“I owe you my life, Carol.” I grab her hands.
“No sweat, sweetie. That was fun.” She rubs my hands together to comfort me.
“I owe you. Honestly, what do you want?”
Carol’s eyebrows form together in confusion. “Nothing.”
“Nobody wants nothing.” I don’t stop the words before they leave my mouth.
“Some people do things just to help others, Medeia.” She tilts her heads and looks in my eyes. “You’ve never met someone like that, have you?”
“Carol, I apologize, I just─” I straighten up. “Only my mother. She’s the only one I knew to do that. I’m sorry that I assumed you were after something.” She smiles a soft motherly way and slaps my shoulder.
“I liked being Medeia. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”
“God, I hope not.” I wipe sweat from my brow as I hear the entrance bell signaling Thomas and Anna’s departure.
“Cheer up. It’s Friday.” Carol laughs and heads back to her work.
Friday. First Paycheck.
Fourteen
John left this morning for a week-long conference in Colorado. My step is lighter knowing I can watch his greedy whore and work without his involvement this week. Not having to hide for a couple of days feels like the sun is shining on me.
I hit the treadmill at the gym hard this morning in anger, spiking the speed up every time I saw Anna giggling at the muscular man next to her. She has my husband and a boyfriend, and she still wants more.
She starts to bounce out of the gym, curls still intact, I shut the machine down and head straight for the door. I throw my hoodie up over my head as the cold air of early morning seeps in on the other side of the gym entrance. Still content to bounce, Anna makes her way to her car. A Mercedes SUV. How did she afford that on her salary? Was this a present from my husband? The make and model matches mine except in color. Hers is white; mine is black.
I make a beeline for my car, one row over and wait to see which direction she goes. Right. I back out and keep a comfortable difference between us. She won’t lose me. I need to know about her. Why does she have him eating out of her hand? What can I expose? I can’t get a good read from social media, or her behavior at the gym. I need to observe her when no one else is around. When it’s just her, no muscular men to impress and no John.
She takes a turn down a residential road, so I do the same. She’s heading home, I know because I’ve passed by her address several times this weekend losing my nerve to look upon the woman my husband leaves me for. She pulls into a spot alongside the narrow road, so I continue my way down the street slowly and turn down the next road and park.
I didn’t think this far ahead. I’ll get out, that’s what I’ll do. I can’t observe her from here, and she’ll notice if I park close by. Shit. What do I do? Do I walk the sidewalk? I’ll give her time to get inside then I’ll loop the car back around. Yes.
I drop my head against the steering wheel and push down, causing my neck to ache. What were you thinking, Medeia? The radio is off. I don’t know why. Too scared she may hear me? The only sound is my shallow breathing and scuffing of feet outside. Huh?
I look up to see a most familiar blonde jogging past on the sidewalk. Is she a runner? What the heck was the point in the gym? Status? Couldn’t she simply say that she ran?
I take in the surroundings as she turns the corner; it isn’t the classiest neighborhood. A bunch of apartment buildings lined up one after another, typically rented out to college students and single mothers. They’re cheap. I know because of my search for rentals in the area on the burner phone. Some people wrote reviews on Google that the upkeep here is awful on the landlord’s part and stuff is breaking left and right. The outsides of the buildings do look in need of an overhaul. I’m glad I didn’t put this on the list of potential apartments, although I’m sad that I won’t be Anna’s neighbor.
This must be why Anna doesn’t post many pictures of her home or morning run. Anna stores her life on the internet, and she maintains a particular appearance so that no one can know her surroundings. Perhaps that’s why she drives a Mercedes Benz SUV; she is desperate to be considered successful and prosperous. Her choice in John becomes a little clearer. Who better to screw than the CEO and founder of the company she’s working at currently?
Was the SUV hush money? There’s a nagging feeling in my stomach about the vehicle. It’s time to dig up Anna’s past a little. I put the car in drive and pull out of my spot, and I make sure to pass Anna on my way out of the side streets. She’s panting, and her curls no longer bounce. I want to stop and take a picture of her to show all her followers the secret behind it all, but it does nothing except make her human. I don’t want her to be that.
Medeia’s Journal
Dear Anna,
You run after the gym, but not at the gym. You don’t even work out at the gym; it’s all for the show on your Facebook. Why do you go?
I have nothing to do all week with John gone. I’m surprised you didn’t head off to the conference with him. Did some old cock block at the office stop it from happening? Poor girl.
Don’t worry. We can hang out
Fifteen
I love the feeling of yoga pants in public. John would lose his mind if he knew I was out in broad daylight donning them on my body. To him, these only exist for working out. Ridiculous. These are pants. Delicious, movable pants.
Anna has taken me to a health food store today. I like new adventures, and heck, I can’t deny that I should eat healthily, so I get out of my car to browse, as well — no harm in that. I pull my baseball cap down lower on my head and zip my hoodie up tighter. No need for a cart, so I swipe a basket at the door. They call the place Simply Fresh, and the prices are simply outrageous. Slap an organic sticker on it, and they’re sending their kids off to college with your week’s grocery bill. Anna sure does enjoy the rich life, and so do I. Something we have in common, along with John.
I poke around at a few things and keep my distance. Anna has on a cute little crop-top today, hoping to gather some attention from the men in the store. It’s working, too. One man’s wife already slapped his stomach over the crank of his neck toward Anna’s midriff.
I stare from the safety of the tall baked goods rack at the way Anna’s head moves when a male is near. She immediately slows down and browses the item closest to her. There’s a hip-popping stance she takes that I attempt to imitate and regret almost instantly as searing pain shoots down my leg. How does she do that? And what’s the benefit?
I soon find out, as the target of her act takes notice of her rear end and strikes up a conversation. Anna pretends to be uninterested at first, giving him short responses to his questions and not making direct eye contact. I move away from the rack and risk the danger of being seen in the aisle she’s in, and I take residence farther down but within hearing distance, pretending to be interested in a box of granola cereal mixed with seeds, sans booty pop stance. I watch them in the reflection of the mirror over top of the produce at the end of the aisle.
“So, uh...” The young man starts to stutter as his confidence fades from Anna’s cold shoulder. “Do you like that cereal?” He points to the box in her hand.
“Well.” She puts it back on the shelf. “It’s not as good as this one.” Then I watch Anna turn her back toward the man and fold her body in half so that her ass protrudes in his direction and grab a box of cereal from the bottom shelf. He about faints in the aisle. I’m not sure which one of us has our mouths open wider. When she pops back up, the smirk on her face tells me she knows what she’s doing. “Here. Try this one. It’s delicious.” She flips her hair and walks away. Like a puppy, he trails her.
“Wow. Yeah, definitely, I will. Hey, do you shop here often? Maybe we could meet up sometime?” His voice fades a little as he rounds the corner into the next aisle. I strategically place myself at the end cap, hunting down some protein snacks.
“That sounds wonderful,” she purrs. “
I’m Anna.” She holds out her hand, and he dives at the possibility of touching her.
“Michael.” He grins and grips her hand firmly. “How about we shop together today?”
“Perfect.” She removes her hand from his and links her arm around his as they walk and talk down the rest of the aisle. “It’s always nice to shop with someone.” Her voice takes on a seductive purr.
She’s a damn professional. Wife duty sex with John on Sunday night puts me at even more of a risk for some secondhand funk. Great. As if those ten minutes weren’t painful and disgusting enough, now I need to worry about all the men who have climbed into Anna’s bed lately.
I abandon my Anna mission on the search for makeup that won’t break my skin out into a rash, and maybe a bar of soap. If I’m here then I might as well buy something, and these options seem like the only ones that get me out of here for a minimal amount of damage. I’m not going to be eating cereal with seeds in it. I may like John’s money, but I’ve never gotten used to the trendy things that are somehow assigned to the rich. Healthy organic food doesn’t taste better than the way my mother made Spam a meal for dinner. The luxurious skin care doesn’t feel better than Vaseline. But the security, the security, feels fantastic.
As fate designs it, Anna and her new boy-toy are at the register lines the same time as me, although in a different lane. He’s still fawning all over her, and she’s trying to stay blissfully unaware. I watch as she searches in her small crossbody purse for something.
“Oh, my goodness,” she finally mutters.
“What? What’s wrong?” He takes the moment of stress to touch her back in a loving way.
“I forgot my card at home today. Damn.” She stomps her feet, mad at herself. “No groceries for me this week. I have to get to my job right after this, so I can’t make a run home.” She slaps her hip with one hand while she bites the forefinger nail of the other, trying to come up with a solution.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ll pay for you. No problem.” Knight in shining armor.
“Oh, my goodness, you would? That’s amazing. Thank you. Thank you so much.” She hugs him before he can remove his arm from the front of his body, strategically placing her breast on his hand. It’s evident in his mind that he’s going to score big with this.
I roll my eyes and focus on the line moving in front of me. I’m next.
“Hello.” I beam at the cashier behind the belt.
“Hello, ma’am. How are you today?” She doesn’t even look up to meet my eyes, just goes through the motions of her job, sliding the barcodes in front of the scanner.
“I’m well, and yourself?”
“Fine. Fine,” she rushes. “That will be $28.32.” For some fucking soap?
“Here you go.” I hand over two twenty-dollar bills.
“Out of $40.” She pokes a few buttons on the touchscreen, and the drawer next to her hip pops out. “Your change is going to be $11.68.” She puts the bills on top of the receipt and rips it from the machine, placing the mound directly in my hand before topping it with the coins.
“Thank you,” I say and scoop my bag up.
“Yup.” And just like that, she moves on to the next customer in line. Unaware that customer service isn’t the job for her. I don’t look like my usual ‘let me speak to the manager’ self, so she treats me like any other human being. That’s why money is so important. It changes the way people see you. Even if Vaseline feels better on the skin, the hundred-dollar eye cream feels more powerful sliding across the barcode scanner. The heels may hurt, but their red bottoms let the world know that you have it all. Reminds me how worthless it is not to appear as if you drip money.
I don’t look back as I make my way to the vehicle. I’m glad to be leaving ahead of her; that way I can ready myself in the car for our next stop. She said she was going to work, but I swore John would have had her start by now; it’s nearly nine in the morning. And he isn’t there, so what would she be doing? He typically gives his secretaries time off or requires them to work a half week when he leaves for a conference.
Anna beams alongside her new meal ticket just seconds after I’m seated in my driver’s seat. She is still profusely thanking the kind stranger for his actions. He eats up the attention and like a good boy loads the trunk of her car up with her items.
Maybe she’s ready to move on to someone her age. Perhaps she’ll leave John alone, but doesn’t she have Thomas for that?
Anna recites her number for the man as he punches it into his phone. It’s obvious he wants to kiss her goodbye, considering this meeting and purchase of food to be equivalent to a date, but Anna shuts him down with a quick peck on his cheek. Ouch. He doesn’t notice the send-off as he watches her pull out of her spot and waves to her taillights.
Now, it’s my turn to hang out with Anna, sorry Michael.
I pull out and keep my distance safely undetectable. When Anna gets to the main entrance of the shopping center, she turns right instead of the left that would take her to the office. Where are you going, Anna? In a half mile, we take another right into a different shopping plaza and pull into a Starbucks drive-thru.
She doesn’t have any money on her, but maybe she has an app on her phone or a gift card. I follow behind her—this hasn’t always been my first choice in coffee places, but I won’t deny their ability to make a good cup, and I could still use some.
Anna shouts her order into the drive-thru box, making sure to lean out the window and enunciate her words. I cringe, thinking about the person’s ears on the other end of the line. There’s no need to shout, Anna. They can hear you just fine.
I’m right behind and next to order. I ask for a simple black coffee, and the lady is happy to oblige, glad I didn’t feel the need to yell my order or make her repeat it twice as Anna did. I grab the change from the grocery store out of my hoodie pocket and ready myself for the first window. I round the circle portion that leads to the next step, and Anna has her credit card hanging out her window for the woman to take.
No money, my ass. She played that man for free groceries, and he fell right into her plan. Wow. I don’t know if I’m impressed or even more irritated with her. Those groceries probably cost that boy close to a hundred dollars, and he handed it over with no doubt in her and didn’t know her but for a few minutes.
She speeds off toward the stop sign coming out of the plaza and heads away from the main road. So, we aren’t going home to put your groceries away, or to work. Where are we going now, Anna dear?
I thank the lady for my coffee and do my best to catch up with Anna. I pray she didn’t take any more turns down the road, and I’m in luck. She’s stuck behind an eighteen-wheeler crawling ten miles per hour under the speed limit. I’m two cars behind her, and I can see her irritated acrylic nails waving out the window.
We drive for a good twenty minutes out of town to a more rural area. My coffee is gone, and I wonder how much farther Anna is going to take us when she finally flips the turn signal on for a left turn into an old trailer park. I go straight on the main road and find a street that turns upward behind the trailer park so that I can observe from there. Two Mercedes may cause folks there to take notice.
I park off on a lookout point and roll my window down for a clearer view. I watch as Anna grabs two bags of groceries from the trunk of her SUV. She hides out of sight of the home’s occupants, trying to catch her breath. I take out my phone and open the camera app to zoom in on the scene.
She looks nervous, picking at her clothes and trying to yank the crop-top downward suddenly. No longer the confident woman conning a man for free groceries in the health food store. She seems like a lost child.
She squares her shoulders and puffs out a deep breath, getting the nerve to walk to the front door, continuously yanking her shirt downward. It takes a minute before someone answers her knocks. A larger woman still wearing her nightgown and curlers swings the door open with great agitation. She pushes the screen door open, advancing out onto the p
orch toward her in a threatening manner with the butt of a cigarette hanging limply from her mouth. She doesn’t want Anna there.
Anna doesn’t retaliate, simply holds the groceries up as a peace offering and points to her car to indicate that she has more. This softens the older woman as she takes the bags from Anna and turns to put them inside the house. Anna runs to the car, delighted to finish off the grocery delivery. She returns almost immediately with the last three bags, which the older lady offers to take from her. Anna tells her she has it, but the older lady insists again, so Anna relents.
She follows behind and holds the screen door open, but when the older lady crosses the threshold, she slams the door in Anna’s face. Anna’s hand on the doorknob jiggling tells me that they locked her out. The cries begin to shake Anna’s body, and my grip on the phone goes limp.
Fuck. That was cold.
I look down and notice my camera had landed on something when the phone relaxed in my hand — their mailbox. I zoom in a little more to try to read the name on the side.
Trayor.
That’s Anna’s mother.
Medeia’s Journal
Dear Anna,
Shit.
Sixteen
I left Anna crying on the porch of her parent’s house. I wanted to know everything about her, but some stuff is making me feel sorry for her, and that can’t happen because I loathe her. I drop my keys on the foyer table with a loud clang. The marble protests the abuse. Anna is sulking, and she won’t be much fun to watch today anymore. Her mother did her over, and now she’s stewing in those mommy issues.
I text Jane to hang out with me tonight. We still need to celebrate my job finding. Alcohol. I need alcohol today. I head straight to the kitchen. Hannah is gone, I gave her the week off with John away. I deserve the house to myself without someone who is probably paid to spy and tell John I dare to be casual or unclean. Plus, I can cook for myself.
Dear Anna Page 7