Trouble in Paradise

Sixty-Six

Before she got into the big Coast Guard helicopter, Marcy Campbell put her arms around Jesse and held on to him as if there were a windstorm and he was a tree. Then she left him and got into the helicopter with the other women. They rose straight up and planed sideways and clattered over Paradise Harbor and landed on the high school football field, entering into an aurora of television lights and flashbulbs.

That was thirty-six hours ago and now having told everything she knew to Suitcase Simpson and the good-looking State Police SWAT team person, having been examined by a doctor, having showered and slept nearly eighteen hours, and showered again, and had some coffee, and orange juice, and eaten two soft boiled eggs and four slices of whole wheat toast with a butter substitute spray, she was waiting without much enthusiasm to do something she knew she had to do, without exactly understanding why she had to do it. She was sitting in a coffee shop in Government Center waiting to have lunch with Jenn Stone.

Marcy recognized her when she entered. She had made it a point to watch Jenn do the weather on Channel 3, and, while the forecast was laughable, she was as good-looking as Marcy had assumed. Several people recognized her as she came in, but if Jenn noticed she didn’t let it show.

Marcy raised a hand as Jenn looked around the room, and Jenn saw her and came to the table.

“Hello,” she said and put her hand out, “I’m Jenn.”

“Marcy Campbell.”

Jenn’s grip was firm. Her body bespoke a personal trainer. Her hair was thick and intelligently cut. Her makeup was flawless. Her jewelry was quiet and expensive. The casual comfortable look of her clothes, Marcy knew, had cost her a lot of money. Jenn sat down opposite her, and Marcy knew she had taken the same inventory. And Marcy realized suddenly that Jenn looked a little like her. Younger. Probably better-looking, but Marcy could see that there was a resemblance. Jenn picked up the menu, a single mimeographed sheet of white paper.

“Have you ordered?”

“No, let’s before we talk.”

They were silent, briefly looking at the menu, and the waitress came and took their order. They both ordered a mixed green salad and a diet Coke, and they laughed at their common concern.

“It’s a fight, isn’t it?” Jenn said.

“You seem to be winning it,” Marcy said.

Jenn smiled, comfortable with the compliment, accepting it as if it were expected.

The waitress reappeared with their salads and a bread basket.

“You wanted to talk about Jesse,” Jenn said.

Marcy had thought about what to say since last night when she’d made her impulsive call. She had finally decided that she didn’t know what to say and would wait and see what came out when the question was asked.

“Have you ever seen him at work?” was what came out.

“Marcy, he was a cop in Los Angeles when I married him.”

“But did you ever see him being a cop, you understand?”

Jenn got it quickly.

“You mean like you did?” Jenn said.

“Yes, and I know it’s not my business, and I’m probably driven by gratitude and maybe post traumatic shock syndrome, but God if you had seen him.”

“Tell me about it,” Jenn said.

“He was, I don’t know, there we were, like captives being led away, and then there was Jesse. One minute everything is hopeless and we’re all terrified, and then...” Marcy couldn’t think how to put it.

“Was he calm?” Jenn said.

“Yes.”

“He would be,” Jenn said. “And you saw him shoot this man.”

“Yes.”

“Was that awful?” Jenn said.

“No,” Marcy said.

“Jesse can be very tough,” Jenn said.

“And very brave.”

Jenn nodded.

“Yes,” she said, “very brave.”

They both picked at their salads for a moment. The salads were mostly iceberg lettuce with a single red onion ring on it and two cherry tomatoes.

“This will not make us fat,” Marcy said.

Jenn smiled.

“Nor happy,” she said. She took a bite of salad. The dressing was on the side in a little cup. It was a bright orange.

“Sorry about the restaurant,” Jenn said. “It’s right near the station.”

“That appears to be its only charm,” Marcy said.

“I’ll know better next time.”

They each had a bite of salad.

“What is the point of you telling me about Jesse?” Jenn said.

“I guess I hoped it would help you make up your mind.”

“He’s told you about me.”

“Yes.”

“You lovers?”

“No, good friends.”

“You fucking him?” Jenn said.

“Yes.”

“But you don’t love him.”

“Been a long time,” Marcy said, “since I thought those two were inseparable.”

Jenn smiled without committing herself on sex and love. “And you like him a lot,” she said.

“Yes.”

“It’s easy, isn’t it,” Jenn said, “to like him a lot. I like him a lot too.”

“And love him?”

“Yes, absolutely, I love him,” Jenn said.

“Then?”

“‘Then’... loving him and living with him are different things.”

“I don’t see why.”

“You don’t have to.”

For the first time, Marcy heard the iron in Jenn’s voice and realized that she was something a little more than a media cutie. It startled her a bit, though it didn’t frighten her, and it made her feel better for Jesse, knowing he wasn’t wildly in love with an airhead.

“No,” Marcy said, “I don’t. But it would be good if you did.”

“I know some,” Jenn said. “I know that Jesse loves me, but I know that he has to back off a little and give me some airspace.”

“Obsessive?”

“Some.”

“He doesn’t seem obsessive to me,” Marcy said.

“He’s not in love with you,” Jenn said.

“Ah-ha,” Marcy said.

Jenn was quiet.

“If I could be a friend to both of you,” Marcy said, “I’d like to be.”

“Hard to figure how that will work,” Jenn said.

“Might be worth a try,” Marcy said.

“What’s in it for you?”

“Payback, I suppose,” Marcy said.

“What’s in it for me?” Jenn said.

“A girlfriend isn’t a bad thing,” Marcy said.

Jenn finished her salad and broke off a piece of bread.

“May I call you?” Marcy said.

Jenn ate the piece of bread without butter.

When she had chewed and swallowed, Jenn said, “Will you tell Jesse?”

“No.”

Jenn smiled at Marcy and nodded.

“Sure,” she said. “Call me.”