TROUT 𓆝 ⋆ l. bonet + e. debarge

Prologue

September 1988. Seattle, Washington.

The night began with a bang.

I found myself in yet another argument with my boyfriend, Amir. We've had numerous disagreements, and many of them center around one specific topic: me. This time, the issue is the large billboard on the Bay Freeway featuring an enlarged portrait of me, thanks to the radio station, to celebrate my two successful years in the business.

This wasn't the first time one of my billboards had upset Amir. Last year, there was another one on the same freeway, but it was much larger. In that advertisement, my hair was styled like the Bride of Frankenstein, and I wore a dramatic white dress while posing for the camera. It caused chaos on the freeway. When Amir first saw it, he was stuck in gridlock for hours and ended up missing work. For weeks afterward, it was all his friends and coworkers could talk about.

Suddenly, an unusual amount of attention was directed toward him, and the conversation kept shifting back to me. Amir couldn't handle it. Jealousy was his weakness, and the attention I received deeply unsettled him. However, this billboard outshone the previous one, causing traffic to come to a halt for hours and even earning a spot on the local news.

When Amir saw it on television last night, he called me dozens of times at the station. Unfortunately, I missed all of his calls, which only added to his anger. I was working late, but that was another issue that often led to our arguments.

"I'm just saying," Amir said as he buttoned his shirt in the bathroom mirror. "Why does the radio station feel the need to showcase you around the city like a piece of meat? Don't you have any say there?"

I sat on the edge of our clawfoot tub, letting out a sigh. "Amir, this is business. It helps us attract listeners. You know we're in fierce competition with KISS, and we just knocked them out of the number one spot. I don't mind it, so why should you?"

"Because I'm your man," he said, fastening the last button. "Or does that not matter to you anymore?"

I scoffed and asked, "What does that mean?"

"Ever since you began working at that station—"

"For the love of Christ, Amir! This is my career we're discussing! I'm paying my dues, and that takes time, hard work, and—"

"Let me guess," Amir interrupted, "Your face all over Seattle? Persephone, when are you going to realize that your boss doesn't value what you do, only your assets? That's why I've been telling you to just stay home and let me work!"

I kept quiet. Amir was in school and worked at the downtown Sears, which covered half of our bills, but that was all his salary could manage. Instead of working in his father's restaurant, where he had been employed before college, Amir chose to settle for a job stocking clothes that paid $5.00 an hour. This decision stemmed from his stubbornness and his desire to establish an identity separate from his family's.

"So, are we in agreement on that?"

Suddenly, I shot up from the edge of the tub. "No! I'm not going to throw in the towel and quit my career just because you want me to be a stay-at-home girlfriend! Are you out of your mind?"

As I moved to the bedroom to slip into my dress, Amir followed closely behind. "Perse, why do you have to be so difficult? This is exactly what my mother was talking about—"

"Don't," I gritted, stopping in my tracks. "Don't you dare bring up what your mother said about me in my home. She doesn't even want us together."

"That's not true! She just wants you to understand her perspective."

"Whatever."

A few moments of silence passed as I prepared myself. Amir sat on the bed, watching me intently, a glint of remorse reflecting in his chestnut eyes. Our argument was finally coming to an end. "Baby," he called out, "Come over and sit next to me. Let's talk this out."

I walked into the closet and picked out a pair of worn Converse, ready to put them on. "I can talk from right here," I said. "What do you have to say to me this time?"

"I know I didn't mean what I said. I don't want to argue every night; I want this to work between us. What can I do to make you happy?"

I've heard this before. Amir always asks what he can do to make me happy, and I tell him to stop being jealous. It works for a while, but then he slips back into his old ways again. Not this time.

"I want us to see a therapist."

Silence filled the room. I peeked out from the closet door and locked eyes with Amir, who looked taken aback.

"Well? What about it?"

"Wow, Perse," Amir said with a sigh. "Is it really that serious?"

Easing out of the closet, I walked over to our bed and sat next to him. "You don't want to lose me, do you? I'm tired of arguing, and I believe this can help mend the rough patches in our relationship. You won't have to do anything except show up to the sessions—I'll take care of the payment."

Amir smiled and said, "Alright. If you think it will help us. Frankly, I think doctors are quacks..."