Woe man, p.26
Woe Man, page 26
In spite of the rising heat, I get goose bumps. She has no reason to know I’m looking for Diana. Did she somehow guess or is this is a real message from God?
“You must hurry.”
Staggering back, I swallow hard and refocus on her eyes as I attempt to gauge the truth. As ridiculous as it seems, what point in arguing or questioning the source. I motion at the concrete barrier. “You don’t suppose you could lend me a hand?”
Her face brightens. “Sure.”
Though abrupt, her shift in demeanor acts as a balm for my nerves. Enough, that I latch onto her arm when she extends it. Stepping in unison, we then march a half-dozen steps to the barrier, before she guides me up and over to the opposite side. Surprising me yet again, she continues to steady me as I resettle in my heels.
Readjusting my purse strap, I smile and nod thanks. Her assist was the exact help I needed to keep from dirtying up my skirt.
She offers a shy smile in return as she withdraws her hand, only to turn and face a line of her now-curious cop buddies. I see nothing there but the obvious disapproval written on their faces.
Though I might offer to help her with it, past experience tells me any involvement on my part would only add to her woes. Besides, someone starts poking into my shoulder.
Twisting I find the same man I requested Jesse hire for Brad’s interview standing a foot away.
“Ms. Armano, I’m Damon Lee. Any chance you might answer another question or two?”
I point to the camera and the other man aiming it at me beyond his left shoulder. “That thing on?”
“Nope. Bill, give us a moment, would you?”
The cameraman hits some switch, and pulls it from his shoulder. “Mind if I go find something to eat?” he asks.
Damon turns to him, pulling a wad of bills from his front pants pocket. “No, but bring me a iced mocha, would you? Grande.”
As Bill snatches a twenty and grunts an affirmative, I realize Damon and I stand in what should be the middle of the road. Watching Bill spin to shuffle south, I see a never ending line of carts, signs, tents, TV satellites and untold thousands of people. It’s too much to absorb.
Damon pulls his jacket off as he swings back around to face me. “Tell me, does my network have a shot at that interview?”
A quick scan verifies the scattering of the media has temporarily left enough space for a modicum of privacy. Refocusing, I note his Asian features. His eyes are dark brown and his hair jet black. I estimate I’m a couple inches shorter, about five-seven to his five-nine. “Did you hear the part about Brown, Davis and Jennings?”
I give him a second visual pat down as I wait for his answer. His smile shows perfect, snow-white teeth, he wears his hair cropped close to his scalp, and he must work out because his chest and abdomen form a terrific V under a shirt tailored to show it off.
“I did hear that.” He lifts his long manicured fingers to shield his eyes from the sun. “I called my boss and he said he was talking to a Jesse Phillips. Mind telling me if we’re on the right track?”
“Not at all, and yes. Jesse’s our contact.” As I note him offering a critical eye, I wonder whether he’s more opinionated than I hoped, and whether Jesse can sign him—time to probe a bit. “Honest, Damon, I told Jesse I prefer you, but with so much at stake she’s shopping this around.”
“You want me?” He looks down and lifts a foot to check his heel.
Following his eyes I note his expensive Italian shoes and the large, gooey wad of gum stuck to his heel. “Is there a reason we shouldn’t?”
He glances back up. “No, no reason. It’s just that I’m curious.
“Is any of this on the record?
He runs a hand over his short black hair. “Only if you say it is.”
“Good, let’s start off the record. I heard you’re gay and I’m hoping that means you’re more open-minded than some.”
He purses his lips as if considering his answer. “Some people say I’m too blunt. I realize it may not be the best course for me here, but I’m hoping it might help you trust me.”
I note my back teeth grinding. “And?”
“So being blunt, I’m going to lay it out for you: Though you’re an absolute doll from appearances, I find the whole idea of transgenderism icky.”
“Seriously? You start off by offending me and then you want me to trust you? Maybe I should call Jesse back and get someone else.”
His laughter sounds forced. “Oh, come on. You must have run up against this before.”
“Far too often. Considering your background I thought you’d understand.”
“I do,” he pleads, “and don’t worry. I never let my personal feelings on the subject get in the way of my job.”
“And I’m just supposed to accept that? Dammit, Damon, I thought you’d know how it feels to be shit on by people who make a point to mock people like us and share every last judgment.”
“I do, I do, but think about it from my standpoint, would you? I adore men, I adore the male equipment, shall we say, and you guys…sorry, you gals…well, you snip yours off. I can’t even think about that without squirming. It’s the worst nightmare I can…”
“You and Brad are going to get along great,” I snap.
“Brad? Oh, right, Mary. Why do you say that?”
“Because she misses being a man so much I bet she’d put up with anyone who loves the male equipment as you call it—even if they’re gay.”
He reaches to touch my arm. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I wanted to give you the straight scoop. Well, as straight as I can—wink, wink.”
His attempted jest stops me cold. I slide a heel back to put some distance between us and his hand falls away. Pretending to gaze off toward the lake for a moment, my eyes turn inward. Do I want to deal with some jerk who harbors a secret resentment, or is it better to know what kind of jerk I’m facing up front? The truth is I’m sick of endless choices involving the lesser of two evils, but when I consider how much I also hate liars I have to respect his candor.
“Are we good?”
Good? My eyes flare.
“Come on, are we?”
I offer a noncommittal shrug. “Let’s see what Jesse and your bosses come up with, but I’m not going to call her and ask for someone else.”
“Sounds fair,” he nods. “If you pick me, I won’t let you down.”
As I ponder whether he already has, I spot a woman ABN reporter zeroing in. Time to wrap this up. “You haven’t seen Diana, have you?”
“I did. She was hanging around the pier after she gave her little talk down there.” When he turns to point at the beach park, I move closer to stare over his shoulder, hoping to narrow down the search area. The trouble is it all looks the same from here: One giant mass of humanity.
Chapter 37
“When you speak of finding faith in God it doesn’t matter how you get there. What matters is to keep trying until something sticks.”
- Diana, “Book of Life” The Inquisition
Tuesday 10:47 AM Pacific Standard Time
Readjusting my sunglasses, I shove my way through untold throngs of people and end up sweaty and out of breath in the middle of the Juanita Beach Park parking lot.
What a nightmare. I’m not sure what I was thinking wearing pumps out here. I should have worn boots.
In a typical July this place is packed, but all that means is a busy beach and no place to park. This is a thousand times worse. There are people everywhere I turn. They stand or sit around on wall-to-wall towels, tarps, and blankets. A lucky few have escaped the heat of the day inside tents or under umbrellas. Garbage is piled neck-deep besides dumpsters and strewn all over the ground. People use whatever they can find to stake out territory, but everyone is ignoring the pseudo-boundaries. It has me worried. I witnessed two separate fights and a dozen shouting matches in the last few minutes alone. What happens if things get worse?
My n-Jewels flash an inbound call.
“Shelly, it’s Lisa. Where are you?”
What an idiot. I should have called her after talking to Jesse. I knew my n-Jewels were active again. What’s wrong with me?
“Shelly?”
“Yeah, sorry, Lisa, I’m in the Juanita Beach parking lot. Where are you?”
“I’m with Diana. We’re standing twenty feet behind you.”
“You’re what?”
I hear giggling. Spinning to the sound, I spot them just beyond a group of rowdy looking teens. How typical of Lisa: She loves playing the prankster, but this joke falls flat, since I’m the apparent object of the group’s attention.
“Red alert, Lisa. Check the boys between us. They look like trouble.” Hoping to look casual I turn back toward the lake. A quick scan tells me that unless I plan to go swimming the only way out is back through the hoard.
“Oh, Shelly, you’re right. I didn’t even see them a minute ago. Should we come to you or meet up elsewhere?”
“I don’t know. Just keep your eyes peeled.” Without another moment’s hesitation, I step to my left in what I hope becomes a slow circle back toward the park entrance and my way home. “Is Diana willing to go back to the condo?”
“Yes. We were starting to walk that way when I spotted you. You want to hook up there?”
“No, stay close.” My intestines clamp down as my impending doom feels imminent. I need eyes in the back of my head.
“Shelly, look out! They’re starting to run. What should I do?”
“Pray.”
Setting a heel, I spin back around just as a dozen pimply-faced teens zoom in and surround me. They all wear black mesh t-shirts with a red dragon logo and black leather pants. The toughest of the group ends up snarling a foot from my face. He has long disheveled hair, brown eyes and a nasty scar that runs the length of his jaw.
The stench of his body odor assaults my nostrils and sets off a rush of adrenaline. This vulture’s probing for the slightest sign of weakness. My lungs lock up. I can’t get air.
I get younger and smaller as the seconds tick by. The déjà vu is excruciating. I already know how this ends: With me screaming for mercy.
“You that fag on TV?” Scarface’s voice is low and cruel.
“She that devil bitch?” a higher pitched voice squeaks from somewhere behind me.
“No, she’s that queer one, but she worships the other one,” says yet a third to my left.
“We gonna beat the shit out of you.”
I swallow hard. “That w-would be a b-big mistake.”
They laugh like a pack of cackling hyenas. Their glee is vicious and cruel. An icy chill rushes up my spine.
“Yeah, l-like you can d-do anything,” the voice from my left taunts. “Let’s do it!”
A hand latches onto my shoulder and shoves hard to the right. Instinctively, I grasp at Scarface’s t-shirt. Somehow, my long red nails pierce the loose weave and gouge the muscled flesh across his belly.
Surprised, he yanks his shirt high to look as blood starts pooling in the scratch marks. “You bitch,” he shrieks. “You cut me. You gonna pay for that.”
As if his threat holds unspeakable power time grinds to a crawl. My eyes lock on his fingers as they bend into a fist. His elbow creeps back to full cock for the inevitable blow. His knuckles slowly build momentum as they power toward my nose.
“Please, God, not again!”
The earth jars and rolls under our feet. I tilt hard to my left and totter against a solid presence at my side just as Scarface’s knuckles punch past my ear. Momentum sends him sprawling to the ground. A deep rumble sends another shockwave through my body. As I teeter and stagger to my right the grip from behind shifts and becomes clingy and desperate.
Startled voices shout out a belated warning. “Earthquake!” The call is picked up and repeated all around. “Earthquake! Earthquake!”
The tremor ends as abruptly as it started. Astounded by the uncanny assist, I sway in my heels and gasp as my heart flutters inside my chest.
Movement at my feet draws my eyes downward. Scarface crawls to his knees. A stray thought tells me to kick him while he’s down, but my body rebels and I start shaking and trembling, uncontrollably. When he turns his head and snarls, I reel backward and bump into the body still clinging to me from behind.
A dark shadow passes overhead. I look up for a brief moment and then scan down and jump with a start. Diana stands before me like a vision. Her light brown skin glistens in the morning sunlight. Her hair is dark and silky, and so long it brushes the ground when she bends at the waist to offer her hand. “God is watching,” she announces in what I swear sounds like some sugar-coated threat.
Scarface rolls to his back and stares wide-eyed. His newfound apprehension provides a surge of hope, enough that I screw up my courage and brush away the hand at my neck.
As Diana steps closer he scoots back away on all fours. “What are you going to do to me?”
She straightens as her offer of a hand-up is refused. “I prayed to save your soul. God’s given us his answer.”
His eyes double in size.
“D-did you…did you shake the earth?”
“God creates the miracles. I am only the messenger.”
I note the crowd tightening around us and sense the boys blending in to sneak away. Scarface jumps to his feet and starts howling. “You’re Satan’s bitch. I’m not listening to you.”
Diana shakes her head and some of her hair flows over her shoulders. “No, you’re wrong. I’m God’s messenger, Jared, his voice. God sees your pain and knows your suffering. Accept him and find the peace you seek.”
“Who told you my name? I never said it.” His eyes are more suspicious than ever.
“God told me.”
Though her tone is calm and thoroughly convincing, he continues to back away. “God doesn’t give a shit about me. Why did he kill my brother? Why did he make my sister a cripple? Why is my dad a drunken son-of-a-bitch who beats up my mom? Look at my face.” He points to his scar. “My dad did that. Look at this place.” Now, he flings his arm out in a wild gesture at the crowd pressing in on all sides. “Look at all these people. God doesn’t give a fuck about any of them. If he did, he wouldn’t do this.”
I attempt to concentrate, frantic to re-establish some sense of equilibrium. Is Scarface right, or was it God that just yanked me from the certain doom of my past?
I shake off the thought. Is an earthly nudge really the best God can do? Shouldn’t we expect more from an all-powerful, all-knowing being? What about smiting my enemies with lightning or sending down a plague? And yet how is Scarface my enemy? What of his inner pain? What of his obvious anger? Isn’t it more reasonable to assume my Scarface, Jared, is a kindred spirit, one who struggles just like me?
“The horror you see is made by the hands of man, not God,” Diana counters calmly. “You see madness, because no one has shown you a better path. Let me help you, Jared.” She extends her arm. “Let me show…”
“I ain’t touching you,” he yells as one of his buddies resurfaces and begins pulling him into the crowd. “You’re a witch—a devil. That bishop warned us.”
“No, you’re wrong,” she shouts after him. “There is no devil, only evil men wanting to use you for their own purposes. Please don’t go. Jared, please.”
Her call goes unanswered as boys disappear into the mix.
A soft, fleshy hand finds mine. When I turn I find Lisa’s worried face. My relief is instantaneous. As I melt against her short, rotund frame tears burst from my eyes.
“It’s okay,” she soothes. “Everything is okay, now.”
“No, it isn’t,” I cry. “Nothing’s ever going to change.”
Chapter 38
“If you ask for God’s assistance, first open your heart to all the ways help may arrive.”
- Diana, “Book of Life” The Inquisition
Tuesday 11:32 AM
Wedging my butt between the toilet and wall, I sink to the floor and will myself invisible. A tide of tears rushes over my cheeks. The shame hits in waves and leaves me limp and lifeless. I feel ugly and beaten. Inconsolable, I stuff a fist in my mouth and bite down; hoping physical pain takes precedence.
I suppose it was folly to think that four years after the last of my surgeries I might be granted leave from the crueler realities of the past. What hubris. How naïve?
I battled the monster Hate today. Though far from our first encounter, I had hoped his long absence implied an uneasy truce. Turns out I was wrong: In a real war time is irrelevant and Hope no more than an idle fantasy, not any kind of protective shield.
Mere moments after slinking back into the crowd, Hate proved the ultimate master of deception. From lean and black to soft and white, the raging beast donned the guise of self-sacrificing femininity.
I fight to forget it, to wipe it all away, but the odious images are branded on my brain.
After Jared ran off, Lisa wiped my tears. I tried to do it myself, but my fingers were shaking and I kept dropping my tissue. Informed we were good to go, Diana swooped in to support me on my left and Lisa propped me up on the right. As they dragged me within a dozen feet of the police barrier, a group of six nuns dressed in white habits moved to block our path.
“Sinners,” they cried. “She-devils! Go back to your master and rot in the dungeons of Hell!”
I still see the revulsion burning in their eyes: Flames hot and bright, fueled by a noxious stew of self-righteous fanaticism.
How am I to understand women so consumed with hatred? One glance convinced me I was slug slime—the lowliest of low. An upturned nose and a sniff persuaded me I must reek worse than the rotten stench of a corpse. And why? For what possible reason? Should the words of their beloved Bible condemn me to a hell any worse than the one I was forced to live as a man?
Stiffening, I recall their ceaseless barrage. They flung their arms high as they screamed and hissed and jeered at me. I was mortified. There was so much anger aimed my way it hit like wild blows across my belly.
