I figured, given some practice, I could be plucky and cute and have a smart mouth.
In life, I learned, given enough practice, I could do anything.
* * * * *
It had been one month and two days since I’d been raped by Ricky Balducci.
Never in my life had so much happened in one month and two days.
Never in my life had most of it been so good.
First of all, Ralphie and Buddy installed me in the guest bedroom of their brownstone.
When I got there, Buddy made me do three days of complete bed rest. They brought me food and fawned over me like I was a true life princess. Buddy even helped me shower and when I got embarrassed he said, “I’m g*y and a nurse, I wipe people’s asses for a living. Do you think this fazes me?”
I got over being embarrassed after he said that.
I didn’t go back to work for two and a half weeks. By the time I did, the bruises and swelling had gone and most of the cuts were disappearing.
In that time Buddy and Ralphie went to my apartment. They cleaned it up and packed me up, everything I could want or need was brought to the brownstone and moved in, making the guestroom less of a guestroom and more my room. They also arranged some of my stuff around the house, making the house less Ralphie and Buddy’s house and more our house.
Everything else I owned was put in storage.
Then Buddy called a real estate agent friend of his and put my place on the market. Without asking me and without me telling them what happened they decided the memories there were too bad for me to go back. I would get a new place what they referred to as an indefinite, “Later, when you’re ready,” and I would stay with them in the meantime.
I didn’t quibble.
For starters, I didn’t particularly want to go back to my apartment. But also, it felt nice having someone take care of me. No one had taken care of me since I was eleven years old and I liked it. I liked it enough just to let it happen.
So I did.
* * * * *
About a week after I moved in with them, the doorbell went. Buddy answered it and came back with a short, heavyset lady with spiky, salt and pepper hair and clear blue eyes.
Buddy introduced her as his lesbian friend, Bex. After I shook her hand, Buddy informed me Bex was a counselor at a rape crisis center.
Then Buddy and Ralphie left me with Bex, going, they said, to get Chinese takeout.
At first I was angry. Then I was scared. But Bex talked to me about my gallery, about Buddy and Ralphie, about my shoes, about season tickets for the Colorado Shakespeare Festival in Boulder, about loads of things but not about me getting raped.
An hour slid by before Buddy and Ralphie returned and I realized, only at the end right before she left when she handed me her card and told me to call her anytime, that I liked her.
It took me another week to call her. She’s come to visit me twice. She’s lovely.
By the time Bex came around, we’d already had the parade of hotties sitting outside the brownstone guarding the door, keeping me safe and Ralphie had put up the blackboard.
I was ignoring the parade of hotties and what that might mean.
Ralphie and Buddy didn’t ignore it, they thought it was very interesting and would talk about it all the time.
I didn’t participate in their discussions. That would defeat my efforts at ignoring it which, come hell or high water, was exactly what I was going to do.
Eventually, they’d go away.
Right?
* * * * *