Sarai Walker - Dietland

“What about this favor you want?” There was no reason to lounge by the pool—I dived right in.

“Not yet.” She tapped her fingers on the table, surveying the café over my shoulders. I’d always laughed at Julia’s paranoia, but now if she was scooped up in a net, I’d be scooped up too.

“Relax,” I said, glancing around.

“I can’t relax. The heat has been turned up.”

“What heat?” She didn’t answer but fanned herself with a menu. “What did you think when you heard the news about Jennifer?” I wanted to gauge her reaction.

“It’s shocking,” she said, still peering around, not appearing shocked.

“Was it actually news to you, Julia?”

Her focus returned to me, her eyes narrowing beneath her smudged charcoal lids, her Bambi lashes. She moistened her lips with her tongue, amused. “I remember when I first met you in the Beauty Closet,” she said. “You were so timid. I remember you blushing when I asked you what color your nipples are. Now look at you.” She reached over the table and picked up my drink. My bottom lip was imprinted on the glass, a furry caterpillar in gloss, just below the rim. Julia drank from the same spot.

“I remember that meeting as well. You were shifty then, as you are now.”

She slid the glass back to my side of the table. “As much as I’m enjoying this conversation, it’s time to discuss the favor.”

I considered taking another drink from my glass, but didn’t. “You should have I need a favor printed on your business cards.”

“I trust you. I don’t trust many people,” she said, seeming sincere. “Meet me in the bathroom in two minutes.” She stood up, straightening the collar of her trench and disappearing into the bathroom. I waited a couple minutes, then followed.

“At the end,” Julia said from behind a stall door. There were three stalls. The first two were empty. I opened the door to the third stall and squeezed inside, which wasn’t easy. Julia and I stood chest to chest in the cramped cubicle.

“I’m in deep trouble, Plum,” she said, her usual swagger replaced with something like desperation.

I wanted to back away from her, but there wasn’t room. “I’m not sure I want to know, Julia.” I had wanted to know before, but in this moment I was afraid.

“Please,” she said. “I need you to ask Verena for money, as much as you can get. Tell her it’s for you. Make up a story. You can say you have debts.”

I felt my stomach tighten. “Why do you need money?”

“It’s not for me.”

“Then who is it for?” I knew what she was going to say, but I needed to hear her say it.

“It’s for her. ”

If we weren’t locked in the narrow stall, my emotions would have overflowed. “I knew it,” I said, trying to stay measured. “I knew you were lying this whole time.” I’d been on the margins of this, whatever it was, and now I was moving closer to the center. I reached past Julia to unlock the stall door.

“She needs your help,” Julia said, blocking me, reaching out and placing her hands on my shoulders.

I thought of Leeta regularly, never suspecting that she might think of me too. “Is she okay?”

“No, she’s not.”

“Where is she?”

Julia shook her head. “It’s better that you don’t know. Knowing too much will put you in danger.”

“You mean even more danger than you’ve already put me in?” It wasn’t only my stomach that had tightened—every part of me was contracting. I reached for my throat, placing my hand at the base of my neck. “Why does she need money?”

“She needs to escape, make a run for it.”

I leaned sideways, resting against the burnished metal wall of the stall, letting it absorb my weight. “Is this really happening?” I coughed a nervous laugh. Wake up, I said to myself. This must be a nightmare. I thought about my shoplifting, my brick, my arguments with strangers. That was the minor leagues.

“What has she done, exactly?” Everyone wanted to know the answer to this question. Cheryl Crane-Murphy alone had devoted weeks to the topic. Here I was, actually in a position to find out.

“Whatever she did, she did for Luz,” Julia said.

“Tell me.”

“I can’t. It’s better for you if you don’t know. That’s the truth.”

“But, Julia, I can’t help you if I don’t know. You’re asking me to be part of this.”

The door to the bathroom opened and Julia placed her index finger on my lips. The sink turned on then off; the blower turned on then off. After a few minutes, the bathroom door opened then closed.

She removed her finger from my lips, the tip slick with my gloss. “Darkest Plum?”

“How did you know?”

“I know every shade of lip-gloss.”

“Julia, you’re changing the subject.”

“Please don’t ask me any more questions. Just know I never wanted to be involved in any of this. She came to me for help and I couldn’t turn her away.” There was a tremor in her, which left a tiny crack in the barricade. “I’m scared, Plum.” She struggled to say this, her voice sticking, unaccustomed to emotion, to truth.

I worried she was going to cry. I’d seen her lose control before, and I was afraid of it happening again, of her becoming unhinged in the bathroom stall. “It’s okay,” I said. I brushed her hair back, looping it behind her ears. “I’m sure you’re scared.” I thought of the men with their guns, the helicopters, the dogs. I was scared just listening to her.

“Is Darkest Plum going to help us, or not?” Us. I had always thought of Julia and Leeta as a pair.

“I’ll think about it,” I said. This seemed to calm her. Her face was in front of mine; we were sharing breath. She moved in closer, placing her lips on mine, a soft, lingering kiss, so that Darkest Plum was now on both of us.

“Forgive me,” she said, “but if something happens to me, I would always regret not doing that.”

I felt my skin burn. “Soft Rose,” she whispered. “I know every color of blush, too.”

She unlocked the stall door. “Think it over,” she said, and then she was gone.

EXITING THE CAFé, I welcomed the rush of night air, a splash of cold to my face. Julia had left me reeling, as always, but this time she had really outdone herself. Leeta was hiding and needed my help. I wondered whether Julia and her sisters might be sheltering Leeta in their apartment, but that would be too risky. Leeta was probably nowhere near New York.

I walked distractedly through the dark, looking down at my black boots as they hit the concrete, blocking out everything else. The taste of Julia lingered on my lips and I wiped it away, staining my hand with Darkest Plum. I could still wash my hands of Julia and Leeta. I could still extricate myself, since I hadn’t done anything wrong or irrevocable, not yet. I had agreed to write Julia’s book, but that wasn’t a crime, unlike giving money to Leeta, which could land me in jail, my name plastered in the headlines, forever linked with Leeta’s notoriety. I’d thought that I wanted to be an outlaw, but now I wasn’t so sure.

I wished I could discuss this with Sana despite the risks of telling anyone else about it. She and Verena were having dinner with potential donors for the clinic, but I texted her and asked if she could meet me afterward at a bar near Calliope House. I didn’t want to talk to her at home, where she’d be more likely to react loudly. She responded right away and agreed to meet me in an hour.

The bar was packed with college students, but I appreciated the buzz and the noise. I ordered a glass of wine and grabbed a good spot just as two women were leaving, squeezing myself into the narrow space between the tables. A copy of the New York Daily lay abandoned on the floor near my feet. The cover featured the usual photo of Soledad in her uniform, as well as Leeta and Missy. ARE MEN REALLY SO BAD? JENNIFER’S OVARY-ACTION, the headline read. I wouldn’t bother reading the article, but I would save the paper for Marlowe, in case she hadn’t seen it.