On Bended Knee

Chapter 13

Lucy spent as much time on set with Frederick as she could for a while. Despite the larger number of people around, she felt safer there than at home. Security was higher there than anywhere else in town.

People started seeking Lucy out at Frederick's trailer even when she wasn't officially on duty. She did a few consultations in Frederick's tiny living room, but refused to do any treatments there as her exam table was only a short walk away. She just couldn't bring herself to move another man's limbs in the bed that was so closely associated in her mind with Frederick.

Lucy was delivered from the set to her clinic and back again by a friendly young man driving a black car with black-tinted windows. For the first time, she realized why celebrities so often hired drivers and rode in the back seat: anonymity.

Despite a few days of peace, she felt like something bad was still to come. She was jumpy and nervous, locking doors that she never used to keep locked. Frederick had noticed, too. With his usual tact, he did not ask her directly. Instead, he was even more caring than usual. He made sure they ate dinner every night and once, as they headed for bed, he even suggested that they go to sleep without fooling around first. She'd managed not to laugh in his face, but had talked him out of that idea pretty quickly.

Lucy heard from Janelle that more photographers had been seen at her house, different ones than last time. Also, a small crowd of them now hung around outside the entrance of the movie lot, snapping pictures of the cars that came and went.

After spending several nights on set, Lucy was starting to feel more settled in her new routine, almost complacent. After having a good day at work, and was headed to Frederick's trailer to rest for a few hours before he joined her that night. As she approached the trailer, a fluttering on the door caught her eye. She walked closer and saw a piece of newspaper taped to the door.

"FREDERICK'S FOREST FLING!" screamed the headline. Underneath the headline was a color photo of her and Frederick walking hand in hand down Violet's driveway. Frederick was leaning very close to her. They looked like they were about to kiss, or had just been kissing. Frederick held a small bear-and-rocking-horse gift bag in his free hand. HAS FRED GONE NATIVE? asked the subtitle on a diagonal banner slapped across the lower corner of the photo. The small print at the top of the page told Lucy that the clipping was from a national tabloid rag, page one, and had been printed two days ago.

Lucy couldn't think. She couldn't move. It felt like the old childhood nightmare in which she was being chased by something hideous while her feet were stuck to the floor. But this time, the hideous thing had caught her and was staring her in the face.

Go away. Go away, was the only thought her brain could generate. She felt sweat break out across her forehead. Her hands were hurting. She realized that she was digging her nails into her palms, hard. Make it go away, she finally thought. She ripped the offensive picture down, went into the trailer and slammed the clipping face down on the kitchen counter

Lucy sat as far from the counter as she could in the small living room. She put her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. They know, she thought, staring at a pale fragment of gravel on the carpeted floor. They know they know they know. She shook her head back and forth in her hands. Lucy's hands hurt. When she looked at her palms, she saw eight red crescents from her nails. She'd drawn blood in two places on one palm and one on the other.

I can't do this, became her new touchstone thought. I can't I can't I can't.

Lucy rummaged through the kitchen drawers until she found a pad of headache-yellow sticky notes and a pen. She wrote I can't do this on the note and stuck it to the back of the newspaper clipping. She found her purse and ran from the trailer, slamming the door behind her.