I feel like a lab rat, forced into this paper-thin gown and onto this cold, flat surface. The lights overhead are killing my eyes, even when I close my eyes, I still feel as though something's burning through my lids. This is only the beginning, I think to myself; it's only going to get worse.
She promised this would be quick and easy. "They'll get you in and out," she insisted. So, here I am, lying on this flat slab, waiting to go through this tunnel.
I am claustrophobic and have been for most of my life. It comes from our cramped New York apartment, only it had no light. Here, the light it too bright; it's killing me. I am trying to control my breathing, but the mere thought of going into this cave is making me perspire.
"Ms. Delgado, we'll be ready in a minute. Just try to relax." I hear the voice, but there is no one else in the room. Overhead, I spot a loudspeaker, along with the glass enclosure where people can view the "rat."
They refer to it as observation deck. I know there are students watching, taking notes and I am their unwilling subject. I can't relax; I can barely breathe, glued to this damn table. Now, I'm moving forward and I can't squeeze my eyes tight enough.
It seems like I've been in here forever, but I know it's only been a few minutes. My eyes are still closed, but I hear footsteps coming toward me. I just want to get out of this madhouse; I had no idea it would be so unnerving.
"Ms. Delgado, are you okay?"
"Yes. Can I leave now?" I don't wait for an answer; I get up, cover myself and try to leave. It takes me a couple of seconds to realize I have no idea where I was going. I am a rat, blindly feeling its way through the maze.
"You can change back there," he points to a door in the back of the room.
"Thanks." Almost as an afterthought I add, "Do you know when I can expect to get the results?"
"Week or two at the most."
*****
I know Jazz must be wondering where I've been these past few weeks, both physically and mentally. As I look at her with the headphones and cd player, I shake my head realizing she probably doesn't even care. She may not have noticed at all.
She throws up her hand the way she always does, and goes straight back to work. "Hey."
"Hi, Jazz. How are things around here?"
"Fine. Viki Carpenter called. She's staying at Trump Plaza."
"Great, thanks."
"No problem."
I watch her as she continues to work without a care in the world. She's so young so smart and she doesn't take anything too seriously. I have let so much time go by because of my endless drive; I know I've missed out on much of my life. "Jazz?"
"Yeah."
"You okay? Are things okay for you?"
"Yup, life's great!" She looks up at me and suddenly I feel like I'm the one on trial. "What about with you? You've been really distracted lately."
"I'm okay."
"All right, see you later."
I have been dismissed, and she continues with her typing. I go into my office and sit behind my commanding desk. I have a meeting with Derek later, one I'm dreading. Every time I see that kid behind bars, I get a sort of tightness in my chest. To put it simply, his life rests in my hands.
It's not that I'm not used to being in such a position, it's that I've never felt like I wasn't at my best, not until now. I know all it would take is one slip of the tongue and this kid's life could be history. There are so many different ways in which this whole thing could blow up and I'm the one not bringing my "A" game.
I have taken so many notes; my fingers feel as though a pen is growing between them. There are about three legal pads full of information, precedents, talking points; I don't even know how to begin to organize it. See, this is exactly what I'm talking about with my mind, I used to not have to spend time thinking about such minor things; organization used to be second nature.
My mother used to be the same way. She would alphabetize her spice rack without even thinking about it. I picked up that gift; subconsciously I arranged the same as she, in a straight line and alphabetically.
I miss her so much sometimes, but I have to shake it off. It happened so long ago and when I was so young, I almost think I don't have a right to feel anything. I know that one thing, one incident has shaped my life more than anything.
Viki was, in many ways, like a mother to me. I sometimes reflect on the troubles I had with Todd; she was always there for me to lean on. I don't think I ever thanked her for that.
I should stop putting off calling her. I can't say that my hesitation comes from not wanting to talk to her, but rather the feelings it would evoke. Her brother is the great love of my life, unfortunately, and when I am around her, I can't help but to think of him.
I'm partially hoping she doesn't answer, but I know I can't run forever, sadly. She answers, sounding wonderfully cheerful; I can't help but smile. "Hello, Viki."
"Tea, what a pleasant surprise. How are you?"
"I'm surviving. You?"
"From the sound of your voice, I'm probably much better than you. Is there anything I can do?"
"Just hearing a friendly voice works wonders." I truly mean that. I get more lonely than I'd like to admit, missing an older, wiser voice.
"Well, how about dinner tonight?"
"That's fine," I answer, "I'll be finished around seven. Shall we meet at your hotel around eight?"
"That sounds perfect, Tea. I'll see you then."
*****
Once again, night has descended and I am the only one in the office. Sometimes, when feel as though I've accomplished something after a long day, I turn on my stereo, kick off my shoes and listen to some jazz. It's the most relaxing thing I know, and on a day like today, it's the only thing that can calm my soul.
I don't know what it is about that music, but ever since I was a little girl, it has had a calming effect on me. I vaguely remember my mother, moving around to the sounds of the jazz greats, or rocking her hips to her favorite Spanish bands. Maybe this music reminds me of my mother and that's why I enjoy it so much. At any rate, it's nice to kick my heels up every now and then and rest them on top of my desk.
*****
She is dressed elegantly, as usual, wearing a cream colored pantsuit and diamond earrings. She was the first one to spread her arms and we embrace. I hold her for a few seconds too long because it felt like a mother's hug, warm, gentle and loving.
I wish I could describe the feeling of being held in her arms; the closet I can come is being wrapped in an angel's bosom. Come to think of it, I've always thought of Viki that way. As I pull away, I look into her eyes and see nothing but loving concern.
"Tea, it's so good to see you."
Sometimes you just know when a person means what they say and with her, there is never any pretense. It's nice to be liked and even loved by someone as wonderfully pure-hearted as she. "It's good to see you too," I said.
Her arm rests on my shoulder, leading me toward the restaurant inside the hotel. I've never been one to willingly relinquish control, but I readily do just that when I'm with Viki. We are seated in the back of the restaurant, at her request.
"I hope you don't mind meeting me," she says, staring me straight in the eyes.
For some reason, I am slightly ill at ease. Viki has a reporter's eye and I often feel like I'm under her microscope, being read by her trained eyes. "I'm glad you called; I miss talking to you."
"Same here. I never understood why people lose touch once their common connection is no longer in the picture." Again, she studies me, cocking her head to the side and waiting for any reaction. "I've always liked you, you know."
"I know."
The waiter takes our order shortly thereafter, and we continue to talk. There is no clear direction, as I'd anticipated, but rather an amalgamation of catch up topics. I have to admit, this is nice, really nice in fact.
I get the feeling that there's something she wants to say to me, but she's holding back. Every now and then, I catch her looking at me, like the wheels are turning in her head. So, I'm sort of sitting here, on guard, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's coming, I can feel it.
"Tea, I hear you're working on the Martin case."
"I am."
"Good for you. It's such a sad story and all too common these days." She shakes her head and adds, "Such a pity."
"It certainly is, but I have no intention of letting this story have an unhappy ending."
She toils with the necklace which hangs from her neck, as if it is some sort of good luck charm. I wait patiently for her to say something else; there is definitely more on her mind. "Is Derek planning on doing any interviews?"
I'm sure I raise my eyebrow as I always do when I'm intrigued. "What's all this about, Viki?"
She regards me, searching my soul to see if I can be trusted. "I'll be honest; this case disturbs me a great deal. As a reporter, I've always felt it my duty is to be an impartial distributor of news, but when stories such as this come along, objectivity is virtually impossible."
"Yes it is," I agree, recalling Todd's sometimes reckless reporting in the name of the "truth." Their differences are sometimes startling, virtually night and day. But sometimes, I see flashes of her influences in him. I love that.
"It makes me sick to think they might actually get away with what they did to him."
"Me too, that's why I'm his lawyer."
"And he's lucky to have you."
"Thank you." She's buttering me up for something, but I can't figure out what it is. She seems to be tap dancing around something, feeling me out. Instead of waiting, I decide to take matters into my own hands and just come right out and ask her. "What exactly are you beating around the bush about?"
She smiles at me. "I've always admired your straightforwardness," she confesses. "I think we can have a mutually beneficial relationship."
"Really?"
"I am a member of the press and have access to certain sources that you might not have access to."
