Monday, April 3, 2017

Groove (Part 11)

     An hour and twenty minutes later, Rinny and I went back downstairs.  Jane and Kristen were playing Uno with two other residents at a table, Jane sitting in Kristen's lap.  Jane looked up at us, glanced at her watch, and said, "I see you went into the bonus rounds."
     Rinny replied, "We did.  That was.... wow.  So I don't suppose I could bribe you two into letting me keep him all night?"

     "Forget it, sister," Jane told her.  "Baby wants her candy.  Baby hasn't had her candy since the end of August.  Baby is going through two sets of AA batteries a week right now.  If baby doesn't get some action --- good action --- she'd gonna end up kidnapping and raping boys from the Applied Sciences labs, a trail of bodies in her wake.  Get me?"  Then, more quietly, "And I just miss being with Lenny.  It's not just the fucking, it's being held, and talking.  I miss my master, but I also miss the guy named Lenny Schneider."
     "You really, truly love him," Rinny said softly.
     "I do.  I'm lucky his wife shares him with me.  I've been hung up on Lenny since I was fourteen and living in Florida.  We all met when Lenny and Bekka were on their honeymoon.  Then, I came out to California, and I'm living under the same roof with them.  I didn't hide how I felt for Lenny --- and Bekka too --- but Bekka said, 'No way.'  Um, after about five months, things changed.  Bekka decided it would be okay if Lenny and me were lovers, so long as I didn't try to steal him away completely.  And after that, it was all three of us.  Not all the time, but we'd all have fun together sometimes.  I had boyfriends in high school, but Lenny was my rock, Bekka too.  I love them both, in a lot of ways."  Moving to more pressing matters she smirked, "So, how was he, girl?  He make you come?"
     Rinny got pink, but stil retorted, "Yes, he did.  Three times, and damn hard.  Do you want me to file a report?"
     Kristen said, "Ooh.  Yes!  A detailed report!  Blow by blow, spare no detail!"
     Turning to me, Rinny gave me a hug and said, "I don't think I've said it.  Thank you.  I needed that, it was wonderful.  Becky Pa---  Bekka is a lucky woman.  Jane is too, I suppose."  With one of her studying gazes, she asked, "How often do you come up to the Bay Area?"
     "It's sporadic," I told her.  "Don't try to make plans around me, and don't assume I'll be available.  Okay?  If it happens again, great.  You were awesome yourself.  But I can't say it will happen again."
     "Okay."  Her eyes were wet.  "Just.... Don't be a stranger.  Call me every now and then.  Or take my calls if I ring you at work.  Okay?"
     "That's fine.  And if you don't hear from me for a long interval, don't take it personally, I'm just busy.  Inana makes me rich, but I work hard for that money.  When a major project is going on, I work 120 hour weeks."
     Jane tittered, "When he's working on a script, he'll lock himself in this horrible little room in our house he calls his office, and do nothing except pound the keyboard and make phone calls for three days straight.  I think he pees out the window when he does that routine."
     I shot back at Jane, "Don't be silly.  I use a Gatorade bottle.  And I do come out, off and on."
     "We have to remind you to eat!  You try to live on meth and Mountain Dew and Marlboros!  You get in your groove, so Bekka and I have to remind you to eat, and move around, and maybe even fucking sleep every few days!  You get in your groove, and you try to act like you're a cyborg.  A cyborg fueled by methamphetamine and cigarettes."
     :But I get the job done, now don't I?  And everyone seems happy with the results."
     A guy and a girl came up to me and gave me a tap.  "You're Leonard Schneider, aren't you?" the guy asked.
     "Someone had to be, and I drew short straw," I told him.  "How ya doing?"
     The girl handed me a copy of "Good Girl/Bad Girl" and a Sharpie.  "Could we get your autograph?  We love Inana's movies, but this one is our favorite so far.  '180 Strokes Per Minute' is our second-favorite.  So how did you end up here tonight?"
     Gesturing, I said, "Jane here is a very close friend, and she's in her freshman year at UCB.  I came up to visit.  We heard about the party tonight, so here we are.  What are your names?"  They told me, so I wrote "Hello, Scott and Marcia!  Cheers -- Lenny Schneider" on the back of the liner notes.
     Marcia said to Jane, "Thanks for giving us the Ecstasy earlier.  Whoa!  I'd heard about Smiley, but we've never been able to find it.... or if we did, the bastard selling it wanted forty bucks a hit.  This stuff really is the bomb.  Hey, we're gonna go up to Tilden Park later, to watch the sun rise.  You two wanna come with?"
     Jane smiled and replied, "Um, we actually have some plans already, we'll be leaving after we finish this game.  Thanks, though."
     The couple drifted off.  Jane said to me, "Wow, you've been doing the autograph thing all night.  You never do that very often, do you?  How many autographs have you signed here?"
     I puzzled and replied, "Um, about eighteen or twenty.  But my hunch is that if Bekka was with us, nobody would give a shit about my presence."
     "Oh, some of us would," Rinny said airily, looking at the ceiling.  "I like what I got much more than an autograph."
     Jane teased, "But it's harder to show that off to your friends.  What are you going to do, show your friends the stains on your sheets?  Or did you have Lenny come in a jar for you?"
     "Don't be gross," said Kristen.  "Although...."
     "What?" I asked.
     "Any objections if I bring my camera when we go to the hotel?  I'm kind of a voyeur, I think it would be so killer to have the events documented, you know?"
     "Fine, fine.  Remember though, you can't just drop off rolls of film with that sort of stuff on them at the local drug store for developing.  They'll bust you."
     "I know.  I'll have some dork from the journalism school at North Gate Hall to develop them for cost of materials and twenty bucks," Kristen assured me.  "Not being able to develop pictures like that at Walgreen's is bullshit anyway.  Who's gonna see the pictures?  It's not like the public will."
     I pointed out, "True, but the sensibilities of the film techs may be offended.  And your prints are sitting in those open alphabetized bins out front, for you to pick up.  Any jerk could go pawing through your envelope for the sheer hell of it, and find the pictures."
     "I'd be pretty annoyed if I found pictures like that," said a guy sitting at the table.
     Jane gave him a look and asked, "You'd be offended by seeing pictures of people having sex?  Do you ever look at porn?"
     "No, I don't.  And it's not prudery on my part, people can have all the different kinds of sex they want, and more power to 'em.  But.... It's also something that, to me, is a very private thing.  Sex is a personal thing to me, I like to keep it private.  Porn has always kind of creeped me out, I can't even imagine having sex with other people in the room..... And having it photographed or put on film, or whatever.  I'd feel like what I was doing had no meaning, it was just, like, a performance, you know?"
     I snickered, Jane burst into laughter.  She said, "When it comes to porn, performance is exactly what it is!  And no, there is no meaning in what happens on a sound stage.  You're not having sex, really, you're producing a video.  Lemme explain...."
     Jane gave him the lecture about the difference between sex in real life, and the physical interactions that happen on a porn sound stage, using her own loops as examples.  When she finished, the dude said, "Whoa.  You've really made porn?"
     "Sure have," Jane grinned.  "I had fun.  It let the exhibitionist in me come out in a big way.  That's something else you're forgetting.  Some people like being watched."
     "Okay, fine," the dude shrugged.  "If someone asked me to watch him have sex with his girlfriend, I'd wish him the best, and turn him down.  I'd be uncomfortable.  It's my hangup, no one else's.  It's just how I feel, instinctively."
     Jane started to say, "You...."  Then she cut herself off.
     Looking to one side, Jane said, "Nothing.  I realized what I was going to say would be insulting, and very unfair.  I was going to chastise you for not having the same feelings on the subject as me, and that would be bullshit on my part.  We just.... have different views, and it's not my place to try and change your views.  I should respect them instead."
     The dude looked at Jane with an expression of gratitude.  "Thank you," he said softly.  "We may not agree, but we can still respect each other."
     A few minutes later another guy at the table --- who had dressed like Hugh Hefner, with the robe and ascot and pipe --- won the game.  Kristen and Jane said their goodbyes, and we headed to Kristen's room to call a cab.  While I dialed, Kristen pulled down Jane's bustier and began sucking a nipple, to Jane's appreciation.  After I finished the call, I addressed the two of them.  "So, did anyone comment on the grope-a-thon you two were having downstairs?"
     "We explained that....  oooohh.... our interest in each other was....  ooooh...... frankly carnal, and.... aaahh.... we'd figure out if we like each.....  oh yeah.... other as people later," Jane replied.
     "Well, my young sensualists, I was told five minutes.  At this hour, in Berkeley, that's a fair judgement.  Let's get out front."
     Out on the sidewalk, I didn't even have time to light a cigarette before the cab showed up.  The three of us piled in the back seat, me saying, "Marina Marriott, please."
     The driver didn't start the meter, or put the taxi in gear.  He was an old bastard who looked like he'd gone to a plastic surgeon and said, "Make me look like Charles Bukowski on a bad day."  Instead, he said, "That'll be about fourteen dollars."
      "Okay," I shrugged.
     "You got fourteen dollars, junior?" the driver asked.
     Putting some steel in my voice, I retorted, "If I didn't have any fucking cash, I wouldn't have called a cab."
      "I wanna see the color of your money first."
      Now I was feeling annoyed.  In the Bay Area, security screens between the front and back seats are a rarity in taxis.  He didn't have one.  I pulled out two twenties.  I was seated right behind him, so I leaned forward, grabbed him by the throat with my left hand, and pulled myself forward so my head was next to his.  I said, "Open your mouth."
     He did, wordlessly.  I put the folded twenties in his mouth, then let go and leaned back in the seat.  I told him, "There.  More than enough. If you keep your fucking mouth shut the entire way to the Marriott, you keep it all.  If you speak, I pay the exact amount on the meter, and nothing more.  Have I made myself clear?  Nod your head."  The driver nodded, started the meter, and rolled away.
     Jane and Kristen kept their hands to themselves on the ride to the hotel, talking about their classes.  Kristen was a sophomore, from Santa Rosa.  At Cloyne Court, she was "legacy."  Both parents had also lived in Cloyne when they went to UC Berkeley.  They were bohemian types, and felt that the experiences Kristen would have at Cloyne would be valid ones.  Kristen said, "They're gonna freak when I tell them I tried Smiley, and for free!  They've tried it a couple times, and loved it.  I guess it's kinda weird for somebody's parents to be telling their kid to go out and try a drug on purpose, but....  whatever.  I started smoking pot when I was twelve, the day after my first mense.  My parents were all, 'You are now officially no longer a child, so you can enjoy things adults can.  We're going to show you how to use a bong.'  It's been pretty nice.  I could talk to them about anything at all.  I never got in any real trouble, I was a good kid.  When I had my first kiss, I told them about it.  When I lost my virginity, I told them about it.  I was curious about sex toys, so I asked my mom about them.... Yeah, it's really unusual for your own mom to buy you your first vibrator, I guess.  Especially as a fifteenth birthday present."
      I looked in the rear view mirror.  The driver kept glancing back at us.  His jaw was wobbling, but his lips stayed closed.  Kristen and Jane went on to discuss when and how they'd learned to give a blowjob (again, Kristen had sought Mom's advice) and when they realized that girls had as much appeal as boys.  Jane commented, "Florida is pretty backwards, so of course I'd been told I wasn't supposed to think about other girls like that.  Well, shit, I'm already getting fucked by my dad, which was way worse, so why should I give myself grief for thinking girls are hot?"
     The taxi stopped at the front of the hotel and we got out.  I told the driver, "Enjoy the tip."  He started to slowly roll away, then stopped after thirty feet and yelled out the window, "Goddamn weirdo perverts!  Goddamn college students!" and sped off.
     "Gosh, he got the last word in, didn't he?" giggled Jane.
     We were walking past the front desk when the clerk said, "Excuse me."
     The three of us stopped.  "Yes?" I asked.
     "Where are you headed?"
     "Would you believe to our room?" Jane said pointedly.
     "What name are you reg---"
     Cutting him off, I stated, "Leonard Schneider and Jane Osborne, room 3212.  A suite, smoking.  We already have two pay-per-view charges.  Would you like the number of the Visa card the room is being paid for with, stupid?"  I pulled out my wallet, grabbed the card, and said in a loud and slow voice, "Card holder, Leonard Schneider.  Card number 3443 6817 56...."
     "Yes, thank you sir, I see your registration, enjoy your evening, good night."  The clerk clicked a couple things on his computer keyboard and hurried through a doorway, removing himself from the situation.   Jane and I looked at each other and shook our heads.  "Damn glorified doorman," Jane said.
     It was 3:38 a.m. when we got in the room.  Our happy fun times finally came to a complete stop around 8:45.  We ordered some breakfast from room service.  Kristen had never used a glass pipe before, she'd only snorted, so we showed her how to smoke meth.  When our food arrived, Jane and I told her to ignore the fact that she no longer felt hungry, and eat anyway.  She'd been hungry when we ordered, right?  Don't let the appetite-killing effect of meth rule you, always remember to eat.
     We scanned through the options for porn on pay-per-view, and saw "Blood-Stained Kisses" was one of the options.  So was "Good Girl/Bad Girl."  Kristen hadn't seen "Kisses" yet, so we turned it on.  Thirty minutes in, the fun times started up again, the events on the screen inspiring us.  This time, we stayed busy until eleven.  Oh poop, I gotta call Bekka.
     "And how was your night?" Bekka asked over the phone.
     I started singing, "I.... ain't got nobody.... 'cept love songs in love...."
     Bekka giggled and said, "That's not the right lyrics to 'Just a Gigolo."
     "Philistine," I said.  "That's the Louis Prima version.   You're probably only familiar with that stomach-wrenching version David Lee Roth did."
     "Imagine my surprise when the phone rang when it did, and there's a college girl on the other end.  First she spent two minutes telling me what a big fan she is, and how she has the utmost respect for me, and she hopes she's not waking me up, and on and on.  I finally told her that I wasn't asleep yet, but the hour was late, and did she have a reason for the call?  I swear, I could hear her hyperventilating into the phone, then she announces, 'If it's okay with you, may I fuck your husband?'  I asked her what her name was, she said it was Ginny.  So I said, Ginny, knock yourself out.  Go have fun, but make sure he has fun too.  Goodnight.'  And I hung up.
     "She called back two minutes later, saying, 'Ms. Schneider, you're absolutely sure it's okay?'  I told her that if it wasn't, she'd have heard a long string of swearing in Italian, then my hand would have reached out of her phone and strangled her where she stood.  And the poor girl says, 'Can you really do that?'  Oh boy.  So I said, 'Yes, I learned the trick from a Tibetan monk who works as a lineman for Pacific Bell.  You're wasting time, darling, go fuck my husband.'  She hung up without saying goodbye."
     After I caught my breath from laughing so hard, I said, "Yes, Rinny --- it's Rinny, not Ginny --- strikes me as a bit gullible.  This was probably exacerbated by beer and Ecstasy.  I fear Rinny is another fan who believes you as super-human, a superhero.  She's intimidated just by the idea of Becky Page.  If you'd been up here, she probably have been afraid to speak to you directly, and would have averted her eyes in your presence."
     Bekka noted, "And if I'd been up there, I'd have told her no."
     "Babe, you had Jane and, uh, Kristen in bed with you last night, correct.  If I'd been with you, you'd have had three women in bed at the same time.  I wouldn't have risked the chance of you wearing yourself out completely.  You're quite the stud in your own right, but you're still human."
     "Don't worry, things went fine for all concerned," I promised.  "Any plans for the day?"
     "When I hang up with you, I'm going to Triplet's for brunch with my three guards.  Drummer will be coming down this afternoon, he's feeling lonely without Terry around, so he'll drive the Nova up here.  I tuned in KNX on the stereo for a while, but didn't hear any news about Haley.  What are your plans for the day?"
     "We're meeting Riley, Hunchback, and Monk at Cloyne Court at three.  Monk says he has some mushrooms which are out of this world, so we'll double-pack up to Tilden Park and wander around high for a while.  Then we'll probably go back to Cloyne and order pizza."
     "That's about as productive as any Sunday should be," Bekka said.  "I'm going to take off, babe.  I'm starving, and my entourage probably is too.  Call tonight before midnight?"
     "No sweat," I told her.  "You want to talk to Jane?"
     Bekka paused, then said, "Actually, would you put Kristen on the line, if she's still there?"
     I handed the phone to Kristen, who suddenly looked terrified. She nervously said, "Hello?" into the phone.  Then,she giggled and said, "Yes..... Oh yeah.  Oh God, yes, you were right......  Actually, no, it was new to me.....  I think so, they didn't complain.....  Really?  Huh......  Wow..... Yeah, that makes sense.....  Well.....  Huh.  Maybe?  I don't know.....  Okay.... 'Kay, bye."  She handed the phone back to me.
     Bekka said to me, "Well!  You would seem to be getting rave reviews.  Now I want to hear this girl Rinny's opinion of your abilities."
     I said, "She's an anthropology major, she told Jane she was going to write a report and give it to her.  I'll make sure Jane sends down a copy.  Did Rinny tell you the big reason she was interested in me?"  Bekka confessed her ignorance.  "She told me she wanted to experience what it was Becky Page experienced when Becky Page had sex in her leisure time, and with the man she married.  I'm not sure what she was expecting, but I brought my A game.  I guess she figures that if a man can satisfy Becky Page, it's gotta be quite an event to be with that man."
     There was a slightly bitter tone to Bekka's chuckle.  "I wonder if other porn stars are given as much consideration as I am."
     "Probably not," I replied.  "Inana Girls are, but overall, you watch a porn star in action, you rarely get the idea she's really having fun.  She's either looking bored and passive, or she's so obviously putting on a show you want to slap her.  Inana Girls, you especially, have enough thespian talent to look like you're genuinely involved with the proceedings.  You all actively participate, but you don't oversell, you know?"
     "I know you well enough to assume you got Rinny's contact information.  Maybe I'll call her every now and then, just to chat.  Talk about completely everyday things, work, school, whatever.  I'll have someone almost completely unconnected to Southern California to talk to, and she'll learn --- hopefully --- that I am not Becky Page, and Becky Page is not a superhero."
    After we hung up, the girls and I showered (one at a  time).  Then we headed for Jane's place.  She wanted to drop off the bag of Ecstasy --- "I don't like being a walking felony all the time" --- and Kristen wanted to tape a Skinny Puppy album she had.  We rode the taxi to the residence hall and went in.
     Walking into the room, Jane was up front.  She suddenly gasped and stopped.  I looked over her to see what the problem was, and spotted it immediately.  Kaitlyn was lying face down on the floor, not moving.  She had no shoes on, and it looked like there was dirt all over the back of her blouse and skirt.  Jane quickly went to her and shook a shoulder, rolling her partway on her side.  "Kaitlyn!  Kaitlyn!  Are you okay?"
     Kaitlyn swam slowly out of the ether and gazed unsteadily at Jane.  She slurred, "What are you doing here?"
     "We stopped by to make a tape.  Why are you passed out on the floor?  What happened?"
     The preppy princess slowly looked around the room.  "I'm....  home?  What time is it?"
     "A little past noon," Jane answered.  "Where have you been?  What happened?"
     The slurring voice said, "I was.... atta party, a house oh Warring Street.....  Issa good party, lotsa people....  How did I get home?"
     "You got the hell beat out of us," Jane answered.  "Your clothes are filthy.  What happened at the party?  Do you remember anything?"
     A pause, then, "Talkin' to a guy....  One of the bros from that house.  He said he had Ecstasy, the stuff like you had.  It looked different, though.  Um....  He gave me the Ecstasy, an' we went back down to the kegs for another beer.....  An'.....  damn.....  I don't know after that....."
     Jane, Kristen, and I all glanced at each other.  We were all thinking the same thing.  Kaitlyn started to nod off again, and Jane let her.  Then she lifted Kaitlyn's skirt and looked at her crotch  "Her underwear is gone, it looks like she's got dried blood on her thighs....  Shit.  No doubt what happened.  And figure it's been a minimum of ten hours since she got drugged, and she's still out of it, so who knows what the fuck they used."  She sighed and said, "I hate saying this, but it's time to dial 911.  I don't want to just chuck her onto her bed and hope for the best."
     "Not a problem," I said, stepping towards the phone.
     Kristen said, "Leave her on her side.  That way, if she pukes, she won't inhale it.  She doesn't look like Jimi Hendrix, she shouldn't die like him."  Her and Jane used sofa cushions to prop Kaitlyn up.
     "Ambulance on the way," I said.  "I didn't give them much detail, just the we got here and found your roommate passed out on the floor.  The ER staff will certainly be ringing Johnny Law in a little while, once they examine her.  Damn, we'd better call Riley to tell him we have to cancel, who knows how long we'll be there."
     "I'll call her parents from the hospital," Jane said.  She went and grabbed a roll of quarters from her sleeping alcove.  "I'm not sure what I'll say.  'Hi, your daughter was drugged and raped last night, how's things down there in Irvine?'  Fuck."
     I took a closer look at Kaitlyn's back.  I commented, "The dirt on her back is really rubbed in.  Hold on...."  I knelt down and lifter her skirt again, briefly looking at her ass.  "Her butt is covered with dirt, too.  It's like she was dragged on the ground by her legs, in a backyard with wet soil.  Yeah, there's dirt in her hair, too."
     Jane got on the phone and called Riley.  He wasn't home, so she dialed his pager and left the number.  He called back a couple minutes later from the Oakland H.A. clubhouse.  She explained what was going on, and that we were going to be at the hospital for a while.  Maybe next weekend would be better.
     The front door buzzer went off, and the EMTs from Paramedics Plus announced their presence.  They finagled the gurney into the room, we slid a sofa back, and they got Kaitlyn onto the gurney.  Kaitlyn became semiconscious when she was being wheeled towards the door and mumbled something, then went back out.  The EMTs had determined her pulse was steady but rather light.  Her blood pressure was low, too.  We asked which hospital, they said Alta Bates, the closest emergency room.  They asked if anyone wanted to ride with her.  "I will," volunteered Jane.  "I'm her roommate."
     I called Green Cab for a pickup, they said five to seven minutes.  Kristen and I went downstairs so I could smoke.  Kristen noted, "Jesus, it's like a fucking textbook case of date rape.  I'm worried what they used to knock her out was more heavy than a Roofie.  That shit wears off in five or six hours.  If she got the dose at a frat party that was still bumpin', it was probably no later then two a.m."
     The cab got us to the hospital, where Jane was in the waiting room.  She'd had to provide information, some of which she didn't know, like Kaitlyn's birthday or Social Security number.  One of the ER staffers was on her shit list.  "He kept looking at me and asking, 'You're sure you don't know what she was given?' like I'd drugged her myself."
     I sneered, "Well, all us punk rock types are heroin addicts, so obviously Kaitlyn asked you to get her high, and you hit her too large, too much junk at once."
     About twenty minutes later, an ER staffer came out of a door and gestured to Jane.  The three of us went over.  Our suspicions were confirmed: heavily sedated on an unknown drug (blood test still in process), bruising on her hips, thighs, and breasts, torn vaginal tissue, consistent with extended intercourse and a lack of lubrication.  It struck Jane that we hadn't seen Kaitlyn's purse anywhere in the unit.
     Berkeley PD arrived a few minutes later.  They talked with the ER staff first, then came to interview us.  They weren't happy that we knew almost nothing.  No, we had no idea where she'd gone last night.  Our assumption was a frat party, that was her scene and it was Rush Week.  No, we wouldn't know which house.  We had no clue how to get a hold of any friends she might have been with, Jane only knew a couple first names.  She finally told the cops, "Kaitlyn and I share a residence unit.  We don't share food, clothes, music, friends, or even basic information about our lives.  The most informative thing I can do is give you the first names and room numbers of a couple people she knows in our building, and her parents' home number, down in Irvine.  Kaitlyn has never liked me, and made it clear our live would be completely separate.  She tells me nothing about her life, I don't even know her class schedule."
     The cops left to go to the residence hall to see if they could track down Kaitlyn's friends there.  We stepped out front to smoke.  When we finished, Jane sighed deeply and said, "Here goes nothing.  I'm headed to the pay phones to call her folks."
     Kristen and I tagged along.  Jane dialed, then started shoving quarters into the slot.  She waited while the phone rang.  Finally she said, "Hello, is this Austen?  This is Jane, Kaitlyn's roommate.  Look, I've got really fucked-up news, and I'm just going to say it.   I got home a while ago, I'd been out all night, and I found Kaitlyn passed out on the floor of our room.  I couldn't really rouse her, so I called 911.  Um, the people here at the ER say she's been drugged, and she shows signs of having been raped.  Me and my friends are going to stay here at the hospital until we find out what's going on, it's Alta Bates in Berkeley.  I'm really sorry to have to tell you this....
     "I don't know......  I don't know, I left yesterday afternoon, and got home maybe an hour ago....  No.....  I'm sorry, but I really have no idea.....  No, she.....  No...."  Jane suddenly made a hissing noise and said in a forceful voice, "All right, look.  Your daughter has made it crystal fucking clear that we stay out of each other's lives.  When my friends come over, I introduce them.  Kaitlyn doesn't extend that courtesy to me with her friends.  I don't know the names of her friends, I don't know where they live, I don't know where they hang out, and I don't know where the fuck Kaitlyn would go to party on a Saturday night.  She tells me nothing.  The best I could offer to do is go through her desk and see if I can find an address book, then read off names and numbers to you.  The cops want to know who she was with, too.....
     "Yes, they were.....  No.... No, I didn't.  The ER did.....  Of course they did!  It's kind of a normal course of action when they have an obvious rape victim on their hands, and one who's unable to speak.....  Oh, God..... I have no idea, you'll have to ask them...... Berkeley PD, lady, I don't have their fucking phone number memorized!  I mean, what are.....  WHAT!? ....  Jesus Christ, lady, you're....."  Thee was a full minute of Jane being silent.  Her face showed open-mouthed amazement and shock.  She finally said, "So that's your main concern.  How lovely.  You..... No.  No, I won't.....  Look, woman, your phone works just as well as mine, you can do your own fucking research!  So are you coming up here? .... Good.  See you tomorrow afternoon, I'll be home by a quarter after five.  And believe me, I can't wait to talk to you face to face."  Jane slammed  the phone into the cradle so hard I thought it would crack.
     Jane turned to us and said, "Well, I think I understand why Kaitlyn is the way she is a little better now.  I got a glimpse into the sort of priorities her parents have.  Go ahead, guess what her mother was most concerned about."  We shrugged.  Jane yelled, "Whether this would be in the fucking papers or not!  They don't want the fucking family name connected to a rape, even if their daughter was the victim!  Jesus fucking Christ!"
     I noted, "And Kaitlyn's mom hasn't read a paper in a while.  The media provides no information about rape victims these days, not even first names.  The most they'd say would be initials.  If they did report it, all they'd say would be 'The victim was K.L.H., a college student.'  Not even 'A UC Berkeley college student.'  She worries about nothing."
     "I need another fucking cigarette," Jane announced, so we went out front again.
     When we returned, an ER staffer came over and said, "Kaitlyn will be admitted for the night.  She is regaining consciousness, but is still very lethargic.  The blood tests show a high level of Rohypnol in her system, double what would be expected.   She's lucky, she had an overdose level of Rohypnol in her, she could have died.  Be glad you found her, and called an ambulance instead of hoping she'd sleep it off."
     The nurse cleared her throat and continued in a lower voice.  "We have semen samples.  These will be tested for venereal disease and blood type.... and to also determine the number of men involved.  I believe you already stated you don't know where Kaitlyn may have been."
     "No fucking clue," said Jane.  "A frat house, I can pretty much set book on that.  Which one, who knows.  It's Rush Week --- it was, anyway --- and all the frat houses have been competing to see who can throw the biggest blow-out."
     "Well....  We'll get that information from Kaitlyn when she's fully conscious.  She should be discharged tomorrow afternoon.  Will you be able to provide transportation for her?"
     "I don't have a car.  I'll be in class.  The best I can do is give you money for cab fare."  Jane pulled her wallet out to had the nurse a couple bills.  "Her parents will be in town tomorrow, I know that.  What time, I'm not sure.  At the moment, I would happily kill them both with a chainsaw, so I'm not looking forward to their arrival.  Here...."
     Jane pulled a slip of paper out of her purse and wrote seven numbers on it.  "There's my pager number.  When Kaitlyn is being released, and if her parents aren't around, page me.  I'll leave class and come get her.  Fair enough?"
     "That's fine," said the nurse.  "I'm sure Kaitlyn will appreciate what you've done for her."
      After staring at the nurse for a few seconds, Jane burst into laughter.  When she stopped, she told the confused nurse, "Actually, she won't.  Not even a little."

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