Elah's Plaything

by Lydia Rowan

  “True romance lives. Be still my heart.”

  Lottie scoffed.

  “What? You just described a car rental, not a marriage.”

  “Well, it’s not that per se, but it’s not a love match.”

  “Is it money? I swore I was retired, but I would dust off my Lucite heels for you. Even the ones with lights in the soles if need be. I’m not at my fighting weight, but I can still put on a show, and I know some of the freaks would pay extra for the scars.”

  Isis ended with a saucy smile, the scars on the right side of her beautiful face pulling tight with the expression, but the sincerity of her words was clear in her eyes and in the way she held her body.

  Lottie was touched by the offer. Isis had shared her background and had often stressed how much she never wanted to go back to that world, dancing for dollars and trying to keep her head above water, how deep down, she feared she inevitably would. For her to open that door, even in jest, was the most genuine expression of her friendship Lottie could think of.

  “Nothing so drastic is necessary, but I appreciate it,” she said as she stood and walked around her desk to grab her friend’s hand. “Really.”

  “It’s nothing, especially for you.”

  Lottie felt tears prick her eyes. Maybe it was a combination of the stress of these last few days or Isis’s display of affection, but Lottie was moved. Isis stood up on her tiptoes and wrapped her in a hug, her grip surprisingly strong. Then she stepped back and gave her a pat on the shoulder.

  “So you seriously didn’t even know him before this?” Isis asked.

  “No. Do you know him?”

  “Ha-ha. I don’t move in such rarefied air.”

  “But you’ve heard things?”

  Isis licked her lips and tilted her head. The woman had only been in the city for a little over five years, but her network was deep. If there was something to know, she knew it.

  “Things. Yes, I’ve heard things.”

  “Such as…?”

  “It varies.”

  “Isis, in all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never uttered a sentence with less than twenty-five words. Start talking.”

  “Fine, though let me pause to note the irony of you yelling at me for not talking when you failed to mention you got married. Anyhow, it’s tough to get a sense of what’s what.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, all I’ve heard is secondhand. Some whisper that he’s the man behind the curtain, running all the dirty business with the legitimate stuff as a front. Others say he’s a hard worker who doesn’t take shit, but that he’s fair and helps people out here and there.”

  “So I’m married to either Batman or Michael Corleone.”

  “That’s about the sum of it.”

  She must have gone a little green around the gills because Isis perked up and gave her a dazzling smile.

  “Buck up, Lottie. It could be worse.”

  “How?”

  “You could be married to that cretin Greg.”

  “Don’t be mean, Isis,” she said around a laugh.

  “I can’t help it. That guy is such a tool.”

  Isis had hated Greg on sight, saying she couldn’t trust a man who cared that much about his appearance. They got along when required, but, at least on Isis’s part, the dislike had never cooled.

  “Seriously, Lot. If you need me, I’m here, okay?” she said a moment later.

  She nodded, knowing Isis was as good as her word. Isis looked at her watch and grimaced slightly.

  “I’d love to stick around, but duty calls.”

  “You have a shift today? I thought you were moving to four days a week.”

  “I did, but the overtime won’t hurt.”

  “Are you okay for money?” Charlotte asked. “I can move some stuff around, see about finally getting you a real salary.”

  Isis had volunteered for years, and she and Lottie had hit it off immediately. Between this project and that, she and Lottie had developed a bond that only deepened over time.

  “Ah, I’m fine. You know I like to save for a rainy day and besides, what could be better than twelve hours in a credit-card call center?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Marrying a stranger?”

  “You win. Though I bet Mr. Avakian is a lot better-looking than my floor supervisor.”

  Lottie had never seen the man, but Isis’s stories about the floor supervisor who lorded over the operators like a dictator painted an unflattering portrait.

  “You’ll win him over. No one can resist your charm for too long.”

  “Hope springs. You in tomorrow?”

  “Yeah,” she said, having realized that the only real alternatives to sitting around the big, impersonal house that was not yet her home were going to her father’s office, and risking Elah’s ire in the process, or coming to the center. The center would win every time.

  “Cool. You can tell me all about married life, and we’ll have a chance to talk about this year’s program. Oh, and you can give me a ride in that lovely model of Italian automotive engineering that I hear you rolled up in. Bye!”

  Isis waved and left, taking her cheer and energy with her. The center and its programs wouldn’t be a tenth of what they were without Isis’s work. On top of her job at the call center—she swore the job, in addition to paying her bills, made her a better person by teaching her the patience that Mother Nature hadn’t gifted her with—she spent tireless hours at the center working with clients. She had a passion and a gift for helping others, so much so that Lottie had mostly ceded decision making to her, choosing to focus on the financial end of things, and it was working well so far.

  Lottie worked for a few more hours and then decided to close up for the day. She needed to make a stop before she went…home. No, not home, she corrected herself, the place where she was residing temporarily. That semantic quirk smoothed, she locked up the office and headed to her car, still not quite accepting the idea that it belonged to her, at least temporarily, and willing to admit, but only to herself, that she’d fallen in love with it.

  The faint roar and gentle hum of the powerful engine lulled her as she made the quick drive to her father’s campaign office, knowing she’d find him there. Elah had said it was off-limits, but she had to talk to her father, and it wasn’t like she was going to be working. Besides, she wasn’t a prisoner and she wouldn’t be dictated to by anyone. He’d probably be angry, but he’d just have to deal with it. She parked and headed in, using the key she’d had since college to unlock the door. Her dad kept the office staffed on the lean side, and it was usually deserted or close to it after five. That was for the best, though, as she wasn’t up to explaining her marital status again today.

  “Daddy, are you here?” she called as she walked through the semidark office. Light streamed from his partially open door, and she headed toward it.

  “Hey, Daddy, how are…?”

  She stopped short when she entered the office to find Greg seated in her father’s chair, feet up on the desk. He didn’t seem surprised to see her or upset that she’d caught him doing something they both knew her father wouldn’t approve of. Not even her mother was allowed to sit at that desk. Greg put his feet down and leaned forward, giving her a quick once-over. It was a cold, somewhat assessing gaze, but not at all out of the ordinary for Greg. He was all about collecting information and playing the angles, something that made him a good political operator if not a particularly warm person.

  “Oh… Hey, Greg. Is Daddy around?”

  He stood and walked around the desk to stand in front of her. He always stood straight up, shoulders back, especially when she was around, and she suspected, though she’d never say it to him, that he was attempting to minimize her one-inch height advantage.

  “No. I sent him home to get some rest. He hasn’t been himself, but he’ll bounce back.”

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  Greg reached out and grabbed her hand, and she had to grind her teeth to k
eep from snatching it back. Odd, she thought. She and Greg had always gotten along, so there was no real reason for the cold discomfort creeping up her spine, but it was undeniably there.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked as he patted the back of her hand and tilted his head in a mimicry of concern.

  “Okay, I suppose,” she said, sliding her hand out of his and clasping it with her other to avoid him trying to recapture it.

  “Avakian hasn’t done anything to you, has he?”

  The words were concerned and curious, and again, something didn’t feel right, so she stayed vague.

  “No. He’s been respectful.”

  “And have you found out anything helpful?”

  “I’m sorry?” she said, tilting her head.

  “Have you found anything that might be useful for your father? And for you,” he hastily added.

  “No, but I didn’t realize I was supposed to be looking. Daddy said he’d come up with a solution.”

  “And he will.” Greg nodded reassuringly. “But in the meantime, any ammunition you—we—might uncover would help. More rounds in the chamber means more shots.”

  Lottie was losing the thread of this conversation but wouldn’t ask Greg to clarify. It seemed he was focused on information gathering and not finding a way out for her. She needed to talk to her father.

  “Sure. Well, I’m going to head to the house. Have a nice evening.”

  “You, too. And don’t worry, Lottie. We’ll work this out.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder, and that arrow of dread moved up her body and centered at the point where he touched her. Two steps toward the door broke the contact, and Lottie tried to cover the move by waving good-bye. She then turned and rushed away, anxious to be out of the office, but not sure why. She hopped in her car and drove to her parents’ house, relieved to see her father’s car parked in the driveway.

  “Lottie!” her mother exclaimed when she entered and rushed over to hug her.

  “Hey, Mama,” she responded, hugging her back.

  Her mother broke the embrace and assessed her, expression stern as she tried to root out any hint of distress.

  “Well, you’re beautiful as always, but are you okay?”

  “Thank you. I’m fine.”

  “And it’s not been too bad?”

  Lottie shrugged. “No.”

  “Glad to hear it, and like I said, call me the instant that changes, do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I suppose you came to see your father?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I figured as much. He’s holed up in his office as usual.”

  Lottie chuckled. “You haven’t been too mean, have you?”

  “He’s still in this house, isn’t he?”

  She nodded.

  “Then no, I have not. I still can’t believe that he’s gotten you into this. I can’t hardly stand to look at him right now,” Ellen said bitterly.

  “Mama, don’t say stuff like that,” Lottie said, hating the idea that she, even indirectly, had put strain on what had been a long and loving marriage.

  “And don’t you defend him, Lottie.”

  She glanced away, and her mother spoke.

  “I’m sorry, baby girl. I don’t mean to upset you, but I’m just so…pissed.”

  “It’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”

  “You’re my baby girl. I’ll always worry about you. Don’t you worry about me. Or your father.”

  Ellen cut a sharp glance in Lottie’s direction, and Lottie raised her hands in placation.

  “Okay. Okay,” she said and smiled.

  “Now go talk to your father. He’s probably been skulking back there listening to us, anyway.”

  Ellen exhaled a breath and walked to the family room, and Lottie headed toward her father’s office.

  “Your mother still mad at me?” he asked when she entered.

  “Not too mad,” Lottie said, and they shared a laugh.

  When his smile dropped, Lottie noticed the lines around his eyes and mouth that she didn’t recall being there just a few days prior.

  “Before you ask, I’m fine.” Lottie cut him off, unwilling to have yet another person inquire about her well-being today.

  Her father nodded his understanding.

  “Are you holding up?”

  “Yes. Just waiting on this thing with your mother to pass.”

  “It will.”

  “I know, but having battles on the home front and abroad has me stretched thin. I can only juggle so many swords at one time,” her father said, sounding sorry for himself.

  Lottie cleared her throat. “Speaking of abroad, have you considered what we’re going to do?”

  “Greg’s looking into it, and he’ll figure something out.”

  Irritation had Lottie perking up to sit on the edge of her chair.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he’s looking into it. He hasn’t found anything we can use to get you out of this, so we’re stuck, at least for the moment.”

  “Daddy, I don’t know if I like the sound of that.”

  “Of what, baby girl?” he asked, his brows rising in confusion.

  “It seems like you’re focused on getting me out of this situation when I thought I was trying to get you out of it. This isn’t about me.”

  “I know,” his voice turned sweet, “and you know I’m grateful. We’re in this together.”

  “Oh, wow, you’re married to a stranger, too? There must be something in the water!”

  “Charlotte.” His eyes went stern, reminding her of those times she’d been chastised as a child. “I’m doing the best I can.”

  More like having Greg do it, she thought, but a lifetime of respect stilled her tongue. She needed to get out of here, though, feeling, for one of the only times she could recall, unease in her father’s presence. It was probably just the stress of these last few days, but Lottie had to go.

  “Okay. But keep me updated, Daddy.”

  They stood at the same time, and Lottie walked over to hug him, happy, despite her annoyance, to push aside everything and share this moment with the father she loved and respected more than anyone else. He had his flaws, but he’d always been there when it mattered, and she had to believe this time wouldn’t be any different.

  “Take care, Lottie,” he said.

  After saying good-bye to her mother and getting in her car to drive to Elah’s, it occurred to her that she’d never felt so alone.

  Chapter Seven

  Elah refused to acknowledge the little spark of relief that flashed through him when he heard Charlotte enter the house. He’d been surprised and slightly disappointed when she hadn’t been here when he’d come home. Which was foolish and dangerous, but true. All day, little snippets of last night’s dinner had come to him, and he’d looked forward to seeing her again, had come home much earlier than usual, in fact, to do just that.

  When he’d found the house dark and silent as it had always been before, he’d headed for his study, but then reconsidered and sat at the kitchen table. Not to wait for her, of course. He just wanted a change of scenery.

  “Hello, Charlotte,” he said when she entered the kitchen.

  “Hi,” she said as she grabbed a glass and filled it with water.

  Neat and tidy as always, she wore gray slacks, a black long-sleeved sweater, and small pearl earrings. Physically, she looked the same, but there was a weary air about her, the slight smile she gave him not as bright, her eyes flat. It didn’t take much mental energy to figure out why.

  “Your father well?” he asked, voice full of scorn and derision.

  “Why do you ask?” she said, her attempt at coyness entirely transparent.

  “You look miserable. Trufant traffics in misery. It’s not a big leap.”

  She put her glass down and turned to face him. “Can we not talk about my father, please?”

  She put up a strong front, but the slight tremor in
her voice couldn’t be ignored.

  “Have you had dinner?”

  “No,” she said, her eyes filling with gratitude, presumably at the change in topic.

  “I had Amanda order Thai.” He gestured toward the boxes that had been placed on the bar. “I hope that’s okay,” he said.

  She looked to the bar and then back at him, her eyebrow raised in a mix of confusion and exasperation. “Did you order the whole menu?”

  “Yes. You’d mentioned you like the food, but I wasn’t sure what dish.”

  “Um…wow. Thanks. I guess I get to try new stuff. Do you mind if I change first?”

  “Of course not. Take your time.”

  He’d already removed his jacket and tie and put them on hangers, something very out of the ordinary for him, but the memory of Charlotte’s disapproving glare had driven him. She bounded out of the room and he walked to the island and began unpacking the food. A few minutes later, she returned, dressed in the yoga pants and T-shirt, an outfit he’d determined she favored when she relaxed. But unlike other days, she’d taken down her tight bun, and her hair flowed free around her shoulders. It was a nice difference.

  “I confess, I’m not overly familiar with this cuisine. I’ll need you to guide me,” Elah said.

  “Well, you’re in good hands. You should start with pad Thai for the sweet and tom yum for the spicy, and we can go from there,” she responded.

  “Whatever you say.”

  “Ha! I should have recorded that. I don’t suppose it’s something you say too often.”

  They both laughed and filled their plates.

  “Would you like to sit on the back patio?” he asked.

  “Sure. I actually haven’t been out there yet.”

  “It’s a nice night, and there’s a good view of the garden,” he said as he walked through the French doors in the kitchen to the rattan patio furniture.

  After they’d sat, he took two bites and nodded, enjoying the new flavors.

  “You like it?” she asked.

  “Yes, it’s pretty good,” he responded.

  They ate in silence for a few moments, and Charlotte looked around the garden. There was a combination of lush green bushes and bright flowers ranging from pure white to deep orange to subtle pinks and pale purples.