Free Stewart and Jean by J. Boyett Page B

as well. “You’re going to get a gun ?”
    “Well. Why not?”
    “If you think you need a gun then it sounds like you’re not doing so well with the whole bookstore-guy thing. It sounds like you’re scared of him.”
    “Once I have a gun I’ll be significantly less scared. Besides, I’m not scared. I’m just trying to be cautious. Responsible.”
    “If you think you’re unsafe then you need to call the police.”
    “Yeah, well, except he’s not doing anything illegal. All right, Marissa? And neither will I be if I move to Stroudsburg and get a gun. Now can we talk about something else please?”
    They gossiped about work through most of their third margaritas, but their hearts weren’t in it. Gazing on the last inch or two of her drink, slurring her words, Marissa said, “Wanna share a cab home?”
    “You live in Brooklyn. I live in Queens.”
    “Fuck.” Marissa gazed sullenly out the window at the taxi- and tourist-clogged street. It wasn’t even dark yet.
    Jean had again started picking through her food and absently eating it. Also slurring her words a little, she said, “You know, the thing about having a gun....”
    She stopped. Marissa waited for her to start again, eyes fixed on her, all ears.
    Jean was evacuating her rice to the part of her plate already occupied by her half-eaten, cooled burrito. Keeping her eyes on the food, as if this were an operation of great importance, she said, “Having a gun, when you live alone someplace … I mean, you know, you’re allowed to defend yourself.”
    “Sure.”
    “And this way, it’s kind of like Stewart gets to choose.”
    Marissa waited for her to keep talking and, when she realized she wasn’t going to, said, “Choose what?”
    “Well, you know. The scary thing about Stewart is … I mean, it’s not even scariness. It’s just anxiety. Wondering, like, what’s he going to do? If he just wants to work at the bookstore and live in the city, that’s his business, I can live with that. But if he’s going to hurt me, I’d rather just find out that’s what he’s got in mind and get it over with. So I’ll get a place in Stroudsburg. I’ll get a gun, just so I’m safe. I’ll make sure Stewart knows where my new place is. And if he comes up there, trying to trespass, trying to force his way in … then I’ll know.”
    Marissa stared at Jean, scrunching up her eyebrows, not certain she’d followed all that. “Then you’ll know … what?”
    “What he’s got in mind.”
    Still Marissa stared at her, trying to digest it. “What do you mean, you’ll make sure Stewart knows where your new place is? Wouldn’t you rather he didn’t know?”
    “He’ll know where it is. And then, if he comes, I’ll know what his intentions are. And I’ll be able to handle it.”
    There was a fairly long silence between them. Sounding a little more sober, Marissa said, “That sounds almost like you’re setting him up.”
    Jean’s eyes leapt up to meet hers, sharp, angry, and shocked. “I don’t see how that makes sense.” Immediately, an embarrassed cloud muddled her face, as if she’d replayed her own words to herself and wondered if she’d inadvertently exposed something, or discovered something.
    Marissa felt more confused and uncomfortable than she had in a long while. It didn’t help that objects were starting to slip out of their proper places in her field of vision. Seconds ago she’d been toying with the idea of ordering yet another margarita, but now she was glad her glass was empty and she would be able to leave soon. Still, she felt like she had to say, “That’s just kind of what it sounded like.”
    “I’m just moving to someplace where I’m allowed to defend myself. You’re the one who’s been talking about how worried I should be.” She paused, waiting for Marissa to agree with her. When she wouldn’t, Jean signaled the waitress for the bill. “I need to get home,” she said.
    They managed to maintain their balance on the