Okay, so it needs a better title. Feel free to make suggestions. It’s past my bedtime and I have meetings tomorrow.
Once again, inspired by Chuck Wendig’s flash fiction challenge…
We were just two figures flirting in the vanishing light on the beach. Except he thought I was a hot brunette he’d had the good fortune of getting tipsy at happy hour and I was hoping he didn’t get too handsy with the wig and that the twilight made the telltale over-perfection of my colored contacts invisible. I was also hoping by getting on the blocked side of the streetlamps – designed to get more sea turtles in the ocean than A1A – he wouldn’t get too good of a look at the scars I’d hidden under a demure little office sweater.
“The water’s still so cold.” I giggled and played at dipping the toes of my right foot in the frothy waves as they washed ashore. I kept my left foot, the one with the missing toe, tucked in the sand.
He rubbed my back and gave me the bedroom-eyes face again. “I could warm you up if you’d like.”
I fought the urge to steal his credit card and run up a couple hundred dollars worth of charges at a gay night club with my neighbor. Instead I twirled the ends of my fake hair. Not only did the brown look help me blend in with the local Hispanic population, I’d found it made me much harder to describe than “six-foot scarred-up redhead bitch” which was likely going to end up on my tombstone.
“I can get us a room at the W…”
Real subtle, jackass. “Ooh, that sounds expensive. I’ve never been in there.” I giggled again and acted impressed. Best to pretend I don’t know his wife was having drinks with my boss at Casablanca Café, halfway between us and the W. Best also to pretend I didn’t know he’d been beating his kids or that she’d borrowed enough of my money to get a divorce attorney. Probably best not to mention my soft spot for the domestically abused.
He started to steer me toward the sidewalks and the people and the streetlights, oozing charm and sleaze.
I paused and fumbled in my little girly handbag for my phone. “Just a sec.” I held up a finger emphatically which is to say drunkenly. “I gotta call my friend. Let her know I left.”
He put his meat paw over the opening of my faux Coach – the thing that seemed to really sell losers on my being one of them. “I thought you were alone?” He angled closer to distract me from the insinuation that he preyed on people he thought lacked support or backup.
I smiled demurely and gazed up at him like I figured a dorky secretary might. “She met someone.” I bit my lower lip and acted like I was excited about hitting the same jackpot. “Just need to make sure she remembers to call me when she gets home. Safety first.” I faked dropping my bag. “Oopsy.” I shrugged and bent to pick up my things, hitting the last-dialed button on my phone as I slipped it back into my bag. “But I guess I can text her later.” I smiled, wanting to make sure he thought I was game for whatever he had planned.
He took my elbow and started guiding me toward the sidewalk. “You look so pretty tonight.”
I tottered along, my slingbacks swinging from my wrist, until we started to come into the light again. “Can’t we just walk along the beach? It’s so bright.” I squinted like a drunkard whose eyes weren’t adjusting properly anymore. “Besides,” I leaned closer, “you’re so cute. What if you see someone prettier?” I grinned.
He pulled me close and stroked my hair. “No need to worry about that, baby.” He seemed all too happy to lead me along the sand. Probably thinking it was all the better to wear me out walking on the sand not knowing I went running on the beach. Probably also hoping to isolate me without knowing that even without being able to alert my boss, he was the one in danger.
*****
He was sweaty by the time we reached the hotel. I had become so giggly I was annoying myself. Pretending to be drunk after two glasses of shiraz was also lame considering what a pro drinker my mother was. At least my breath was believable.
We stumbled onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel and I quickly slipped on my shoes. “It looks so…new.” I stared up in awe despite living a few blocks away. “You think the soap has the logo?”
He smiled like some creepy benevolent uncle. Or the creepy foster father I’d had for a while.
We tumbled across the street and into the shining lobby where I pretended to act super-impressed by their IKEA décor.
In the elevator I developed a sudden fake urge to pee and hopped and giggled like a moron. He ate it up like foie gras. I considered slitting his throat with the knife in my bag.
He unlocked the door and moved me inside. I flipped on the light and went to the window under the guise of seeing the ocean. He flipped the light off and came up behind me, getting way too touchy feely.
“Are you sure you’re not married or gay?” I leaned back against him while playing with my wig to keep one arm free of his circling grasp. “So many guys are.” I sagged into him as though this were my biggest problem.
“Why would you say gay?” His voice had a hint of anger.
“Down here? Seems like all the unmarried guys are.” I launched into a story about a hairdresser.
There was a knock at the door.
He grabbed the wig. “Bitch, this better not be a setup!”
I twisted out of the hairpiece, kneed him in the crotch and stuck my thumb hard against his windpipe. “Sit.”
He sat. My boss let the wife in with her divorce papers.
*****
Later, I went home and had a box of gay porn shipped to his office.
