Municipal Blondes
1
He hit me, humiliated me, and shot me
I’M GLAD THE SON OF A BITCH is dead! And no one will tell me how Dag is, or where he is. Damn it! This is as bad as being held hostage by those bastards in the first place.
Whine and cry.
Recovery
I’m sitting—or lying—in a hospital bed in Seattle with my right side bandaged up and antibiotics pumping into me. I’ve got a towel wrapped around my head because the fucker knocked my wig off when he slugged me. It’s going to cost a bundle to get that one replaced. I can’t talk because my jaw is so sore and my lip and eye are all swollen up. My head hurts and they have something dripping into my arm that makes my thinking fuzzy but doesn’t seem to stop the pain.
I want Dag!
He came to save me. He knocked out Angel’s ex-Marine boyfriend and tied him up. He got the Oksamma out of the apartment and locked him on the roof. He attacked Bradley with some kind of kitchen poker or something and was nearly killed when Bradley shot. If he hadn’t handed me a knife when he went after Bradley, I’d never have gotten loose in time to trip up Oksamma and get him in the way of the bullet. That ruined my silk scarf, too.
The glass was still falling out of the window when I grabbed Dag and dragged him to the elevator. We fell into the car and the door was closing when Oksamma managed to get off a lucky shot that tore through the skin on the side of my right breast. It didn’t hit anything vital but it ripped the hell out of my side and the put God-knows-how-many stitches in it.
I passed out and Dag carried me out of the building. In his condition! Jordan pulled up and fired a life-saving shot before the car came to a rest. Dag pushed me into his arms and fell.
There were policemen and ambulances and Jordan rode to the hospital with me in the second ambulance. The first ambulance was full of people trying to keep Dag alive. I was lying there and Jordan was holding a pad on my side to staunch the flow of blood. When he looked at me, I realized I didn’t have a wig on. I was mortified. But Jordan just stroked my head once and said, “Nice do, Deb. I like it.” He gave me a towel and helped me wrap my head before we got to the hospital. He never even flinched away from me.
But when he came up to see me an hour ago, he still didn’t have any word on Dag. He thought he was in ICU. If I can get disconnected from these pipes and hoses, I’m going looking for him myself.
God! What a day! What a night last night. I’m glad Jordan shot Oksamma. I’m glad Bradley Keane is dead. It would make me happy to find out Brenda Barnett was gone, too. I guess you can’t ask for everything.
I just want to curl up in bed at home and cry. Why won’t anyone tell me where Dag is?
I kissed him
It wasn’t even much of a romantic kiss. I just saw him lying in that bed and leaned over and kissed him. And he woke up.
Stevie brought me a wig this morning and Teri brought me clothes. My little black dress is like ruined. The hospital discharged me and I ran to the office. I called Mrs. Prior yesterday to tell her Dag was in the hospital and make sure she had Maizie. I wanted to check the office. Dag really left it a mess. The vault was standing open and his laptop was on the desk. Bubble wrap and tape were on the floor. He must have been so angry when Bradley called him.
I tided up and made sure the backup disks I’d stolen from Brenda’s house were in the vault. I closed it securely. Grabbing Dag’s laptop, I headed back to the hospital. At least they told me where he was and let me sit in his room with him. I sat there all afternoon fiddling with the computer until I looked up at him and I just had to kiss him.
Not much of a kiss. He’s got tubes in his nose for oxygen and a heart monitor hooked up to him. His lips were dry and mine are—let’s just say puffy and leave it at that. But when I kissed him, he woke up.
I was so afraid I would never get to speak to him again.
They have him prepped for heart transplant but there’s no donor. I’d give him mine.
I don’t know why they even allowed me in the room but I think it has to do with something Jordan told them. They treat me like I’m his next of kin. The doctor even told me that he was checking on Dag regularly and I should call for him if there was any change.
Dag and I didn’t talk for long when he woke up. He’s so weak. But at least he knew I kissed him. And he stroked my cheek. If I touch it myself, the pain is so intense that I flinch but his fingers were so soft and gentle that it didn’t hurt at all.
I’m writing a lot of foolish emo. I just… After yesterday… Everyone seems so fragile. I’m not going home tonight. I want to be here when he wakes up again.
The mountain came out
As you may have heard on national news, Seattle and surrounds got hit with a major blizzard last night. Everything is pretty much closed down. People on 405 were stranded all night in their cars. People abandoned their cars on the bridge and walked. Today it didn’t get above freezing but the sun came out and it was bright and sunny. This afternoon, I was standing by the window in Dag’s hospital room and realized I was looking at Mount Rainier. It was glorious.
I went to the nurse’s station and begged them to help me move Dag’s bed so he could see out the window. He’s wanted to look at the mountain all month. He just stands by his window at the office or in his apartment. Dr. Roberts intervened and even helped move the bed. There it was in all its glory with the setting sun glinting off its glaciers. I cranked his bed up to a sitting position so he could see out the window. He took my hand as we stared out the window.
“I climbed it once,” he said in a faraway voice. “It’s not the top of the world, but it’s one of the upper floors. You should see the view. It was clear and sunny and you could see Olympus, Baker, Adams, St. Helens. If you ever get the chance, girl, climb that mountain. You won’t be the same person when you come down.”
“You can show me,” I answered. “Maybe next summer.”
“We’ll have to train. Might have to be the summer after. You don’t go climbing that old man without training,” he said. “Yes. We’ll do it summer after. That should give us time.”
The mountain must have revitalized him. He was amazing. He totally figured out the scheme and nailed the Muffin-Top. Jordan arrested her on the spot. I had no idea that BKL was her initials as well as the name of the company. I wouldn’t have put it together if I’d known. He was so sharp. I know it hurt a little. He loved her once and thought she was his life mate. I can’t see it now but, like Dag says, people change.
Then in the afternoon he was so far away. When he sent me to the bank, I went home and changed clothes. It took forever to get around because all the buses are on their snow routes and they don’t even do my hill. I put on the suit that’s always been his favorite. He doesn’t say much about what I wear, other than the day I came to the office in blue jeans.
“Riley,” he said, “if I’d hired you to work on a farm, I’d expect you to dress like a farmer. This is an office.”
He’s always complimentary about my professional clothes, though, and I notice him looking at me a lot when I wear this particular suit. It’s pretty plain—just a dark blue-gray skirt and blazer. Well, the skirt might be a little short for most offices but I like to tease him. I wear it with a cream silk blouse that plunges forever. It looks fine as long as I don’t take my jacket off. Then, watch out! The strand of pearls my father gave me for my sixteenth birthday. Sixteen inches long.
I put on the more formal blonde wig that I wear when I’m going out. It’s an updo and I save it for special occasions most of the time. I don’t know why, but I wanted to look my very best and sexiest for him today.
As sexy as a girl with a fat lip and a black eye can look.
I swung by his apartment and picked up clean clothes for him and checked on Maizie. His coat and hat were at the office. He took off for the Condo Sunday and left them there. I picked them up and thought he’d be pleased that I brought fresh clothes for him. The suit he’d been wearing was in the hospital closet covered with blood. My blood.
I stood in the doorway and he just looked at me. If you’ve never had someone drink you in, this is an experience you want to have. You’ll know what it’s like to have been drunk! He motioned me over and looked at what I’d brought him.
“Oh good,” he said. “You brought the gray one.”
I stuttered a little. He didn’t say anything about me. All his suits were gray.
“I’m joking, Riley,” he said. “You have to learn a Swedish sense of humor.” I’m such a dork! I can never tell when he’s joking like that and I always get caught thinking he’s serious. I showed him the lavender shirt and matching tie I got at Nordstrom on the way back. “Does this blue go with a gray suit?” he asked.
“Trust me,” I answered. “You’ll look stunning.”
After he ate what meagre allotment of food he was allowed (all liquids, just in case a heart arrives in the middle of the night), we sat and talked and talked. I can’t even tell you all the things we said. He told me about his high school sweetheart and what happened when he and Brenda were married. He told me about the summer he bought his Mustang and how he met Jordan. He even told me he’d planned to get married and lost his fiancé in a fire a few years ago. It was like he just wanted a few things from his life to be remembered.
My eyes are all watery and I can’t see the keyboard. Damn.
He’s asleep now. I can’t stand it. I hate seeing him like this. I want to be held by him and told it will all be okay.
I love him.
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