Random Acts of Trust

Having it logically laid out helped.

“I do need to ask you to do paperwork for the visit, but I think I can have that done after we’re finished, and we’ll just list something vague on the medical coding, Amy. I don’t think there’s an ICD code for ‘phone in vagina.’”

“People must come in with worse,” Darla said.

“No comment.”

“This is the worst thing you’ve seen in a vagina?” I squeaked.

“Oh, no—I just meant I wasn’t going to give Darla any lurid tales to take back to Trevor and Joe and share,” he assured me as he shooed Darla out.

“Quick comment,” Darla said as the door literally shut on her, Alex putting obvious muscle into it. “When you put the speculum in, be careful you don’t ruin the phone. Don’t want to compromise Amy’s chances for an upgrade.” If I could have thrown something at her I would have.

Once he’d locked the door behind her, I asked, “Have you ever seen a phone in...there? Like this?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I can’t say that I have.” Mercifully, I had an excuse to lie back and close my eyes then.

The procedure was remarkably easy. Note to self: buy a speculum to keep at home for emergencies. Alex removed the phone in less than five minutes, as if he’d done this a thousand times before.

“Bet that was the easiest birth ever,” I joked.

“It was the most interesting,” he said, a kind smile on his face. I could see why Darla had called him. Nice guy, smart guy.

Non-judgmental. I needed non-judgmental right now.

Alex left the phone on a piece of paper towel by the sink as I sat up, my legs still draped under the exam sheet. “You can wash that in the sink and tuck it in your pocket and no one’s the wiser. You do have a few small tears and raw spots inside, with a little bleeding at the cervix. You must have been in quite a lot of pain.”

A lump in my throat threatened what shred of equilibrium I had. I just nodded.

“I’m sorry it hurt so much. I’m just going to put ‘bleeding’ down for the reason you’re here. Which is the truth. Some of it, at least.”

“Thank you.”

“Nice meeting you, Amy, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal.”

“Nice meeting you too, Alex, and I really can’t thank you enough.”

And with that, he was out the door. As I slid one leg into my pants I heard a booming, joyful laugh from the hallway. I had to give him credit.

He’d held it together longer than most people could have.

Washing the phone was no big deal and yes—it worked fine. No worse the wear for nearly being my womb fruit. I found Darla leaning against the corridor wall just outside the room.

“Can you hear me now?” she yelled. She’d clearly been waiting to use that one.

“Shut up,” I groaned, rolling my eyes.

She reached for her phone, then stopped. “Can’t do that anymore, can I.”

“You are a psycho hose beast.”

“I am your psycho hose beast who just saved you, sister.”

“I hate you.”

She threw an arm around my shoulders and whispered in my ear. “You hate that I am the one who figured this out.”

The paperwork was easy to complete, and walking without phone pressed against my anus was a remarkably freeing feeling. After grabbing scones and coffee at a shop in the lobby, we walked outside and hailed a cab.

“Just think – dating will be so much easier now.”

“Huh?”

“You just have to say, ‘Siri, find my clitoris’ and the guy will – ”

I punched her – lightly – in the shoulder as she laughed, a cab responding to my raised hand.

This time I paid.

And she was right—I didn’t hate her.

Right now she and Dr. Alex were my favorite people.

Aside from Sam, that is. A quick check of my phone showed three messages from him. All were just little check-ins, the kind of text you send when you’re in a relationship.

How’s it going?

Miss you.:)

Call me. You free soon?

Little check-ins that had bzzzzzed me to a new level of horror, but that turned out to be so banal, so ordinary, that the juxtaposition against what I’d just experienced seemed surreal.

Everything seemed surreal.

Because it was becoming more real.

And there’s no app for that.

Chapter Seven

Sam

As I walked toward the apartment, beaten and bruised from eight hours of moving couches and end tables and boxes, I had $150 cash in my pocket (the owners tipped us—a nice bonus) and the new job lined up for tonight, so life was good.

Amy hadn’t answered my texts all day, so I jumped when my phone rang. Maybe this was her?

Nope. Trevor. “Hey, you got any ideas for a new permanent bass player? That new guy sucked.”

“It’s hard to join an existing band,” I said diplomatically. The problem, as we both knew, was really that he wasn’t Joe. Nobody would be as good with us as Joe. And we didn’t need anybody dragging us down—but saying the new guy sucked was taking it a bit too far. “I don’t have any ideas, though,” I admitted.

“That’s cool,” Trevor said, sighing. “I’ll give Tyler another chance. He definitely picked up some attention from the chicks in the crowd.”

“That means Darla thought he was hot.”

“Shut it.” Trevor barked. I’d hit a nerve. And then it was his turn as he asked, “So, what’s going on with Amy?”

Aha, I thought, that’s why he’s calling. Because who calls another person instead of texting? Calling was so 1990s. “I don’t know,” I confessed. “I have no idea. I just know that Darla called me this morning and asked for Amy’s address, and I haven’t heard a word since.”

“Huh. Well, wherever she is, and whatever she’s doing, I think Darla’s with her,” Trevor said.

Aha, another layer to this. So, was this why Trevor was really calling? “You can’t find Darla?”

“No, no,” he said, quickly. “She’s been texting me, but I just wanted to figure out what’s going on.”

“Is something wrong, do you think?” I asked.

Trevor’s voice was calm and soothing, not that I needed it. “No, no, man. I’m sure everything is fine. It’s not like they’re out fucking chickens.”

Goddamn Trevor. He had his shit together; he could even laugh at himself. My snort died out quickly. Where the hell was Amy? If even Trevor was calling to find out the story, whatever had happened must be big.

“Amy hasn’t answered my texts all day. Can you ask Darla what’s up?”

“Already did. She said she’s on her way home right now. No mention of Amy.”

“I hope she’s OK,” I mused.

“Something bad go down between you?”

I cleared my throat and lowered my voice. “No. Actually, something good went down between us.”

Silence. And then a burst of knowing laughter. “Gotcha. Nice. About time, dickhead.”

“I’m a late bloomer.”

He chuckled. I heard a series of clicks and swipes in the background, then Darla’s voice. The phone went muffled and then Trevor came back. “Darla said Amy should be at her apartment now, but she’s not feeling well, so give her some space.”

Confusion set in. “If she’s not feeling well, why shouldn’t I see her?”

More muffled voices. “Darla said do whatever you want, but just know Amy’s under the weather.”

“Under the weather?”

“Whatever, dude. Just repeating what she tells me.”

“’K. Thanks. I’m at the front door right now so see you in a few seconds.”

“Darla,” he shouted right into the phone so I could hear it, “hide the sex swing and the cuffs!”

“Asshole.” But it made me laugh. We both clicked out and I immediately checked my texts. Nothing.

Not well.

Under the weather.

Give her some space.

Was this some kind of chickspeak I didn’t understand? Code of some kind I couldn’t read that meant I needed to back off? Or maybe she’s actually not feeling well, I told myself, and I should quit worrying.

I walked in the door to find Darla in a black leather coat, like something out of The Matrix, and Trevor in his underwear, He had a lacrosse ball shoved in his mouth like a ball gag. Darla held her palm flat against his cottoned ass and pretended I wasn’t there.

“You left your dirty socks on the hamper lid. Ten smacks!”

“Mmmmfff mfff mff mff,” Trevor said.

“Guys, cut it out,” I said, smacking Trevor’s ass as I walked toward the bathroom to shower. My slap had more oomph to it than hers; the lacrosse ball shot across the room and hit the neck of Joe’s bass, toppling it over. Encased in its black cover, it was fine.

Peals of laughter from Darla filled the air. “Told you he wouldn’t be fazed.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it too many times. Except, when Darla does it to Joe, there’s always a strap on. You can’t top that, Trev” I yelled as I shut the bathroom door

“I never did—” was all of Darla’s protest that I heard before the sound of the shower cranking on drowned her out. I stripped down and ducked under the hot water. Shower, dinner, and a two hour nap—with earplugs—and I’d be ready to report to my first bachelorette party tonight. That was my focus now.

And a text from Amy wouldn’t hurt.

Amy

After a good, thorough scrubbing, my phone had proven to be as hearty as my vagina. Darla had so helpfully made that claim, and now I couldn’t help but think about it as the phone rang and I put it to my ear. No caller ID flashed, so this could be anyone from a telemarketer to my mom, calling from her office.

“Amy,” Evan said, breathless. Shit. His was the last voice I needed to hear right now. All I wanted to do was to answer Sam’s texts and talk.

“Hi, Evan,” I said. This was not going to be good. The only time Evan ever called me was when he was in trouble.

“Amy. Amy, I have to hurry,” he said, his voice hushed and urgent. “I need you to come and bail me out.”

“Whose house are you at and where’s the car?” I sighed.

“Not like that. For real. I mean it, I need you to bail me out.”

My voice felt like it had razor blades in it. “Where do I need to come and pick you up?”

“Middlesex County Jail,” he said.

I never expected that one. Not, at least, for a few years. “Middlesex County Jail?” I repeated.

“Look, there’s this really scary guy standing here and I only have one more minute. They’re giving me the warning. You need to come and bail me out. It looks like my bond is—”

“Bond? What’s a bond?” Click. Conversation over. I imagined him in some kind of holding cell with an old payphone and three burly guys standing around him, ready to reenact that famous scene from Pulp Fiction. No matter how weary I was, and sick of Evan dominating everything in our family, I wasn’t going to abandon him.