Bold Tricks

We had rented a car for the occasion, under my fake name so it was ironically legit, and I drove out toward Burbank with Gus and Camden in their rental car not too far behind. I had a Mini Cooper because that’s just how I rolled while they opted for a Honda Civic, fast enough but nondescript. I pulled up the Mini Cooper in the parking lot of a strip mall with its shitty-looking Chinese buffet next to the “spa” and spent longer than I should have sitting there and trying to control my breathing. I eyed myself in the mirror. The red wig I had on was real hair and fit me like a glove, flowing nicely over my shoulders. It didn’t look sex kitteny, it just looked normal, even up close. It was quite obvious I was wearing contacts though, but the natural green color worked well with my skin tone. I could pass for Elizabeth, I could pass for Elizabeth, I could pass for Elizabeth.

I wasn’t Ellie Watt.

I wouldn’t kill Sophia.

I inhaled until my lungs felt like they were going to burst and got out of the car. I was wearing a black pantsuit, sleek and professional. I worked in accounting for an advertising firm. I had my fake business card in my Marc by Marc Jacobs bag we got from Nordstrom Rack. Elizabeth Waters. Single. Twenty-seven years old. Testing out a Mini because I want to buy one but now was afraid the red color clashed with my hair. Loves getting her pores cleaned.

I wouldn’t kill Sophia.

I gathered my courage and walked over to the door and strolled inside like this was my weekly treat. The bell rang overhead and I was met with unflattering fluorescent lighting and a woman at the counter who was snapping gum. It was a busy place, with the manicures and pedicures at the front, Vietnamese women attacking feet and hands while chatting with each other. The rest of the treatments seemed to be in the back in dentist-like chairs.

“Can I help you?” the girl at the counter asked, her hair looking like it got dipped in Pepto Bismol.

I tried to keep my voice down, not wanting Sophia to hear me and see me before I saw her. “I’ve got a two pm appointment with Sophia.”

The girl eyed the computer and nodded, snapping her gum again, before yelling “Sophia!” Then she pointed at the end of the room. “She’s right there.”

I slowly turned and looked. Sophia was walking toward me, a completely blasé look in her eyes. She looked tired but still pretty, a tiny woman with mad curves, her brown hair pulled back off her face so it showed off her aristocratic nose and red pouty lips. She barely smiled, barely acknowledged me.

Which was actually a good thing. But I was so close to grabbing her by the throat and asking if she knew who I was, if she knew what she’d done, if she realized how fucking screwed she was going to get.

I didn’t, though. I just gave her a smile and said, “Hi, I’m Elizabeth,” and extended my hand.

She looked at it, looked at me, gave me a nod and said, “Right this way.”

Bitch.

I followed her over to the station and she instructed me to take off my suit jacket and put my bag on the ground. I lay back in the chair and she asked me what I wanted.

Oh, I had so many answers to that.

None were appropriate.

I told her I wanted my pores squeaky clean and to look fresh. I had a date on the weekend. With a really hot guy.

With glasses, covered in tattoos, I thought, a real fucking work of art, a tortured soul with a heart of gold, who fucks like an animal and will love me till my dying day.

I couldn’t help but smile at my thoughts, at the truth, and lo and behold, she smiled back.

“Hot guy?” she asked. “That sounds nice.”

“Oh, I bet you have tons of hot guys,” I said, my mouth snaking upward.

“Me?” she asked and then quickly rubbed the tip of her nose, sniffing. I bet she didn’t have a cold. “No, most of the guys I go out with aren’t very hot.” She laughed awkwardly.

No, most drug dealers aren’t very hot, I thought.

“Maybe it’s the area,” I tried, fishing for info. “Burbank. Too many actors.”

“Oh, no, I live in Pasadena,” she said. “Too many married men.”

I smiled. “Well that doesn’t help.”

“And they never leave their wives for me,” she continued with a non-committal shrug.

I kept smiling, thinking she was kidding. But she wasn’t.

I had to play it cool.

I swallowed down my rage and took a deep breath.

“Nervous?” she asked me. She was more astute than I thought.

“Yeah, just thinking about the date,” I said, covering up.

“What’s the guy’s name?”

Camden McQueen. Camden McQueen. Camden McQueen.

The words were dying to come out of my mouth, just to see the look on her face but I reeled them in and said, “Derek.”

Hey, why not.

“Hot name,” she said, and then she turned her back to me and started making preparations.

The thing I learned about Sophia over the next hour was that she never once mentioned her son, even when I started babbling to her about being single and wanting children and how was I going to balance working at the advertising firm with a child. She didn’t offer anything about Ben.

Not until the end.

She was slapping moisturizer on my face, hurrying because I could tell her next client had arrived and she said, “Well I hope your date goes well this weekend.”

“Thanks,” I told her, swinging my legs over the side.

She picked up my bag from the ground and got my jacket from the hook. As I slipped the jacket on over my blouse, she gave me a dry smile and said, “Listen, about the kid thing. Don’t bother. They always seem like a good idea at the time but they’ll fuck up your life.”

I knew my jaw had dropped open. I couldn’t help it.

She smiled coldly. “I’m serious. I wish someone had told me that back in the day. So enjoy your hot man. Just make sure you use a condom.”

I closed my mouth and swallowed hard, feeling angry and flustered and shocked all at once.

She motioned for me to go to the counter and then waved over the next woman, someone who was obviously a regular. I moved over to the cashier in a daze.

Had she seriously just told me that?

That definitely didn’t help sway my desire to shank her.

And it definitely made me more determined than ever to get Ben far, far away.

I paid for the treatment – leaving her a shitty tip that had the clerk eyeing me like I was nuts – and then high-tailed it out of there. I got in the Mini Cooper and drove home, my hands kneading the steering wheel through miles and miles of heavy traffic. I knew Camden and Gus were waiting nearby the salon to tail her when she went home for the evening. I quickly gave them a call, relaying the information that I picked up but left out that last part. Camden didn’t need any more ammo, and if he did, well then I would give it to him. For now, he needed to keep his head clear and his emotions under control.

I got home, poured myself a glass of wine and waited for my men to get home. Then I poured myself another glass of wine and waited some more.

Here’s the thing about being alone.

You’re not.

You have your demons with you.

Sitting in that house, the house that wasn’t mine, with the furniture that wasn’t mine, and the red wig splayed across the kitchen table, was the first time I’d been alone in what felt like a long time. There was the time in the jungle before I found Camden, but that was no time to reflect or think.

Now I truly was alone.

And it was terrifying.

Not only being in a large and still unfamiliar house with unfamiliar sounds.

And not because I still had this undercurrent of paranoia at the back of my head, this feeling of dread that followed me around in this bright Californian sunshine.

But because I was alone with my thoughts.

Alone with my guilt.

Alone with the knowledge of the things I’d done.