Page 74 of Bloom

“I know. It was obvious by the way he described things. But the shit he said … ” James flinches. “Just let the police handle it.”

“It’ll be all over the news if I go to the police,” I tell him.

The anger in his eyes is now directed at me. “It’s time for you to step up, Elle. You need a restraining order, at least. Listen to the messages.”

I make no move to take the phone back from him, so he puts it on speaker. Edwards voice flows out. “Eleanor,” he says. “You ungrateful bitch. I can’t believe you’re treating me like this after everything I’ve tried to do for you. You’d better call me or I’m going to make you sorry you ever heard my name.”

I’m already sorry I ever heard his name.

“You’re going to think I’m naive,” I say. “But I don’t think he was physically threatening me. He probably just meant career-wise.”

“You didn’t hear the rest of the messages,” he says. “He’s saying some really messed up stuff, Elle. I don’t know whether he’d hurt you or not, but I’m not going to risk finding out. You need to make sure he can’t come down here.”

**

An hour later I’m facing a weary police officer who clearly would rather be doing anything but conducting this interview with me. He keeps casting longing glances at the copy of Sports Illustrated on the corner of his desk.

James does most of the talking, which is for the best since I’m unable to draw up a lot of outrage over the whole thing.

“This is a clear stalking violation,” James says. “And since he’s suggested an intent to come find her here, her most immediate need is a restraining order, one that’s enforceable in New York since she’ll be back at the end of August.”

“So,” the police officer says, “Are you her lawyer? Her boyfriend?”

My breath stills while I wait for him to answer. It’s pathetic, as usual, that with everything going on what I care about most is how he chooses to qualify our relationship.

“Friend,” he says, and the breath wooshes out of me. Wrong answer, asshole.

“Okay,” the officer says doubtfully. “Well, we’d need to hear these messages in order to determine if there’s something to pursue.”

“That’s fine,” I agree, handing him my phone.

“Before we proceed,” he says, turning to me, “I need to know the nature of your relationship with Mr. Ferris.”

“He was my boss,” I say. “I interned for him at the start of the summer.”

“And was your relationship ever romantic in nature?” he asks.

“No,” I reply. “Never.”

The officer looks dubious. He casts a glance at James. “It strikes me that perhaps this is something we should be discussing in private.”

“There’s nothing I would say to you that I wouldn’t say in front of James, if that’s what you’re implying. I have never been with Edward Ferris in any way.”

He shrugs. I get the feeling he still doesn’t believe me, probably because he reads the tabloids like everyone else. He takes the phone and leaves to have the messages transcribed.

James reaches out and squeezes my hand. “You okay?”

I nod, slipping out of his grasp. I’m going to be cool about this. He wants to think of me as his friend, that’s his right.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, friend,” I say. So much for being cool.

“Elle,” he says. “I just … didn’t know what to say.”

“It’s fine, James,” I say icily.

“You know you’re more than that,” he exhales.