THIRTY-SEVEN
Oliver
Georgia never makesit to my office. Georgia never picks up her phone when I call her after school.
I don’t let it deter me. Running on autopilot now, I simply add “Stop by Georgia’s apartment” to my To-Do list for the rest of the day.
I make phone calls to Dorothy’s parents. I make phone calls to Georgia’s teammates. Then, after waving goodbye to Ethel, I walk to the precinct.
I’m buzzing Georgia’s apartment when I hear Eloise’s voice over the intercom.
“What do you want, dickwad?”
“Hi, Eloise. I’m here to talk to Georgia.” I answer into the box.
“Not after you threw her to the wolves, like that, you’re not.”
My heart drops.How does she know already? I haven’t spoken to her allday. “What?”
“She’s gonna lose her license because of you, asshole.”
Fuck. “Just let me in. I can explain.”
There is silence for a long few seconds. I buzz the intercom again.
“Go away, Oliver,” Eloise’s tinny voice tells me impatiently.
“I need to talk to Georgia, and I’d really prefer not to do it over this intercom.”
“Tough shi—” There are sounds of a struggle, followed by the sounds of a murmured argument.
“Georgia? Is that you, baby? Please let me in. I really need to have this conversation with you?—”
The door buzzes, and I push my way inside, taking the steps two at a time.
I expect wrath as soon as I open the door. I expect her eyes to be burning, her hair large and electric, her presence a fiery pulse in the room. I expect her to shove me, poke me aggressively. I expect a deluge of colorful and explicit language to spill from her beautiful mouth.
I get that, but it’s from the wrong woman. It’s from Eloise.
“You motherfucking piece of shit—” she shrieks at me, while stabbing me in the chest with a particularly long and pointed nail. “How dare you give Georgia up like that? What, are you saving your own ass, or something? How about I pretend to be a parent and call the superintendent’s office myself, and let them know all the fucking rules you’ve fucking broken over the last few months?—”
I peek around Eloise to find Georgia (“don’t you dare look at her, motherfucker”). She’s sitting calmly on the Porn Couch, arms crossed, her face an impenetrable mask of complete and total apathy. This reaction terrifies me more. “Georgia…”
Georgia looks at Eloise. “It’s okay, Weezy. Lethim say whatever he needs to say.” Her voice is flat, unaffected, teetering on the edge of aloofness.
“Do you want me to stay here or do you want me to go?” Eloise softens when she addresses her best friend.
Georgia looks at her with eyes full of love. “Can you just give us a few minutes?”
Eloise nods. “Love you, George. Call if you need anything.” She glares at me while she grabs her coat from the rack. “Fuck you, asshole,” she spits in my direction, then walks out the door.
Georgia cuts her eyes back to me, but remains unmoving. Silent.
I move to where she’s sitting and take her hands in my mine. They’re limp, as if she doesn’t want to bother mustering the energy.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard already,” I begin, “But I’d like you to hear my side of the story, and how I’m going to fix it.”
“It’s too late, Oliver,” she tells me, almost bored. “Giving my professional records to that monster?”
