separates our property.
I storm back to the kitchen and call the Pittsburg P.D. but they offer less than any help, telling me that without a crime having been committed, there is nothing they can do. I phone Bart Strong but only get his answering machine. I leave a message.
Now what? After whisking Robyn out of ‘Sodom and Gomorrah’, I hadn’t planned on this animal invading my life; our lives. I expected that with my daughter’s departure he would find some other poor soul to prey upon. What did Sister Margaret tell me; there are hundreds of runaways on the streets of San Francisco. My stomach is suddenly roiling with an acid foam. I reach for my bottle of Axid and open it, popping two of the white tablets into my mouth.
I have never before in my life understood how one human being could take the life of another. At least not until now. I could kill BLU BOY this very minute without batting an eyelash and walk away feeling completely free from any wrongdoing.
An hour passes and then two. I cannot clean, nor can I think straight. Shards of fear and dread needle my skin. The appointment with my counselor looms. I should be in the shower, getting ready, but I seem frozen inside the house, cocooned by an oppressive disquiet. My mind tells me that Robyn is perfectly safe, down in Newport Beach, tucked safely within its confines, getting the help she so desperately needs. No one knows where she is other than Bart, his helper Freddie, Rob and I. John Simpson, the director of Peaceful Acres said that Robyn would not have access to the outside world for the first thirty days, and even after that she would be allowed contact with immediate family only. There is no way that BLU BOY can know where she is, much less get to her. And yet. I try dislodging the fear from my body by briskly running my fingers through my hair. My mouth still feels dried up as dryer lint and my heart hammers inside my ribcage.
I wander back into the kitchen and bolt down three more Axid’s, realizing that I need to talk to someone. My mind jumps immediately to Sister Margaret. I reach for the phone just as it rings again. For one harrowing second I worry it might again be BLU BOY, but caller ID says: ‘Aztec, New Mexico’. It is my mother. I groan but pick up the phone anyway. I need to hear somebody’s voice in my head other than BLU BOY.
“Hello?”
“There you are!” Gladys’ southern accent already grates on my nerves.
“Hi Mom. Look, I haven’t called you back because it’s been really—”
“How you doin’ Sugar? I hadn’t heard in a couple of days and thought you might have forgotten about my biopsy.”
“On your arm, right?” I say, proud to be able to call to mind her latest medical predicament.
“My land, you should have seen the size of that needle!” she bellows. “I liked to had a conniption, it hurt so bad.”
“When do you get the results back?”
“Day after tomorrow, bless Patsy. The sooner the better, I say. But look, I didn’t call just to bore you with all my problems.”
Really?
“I wanted to let you know how the photo shoot went.”
Ah, The Baby and her commercial launch into greatness. Gladys recounts each and every elaborate iota of information about poor Petra’s dreadful ride to the airport, the traumatic flight, the harrowing cab ride, and the unmitigated filth of the city. Followed by the glitz and glamour that surrounded The Baby, the pomp, and the fanfare, as studio execs fawned and slavered around the sweet little dear until I think I might go into diabetic shock. Gladys finishes by telling me to be looking for the launch of the new Gerber Baby Food commercials soon, staring the cutest little baby on the planet.
“But listen to me go on,” she says. “How’s Robyn?”
“She’s doing great,” I say, my eye on the latest magazine cover lying on the table. The cover article is about the latest pop sensation, Avril Lavigne. Her face is that of a child. Her eyes are heavily made up with thick black eyeliner. Another sign of the times.
“She got the lead in the school play,” I lie. “She’s playing Juliet.”
“Oh my!” Gladys says.
“And she placed first in the spelling bee,” I add, my thoughts far away, wondering about how BLU BOY got our phone number.
“Oh, I didn’t realize they had spelling bees for