When she arrived home, she started to dialhis number when she remembered that Mr. Black might be listening soinstead she decided to use the telephone in the lobby of herapartment building.

When her brother answered, he actually seemedenthusiastic to hear from her and Elsa couldn’t deny that she, too,was happy to hear his familiar, if not grating, voice.

“Yo, El, it’s about damn time. I know you’vebeen avoiding me,” he chuckled.

It was true. She had been. “How’s Mom?”

“Worried that you’re out there selling yourbody to pay your bills. Call her and either confirm or deny it,will you?”

No, she wasn’t selling it; she had freelysigned it away. “I need a favor. Can you do a background check onsomeone for me?”

“One of your ‘clients’?” he snickered.

“Shut the hell up, Nick. Can you or not?”

“Of course I can. All I need is a name.”

“I need more than just a basic check though,if you get my drift.”

Nick’s voice oozed condescension. “You’resuch a fuck up, Elsa. What did you do? Piss someone off and now youneed blackmail material?”

“You’re an ass. Never mind,” she pouted.

Nick had always been the perfect one in hermother’s eyes - perfect grades; flawless wife; an aerospace degreefrom MIT, blah, blah, barfity blah. She rolled her eyes and fakegagged. She would never live down her rebellious years in herfamily’s eyes. Seriously? Selling her body? Just because sheillegally got a tattoo at the age of seventeen and did time injuvie didn’t mean she was out hooking for a living. Didn’t hermother have any faith in her? She had an engineering degree, too,and just because it wasn’t from a prestigious and over-pricedcollege like Nick’s, didn’t make it any less valid.

“I’ll talk to you later,” she snapped as shewas about to hang up the phone.

“Oh, stop pouting. I’ll do it,” hesighed.

“Thank you. His name is Victor Black…” shecaught herself. “I mean Victor Laurenzo.”

“Interesting.”

Elsa’s senses heightened. “What do youmean?”

“A Laurenzo Black called me about two weeksago about a job reference for you. He asked all sorts of questionsand I just wrote it off. Do you think it was the same person?”

Fear and anger knotted inside her. “Of courseit was. Like what kinds of questions?”

“I don’t remember. The usual shit. He askedabout your character strengths and weaknesses and I couldn't thinkof any weaknesses so I made a joke about your tickling phobia.” helaughed.

“Oh, my, God, Nick, you have no idea whatyou’ve done. What else did you tell him?” she nearly sobbed.

“I don’t remember,” he quieted down when heheard the distress in her voice.

Like hell he didn’t remember.

“Shit, El. I didn’t know it was a big deal.Who is this guy?”

“Just do a check on him. But be careful, heworks for the FBI.”

“Fuck. What did you get yourself into?”

*

After her phone call, Elsa lay in her bedwith her thoughts racing. She could only imagine what otherpersonal information Nick had divulged to Victor. Mr. Black.Whatever. The man who was most likely going to punish her forbreaking the outlandish rule of not wearing panties to work. Whatsort of outrageous chastisement did he have planned next? Shereminded herself about his statement of her being physically safein his home and that eased her distress somewhat, though not much.And he was a representative of the government so obviously hewouldn’t harm her. He had a reputation to uphold. Then again, itwould also make it easier for him to cover up her death.

Appalled with where her thoughts were going,she closed her eyes and forced herself to take a nap. She wokesometime after midnight, irritated with herself for havingunintentionally slept so long. She changed and broke out thenearly-full bottle of wine she had bought several nightsbefore.

Three glasses of wine later, she picked upher phone and as if she were standing next to her body without anycontrol over her own actions, she helplessly watched her fingersfind Patrick's name in her contracts and hit send. When she heardhis sleepy voice on the other end, she snapped back tosemi-sobriety and hung up, cursing herself for dialing him and thenacting so immature as to hang up.

Not even twenty seconds later, her phone rangout, Patrick's name flashing across the screen. Of course he wouldcall her back. Mortified, she sat staring at it while it continuedto ring. Finally the phone went silent and she sighed with relief,but her relief was short-lived when her phone rang out again.

Deciding to man-up, she answered. “I’m sorry.I didn’t mean to call and wake you.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked with concernin his voice.

“Yes, of course.”

“Are you sure? It's late and I was surprisedto see that you were calling.”

“Really, I’m fine. I just dialed your numberby mistake.”

“Well since you've called, how are you? How'sthe new job?”

His voice… she had missed his soft, smoothvoice and calm disposition. “Good. I’m lead supervisor,” shesmiled, proud of her new position.

“I heard. Congratulations on your careeradvancement. We all miss you here.”

We? Elsa knew that wasn’t true andthat he was just being polite. “Tell everyone I said hi, willyou?”

“Will do. Elsa…” he broke off and she couldhear a muffled female’s voice in the background. She swallowed hardand cringed at the thought of him with another woman. “I nevermeant…” he continued.

Here it comes – the dreaded ‘it was me, notyou’ speech. She couldn’t bear to hear it. Not again. “I know,” shecut in, speaking in a weak and tremulous whisper. “I’m okay withhow things ended. Really,” she lied. “Take care of yourself.”

The conversation ended and the same sinkingfeeling she had when he had first broken her heart, punched her inthe diaphragm and stole the breath from her. She never wanted tomake the mistake of calling Patrick again and without delay she didwhat she should’ve done six months ago and erased his number fromher phone.

Friday ticked by slowly and the only goodthing that came from it was she was able to get everything donethat she had put off all week. As each minute passed by, her denialof what was going to take place on Saturday was becomingreality.

On her drive home, her body began to shake asfearful images built in her mind causing her to pull over on theside of the road. What the hell was wrong with her? She didn’t haveto go through with it. She could just end things and be over it.But Mr. Black… Victor… he would never allow it. She knew that muchto be true and she had already promised him that she would takewhatever he had planned. Him and his damned game.

That’s right - it was all just a game, sherepeated to herself. Just a game. Only a game. It would all be overwhen he had his fill of her and found his next contestant. Thenwhat? She would be alone again and without the distraction that hewas providing her with. But did she really want that kind of adistraction? What other choice did she have? Solitude. That was thecold, stark alternative she had and one she would rather suffer Mr.Black’s wrath than face.

*

Amazingly she slept well that nightconsidering how upset she was with herself for having calledPatrick and getting herself into the whole mess with Mr. Black. Thewine helped in that regard, but when she woke, the headache, nauseaand cotton mouth made her regret her decision to polish offthree-quarters of a bottle of chardonnay and make her wish she wasstill a pot smoker. At least she never woke up with a hangoverafter a night of hitting the bong.

She forced herself to eat a small breakfastand primped, plucked, shaved and oiled her body down to within aninch of her life. Next she dressed in something that she thoughtwould be pleasing to Mr. Black, a body-hugging black tube dress.With no undergarments, of course. She picked out a pair ofplatforms that she only wore on special occasions – buckled bootiesthat screamed sex. After putting a light curl in her red locks, sheplastered on the reddest lipstick she could find and heavilyshadowed her eyes in a smoky charcoal. When she glanced in themirror, she looked as if she were ready for a night out clubbingand not like she was getting ready to face the firing squad. Shefigured if she was going down, she might as well go down lookingher best.