Don't You Forget About Me (26 page)

“You look good for being as far along as you are,” Marie whispered.

“Thanks,” Sandra whispered back. “I haven’t gained much weight. Now, with this new problem, I have to be careful about my diet.” She raised her eyebrows at Marie, and they nodded in agreement. Marie followed her into the office, and Sandra closed the door and locked it. “I know you know about me, so we can talk freely, correct?”

Marie shook her head yes, near tears but fighting it.

Sandra continued. “There is no one else but you and Pam. No one.” She then thought of Tom, but didn’t mention him. “I have never felt so alone in my entire life. And
it is of my own doing. How could I have been so stupid?” She looked at Marie to gauge her response and decided she had said enough. The poor soul was on the cusp of breaking down. Sandra remembered that she was supposed to be tested. Most likely, no results had come back yet.

Then Marie made an attempt to get herself under control. “I found out today that I have AIDS—full blown, worse than Pam’s. I have a printout of the blood work; it’s probably advanced because of my anorexia. My eating disorder is a big family secret, but I don’t care if you know about it. My mother would have a fit if she knew I was telling you this. We can either accept each other or not. I haven’t told Pam yet about the test being positive. There is no point. She is as fragile as a human being can be. It can wait.” She dug through her briefcase and pulled out the file. “Here is that God forsaken file. What is with this guy, anyway?” They shook their heads. “The reports are finished but not edited; I’d appreciate you explaining it to Peter. There are new photos and a large file of spreadsheets that need to be printed out. Tell me if the format works for you, and if not, I’ll send them to you in an email. There were just a few original documents missing, but we didn’t have any trouble getting copies from a new title search. It looks like a wonderful development, really keeping the flavor of the area. The neighbors should be happy.” She smiled at Sandra and then, with some difficulty, said, “Nice job,” to her.
Where had all the animosity gone?
she asked herself.

They spoke at length about another project file, and Marie told her about the new woman, Carolyn, who loved
working on it and would do a bang-up job with it. She would be done by the end of the month.

Marie was going to the beach for the weekend; Sandra still had not made up her mind. She wanted to feel out what Tom expected of their first weekend together. Maybe Pam would let her bring him, give him a chance to meet all these people she talked about all the time. Marie got a cab to go back uptown and, instead of getting off at home, had the driver stop at a little bar that she and Jack had occasionally gone to for lunch and she now went to after work. Having forgotten already that she shouldn’t drink, she ordered a glass of wine. She sat in the dark at a table in the back, sipping her wine, and then ordered another. It was past sunset by the time she was finished, but she lived just a few blocks away and spent years walking home in the dark. It would be okay.

As she was walking toward the door, she saw her new “friend” Steve with his back to the door, practically licking his chops as he watched her. He put his hands up in front of his chest.

“Can I say hi to you? We’re not at work, so it isn’t workplace harassment, correct?” He had a disarming smile on his face, but she still didn’t trust him.

She did manage a smile. “You can say hi,” she answered. She kept walking, more nervous now that he would follow her outside and toward home. So she said bye and kept walking. Her heart sank when he slid off his bar stool.

“Wait, have a drink with me.”

“I can’t. I have to get home and get some work done tonight. But thanks, anyway. Maybe I’ll take a rain check.”
She opened the door before he could get too close to her, but he jogged up and grabbed it above her head. “Please,” she said when they were outside of the bar. “Please leave me alone. I really don’t want to have a drink with you, or a cup of coffee, or an office romance. I’m begging you to leave me alone.”

“Why? What’s wrong with just a little friendly drink once in a while?”

She wondered whether or not he had something wrong with him that he couldn’t take a hint. She’d have to approach her boss in the morning, play him the recording of this jerk bugging her.

“I am just not interested, okay? Does that explain it for you?” Marie was getting a headache.
What the hell is wrong with this man?

“Come back inside and have one drink, just one, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

She knew it was dangerous, but this guy didn’t get it, and she was tired. “Okay, I’ll come back and have just one drink. Do you understand me? Just one!”

He almost jumped up and down. He was thinking to himself,
One drink is all I need
.

But she was wise to him. She came in and sat down at the bar. The first thing she did was give the bartender her business card.

“If anything happens to me tonight, if my family or my employer come here looking for me, here is my information. I don’t know this man very well. Meet Mr. Steve Marks. So can I count on you to remember me?”

The bartender shook his head yes and then said out loud, “Miss, if you would like, I’ll call the police for you.
There is usually an officer sitting at the bar over there.” The bartender liked Marie, felt sorry for her drinking alone night after night.

“No, just don’t forget my face.” She looked over at Steve, and he was as white as a ghost.

This bitch is crazy!
he thought to himself.

She ordered another glass of wine, keeping her hand over it unless she was looking at it. She wouldn’t put it past this guy to drug her. When she was done with the wine, she said to him,

“Okay, I had the drink. Now I am going home. I want you to stay here. Don’t follow me, or I will call the police. This is the last time you are to bug me about drinking with you, do you understand me?”

He looked at her and nodded yes. But he was thinking no.

35

N
ew York City policemen must prioritize their days. In the morning, between bank robberies and assaults, they had complaints that a former cop conned some Brazilian tourists, and a young woman said that a stranger had touched her breast. Tom and his partner, Jim, went from one call to the next all day long. He found the time to call Sandra during a short break before lunch and again around dinnertime, when she would be taking the subway back uptown to her apartment.

In the five days he had known her, he was never surer of this one thing: She was meant for him. No matter what her current situation, bad by any standard, he was in it for the long haul. He wanted to integrate her into his family as soon as possible, let her meet his sisters and mother, and then his dad and Gwen. He was going to lie to them. They traveled in different circles, her late boyfriend’s family and his family, so the chance of the truth ever getting to them was slim. Sandra’s own family knew nothing of her pregnancy yet. He would encourage her to tell her sister, the only living relative she had. He hoped his sisters would embrace her. Granted, Sandra was on a different path than anyone he knew in Brooklyn. She wasn’t a snob, exactly; she’d be the first to say that it would be difficult for an unmarried, pregnant AIDS victim to be a snob. But there was just something about her. He couldn’t put his finger
on it, but it was one of the things that attracted him to her. She was aloof. For being so young, she had a haughtiness about her that he found extremely attractive, like she was born and bred on the Upper East Side, and not right next to the Lincoln Tunnel.

Sandra left Exchange Place after Marie brought the file in and she handed it off to Peter Romney. He was waiting in his office, and she brought the file to him rather than having the secretary be the recipient of his wrath. Peter grabbed it out of her hand and didn’t thank her.

“Peter, stop being a dick, okay?”

The uncouth statement was so foreign to him and coming out of her mouth of all places was so shocking that he burst out laughing. “What did you say?” he asked, trying to control himself.

“You heard me,” Sandra replied. “We’re all sick and tired of your histrionics, Peter. Get over yourself. We have all had a rough summer, not just you. You acting like a jerk around here day in and day out is not making it any easier. And before you pick the file to pieces, there is still some work that may need to be done on it before we hand it over to the client. I’m giving it to you to get you off my back. I’ll work on it this weekend, and it will be ready to go out Monday.”

He flipped the cover open and thumbed through the work. Then he looked up at her. “Okay, whatever you say.”

Sandra turned around and walked out. It was more interaction than the two of them had ever had. She fell to wondering how Jack ever got involved with such a zero personality.

She left the office and walked up to the subway station. The train was packed, and she had to stand up the whole ride. Her car was full of rowdy young men who didn’t offer their seats to anyone, but yelled and pushed each other back and forth. Finally, from a forward car, a middle-aged, gruff-looking cop came back and stood near Sandra, holding on to a strap, staring at the boys. He took his nightstick and pointed it at them, sweeping it toward the center of the train.

“Act like a gentleman and offer your seat to a lady,” he said to the boy he had pointed out. “You know better than to act this way.”

The kid shrugged his shoulders and got out of the seat.

“Now, offer it to a lady,” the cop said.

The kid looked at Sandra. “You can have my seat,” he said, looking at her and then down at the seat.

She thanked him and sat down. The others followed him, standing up and offering the vacated seat to a woman standing on the train. She found herself wondering about the young men, if the experience would be lasting. It was doubtful. Someone like Jack who had every advantage turned out to be rotten to the core. If the information she found hidden in his desk were true and Jack had been molested by his stepfather, it was sad and awful. But it was still no excuse for him to do what he did. He made the choice to be depraved and to use people. She remembered him saying to her that she was the one person who didn’t cause him any problems.
What did that mean? What problems could someone like Pam or her children give him?
She didn’t expect anything from him because she knew he wasn’t able
to give it. He was a taker. And, at the end, he gave a gift that would keep giving.

That morning, she took her handful of pills with her breakfast of cereal, fruit, yogurt, and tea—more than she usually ate all day. She snacked on carrots and raisins during lunch and would pick something up for dinner from Zabar’s. She was hungry now, the baby flipping around inside her magnifying the growling of her stomach.
Too many sensations at one time!
she thought.

She got to her building and gave a sigh of relief. It was a haven of rest and protection, always had been and always would be. She remembered the first time she saw it. A rental agent had taken Sandra and her father around town all morning, and each place was more depressing than the last. Finally, her father said to look at something in the next price range, almost too much for her, but he would help her out if she needed it. This apartment was the result. She fell in love with it right away. Each thing she brought into it was something she loved or was necessary. There was nothing superfluous to take up room or collect dust.

She struggled with the key; it was getting harder and harder to turn. She’d have to get the building manager to take a look at it. The door opened, and she smiled. “I’m home!” She hollered.
Wonderful, safe home
. She threw her purse on the chair and took dinner into the kitchen. She would change into spandex and a T-shirt first and then read her mail. Her routine, sacrosanct when alone, was comforting and grounding. Before Jack, she often included a short prayer. But since Jack, the guilt and remorse over being his instrument to cause so much pain, she felt a
distance from a higher power. She could thank Him for all He had done, but ask Him for anything? No.

Sticking her dinner in the microwave, she would take it downstairs and eat while she watched the news. The food smelled so delicious—garlic and basil on chicken with pasta. It filled up the kitchen with the scent. Tonight, she planned on going to bed early, to make up for last night. She went down and put her food on the coffee table. She picked up the remote and turned the TV on, the sound blasting away. Before she could turn it down, she was grabbed from behind.

Her assailant threw his left arm around her chest and shoulders and, with his right hand, stuffed a wad of something, paper toweling or toilet paper, into her mouth, gagging her. Then he took something that was rough, hemp rope or something similar, and tied her hands behind her back. She was passive, trying not to hurt the baby. She didn’t think she could have fought him off, anyway. He was huge—arms as big around as melons and taller than she was by at least a half foot. He covered her eyes with something, a piece of cloth either from her closet or something he brought with him. Every once in a while, as he struggled to tie her up, she got a whiff of his body odor; it had been in this very room before. She was so petrified it made her gag again. This was not the first time he had been in her house. She was hoping that he would be there to steal from her or rape her, at the very worst, but not to kill her. He dragged her over to the recliner and pushed her down into it. Reaching over her, he grabbed the handle and pulled it so the bottom of the chair rose up and her legs with it. She was immobilized. Then she heard him
pick up the remote and turn the TV off. He had purposely turned it up loud so her neighbors couldn’t hear any scuffling or in case she screamed.