When she arrived home, she started to dial his number when she remembered that Mr. Black might be listening so instead she decided to use the telephone in the lobby of her apartment building.
When her brother answered, he actually seemed enthusiastic to hear from her and Elsa couldn’t deny that she, too, was happy to hear his familiar, if not grating, voice.
“Yo, El, it’s about damn time. I know you’ve been avoiding me,” he chuckled.
It was true. She had been. “How’s Mom?”
“Worried that you’re out there selling your body to pay your bills. Call her and either confirm or deny it, will you?”
No, she wasn’t selling it; she had freely signed it away. “I need a favor. Can you do a background check on someone for me?”
“One of your ‘clients’?” he snickered.
“Shut the hell up, Nick. Can you or not?”
“Of course I can. All I need is a name.”
“I need more than just a basic check though, if you get my drift.”
Nick’s voice oozed condescension. “You’re such a fuck up, Elsa. What did you do? Piss someone off and now you need blackmail material?”
“You’re an ass. Never mind,” she pouted.
Nick had always been the perfect one in her mother’s eyes - perfect grades; flawless wife; an aerospace degree from MIT, blah, blah, barfity blah. She rolled her eyes and fake gagged. She would never live down her rebellious years in her family’s eyes. Seriously? Selling her body? Just because she illegally got a tattoo at the age of seventeen and did time in juvie didn’t mean she was out hooking for a living. Didn’t her mother have any faith in her? She had an engineering degree, too, and just because it wasn’t from a prestigious and over-priced college like Nick’s, didn’t make it any less valid.
“I’ll talk to you later,” she snapped as she was about to hang up the phone.
“Oh, stop pouting. I’ll do it,” he sighed.
“Thank you. His name is Victor Black…” she caught herself. “I mean Victor Laurenzo.”
“Interesting.”
Elsa’s senses heightened. “What do you mean?”
“A Laurenzo Black called me about two weeks ago about a job reference for you. He asked all sorts of questions and I just wrote it off. Do you think it was the same person?”
Fear and anger knotted inside her. “Of course it was. Like what kinds of questions?”
“I don’t remember. The usual shit. He asked about your character strengths and weaknesses and I couldn't think of any weaknesses so I made a joke about your tickling phobia.” he laughed.
“Oh, my, God, Nick, you have no idea what you’ve done. What else did you tell him?” she nearly sobbed.
“I don’t remember,” he quieted down when he heard the distress in her voice.
Like hell he didn’t remember.
“Shit, El. I didn’t know it was a big deal. Who is this guy?”
“Just do a check on him. But be careful, he works for the FBI.”
“Fuck. What did you get yourself into?”
*
After her phone call, Elsa lay in her bed with her thoughts racing. She could only imagine what other personal information Nick had divulged to Victor. Mr. Black. Whatever. The man who was most likely going to punish her for breaking the outlandish rule of not wearing panties to work. What sort of outrageous chastisement did he have planned next? She reminded herself about his statement of her being physically safe in his home and that eased her distress somewhat, though not much. And he was a representative of the government so obviously he wouldn’t harm her. He had a reputation to uphold. Then again, it would also make it easier for him to cover up her death.
Appalled with where her thoughts were going, she closed her eyes and forced herself to take a nap. She woke sometime after midnight, irritated with herself for having unintentionally slept so long. She changed and broke out the nearly-full bottle of wine she had bought several nights before.
Three glasses of wine later, she picked up her phone and as if she were standing next to her body without any control over her own actions, she helplessly watched her fingers find Patrick's name in her contracts and hit send. When she heard his sleepy voice on the other end, she snapped back to semi-sobriety and hung up, cursing herself for dialing him and then acting so immature as to hang up.
Not even twenty seconds later, her phone rang out, Patrick's name flashing across the screen. Of course he would call her back. Mortified, she sat staring at it while it continued to ring. Finally the phone went silent and she sighed with relief, but her relief was short-lived when her phone rang out again.
Deciding to man-up, she answered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call and wake you.”
“Is everything okay?” he asked with concern in his voice.
“Yes, of course.”
“Are you sure? It's late and I was surprised to see that you were calling.”
“Really, I’m fine. I just dialed your number by mistake.”
“Well since you've called, how are you? How's the new job?”
His voice… she had missed his soft, smooth voice and calm disposition. “Good. I’m lead supervisor,” she smiled, proud of her new position.
“I heard. Congratulations on your career advancement. We all miss you here.”
We? Elsa knew that wasn’t true and that he was just being polite. “Tell everyone I said hi, will you?”
“Will do. Elsa…” he broke off and she could hear a muffled female’s voice in the background. She swallowed hard and cringed at the thought of him with another woman. “I never meant…” he continued.
Here it comes – the dreaded ‘it was me, not you’ speech. She couldn’t bear to hear it. Not again. “I know,” she cut in, speaking in a weak and tremulous whisper. “I’m okay with how things ended. Really,” she lied. “Take care of yourself.”
The conversation ended and the same sinking feeling she had when he had first broken her heart, punched her in the diaphragm and stole the breath from her. She never wanted to make the mistake of calling Patrick again and without delay she did what she should’ve done six months ago and erased his number from her phone.
Friday ticked by slowly and the only good thing that came from it was she was able to get everything done that she had put off all week. As each minute passed by, her denial of what was going to take place on Saturday was becoming reality.
On her drive home, her body began to shake as fearful images built in her mind causing her to pull over on the side of the road. What the hell was wrong with her? She didn’t have to go through with it. She could just end things and be over it. But Mr. Black… Victor… he would never allow it. She knew that much to be true and she had already promised him that she would take whatever he had planned. Him and his damned game.
That’s right - it was all just a game, she repeated to herself. Just a game. Only a game. It would all be over when he had his fill of her and found his next contestant. Then what? She would be alone again and without the distraction that he was providing her with. But did she really want that kind of a distraction? What other choice did she have? Solitude. That was the cold, stark alternative she had and one she would rather suffer Mr. Black’s wrath than face.
*
Amazingly she slept well that night considering how upset she was with herself for having called Patrick and getting herself into the whole mess with Mr. Black. The wine helped in that regard, but when she woke, the headache, nausea and cotton mouth made her regret her decision to polish off three-quarters of a bottle of chardonnay and make her wish she was still a pot smoker. At least she never woke up with a hangover after a night of hitting the bong.