Dirty Blonde

“Oh my God! I’ll meet you. I’ll get the neighbor to sit. I’ll be right there.”

“No, don’t. I’m going home.”

“But you’re upset. You can’t drive.”

“I can, too. This is ridiculous. I’m acting like a baby.” Cate didn’t know what was happening to her. Nothing was working. She was losing control. “What about Warren? Is he okay?”

“Fine. Go home, and I’ll be right there. Drive carefully!”

“Love you.” Cate flipped the phone closed and accelerated, the windshield wipers working frantically. She drove ahead, but in the next minute heard a loud bobbling sound from the front of the car. A flat tire. Not my night. She hit the car’s button for Roadside Assistance, and a female operator was piped through her car speakers. “We’ll have a truck there as soon as possible,” the voice assured her, echoing like the Wizard of Mercedes.

Cate hung up, counting her blessings. She called Gina to tell her she’d be late, but there was no answer. She flipped the phone closed and waited in the driver’s seat, wiping her eyes and trying to get over herself.

It’s easier to fix a flat than a life.

An hour and a half later, Cate had reached her town house in Society Hill and pulled into her driveway behind Gina’s brown Pathfinder. A plume of smoky exhaust rose from the back of the car. Gina must have been running the engine to stay warm, all this time. Cate grabbed her bag and got out of the car. At least the rain had stopped.

“Cate!” Gina burst out of her car, arms outstretched in her parka, and hurried to the Mercedes. “What took you so long? I forgot my cell, so I couldn’t call.”

“Sorry, the truck took forever to come.”

“What truck?” Gina gave her a huge hug. “I was so worried. I never heard you cry like that.” Her expression looked stricken, and loose hair fell from its ponytail. This time, her trademark high drama was in order. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story,” Cate answered, and they went inside the house side by side.

“So that’s it, all of it,” Cate said, sitting at the round Moser table in her kitchen, behind coffee in her favorite mug. Halogen lights of multicolored Murano glass hung overhead on a track, making a cozy glow against walls of warm tangerine. She felt so happy to be home, safe in her kitchen and restored to her life. She told Gina everything and watched her friend’s expression change from freaked out to extremely freaked out, though she merely listened in silence. But her brown eyes glistened when she heard what had happened at the motel.

“You should call the cops on that bastard, I swear.” Gina nodded angrily. “But you know, you can’t. It’d be all over the papers.”

“I don’t know if there’s enough for attempted rape, legally.” Cate felt raw and ugly. “So, you hate me now?”

“No, not at all.” Gina slumped in her chair, lost in her gray PENN sweats. The plaid flannel collar of her pajama top stuck up from her sweatshirt. “But I am mad you didn’t tell me about these guys you go with. You wouldn’t have told me about tonight if I hadn’t called you. How long have you been doing this, you idiot?”

Cate thought back. “About a year, maybe a year and a half.”

“From when you were at Beecker? You were a partner in a law firm.” Gina shook her head in disbelief, and a dark curl fell from behind her ear. “I don’t know why somebody so smart would do something so dumb.”

“Honestly? Me, neither.”

“That’s not good enough, Cate.” Gina smoothed her hair back. “You can do better than that. It’s self- destructive. So what’s it about? You have dates.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“So, why then? Think about it.” Gina looked at her directly, in the frank way that was second nature to her, and Cate knew she was right.

“It happens when I feel stressed. It’s like some people reach for a drink, or a drug. I pick somebody up.”

“Yuck.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you a sex addict?”

“No.” Cate recoiled. “It’s not like I do it all that often.”

“How often?”

“Once a month at most, and in my defense, men have been doing it for centuries. Have you seen a Budweiser commercial lately?”

Gina scoffed. “Oh, are you justifying it now? If you’re so proud of it, why keep it a secret?”

“Hey, stop being right.”

“It’s not about gender, it’s about you. That behavior, it’s not you.” Gina shook her head, adamant. “You leave Graham, a normal man, a stockbroker who gave you something from Tiffany’s on the third date. That breaks all the rules. And you leave him-to run to a rapist?”

Cate fingered the bracelet, still on her wrist. “Never again.”

“You’re stopping now? Swearing off working-class hunks? How could you let yourself be used like that?”

“I didn’t see it that way.” Cate considered it. “I guess I just feel more comfortable with that kind of man. Like my husband. I knew him from high school, remember?”

“Barely. The construction guy?”

“Yes. It’s where I came from. I worked to get where I am, I wasn’t born to it. My mother never went to college. I’m not the Ritz, I’m the pink motel.”

“You make fun of Dr. Phil. You should watch.” Gina scowled. “You loved your mom, right?”

“Yes, she was great. She was devoted to me. After my dad left, she got a job at my school, in the office. It was her and me.” Her mother had died right after Cate had graduated from college, and Cate missed her every day. “It was us against the world. She worked at my school, for the principal. People thought we were trying to be better than them because she wanted college for me. She protected me against everything-the mean nun at school, the monster at night, everything.”

“She and your dad broke up when you were how old?”

“Three.”

“And you didn’t see him again? No visitation or anything?”

“No. He was gone. You know all this-”

“So obviously, you have abandonment issues with men.”

“So what? Who doesn’t?”

Gina didn’t laugh. “You’re a smart woman, Cate. Let’s figure this out. Something must have triggered this behavior. If it started a year and a half ago, what was happening then, in your love life?”

Cate could barely remember. “I was seeing that guy at Schnader. That one you hated. Marc With a C.”

“Narcissist Alert. Watch out for French cuffs. I told you but you didn’t listen.”

Cate smiled. “We broke up about that time, but I wasn’t serious about him anyway.”

“But wasn’t that when they started talking about you for appointment to the bench?”

Cate thought back. “Yes.”

“Marc With a C was threatened by that, I remember you saying. He didn’t want people calling him Judge Marc With a C.”

Cate smiled again. “More or less. You remember my life better than I do.”

“Thank you. You were kind of surprised when your name came up for the vacancy. You thought you weren’t political. You didn’t think you’d get it.”

Cate laughed. “Oh, I knew I wasn’t political. I didn’t leave work early enough to vote, even.”

“And they began the background check and evaluated your credentials, before you could be confirmed. Maybe you were sabotaging yourself, in a way. Worried they wouldn’t find you qualified.”

“You know better than that. The scrutiny for us isn’t like for appellate judges. The confirmation hearing is pro