Merciful Law. Darby Sr. Rae

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СКАЧАТЬ room next to mine must have been rented to a hooker, and Friday was a busy night for her. About every two hours the headboard started to beat against the wall with a new male voice huffing and puffing. In a voice similar to Fran Drescher’s she joined in with her wild screams of passion and remarks I can only imagine came straight from a porn script.

      It was a disgusting distraction, but when it quieted, I couldn’t get Michael’s words off my mind. “People are already looking for you.” I heard it over and over in his low gravely voice…it filled my mind with more questions. If Lawrence had people looking for me after being gone just twelve hours, it begged the question not if Lawrence would find me, but rather when…and what were the consequences of leaving him?

      Though the thought of Lawrence’s people lurking about consumed me, spending two days in The Hotel of Ill Repute made it the lesser of two evils. The two days had passed. I was just getting my shoes on when my new cell phone rang. It was 8:02. Please Theresa, not another day in this asylum.

      My hands shook when I reached for my phone. I looked at the incoming number. It was the local area code—317—definitely not Theresa, probably not Lawrence, maybe Michael with another warning. Apprehensively, I answered the call.

      “Hello?” My greeting sounded like a question.

      “Annie, please.” A woman requested in a sure business tone.

      “This is…this is Annie,” I stuttered.

      “Good morning, Annie. This is Lydia from Indy Nanny Search. You sent your resume last night.”

      I paused too long before I answered her. “Yes, yes I did.” Last night, between choruses of grunts, groans, and screeches from next door I managed to compose a resume and respond to an ad for a nanny. It was advertised in the local newspaper. I hadn’t expected a call so soon— especially on a Saturday. Theresa insisted I find a career completely away from law. Something preferably that would isolate me. Working for a family as their nanny seemed to fit her criterion.

      “If this is a bad time, Annie, we can set an appointment. It appears I have interrupted something.”

      “Not at all. I was just—well—hadn’t expected a call on Saturday. This is actually a perfect time.”

      “Wonderful! Again my name is Ly-di-a,” she said, pronouncing each syllable as though my intellect was room temperature. “I only need about ten minutes to ask you a few questions, share our process for meeting with nannies, give you a little information about the typical family we find nannies for, and then we’ll see if you would like to get together. How does that sound?”

      Lydia’s message was all business delivered in the sing-song tonality and pace of a kindergarten teacher…barely tolerable, that’s how it sounded.

      “Sure, sounds great,” I said, faking enthusiasm.

      “Your resume looks ver y good, Annie. What brought you to Indianapolis from Michigan?” I pulled up the resume I had created the night before so I could follow along with Lydia’s questions.

      “The last day care center I worked for went out of business and the economy is so horrible in Detroit I decided to relocate.”

      “Very good,” she said as I imagined her placing a gold star on my resume. After a few more obvious questions and three more verbal gold stars, Lydia slowly went through her process so even Forest Gump could have followed along…and we set a time to meet on Tuesday.

      My first action item was to buy a car. Luckily, Jed’s Used Cars was only two blocks away. Another used car lot was one block from Jed’s and so on down the pike. It appeared that to be considered a used car dealer on Pendleton Pike all one needed was six cars parked close to the street and a trailer to call an office.

      The salesman that greeted me was the poster child for “You know you’re a redneck if…” He wore a red and black flannel shirt and jeans stretched over his beefy body, accented with a skinny black tie from the 1970’s. His teeth were stained from tobacco, he was missing several of his molars, and he talked like he had a bag of marbles in his mouth. I assumed he was Jed. His conversation with me consisted of several grunts which made me wonder if he lacked a basic grasp of the English language. We walked out on the car lot together. I did a lot of pointing and he did a lot of grunting. Forty minutes later I was the proud owner of a tan Ford Taurus. Not the car of my dreams, but it would blend in well.

      I headed back to the motel to check out of The Hell Hole Paradise and drove to the bus station to pick up the two boxes Theresa had shipped. Not too far from the bus station was a shopping mall. Theresa suggested I do as much as I could to change the way I looked—hair, make-up, and clothing. I looked in the rear view mirror. My auburn hair was tied back in a tight ponytail and my makeup was conservative; only foundation and light lipstick. This shouldn’t be difficult to change.

      3

      Inside, the mall had two levels of shopping and a top level with a huge game arcade and a movie theater. It was fairly quiet for a Saturday, but it was still early. I went from store to store looking for something new; depressed to have to pass my favorites, Ann Taylor and Talbots.

      On the second floor were several stores displaying hip new fashion. I hadn’t worn hip new fashion since high school. The first store I stepped into had music blaring so loudly I couldn’t carry on a conversation with the overly perky sales girl. The second store was quiet. I’d never used quiet as criterion for shopping before. The sales girl looked to be in her late twenties. She was a couple inches taller than me with straight brown shoulder length hair pulled back off her face. Her clothes were stylish and classy, with a sexy flair.

      “I’m Cheyenne. Can I help you?”

      “I’m interested in changing my wardrobe,” I said. In unison we both looked over my khaki pants, button down oxford shirt and flats.

      “You just leave your new wardrobe to me, ma’am.”

      “Alright Cheyenne, but don’t call me ma’am. It’s D…Annie.” “Danny?”

      “No, just Annie.” I said simply as if she heard me wrong; not quite sure how I would explain not knowing my own name…or at the very least mispronouncing it.

      “Follow me, Annie.” Cheyenne marched me around the store holding up different pants and tops before she sent me to the dressing room.

      Three outfits later I was depressed. “Cheyenne, all of these clothes would look great on you, but I’m more conservative. The pants are too tight, the shirts are too low cut and the colors are too bright.” She eyed my khaki pants and pale blue shirt on the floor.

      “You’re just not used to them, Annie.” We debated back and forth and finally she shook her head.

      “Here’s the thing, Annie. Nothing’s gonna look right with that hair.”

      “What’s wrong with my hair?”

      “It just looks,” she hesitated, “old…and the color…” She wrinkled her nose. I tried not to be offended.

      “I’ve been thinking about changing my hairstyle, but I’m new in town and don’t have a stylist.”

      “Want me to make a phone call?” Cheyenne was standing still, folding her hands in a pleading way with an expression СКАЧАТЬ