All Over the Map - Laura Fraser [40]
“I don’t want to use that word,” I say coolly. I’m not going to go through life sounding like some kind of a victim. “It’s not like a stranger jumped out of the bushes with a knife. It’s not like I was kidnapped and forced to sell my body on the streets. It wasn’t really a big deal. I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me.”
“He did hurt you,” Sandra says quietly.
“I’m trying not to be so upset about it.” I wipe my eyes.
“It’s okay to be upset. You should be upset. I’m upset.” Sandra is waving her half-Italian hands around. She calms down and uses a big-sister tone. “Blaming yourself is not going to make it okay. You can be angry and scared, and it may keep coming back to you for a long time, and that’s enough for you to deal with. I should know.”
I look up at her brown eyes and deeply knit brow.
Sandra is quiet for a second. “It happened to me, too.”
“You’re kidding.”
Sandra shakes her head. “It was a long time ago. My best friend’s boyfriend, on a vacation in Florida. They were having a fight, and he came into my room to ‘talk’ about it. I got pissed off at him, protecting my friend. He went nuts, beating me up pretty badly. Broke my nose.” She touches the ridge, which I now see is a little crooked.
“Oh, my god. Did you call the police?”
“No. My friend begged me not to.”
“She was sticking up for him?” I shake my head in wonder.
“Battered girlfriend. My mistake was trying to protect her from him, to get her to leave. That’s why I went along in the first place. And I blamed myself for everything.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you turn him in?” I say, raising my voice. “How could you blame yourself? You were just trying to protect a friend. And some friend. Jesus.” I can’t believe that happened to Sandra, who is always so cheerful, strong, and practical. Then I’m quieter. “You’ve never told me about it.”
“I don’t think about it very much. But you’d be surprised how many women you know have been raped. Once it happens to you, you hear a lot of stories. It’s like you’re part of a secret club. It takes a long time to get over it, and it affects people in different ways. At least I think with me it’s history.”
“Did it take you a long time to trust men again?”
“I had Paul, who was great. We were already together then. When I told him, he wanted to track the guy down and murder him, but he was wonderful with me. He took good care of me.”
My eyes fill with tears. “I think it’s going to be a long time before I can deal with men again,” I say.
“Maybe,” says Sandra. “But you can’t let it get you down for too long. You have to get your sense of power back. You had a bad experience, but you’re still you, you’re still strong.” She rubs my arm. “Look, you’ll get over this. Just concentrate on doing little things that make you feel better right now. Take baths, eat good food, go to yoga. You don’t have to go traipsing around the world by yourself. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say, attempting a smile. I refill our glasses. We’re quiet for a few minutes. “You know,” I finally say, “The thing that pisses me off is that I was having such a great time in Samoa, it was such a high. There were gorgeous beaches, I found this amazing warm pool with a waterfall to swim in, and a perfect little hotel run by Italians.”
“There you go. Focus on the waterfall.” Sandra raises her glass. “To forgetting about this,” she says. “And that surfer? Shark bait.”
I can see his shark’s tooth necklace in the sand. I pulled so hard I ripped it off his neck. “To the sharks.” We clink glasses.
I head to Nevada for several weeks and stay at my friend Maya’s ranch, away from the world, a place I’ve loved to visit since I befriended her daughter fifteen years ago, when we drove around the state doing a political story for Vogue, interviewing showgirls, ranchers, prostitutes, and casino workers. Since then her daughter has gotten married and had two children, and has a lot less time to roam around,