As much as I wanted to distance myself from the case, I started looking into the validity of Lara’s claims. If Henderson was going to ask for millions from Joel without solid proof that he, in fact, was the one to leave her battered, chances were they would lose in court. But if there were even a shred of evidence to suggest otherwise, then they would have to lower the settlement amount to get Joel to consider it worthwhile to settle. Although, he seemed a bit stubborn and this was domestic violence we were accusing him of. Some men would fight the claim just on principal—something I could easily see Joel doing.

I pulled into my garage, entering my house through the back door when I heard my doorbell. That was weird, considering I’d just pulled up and didn’t notice anyone near my driveway or parked outside my house. My body felt heavy as I lugged myself back to the front of the house to answer the door. I was in no mood for solicitors, so if it even looked like someone who was selling something or telling me to find Jesus, there was going to be hell to pay.

The sound of muffled footsteps could be heard through the door, but I didn’t stop to look through the peephole. Instead, I swung the door open with enough gusto that the blinds ruffled from the wind I’d created. Four men stood on my stoop in matching candy-striper vests, white button-down shirts, and black slacks. I didn’t have time to question who they were or what they were doing before the one in front—a stout man with a receding hairline and dimpled cheeks—started counting off.

“1, 2, 3.”

He waved his hand in a flourish and their voices harmonized before breaking into a jaunty tune.

You’re invited to a luncheon, Blaire

He hopes you will say yes.

You’re invited to a luncheon, Blaire

Oh, won’t you be his guest.

You’re invited to a luncheon, Blaire

And he hopes you won’t say noooooo.

He swears that it’s just lunch, Blaire

Oh please, oh please just gooooo.

They ended with a jubilant waving of arms and smiles that were infectious in their enthusiasm. Whoever said smiles weren’t contagious had never had a singing telegram.

I stood inside my door dumbfounded by what I was seeing. Was I supposed to clap? I’d never been stumped at the proper etiquette of singing telegrams because I didn’t even know they still did singing telegrams. I smiled as three of the men stepped back and the stout man stepped forward.

“Thank you. I can’t say I’ve ever had anything like…this before.”

“You’d be surprised how many telegrams we do a week,” he said, pulling a paper from his pocket.

“Wow.”

“Please sign this as proof that we were here.” He handed over the paper before digging around in his pockets for something else.

“Oh, and I can’t forget this.”

I looked at the paper that he put forth and there, written in chicken scratch, was a scrap of paper I could have easily received while in grade school. Next to three large boxes were the words, “yes,” “no,” and “try harder.” I laughed as I looked over the words. Joel definitely had a way of brightening one’s day, I could say that much about him.

“It would seem a bit cruel to put ‘no,’ wouldn’t it?”

“Depends on what he’s apologizing for.”

“I take it most of these telegrams are for apologies?”

“That, and birthdays.”

He hesitated as I debated which box on the page to check. “My advice, if it really was ‘no,’ you wouldn’t have to ask for my input.”

I did as the man said, solely because he was right. I didn’t really want Joel to give up on me. I didn’t really know what I wanted. I knew what was right, and for the first time in a long time what I wanted and what was right were two opposing things.

The singer didn’t say anything as I marked the paper and handed it back to him, thanking him once again before he left to catch up with the rest of the group.

Walking back into the house, I thought about what to expect next. Joel was anything but normal when it came to getting what he wanted. I was starting to learn he wasn’t above using every means to get what he wanted. It was a bit disconcerting that he now had my cell phone number, but chose not to use it. Maybe he was scared I wouldn’t answer, or worse that I would answer just to tell him no, which would most likely happen if he continued to push too hard. No, I wasn’t meeting with him. I had already made up my mind. So why did it feel like even thinking that felt like a lie?

***

I hadn’t checked the mail since the postal service announced they were returning to their routes almost a week before. It wasn’t like I received a lot of mail anyway, but I had been too busy with work to bother unloading a box I assumed was filled to the brim with mailers. I unlocked the box and noticed a thick, padded manila envelope underneath everything else. I hadn’t ordered anything, and when I flipped the envelope over, there was no return address or any indication as to who sent it. Shuffling the rest of the mail underneath my arm, I used both hands to open the small package.

Just as I got to my front door, I pulled out the contents only to find a single CD without so much as a card or permanent marker signaling what it was.

All of the rest of the mail was thrown on my kitchen counter before I carried the blank CD to my office to see what was on it. I’d never had something so suspicious and ominous as a blank CD sent to my home—and addressed to me specifically, no less.

Once seated at my desk, I shoved the CD in and waited for my computer to load the contents. When the multimedia icon popped up on my screen, I clicked play noticing at the last minute that it was a video and not an audio file. Immediately, my screen filled with the image of a half-naked man. He wore jeans, no shoes, no shirt. His face couldn’t be seen based on the angle of the camera, but I knew that chest anywhere. His words verified my presumption.

“Mmm, pretty bird…I’ve been thinking about you,” Joel groaned and it was the sound of need amplified through my speakers that had me pressing pause quickly, as if I were in a crowded library and porn sounds blasted from my speakers. I clutched my chest to calm my racing heart. Is this what I think it is? If so, he’s pulling out all the stops. He’s making it so I’ll have no choice but to meet him—if only to cure the ache that’s blooming through my body with the tenor of those words. Words that were meant especially for me.

I moved through my house to retrieve my headphones bundled at the bottom of my purse. My house was empty and very rarely did I even receive the random solicitor, but it felt too revealing to watch this video and listen to the sexual hunger he possessed, with the remote chance that someone walking down the sidewalk could make out one word of what was meant for my ears and eyes only. There was something significant about Joel sending me this. It spoke of a trust I wasn’t even sure I deserved. Granted, his face wasn’t in the picture, but anyone who knew Joel would be able to say that was his voice. If not, they could probably recognize his body. He wasn’t tattooed and didn’t have any significant scars marring his perfect skin, but even in Vegas, it was hard to find a man who had a body as perfect as his. He could work at Chippendales or Thunder Down Under, and I’m sure he’d be their biggest moneymaker. Women would line up outside the door just to see him reveal even a small glimpse of his perfectly chiseled chest and commanding thighs.

The heat of excitement of being able to watch his body in action washed over me. I would have a front row seat to whatever awaited me once I was back in the office and pressed play. Having sex with Joel was its own experience. Yes, I watched his body as he moved in and out of me, but more so, I was focused on the pleasure he drew out of me. Now, I would be able to completely focus on the beauty of Joel’s movements.