to get them?” I ask, scrambling into my clothes.

  “Those cock-suckers fucked my pops, I got some leverage to collect my dues.”

  “Really? But it’s the poli
ce,” I say, confounded.

  “Do your homework, girl. It’s the thirtieth. Around here, they got ties that go six feet deep.”

  “Oh, the big scandal. I remember. Robert worked that case. Is that what your dad got convicted on?”

  “Yeah, and Jaylee’s,” he says, his voice going quiet. “My dad died in jail.”

  There is a connection there, but I can’t bring myself to acknowledge it. These boys are lost; their fathers have been confiscated.

  Ideal’s eyes narrow and he crosses the room to me. He grabs me around the waist and kisses me on the mouth. His kiss is stealthy and possessive and pulls my mind right back into to his bed.

  “Well, thanks for these,” I say, shaking the papers.

  “You’ll thank me later,” Ideal responds, his flattened palm smacking my ass.

  After devouring big bowls of spaghetti, the girls and I play Go Fish together way past their bedtime. I love how patient Pearl is, humoring her sister with enthusiasm for a game she grew out of years ago. Ada has a hard time remembering which cards have already been called. Pearl and I both always forget to take a second turn after a match. Ada is extremely lucky to have such a sweet older sister, but she’s too little and too rowdy to notice it yet.

  Ada gets frustrated and throws down her cards with a howl. Pearl jumps in quickly to show her some matches, then gathers her sister’s cards and arranges them to fit better in Ada’s small hand.

  Pearl’s sisterly compassion makes me excuse myself to the bathroom, sit on the toilet, and cry silently into a towel. Emily and I have been estranged for so many years now it’s a struggle for me to recall a time when we helped one another or even acted like sisters. If anything’s happened to her, I’ll never forgive myself.

  I swallow my emotions to get the girls ready and tucked into bed. After Pearl’s all set, propped up on pillows with a hefty chapter book, Ada drags me back downstairs to unpack the artwork from camp that she’s left in her folders. She’s searching for a particular piece that she wants me to see; it’s the one bordered with glued-on macaroni and glitter. It looks like a drawing of her on the swing set, and with the angle it’s drawn from, I could swear she’s almost captured the motion.

  “It’s so great, honey! Let’s hang it up on the fridge. Is that Mommy pushing you?”

  “No, Mom. That’s Jaylee,” Ada says it matter-of-factly as if I were being exceedingly dim-witted. “That’s for him. You could bring it for him,” she tells me with a wide-mouthed yawn.

  “Okay. I’ll do that,” I whisper, and brush back her blonde hair to kiss her cheek.

  She bounds back up the stairs, taking two at a time, unaffected by how much her simple thought has moved me. Ada just loves, blind to all the barriers we adults are forced to see.

  Robert arrives home so late that I know it can’t be from work. He nudges me in bed, dragging me out of my sleeping-pill-induced stupor.

  “Your dad and Doug have put together a reward. Press release will go out tomorrow. Two million dollars for information leading to her safe recovery.”

  “What took them so long? We’re going on day eight. We could have offered an award, Robert. Why didn’t I think of it?”

  “Well, no one knew if maybe she’d just run off. She could have had a fight with Doug—something we wouldn’t know about.”

  “God, Robert! Don’t you listen to me? I know why she was taken. Don’t you believe me?”

  I sit up in the dark, but I can’t see his face.

  “Kate, listen. I checked the visiting logs today. I know you’ve been to see Jaylee.”

  “Don’t change the subject, Robert! Besides, visiting isn’t mentioned in the agreement I signed!” I roll over to my side of the bed in a huff, putting my back to him.

  “And where were you tonight, perfect husband?”

  No answer. That’s what I thought.

  The more he belittles me, the more defiant I become. I’m tempted to tell him that I didn’t get his obligatory abortion. I wanted that child, to love and to keep. But I won’t risk Jaylee’s freedom to win a stupid spat with Robert. Instead, I’ll go see Jaylee. Let him check the log again and see my name.

  Chapter 13

  I cook an elaborate breakfast for the girls, a sign that I’m nervous. I need some kind of distraction or this stress will kill me. Chocolate-chip banana pancakes with whipped cream make all three of us feel better. Ada and Pearl have summer camp at the Y, and we’ve got to tromp over to the East Side, every single hot summer morning. Even the dreaded cross-town bus can become a welcome distraction when you’ve got painful things you don’t want to let yourself think about. I concentrate on the girls and engage them about both of their art projects, trying to stave away the invading thoughts of Jaylee, the baby, and now Emily too. Or the fact that Ada wet the bed last night—something she hasn’t done since she was two, almost four years ago.

  Today they’ll offer a reward. Something will give.

  On the way back, when I’m alone, I decide that I’ll go see O’Connor myself and present him with my evidence. It’s starting to feel like Robert wants to hamper the investigation into Emily’s disappearance. I’ll be damned if I let him. It’s been clear to me from the beginning that I need to take things into my own hands. Speaking to O’Connor in person will help.

  I’m so pleased with my conclusion that I miss my own stop. I walk three blocks back to Broadway to get to the train station.

  The thirtieth police precinct is only a short walk from my house. I haven’t been back since the night I was arrested. It seems different in the daylight. The depressing Robert-Moses-era architecture is uncomplicated—by the most generous description. Both the precinct and Central Booking, where I was held overnight, seem like they could use some city funding for a fresh paint job and some serious scrubbing. I don’t even see a computer at the front desk. Are they still using paper? These places are modern-day dungeons: unfit even for rats, and definitely not fit for humans.

  “O’Connor will be down in a minute. You can take a seat against the wall,” says the plain-clothed reception person who disinterestedly fields my call.

  I plop down in the blue plastic seat and stare at the faces on the wanted posters. I guess my experience with Jaylee has changed me. Of course I’ve seen those posters before, but I’d never really thought of those “wanted” as real, living people. I look at them now and think of Jaylee and his father. I look at their eyes in these images and wonder about their families, and whether or not anyone ever loved them or may love them still.

  “Mrs. Champion, my favorite neighbor!” O’Connor shouts from across the room. He’s got his hands on his hips, and the same greasy sports jacket I remember from both his home visit and the interrogation. Even the white stubble on his angular chin appears to be the same length. Maybe because he lives in this time warp without any computers.

  I jump up to standing, suddenly self-conscious of my own clothes. I’ve got on a cream-colored silk blouse, ballet flats, and a long A-line skirt that Ada insisted I wear. This isn’t “The Sound of Music,” I think, it’s gritty and it’s real—don’t dress like a girl. O’Connor has a way of knocking me immediately off-guard even when I think I’m prepared.

  “You wanted to see me?” He raises his eyebrows.

  “Yes!” I say, too enthusiastic, twisting my hands at my waist.

  “This way.” He motions with a hand holding a file folder.

  We walk down a long hallway with offices off each side. At the end of the hall, we step into a larger open space, filled with many desks. Some have ancient desktop computers, while others seem to be nothing more than storage spaces for broken printers and fossilized piles of folders.

  “Have a seat,” he says, wheeling an office chair over to one of the largest desks; this one boasts a computer and printer, as well as a massive interoffice phone. The whole place seems to have been frozen in technological time since the mid-1980s. I wonder when it was exactly that O’Connor arrived.

  “Husband
know you’re here?”

  “You would ask me that. He’s not my keeper, you know. I do things on my own.”

  “Oh, I’m well aware, Mrs. Champion, of how independent you are.”

  “O’Connor, I didn’t come here to be bullied.” I search for my own assertive voice, the one I know I possess.

  “Sorry, Kate. Can I call you Kate?” He seems to soften. “Bullying is, unfortunately, one thing I’m very good at. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Yes, thanks. I’d love some.” I feel a little more at ease. “I came to talk about Emily. I know she’s been kidnapped, not just ‘missing’ like you’re thinking.”

  After four tiny Styrofoam cups of bad coffee and a lengthy and involved description of my trip to the Dominican Republic, I’ve finished my story.

  Detective O’Connor has been twisting bits of notebook paper as he listens with a keen ear. I can’t help but notice how his thick fingers leave streaks of dirt on the tightly twisted bits. He’s got a pile of them now and they’re all gray from his hands. His nails are clean, though, with healthy-looking nail beds.

  “So what you’re telling me, Kate, is that they mistook her for you and kidnapped her to get back the drugs that you and Inoa’s kid sister should have smuggled into the country?”

  I pull out my hair elastic and run my fingers through my hair. Somehow when he repeats it, it loses all validity.

  “All of the evidence you need is at Jaylee’s. The suitcases, the credit cards, even her passport.”

  O’Connor picks up the wastebasket and sweeps his twisted paper bits into it. Then he perches himself on the arm of his office chair and kneads the stubble on his jaw with his thumb and forefingers. His eyes are deep-set; he reminds me of a hawk.

  “Tell you what, Mrs. Champion, I’m going to help you out and strike everything you just said. I don’t think you’re thinking this through, and maybe it’d be better if you slept on it.”