Surviving Valencia

“We learned that in class,” said Adrian. “Just give him a squirt.”

“That’s not abuse?”

“I guess not.” Adrian sniffed. “Have you been eating Chinese food?”

“Yeah. It just… you know. Sounded good.”

“Huh. Okay. Well, I’m feeling creative so I’m going to get some work done. I’ll be in my studio if you need me.”

I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I called the fence people and yelled at them a little for their false guarantee of a three day fence. They offered to give us a hundred pounds of mulch to make it up to us, which I accepted. Then I flipped through the yellow pages, looking at ads for psychics, talking myself more and more into this being the answer. Convinced, I got back in my car and drove to the bank to withdraw more money for Jeb, and an extra five hundred, since I had no idea how much it may cost to have my fortune told.

I had plenty of time to kill before seven o’clock. I drove across town until I found Zemma’s House, a purple shack with gold shutters. It looked like something out of a Harry Potter book. I parked in front, and turned off the car, fully intending to walk right on up there and ring the bell. I was surprised at how nervous I felt. I was aware that I still smelled like food, and I felt self-conscious. Would I receive an accurate fortunetelling if all the psychic could think of was crab rangoon? I fiddled with the rickrack hem on my dress, wishing I had my cigarettes with me.

The curtain on the front door moved a little and I panicked. I started the car and drove off, taking the first right turn that presented itself, just to get out of Zemma’s line of vision. The houses were getting shabbier and shabbier.

“Are you going to do this or not?” I asked myself, aloud.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.”

I got a little lost and the next thing I knew, I was driving past the little purple house again. A small, pale woman with white hair in a scraggly bun sat on a yellow metal chair beside her front door. She watched me go past, her eyes squinting at me accusingly. I hit the brake, but I thought better of it and went to the library instead.

This seemed like a better plan. Safer. Brighter. More devoted to the factual.

I got out of my car and went inside, sitting down at a computer carrel. From the plastic cup beside the computer, I took a scrap of paper and a little pencil that looked like it was for miniature golf. I began compiling a list of the things Jeb had told me about the potential murderer:

From Minneapolis.

Jailed for rape in 1989.

Recently released from prison. 6 months ago?

Without knowing the man’s name, the information I plugged into the computer did not get me very far. Eventually I got bored and went out to do some shopping. I figured it was necessary to come home with some new things, considering I had withdrawn two thousand dollars and been gone all day.

I bought a couple things for Adrian as well, and then got an iced mocha for myself. As I sipped it, I wondered if I was being followed. It was still very strange to me that I had been before, and had never suspected a thing. I touched up my lipstick and pulled my hair back into a twisty bun, feeling alert and alive. I tried to catch someone darting about in my peripheral vision, but if I was being followed, my stalker was very dis

creet.

Finally it was time to meet Jeb. I made unnecessary turns on my way to the Golden Dragon, trying to catch a potential tailgater, but again, I seemed to be alone and unmonitored. Jeb was standing outside the restaurant. He nodded to me when I pulled in and walked up to my window. I passed him the envelope.

“Jeb, what’s the name of the man?”

He took a quick look inside the envelope, and then he slid it inside his wallet. He did not answer me.

“Hey,” I said, “this is what I’m paying you for!”

“His name is John Spade, but until I can say otherwise, he’s a man who served his time, might not be the one who did this. You understand what I’m saying?”

“I’m not going to do anything, but I have the right to know,” I said.

He shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. But that’s the man I’m going to see. I’ll be up there as long as it takes for me to find what I’m looking for. Probably leave the day after tomorrow and I’ll follow up with you when I get back. Now you take good care.”

“I will. You too.” I will admit, I felt ashamed that for the cost of a birthday gift or a weekend in Atlanta, he was going to risk his life for me.

The next morning, bright and early, the fence men showed up. The rest of the materials had miraculously been located, and by evening our house and yard were a bastion of security. Adrian had worked all day finishing a small project for a client, and now that the painting was completed, he was relaxed and content with himself.

We lounged on the porch, sipping minty iced tea and admiring our fortress. Frisky patrolled the grounds, snarling as gaping, nosy neighbors walked past to get a look. A feeling of peace like I hadn’t known for weeks, months even, had come over me. Each cast iron post was sharpened to a dagger-like point. The creaking gates were operated by a remote control that Adrian was busy examining. If that were not enough, Frisky’s enormous chompers had a never-ending stream of elastic drool hanging from them, making them both conventionally frightening and grody-scary. When he poked his nose through the rails, globs of saliva were left behind as a menacing reminder that there was nothing worth stopping for here, so move along.

He seemed to be warming up to me, since I’d spent most of the day feeding him lunch meat and Slim Jims while Adrian had been holed up in his studio. As the sun began to set, Frisky plunked down by our feet, his tongue hanging out, and Adrian wrapped his arm around me.