Call Me Cat (3 page)

"A PHONE SEX
operator? Are you freaking kidding me?" Bridgette had said the same thing three times as her blue eyes got wider and wider. She was starting to look like an anime character. "Isn't that like a prostitute? Is it even legal? Catelyn, you're going into law, you can't break the law to get there."

The
teakettle screamed from the kitchen, and I used the excuse to get away from her scrutinizing eyes. "You want Earl Grey or English Breakfast?" I asked. She'd shown up with a bag of groceries an hour ago, and the cat and I had nearly cried as our bellies rumbled their thanks.

"Earl Grey."

She waited on my shabby chic (with emphasis on shabby) couch while I made our tea. "It's totally legal," I said. "Obviously I wouldn't do it if it wasn't. And it's not prostitution. I'm not actually sleeping with the guys, Brig. They'll never know who I am or where I live. They'll never know anything real about me at all. It's an acting job. You always said I should go into acting."

I balanced the
teacups on a tray and placed it in between us on the coffee table.

She dumped
half the sugar bowl into her drink and added milk, then sipped. "I was thinking more along the lines of Broadway theater or Hollywood movies, not getting gross pervs off on the phone. Besides, you haven't even—"

"Brig, you know I don't like to talk about that."

She rolled her eyes. "If you can't even talk about the fact you've never had sex with your best friend, how are you going to talk about the act of sex with strangers?"

"That I've never had sex with my best friend? Why,
Bridgette, I didn't know you felt that way about me." I winked at her over my teacup.

"Shut it. You know what I mean, Miss Grammar Police."

"You know why I haven't… done it." I shifted on my chair, pulling my legs under me as I hid behind my tea.

"God, you can't even say the word. This is crazy, Catelyn." She place
d her cup on the tray and leaned in, giving me that look she had that always made me feel like I'd been sent to the principal's office. "There's got to be something else you can do to make ends meet."

"Really? Then tell me." I stood, spilling my tea as I slammed it onto the tray next to hers. "What else is there? Where else can I find the money? I don't have rich parents like you. I don't have any parents at all. That asshole took everything from me when he killed them. He stole my life and now I have nothing but what I can do on my own. So tell me, what else is there? Because if you have a solution, I'm all ears."

She stood to face me, her jaw set. "It's not my fault. I'm just trying to help. I didn't kill your parents." Bridgette grabbed her purse and stormed from the apartment, leaving me shaking.

I picked up my tea
cup and threw it across the room, relishing the violence as it exploded into a million pieces right under my parents' portrait, a brown stain dripping down the wall. "Why? Why did you leave m
e?
I can't do this alone. I'm not strong enough. I'm just not!"

I screamed my rage at them, but they maintained their eternal smile at my younger self, the girl who didn't know loss or pain or fear. The girl who hadn't yet been forced to make awful decisions to survive. I wished more than anything I could be that girl again, but she
'd died with her parents.

The night came back to me, as it sometimes did when my defenses were down. When I became too emotional, too full of fear.

My mother screamed, and at first I'd thought it was the television, but then I heard my dad's voice begging someone to stop hurting her. When I crept out to the hallway, I saw him from behind, his pants down as he moved his hips back and forth. I didn't realize right away what he was doing. It wasn't until he stepped aside that I saw my mother laying there naked, her legs spread, blood pooling around them like he'd ripped something out of her.

I knew I had to get to the phone, to call the police, but I just stood there shaking, paralyzed. My dad looked up from the chair he'd been tied to, his mouth gagged and
his eyes desperate. When he noticed me he jerked his head side to side once, then watched the man hidden behind the wall, the man who taunted him with my mother's body.

She wasn't screaming anymore.

Something unlocked in me, and I ran to their room, the only phone I could get to without being seen. My hands shook as I dialed 911. My voice caught on a sob when the operator answered. "Someone hurt my mom bad. Hurry, please hurry."

I heard groaning and grunting, and the splatter of blood. I found an old baseball bat in my parents' closet and crept back to the living room. The man, dressed in black with a ski mask on, was beating my father, whose bloody head hung limp, like a broken doll.

I dropped the bat and screamed, and the man turned to me, his eyes manic, crazy. Sirens outside interrupted whatever he had planned as he walked to me. "One is such a lonely number," he whispered, his voice sounding off, like he was speaking through a voice synthesizer, too low-pitched and machine-like to be human. Then he licked my face and ran his hand from my breasts to my crotch, squeezing me. "If only I had more time. I'll have to save you for another day. I don't suppose
you
know where your mother hid the book?"

My throat locked. I couldn't talk, and after a pause he laughed and escaped through the back window.

They never caught him. Based on what I could remember, he could have been anywhere from twenty to fifty years old with eyes ranging from blue to dark brown. It was too dark, I was too scared, and he was too hidden for my testimony to be helpful.

The crime remain
s unsolved, but once a year I received a letter, reminding me that he was still out there, still watching me.

  I was
fifteen then, too young to save them, but old enough to feel the guilt of having done nothing.

When they failed to find him, when they failed to convict anyone for the crime ag
ainst my family, I knew despite my earlier protests I would follow in my parents' footsteps and go into law, choosing their alma mater for my school.

A
ll that was about to end, all those dreams, all those promises to my dead parents… unless I stopped feeling sorry for myself and got my shit together.

MY NEW JOB
started on Sunday, so Friday after classes I took a bus to the Cambridge Public Library, so as not to run into any of my classmates at the University.

It is an experience to arrive at the main branch of th
e Cambridge Library. Part fairytale castle, part everything modern and glass, the building is a display of disparate architectural designs that somehow manage to work together to create something stunning.

Overwhelmed by the sheer number of books, and enjoying the sense of being lost in the aisles, unknown and safe, I wandered
for a while, pursuing titles that looked interesting. Unfortunately, this branch wasn't open as late as the school library, and I was running out of time when I finally committed to my task of checking out as many romance novels and books on sex as I could find in thirty minutes. There turned out to be a shocking number of both, and I packed my empty backpack as full as I could carry before heading to the check-out. As I pulled my books out to scan, a woman bumped into me, knocking my precarious pile to the floor in a clatter sure to raise the eyebrow of any proper librarian.

The woman didn't even have the decency to apologize, instead walking away with her nose in the air. I sighed and bent over to retrieve the books when a familiar voice spoke behind me. "Need some help?"

I turned and saw the stunningly too-handsome-for-words man I'd run into the other day at school. He had a wry smile on his face and a stack of business books in his hands, which he placed on the counter to help me retrieve mine.

"Um, thanks. I guess this is where I say, fancy meeting you here." My joke felt lame, even to myself, and I laughed. "Clearly, I run into hot guys all the time, so my banter is totally and organically down."

He smiled, showing off a dimple I wanted to touch. "I'd hate to be just another guy who picks up your books." He glanced down at the book he held and raised an eyebrow. "Especially considering your taste in reading."

My face burned with embarrassment. "It's, uh, research. For a paper I'm writing."

"Really?" He handed me a scandalous book on sex kinks. With illustrations. "Law school must have changed since my dad's time. If I'd known this was on the curriculum I might have acquiesced to his demands and gone."

"Right. It's not for law school,
per se. A different project."

A woman behind us cleared her throat loudly a
nd scowled.

The librarian scanned my books and
card, and I started to walk away. "Thanks again for the help."

Mr. Hottie left his books on the counter and caught up with me in a few easy steps, his long legs carrying him further than mine. "Given how fate keeps bringing us together, maybe we should get some coffee and talk about our respective research. Though I'm sure yours is infinitely more interesting than mine."

"Don't you need to check out your books?"

He shrugged. "I'll order them on Amazon. Easier that way."

"That must be nice." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

"What must be?"

"Nothing." I wished I could order all I needed with a click of a button, but he didn't need to hear me whine. For that matter,
I
didn't need to hear me whine.

He grabbed
some books from my hand and smiled again. "So, about that coffee?"

"Sorry, I have
too much studying to do." I snatched the books back as he pushed open the library door for me and I walked past.

I could smell the leather from his jacket
, taste his cologne on my tongue, and it sent a shiver up my spine that I ignored. I had no time for bad boys in leather jackets who read business books for fun.

"You sure? It's just coffee. Surely you need caffeine to accomplish all that studying."

I didn't want to tell him the real reason. I always paid my own way on dates, even coffee dates, and I couldn't afford a cup of coffee at the moment. "Can't. Have to study." Which was true. My job started in two days, and I had to prepare. "But thanks for the offer. Maybe I'll see you around."

His eyes stayed on me as I walked away. I knew because I glanced back and he w
inked at me, like he knew I'd look. Damn his cocky, arrogant self.

I'd missed the bus in all that flirting and resigned myself to walking home w
ith books that weighed about three hundred pounds.

The shadows of trees lining the sidewalk lengthened as the sun set, following me like nature's ghosts. I was lost in my thoughts when the rev
ving of a motorcycle startled me.

It was him. O
f course Mr. Hottie Bad Boy would be driving a motorcycle. A shiny, pimped out Harley by the looks of it. Those things didn't come cheap.

"Hey Law School, at least let me give you a ride home.
You can wear my helmet." He held it up as proof as he slowly kept pace with me.

"It's illegal to drive that slow, you know. And my name isn't Law School."

"Then tell me your name so I know what to call you."

We were drawing attention from others going on their evening walk, so I moved faster hoping he'd forget about me and drive away. "You shouldn't call me anything. We don't even know each other."

"Which is why you should tell me your name," he said over the sound of his engine. "I'm Ash."

"Ash? What kind of name is that?"

"Ashton Benjamin Davenport the Third, if that makes it better. Thus, Ash."

I scanned
him over again, surprised by the blue blood sound of his name. His messy dark hair needed a cut and he could do with a shave, though maybe he was cultivating that scruffy look on purpose. Some girls liked that. He wore nondescript jeans and a leather jacket over a shirt that had the name of a band I'd never heard of on it.

"Your parents must have had high hopes for you with that name." I turned right at the corner
, and he followed.

"They did. I've let them down at every turn, but had fun doing it."

"Is that all that matters to you? Fun?" I knew guys like this. The have-fun-at-all-cost kind of guy who didn't take anything seriously. He probably drank too much, screwed anyone with tits and couldn't hold down a job to save his life.

"People take life far too seriously. You look like you could use some fun. How about instead of reading about sex, you do some hands on research
? I'll magnanimously volunteer myself as the first guinea pig."

I stopped, stunned by his boldness. "Are you kidding me? I don't know you from Adam
, and you think I'm just going to hop on your bike and go home with you? You're a lunatic. I don't know what kind of girls you're used to being around, but I am not what you're looking for."

I stormed off, ins
ulted by him even as I envied the abandon with which he approached life. It must feel good to not care about the rules.

"You might be exactly what I'm looking for, Law School. See you around."

When I turned, he had disappeared into the traffic, and I felt a moment of regret for not telling him my name.

It was better this way, I told myself. I didn't need a guy like him in my life.