“Right. We’re friends.” He uses air quotes on the last word and laughing, tugs on a short lock of my blond hair like he did in grade school.
However, I’m not amused. He needs to get it through his thick skull we’re not a couple and this is not a booty call.
When his hand slips to my butt, I slap it away. If his frown is any indication, maybe he’s getting a clue.
Absent-mindedly, he plays with the safe door while I cringe, thinking of ruined evidence and fingerprints. “How long ago did you call the police?”
“I didn’t.”Mother will have conniptions.
“I could stay, if you like.” His smile creeps me out and I hope he doesn’t notice.
“Please Gerry...” As much as I wish it was different, sex with him was abysmal.
When his eyes flash with anger, I try not to get mad. After all, I was the one who called him.
“Dammit, Calliope. Just call.” Turning, he stomps down the hall, through my living room, and into the kitchen. A chair scrapes roughly across the tiles and I give him a moment before I follow.
His brown eyes glare at me through lowered lids as I sit and clunk my forehead on the table.
“Fine.” I press nine-one-one and as predicted, it’s hours before I can heave an exhausted sigh and crawl into bed.
It seems like only seconds later when my alarm goes off. Picking up the cheerful chirping, I aim, about to throw it across the room.
What’s this? Surprise, surprise. There’re six incoming calls from my mother and at least as many texts. What a wonderful way to start my day.
My brain screams for coffee so I use the bathroom, a pod goes into the Keurig, and a carton of half-and-half comes from the ’fridge. After guzzling down my first cup, I start on a second, and auto-dial my mom.
Before I get a ring tone, she begins, “Why didn’t you call me?”
“It was late.”
Hello to you, too, mom. Nice to hear your voice.“Better I hear what happened from the mayor? Finding out you were robbed? What will my garden club think?”
Here we go...With the speaker on and the microphone muted, I set my phone on the kitchen table. In the bedroom, I dress to ‘Mom’s Tirade Symphony in A Major.’
I bet it’ll take at least five minutes for her to notice I haven’t responded.
“... party and how do you think it looks? I’ve checked social media and you have over a hundred thousand hits and the sun isn’t even up yet. Every year I work so hard...”
Yada, yada, yada...
In truth, publicity can only help her charity but I know better than to barge in. Instead, I slip on a pair of comfortable leggings, don a long sweater, and brush my hair.
Putting on my makeup, I shout out when she pauses. “Yes, I’m listening. Just multi-tasking.”
After a little blush and lip gloss, I check in my bedroom’s full-length mirror and sigh. Nobody looks great on four hours of sleep.
A new variation on her old theme grabs my attention so I rush into the kitchen.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I said I’m hiring you a bodyguard.” Her smug tone has a matching expression which I picture clearly.
As I do, acid burns away at my stomach lining. “But mother, I always use Bert and he’s agreed to come.”
“That old coot was fine when no one was actuallytargetingyou, dear. But really, for a Rhodes scholar, you can be so clueless. I’ve called the best in the business, Patten Securities, and signed a contract.”
How she got ahold of the billionaire before normal business hours is beyond me. No doubt, she called someone who called someone else who knows his wife. Then, I bet my mom had no problem calling him at home.
