Shelly Oria - New York 1, Tel Aviv 0

I figured, it’s a time-stop; people do all kinds of crazy things. Once the clocks start ticking again, he’ll remember that forbidden fruits aren’t often worth eating and go back to his wife.

But it was my profession, not his wife, that brought up problems between us. Phil thought I shouldn’t charge him anymore. I said, Then I can’t soap you; it’s against union rules. He said, That’s just an excuse, you’re not someone who’d let unions control her. Eventually, I agreed — though I really needed the money — but our problems didn’t stop. Clients were just showing up at my door whenever they needed a soaping, since setting up appointments during a time-stop is practically impossible. Phil would get incredibly jealous every time I left him to tend to someone else. “Your hands all over his body” and all that bullshit. I said, If you want to be jealous, at least be original about it. He said, Bambi, believe me, I’m as original as it gets.

And he was. He was a strong man with a child’s heart. Sometimes he would try to look tough, or even say something mean, but I would look at him and see he was only asking for love.

* * *

Clocks were still at a halt when I came home one day to find him collecting his things, stuffing socks and shirts into brown paper bags. I felt every muscle in my body stiffen, and not only because I didn’t want him to leave; I’d told him my real name, which was something I very rarely did in those days — the law people weren’t after me anymore, but you can never be too careful. I stood there and looked at him. Finally, I said, Look, I’m a professional soaper. That’s what I do. What did you expect? This isn’t about that, he said. You miss your wife? I asked. I’m not going back to my wife, he said. I don’t understand, I said. I thought you were the one, you know that? he said; but lately I’m not sure. I have to be sure, Bambi. You have to be sure? I asked; I hoped that if I repeated it he’d realize how ridiculous he sounded. He looked right at me. This isn’t working, he said.

For a while, I stayed in bed, ignored the bell when clients rang it. Soon after, time resumed.

2011, Part 1: Phil’s Return

All of a sudden, he came back.

Dolly P. offered to have a colleague run a soaping piece centered on me. We’ll use stock pictures, she said, to be safe. You won’t use my real name, I said, but I think real pictures are fine. After so many years with no one after me, I felt it was a small risk. And perhaps the truth is, we all forget the things we most need to forget; after living a careful life for so long, I was ready to believe I could be free. And I wasn’t wrong — no law people showed up. The photo featured me with gloves on, scrubbing a woman’s arm with a toothbrush. I enjoyed looking at it. And, apparently, so did Phil.

At the door he said, You haven’t changed a bit. Time-stops will do that to you, I told him; I’m younger than I am. Actually, that’s not accurate, Phil said; studies show that after time-stops, cells grow quickly, and the body makes up for lost time. Already we were arguing. And yet all I wanted to do was hug him; he was new and familiar and I realized how much I’d missed him.

I wanted to ask where he’d gone when he’d left ten years ago, where he’d been since, but predictable questions only lead to predictable answers. Instead, I offered watermelon. We could never share one when we were together, since fruits don’t grow during time-stops; it was one of the few things I’d missed, in those days. It’s my favorite fruit.

Phil and I sat on the floor and he popped the melon open. Red oozed all over the rug, and for a second I wanted to suck it all in, like a vacuum cleaner, like a madwoman. But I didn’t, because by then I was old enough to know that most people can’t tell passion from weakness.

The next thing that happened was happiness. It crept up on me then, for a short while. Mornings he cooked eggs, and I didn’t have to remind him how I liked them. Evenings we talked and talked, letting words linger and thoughts carry their weight. Maybe this is love, I thought: losing the need to escape.

Then, two weeks in, I woke up one morning and my heart was beating hard. Phil was snoring peacefully in my bed. I shook him and said How did you find me. He said he called the paper, got hold of Dolly P., paid her to give him my address.

I said, Dolly P. doesn’t need money.

He said, I never said how I paid her.

I said, There’s an agenda, then, Phil. What’s the agenda?

Sure took you long, darling, he said. I was waiting for you to ask.

* * *

This was Phil’s idea: we create another time-stop. I thought he was being ridiculous, and that’s what I said. He said, Bambi, don’t play with me. I said, Don’t call me that if we’re not really a couple, if you’re only here to get results. I was getting dressed now. He was watching me with sex in his eyes, saying nice things about my body, but it takes more than that with me. I said, Phil, you stop this and you stop this right now. I’m leaving — four hours is what you’ve got. The apartment is yours, use anything, call anyone. Make a proposal, a presentation, a pitch. It’s business now is what it is, I said; you and I are done. When I’m back, you get one shot. You talk, I listen, I make up my mind and that’s it.

I hoped he would say Bambi, what do you mean we’re done, forget this nonsense and come over here. What he said instead was Okay. He seemed ready, up for the task. I went to the park and sat on a bench. I tried to figure out how much he knew. Four hours is a very long time when you feel cheated.

What this man put together was remarkable. The photographs were what really got me: me, all over my apartment, blown up to a size a woman should never see herself in. Me, huge, in prison; me, huge, in Ashdod, the Israeli town linked to the whole bruchtussis fiasco; and the one that made me nauseated, me, even bigger, escaping. I said, How. That’s all I could say, and I said it a few times. Phil was waiting, letting me take it all in.

Eventually he said, To save time, let’s skip the bullshit. I know how you escaped from jail. I know everything, so let’s not play here.

I hoped he was talking about Dolly P., about the pickup she got for me, the guard she bribed. But Phil’s voice was telling a different story.

He said, It’s maximum-security, Bamb, the best in the country. You really think I’d buy the bribe story and stop looking? Then he said, The bribe was only a decoy, right? I bet you didn’t even need it. You just wanted the cops to find something when they came looking, so no one would find out you stopped time to get out. Right?

It was exactly right.

Did my feelings cloud my judgment? Sure. When you love a man, it isn’t some fanatical presentation that sways you; I was still hoping there was feeling at the bottom of things. But all in all I believe I had very little choice. This man had a map of my world.

Bambi, he said, I want you to do what you did in ’91. I said, I can’t, it’s not something I control. He said Bullshit. I said Phil, it really isn’t. It’s a power that comes over me, that came over me then, not something I can summon. He said, You sure “summoned” it when you wanted your freedom back. The word summoned came out sarcastic and mean — meaner, I thought, than he’d intended.

I wanted him to understand. I said Phil, please listen now. One day in jail, I got this sensation. It wasn’t the first time, it’s been coming and going since I was very young, but I never knew what to do with it. It always starts with this slow internal tremble, and then my brain begins to feel like copper, and I know that if I tilt it to one side and concentrate it can float, it can do things. In prison, I couldn’t stop thinking about my cat. I had a cat then, Keyvan, and every time I closed my eyes I would see Keyvan passed out, or trying to drink water from the toilet to stay alive. I needed to get to him. Then I talked to Dolly P. The bribe was like you said, but the rest was backup — I didn’t know what would actually happen. And then when it did happen, it was as mundane as buying tomatoes. I tilted my head, and everything froze — the world froze. It was almost disappointing, how easy it was, the opposite of magic. But Phil — once I was out, people were moving again, and my brain just felt like a normal brain. And I’ve never had that sensation since. All right? Do you understand?