17. Live by the Phone, Die by the Phone

Lana’s cell phone rang. It was Jill.
“Hi, Jill. What up?”
“Lana! So glad I caught you!”
“Caught me.”
“Yes… well, we got your copy, and uh…”
“Spit it.”
“It’s great, of course, but we think you should leave out the Biblical references. Our readership might be offended by that.”
Lana giggled.
“Oh, sure. No prob. I’ll do another draft and send it to you within the hour.”
“Thank you so much!”
“Thank you, so much!”
She clambered onto the couch, surrounded by the Tory and Mea. She opened the laptop and typed out a new draft, sans Bible. She copied, pasted, and hit send. Done. Painless.

She sat and petted Tory who purred. She reflected upon the fact that when Scott was away, as now, the cats were so much more present and relaxed. She wondered if, beyond merely ignoring them and tossing them off of things, he mistreated them in more blatant ways out of the range of her senses. The equally dark understanding that she herself relaxed and became more present when Scott was away followed this thought. She understood that her marriage was in trouble. She felt her love for her husband evaporating. It was if that emotion came in a container that had developed a leak. If it were a balloon, she’d be throwing things overboard to keep it aloft. She’d become alarmed about the loss of altitude. It was a serious problem, because she had always been on some level afraid of Scott. Early on, that might have been part of the allure. He was strong, well toned, and while not a huge man, certainly bigger than she. There was, therefore, a certain physical frisson of danger, and therefore fear, that had been an aphrodisiac at first. Now that they’d been married for a while, and he’d had the chance to show his true, controlling colors, she was finding him as alarming and problematic as ever, but also finding herself tense and careful, on eggshells really, when he was around. When he was gone, she could breathe and be herself. She began to ponder the possibility of leaving him. It began to seem not so much if, but when. Once the idea worked its way up from the depths to the light of day, it was just a step away from becoming an action item on her agenda.

What might the action be? One thing she thought of, especially regarding things like art work, journals, books, and things he tended to try to keep from her, such as the law books, was the idea of renting a storage space where she could bit by bit begin to extricate herself. She pondered this, and shook her head. It seemed surreal that she was even thinking these things. Yet, here she was thinking them. It was Mea’s turn for pets. She soon had the darling upside down and purring like a locomotive. She picked up the laptop for another article in “Connections.” Perhaps this time she’d give them an exclusive.

Julian’s cell phone was ringing.
“Yes?”
“Hi, Professor.”
“Who is this?”
“This is Justin.”
Justin was a Lit 2 student.
“What’s up, Justin?”
“I wanted to tell you that a few of us went over to Parkersburg and checked out the Bald Eagle airstrip.”
“Against my advice.”
“Yeah. Well, we know you’re unable to say what you really think.”
“That’s not quite right…”
“Whatever.”
“No, I actually was thinking it was a bad idea to put yourselves in harm’s way like that.”
“No harm. We got in and out, fact finding, and were undetected.”
“Good!”
“Well, do you want to know what we found?”
“No. Well, OK, since you went to the trouble.”
“First of all, that airstrip. It’s not on a mountaintop. It’s next to the river.”
“I know. Google Earth.”
“Right. Also, there are no Babes hanging out there. The hangar was open, and there was no Cub.”
“Did you talk to anybody?”
“Yeah. Steve came up with a story about wanting flying lessons.”
“Whom did you talk to?”
“I forget the guy’s name. Steve might remember. He was the one doing all the talking.”
“Well, can you summarize the conversation.”
“Yo. Steve said, ‘we were looking to take flying lessons. Do you teach, dude?’ So the dude says, like, no.’ So Steve said, ‘yeah, like our girls really want to go up in a plane.’”
“And what did he say to that?”
“He laughed. So Steve asked if his girls did too. The guy was lol at this. He said, no, his ‘girl,’ and then he said, ‘meaning my wife,’ won’t go up in a small plane. He said, ‘just the thought makes her puke.’”
“So.”
“So, that’s not Amy’s field.”
“I think you two…”
“Jim went too.”
“OK, you three are lacking what I would call ‘good judgment.’”
“But hey, Prof, don’t you want to give us points for trying?”
“No. I want you to stop trying.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Bye, guys. I recommend that you study and quit snooping.”

Julian ended the call, and then looked at his cell phone for a moment. He scrolled through his contacts for the number of his brother, the G-man. If anybody could find out something about somebody, it would be an FBI agent. He pushed ‘talk,’ and the number was dialed. His brother picked up on the third torturous ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, brother.”
Laughter, as his brother feels the joy of recognition at the voice of an infrequent but welcome caller.
“Jules!”
“Chuck!”
“What’s up? Not that it’s not always good to hear from you.”
“I was wondering… I guess I’m looking for your professional opinion about something.”
“Uh-oh.”
Julian laughed.
“No, it’s not anything too serious. It’s just that I’ve been reading this blog. Some of the students are also reading it, and some of them think this person might be in some sort of personal trouble.”
“What sort of trouble, do they think?”
“The way she writes it, it seems like she’s worried that she might get hurt or something. The students, some of ‘em, mostly women, think she might be a battered woman, or something like that.”
“Does the writer say that, exactly?”
“No.”
“Then it’s just speculation.”
“True. But don’t you think if someone was blogging and they had a battering husband…”
“Let me stop you right there. If there’s a batterer involved, it’s likely that he knows about the blog. They usually run a tight ship with regard to outside contact. That’s one. Two, if that’s the crime, it’s a matter for the local police, and not the Federal government.”
“I know that, Charlie, but… I was wondering if there’s any way to find out about somebody who’s name you don’t know.”
“Of course there’s a way. The Bureau can certainly investigate the shit out of anyone on the planet. But I can’t help you identify a woman who has committed no crime, and is merely reported by hearsay as being in some vague domestic trouble. Is she that hot?”
His brother was chortling at him all the way from the Nation’s Capital.
“Charlie, I never could get anything past you. It’s not so much that she’s hot, though she puts out some heat. She’s the most interesting thing that has happened across my desk lately. She blogs under the name “Amy Lissa.” That’s a pseudonym. When I Pipl it or Spokeo it, you get nothing.”
“Pipl and Spokeo are primitive and inaccurate.”
“I know. That’s why I’m calling you.”
“I’m sorry Justin. I really can’t do anything for you.”
“It’s not that you can’t…”
“It is that I can’t. The integrity of the Bureau is important to me, and should be to all Americans.”
“Oh, Charlie! It pains me that you really believe that!”
“Hey, bro, it’s my life’s work. What if I said, I can’t believe you like that literary crap!”
“Actually, I think you have said it.”
Again, his brother’s laughter crackles in his ear.
“I suppose you’re right!”
“Ah, well. Still. It’s great to hear your voice.
“Same here.”

After a few more minutes of light banter, Julian hung up. His brother was a great fellow, and he told the funniest stories about the “Bureau.” He was, however, a true believer in truth, justice, and the American way, and unless that woman decided to blow up a Federal building, there wasn’t anything on earth that would get him to investigate.

Without a name, he was dead in the water.