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“Yes. Her new name is Reina. We text and talk occasionally. Yesterday she referred to us as friends and that word won’t leave me. I can’t define our relationship.”
“You sleeping with her?” Tessman asked.
“No,” he answered, outraged that Tessman would ask that. “She’s had enough men use her.”
“Okay, so a skanky whore you won’t touch,” Tessman summed up.
“No, and don’t talk about her that way. She’s really cleaned up, is living sober and respectable. I’m really proud of her.”
“Ah, princess on a pedestal syndrome,” Tessman said.
“No, not even close.”
“White knight, so you think you see her as a project, someone you have to save?” Tessman then posed.
Wilson took another long drink. He refilled the little plastic cup from the can of diet and dumped in the liquid from the second little rum bottle. “I don’t know. She’s got a good heart, which is surprising because she’s had a hard life. She’s a survivor. I respect that. She bounces stuff off me because she’s got no one else she can talk to who knows her story. I never considered how lonely it has to be when the Marshals give someone a new identity.”
“Do you want to sleep with her?” Tessman asked.
“What kind of question is that?”
Tessman laughed. “So you do.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t say you didn’t, which means you do. You don’t like the word friend because you’d prefer it be friends with benefits, lover, fuck buddy, or whatever word you want to use for sleeping with her. Is it just sexual? Tell me you can at least define if it’s a physical thing or if your mind is all screwed up.”
Wilson regretted bringing this up. “Until the word friend was thrown out, I didn’t think about it one way or the other.”
“Are you pissed because she thinks of you as just a friend? Would you prefer she thinks about you sexually?”
“How do you know she doesn’t?” Wilson challenged.
“Because if you had even the slightest hint that she did, you would have slept with her by now.”
“Thanks for that commentary on my character. She’s been through a lot. She doesn’t need another predator in her life.”
“She needs a friend,” Tessman said. “So, you’ve filled that role.” His tone of voice was mocking.
“Just forget it,” Wilson said.
“Name women who are not our coworkers or wives of our coworkers, who you’d say is a friend,” Tessman prompted.
Wilson shook his head. There were none. There were ex-girlfriends, fuck buddies, hookups, but no female friends.
“And your point is?”
“You didn’t even name Reina,” Tessman said. “If you considered her a friend, her name would have flown out of your mouth to prove me wrong, if nothing else. So, the question is, if you don’t want to sleep with her and you don’t consider her a friend, why have you continued the relationship with her? Because, even if you can’t put a name on what it is, it is some sort of relationship that you have with her. And I don’t think you have a white knight complex.”
Wilson inwardly groaned. Oh fuck, Tessman was right.
“She considers you a friend and tells you things going on in her life. I doubt you reciprocate,” Tessman said.
“You know damn well we can’t talk about what we do,” Wilson countered.
“Did you tell her about this trip? That wouldn’t be violating operation protocol. It is something one would tell a friend about, you know, sharing your life.”
He wanted to tell Tessman to go fuck himself. He did tell her about his life, probably more than he should and certainly more than he had shared with any other woman. “I would have if the word friend hadn’t fucked with me. I’ve told her about other trips, and I’m sure I’ll tell her about it next time I talk to her.”