by Lee Alan
Anna flicked through sub–folders, trying to guess the most likely place to find more dirt. Her gaze fell upon one entitled Monthly Deletion. People put their crap in the trash, kiddo. She found only one untitled email chain inside. The original communication came from Bill Moyer to a personal address.
SUBJECT: (BLANK)
Jim,
Where have you been? I’ve tried to call a thousand times, and your PA is ignoring the office email.
I NEED MORE MONEY. I’m sick of putting my fucking career on the line to do your stupid bullshit. Wire it to the usual account TODAY. If you don’t, then I will blow the lid on this shit.
Don’t forget: YOU CAME TO ME. SEND ME ANOTHER 30K, AT LEAST.
The reply:
SUBJECT: (BLANK)
Where did you get this address, you stupid, fat fuck? Never ever contact me at this address again. Delete this email chain. I’m wiring another $10k. No more.
Ask me for cash one more time, you walking corpse, and I’ll make sure you are buried with a hundred dollar bill lodged in your windpipe.
P.S. I know I came to you. I was looking for the biggest waste of oxygen still able to practice law, and you certainly didn’t disappoint. Your fucktard approach to security proves it.
P.P.S. Scrap the hundred bill—you’re not worth it. I’ll just ram that glass cock you love to suck on down your fat gullet.
DELETE THIS EMAIL CHAIN, OR I SWEAR THE ABOVE THREAT WILL BECOME A PROMISE.
Finally:
SUBJECT: (BLANK)
Blanche. Could you make sure you delete this chain? I’m not used to this email crap. I keep dragging it over to the trash can on my desktop, like you said, and nothing happens!
Bill
Anna stared at the screen, not believing her luck. Blanche had placed the message chain into the delete folder just a few days before the monthly data purge. She sent up a silent prayer for the staggering incompetence of Moyer and his staff. Why the lawyer would trust anyone with such a damning piece of evidence remained a mystery. Maybe they were lovers?
It didn’t matter now. Writing the article remained the only thing that did. Anna was so elated that she felt the need to share her news without delay, so she gave George the command to call Corey. He’d been at a conference in LA for the past few days, leaving her to carry out her writing mission in the splendid solitude of Clear Water.
“Hey, sugar buns. How’s my favorite concubine doing?” Corey answered after the second ring. She could tell he had male company, because of the borderline sexist greeting. Although annoying, she didn’t have the heart to squash the boyish game.
“Hey, asshole, I thought you were my concubine?” She was in a good mood, so she played ball. “Biiiatch!”
Corey laughed. “What’s up, hon?”
“I’ve found it—the evidence!” She went on to explain how she’d found the data stick.
“Fantastic, I knew you would,” he replied without sounding the least bit surprised.
“How did you know I would?” she asked, still sulking that he’d made a promise to the forest trust on her behalf.
“You’re a truth–seeker, remember?” he answered. “After the evil shit you’ve beaten, this is a walk in the park. I didn’t doubt it for a second.” She glowed at the words.
“Look, you’ll be home tomorrow, so why don’t we celebrate?” she asked.
“Oh, shit. Sorry, babe. I forgot to say that they’ve extended the conference for another day. We’re on the verge of doing a deal with the Japanese that could halve our cell costs. They’ll expect me to sign the deal in person.”
“Oh, poo,” she sulked. “I was looking forward to seeing you again.”
“I miss you, too.” His voice was lower, now, “I wouldn’t stay longer, if I had a choice.”
“I know.”
“Why don’t you hook up with your new friend? You both seemed to get on.”
Anna mulled the idea for a moment. Claire had been a breath of fresh air, and they’d already promised to meet up. Also, she missed female conversation—particularly about the wedding. “I might do just that,” she said. “Catch you later, sweetie. Love you. I’ve got some writing to do!”
The article flowed after the call, and a few thousand words later, she felt certain the plans of Peterson were finished. “Put that in your pipe and smoke it, asshole,” she said, pressing the final period key of the text.
After emailing the finished piece to Corey, she gave the Big Bird badge a quick rub of gratitude, and then contemplated what to do with the rest of her evening. Although she wanted to contact the kind and friendly Claire, she found herself hesitating. Maybe you’re not ready for friendship, yet? “There’s only one way to find out, kiddo.” She said aloud.
Anna dug out the crumpled piece of paper with the other woman’s number scribbled on it and then instructed George to dial.
“Hello, this is 492–111. How may I help you?” a sweet child’s voice answered in a slow, practiced tone. Anna found the immature formality impossibly cute. Might be her kid? She thought.
“Hello, could I speak to Claire, please?”
There was a pause, as if the listener were wrestling with an unfamiliar term. ”Would you like to speak to Momma?” the kid asked.
“Er, I think so. I mean, yes, please,” Anna replied, hoping she hadn’t punched in the wrong number.
“You certainly may!” A series of ear–shattering thuds and bangs followed, presumably while the child transported the handset to his mother.
“Hold on, please, Momma is sleeping. I need to wake her.”
“Oh no, sweetie, it’s okay, you don’t have to…” Her intervention came too late, though. More banging followed before she heard the boy call his mother.
“Wake up, Momma! There’s a lady on the phone asking for you.” An adult voice asked a muffled question.
“Who is speak—” the kid’s voice cut off as Anna heard another inaudible instruction. “May I ask who is speaking?” he repeated, this time with extra politeness. Anna smiled, hoping that one day she would get the chance to guide her own children in the same way.
“You certainly may,” she answered. “Could you tell your momma that it’s Anna, the lady she met at college.”
“Mom, the lady is called Anna and says you met at col… col… at school.”
“Pass it here, Hermie,” Anna heard. “Hi, Anna,” the voice was Claire’s, sounding friendly, but tired.
“Oh, hi, Claire. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she answered, embarrassed by the intrusion.
“Hey, no problem at all. This little critter made me sit through a marathon session of Barney until two AM. My brain is shot.”
A brief moment of silence followed before Anna realized Claire was being too polite to ask why she’d called. “So, I called to arrange that drink,” she said, trying not to sound desperate. There was a pause, and she expected some kind of half–hearted apology. I wouldn’t blame you, considering my track record, she thought. Stay clear, world, toxic jinx approaching!
“That’s the best offer I’ve had in months,” Claire replied, putting a stop to her paranoia. “The problem is that finding a decent babysitter for my man, here, is like searching for hen’s teeth.”
Anna smiled when she heard the boy ask if hens really did have had teeth. She tried to think of a solution to Claire’s child care issue, but all she could come up with involved a comical vision of leaving the kid in the care of one over–enthusiastic house robot.
“Bring him with us,” she said. “I’m sure we can have a good time with… sorry, was it Hermie?”
“Hermie by name, Hermie by nature,” Claire replied, prompting them both to laugh. “Say hello properly to Hermon.”
Anna heard the phone switch again, followed by the heavier breathing of the child. “Hello, Hermon. I’m Anna. Would you like to go out with your mom and me?”
“Where to?” he asked, his tone immediately perked up.
“I’m not
sure, yet, hon. Put your mom back on and we can decide,” she replied.
“Can we go to Krispy Dough?” he asked expectantly. The sound of a groan coming from the background indicated that his mom wasn’t so keen on the idea.
“Why don’t we ask your mom, honey?” Anna suggested. The phone switched again.
“He’s obsessed with the Star Wars toys you get there,” Claire explained. “We’ve been twice already this week, and he doesn’t care if he turns his poor mother into a fat, penniless blimp to get it.”
“Typical male,” Anna agreed.
“What can you do? It’s the natural order of things,” Claire answered. Anna took this to mean mothers being hauled from pillar to post by their kids.
“Hey, not a problem. He’s more than welcome, and it’s been so long since I’ve been around a little one that it’d be a novelty for me.”
“Wish I could say the same,” Claire added. “Tell you what: buy me a coffee and you get the company of one Hermon Pike.”
“Deal.”
Chapter 9
Anna’s brand new Toyota drew more than a few curious glances as she drove along the run–down neighbourhood in Tolleson. Ironically, her old station wagon would have left her feeling less vulnerable. She passed the assorted dollar stores and pawn brokers, feeling grateful that these places didn’t feature in her world, anymore. Poverty had become a distant memory for her, and the idea of having to sell one’s most cherished items just to be able to put food on the table was unthinkable for her, now. A street not dissimilar to this one, however, had been her reality for years. She didn’t miss it; there was nothing noble about living day to day not knowing if you’d be able to pay the next rent. No, she felt no nostalgic desire to be here, and she pitied Claire for not having a choice in the matter.
The GPS directed her to pull up outside a house still with the For Rent sign stuck into a small patch of turf beyond the front porch. Anna recalled Claire saying she’d moved to Phoenix recently and guessed from the dilapidated dwelling that the move had been a rushed one. Even someone with a moderate income wouldn’t have chosen this place, especially not someone with a young child. It made her feel more than a little uncomfortable to think about the vast luxury she and Corey enjoyed by comparison. She couldn’t help but check the street for dodgy characters before exiting the car. Reassuringly, the only person around appeared to be an elderly bum pushing a squeaky–wheeled shopping cart full of plastic bottles in the direction of the convenience stores. Stepping out, she pressed the key fob twice to double lock the car, despite her willingness to think the best of her fellow man.
“You’re turning into a snob,” she muttered as she approached a flaking green door.
Anna pressed the discolored doorbell hanging from the rotten frame. Nothing happened, so she rapped three times. The door opened immediately and Claire stood before her. The dark smudges underneath her deep, grey eyes spoke of her lack of sleep. Little Hermon stood beside her, and one look at his angelic face made Anna’s heart sail. He had the same colored gaze as his mother, but instead of giving him a mysterious appearance, it added to his innocent charm. He’d been well–dressed in a light coat with matching Star Wars–themed boots. By contrast, Claire’s coat looked worn and ill fitting, like it came from a second hand store. Behind the two lay a bare hallway littered with cardboard boxes and other items associated with a new resident.
“Hi, there!” Anna said in an enthusiastic tone for the benefit of her young audience. She had to resist the urge to laugh at the happy grin on the young boy’s face, which contrasted with his mother’s resigned smile.
“Are you the lady I spoke to on the phone?” he asked.
“I certainly am, kiddo.”
“Wowee! Krispy Dough, here we come!” he declared, tugging his mom toward the street.
“I’d let you in, but it looks like a bomb hit it.” Claire apologized while being marched past Anna. The poor woman barely had time to reach behind her and pull the door shut.
“Yowzer! Is this your car?” Hermon asked, pointing at the white Toyota. “It’s totally sick!”
“You need to call the lady Anna—and where did you learn that word?” Claire asked, clearly not liking the youngster’s lingo.
“Sick is good, Momma, didn’t you know?”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Can’t you say ‘cool,’ instead? The other word doesn’t sound nice.”
“Okay, Momma,” he replied, although Anna suspected he had no intention of keeping the promise.
“Which Krispy Dough are we going to?” Anna asked, opening up the car and inviting them in. Claire took a seat next to her son in the back and buckled him up.
“Can we go to the one with the slide, Momma? Can we? Can we? Please?” Hermon asked, turning up the charm to the max. This prompted another groan from his parent. “It’s the big one in the City Center,” Claire said.
“Okilly dokilly,” Anna replied, mentally wincing at the dated Simpson’s reference.
“I haven’t heard that for while!” Claire said.
“Sorry, it’s been a long time since I’ve been around kids.”
They drove to the huge downtown mall and parked in a ten–story parking garage. It was the kind the old Anna would’ve avoided because of the eye–watering fees. They browsed the stores dotted throughout the main plaza, which, this close to Christmas, featured more than one gigantic inflatable Santa. The mall owners had even brought in a group of real reindeer, which looked more than a little uncomfortable in the Arizona climate.
The retailers had tried their best to outdo each other to create a more extravagant, festive theme than their competition. Hermon, of course, was having a great time. He ran from one gaudy display to another, taking in everything with infectious wonder. Claire seemed to disapprove of the consumerist eye–candy, though, and she often tutted and made comments about these places detracting from the real meaning of the holiday. Anna suspected that if she hadn’t been with them, Claire would have taken a stronger line with the boy. While his mother was being forced to be more tolerant, however, Hermon appeared to drink in his surroundings with glee.
Even Claire laughed, though, when they came to a special educational display put on by the city. It featured the many different yuletide traditions observed around the world. The specific cause of their hilarity stemmed from a Spanish tradition featuring Tió de Nadal, the magical Christmas log. The bizarre ritual involved drawing a happy face onto one end of said log and then fixing a long cloth bag at the other. Leading up to the big day, children would feed Tió by placing various foody treats into his tummy bag. On Christmas Eve, the log would have magically digested the food. The kids would then proceed to beat the log until it pooed various presents.
“It poops presents?” asked Hermon after Anna relayed this for his benefit. “I want a magic pooping log, too, Momma!”
“No, sir.” Claire chuckled.
“Krispy Dough!” Hermon shouted, dropping his request on sight of the original reason for their visit.
A crowd of stressed–looking families packed the large donut store, where dozens of children lined up to access its indoor playground. Judging by the tense look on the faces of their parents, Anna guessed Krispy Dough wasn’t proving to be the well–earned break they’d hoped for. Hermon wasted no time in flinging off his coat before throwing it to his mother.
“Can I go on the playground, Momma? Can I?” He could barely get the words out, such was his level of excitement.
As soon as he heard the word, “okay,” he sped off toward the other children, even while Claire was still uttering the word, “but.”
“He looks like a happy boy,” Anna said as they watched him wait in line with the others.
“Hermie is officially amaze–balls,” Claire replied, as they strolled to the second line of customers snaking up to the service counter.
“He’s coped with the move better than me.”
“Children are strong, like that,” Anna said, trying to soun
d supportive.
“Strong’s not the word,” Claire replied, her face reflective. “The poor kid’s been through Hell. Now, with the move on top, I’m amazed he doesn’t think I’m the worst mom in the world.”
“It’s obvious that he thinks the world of you.”
“Hm.” Claire frowned. “Not that I deserve it. Half of his presents are gonna come from the dollar store this year. What kind of a great mother allows that?”
“Money’s not everything,” Anna replied, instantly regretting how patronizing it must have sounded.
Claire seemed to ignore the point. “Do you want kids?” she asked.
“Is it so obvious that I don’t have any?”
“You don’t have the thousand–yard stare,” Claire pointed at her own drawn features, “which is a better way to put it than my nasty–ass gran used to.”
“How was that?”
“‘Your nips better still be pink, young’un.’” she said in a crotchety, old voice.
The vulgar outburst caused the well–dressed woman in front of them to turn and give them a disapproving frown. Claire ignored this at first, but after their prudish neighbour turned back, she made an exaggerated cross–eyed expression. Anna couldn’t help but laugh at the bold cheek of it.
Although the line stretched to the entrance door, they’d soon retrieved their order of indulgent treats. They’d also succeeded in securing the all–important children’s meal, but only after Claire made the harried staff rummage through a collection of small, plastic characters until they found one that Hermon didn’t already own.
They reached the cramped seating area just as a young Asian couple dragged a screaming, red–faced toddler away. He’d clearly enjoyed a little too much sugar and excitement. After removing the sticky remains of the kid’s tantrum, they sat and spent a few minutes sipping coffee while watching Hermon make friends with a girl sporting fake Princess Leia buns.