[ - ]
Table of Contents [Report This]
Printer Chapter or Story Microsoft Word Chapter or Story
- Text Size +
Chapter Four


After leaving the meeting with Jobe, I kept the comment card in my hand and kept looking at it. I drove to the grocery store like Addison had demanded and bought some real food and headed home to cook it, the card still clutched in my fist even as I brought in the bags and dropped them on the kitchen floor.

The house my parents had owned wasn't anything amazing. It was just a little brown thing. It kind of looked out of place with the large brick apartment building outback and the stripmall next door, but it was home and it'd been where we'd lived all my life. Which is why I was so reluctant to let it go, even though my brother, Jake, had moved out and stopped helping pay the rent. Now the entire $1,500 a month mortgage was all mine. Plus upkeep, which I wasn't doing so well on. And Jake, even though he was making a ton of money, was so keen on me not keeping the place that he wouldn't help at all.

Consequently everything inside was exactly like my parents had left it - their furniture, their carpet, their knick-knacks. The only thing different was I'd sold my dad's television set and in it's place was my stereo, which, although I probably could've sold for a couple pretty pennies, I refused to let go of. It was basically the alter of my worship, so how could I even dream of selling it?

Speaking of my alter of worship, I put on a Journey CD and went back to the kitchen.

Propping up the comment card on the table, I set to work making my Shake'n Bake Chicken dinner with broccoli and cranberry juice. I kept glancing over at the card. While I was waiting for the chicken to bake, I lowered myself into the chair and picked it up, studying the messy handwriting. I liked the way his letters looped and tilted and I wondered what his handwriting said about him, so I got up and got my laptop and pulled up a Google search on handwriting analysis.

A quick look through the words he'd written and looking at an article on the web revealed that (because it slanted to the left with wide descenders and open counters) he was a very creative, social person, who put a lot of pressure on himself, was very self critical, secretive, and had an authoritative nature. I leaned back in my chair and stared at the card.

The timer went off on the stove, so I got up and got my food and carried the plate, and the card, out to the living room where Journey was just wrapping up the end of the album. I sat on the floor in front of the couch and picked at my chicken while Steve Perry's voice faded out and silence regained control of the house. When I'd finished my dinner and wiped my fingers on a napkin, I took a deep breath and pulled out my phone.

My original intention was to call Addison to tell her I'd had a real meal and ask her if she wanted to hang out, but somehow as I was staring at the comment card, my fingers moved naturally along in the order of the digits of Nick's phone number. And I didn't even realize what I'd done until the phone was answered and instead of Addison's voice, a deep, throaty, man-voice filled my ear.

"'lo?"

At first I thought it was Addison's client of the night but when I pulled the phone from my ear and looked at the number I'd dialed I realized what I'd done and words escaped me.

"....hello?" he said, his voice a little clearer this time. "Hello?"

"Nick Carter," I pushed the words out of my mouth. "Hi."

"Hey," he paused. "Samantha, right? Samatha Roades?"

"Yes. Yeah. Hi." I sounded like a blundering idiot, I realized. I smacked my hand against my face, thankful he couldn't see the fact that I was turning redder than a tomato. I needed to regain composure. This was the only way I was gonna be able to talk to the guy. I mean, that's how I'd managed to blackmail him after all. I just needed to collect myself. I stared down at the carpet.

"You got the comment card I left," he said. He seemed oblivious to the fact that I was stammering and struggling to get words out.

I took a deep breath. "Well my boss was a little confused what you might've meant by Monking services and brought me in to remind me that prostitution isn't accetpable."

Nick choked on something. "Oh shit," he laughed, and I heard him put the phone down a second (I imagined him having spit food all down the front of himself or something and having to wipe it off), "I didn't even think of that when I wrote it." He laughed, "You aren't in trouble, are you? Do I gotta call him up and be like yo that's not what I meant?"

"No, I told him that wasn't what you meant. Luckily for you, Jobe likes me so he took my word for it..." I paused. "What did you mean, consequently?"

Nick's voice deepened, "Well, I have a proposition for you."

"A proposition?"

"Mmmhm."

"What kind of proposition?" I asked.

I heard him lick his lips. "I don't exactly wanna get into it over the phone. Can I take you to dinner and tell you over a meal?"

I looked at my freshly empty plate. "Sure." I mean at worst I ended up with a free doggy bag to eat later or tomorrow, right?

"What's your address, I'll send a car to pick you up." He'll send a car to pick me up. The words echoed in my head. This was very James Bond-esque. I hesitated, then decided what the hell and gave him my address. "Okay," he said, "Lemme call my driver and he'll be there in about an hour or so. What kinda food do you like?"

"I'm not picky," I answered.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," I answered, "I'll eat anything."

Nick laughed, "Okay. I'll find something. See you soon." He hung up the phone.

I stared at my phone for a second until the call ended screen blinked away. It felt surreal. I shook my head in an attempt to rejoin reality. I put the phone down on the table. "Did I just make a date with Nick Carter?" I wondered outloud.

Then it hit me.

"Fuck, I just made a date with Nick Carter!" I leaped to my feet. "Oh fuck, fuck, fuck." I ran for the bedroom and yanked my closet door open. Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zip. I ran back to the living room, grabbed my cell phone and dialed Addison's number. For real this time. "NINE ONE ONE, NINE ONE ONE!" I shouted the moment she'd answered the phone.

"What? What's wrong?"

"I just made a date with Nick Carter and I don't have anything presentable to wear!"

"We'll go shopping!" she declared. "Are you free tomorrow?"

"It's tonight!" I cried.

"The date is?"

"YES!"

"Shit! How long do you have?"

"His driver's gonna be here in an hour!" I squeaked. "I don't know how this happened!"

There was a considerable amount of noise on Addison's end of the phone. "I'm looking in my closet now for something. Is this like a date-date?"

"I don't know. He said he has a proposition for me..."

"A PROPOSITION?!" Addison cried. The way she said it, it sounded dirty.

"I don't think it's like that," I said and I told her about the comment card, about the Monk reference, and how I'd just eaten but I was going to go out to dinner anyways.

"Ok I have something," Addison said. "It's perfect. Now go do your hair. Loose curls. Pale pink make up. I'll be there in about fifteen minutes. GO!"

"Going!" I hung up the phone, thankful for Addison and her extensive wardrobe and the fact that we both had the same waist size, and I ran for the bathroom to turn on my curling iron, my heart pounding.