—I’ll be at Earth in twenty—
Jonathan:
—Having coordination issues in Nashville. They’ll get it here before you sing. Or I’ll get a locksmith to break it.—
Well, no. The collar jammed my uncomfortable places, but I had to admit it was nice. I liked it, and I didn’t want it broken. He said he’d buy me another, but I didn’t want another one. This was the one he’d gotten me, it was the one I wanted, and I wanted it exactly the way he got it.
Whole and with a key.
—I don’t think I can make Earth today—
—Bullshit - you show up. Today it’s my problems—
—What happened???—
—Men are shit—
I touched the collar. I hadn’t been out in public with it. Not really.
Sometimes I was left alone and treated like any other Angeleno, and sometimes the paparazzi showed up. I never knew when I was watched and when I wasn’t. I took a deep breath. It was too hot for a scarf or turtleneck. Even if I ran out and got a lightweight neck wrap, covering my collar with it would only announce that I was ashamed. The only thing worse than wearing it in public was broadcasting shame over it.
Fuck it. Yvonne needed me.
sixteen.
MONICA
—Lil’s driving me to Santa Monica at five. Picking the key up myself – but it’s going to be close. I’m sorry—
Santa Monica Airport to Echo Park on a game night, at rush hour, on a Friday, during the school year. Game time was seven. Close didn’t begin to cut it.
I’d heard Yvonne out and tried to soothe her. Cursed every penis-owning human in the universe while simultaneously exonerating Jonathan in my head. I hated seeing her in pain and didn’t even know what to promise her except my devotion.
On the way out of Earth, I ran into a herd of paparazzi, and what the waiters didn’t notice and the patrons ignored, the paps caught immediately.
What’s on your neck, Monica?
Is that a lock?
Moooniiiiiicaaaaaa
Turn so we can see it!
I smiled and waved, trying to keep the pounding of my heart out of my expression. But one girl pap with rings up and down her fingers leaned over my car and got an angle no one else had. The shutter slapped over and over.
Fuck it.
I moved my hair so she got a clear shot of it. Print that, bitch.
She moved her camera so I could see her face. “Thank you!” And she disappeared into the crowd.
I got in the car before any of the rest of them could get a clear shot. Because, fuck it. That shot should be worth real money to someone.
The stadium was a short hop away, at least by Friday traffic standards.
But I checked my phone when I parked by the players’ entrance, and my collar was all over the gossip pages. How did I feel, seeing what everyone else was seeing? Me pulling my hair away to show off a chain mail locked collar?
I felt like his.
It was as if he was standing beside me next to the Jag, holding my hand to make sure nothing bad happened. It was a buffer between the world and me, a shield against people’s eyes and intentions. It attracted stares, yes. But in a way, it warded them off. Drained them of their power. Protected me from anything I didn’t embrace.
Did it only work in photos? Or—if I changed my attitude—would it work in person?
Only one way to tell.
I twisted up my hair, checking in the rearview for strays, and sang of the braaaavvveeeeee into the mirror.
Sounded good. I was ready to go.
seventeen.
MONICA
Another day. Another dressing room. I worked on my intervals and scales, tuning my voice to a vibrating fork, and checked myself in the mirror. I felt ready. My dress came just below the knee and two inches above the cleavage line, sleeves covering me tight to the elbow. The beads looked dull and lifeless in the flat light of the cinderblock room, but would flash in the stadium lights.
And the collar, well…the collar was another thing entirely.
It made me look like I’d been captured in the wild and brought to heel, and behind a closed door, alone, I liked the idea that I was an animal that needed taming.
Jonathan texted.
—We’re on the 110. I’m getting out and running—
—NO! not safe!—
A knock came at the door. I checked my watch. It was go time.
—Freeway’s a parking lot. It’s safer than crossing La Cienega with the light—
—Please please please be careful.
He didn’t answer. Someone knocked again and said. “Two minutes.” Gary. The pregame coordinator.
“I got this,” I said, smoothing my skirt. “I got this.”
***
Last year’s Cy Young Award winner stared, absently tossing the ball up and catching it. I felt as if I didn’t need a key at that point, because people’s eyes were burning a hole in the collar already. Since Jonathan had texted that he was running into traffic to deliver the key, I’d met eight players I admired, including one whose batting stance I wanted to correct every time I watched him at the plate, and the manager, who I wanted to slap over the previous year’s play-offs.
“My wife is a huge fan,” the pitcher said. “If you sign this, we can trade.”
Perfect little athlete smile as he handed me the ball. We were in the cinderblock hallway leading out onto the field. Jonathan hadn’t texted since he told me he was running across the 110 with the key to my collar. If he was a grease spot, I would kill him.
The pitcher was looking at my tits. I took the ball, and I gave him the one I’d passed around.
“You gonna pick off Fredricks tonight?” I asked while I wrote my name in Sharpie on the curved surface.
“That’s the plan.”
“You’ve got the best pickoff move in the league,” I said, handing it back. “If anyone can do it, you can.”
He handed me my ball back and looked me in the eye. “Thanks. That’s a nice vote of confidence.”
“Go get ’em, killer.”
Gary, the coordinator of the pregame activities, handed me a mic. “You ready?”
“Yeah.”
The umps and managers stood on the mound, talking about I didn’t even know what. After they broke and went to their places, the color guard would come out, and that was my cue to go in and sing.
“Wait!” came a breathless voice.
“Jonathan!”
He was huffing and panting down the hall in his dress shoes.
“Are you all right? Your heart!”
He waved away all my concerns. “Please. Easy run.” He held up the key, still panting. “But I got here in time.”
He was so perfect, chest heaving, broad shoulders back, jaw straight and sharp as he smiled. His green eyes shone with clarity and strength. My gorgeous man, by my side always. We were surrounded by people and not one of them could touch us.