Iggy
I’m weak and shivering, leaning on Brock. I shouldn’t be here; Brock’s distraught because I should be resting, and we left
the hospital against the doctor’s orders. Big scene. But I can’t just lie there. Not when Ana and Vera, Jessie and Amanda
need me to tell the truth.
I think about the selfie that Amanda took so long ago, all of us lifting our glasses, having so much fun, reveling in our
friendship. It seems like so very long ago—before Paul, before Brock and I were together, long before our angel, Noah. I remember
how I felt that night, young, free, bolstered and surrounded by my girlfriends. It was a happy time.
All eyes are on me and I’m afraid, with the wide full moon above, and the roaring of the bonfire.
“Iggy,” says Lisander, looking rattled. Ana and Vera both stare, like they’re seeing me for the first time and maybe they
are. Amanda and Jessie move in behind me, each taking one of my hands, offering their support. We are in this together. “What
are you saying?”
I tell my story to The Cove.
Ana got me the position at the advertising agency, and I was grateful.
I’d been floundering since I ran out of money and had to drop out of college, moving from one dead-end job to the next—bartender, waitress, cleaning lady. My mother had moved in with her rich new boyfriend, and basically didn’t want me around.
Still, I managed to scrabble my way to an associate degree in graphic design and social media management, taking classes online
and running up a stupid amount of credit card debt.
So, I had a degree and a strong desire for a real job going for me when I interviewed at the advertising firm where Paul Hayes
worked, thanks to Ana’s connections.
When I got the job offer as an office assistant, Ana and I went out to celebrate. She bought a bottle of champagne.
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” I told her.
“Same,” she said, and we toasted how we’d always be there for each other. No matter what. I started the next week.
That’s where I met Jessie and Amanda, and they became my first real friends after Ana.
Ana was with Brock then, so this was a couple of years ago now.
And even though I had an embarrassing secret crush on my best friend’s boyfriend, and the workplace was somewhat toxic—high
pressure, low pay, and an obnoxious predator like Paul Hayes lurking in corners, I remember that as a happy time. Lots of
girls’ martini nights and Pilates classes, and lunches, shopping. I was making halfway decent money, enough to pay off my
credit cards and have some fun. Things were good.
Then Jessie had to work late with Paul one night. They had a big client meeting the next day and he suggested that they work
through dinner at the office. They ordered in. When they’d finished preparing the presentation, he opened a bottle of vodka,
mixed it with some club soda, and they celebrated with a drink.
That’s the last thing Jessie remembers.
She woke up in her car around 3:00 a.m., body sore and sick. I felt him all over me. I could smell his cologne on my clothes, she told us. She went to Amanda, and Amanda called me. We got her home and tried to make her call the police. But she was
terrified of losing her job. She thought no one would believe her because she’d been flirting with him, drinking with him.
So, we did what women do. We stayed quiet.
By the next afternoon, Paul was spreading the rumor that Jessie got “tipsy” when she was supposed to be working with him.
He claimed that Jessie was hitting on him, that he’d had to let her down gently, but that she went a little nuts. By the afternoon,
the whole office was gossiping about it.
The presentation to the client went well, and even though it was all Jessie—her images, ideas, concepts—Paul took all the
credit.
Later that month, Jessie got passed over for a promotion.
Still, we all stayed quiet.
Then Paul did the same thing to me after an office happy hour one night.
Again, it was all so vague and hard to prove. One minute I was at the bar, drinking with co-workers. Paul was there, so funny
and charming that I even almost wondered if Jessie was wrong about him. He bought me a drink. I remember feeling sick enough
that I excused myself to the bathroom. He followed me. “Everything okay?” he asked, concerned. “You seem a little wobbly.”
The next thing I was aware of, I was in my car alone. The party long ended. The parking lot deserted. I felt so ashamed. Was
I a black-out drunk? It took a moment for me to realize that I was hurt. My arms aching, my panties down around my ankles.
What happened?
I drove home alone, remembering what happened to Jessie.
That was the thing with Paul; he was handsome and charming.
A man’s man—always a good time on the golf course, or at cigar night.
He always looked good, had a gift for making people laugh, for putting them at ease.
It seemed impossible to say that he was drugging women and raping them. At the office no less.
I had nothing if I lost that job, no savings, no safety net from family. It would have just been another failure. So, I’m
ashamed to say that I stayed quiet, too.
A few months later, when a young intern came forward, the rest of us who had been harassed or worse decided to do so as well
in support. The company offered us money in exchange for our silence. We all took it; though looking back now, we shouldn’t
have. I used it to start my online business. Jessie started a “fuck you” fund, a savings account that ensured she’d never
have to stay somewhere toxic again.
Paul got fired, and despite what we’d suffered, it might have been something to celebrate.
But those of us that had been hurt by him were kind of shunned in these very subtle ways. Promotions passed us by. Invitations
to retreats and happy hour gatherings withheld. Jessie stayed on for a while, hoping things would get better, and they did—a
little—when a new female boss took the helm. I stayed on, too.
But Amanda left eventually, wanting a fresh start even though she hadn’t had any encounters with Paul. Jessie went to work
for Esme. She remained bitter, still longing for some kind of revenge. We were both still plagued by nightmares of him.
Ana and Brock broke up. Brock and I got together a little over a year after that. Later, he wanted me to stay home with the
baby and focus on my online business. And Paul started his company.
When Ana started dating Paul, I warned her to stay away. Even with the NDA, I told her what he did to me, to others. She didn’t
believe me. Or she didn’t want to believe me. Or she didn’t care.
You just don’t want me to be happy, she said. She’s always been so stubborn. And truthfully with terrible judgment when it comes to men.
Maybe she was just too angry with me then, even though Brock and I had asked her blessing, and she never loved him, for marrying
Brock. So, she wouldn’t listen to me about Paul. We argued all the time.
Then, when I saw the bruises on her arm, something inside me just snapped.
Ana had been there every step of the way for me, and I wasn’t going to stand by while Paul hurt her. I was going to save her
whether she wanted me to or not.
Jessie, Amanda, and I got together. We came up with a plan.
Amanda, who had never worked with Paul even though we’d all been at the same firm, decided that she would make a move on him
and see how close she could get. She seduced him at the bar of the local club, and soon he was hooking up with her behind
Ana’s back.
The blend of hemlock and wolfsbane is bitter, hard to swallow. We mixed it with simple syrup and mint and fashioned a specialty
cocktail. Paul fancied a nice rum; so Amanda mixed up a batch of mojitos, had him over to her house. Jessie and I waited upstairs.
I don’t mind telling you that we were afraid. And his death was shockingly violent; after just a few sips, he was choking
violently, clawing at his throat. We watched in horror as he convulsed in Amanda’s living room retching. Then he slowly became
paralyzed, lay motionless, his eyes darting wildly. It was the longest hour of our lives. Finally, nothing. He was dead. We
all sat and wept, so overcome were we by what we’d done.
Then Jessie started to laugh, softly at first, then doubled over with it. Then we were all laughing, cackling like a bunch
of witches.
We killed him in cold blood, long after he’d hurt Jessie and me, to prevent him from hurting anyone else, to save Ana, even though it didn’t seem like she wanted to be saved.
Ana taught me everything I know about plants, gave me access to Agnes’s garden, her stores, taught me about tinctures and
salves, teas and potions. Everything we needed was right at our fingertips. It was easy to kill Paul. As easy as it was for
him to slip Rohypnol in our drinks and take what he wanted from us and then ruin our reputations afterward.
It was dealing with the body that was hard. It took all three of us to get him into Amanda’s car, to carry him up through
the trees. It took hours and all of our strength. And none of us had any idea how deep you had to dig a grave. We did a terrible
job, obviously. Probably if we’d enlisted the help of The Cove to begin with, things would have gone more smoothly.
And Amanda had to disappear for a while, which has been very painful for her parents. We thought that posting they’d gone
on vacation would help with that. And it did at first, though such a thing would have been radically out of character for
Amanda.
Then they found Paul’s body.
In the winter moonlight, I tell all of this to The Cove. There’s a stunned silence when I’m finished, all eyes on me, Jessie,
and Amanda. We all stand together. Heads high. We’d do it again.
“And,” I say into the awed quiet. “If someone doesn’t hand over my child to me there’s going to be hell to pay.”
That’s when my eyes fall on the stick bassinet beside the long table, hear the little sounds he makes. My system floods with
relief and oxytocin. Brock and I walk over, and he lifts Noah safe and sound from the bed of leaves and flowers. Noah gives
me that goofy, toothless grin that I know is just for me, and I take him into my arms, hold him tight.
I don’t know what will happen next.
But I know right now that I feel free in a way I haven’t before, even though I just confessed to murder, and that Detective
Bandeau was there to hear the whole thing.
There’s power in taking revenge. There’s a freedom to owning up to what you’ve done. Ana comes to me and takes me in her arms.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I wish I had listened to you. I wish I’d been there for you.”
Noah giggles. He loves his auntie. With Brock and Ana at my back, my baby in my arms, I know I can face whatever comes next.