Page 7 of Pete and His Precious

I don’t mean that in a mean way. I should have a padded room in order to do my recordings, but I can’t afford that, so Idid my best to make a little booth in my bedroom closet. The one wall borders my neighbor’s apartment, and occasionally I can hear things through the wall, noise my mic picks up and I have to re-record or try to edit out. It’s better for me when he’s not there.

“Alright ladies, I’m off to do some reporting,” I say, liking it when I’m able to say that. It’s not like I’ve got jobs lined up, but when I have a job, it makes me feel good to talk about it.

“Come see me when you’re ready to get set up,” Carrie calls after me.

“I’ll do that,” I say as I disappear up the steps. I don’t trust elevators. And, I’m on the first floor, so it’s not like I have a whole slew of them to go up.

My apartment building is kind of weird because you walk in the basement, it’s set against a bank, and the whole downstairs/basement is basically the sitting room, which the ladies are always in. It’s where they reupholster their furniture.

Someday,somedayI’ll be able to afford something a little nicer. Actually, I’d be real content to someday just be able to afford to eat vegetables along with my beans and rice.

Speaking of something nicer, my phone rings as I’m walking to my apartment, and I see that it’s my sister. She married money, divorced it, and is convinced that people are out to get her, because of it.

I suppose she could be right, but sometimes it’s a little bit hard to deal with.

I swipe my phone, knowing that if I don’t answer I will hear about it later, and it will be better for me if I just face her now.

I steel myself, paste a fake smile on my face, and put my phone to my ear. “Hey, Kylie,” I say.

“Zoe! Oh goodness, I need your help. Immediately. This is an emergency. I’m so glad you picked up.”

Everything is always over dramatized with Kylie. I love her. She’s a great sister. She would help me in a heartbeat, and wouldbe horrified if she knew the true state of my financial situation. The fact that she has more money than she would ever be able to spend a lifetime, and that’s saying a lot, doesn’t make her any less wonderful. But the drama. Goodness. The drama.

“Glad I picked up too,” I say, wishing I wouldn’t have, but knowing I can never just ignore her. It might really be something serious this time.

“I need a security guard for Bexley. People are figuring out where I live, and I’m heading to France, and I’m afraid for her life.”

Bexley is the sweetest. I’m not sure how she’s managed to be such a cute, innocent little girl with so much going on in her life, and so much drama for her mother, or maybe that’s what has done it. I don’t know. Sometimes it seems like the harsher circumstances we’re in, the better people we become.

“Don’t you think that’ll be a little ostentatious at school?”

“Oh I’m not worried about her at school. They have metal detectors, and armed guards in the building. It’s when she’s home, when she’s outside. I see cars on the street and all I can see are people who want to kidnap her and hold her for ransom. I have to do something about it.”

“All right. So... Do you need me to get you the number of a security firm?”

“It has to be someone local. I don’t trust those big-name companies. I’m taking my month-long trip to Paris and it needs to be someone I trust, someone I know.”

“All right. Do you want me to help you come up with a list of names?” I’m kind of grasping at straws here. It’s not like I’m the kind of person who needs security, and has ever even researched this topic.

“I need to know the name of the policeman who arrested you. I read that article, by the way. It’s so embarrassing that my sister was running around topless.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, closing my eyes and wondering if that will ever go away. I answer my own question. No. No it will not. I will never live that down.

“Anyway, after I got past the picture, the article said all kinds of wonderful things about the cop who arrested you. I know he handed you over to a female officer to take you in, but... was it Officer...” She drew the name out, like she was thinking. I could hear something that sounded like her snapping in the background.

I don’t know his name. I deliberately do not know his name. I tried to block out every possible thing I can from that day, and I do not want anything to remind me of it. Not even his name.

“I was hoping you could help me,” Kylie says, sounding exasperated, like I was supposed to fill in the name.

“I’m sorry. I guess I was concerned about animals that day, and I wasn’t paying attention to the policeman who arrested me.”

“You read the article. You have to know his name. You probably have the article hung up on your refrigerator!”

“I do not,” I said, trying not to sound exasperated. If I tell Kylie that I want to put that behind me and never talk about it again, I love her, bless her heart, but she’ll bring it up in every conversation that we ever have for the rest of my life. And since I’m planning on living another fifty or seventy years, that’s going to get old really fast.

“Pete!” I can almost hear Kylie jumping up with her hand in the air. “His name was Pete. What was his last name?” she asks, snapping her fingers again.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly.

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