Sweet Jane

    “I am so sorry,” she said through tears, her voice choked with shame. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
    I opened the console armrest between us, hoping the last cabby left behind emergency napkins, something for her to wipe off the snot on her hands. “I’m not mad. People cry, y’know?”
    “Even in a taxi?”
    “Least once a night.”
    Her laugh was a short quick burst of amusement, gone in the skip of a heartbeat as she took the napkins I offered. “I never cry. Life is too damn short.”
    “That she is.”
    She was a plump woman of middle years. Lucky side of 45, I’d guess. She had dyed blonde hair and rings on every finger. Her tapered nails were a discreet shade of Coral Blush, as befitted a mature woman of her station. She had flagged the cab on my last pass through downtown, shivering in front of a hotel as her breath puffed trails of steam into the crisp, night air. She wasn’t crying when I picked her up, but it was my fault she started. I never should have asked how her night was.
    I turned on the meter when she gave me an address. Her destination was too far to stretch a comfortable silence, so I had to talk to her. We exchanged guarded pleasantries as strangers do in a taxi.
    “I’m Jane. My ex always called me Sweet Jane,” she admitted. Her eyes were full of hurt when they darted my way. “You know, like the Lou Reed song.”
    “Cowboy Junkies,” I blurted; how could I not?
    “You’ve heard of them? I always hated that group,” she disparaged. “So fucking happy to be sad.”
    I thought that was funny. “You look like someone with her heart broke and you are looking to get back home.”
    Her mouth twitched in an attempt to appreciate my brand of humor. “Maybe you should take me to my car instead. I went out tonight. I don’t know if I want to cry or scream.”
    “I’m driving a cab, here. I‘ll take you anywhere if you got cash up front to pay for the ride.”
    Jane’s eyes were flat and dark. “I’m in the ramp. Top floor. The red Jetta.”
    I changed directions and headed back towards the downtown parking ramp. She was silent for the rest of the ride. I parked the taxi next to her car, but she stopped me when I moved to shut off the meter for a total.
    “Let the meter run, I can afford it. Can we just sit here, please?”
    We sat in the quiet for a while. Jane stared out the windshield at nothing. I stared out my window at bright stars in the clear night sky, listening to the meter click off the time in 36-second intervals. Ignoring the waves of misery sweating off her wasn’t easy, but I didn’t want to interfere with a stranger without knowing her circumstances. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to pry into anybody’s private life. Sometimes silence is best, and other times it can drive you nuts. I finally had to ask if she was okay.
    That’s when she started crying. A tear escaped, her breath caught, and there I was, trapped in a cab with a sobbing woman I didn’t know. A break in the hysterics brought out her story. Funny, isn’t it, how folks that cry on your shoulder need to justify the act with explanations.
    “I think I was just raped.” She was matter-of-fact, her tone separate from the content of her words.
    I shut off the meter, not wanting to profit from the misfortune of another. “No offense, ma’am, but isn’t it usually a little more obvious than that?”
    “I always thought so. Now I’m not so sure.”
    “Well, what happened?”
    “Can I smoke?” she put me off and dug into her purse for a pack of Misty’s. “I went on a date tonight. I haven’t been out with a man since my divorce six years ago, but the girls in the office kept teasing me about being the resident Ice Queen. They fixed me up with a guy they all know.”
    I nodded to show I was listening and lit a smoke of my own. “Did you just meet him tonight?” Knowing how to ask hard questions, the ones that make people share intimate details, it can be a curse.
    “He was a guest at the office Christmas party last year. He seemed like a nice guy.”
    “But he wasn’t.”
    “I was fooled. After we made the date on Monday he sent flowers to the office on Wednesday and called Thursday to confirm our plans,” Jane threw her finished cigarette through the open window along with the details of her misery. “I thought he was being sweet and thoughtful. I should have known something would go wrong.”
    “Why? Good things happen to people all the time.”
    Jane retrieved another cigarette as I finished my first. “Not to me. I have terrible relationships with people. I know how to manage them on the job but I treat them all wrong. My first marriage failed because I ignored my husband and overreacted when I found him cheating. No wonder the girls set me up for this.”
    “For the date?”
    She turned sideways in the seat to face me. “For everything. Why did you shut off your meter? I told you to leave it on.”
    “The ride ended when I parked the cab. If you want to pay someone to listen to you, go to a shrink.”
    “You don’t take any shit, do you? I like that,” she approved. “We had prime rib at the Freighthouse,” Jane continued in an even tone. “Good food, outrageous prices, too many drinks before and after the meal. You know how it is.”
    “Yeah, I guess so. What did you mean about the girls setting you up for everything?”
    “That’s what I said. He was supposed to take me out, get me drunk, fuck me, and confess that it was all one big joke on Sweet Jane,” she said with a brittle smile. “Are you laughing, yet?”
    I shook my head. “Nothing funny about that.”
    Once Jane started sharing the details, she couldn’t stop. “We were at the bar in the restaurant. There was a band playing so we had to sit close to hear each other talk. Things were smooth and we were getting friendly. You know, a few touches of the hand, looks instead of words we weren’t ready to say, all that stuff. We even danced a few slow songs together.
    “Then he spilled a drink on his shirt and I agreed to go with him to his motel room while he changed. We planned to hit the downtown bars.”
    “He already had a motel room for this?” That seemed a bit premeditated to me, but I didn’t want to say so and make things worse with my opinions. I couldn’t take it if she started crying again.
    Jane nodded. “Yes. He’s not from here. He’s the brother of one of the girls in my office. I suppose she didn’t want him to rape me in her house.”
    I had nothing to say to that. All I could do is listen to the tale as she finished it. The two of them walked to his motel, one of the pricey downtown digs. They even held hands as they walked along the river. He told her lies in the moonlight, the ones she needed to hear, and they went to his motel room together.
    Once they were in the room, he invited her to sit as he changed his shirt without excusing himself from the room. A stack of empty bottles told Jane that he had started drinking long before meeting her for the evening. They talked as he changed shirts, casually flirting as he asked her opinion between a polo shirt and a tee. When he reached for her, it seemed a natural progression.
    “I encouraged him.” Jane was bitter. “I wanted him.”
    “So it was your fault?”
    “I never should have let him touch me. We had just met. What was I thinking?”
    She was furious, soft fists lay clenched in her lap. “When I realized I didn’t want to have sex with him I said no. I struggled and tried to push him away, but he was drunk and stronger than I was. I left as soon as he passed out, but I never should have gone to his room in the first place.”
    “How could you know he would rape you?”
    Jane stared at me through narrowed eyes. “Maybe he didn’t. I was willing enough until he started. I led him on.”
    “You said no and he wouldn’t stop,” I reminded. “Everything you’ve told me fits the definition of date rape.”
    “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
    “I think I’m just a cab driver who’s not qualified to give you the advice you need. I can drive away when you pay me, or the hospital, or even take you to the cop shop-”
    “No!” Jane was quick to interrupt. “Don’t take me to the police. Really, I don’t want to have to deal with the hassle of the police tonight. I work with his sister-”
    “Who set you up to be seduced by her brother for a joke,” I couldn’t help but add.
    She brushed dyed hair away from her face. “It’s been an emotional night for me. Even if he did rape me, I have to work with his sister and all the other women who were in on the original joke. They already call me the Ice Queen, what do you think my work life would be like if I turned him in for date rape? We were seen at the restaurant and bar, we walked through the motel lobby holding hands, do you honestly think anybody would believe he had to rape me to get what he wanted?”
    “Not when you put it like that.”
    “Thank you. I’ll be okay,” Jane assured me. She reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of loose bills to pay her fare. “Talking it out with you really helped. You’re a good cab driver.”
    “You want me to stay until you get your car started?”
    “If you like,” she agreed before she left my cab for her red Jetta.
    I waited until she had her car started before I deserted the ramp. I never saw her again or read about her in the paper, but I wonder about her now and again, when the temperature gets chilly and my breath comes in puffs, trailing steam into the crisp night air. People make choices, and that’s a fact. Driving cab requires an ability to walk away from troubles not of my own making. Sometimes I suspect it comes to me too easy.