by C. B. Carter
James had struggled with Shelly all morning. Not a verbal struggle, but he found her too sexually charged and aggressive. He was now wondering if it was her personality or if it was part of her job. Part of the plan of control, masterminded by Mr. Wright, to get him in bed with her.
He made it clear that Shelly’s sexual undertones were being read as sexual overtones by him and he had no interest.
Her blouse exposed more cleavage as the morning went along. He was fearful she would be topless before the end of the day, not the expected formal decor of bank personnel or OTS agents.
Her right breast purposely brushed his left arm several times during the morning and he could feel the hardness of her erect nipple. When she leaned in to discuss the numbers on the screen, she leaned in way further than she needed to and he observed more cleavage than he would’ve liked.
She was coming on strong and if it were eight months earlier, the blinds would’ve dropped, the door would have miraculously found itself locked and the two would have been party to some unknown emergency conference call.
But the truth was, even as attractive as she was, he just wasn’t attracted to her. Bridget was quite accommodating in the area of sex and all areas of their relationship. He wanted for nothing. He wasn’t looking for any extra-curricular activity and her advances made a strained situation even more caustic.
He recalled some distant program on the Discovery Channel that suggested ‘...they stay joined for half an hour or more, to ensure the female has the best chance of being impregnated’. He often thought of how strange, how different, human society would be if people, when having sex, got stuck together like canines do.
Deep down, though, in some dark level of awareness, he knew the answer to his question was really only a metaphor. People do get stuck.
With dogs, it’s a physical entrapment, traced back through hundreds of years of pack behavior and gene selection. Being stuck prevented another male from mating with the female.
With people, the trap was emotional, complex feelings of passion and trust, but the desired result was the same, to keep two animals together. There was no way he was going to allow Shelly Spenser or Mr. Wright to intrude into that part of his and Bridget’s life. He felt like screaming to those listening, “If I have to sleep with her to keep my job or stay alive, then go ahead and kill me now.” Of course, he couldn’t say it. Even in his mind, it sounded crazy. No red blooded American boy would turn her down, but he felt like screaming it and he felt sorry for her.
James agreed to the lunch for the purpose of having a stern talk with Shelly. They exited the bank lobby, walked to 3rd Avenue, and headed toward Wild Ginger, a popular pan-Asian restaurant in the downtown Seattle area.
On any given business day, downtown Seattle had an eclectic seascape of people on its sidewalks. It wasn’t uncommon to see office types wearing five hundred dollar business suits followed by another city walker wearing a ten dollar shirt of his or her favorite grunge band along with khaki shorts and flip-flops. James had only noticed those on the fringe before, those that stood out—the businessmen in the custom tailored Italian suits or the opposite, the homeless guys with needle tracks on their arms wearing dirty, stained, second-hand shirts. It struck him as strange, that today he was looking for criminals in the shadows and he thought he saw them everywhere.
He looked for Mr. Wright’s team, but really didn’t know who he was looking for. It could be anyone. The guy that just passed could be one or the person down on his luck, drunk, and slouching on the bench with what appeared to be urine stains on his pants. Shelly was one, she was part of the team. He knew that for a fact and he decided to focus on her.
“So, Shelly,” he said as they neared the entrance to the restaurant, “is one of your missions to sleep with me? I mean, you have been coming on pretty hard. So I guess that’s one of your objectives.”
Shelly, as aggressive as she was, apparently found the comment uncouth and retaliated, “Be a gentleman, James. I only want to try the fusion food. Is this something you want to discuss now?”
“Yes, I think we should clear the air,” James said as he held the door open for her. The hostess guided them to a casual table near the back of the restaurant, took the drink orders, presented the menus, and left.
James cleared the middle of the table, moving the condiment tray and the single lotus flower in a glass vase to the side—he wanted nothing between him and Shelly as he continued his attack.
“Is that one of your goals, Shelly? Are you supposed to get me into bed? What, would they record us and threaten to show it to Bridget if I don’t do as they say?”
Shelly didn’t answer. She instead locked eyes with James, silently communicating that she didn’t want to discuss it and that his badgering was annoying her immensely.
“A woman of your beauty has no reason to insistently pursue me, unless...” alleged James as he folded the paper napkin onto his lap and leaned back into his chair. He left the conversation open, trying to prod her into answering, hoping she would fill in the blanks.
Shelly stood up and excused herself. “I must go to the restroom.”
“Why not call them from here? You’re going to call Mr. Wright, right? Why not do it here?” James bashed.
She paused, collected herself, and made her way to the ladies room.
The door closed behind her as she looked in the mirror. She was disgusted with herself and made meager attempts to touch up her makeup. She was trying to find something positive in all of this, some way to steady herself and her emotions. She jumped when her cell phone rang, even though she expected it. She didn’t even look at the display. She knew it was Mr. Wright.
“Miss Spenser, I see there is some resistance from Mr. Spain. My associates and I do not feel it’s necessary at this point in time to pursue this agenda any longer. You’re off the hook, as they say. The rest of your mission, of course, is still a go.”
“I don’t have to try to seduce him any longer?” she asked, trying to hide her appreciation, not wanting to give him any more power over her than he already had.
“Correct, continue getting the numbers and, as promised, you and your daughter will be safe.”
“What do I say, how do I answer his insistent questions? He’s not going to let this go.”
“Do what feels natural. We’re absolutely fine with you telling him the truth, even if he doesn’t believe it. He is already paranoid, always looking over his shoulder, suspecting we are there, and that’s exactly what we want. Paranoia is one of our most powerful tools.” The distant phone was muted. A quick conference, she suspected.
“We confer, Miss Spenser, tell him the truth. Maybe he might begin to trust you. No names, though. Don’t give your real name or that of your daughter, is that understood? No locations, either. Any slipup, any traceable detail, and this will get ugly.”
“Yes, I understand.” The phone disconnected.
She returned to the table, visibly shaken, opened the San Pellegrino bottled water, and, with unsteady hands, poured it into her glass. She sipped the water and said, “Okay, James. To answer your question, yes, I was supposed to seduce you.”
“What do you mean was?” James doubted her. It was what he wanted to hear, but couldn’t process it when he heard it. It was too convenient.
Shelly leaned in. “Mr. Wright is blackmailing me, as well. We’re both being used by them.”
James didn’t believe her. It was just too expected. It fit in too well. She was one of them and now she was messing with his head.
“I’m to believe you, is that it?” The waitress was on her way to the table and James rudely waved her off.
“It’s the truth, James. I haven’t lied to you during any of this. I did refuse to answer, but I’ve never lied. They have their claws into me just as they do you. I can barely keep myself together at the bank and breakdown each night. But I will see this through, I have no choice.”
James contemplated and caught the attention of th
e irritated waitress. They quickly made their selections and Shelly continued.
“Look, I have a degree from a top Ivy League university, a resume that would land me a VP position at any financial firm. I could easily pull down six figures. Why would I choose a life of crime? Why else would I be doing this? Normal people don’t build themselves up, jumping through every social and educational hoop to get to my level, and then throw it all away.”
“What did you mean ‘was supposed to’ seduce me?”
“You were right, I did go to the restroom—I was hoping that Mr. Wright would call, but I went to calm myself. Mr. Wright did call and said I was off the hook, that I no longer need to seduce you.”
“Really, just like that and you’re off the hook? Just like that, all of that in one phone call,” snapped James. His thoughts were muddled, along with some form of odd jealousy. Why was she let off the hook so easily when he couldn’t catch a break?
“Yes, just like that. Look, I don’t care if you believe me or not, the proof will be obvious as I will no longer be flirting, prostituting myself, and that makes me extremely happy. It’s as simple as that. Make no mistake, we are going to work together and we are going to finish this. Let’s not talk anymore of this, let’s put it behind us and eat.”
Relief, as it turns out, lights a fire under one’s appetite and Shelly devoured the Thai chicken satay. The food tasted particularly yummy to her. James’s appetite came to him slowly, but in short time, he was enjoying his lemongrass chicken and Buddha rolls. They said little to each other, mainly because there was nothing to say.
The walk back to the bank building was leisurely in pace, each examining the other, trying to determine what the other was thinking, trying to determine if they could trust each other.
“We can do this,” James asserted, as they entered the elevator and pressed the button for the sixth floor.
“We have to do this,” Shelly replied as she stuck out her hand, offering to seal the deal, to call a truce. At twelve fifteen, they were back in the office. He was verbally announcing the real time numbers and she was faithful to her promise not to flirt.
Chapter Eleven
~ The Notice ~
Bridget unlocked the door to her apartment. She hadn’t been there in at least a week.
Running late for work, she quickly set about watering the plants, cleaning the two coffee cups in the sink, and emptying the dishwasher. Her favorite plant, a peace lily planted in a decorated terracotta pot, seemed to miss her. It was beginning to wilt and droop and she didn’t miss the irony that the peace lily didn’t seem to be a vision of peacefulness. She noticed the small steel pole with a miniature birdhouse attached on top had been moved. Whoever moved it wasn’t familiar with the Japanese style of Jiyuka. She assumed the worse—they’d moved it and mic’d it. She thought of watering the damn thing and did just that, hoping it crackled loud enough to deafen those listening.
On the coffee table in the living room sat the letter. She picked it up. It had been opened. The obvious invasion of privacy ticked her off. She wasn’t used to restraining her words and almost yelled, you fuckers! I hope whatever you’re doing backfires and you all end up in jail! This is America. Stay out of my apartment and stay out of my life.
Instead, she plopped onto the couch, silent, angry, holding the letter she’d written ten days earlier, after speaking with the landlord.
Her world felt like quicksand.
The landlord made it clear he needed a thirty day written notice before he could terminate the lease. He was evidently ticked that she wanted to terminate and suggested she read the lease closely. He was more than willing to show her the termination clause. She didn’t take any offense to his attitude, chalking it up to a cranky old man who had been screwed over one too many times.
She had dropped hints to James all month long and was waiting for him to ask her to move in. James, she felt, was on the verge of asking her to move into the condo with him the night he’d had the car accident.
She sank deeper into the couch and recalled that night. He was at the bar stealing her time from the boss, when he said he had something very important to talk with her about. She should wake him if he were asleep when she came to the condo. Just then, his cell phone rang and he became angry—something was wrong with his car. He at once paid his tab, stole a kiss, and left The Lounge, almost in a sprint.
She arrived at his apartment at 1:30 that morning and he wasn’t there. Her calls to his cell phone were not answered, her messages not returned.
Calls to the few friends they hung out with said they had not seen nor heard from him. She remembered the panic in her throat when she started dialing the local hospitals, was relieved when he had not been admitted to any of them, but then was even more concerned and was starting to get agitated with James. She finally started calling the police stations and learned his mustang had been in an accident and as far as they knew, the accident site had been cleared and Mr. Spain was at one of the local hospitals – they had no other information at that time.
She kept calling his cell, leaving messages, and didn’t sleep at all. She curled up on his couch, thinking the worse. She was so relieved when he called her. She almost cried when she heard his voice. All the worry and anger that had built up suddenly left her.
That was five days ago and now their whole life had changed. Her man was being blackmailed and although she realized she didn’t have the full story, she had enough and, more importantly, he had asked her to trust him, and deep down inside, she was prideful that she never even considered not trusting him. She would trust him with her life, if that’s what it took.
Having made her decision, she put the notice back into the envelope, locked the apartment door, and dropped the envelope into the rent slot of the landlord’s door on the first floor. She heard the landlord on the other side of the door, waited, and yelled, “Did you get it?”
“Yeah, I got it,” he said looking through the peep hole. “The apartment had better be spotless if you want your security deposit back. It’s in the lease, look it up.”
“Bye, Mr. Hancock,” she said as she walked away.
Bridget arrived at work ten minutes before her scheduled start time, which was odd because she was usually ten minutes late. She found Cindy Stanton and pulled her into the ladies room.
“Hey, just wanted to make sure you know not to tell anyone I borrowed your cell phone. It’s really, really important that you don’t say a word about it.”
“Sure, honey, my lips are sealed. But if you ask me, you’re crazy if you let James go.”
“Let James go? Oh, you think I called another man or something.” She put her hand on Cindy’s shoulder and laughed at the idea. “The only other man I’ll be calling is my dad. Let James go! You’re crazy; he’s going to have to beat me away with a stick. But remember, don’t tell anyone, okay. And let me know if anyone gets froggy.”
“Won’t say a word, promise.”
The two clocked in for their shift. Bridget was assigned and worked the plush-booths on the stage floor and Cindy was working the conversation tables near the bar. The first hour of the shift was always slow and was dedicated to prep and cleanup, but the place was packed when the stage act fired up at seven.
The band was performing first-rate covers of Alice in Chains, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, and other grunge bands from the nineties. The patrons couldn’t give enough praise; “...the band is excellent,” “...they can play,” and more of the same was the topic of discussion at the booths. Lighters suddenly appeared, were lit, and waved in the air when certain songs were played, even though smoking was not allowed. In fact, there was a statewide law prohibiting smoking in any indoor public space.
The band played their heart out and Bridget didn’t even notice that three hours had passed.
Cindy caught Bridget at the point of sale station and said, “Hey, see that guy sitting over there, table four near the bar?” She pointed in the general direction.
&nb
sp; “Yeah, the guy in the white shirt and black blazer, he’s kind of cute.”
“Yeah, I know, but he’s been chatting me up and just asked me if you’ve been acting odd or anything the last couple of days.”
“Really, he’s asking about me?”
“Yeah, kind of in a creepy way, too.”
Bridget printed her ticket, dropped it at her table, thanked the customers for stopping by, and headed directly to table four.
She noticed the guy was getting nervous when he realized she was coming his way. She sat down in the empty chair and immediately began the interrogation.
“I understand you have some questions.” Her tone was not inviting. It was hostile, full of venom, and even though she was speaking softly, the anger rang through loud and clear.
“Ah, no—I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stuttered, but collected himself quickly.
“I hear from a source, more trustworthy than you, that you’re asking questions. Well what do you want to know?”
“I don’t want to know anything,” the man said, trying his best to ignore her.
“Want to know if I have a man? The answer is yes. Want to know if he takes care of me. The answer is yes. Want to know if, in a million years, you can get in my pants. The answer is absolutely no. Did I miss a topic? Want to know if he’s good in bed?”
“Look, sorry if you’re having a bad day. I haven’t asked anything about you, and I suggest you get back to work and not make a scene,” he calmly said as he brought his bottle of beer to his lips.
He recovered quickly, she thought, and was willing to leave it at that. “Okay, but you’re number one on my shit list. That spot is usually reserved for drunks and ass grabbers.” She stood and began to walk away. That’s when she heard him say it—“Bitch.”