The Gemini: Emancipation

39 - Son

June 8, 2007

Buzz. Vibrations on the nightstand.

Lids parted, Jody stares into the bedroom's dark. A pitch interrupted by the pale blue nightlight streaming out from the adjoining bathroom. Face against a pillow, she lays, balancing on the delicate line between unintentional sleep and "resting eyes". Lucid hibernation. In this case, contemplation.

Before her pupils could adjust, she closes them away. Briefly.

Bzzzt. Bzzzt. A deep hum drills against the glass. It's a call this time.

Annoyed by the sound, Jody pivots, reaching back to snatch the phone. Watching it ring out, she checks her messages once it stops. All four of them are from the same persistent caller who had twice rang the landline a short time ago. The same man she's trying to dodge. Her husband.

"R U Home?" says the last text he'd sent.

Squinting against the screen's bright light, her fingers type a lie. "No"

His response is immediate. "Where R U?"

Where am I, she wonders. On a Friday night at 8:16, there aren't many places a wife—Prince's wife should be. She certainly shouldn't be laying in bed, draped in darkness, thinking over illegal activities.

Looking down at the satchel full of money sitting on the left of the bed – the star of said illegal activities – Jody sighs.

"Paisley," she types, "last minute reshoots"

"Answer UR Phone"

"What's wrong with texting?"

"Eye Can't Hear U"

That's exactly the way she wants to keep it. It's the reason why she lied. If Prince gets her on the phone, Jody's worried that she might make a smidgen of a wrong octave and his ears will pick up on the secrets she's harboring. Fucking magician.

A stubborn magician with no regard to other peoples wishes, rather. Because her cell's ringing now. Eyeing "Honey" on the screen, Jody feels stupid for thinking a work excuse would keep him away.

Picking up, "Yes?"

"I feel like you're ignoring me."

Switching to lay on her back, a fleeting thought muses that if this were a reality show, a confessional would go here. In which she'd simply say, "see."

"I don't know why, I told you I'm busy."

"That never stopped you before."

"I'm not ignoring you, Babe." She staples on the endearment for the sake of convincing. And it works, because his tone loses its suspicion.

"We haven't talked all day."

"I've been—"

"Busy," Prince fills in. "I heard. You'd think you were building pyramids."

Or deep rectangles.

Sights back on satchel, she feels watched. "Something like that." Her foot nudges it off the edge, onto the floor.

"Who's watching the children?"

"Brie's at Ella's slumber party thing." A fact that brings Jody a slice of relief, though complicated.

Since the murder confession, the two haven't spoken to each other much. Brie's doing. Jody's caught between nonchalance and concern. She doesn't want a gap between them but in order to close it, she'll have to explain the details. All the things that she knows without a doubt the nosy girl is dying to ask. The problem? Jody isn't ready to deliver that kind of truth. Moreover, the potential crisis at hand is far more important than a pouty face.