“I think you’re just paranoid,” Avery says for what has to be the fiftieth
time; I shoot her a look and she lifts her hands and says, “Just saying.”

“I am paranoid, yes.” I hold up a box of Preference by L’Oreal and cock a
brow at Angelo who frowns briefly and then shakes his head. “But, that
doesn’t mean her being there at the same time as me was necessarily an
accident.”

“No,” Avery says, voice patient, leaning on the shopping cart and twirling
my sun shades in one hand. “But it was most likely a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” I grunt, squatting and picking out a box
of Clairol, then replace it sighing when Angelo again indicates it’s a no go.

“Do you believe in fate?”

“No.”

“Hmmm.”

I look up at her, then hold a box of Garnier by L’Oreal up over my head for
Angelo’s disapproval.

“Hmm, what?” I ask.

“Just ‘hmmmm’,” Avery sighs.

“No,” I return, “That was a ‘something hmmmm’ if I ever heard
one. Why? Do you?”

“Believe in fate? Yeah.”

I glance curiously at her and shake my head, grinning.

“What?”

“Believing in fate makes it necessary to think that things in your life are
pre-determined and I refuse to believe that. I control my destiny.”

“Well, that’s scary… and you’re refusing to believe doesn’t make it
necessarily true, you know.”

“No? Maybe my not believing it doesn’t affect you but it certainly makes
it not true for me.”

She widens her eyes and puts her head to one side, conceding the point.

I take a box of L’Oreal Feria off the shelf and Angelo actually reaches for
it, which is progress. I leave him peering down at the back of the box and
examining the little sample picture of hair on top and walk the four feet
over to the shopping cart and take my sunshades out of her hands and jam
them on my nose.

“I know I should have said this already, but thanks for getting the cops
out of there so fast.”

She shrugs. “You don’t have to thank me. I got a date out of it.”

“Oh shit~~ you mean he actually asked you out?”

She shrugs again. “Yeah.”

“Oh fuck, Avery. You don’t want to date a cop.”

“He was cute. He’s employed. He won’t be on drugs~~”

“Probably won’t be on drugs,” I interject.

“He was nice. Why shouldn’t I go out with him?”

I shake my head and glance to make sure Angelo hasn’t wandered off; he’s
gazing raptly at my head apparently visualizing my liberated blonde
cowlicks as liberated russet ones.

“You just don’t.”

“Why?”

I sigh and shake my head and look down at the shopping cart and my hands
which grip the wire edge and are white knuckled.

“It’s a hard way to live and it makes people hard to live with. “

“I didn’t say I was going to marry the guy, Cooper. We’re just going to
dinner. And besides,” she whacks me lightly on one shoulder. “You’re one
to talk. You date a cop.”

“Hmmm,” I murmur.

“What kind of ‘hmmm’ was that?” she asks, grinning.

“Just a hmmm-hmmm.”

“No, now that was a ‘something hmmm’ if I ever heard one~~”

“Angelo!” I interrupt her and turn to him. “You like that one? Let’s go.”

We’re at the check out stand before Avery catches up to us; she unloads the
cart onto the rolling belt to the cashier and waits until I look at her to
speak.

“Just so you know, Cooper Finn? You don’t fool me one little bit. And I
let that conversation be over. For now.”

“Hmmm,” I say before I can stop myself.
 

“I thought you were buying that stuff for your house,” I say frowning when
Avery kneels in front of the little fridge in the motel room and begins
transferring things from the sack to the shelves inside.

She gives me a very pointed look as she arranges the beer inside to make
room for the mayo, lettuce, tomato, lunch meat, juice and quart of milk.

“Some of it I did. You’ve only got fifteen beers in here. Are you sure
you can make it through the night?”

Her voice is mock dramatic. I frown and look at Angelo, who is perched on
the edge of the bed, plastic gloves already on, hair dye bottles and
instructions spread around him on the mattress.

“What do you think Angelo? That enough beer?”

“I was thinking that if I could take a shower and wash my hair I might not
need any more beer today.” He waves a hand at the dark curls on his
head. “I really only drink when my hair is this filthy because then my
brain doesn’t work well anyway.”

I’m slightly stunned to realize it somehow makes sense.

“Well, why don’t you go shower first, then? We need your brain working
because I don’t want my hair falling out. Although, that would make a kick
ass disguise,” I add.

I remove the plastic gloves from his hands and shoo him into the bathroom
along with the Wal Mart sack containing his new jeans, boxers and tee
shirts. Whatever is going on with me and the Department, I did get paid
and I figure I might as well share the wealth.

There’s an IM from S’Phear telling me to let him know when I’m back in the
room; I type that I’ve returned and then open my email program.

Jinny’s written again. I open it trying to not anticipate what it will
say, willing myself to be ready to read what she is probably thinking and
which has to be something along the lines of, “fuck you bitch!”

But that isn’t what she says at all.

“Cooper, Magda said she emailed you her address. Please think about it. I
need to see you.”

“Oooo,” Avery says, sliding across the bed on her stomach and handing me a
sandwich on a paper towel and a Styrofoam cup of milk. “I can tell from
your face that that is from the very intense dark haired cop.”

I grunt, then look up at her as I take the cup.

“Milk?”

“Humor me. So is it? From her?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure does look short…” she says, leaning over and pretending to try to
read it. She’s not expecting me to lean back slightly and let her and
looks up at me surprised.

“That the address you asked me about earlier?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you’re going right?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I do.” She sits up and slides off the bed and begins making a
second sandwich. “You’re going.”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

I take a bite of the sandwich and lean back against the wall, chewing.

“It’s not that simple, Avery.”

“It ain’t that complicated, Cooper,” she retorts.

“Really.”

My voice comes out flat and I feel the sense of sharp, jagged detachment I
have when I am about to lose my temper in a really bad way; I try to shove
it back because I know it’s not Avery and it isn’t Jinny and it isn’t even
the stupid ass sorry fucking mess of everything…

“Yeah,” she says, grinning, focusing on the bread and the mayo she is
spreading with a plastic knife. “Trust me. You go, you make moo- cow eyes
at one another, she bitches that you’re difficult to deal with; you grin at
her and stick your tongue down her throat. It’s easy.”

She glances at me, winking and something about my face pulls her up short;
she freezes, knife hovering over the bread, coffee colored brow wrinkling
in surprise.

“Cooper?”

I can feel myself shaking; it’s a choice between fear and rage and I know
I’ll choose rage; I take it every time.

“And what makes you such an expert
Miss-Shoplifter-Still-Lives-at-Home-with-Daddy?”

My voice is ugly. It comes out hoarse and harsh because my throat is
closing up.

“What?” the sheer amazement in her face and tone… She had no idea I could
be so mean.

And now she does, I think. Now she does.

“You heard me. What makes you think you can give me advice about what I
should do about Jinny? Christ~~ about fucking anything.”

She blinks a few times, beautiful face going remote and still.

“What? Are you tuning into the Pennybaker Gospel Hour? Trying to decide
what Jesus would do maybe?”

She shakes her head slightly, laying the knife down carefully, the slice of
bread with it then stands staring straight ahead before turning to look at
me, eyes bewildered and hurt and huge.

It’s like being kicked in the gut and I smile grimly, because this part I
understand.

“Yeah, this is me. I’m mean. I’m not nice, Avery. I’m not sweet, I’m not
kind, I’m…” I can’t remember where I was going with it and stop, puzzled
for second, trying to remember why I am angry.

Because it’s better than sad.

Oh yeah.

“This is me. And I don’t want you to save me or fix me or whatever is
going on with you. And you don’t get to tell me about shit you cannot
possibly understand.”

She shakes her head again, obviously looking for words and I see her throat
work as she swallows.

The bathroom door opens as Angelo exits. He stands spellbound and
enthralled with his reflection as he sensuously finger combs his gleaming
blue black mane of hair, shaking it out again and again as he smiles at
himself.

God, I wish I liked anything about myself so much, never mind the fucking
hair I got stuck with.

“You know what?” Avery asks me, voice trembling and I slide my eyes to meet
her gaze.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that. Who the hell do you think you are?”

“She’s just afraid,” Angelo says tranquilly, not once taking his eyes off
himself as he sucks in his cheeks and strikes a gaunt and haughty
pose. “These are such nice shirts with my hair…” he murmurs.

“Afraid?” Avery repeats, half turning and looking between the two of
us. “Afraid that she’s such an asshole nobody will ever put up with her
shit very long?”

“Oh no,” Angelo dismisses the thought with the wave of a long fingered hand.

I feel panicked, looking between the two of them. Deer in the headlights;
that’s what I am. I can feel my eyes creeping wider in alarm.

“That’s not it.” I try to growl, but it comes out rather high pitched and
breathless.

“Go on, Angelo,” Avery says coolly, crossing her arms, glaring at
me. “What is she afraid of?”

“That someone will stick around and figure out she’s just a big marshmallow
inside. All soft. Just mush.” He flicks his fingers again and then
pauses, carefully readjusting a curl on his shoulder.

She tilts her head, looking at me, raising one eyebrow in question.

“That it?”

I can’t make enough spit to say “fuck no” so I throw the cup of milk
against the wall.

There’s the soft slap and splash and then silence.

“You see?” Angelo says mildly, as if it should be obvious.

“But why?” Avery asks and I roll my eyes and slide the computer off my lap
and put my face against my drawn up knees.

“Because,” Angelo says patiently. “Anger is better than fear when you know
what it is to be truly afraid.”

I come off the floor in one jump.

“Okay, that’s it. That’s enough. Shut up, Angelo.”

He looks at Avery and lays his head to one side. “You see?”

“Shut up,” I hiss.

“Don’t you talk like that to him,” Avery tells me, thrusting a hip out and
jamming her hand on it. “It’s not his fault.”

“Okay, that’s it,” I spit. “Both of you; out.”

I point an adamant finger at the door.

Avery rolls her eyes, but Angelo looks at me in confusion.

“But… your hair. You’re not Texas Summer Sunset yet. That woman with the
confused pony tail~~”

“Don’t take it out on him,” Avery tells me harshly.

“Out. I want you both out.”

No,” Avery snaps, crossing both arms and glaring at me.

“Get out!” I scream at her, then stand there panting trying to hang onto
anger I don’t have the energy to maintain.

She shakes her head, raising both eyes brows at me and widening her eyes.

“I said no. Neither one of us are going anywhere. And what are you going
to do about it? Shoot us?”

“Maybe,” I say but it comes out weak and shaky.

“Yeah, right. Sit down and eat your sandwich and just deal with us. And
shut up,” she adds. “I don’t like you right now and I don’t want to hear
it.”

She puts her back to me and leans over to scoop the cup off the carpet and
then glares at me after she throws it hard into the little trash can after
crunching it in her hand. I look helplessly at Angelo who shakes his head
sadly and shrugs before smiling slightly as I sink down on the edge of the
bed exhausted.

“You will feel much calmer after your hair is red, you’ll see. It will
balance you out. Right now you’re conflicted, your hair color at odds with
your personality.”

Avery leans over slightly to look me right in the eyes before speaking.

“And you were going to pass that up?”
 

“Wow,” is all I can say an hour and fifteen minutes later when Angelo
finally lets me turn around and look in the mirror. I lean on the counter
and have to blink at the now furiously red hair on my head.

“It’s really…”I pause trying to think of a word to adequately express
myself and behind me Avery finishes, “…fucking red.”

“Yeah. That too.”

“A burnished deep copper with blue red undertones and stunning natural
blonde chunks. Perfect for you.” Angelo announces and Avery’s eyes meet
mine in the mirror. She turns the bark of laugh into a cough and murmurs,
“Excuse me…”

The ‘natural blonde chunks’ are courtesy of my own hair which Angelo had
somehow coaxed into tiny pigtails and then kept out of the dye.

“It’s a good thing I’m already pretty much fired because this definitely
isn’t regulation.”

“Looks pretty damn good to me,” Avery comments. “And it sure don’t look
like you.”

I have to admit that’s true. The combination of cowlicks and color
explosion is too startling and riveting for anyone to get past it to my face.

“At least from a distance,” Avery amends. “You got makeup? I think we
should turn Angelo loose on you with some make up.” She turns and winks at
Angelo happily. “How ‘bout it Angelo? I bet you’re just itching to
plaster some eyeliner on her, aren’t you?”

Angelo looks wistful and slightly tearful.

“Sure…Can I do me too?”


END OF FIFTY FIVE