It’s Not Me, It’s You

I was drugged, humiliated, chased, and strangled. And now you are telling me what? Doesn’t it ever end?

10:00 p.m.

I got out of the hospital about noon. Cinnamon, bless her heart, was there with me the entire time. I’ve got bandages and salve for my rope burns on both my neck and my left hand. The doctors say I might carry this scar for the rest of my life. So much for the blank palette on which to paint a character. I don’t really know if I want to do this anymore. Sounds like a wimp. I’ve been doing it on my own for two whole months now. Do I really want to quit?

Cinnamon brought me home and Maizie came to great me. I think she likes me better in the blonde wig than the brunette. Cinnamon came in with me to make sure I had everything I wanted. The rest of the ladies have all been arrested, so it seems that I should be pretty safe. She says she’s kind of digging this detective stuff and wants to get a license. If she decides to do it, watch out world. She’ll make a top notch detective. I could have a partner.

Maizie stood in front of Dag’s chair and whined until I sat in it. Then she hopped up in my lap and started licking my face. It was so sweet I cried, and of course Maizie licked all the tears away. I can see why Dag liked this chair so much. It just makes the day melt away. I fell asleep in the chair with Maizie in my lap. When I woke up, it was dark outside, which means it was after 5:00. Maizie was still in my lap and so was this gray cat. Where did it come from? Apparently Maizie has adopted it. I’ll have to talk to Mrs. Prior about it tomorrow.

It wasn’t long after that when he knocked on my door. I so desperately wanted to see him, and so dreaded it that I was frozen in place for a few minutes. Finally I opened the door and he just swept me into his arms and hugged me. All the fear part melted away and I just wanted to stay in that embrace forever.

He came in and we made chitchat while I fixed some tea. He asked if I was okay about fifty times and I finally pulled the bandage away from my neck and showed him. I think he almost threw up. I know I did the first time I looked at it in the mirror. And little bitch that I am, I was thinking if he’s that concerned, why didn’t he come and visit me in the hospital? At the same time I was still scared that he was going to give me a lecture about deceiving him and relationships built on trust. The question—or accusation—never came.

Did you ever notice that when you are feeling guilty you get really irritated with the guy that you imagine should be criticizing you? I was sitting there getting more and more upset with him just because he wasn’t getting upset with me. I deserved to be raked over the coals, but he wasn’t doing it. I was going to explode and I didn’t have a single reason to do so.

Well, if you don’t count having nearly been strangled to death by would be porn-kings. Oh my God! Did they broadcast that? I suddenly had a blinding image of myself stripped in all my bald naked glory being broadcast across the Internet for perverts to jack off to while I was choking to death.

Who gets turned on by watching someone die? Let me tell you, I watched the video of Georgia dying and there was nothing erotic or sexy about it. I nearly died with a rope around my neck and I did not feel the least bit turned on by it. Believe me, there was never going to be a death throes orgasm. If I can wipe the Internet of this scum…

I just blew up. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t logical. And it came from someplace inside that I didn’t know existed.

“Would you just say it?” I screamed. “I lied to you. I pretended to be someone I’m not. I betrayed your trust and I’m sorry. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t not do it. I can’t even promise I won’t do it again. That’s the real me. The real me is someone who isn’t me at all. It’s just a collection of wigs and makeup and fake ID. So arrest me. Yell at me. Be mad. I deserve it.”

Whew! I was being unreasonable and defiant and I was yelling and I was crying. I felt so miserable I wished I’d just given up and died in that house. And he wasn’t rising to the bait. What kind of cop is so docile that he takes all that abuse and just sits there. And cries. Oh God, yes. There were tears in his eyes.

“Deb, please,” he said. “I understand all that. I understand deep cover and not being able to tell anybody who you really are. I don’t care about the disguise. Jordan explained to me that you were doing undercover work for FINcen.” That was news to me. Yes, I’d sent all the evidence I gathered on the tax evasion and money laundering off to Jordan as soon as I discovered it, but I didn’t expect him to be coming to my defense with Tom. I was so surprised that I couldn’t say anything in response. I guess that’s a good thing.

“What amazed me was how you were able to play both roles,” Tom continued. “I can’t compartmentalize. I’m afraid that if I show one little bit of what’s really me, it will all be over. I’ll never be able to go back. You had an anchor. You could come out of disguise and be you. I know it was you when we were out. It makes me so ashamed of my inability to handle it.” How did he do that? A minute ago it was about me being a lying cheat and all of a sudden he’s feeling ashamed of how he… how he handles what?

“I don’t want to go here,” I said, panicking. “If you forgive me, then let’s just… let’s just go to bed and have sex.” God! is that the plea of a desperate woman?

“I can’t,” he said simply.

“What? Now that you’ve seen the whole package laid out in front of you, am I that disgusting? It’s called Alopecia. I’m allergic to my own hair. I can’t grow any, anyplace on my body. I’ll keep a wig on . You don’t have to look at my bald head.”

“Wait. I don’t care about hair. It’s not you, it’s me.” Is there any possible, more trite, more overworked cliché on earth? Oh please. I was exhausted. I just wanted to collapse. “I’ve been lying to you, Deb. Worse than what you did. You at least showed me the real you. I haven’t even had the courage to let you peak inside at who I am.”

“What? You aren’t a cop? You’re really a secret porn king? You do drugs? What could be so bad?”

“I’m gay.”

That just hung there in the middle of the room and stared at both of us. Handsome, charming, loves to dance, complimented my shoes. Why didn’t I see this coming from the start? Probably loves Bette Midler.

“I’ve never told anyone. I’ve never had a male lover. I’ve dated women and even had sex and hated myself the whole time. I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t think it would go anywhere, that we’d get so emotionally involved with a case that exposed our vulnerabilities. I don’t think I’d survive on the police force if they knew.”

“Don’t tell me the police force has a don’t ask, don’t tell policy,” I said.

“There’s policy and there’s practice. I’d get more respect among the guys if I was doing porn than if I told them I was gay.”

“You just wanted to use me as a cover?” I was beginning to feel overwhelmed. I was flip-flopping between furious hurt at being used and sympathetic understanding. Why shouldn’t he use me for cover? We were having fun. He didn’t ask me to fall in love with him. It was all my fault, the bastard. That’s where this conversation started in the first place. Why couldn’t he have just kept lying and told me that he was disgusted with me lying to him and storm out? I can’t stand this.

“I didn’t want to use you at all. I thought we’d just…”

“Forget it, Tom. I can’t talk about it anymore right now. Just go. We’ll get together for coffee this weekend. I just… I need to go to sleep now.”

He left. I swear I heard Maizie growl as he was on his way to the door. Good girl.

Of course, I didn’t go to sleep. Didn’t do anything for a long time. Maizie prodded me for a bedtime walk and we went out. The skies are clear and the wind is calm, but it’s colder than hell. I know.

Every tear froze on my cheeks.