by Lauren Wood
How I made it to my car, I had no idea. Inside it, I felt my chest stiffen from the tears I kept deep inside, the urge to cry I refused to release. I’d cried enough after my mom’s harsh accusations. And what did it get me? A consolation fuck from the great Jack Stanton. Nearly blind, I drove home, not really seeing the road.
Damn lucky I didn’t get into an accident.
At my apartment, I stabbed the key into the lock, opened my door, and dashed inside as though I’d been chased for miles. Slamming it shut, I locked it, then leaned my back against it, panting. In my purse, my cell buzzed, but I ignored it. It was either my mother or Jack, either one calling with recriminations.
In the shower, the hot water sluicing over me, I finally gave into the tears. I cried and cried, weeping out the canker that was the pain, the humiliation, the fear. I washed away the scent of Jack on me, the triumph he must now feel for having conquered the last fortress – Izzy Naveau. I wept for the mother who never really loved me, for the father I never knew.
Exhausted, spent, I shut the water off and stepped from the shower. Though I had liked Jack’s cock in me, had even orgasmed hard, I still felt dirty and used even after washing myself clean of his scent, his sperm. I dressed in clean underwear, and my old sweats and t-shirt. Throwing my icky clothes in the hamper, I dried my hair but couldn’t look myself in the eye via the bathroom mirror.
“You’re a slut, Izzy,” I told myself. “Just a stupid slut who couldn’t say no to the boss. Now he’ll fire your ass since he got what he wanted.”
Since I expected Jack to fire me the next morning, I couldn’t be bothered to study for the realtor’s license exam. I turned on the tube and found some old movie I’d never heard of. Sitting down to watch it, the last light fading from the sky outside my windows, my phone buzzed again.
I pulled my purse toward me and found my cell.
I didn’t recognize the number, but I had two messages. Clicking the icon, I listened. The first was from Jack, a simple request to call him back. The second, I listened in growing fear and horror.
To the disgusting, heavy breathing of a man about to explode in an orgasm.
Scared, I huddled on my couch watching movie after movie, jumping at every noise. I constantly rose to look out the front window toward the street below, expecting to see Roger sitting out there in his Beemer. If he was, I never saw him, then I’d watch television again. Until the next paranoid urge to check the street outside came over me.
I finally shut the TV off around three and managed to get a little sleep. Even then, the shame of screwing Jack in the office, and the horrid grunting and groaning on my voicemail didn’t permit me to sleep well at all. Only my desperate need to have a job forced me to get up, shower again, and dress myself for the day.
Debbie looked up at me from behind her reception desk, smiling, though she herself looked wan and tired. “It’s a girl,” she announced.
I went around the desk to hug her. “Congratulations,” I said. “Mom and baby healthy? She has ten toes, ten fingers, and all that?”
“And weighed six pounds, seven ounces,” Debbie added with pride. “For her first baby, the birth went almost ridiculously easy.”
“That’s great.”
For that brief moment, my shame and fears lifted and drifted away. We talked babies, pregnancy, and motherhood.
“You want kids, don’t you, Izzy?” Debbie asked.
“Someday, sure. I’m not quite sure I’m ready now, though.”
Debbie nodded. “You’re young, you have plenty of time.”
Catching sight of Jack standing in his office doorway, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets, his tie loosened, my shame and depression returned with a vengeance. It certainly didn’t help that his dark good looks, the bristle on his jaws that added to his sensual allure, the vulnerability I now saw in his eyes all came together to make me wish he had never come back to Hattiesburg.
I could have fallen in love with him once. I wanted to fall in love, if only he had noticed me. If I wasn’t careful and guarded myself from him, I could make the mistake of falling in love with him now.
“I have to talk to Jack,” I told Debbie as a way of excusing myself.
Warning myself that I needed this job too badly to give him a reason to fire me, I walked toward him. As I got closer, his expression didn’t change much, yet I saw his misery like a cloud hovering over him. Why would he be miserable, he got what he wanted, didn’t he?
“We have to talk,” I said.
“I know.”
He shut me in his office with me and leaned his butt against his desk. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the floor, his hair tumbling over his brow. “I’m sorry.”
I firmed my resolve to play it cool. “So am I. It shouldn’t have happened. It will never happen again.”
“I took advantage of your weak moment,” he said, his voice low. “That was wrong, and I’m a shit for doing it. It’s just that –”
“It doesn’t matter.” Why did his apology make me feel better? It shouldn’t. But doesn’t this mean that maybe he didn’t look at me as a conquest? “We don’t need to talk about it again. But you need to listen to this.”
His head came up, his eyes wary. “To what?”
I pulled my phone out and clicked the voicemail icon. The man’s grunts and groans and pants told the entire story, and when it ended, Jack’s face was taut with restrained rage. “When did you get that?”
“Last night.”
“Did you call Dennis?”
“No, not yet.”
Getting his butt off his desk, Jack went around it and picked up his phone. I handed him Dennis’s card, and he punched in the number. As it rang, Jack watched me, his dark Italian face even darker in his fury. “Dennis,” he said into the phone. “It’s Jack. Izzy got a nasty phone call last night. I think you should hear the message.” He paused. “Yeah, when you can swing by, no real hurry. Thanks, man.”
He hung up, still watching me. “He’ll come by the office.”
“Okay. I’ll get to work then.”
I turned and opened the door when his voice stopped me. “Izzy. I have to say this even if you don’t want to hear it. I used you last night, and I’m sorry. But I’m glad you came to work today.”
I didn’t turn around. “I need the paycheck.”
Immersing myself in my job, Jack’s apology did indeed work its charms on my depression, I almost forgot my shame. Jack had received five new listings, and they all needed photos. Mentally planning to go that afternoon to the two closest ones, I said through the window between us, “I’m going to head out to shoot pictures of the properties here in town.”
“I’m not so sure I want you out tooling around alone.”
I flapped my hand at him. “I can take care of myself. It’s my job, remember?”
“Then at least wait until after Dennis takes your report.”
Dennis arrived just before lunch, alarming Debbie, who pointed him down the hall toward me. I saw her staring after him, watching, and I knew I’d face her questions later. Jack shook his hand again, as did I, and gestured the big cop to a chair.
“Did you get anywhere with the number?” Jack asked him, hitching his hip against my desk.
“Disposable cell,” Dennis replied, pulling out a pen and his notebook. “What happened, Isabelle?”
Leaving out the encounter with Jack, I kept it simple. “I didn’t answer my phone, and this was on it when I checked my messages.”
I played for the third time the sounds of a man deep in the throes of an orgasm, and Dennis’s expression hardened. “May I see your phone?”
I gave it to him, and he checked the number and the time I received the call. “It’s not the same number he sent the text from,” he observed. “He’s smart.”
“And there’s no way of tracing who bought this cell?” Jack asked.
“Maybe the FBI has ways,” Dennis replied, “but I sure don’t. Our budget doesn’t invo
lve high tech. What happened when your guy got his things?”
“He made what could be construed as a threat,” I told him. “He said it wasn’t, that he was wishing me well.”
“What did he say?”
“Girls like me need to be careful. There are bad guys out there.”
“Vague enough. And not enough for me to get a search warrant.” He drew a deep breath. “But it’s enough for me to at least have a friendly chat with him. Jack, being his employer, you have his address?”
“Yeah.”
Jack left to get it, and Dennis regarded me with kindness and compassion. “Hang in there, Isabelle. Maybe after I have a little talk with him, he’ll quit. If this Andrews guy is behind it.”
“I can’t see anyone else, Dennis,” I replied. “I did quit the municipal offices because the manager there was harassing me, and HR believed him, not me.”
He made notes. “When did you quit?”
“Almost two months ago.”
“Time enough to cool off,” Dennis said. “Then to pick up hassling you again later doesn’t really fly. I know who you’re talking about, and I can see him bothering you while you’re there and under his nose. But he most likely gets his jollies in the workplace, not out of it. I will keep him in mind, though.”
“Thanks.”
Jack returned with a piece of paper and gave it to Dennis. “Will you let us know what he says?”
“I can tell you he’ll deny it all,” Dennis answered, standing, and almost filling my office. “But I can spot a liar, and I can hopefully put a scare into him.”
He shook my hand, then Jack’s. “I’ll be in touch.”
After he left, I grabbed my purse from my desk drawer and told Jack, “I’m going to grab lunch, then go take the photos.”
“Maybe I should do that this time around.”
I stood, picked up the camera from its charger, and jerked my hand toward his office. “You have appointments. I know, because I keep your schedule.”
I walked past him, observing that Debbie had already left for lunch. He touched my arm, and I flinched, half turning back. He shoved his hands into his pockets again, looking like a small boy undergoing a much-deserved scolding.
“Will you ever forgive me?” he asked. “Give me another chance?”
“Chance at what, Jack?”
For answer, he shook his head and went into his office.
After I ate a quick bite at the local deli, I plugged the address of the first property on my list into my phone. It was a house not far away, and from what information I had on it, it was empty of occupants. I drove there, following the mechanical woman’s voice telling me where to go, and pulled up in front.
As I got out of my Mustang, a battered old truck drove past the house. The neighborhood was a little on the shabby side, lower income, and this one wasn’t the only vacant house I saw on the street. Jack had already placed his sign in the yard, and I stepped onto the sidewalk, turning on the camera.
I took a few photos of the front at angles that I hoped would look flattering, then headed around to the back. The yard was overgrown with weeds, but again, I shot pictures that made the house appear nicer than it really was. Going around to the front, the same battered truck drove past going the other way.
Using the code to the lockbox on the front door, I retrieved the key, and went inside, locking the door by habit. The house was empty, scenting of dust and mildew. “Jack should hire someone to clean this joint,” I muttered, looking at the dust coating the hardwood floor.
Still, there were enough attractive features to take pictures of, and I wandered around thinking of buying this house myself. At the price, I could afford it, provided I don’t get my ass fired by sleeping with the boss. In the kitchen, I admired the cabinetry, took pictures, and caught movement from the corner of my eye.
A shadow had passed by the window that faced the backyard, and I went to look outside. No one was there. Opening the sliding glass door, I stared around, but the yard was empty. A privacy fence enclosed it, and I saw no one trying to escape over it.
Spooked, I closed and locked the door, then went into the main sitting room. The front door stood opposite me from where I stood, and there was no doubt someone was out there trying to get in. The knob rolled in short hitches back and forth, rattling.
Shit, shit, shit. Cold sweat broke across my forehead and back, and I instantly thought of how I’d locked it out of simple habit. Too scared to move, fearing that if I went to the front window, whoever was trying to get in would smash a rock through it just as I got there. Instead, I watched and listened for several minutes, waiting to see what the person would do.
Nothing happened.
Silence reigned. No one smashed the window in, didn’t ring the doorbell, didn’t plaster his face against the sliding glass door or the front window to leer in at me. At last, I unglued my feet from the floor, and cautiously walked to the front window. Still expecting something to happen, I looked out and saw nothing.
I strode around the house, peering through windows, even from upstairs, and saw no one. Even so, my nerves didn’t calm down. I felt that there was indeed someone still out there, waiting, watching, for me to come out. Thinking it was high time to buy a can of pepper spray, I tucked the camera back into my purse.
Bracing myself, I ventured out to the front porch, locked the door, and put the key back into the lockbox. My hands shook hard enough to make this simple task difficult, and I kept glancing over my shoulder, still feeling eyes on me. I went back to my car, seeing nothing except a sleepy residential street, and didn’t feel safe until I was behind the wheel and driving.
10
Jack
I couldn’t focus on my work.
The image of Izzy walking away from me, the way she flinched when I touched her, the previous warmth when she looked at me now gone – all showed me how badly I had screwed up. She will never forgive me, never trust me. Hell, I wouldn’t trust me either.
I heard Debbie return from her lunch as I sat, miserable, in my chair, staring at my computer screen. From the corner of my eye, I saw her stroll down the hall toward me, and I knew what she wanted to ask. Glancing up as she stood in my doorway, I tried to smile.
“How’s your daughter and the baby?”
“They’re both well, thank you for asking.” Debbie had something on her mind, and I considered just asking her to stay out of it. She’s fond of Izzy. I didn’t, and then she finally said, “Roger has pestered women before.”
I leaned back in my chair, surprised that she was so blunt. “You know this for a fact?”
“He wasn’t arrested,” Debbie replied, “and I didn’t tell Izzy because I didn’t want to alarm her. A few years ago, he stalked his ex girlfriend, scared her so badly she moved away.”
“I see. Were the police involved?”
“I don’t think so.” Debbie pressed her lips together tightly, as though not wanting to say what she needed to. “It was my daughter, Mr. Stanton.”
“What?”
Her declaration shocked the hell out of me. “How could you have worked alongside him, then?”
“I needed the job,” she replied primly. “He didn’t know who I was, as we had never met, and my daughter doesn’t share my last name. But I knew who he was, and if I didn’t need the work so badly, I would never have come to work for you.”
“And now your daughter lives in Louisville? And married with a newborn?”
“That’s right. I didn’t want Izzy to know all that, as I’d appreciate it if you kept it quiet. I’m presuming he did something else that she called the police?”
I nodded. “He left a nasty voicemail on her phone.”
“If we have to tell her all that, then we will,” Debbie went on. “I don’t want Izzy to be forced to leave, but I am hoping Roger will simply give it up.”
“You know he won’t.”
“I suppose I do. But she has you to look after her.”
“I’ll
do the best I can.”
She returned to her work, and I gathered the things I needed for my appointments and put them in my briefcase. What she told me bothered me a great deal, and I wished that I hadn’t let Izzy take photos of properties by herself.
“I’ll be back in a few hours,” I told Debbie. “I have some showings.”
“Very good, Mr. Stanton.”
Forcing myself to not think of Izzy, knowing she could indeed take care of herself, I showed the prospective buyers the properties. My luck seemed to follow me, for one couple liked the house well enough to make an offer, and the other two couples needed time to think and look around. Thus, I made plans with them to show other houses to them the following day.
When I returned to the office, Izzy’s Mustang sat in its usual spot and a great deal of tension left me upon seeing it. Debbie didn’t greet me with a smile as she usually did, and the tension immediately returned in full force. Her expression appeared tight with anxiety.
All she said was, “You need to talk to Izzy.”
Oh, shit. I saw that Izzy worked as she usually did, the digital camera attached to the computer as she transferred the pictures as I stood in her doorway.
“Hi,” she said.
“What happened?”
She glanced at my face and rolled her eyes. “Debbie told you.”
“She only told me to talk to you.”
“Good grief.” Izzy sat back in her chair. “Someone was lurking around the vacant house while I was inside. Tried the door, but I had locked it. I think it was someone from the neighborhood saw me go in, and maybe wanted to talk. No big deal.”
I leaned against the door, my usual habit. “Someone is stalking you, Izzy. You can’t dismiss this as no big deal.”
“I didn’t see anyone, Jack.”
“Were you scared?”
I made the question a challenge, and it startled her. She cut her eyes from mine and nodded. “Yeah. Pretty spooked.”