Rita
I take out my phone and try my mom for the fifth time today. It rings, and rings, and rings. I want to scream at her. How can she disappear on me again, now of all times? I need her, need someone, and she’s supposed to be my parent. I know I’m a grown woman, I’m a freaking adult, but shit, my life is a mess. All I want someone to listen to me for once.
Finally, the line clicks to life. I expect to hear an answering machine robot, but instead, it’s actually her. Relief floods me. Finally, I start feeling like something’s going right. She sounds a little out of breath, but it’s her. Old feelings of comfort and safety try to push their way to the surface.
“Hi, honey!” she says, chipper as always. “Sorry I keep missing you. We’ve been so busy this weekend. Your dad and I went to this amazing retreat with a few other couples we’ve gotten friendly with, and we’ve just been swapping this whole time, really getting to know-”
“Mom,” I say sharply before she can start to describe what I can only imagine is some extremely gross sexual stuff. “My apartment burned down.”
There’s a long silence. Then: “Oh my god. Sweetie, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I wasn’t here when it happened. But all my stuff’s gone. It’s all gone.”
“Did you have renter’s insurance? Maybe you can-”
“Mom,” I say, trying not to yell. Tears spring into my eyes again, but I force them away. Suddenly, all my anger and desperation pours out in a torrent, aimed at my mother. “I didn’t have renter’s insurance. I couldn’t afford renter’s insurance. Remember how you and dad convinced me that there was no money to help with school, so I took out all those loans, but then it turned out the two of you sold off the investments you were saving for my college so you could buy a house in Florida? So you could move there and turn into weird sex freak swingers? And now I have like $110, 000 in debt? And I had to take the first job that became available, all because I’m desperate to pay my bills? Do you remember that?”
She’s quiet for a long moment. I stand on the sidewalk, fuming, breathing hard. It smells like char, sweat, and car exhaust. If I’m not careful, I’m going to start crying again. I sit down heavily onto a bench beside a busy street and put my face in my hands, the phone still propped against my ear.
Mom’s voice softens. “I know you’re in a tough spot, honey, but please don’t blame me and your father.” She pauses for a long moment. “What can I do to help? Do you want a little money? I can’t send much, but I could Venmo like fifty bucks. How’s that sound?”
Fifty bucks. That’s the extent of my mother’s help.
Fifty-freaking-dollars.
“No, Mom,” I say as pure and utter defeat washes over me. “I don’t want any money. I just wanted you to listen, that’s all.”
Why did I think it was a good idea to call her? I knew she wouldn’t do anything for me. Even if I begged and screamed, the best she’d do is send fifty bucks over Venmo. Maybe she’d empathize a bit, but my mother has never given me more than passing sympathy.
No real support. No real sense of love.
And yet all my life, I’ve craved it. Even when my parents accidentally told me what they’d done with my college savings. Even when they started talking about their swinging escapades. Even when my mom got drunk on wine coolers one night and admitted that she only married my dad because she accidentally got pregnant with me. That she never really wanted kids. And oh, yeah, she still loves me, of course, but she hated being a mother.
As if she’s not a mother anymore.
Now, deep down at rock bottom, I realize I’ll never get what I want from this woman.
“What can I do then, sweetie? Do you want to Face Time? Oh, I know, I can show you these new tops I got online, they’re a little scandalous but maybe you’ll think they’re funny. A good distraction, right?”
“Bye, Mom. I’m going to go figure out this mess.”
“Sweetie, hold on-”
I hang up. I shouldn’t have called her. It’s just, in my greatest moment of desperation, I thought my mother might be able to make me feel better. I should’ve known better. She’s fine when things are good, but awful when they’re not. And right now, they’re not.
I stay on that bench for a while. It dawns on me that I’m homeless. I have nowhere to stay at the moment. The only assets I have are a bank account with a few hundred dollars in it plus the credit card Scar gave me. That might be enough to rent a room for a night, but beyond that?
I don’t know what I’m going to do.
My phone starts buzzing. I figure it’s Mom calling because she realized she’s a massive piece of trash. I almost don’t check, but I flip the screen over at the last second and blink at the name.
It’s Scar. I answer before it goes to voicemail. “Hello?”
“Hello, Rita.” He does not sound happy.
“How did the meeting go, Mr. Scarfoni?”
A long, charged pause. “We need to speak in person.”
“Okay, sure. Why don’t you come over to my apartment? Oh, shoot, sorry, actually that burned down last night.” I don’t know why I’m snapping at him. I’ve never spoken to Scar like this before. But I figure I’m as low as I’ll ever be, so why not lash out at my fictional husband?
Maybe if I’m bad enough he’ll punish me for it.
God, even the thought of Scar spanking me isn’t enough to turn this horrible day around.
“It’s that bad?” he asks softly.
With real emotion in his voice. That’s a surprise, coming from him. I didn’t know the man could feel anything beyond a cold satisfaction at a job well done.
Then again, I felt something when he kissed me yesterday.
“Yeah, it’s that bad. The whole place is gone. All my stuff. All my memories. It’s all gone.”
“I can’t imagine what that must feel like.”
I bite my lip. Even that small bit of empathy makes me blink with emotion. It’s more than the fifty dollars my mother offered.
“It isn’t your fault. Did I ruin that stuff with those clients? The Orin guy?”
“Yes and no. We’ll discuss that in a few hours. Where are you right now?”
“I’m sitting on a bench near my apartment building feeling sorry for myself.”
“You still have that credit card?”
“I do, yes.”
“Find me your nearby cross streets. I’ll send a car to pick you up. It’ll take you to the Grand Hyatt outside of the DFW airport. Rent a room with that card, get yourself something to eat, and wait for me there.”
I sit, staring at the ground. My stomach churns with uncertainty.
Can I really do this? Take his money? Take his help?
I don’t know what it’ll mean. If I’ll owe him whatever I charge to the card, or if I’ll owe him even more than that.
He said we were married. He told a serious Irish gangster that I’m his wife-and I played along.
I feel like that means something, but not something good.
Like we’re bound in the lie, and if I keep following him, I’ll end up going further than I ever imagined.
Further into this fake little world he created.
But the feeling of his mouth on mine, his fingers digging into my side-it makes my heart start to race.
“You kissed me last night,” I say, chewing on my lip at the memory. I blurt it out before I can stop myself.
He laughs, a sensual chuckle. “I was trying to sell the story. You’re welcome.”
“For the kiss? It was a good kiss, but not something I’d thank you for.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. “You liked it? I thought you would. But no, I mean you’re welcome for making sure the Callahan family didn’t murder you.”
“Oh. Right. That little detail.”
“Yes, that. I’m glad you enjoyed the kiss though. Now, go get me the cross streets.”
I slowly stand. “It was an adequate kiss, don’t get all excited.” I find my location and tell him. “I’m not even sure why I’m doing this. I mean, that was really, beyond bizarre. I’m supposed to be your assistant. You’re my freaking boss. I barely know you. Why did you say we’re married?”
“We’ll discuss that in person. Stay where you are, the car’s coming.”
“Scar, wait, hold on-” But the line goes dead.
Typical controlling asshole.
I stand there in the hot Texas sun, weighing my options. I could go back to the motel Eduardo mentioned and take my chances with what little cash I have left.
Or I could get in Scar’s car and find out how weird this little wrinkle in my professional life is going to get.
I wipe my forehead. There’s no real choice. I’m broke, my apartment burned down, I don’t know where my car is, and I have no family or friends in town to help me out.
Which means Mr. Bossy-Asshole is my best option.
When the car shows up, I toss my luggage in the trunk, and climb inside.