Color Me Your Color

I was so sorry I'd begun this. I swallowed hard and breathed until I knew my voice would be steady. "Were you working at the firm, yet? How old were you?"

He looked at me again. He was smiling. "An intern. Looking up to your dad, actually. Imagine that. I met her my last year of college. She was in one of my electives... A speech class, of course. She was amazing." He smiled wider. "Crazy. Spontaneous. She made me go skinny dipping when we visited her family. Taught me how to ice skate. Tried, anyway." He laughed. "I remember finding myself in Indiana on a Metallica tour... We'd followed them all the way from New Jersey."

A different version of Tate came before my eyes. A younger freer one. One who was playful, who was romantic. How had he changed so much?

The way he spoke of her, I was terrified to ask. He spoke of her reverently. He spoke of her as though she were dead.

*****

Morgan stood outside our apartment, looking like a complete wreck. My heart thumped hard when I reached her. "What's the matter? Is it Thomas?"

Tears flooded in her eyes. "No. Iggy. He's in the h-hospital. They called. He's asking f-for you."

The floor nearly disappeared beneath me. "What? What happened?"

Morgan shrugged her skinny shoulders. Too skinny. "You better get there. Hurry up!"

"Will you be okay?"

She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. "Yes. Go."

*****

Iggy was asleep when I entered his room. He was attached to a few different machines, large machines that made intimidating sounds. The nurse assured me he would be okay, that it looked worse than it was, and that she was grateful I was there. The police wanted to question me almost as soon as I arrived, but the nurse had persuaded them to let me see him first. I was a total mess, holding Iggy's hand and feeling like the most selfish person in the world. He had been reaching out to me and I'd ignored him because I felt slighted by him. I was so wrapped up in what was going on in my life, and I had been a shitty friend.

There was a detective in the hallway when I stepped up. He said his name was Detective McGuire and he asked how much I knew about the situation.

"Pretty much zero," I said, feeling worse by the second. "Who did this to him?"

Detective McGuire's gruff expression turned to one of compassion. "His husband."

My mouth dropped. "Luke? Luke! What?" I shook my head. "That's totally impossible. They are the happiest couple I know. The ideal couple."

The detective leaned against the wall. "Apparently not."

"But... I don't understand. How? Why?"

"Witnesses who heard the argument say that your friend's husband suspected him of cheating. Said he found some guy all over his Google history."

None of it made sense. Luke was the kindest, sweetest gentleman. I must have said the last out loud without realizing it, because Detective McGuire shook his head with a sad smile.

"You never know what's beyond the surface, and you certainly never know what goes on behind closed doors. That's what this job has taught me. You have no idea what happens in a relationship unless you're in it, and even then it can be a toss-up." He handed me his card. "We have Luke in custody, and we have a fairly good deal of evidence to bring to court, but in the end it'll be up to your friend to press charges. I highly suggest you stay with him, be his friend, help him out. Don't let him let this guy go free. Okay?"

"Okay."

There was no way he would let Luke get away with this, but the detective didn't seem to get that. Iggy was a strong fierce independent man who was the only reliable constant in my life.

"If you need anything or think of anything that might be helpful, dial that number anytime."

"Thanks so much. I really appreciate it." I tried to smile, but couldn't stop crying, instead. The detective patted me on the shoulder and murmured it would be okay.

I went back to Iggy as soon as I could and waited for him to wake up.

*****

I must have dozed off at some point. A book smacking my thigh startled me, and I jolted up, blinking fast. Iggy was awake and smiling, but there was a haunted look in his eyes that marred the effect.

"Even in a cast, I can still whoop your ass."

I told myself not to cry, but I couldn't stop. I knew it wouldn't be helpful, but seeing him there, my bright friend reduced to scrapes and stitches, did something to me. "What happened?"

Iggy sighed. "Luke's jealousy got the better of him. He can get like this sometimes, but never this extreme." He hesitated, then nodded as if he'd made up his mind. "I googled Tate, trying to find out more information. Got a few of my friends to check out his background. That's why I was a little out of your life for a bit. I'm sorry about that; I know you needed me."

"Please don't apologize to me," I begged. "I'm the shitty friend."

"Pfft," he said, waving a hand through the air dismissively. "Anyway, I guess Luke caught wind I was researching some guy and got the wrong idea."

"'Got the wrong idea'?" I repeated. "Honey, he beat the shit out of you."

Iggy flinched. "Believe me, I'm aware. He didn't mean it. He's such a passionate hot-headed guy that..."

"Please don't tell me that you're letting him off the hook," I interrupted. "You have always been the biggest role model to me. I need you to not disappoint me now. Please."

A single tear streaked down Iggy's cheek. "That's not fair." He wiped the tear away angrily and glared at me. "I'm allowed to be human."

"Of course you're allowed to be human. And you should be treated like a human." I reached over and lightly touched a horrible bruise on his cheek. "You can't let him do this to you again."

My cell vibrated and I looked down. It was Tate, concerned that I had been missing for so long. "I need to call Tate."

"Funny that you're lecturing me about being treated like a human," he said bitterly.

I didn't react. Instead, I kissed him on the cheek. "Be right back."

Tate was upset when I called, but when I told him why he hadn't been able to reach me, he was instantly sympathetic. "I despise abusers. Fucking coward. I'd love to beat the shit out of him."

"Yeah, that'll totally fix the situation." My cell chirped that it was on low battery, and I had been away from Iggy for too long. "I need to head back. They're going to discharge him tomorrow morning and I haven't figured out where to take him. And he's considering going back to Luke, based on the conversation I just had with him. My apartment definitely isn't the right place."

Tate was silent for a minute. I thought he'd hung up on me, but then he said something astounding. "He should come stay with me."

"What?"

Tate sighed and repeated himself.

"Umm. Are you sure about that? I might need to stay over, too, and watch him."

"That's fine."

"Oh... Well, you should know he's gay."

"I gathered that when you brought up his husband."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Should it? Does it bother you?"

"I'm just impressed."

He snorted. "Wow, I see what you think of me."

"It's not that." My cell reminded me it was almost dead. "I have to go. Thanks so much for this, Tate."

"No problem, Johanna."

We clicked off, and in spite of everything, I couldn't fight the grin on my face.

*****

"I really don't want to go to your pimp's apartment."

The nurse changing Iggy's IV tried to avert her eyes, but she couldn't resist peeking at me with curiosity. I smiled at her, but she looked terrified. As soon as she could, she sprinted off.

"He's not my pimp, and you know that." I walked over to him and made him look at me. "I'm on your side, Ig. I know things have sucked and I'm so sorry this happened to you, but you need to see that."

Iggy started weeping unexpectedly and I didn't know what to do. I reached for him and stroked his back. "He hasn't even come to see me this time."

"This time?"

"Don't. Please. I can't talk about it. Don't judge me."

"I wouldn't."

Iggy pulled back and laughed. "Yes. You've been judging me ever since you knew this wasn't the first time he hit me."

I opened my mouth to deny, but the reality was he was right. I couldn't understand how my strong, bright, funny friend could let another person do this to him, especially someone who was supposed to love him as much as a husband should. I thought back to what Detective McGuire said and tried to be more mature and understanding about the situation.

"You're right. I don't get it. But I'm trying to."

Iggy stared down at his hands that were still scarred from the fire he survived all of those years ago. A sudden flare of love for him passed through me, and I sat beside him on the bed. He confided in me once that it had been hard to find men who didn't shudder in repulsion when they looked at him. Luke was the first man who accepted him for the person he was, he told me. He didn't stare at the scars. He kissed them. Now, I wondered how much of that was true, and if it was, did Luke really mean anything by it or was it a way of keeping the man he abused with him? It was a sad thought, and I knew that it had to have been on Iggy's mind, too.

"Iggy, I know you must not see this very clearly but you're a beautiful person, inside and out."

"Right," he smiled ruefully, "especially on the inside, right?"

"I've been a worse friend than I thought if I haven't shown you that."

"Stop blaming yourself for me being an idiot, okay?" Iggy sighed and sat up. "Listen, I'm not going back to him. I'm too old for this. I'd rather be alone. And I do appreciate what you two are doing for me, and that Tate is letting me stay in his apartment. I'm sorry that I judged you, too. Let's put it behind us."

"I love you, Ig."

He smiled genuinely for the first time since the whole thing happened. "Love you, too."

*****

Tate, bless him, was incredibly nervous when Iggy and I arrived at his place. I got a better look at it this time and was surprised by how sparse it was. Tate was a fashionable guy, but he certainly hadn't taken any steps into making his apartment a home. That didn't surprise me, and only served to make me sad. He was so closed off from any emotion, except empty lust. It was starting to wear on me.

He gave us a tour and showed us to our rooms. He had three guest rooms, so we had plenty of room. He gave me the room closer to Iggy, and I was all too aware of how close it was to Tate's bedroom, as well. I thought Tate would come to me that night, but he didn't. He kept his distance for the two weeks we spent there. Actually, he was hardly ever there. I felt the absence acutely, but I didn't have the time to dwell; Iggy needed me.

Iggy went through with pressing charges and Luke received some prison time. I was so proud of Iggy as he sat on the stand and explained in detail about how his beloved husband had abused him for the last time. Luke watched with detached hatred, and when the sentence of three years was handed down, he only snickered. It wasn't enough, in my opinion, but the prosecutor told us that her hands were tied. She promised that she'd have an order of protection drafted upon his release, and Iggy patted my hand and told me not worry.

Iggy got himself a new apartment on the other side of town. We both cried as we packed up his things. Even Morgan came to help, and she watched us hug with bleary eyes.

"You'll come visit all the time," Iggy proclaimed.

"All the time," I swore.

He kissed my cheek and got into the cab. Morgan squeezed my shoulder in support.

As for Morgan and Thomas, Tate had been working on that during those two weeks. Tate was more powerful and bad ass than I gave him credit for. He managed to release Morgan from her arrangement with Thomas. I shuddered to contemplate how he did it, but Morgan hinted that it had to deal with a lot of money. She felt incredibly guilty, but she wouldn't talk about it anymore. I thought she would use her saved up money and enroll in school, get a new job, start over, but she didn't.

I came home one day to her making out with a new elderly patron. I looked away and crept to my room.

The three of us discussed Thomas one last time, the afternoon after we helped Iggy move out. Tate asked if Morgan heard anything more from Thomas and she said no. She mentioned Rebecca had come around a few times, but she hadn't seen her the last week.

"But Rebecca..." I started saying.

Tate shrugged, but the heaviness in his expression told me that the topic wasn't light enough to shrug off in his mind. "Can't save 'em all, Jo. I wish I could."

Morgan shook her head sadly. "No. You can't."

I thought of Rebecca, who had obviously gone through so much at the hands of Thomas, and felt sick. No one deserved that hand of cards.

*****

Tate was even scarcer than usual after Iggy and I left his place. I started wondering if I should call Lou up and get my old job back, but then I noticed Tate was still steadily adding to my bank account. A full week went by before he contacted me. I had spent that week looking up jobs and trying to find a legitimate way out of the mess I'd made. He wanted to take me out to dinner. I think I sensed the goodbye before he even said it.

Mom called me while I was getting ready.

"Are you ever going to come see me? And your sister is beside herself that you haven't been around to help her out."

"I have my own life, Mom. I've been busy."

"Doing what? The diner can't keep you that busy."

And just like that, the dam that held back all my frustrations, bitterness, resentments broke. "Do you have any idea how much money I need to come up with all the time? How hard it is for me? No, because you're too fixated on your own misery. Dad left you, Mom. I'm sorry. I know that sucks. Move on! And while you're at it, why don't you open your eyes to everything and everyone around you, not just for Becky and her stupid choices!" I took a deep breath and rubbed at angry tears. "I've been a call girl, Mom. For a while now. His name is Tate and he's the reason I'm even able to stay afloat these days."

Mom sputtered for a minute. "You've been... prostituting yourself? Whoring? Johanna, what on earth possessed you? "

"I did what I had to, and I'm not a whore, Mom." And I hung up.

On a roll, I went back to the art program I'd been looking up. I hadn't applied, because I had been insecure about my ability to get in. Without giving it another thought, I pressed "submit" and smiled. I felt so much better, not because my mom had tried to shame me or that I thought I was a whore. I wasn't a whore. I was a mature woman who had made some necessary choices, and I was proud of myself for surviving. I was owning what I'd done, and no one's judgment could affect me.

Tate was waiting outside of the restaurant when my cab pulled up. He wore the old familiar smile, but his eyes were flat and sad. I didn't feel like going inside and going through the charade, but I figured I owed it to him. He'd bailed both of my friends out, and he'd saved my life, too. I kissed his cold lips and followed him inside.

We were quiet until dinner was served. I couldn't eat and he asked me why.

"Because you're ending this."

He breathed in sharply through his nose and covered his eyes with his hand. "What makes you say that?"

"C'mon, Tate. Don't patronize me."

He pulled his hands away and stared at me with those intense eyes that had enthralled me from the beginning. "It just got too serious."

"You're not Richard Gere," I reminded him. "I haven't forgotten."

"No, probably not," he said with a smile, "but I might have. And I can't afford that."

"I could love you," I told him like a complete idiot. His smile faded.

"I know."

"Don't you wonder if you could love me?"

"I can't."

I blinked against the tears and allowed a brittle laugh to escape from my lips, a laugh that was so not me. "Is it because of her? The girl you loved once. She died, didn't she? And now you're playing the broken guy. You need to get over that or everything that could possibly be amazing will pass you by."

He looked confused for a moment, then he recalled out conversation. "Arielle is not dead. She's cuddled next to some broker in Connecticut. She didn't choose me. I was too reserved, she said. Never knew what I was thinking. Work made me serious. She said a lot of stuff." He stared at the table. "It has nothing to do with her."

"Bullshit. I can see you're still hurting." I took his hand against my better judgment, and he let me hold it for a minute. Then he pulled it away. "I could love you, Tate. If I don't, already."

"I warned you that would be a very stupid thing to do."

I laughed in spite of the tears falling down my cheeks. "Oh, well. I never did a great job at doing what you told me to do."

He stood and tossed some bills on the table. I knew the ending was coming, but it killed me, regardless. He couldn't look at me as he spoke. "This arrangement just became too serious. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. You're doing exactly what you want to." I dried my eyes and stood up, too. "It's okay, Tate. It's okay. You never promised me anything more. Things are tainted between us now, anyway. Aren't they? I'd always be your call girl, never your equal."

His eyes met mine. Then he kissed me, deeply, romantically. Almost lovingly. Almost.

"Goodbye, Johanna. You're going to be fine."

"You, too, Tate."

I watched him vanish into his limo, and only left when I realized I had no other reason left to stay.

*****

The school I applied to contacted me the next day. I was in the middle of sobbing in my room when I saw their number scrolling across my phone. Iggy was over, and he and Morgan were trying to console me with ice cream.

I took the call after blowing my nose. They notified me that I would hear back soon, but that I couldn't start until the fall. Then they said that they had an assistantship I could apply to, if I was interested. It would only be a stipend, they worried, but I giggled a little and told them I wasn't worried. I had money saved up.

Dad called me a few days later. He asked me nicely if he could come pick me up for a talk.

"Please, Johanna. It's about your mother, too."

Mom hadn't contacted me since our argument, and I found myself feeling more lost than usual. Some things in my life felt like they were getting back on track, while others felt more fucked up than ever before. It was the mention of Mom that got me.

Dad's car came to get me. We were silent until the driver let us out. Then Dad said, "Good, good," which made no sense to me and stepped out.

I figured he wanted me to follow him. I pulled myself out of the car and into the park, my heels digging into the frosted earth below. I shuddered in my coat, which was far from warm enough, and watched the man who I'd begrudgingly called "Dad" all my life struggle for words.

Kids ran around in their winter coats and gloves or mittens, screeching and tearing around the playground as their tired parents chased them. Dad watched them for a minute, thinking hard. I wondered what he saw in their faces, their pink noses and red cheeks. That flailing innocence that they hadn't learned yet could be broken.

"You were a pain in the ass when you were a kid, you know."

I bit back the thousands of sulky things I longed to say and stared at him, waiting for him to make his point. He dragged me out here; as far as I was concerned, this was his show. As I waited for him to speak, I examined his face. He looked so much older than I remembered. For the first time I noticed the deep-set wrinkles lining his once smooth perfect face.

Good, I thought. Childish, perhaps, but I liked seeing the strain of life finally showing on his deceptively sweet face.

He gazed back at me, his eyes so much like mine. "You hate me. Don't you?"

I couldn't tell if he really wanted an answer. I moved away, blinking back the tears that came as a result of a gust of freezing wind. Nothing more. I hadn't cried over him in years, and I didn't want him to think I'd begun now.