Chapter 44: She's Safe Now

"It isn't right that he even gets a say in this," Heather protests.

"That's the law, though," Ulises explains. Now that they're married, he wants to legally adopt Laurel, but since her biological father is still alive, they need his consent for that to happen. He and Heather got  a lawyer to find him and get him to sign off, but they haven't heard back from him in weeks since they made their request.

"Don't start fretting about it yet," Ulises advises, putting Laurel down to give his wife a long, tendr kiss goodbye for he heads off to the station. "Just because we haven't heard from him doesn't mean he's going to give us trouble. Just relax and wait it out."

"I love you," she whispers, holding back tears of frustration.

"And I love you. We have that, so everything will be fine," Ulises promises, giving her one more kiss before he goes.

Heather has been oversensitive and emotional since they started this process. She thought it was just from trying to contact Trace and having to deal with lawyers. But in the last few days, her breasts had become tender, and now she's late. As soon as Ulises leaves for work, she heads upstairs and takes the pregnancy test kit she'd hidden in her dresser. After a few fretful minutes of suspense, her suspicion is confirmed; she's pregnant. Heather smiles, her outlook brightened by this positive news.

When Ulises calls her an hour later, she nearly blurts out the good news, but stops herself just in tim. She wants to make the announcement face to face. She'll make a special, romantic dinner, she thinks, maybe even wear a nice dress...

"I have a...situation...here," Ulises interrupts her daydreaming, "Someone in San Francisco filed a missing persons report on your friend Rebecca."

"What? Who?" Heather asks incredulously.

"A Shannon Daughtry, it says."

"That's her boyfriend. Or was anyway," Heather explains, confused herself about what's going on.

"Well, apparently she didn't tell anyone up there where she was going, and she's been missing long enough that there's a case open. Mariposa, I have to report her whereabouts."

"I know," Heather sighs, "But, she'll be here in like n hour. Can you just give me the time to talk to her about it? Get her to report herself? Maybe there's a reason she's on the run."

"All right," Ulises agrees, "Call me after you talk to her. But if she won't come in herself, you know I have to report it. Police are out there wasting time looking for a woman that isn't really missing. If she needs protection from this Shannon guy, SFPD can help her."

The knock on her door comes while she's playing with Laurel. "It's open," she calls out, expecting Rebecca.

She gets up to greet her friend, only to find someone she really wasn't expecting. "Trace," she says, her voice flat.

"Heather," he responds, "I thought if I was going to sign away all rights to my daughter, I should do it in person."

Heather sighs in relief, "Then you'll consent?"

"I didn't say that," Trace says, "This is a huge thing you're asking of me."

Heather notices that though his daughter is playing on the floor in front of him, he hasn't even glanced in her direction, "How huge can it be?" she asks, "You've never been a part of her life, you still haven't even met her. Consenting to the adoption would just make the arrangement we already have legal."

"But, Heather, a cop? A fucking cop? Are you insane?"

Not this crap again, Heather thinks with a sigh. "Trace, my husband is a good man. And he's been the father to Laurel you haven't been. He helped her take her first steps, he was there when she said her first word. He's here for her, and he loves her. Your feelings about his profession are irrelevant."

Rebecca comes in without bothering to knock at all. "Trace? Is that really you?" she gasps, grabbing him for a friendly hug, "It's been ages!'

"You were at Berkley, right?" Trace asks, "I thought you were up in the Bay Area."

"I was," Rebecca says, "I got a few stories published, and I briefly had a job at the Chronicle. But, you know, budget cuts. I was cut loose."

Trace nods, "Tell me about it. I'm thinking of going to Berkley now, myself. For a my masters."

Heather turns her attention toward her daughter while the two friends catch up, sharing their college stories.

"Well, I should get going," Trace finally turns back to Heather, "I came at a bad time. I'll call you later and we can set up a time to discuss this issue. Becca, give me a call later. Maybe we can get drinks?"

"I'm free tonight," Rebecca says with a smile, "I'll call you in a couple of hours, okay?"

"How's Coby?" Heather asks when they're finally alone together.

"Stoned and sleeping when I left," Rebecca answers with a laugh.

Heather sighs, "Look, I know it's none of my business..."

"I'm just staying at his place for awhile," Rebecca says, "Yeah, it's a friends with benefits kind of deal. But he's not a teenager anymore, Heather."

"I know that, Becca," Heather says, "But he's, well, more sensitive than he lets on."

"Oh, yeah, Mr. Sensitive," Rebecca snorts, "The guy with a new girlfriend every week. Look, Coby and I are both adults, and we both know what this relationship is and what it isn't."

"I just worry about him," Heather says, "He was so heartbroken about that other girl."

"Not worried about me, I see," Rebecca laughs, "Not concerned that he'll break my heart."

Heather smiles, "I do worry about you, Becca. More than you know. But not over Coby, no."

"So, what was Trace doing here?" Rebecca moves on to another subject.

Heather explains the situation to her friend, about Ulises wanting to adopt Laurel. "And now Trace is holding back consent because he's a cop," she ends with a deep sigh.

"I'll talk to him about it," Rebecca promises.

"Oh great, you can team up with him against me," heather says bitterly.

"Not at all," Rebecca protests, "Yeah, I'm still not in love with the idea of you being married to a cop. But I've seen how it is here. Trace blew off his parental responsibilities. Sure, when we were in high school, it was his parents that forced him to stay away. But when he went to Stanford, he never looked back, right? Never called you, never offered help, never even tried to meet Laurel. He has no business coming in to interfere now. And I can actually vouch your cop; I've seen him with Laurel. I wish I had a father as affectionate as him."

"Really?" Heather smiles, relieved, "I'd really appreciate it if you could talk to Trace about this. He'd have to listen to you."

"I'm happy to help," Rebecca says.

"Rebecca, I have to ask, what's going on with you and Shannon?" Heather says.

"Why do you think something is going on?" Rebecca demands.

"Well, last I heard, you were living together, had been together for awhile. Then, you come down here with no plans to return to the Bay Area. You don't just walk out on a relationship like that, right?"

"What if I did?" Rebecca challenges.

"Becca, he filed a missing persons report on you. You left town without telling a soul where you were going."

Rebecca sighs. She just wanted to disappear for awhile, but the world just doesn't let people run away like that. "I don't owe him or you or anyone an explanation."

"Okay, don't explain," Heather throws up her hands, "But, you have to clear up your missing status with the police."

"Or your husband will do it for me?"

Heather's eyes drop, "He has to, Becca," she says quietly, hoping this won't change Rebecca's mind about talking to Trace, "He promised to wait for me to talk to you about it, to let you do it yourself. But if you don't...look at it from his perspective. They have police out there wasting time searching for you. And even without him, they'll find you. As soon as you use a credit card or something like that."

"Fine, I'll call SFPD," Rebecca says. "And don't worry, I'll still talk to Trace for you."

After Rebecca leaves, Heather gets dinner in the oven, settles Laurel down in her crib for the night,  and puts on the dress she wore for her first date with Ulises. All that's left to do now is choose some romantic music to set the mood.

"Don't move, bitch."

The gun presses against her neck. Heather freezes in place, raising her hands instinctively. She senses another man behind her, but doesn't dare turn to look.

Esparza grabs her, dragging her toward the couch. Now she sees the second guy, his own gun drawn. Her gun, the one Ulises got for her and taught her to use, sits uselessly in her desk drawer.

The gun presses against her hip. If she screams, maybe the neighbors would hear, and maybe they'd do something. Or maybe it would just wake Laurel up. The toddler is quiet now, out of sight. Heather fears what these animals might do to her daughter if they were made aware of her presence, and she doesn't scream.

"You like fucking that cop, bitch?" Esparza growls, "You give him a message. You tell him that no one fucks with Aaron Esparza."

Ulises. He'll be home soon, Heather thinks. He'll rescue or her. Or he'll die, she realizes with sudden dread. There are two of them, with guns. She has to warn him. But she can't do anything with Esparza holding her down, his gun pressed against her hip. She can't save herself, can't protect her daughter, can't warn her husband, she's completely helpless. 

Something is very wrong Ulises realizes immediately. A stray dog whines plaintively and scratches in front of their open door. Something is burning in the kitchen. And, faintly, he hears Heather sobbing, and the low threatening voice of a male.

Drawing his sidearm, Ulises steps into the house, making as little noise as possible.

There are two of them, Esparza and Ancelotti, both armed. There's little to no chance he'll be able to take them both. But he has no choice, Heather needs him now.

Ancelotti turns toward him as Ulises charges into the room, both firing their weapons simultaneously.

Esparza drops, and Heather collapses on the floor, sobbing. Ulises took a bullet to the stomach, leaving Ancelotti the only man standing.

"Mariposa," Ulises hisses through the pain, "The gun. Take his gun," he says in Spanish. Ancelotti doesn't speak Spanish.

The gun. It's in Esparza's limp hand. Heather reaches tentatively to her right, until her fingers wrap around the gun's handle. She stands quickly and fires, just like Ulises taught her to do.

From the floor, Ulises watches Ancelotti fall. He couldn't protect her, he failed at the one thing he had to do, the only important thing. He failed her. But she's safe now. His head drops to the ground as he loses consciousness.

"No," Heather moans, lifting him into her arms, "No no no no..."

Chapter 43: Am I Your Girl?

Stina knocks the door, progressively louder as she gets no response. She can see Coby through the glass, asleep on his couch, but he doesn't wake. Finally, she tries the knob and finds the door unlocked.

"Wake up, stoney head," She says, laughing as she tickles his bare feet.

"Hey, Ti, what's up?" he asks sleepily as he sits up.

"It's after noon," she points out, "You aren't usually the type to be asleep in the middle of the day."

"We were out late last night," Coby says, "Did Becky let you in?"

Stina frowns at the mention of her rival, "Your door was unlocked. I don't think she's here."

"I just got back from a job interview," Stina tells him as she sits on the couch beside him,"I'm going to be working in the gallery my friend Eleanor manages."

"That's great, Ti," Coby says, "It'll be easier with your friend for a boss."

Stina laughs, "You don't know Eleanor. She'll ride me harder because she's my friend. But I needed to do something. My parents have decided that all my 'outside activities' were bringing down my grades, so they've completely defunded my social life. Ha! I'll show them!"

"So, getting a job is part of your master plan to get back at your parents?" Coby laughs.

Stina chortles, "Totally. And gallery experience will be good for my future career." She sighs deeply, "The whole point of being an artist is not having to work a real job. But it turns out, it's a ton of ass kissing and selling yourself to the highest bidder. And work. It's like there's no way to avoid it. I'm so disillusioned by the whole thing."

"But that's not what I came here to tell you," Stina continues, "Rainier and I broke up."

"I told him if he broke your heart, I'd hurt him..." Coby says.

"Really?" Stina asks, impressed that she had that effect on him, "But, no, it wasn't like that. I'm in love with someone else."

"Already?" Coby asked, "You don't stick with one guy very long before you're after the next one."

"Coby, there's no new guy," Stina says gently, "I'm in love with you."

Coby is quiet for a moment. "What the hell am I supposed to do with that?" he asks.

Stina played this scene out in her head several times before she came here, and this response never happened in any of her imagined scenarios. "Well, I thought we could...you know...get back together...?"

"Just like that, after you dumped me for another guy?" Coby asks, "You messed me up hard, Ti. I can't be your flavor of the month and go through being dumped like that again."

"It won't be like that," she says,  climbing onto his lap, "You were right, we belong together."

Coby rests his head against her shoulder as she runs her fingers through his hair. "I'd give anything to have you back," he says softly, "But I can't lose you again."

"I feel the same," Stina says, and leans her face down to kiss him.

He's never met a girl who could wriggle out of her clothes faster than she does, and it isn't long before she pressing her naked torso against his chest and he's holding her bare, round ass in his hands.

They kiss like that for what seems like the longest time, then she moves her hands toward his pants and starts to wrap her legs around him.

"Okay," Coby says, lifting her off him, "Not like this." She gives him her sad puppy eyes and the pout that always gets him right in the heart. He smiles at her and takes her hand, leading her to his bed.

Stina sighs and moans as he works her clit with his tongue. He was always especially good at this, and she comes with a heaving shudder in just a few seconds.

"What about you?" she asks as he nestles up next to her, holding her against his chest.

"Since we broke up, I've pretty much fucked anyone that would open her legs for me. I've had more sex than I needed. What I miss is just laying on my bed and holding my girl. So, if you're good, that's all I want to do right now."

"Am I your girl?" Stina asks hopefully.

"Always, Ti," he answers, "Always."

"What about Rebecca?" she asks quietly, hating to bring up the subject, but it has to be dealt with sooner or later.

"I'm pretty much her Hayley," Coby tells her.

"What's a Hayley?"

"The girl that lives downstairs. I was fucking her for awhile until she figured out that that's all it was. Then she told me to fuck off. I was using her to try to get over you. And Beck has someone back in San Fran she's trying to forget. She won't tell me about him, but I know. I give her credit for being more honest about it than I was. We both know what we're doing here is just passing the time," Coby explains, while avoiding the question of to kick Rebecca out of his apartment with feeling like an asshole about it.

His phone beeps insistently; Coby grabs it from his night table and reads the text. "Ran into an old friend. Will be late, maybe all night. Don't wait up. R"

Coby puts the phone back on the table. "Looks like she's hooking up," he says, relieved that he won't have to kick Stina out of his bed any time soon.

Stina stretches herself across his lap. "Am I allowed to be jealous that she has you?" she asks.

"Ah, Crissy," he says, using the name her father calls her, because it makes her pout, and because he can get away with it, "You know she doesn't have me. She's just been staying here. And if we're getting back together, I'll get her to move on."

He meant to wait for this, to make a clean break with Rebecca and start anew with Stina after he'd cleared that up. But Stina won't consider her mission accomplished until she's had him inside her, and his resistance crumbles quickly as she pushes him gently back down onto the bed. 

After they make love, they fall asleep in each other's arms. When his phone wakes him, he thinks about ignoring it, but gets himself up to answer it anyway. When the call is finished, he turns to Ti, gently touching her shoulder to wake her up.

She rolls over to face him, smiling until she sees his tears, his mouth twisted in a grimace of pain. "What's wrong?" she asks, reaching out to hold him.

"We have to go. My sister is in the hospital."

Chapter 42: Tell Me the Story

His princess has turned out to be more than exacting about what she wants in an apartment, and nothing Justin has found has met her demands. He's not all disappointed in her fastidiousness; she would not be his princess if she were anything less, but it's made his mission to find them a place to live in this city damned hard. After she rejected the last batch of apartments he looked at, which she sees only through the pictures Justin takes with the digital camera he bought for this quest, too busy with her work to come out hunting with him, he realized he was going to have to take his search up a notch to find a palace worthy of his princess. Nothing he's found online or in the paper was going to meet her expectations; he needs to consult a professional.

So he contacted Sam Best, a real estate agent, and a former client. Sam was always the chatty type, filling the empty spaces of their sessions with idle chatter, asking Justin personal questions which Sam would then proceed to create answers for. When Justin told him that he was leaving the business, Sam decided that Justin had found a sugar daddy to take care of him, and Justin didn't deny it. It might even be close to the truth, though Sam would be very surprised to learn the gender of Justin's new benefactor. Justin never discussed his sexuality with any of his clients; until Eleanor, he didn't have any gender preference at all, more of an anti-sexuality, really, a general loathing for humanity at large and a compulsive phobia about being touched. So if his male clients assume he's gay and the females assume he's straight, that's fine with Justin; it was their fantasies he was catering to, and now that he's done with that business, he sees no reason to come out. Sam was disappointed to be losing Justin's services and gave him his business card, offering to provide any professional help of his own should Justin ever be in need of it. Maybe Sam was just being polite, but Justin decides to take him up on the offer and dials his number on his cell phone.

"I sell houses, I don't really deal with rentals," Sam informs him after gushing his pleasure over receiving the call, "But, you know, I may actually have something for you, a house I'm handling for a dear friend...let me make a call and I'll get back to you."

Sam calls back within an hour and offers to show Justin a house in Marina del Rey that day.

"It belongs to a dear friend of mine," Sam explains, "His partner died, just two years ago now, and he still hasn't gotten through the grief. He's been living in Barcelona, trying to forget. And he asked me to sell the house for him. But, whenever someone makes an offer, he turns it down and tells me to take it off the market. He can't stand to live here, because of the memories, but he also can't bear the thought of parting with it. So, it sits here empty, and I manage it for him, keep the landscaping crews, the pool maintenance, et cetera. Today, I convinced him to rent it out to you."

Justin goes through the empty rooms, taking pictures to show Eleanor. This place must certainly meet her expectations, he thinks, just as it will exceed their budget. In this part of L.A., this house is worth millions. When they get out to the deck, with its pool and jacuzzi, Justin lays his budget on Sam, lowballing at first in case he has to negotiate up.

"You do realize what a deal I'm making for you here?" Sam says, and for a moment Justin thinks his former client might ask something of him in return, but Sam continues, "This isn't about money though.  I keep this place maintained as best as I can, but something happens to empty houses. It's like they have souls, you know, and they aren't happy if they aren't sheltering someone. I think this house has been calling out for you."

Justin doesn't respond one way or another to the crazy talk. "I love it, but I don't have the final say. I'll have to get back to you tonight."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll love it, too," Sam smiles.

It occurs to Justin that at some point Sam might actually meet Eleanor if they take this house, and it won't look good if the lie he allowed him to believe is exposed like that. "She prefers 'she', actually," Justin says, taking the lie to a whole new level.

"Really?" Sam raises an eyebrow, "That's quite surprising. I mean, it's not often the tranny who takes the daddy role."

"We aren't the most conventional couple," Justin agrees. And that's not even far from the truth.

Now that she's managing the Arthag gallery, Eleanor needs to hire a receptionist to take her former place at the front desk. Stina has been whining about needing a job, so eleanor offers to take her on.

"As long as you understand that at work, I'm your boss, not your friend," Eleanor lays down the ground rules, "And you'll have to dress more professionally. Since this is an art gallery, you can be more creative than corporate, but stay away from the ripped shirts."

Stina smiles and nods, wondering if Eleanor realizes how quickly she's turned into her own mother.

Justin greets Eleanor with extra affection when she comes home from work. "I have some pictures to show you," he says, "I want this house, Elle."

"This house is incredible," Eleanor says as she goes through his pictures, "I mean, I can't believe we can get something like this on our budget."

Justin explains the special circumstances that allowed him to get this house at even beneath the highest end of their budget. "We won't find anything better," Justin says.

"We'll take it," Eleanor says decisively.

"Justin, what is this a picture of?" Eleanor asks s she clicks on the last photo in the folder.

Justin leans over the screen to see what she's talking about. "That's you," he says, "I must have saved it into the wrong folder.

"What part of me, exactly?" she asks.

"The small of your back. And that's my hand on top."

"When did you take this?"

"While you were sleeping. I have more. I've been messing around with your Photoshop."

"I see that," Eleanor says with a slight smile,  navigating to other folders he's created on her laptop, "This is actually quite brilliant. We should get these printed out. You have a whole show's worth in here."

"Elle, these are private. We can't be showing these around."

"The best art usually exposes the artist in some way," Eleanor says, "This is really just too brilliant not to show."

"You want people to see nude photos of you?"

"My face doesn't appear in any of them, so it's not like I can be identified," Eleanor says,  "You have an amazing eye. You have to go public with this."

"If you say so, princess," Justin agrees reluctantly.

"Trust me," she answers.

"I do trust you," Justin says, pulling her out of the chair and pressing her against the wall for a kiss, "Would I put myself in this position if I didn't?"

Eleanor sighs, relaxing, letting her cold businesslike personality melt away in his embrace. With him, she can be soft, open, exposed. "I trust you, too," she whispers.

Justin caresses her face, kisses her neck, "Listen," he whispers in her ear, "The guy we're renting this house from...I kind of had to let him think you're a tranny."

Eleanor tries to make sense of that, but is unable to come up with a scenario that would require that particular lie. Rather than question him, Eleanor decides that this is something she'll just have to trust him on.

Justin now has to inform Zach that he and Eleanor will be moving out, leaving him with two empty rooms to rent out.

"You've been here a long time," Zach observes, "I'm going to miss you."

"You can visit us," Justin offers, "Someone has to feed you properly." Justin remembers the sad empty state the refrigerator was in when he first moved in. Zach lived mostly on fast food, the most nauseating kind of food you can find.

Zach throws his arms around him, and Justin actually returns the hug. In his own way, Zach has been an exception to Justin's general revulsion to people. Maybe it's because he reminds him of the kids who used to tag along with him in school. Justin was always solitary and taciturn, even as a child, and even more prone to violence before he learned to control himself and his rages. But he was never a bully, he never took any pleasure in targeting those too weak to defend themselves. He would only pick fights with boys who were bigger and stronger than he was, and those were most easily found picking on groups of smaller boys. Boys like Zach, bookish and smart, and as physically unfit for a fight as they could be. It was never Justin's intention to become their protector, he just took pleasure in beating up and humiliating their tormentors for his own sake. But to them he became something of a knight in shining armor, and they followed him, staying close by him, using him as a bodyguard. By the time he liberated himself from the school system at 16, Justin had come to look on these boys as his own property, a pack to be defended and protected, and Zach stirs that same sense of proprietary interest in him now.

Just as it was his job to find the place, it was Justin's job to furnish it. Decorating was the more pleasurable task, as Justin enjoys shopping and Eleanor didn't require approval, trusting his taste over hers in these matters. As soon as he got the place furnished, the couple moved in.

"It's amazing," Eleanor says when their first tour of the newly furnished ends in the bedroom.

"I bought something for you," Justin says with a wicked smile, "It's on the dresser."

"More clothes?" Eleanor laughs, walking behind the bed to the partially hidden dressing area, "My wardrobe will explode if you keep buying me things."

"Well, this isn't what I expected," Eleanor says when she tries it on.

"I thought we should celebrate," Justin says, taking off his own clothes.

Their bedroom has a wall of windows looking out into the yard, which is surrounded by it's own wall, giving them the privacy they need

He told Sam their relationship is unconventional, but it's so much more than that, trangressing even the rules of unconventionality. They are fluid, switching top and bottom, dominant and submissive, from minute to minute, without struggle, without even having to talk about it.

"I never believed I was just half a person, I thought Jeanette had just made that up," Justin says quietly as they lie together, exhausted, on the bed, "But being with you, I finally get it. We're one whole, finally reunited."

What he's saying sounds vaguely familiar. "Tell me the story," she says, knowing that he's talking about something his sister once told him. It's always a strange pleasure to hear his remembered version of some classic of literature, told to him by Jeanette, reinterpreted through his own world view, and retold as though it were an account of historical fact, not fiction from the imagination of its original author.

"She said people used to have two heads, four arms and legs, and had two sets of genitals. They pissed off the gods, I forget what they did. It didn't seem to matter, the gods were all pretty easy to piss off in all her stories. Like the nuns. Anyway, the gods decided to split people into two to punish them for whatever they'd done this time. So these poor split up people were miserable and spent all their time embracing their other halves, trying to get back together. And that's what we are, half people desperately seeking union with our other halves. I thought it was bullshit. I mean, the last thing I thought I ever needed was another person. But you...if I ever got split off from you, I'd spend every minute trying to get back with you. I wouldn't be whole without you."

"That's Plato," Eleanor identifies the source material, "It's an allegory, a myth."

"It may not be true," Justin says, "But it's true for us."

"I'd like to meet your sister someday," Eleanor says, knowing she's broaching a touchy subject for him.

"It's not going to happen," he says, "I don't know where she is, even."

"It wouldn't be that hard to find her," Eleanor suggests.

"I said no," Justin says firmly.

"I don't understand, you seem to have been close to her once. What happened that you don't want to know what became of her?"

"Elle, it's the past," Justin says with a sigh, lifting her into an embrace, "It's gone and done with."

"But your past is what makes you what you are. I want to know everything about you."

"I'm not my past," Justin insists, "You know everything there is to know."

Eleanor doubts that, but doesn't press it further, knowing he's on the point of closing down entirely.