Here's the next chapter. It's shorter than the previous chapters and to be honest, the rest of the chapters will probably be around this length or shorter. I think it's better to have frequent updates with shorter chapters, as opposed to the other way around, don't you? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
---
Mina glanced at the slip of paper in her hand and then cast a dubious look at the building in front of her. The address matched the location, so why did she have the feeling that she was in the wrong place? Her agent told her that he'd racked up an audition for her with a director who was looking for someone who looked "fresh-faced" and was in great shape to star in his new movie.
Mina jumped at the chance—her rent was overdue and she would be damned if she had to borrow money from her parents to pay it. Again. She couldn't stomach another lecture from her father about going back to school to earn her degree and "get a real job" while her mother just sat there with a disappointed look on her face, probably mentally comparing her to Serena.
And so, with no money to pay for a cab, Mina found herself taking the bus across town to a run-down old hotel that looked like it was one day away from being condemned. With her crappy luck, it would probably collapse around her as she gave her "audition". She no longer held out any hope that she would ever get a real audition through legitimate means; almost every single audition she went to required her to give whoever was evaluating the actresses a blow job. Those that didn't want the blow job were dirty old men who liked to look at her goods but couldn't get it up anymore. So far her acting resume included a bunch of independent movies she would sooner banish to hell than ever watch: a walk-on role in a popular sitcom and a role as a skeptical audience member in a cooking gadget infomercial that only ran at 3 am. If she wanted to have a roof over her head and food in her stomach, she was going to have to make a few sacrifices. She had to make it big soon—she promised herself that if she didn't find steady work within a month, she was going to quit acting.
She could just imagine her mother's frown creasing her unlined brow and see the unspoken "I told you so" in her eyes. She knew that her mother tried to hide her disappointment each and every time Mina did they didn't approve of. Like the time she got a belly button piercing when she was just 14. And the time she snuck out of the house to attend a rock concert—all the way in Las Vegas—when she was 16.
Or the time she quit college to take up nude modelling, and eventually acting, when she was 19. She could still remember the disapproval and disappointment in her parents' eyes when she made her announcement during dinner one night, but she quickly tried to allay their fears by telling them of the audition she had booked with a little-known director looking to cast a female lead in his new movie. And so began the illustrious film career she was quickly getting tired of. But there was no way she'd ever admit that to her mother, Serena's biggest fan.
She was tired of looking like a pauper next to her sister who was now making a shitload of money for being a glorified gofer. Their parents paid half of Serena's rent each month, because "she can't work and get those grades at the same time", a less-than-subtle jab at Mina's career choice. They told her that if she decided to give up acting, they would pay half her rent until she got her degree. Mina politely declined their offer.
A week later, she was on their doorstep, begging them for a loan because she couldn't afford to pay rent that month. It was a humiliating experience, one that she vowed never to repeat. She tried not to let her father's anger daunt her or notice her mother's quiet disapproval as she practically prostrated herself at their feet, trying to convince them why she needed the loan. Finally, after two hours of alternating between apologizing and ass -kissing, her father wrote her the cheque and left the room, leaving Mina and Irene alone.
Mina could practically sense the lecture taking shape in her mother's head as she folded the cheque and tucked it away in her wallet for safekeeping. If only her wallet always contained this much cash, she thought wistfully. She glanced at her mother and said, "I'll pay you guys back as soon as I can."
"It's not about the money, Mina," her mother said wearily. "We'd gladly give you the money, if you just forget about this silly acting business."
Mina's cheeks turned red with a mixture of anger, frustration and humiliation. "Silly? Mom, you're talking about what I do for a living."
"And what kind of living are you doing?" Irene retorted. "You star in sleazy movies where you appear half-naked more times than you speak. You live in a shoebox apartment that you can't even pay for. You have no money, no degree, no future—"
"Isn't this a bit of the pot calling the kettle black?" Mina asked quietly, her voice seething with barely-control rage. "At least I'm trying to earn a living instead of puttering around an empty house all day, judging people from behind glass walls. You don't have a degree, you've never worked a day in your life after you got knocked up, all your money comes from dad. Who are you to judge me?"
Irene looked stricken and Mina felt bad for that, but she thought it had to be said. She was tired of feeling like a leper every single time she visited her parents' home. It was time to get everything out in the open; maybe then her parents could begin to understand her.
"How could you say that to me? I gave up everything for you, and still you can say these things to me?" Irene knew it was horrible to hate her child but at that moment, hate was the only emotion she felt for Mina. The words she said hit close to home; she had always been insecure about being "just a stay-at-home mom". Maybe the ungrateful girl needed a taste of her own medicine.
"Why couldn't you be a little more like Serena?" she asked, pretending not to see the hurt in her child's eyes. Irene hardened her heart, even though she felt a small stab of guilt for her petty barb. Besides, Mina could use a reality check.
Mina sighed; she could never measure up to Saint Serena in her mother's eyes, so why should she even bother? "You can't even pretend to like me, can you?" Mina asked sadly. Slowly, wordlessly, she rose from her seat and gathered her things. "You know what, never mind. Forget I asked."
Irene raised her hands in a gesture of helplessness. It was true and she couldn't deny it: She had always unconsciously favoured Serena to Mina ever since Serena had been old enough to talk. She tried to hide it from Mina but perhaps she didn't do such a good job of hiding her favouritism after all.
"I didn't ask to be born at that time in your life; it's not fair of you to blame me for your regrets," Mina said as she opened the front door. She tapped her purse with her hand. "I'll pay you back next month."
Irene reached out to her daughter, but even though Mina hadn't gone more than one step away from her, she knew that the distance between them was already too great. "Mina…"
"Next month." She didn't turn back.
True to her word, Mina managed to land a role in a TV pilot being filmed for the upcoming fall season, and she made enough money to pay her parents back, plus pay for that month's rent. Unfortunately, the pilot fell through and she was back on hard times a month later. When she again couldn't meet her rent payment, she sold her car and a few other belongings rather than borrow from her parents. She now slept on a mattress on the floor; the only contents in her fridge were milk and a half-empty carton of eggs, and she washed her clothes in the bathtub because she couldn't afford to go to the Laundromat every week.
Mina frowned at the memory and stuffed the paper back into her pocket. She had made up her mind: she was going in. Her bank balance was becoming anorexic and she was tired of having to deal with her landlady every damn day, promising her money that they both knew wasn't forthcoming.
The hotel—and Mina was using the term very loosely—had shabby, mismatched furniture in the lobby, lending to the place a kind of filth that didn't come from actual dirt. The gaudy furniture made the lobby look like a tired old whore, Mina decided. One that tried to disguise its weariness with life by overcompensating on the aesthetics. The dusty bouquet of fake sunflowers in the plastic vase atop the cracked surface of the melamine coffee table, the candy apple-red rayon curtains with the tassled trim that reminded Mina of a bordello, the couch upholstered in a bold, stylized floral print that was protected by a vinyl slipcover that had turned yellow with age and God-knows-what-else—it was all a failed attempt to distract the eye from the unpleasant surroundings both in the building and the community.
Mina timidly approached the bored-looking woman watching a soap opera on a small television perched on top of her rickety desk.
"Hi, I'm here to see Mr. Dunn," she said, reading her note just to be sure.
"Room 203," the lady said without taking her eyes off the screen.
"Thanks." The woman grunted and pointed at the stairs behind her. Mina didn't bother thanking her again; she looked like the type of person who didn't much care for social niceties. She took a calming breath and started up the stairs.
Once she reached the second floor, it didn't take her long to find her destination. She straightened her hair, arranged her shirt and squared her shoulders, readying herself for the audition. Then she knocked on the door.
---
Lita wiped her sweaty brow and surveyed the mess before her in the restaurant kitchen. A new busboy had carelessly placed a broom on the floor which her sous chef—laden down with a stock pot that contained the base for that night's special—didn't see and thus tripped over, sending about twelve litres of boiling-hot seafood stock raining down all over the floor and, unfortunately, on himself. Lita thanked her lucky stars that Pierre hadn't been seriously hurt. But now, she was out of a sous chef for at least one day, a soup for tonight, and a busboy.
She had fired that irresponsible idiot the second she caught him sneaking in a smoke break in the alley behind the Dumpster. Instead of being apologetic when he heard about Pierre's injury as a result of his negligence, he had shrugged indifferently and took another drag of his cigarette, which Lita yanked out of his mouth and stubbed out under the bottom of her shoe. His eyes narrowed dangerously but Lita met his glare with a challenging one of his own. Lita lacked nothing in the height department and was a devout follower of Tae-Bo and had the ass to prove it. Hell, Billy Blanks himself asked her to be in the infomercial after having been a member of his gym for the past seven years.
Still, even with her ass of steel, Lita couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief when he walked away.
But now, as the lunch crowd started pouring in through the doors, she couldn't help but wonder if she had let the busboy get off too easily. There was soup everywhere; he should have at least been forced to clean his own mess up. She was having a hard time manoeuvring around the mess and the other busboys who had been picked, by default, to clean it.
Lunch orders were being called around her, each voice rising over the other to be heard. She and the other assistant chefs were busily shuffling around the kitchen, trying to fulfill them. Plate after plate of gorgeous (if she did say so herself) food made its way out of the kitchen to hungry patrons in the dining rooms, unaware of the crisis in the back. Finally, things looked like they were starting to ease up so Lita left her assistant chefs to it and made her way to the small room in the back of the restaurant that served as her office.
She wanted to call Nathan and see how his day was going. Her husband was away for the entire week so she and Nathan had been trying to make the most of it by spending as much time together as possible. Last night, she and Nathan had taken little Sammy to the park where they had a quiet picnic dinner by the lake. Tonight, she was going to cook them dinner in their apartment. She had already called her husband to tell him that she was going to spend another late evening at the restaurant updating the wine list and taking stock of the pantry inventory.
Lita was so deep in thought that she didn't even realize that someone was in her office until she heard his voice.
"Hello, wife. Did you miss me?"
"Alan," Lita breathed, shocked to find him in her office. Shit, he wasn't supposed to be back for a few more days. In her mind, she saw all of the plans she made with Nate and Sammy fall to pieces. "What are you doing here?" she asked tersely.
Alan set down the paperweight he had been idly playing with as he waited for his wife to appear. "What's the point, Lita?" He hated the defeat he detected in his own voice. It made him feel like a failure. "No amount of tests, treatments, exercise, even prayers can fight against an inoperable brain tumour.
"I'm dying." There. He said it.
Lita didn't know what to say, what he wanted her to say. She had arrived at this conclusion almost a year ago when he had been first diagnosed with Glioblastoma Multiforme, a deadly brain tumour that's highly resistant to treatment. Given that most patients with GBM only have a life expectancy of six months to a year, she guessed he should consider himself lucky that he's managed to live this long. They were both living on borrowed time.
Because she felt that he was finally ready to accept the inevitable, she nodded solemnly and said, "I know."
Alan winced at her simple, brutal honesty. Having only just accepted his fate, he wasn't prepared to hear his wife so readily agree with him. It would've been nice if she could have at least put up a token protest for his benefit, but he supposed her honesty was one of the traits he loved about her.
Loved. It was ironic, really, the situation that his illness put them in. They had been on the brink of divorce when his doctor had informed him that he was dying. The day they both learned the news, Alan clung onto Lita like a drowning man holding a life preserver. And just like a drowning man clinging onto the one thing that could save him in a raging sea, he clung onto Lita with a ferocity that put all thoughts of divorce or even separation out of her mind.
He wasn't ashamed to use guilt to keep Lita from leaving him. Till death do them part, right? Besides, he had the feeling that Lita didn't want to carry around the stigma of being the kind of wife that would deliberately leave her dying husband. He knew it was cruel to keep drawing her back when she clearly wanted to move on, but he couldn't stand the thought of dying alone. Unloved. He wanted to die with his wife by his side, no matter if it was all just a farce.
He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the question he was about to ask. "Are you meeting Nathan tonight?" The fierce blush on Lita's face gave him his answer. He nodded. If he couldn't give her complete freedom, at least while he was still alive, he would give her glimpses of it. She would have to content herself with that, for it was all he had the courage to give her.
"I can cancel," she offered half-heartedly. Alan couldn't read her face; she had learned long ago to wall her emotions up from him to avoid disappointment.
Alan didn't relish the idea of going back to an empty apartment while his wife spent the night with her lover and his son. There were times he asked himself why he bothered trying to hold onto Lita when it was clear that she had already moved on. The answer was simple once he started being honest with himself: He wanted the adulterous bitch to suffer just as much as he has. Alan supposed that being openly cuckolded and having a tumour the size of a small grapefruit growing in his brain soured his disposition just a tad.
"No, that's all right," he said stoically, then clutched his head in both hands as if it were splitting in two. He waved Lita off when she took a step toward him. "I'm fine. Go have dinner, enjoy yourself.
"I'll just go back home, set the alarm clock to go off when I have to take my meds, then get some sleep." Alan started shuffling towards the door, making sure to maintain a pained expression on his face. He knew he had her when she started staring sadly at the phone.
That manipulative bastard. Lita was almost sure he was just faking it. But then again, there was no way he could fake a brain tumour…
"I'll meet you there later," she heard herself saying. "I just have to get through the lunch crowd." Nathan was just going to have to blow a gasket, she supposed, even though she felt very close to the gasket-blowing stage herself. She waited until he was gone, then picked up the phone to call Nathan.
"Nathan?" she asked meekly when she heard nothing but silence after she finished explaining to him why she couldn't have dinner with him and his son. "Are you still there?"
"Yes, I'm still here." Even though Lita couldn't see him, she knew he was clenching his teeth. A bad sign.
"I'm really sorry…"
Nathan let out a breath before replying. "No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault that Alan's too much of a coward to let you go, and it's not your fault he's manipulating you into staying with him. I guess Sammy and I will see you another time."
"It won't be long before, you know, Alan…" Lita felt terrible for saying it much less thinking it, but deep down, she was waiting on tenterhooks for Alan to die and set her free.
"Yeah, I know," Nathan replied softly. He sighed, his anger gone temporarily. "Listen, my lunch break's almost over and I have a meeting with a prospective client right after so I'm going to have to cut this a bit short."
"Tell Sammy I'm sorry I couldn't make it," Lita said. She still wasn't sure that he wasn't mad anymore. Oh well, unexpected cancellations were some of the hazards of committing adultery. "I'm going to San Francisco next week for a couple of days to check out some seafood suppliers for the restaurant. Want to come with me?"
"If I can find a sitter for Sammy, sure," he replied unenthusiastically. Lita wasn't very hopeful about their impromptu romantic weekend. "Try not to get down about Alan; he just wants to control you, as always."
They said goodbye, promising to call each other later, although it was a complete lie. There was no way she was going to call Nathan while Alan was home, and vice versa. Even though Alan was fully aware of their relationship, she and Nathan were going out of their way to keep it discreet. It was, after all, the least they could do for a dying man.
Lita put the receiver down and looked at it thoughtfully. No matter how much they tried to rationalize it, she was still a married woman who was flaunting her affair in her husband's face. Her affair with Nathan started just a couple of months before Alan was diagnosed, but she had been ready to leave him long before that. In fact, Alan wasn't even angry when he caught Nathan and Lita in bed together. Lita suspected the leggy blonde by his side dressed in nothing but her panties had something to do with it. After taking in the scene of his wife in his bed with another man, Alan politely excused himself and his own little date, and closed the bedroom door. He later told her that he and his model friend went to her place for the evening. Really, it was a very civilized way to end a marriage.
All that civility ended when Alan got the terrible news that he was dying. Of course, Lita expressed her shock and sympathy for him, and had even tried to find some of that old love she had for him to see him through the first few days. She did everything she could to make sure he was comfortable, including calling his mistress to let her know about his illness and leaving them alone when she arrived fifteen minutes later, breathless after running all ten blocks from her place to theirs.
She thought that since Alan was accepting the news so well, she could finally broach the topic of divorce and how soon they could have one. She honestly didn't know that doing so would trigger a reaction so negative from him that it almost ruptured a blood vessel in his brain. When the doctor asked her what they were doing when the situation occurred, she told him that she had been asking him for a divorce.
The doctor and attending nurse blasted her with twin looks of recrimination and soon, everyone on the floor knew she had driven her husband, who was already on the brink of death, even closer to the edge by asking for a divorce. Nurses looked away when she passed by, orderlies gossiped about her behind her back (or so they thought), and even the hospital chaplain tried to read her scripture from the Bible in an effort to turn her from her wicked ways.
Then Alan's family and friends began to pressure her into staying with him for "his sake". She was being bombarded on all sides day and night until she finally gave in and agreed to stay with him for another couple of months. Unfortunately, a couple of months stretched to six, then to eight, then twelve until she finally gave up counting how many months she had stayed in this relationship and began counting how many more months Alan had to live. The numbers were lower that way.
There were special places in hell reserved for people like her.
---
There were 30 more seconds before the clock on her desk turned to 12 noon and Amy still had so much left to do before she could go to lunch. She hurriedly flipped folders shut, arranged her pencils in a neat row parallel to the side of the ink blotter, gave her computer screen a good dusting with a soft cloth made specifically for that purpose.
Ten seconds…
What could she do in ten seconds? Amy decided to write herself a note, reminding her to pick up some eggs later.
Amy, pick up…
Seven, six, five…
some eggs…
Four, three, two…
later…
One…
She had just finished underlining the last word when the red digital numbers changed from 11:59 to 12:00. She loved running on clockwork precision; she just wished everyone else adopted her way of life. It would simplify her life so much.
Has anyone ever told you you're completely anal? a familiar voice asked. Amy looked up warily and saw that Inner Bitch was back, this time sporting an outfit that would make a stripper blush. She eyed the riding crop Inner Bitch was tapping against her thigh. She was smut personified.
Ignoring me now, are you? Inner Bitch sat on Amy's desk, her low-cut skirt riding up so that her hot pink satin panties were fully visible. Luckily, Inner Bitch was just a figment of Amy's over-utilized imagination.
Oh, your imagination has nothing to do with me, hon, Inner Bitch informed her, wiggling her almost-naked ass on the desk to get into a better position. I'm what happens when mothers don't breastfeed.
Oh, shut up, Amy told her half-heartedly. Her mother and her lousy upbringing weren't up for discussion. The last time she talked to her mother was eight months ago when she was being honoured for all the work she did for cancer research. They only lived about half-an-hour away from each other. A thought struck her and she turned to Inner Bitch. What should I call you? I mean, I can't keep calling you 'Inner Bitch' all the time, can I?
Inner Bitch tilted her head, pondering the question. You know, I've never thought about it, she replied. That's why you're the brains of this operation, and I'm the one who always get laid.
Amy scowled at her and began gathering the files she was going to read during lunch. She was supposed to finish the minutes of last week's general managers' meeting by tomorrow. As much as I dislike you, I hardly think I can call you 'Slut' to your face.
Inner Bitch rolled her eyes and flipped Amy the finger. Well, well, look who has a backbone. Inner Bitch jumped down from her perch, her stilettos sinking into the plush carpet. She walked around Amy's office, hitting her palm with the riding crop with each step.
Since I'm the product of your many neuroses, I think my name should be derived from your name. But I hate your name, she added as an afterthought. Amy rolled her eyes. Ungrateful brat.
Inner Bitch suddenly snapped her fingers. I've got it! She paused dramatically, allowing the drum-roll she conjured up to build. Amy looked at her expectantly, then tapped her watch pointedly. Inner Bitch cursed under her breath and sliced her hand across her neck, effectively killing the drum-roll. Geez, I try to bring a little excitement to the little prude's boring life, and this is what I get in return? My mother always warned me not to get mixed up with the nutcases, but did I listen?
Amy started walking out the door; why should she care if the bitch that only she could see ever told her her name? Inner Bitch, seeing that she was quickly losing her audience, raced to catch her. Okay, okay! My name is Tammy, she said in a rush, as though she were embarrassed to tell Amy.
Amy looked at 'Tammy' up and down. Isn't Tammy a little…tame for you? You strike me more as a Nikki, or Bambi. You know, something with an I instead of a Y, like a mediocre porn star or a stripper..
Don't you find it ironic that the only normal conversations you ever have are with a figment of your imagination? Tammy whispered in her ear. Careful, little Amy, or you might push away the only friend you have.
You are not my friend, Amy said heatedly, shutting her mind to the awful truth. She had no friends, no parents who really cared about her. She was just as alone now as an adult woman as she was when she was a little girl in need of attention from her two busy parents. Well, she was fucking sick of it.
Well it's about fucking time, Tammy said proudly. I was starting to get worried about you. To be honest, I thought you were one step away from going back to kissing that slag Molly's ass.
Not bloody likely, Molly replied, her expression darkening at the thought of kowtowing to Molly.
Yeah, yeah, I've heard this all before, Tammy said dryly, rolling her eyes. How am I gonna know you're not just saying this to shut me up?
"Because I've had enough," she said out loud.
"Had enough of what?" The authoritative voice halted her mental conversation to a halt, and Amy didn't have to turn around to know who interrupted it. But she did turn around and saw that Mr. Shields was in her office staring at her with a quizzical expression on his face.
Amy felt a sickening lurch in her stomach. She cast her eyes about, trying to come up with a suitable explanation for her outburst. Of course, Tammy was absolutely no help at all. The bitch was in the corner, laughing her fool head off.
"Uh, I've had enough of…of global warming," she said meekly, gesturing to the window where a brown haze was clearly visible hovering above the city. "Was there something I could help you with, sir?"
Unbeknownst to Mr. Shields, Tammy had sidled up to him and was now sucking on his earlobe. Amy's eyes widened; she had to fight the urge to warn her boss that his earlobe was going to be sporting a hickey.
"Um, I was going to ask you to do something for me but I can see that you're on your way out," he replied, keeping his distance.
"Well, I can have lunch later," she offered. Mr. Shields shook his head quickly.
"No, no. Just go…have lunch. I'll just ask Molly to do it."
Amy narrowed her eyes at the mention of Molly's name but didn't say anything. But that didn't stop Tammy from voicing her opinion. It was all Amy could do to think over Tammy's booing. "As you wish."
Amy pushed past her boss, Tammy's heckling ringing in her ears. Once again, frigging Molly got the best of her. Trust New Yorkers to stick together. They could just go back to New York for all she cared. She quickly walked away, leaving her boss standing in the middle of her office, staring at her in bewilderment. Screw him; she didn't give a shit what he thought of her.
She reached the elevator bay and stabbed blindly at the summon button. Almost instantly, a bell dinged and an express elevator opened up. Once inside, she stared at the buttons, contemplating whether to eat by herself in the kitchen, watching the sycophants in her department fawning all over Queen Molly, or eating by herself in the park. Without a second thought, she pressed the button for the ground level; she would be eating in the park again. The view was better there.
Darien watched Amy walking away in a huff, all because he decided to let her go for lunch instead of making her work through it. Oh well, let the weirdo be mad at him. In the months he'd been working here, he'd never been comfortable with Amy. He had a feeling she wasn't quite right in the head. There were times he'd walk by Amy and she didn't even notice him; he actually saw her lips moving silently as if she were talking to someone only she could see. He wasn't afraid to admit that Amy creeped him out.
Whatever. As long as she did her job, and did it well, he didn't care if she thought she was Joan of fucking Arc's reincarnation. He walked himself over to Molly's office and, seeing that it was empty, wrote her a note instructing her to find out when the financial reports from the now-defunct Global Advertising were going to be sent to him.
He checked his watch; perhaps it was time to make the rounds on the interns to see what they were up to. But why should he waste his time checking up on the four when only one person interested him enough to care?
"Hi Mr. Shields," Serena said pleasantly. She had just come back from lunch with Amara in the kitchen, and was just in the process of starting her computer back up again. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
Darien hid a grin; there were so many ways he could take that statement. All in due time. "Oh, I was just in the neighbourhood, trying to walk off that chocolate cake I had after lunch. My kids, especially Heather, keep nagging me to stop eating so much of it but I figure what they won't know won't hurt them."
Serena giggled. After her first day when he had driven her home, chatting for a few minutes after each lunch hour had become a daily routine for them. At first, she was a little nervous about receiving so much attention from Darien, especially after all his dire warnings, but after a while, Serena discovered she didn't give a damn what anyone else thought. It wasn't like Darien was giving her a promotion or anything; they were just having a normal conversation.
"And how can you be sure I won't rat you out to them?" she asked with mock severity.
Darien pretended to look hurt, which he ruined by grinning boyishly. "It's a girl thing, isn't it?"
"Mr. Shields, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that sexist comment coming from you," Serena said, her eyebrows raised sternly. "One would think you were being sexually discriminate and might take you to court."
Darien pretended to look annoyed at her as she preened in front of him, happy she got the last word. "Don't you have any work to do, Ms. Lombard?"
Serena sighed dramatically and shrugged. "Work, work, work. That's all I ever do around here. I might as well be running the place."
Darien threw his head back and laughed out loud. Around him, heads rose above cubicle walls to see what the ruckus was all about. When they saw that their boss was in their midst, they darted back down like scared gophers popping back into their burrows. "Now look what you made me do," he admonished, wagging a finger at her. "Now the drones know that I like to mingle with the mortals. Thanks for blowing my cover."
"Mr. Shields?" she said, motioning for him to come closer. When he did, she leaned closer to him, allowing him to sniff her floral perfume. "It wasn't that much of a cover," she whispered.
Darien shook his head; if he didn't watch himself, he'd end up staying here, talking to her all day. "Unlike some people, I actually have some work to do."
"See you later." She watched him walking away, feeling an odd little flutter in her stomach. She noticed Amara watching her as she was about to go back to work. "What?"
Amara didn't say anything; she just raised her eyebrow and shook her head. Curious, Serena left her cubicle and took a few steps across the aisle to Amara's. "What was that about?"
"What was what about?" Amara asked innocently as she booted up her computer and logged in. Outside, she was the picture of calm, but on the inside…she was a mess. She didn't stand a chance against Mr. Shields, who was making it clear that he had his eyes set on her naïve friend. Why didn't anyone else notice it but her?
Serena rolled her eyes and tapped her friend on the shoulder the get her attention. "You know what," she said. When Amara said nothing, Serena added, "The eyebrow-lift." She crossed her arms over her chest and demonstrated for Amara's benefit.
"Oh that," she replied as if she didn't already know what Serena was talking about.
"Yeah, that." Serena rested her hip against Amara's desk. "Explain."
Jeez, Serena just won't let up. Amara decided to tell her the truth in order to gain a little peace. Well, maybe just part of the truth. "Well, you know…you and Mr. Shields seem pretty chummy these days."
Serena shrugged dismissively, although she couldn't stop the blush from spreading across her cheeks. "What am I supposed to do, ignore him every time he passes by? He's a family friend."
"Looks to me like he's more than just a 'family friend'," Amara muttered under her breath. "Anyway, Serena, I've got to get back to work. Andrea-Bitchwants me to input all these figures into the database by the end of the day."
Serena nodded, commiserating with her friend. She gestured to the big pile of paperwork accumulating on her desk. "I think I've become Belinda's unofficial assistant; she hasn't interviewed for one in three weeks. She's dumping all her extra work on me, even though I have my own shit to do. You know what she had me do yesterday?"
Amara opened her mouth to reply that she didn't, but Serena continued on without stopping. "She had me call six different pizza places to ask if they made this Cajun seafood pizza she bought six months ago. Apparently, she wanted to impress the other managers at the meeting yesterday by buying them this gourmet pizza, but she couldn't remember where she bought it from."
"So did you end up finding it?"
"Not at first. I called five different gourmet pizza places before remembering that I had something similar like that once at Lita's, this restaurant my family always goes to. So, I called them and sure enough, they had the Cajun seafood pizza Belinda was looking for."
"So you must've been the hero of the meeting," Amara remarked while she was keying in numbers on a spreadsheet.
Serena snorted. "Hardly. That attention whore Belinda claimed all the glory and left me with an empty box to dispose of." She turned to look at her desk. That mountain of work wasn't getting any smaller. "Well, I better get back to work."
"Why don't you just ask Darien—" Amara said his name in a slightly mocking way that Serena failed to notice, "—to take care of the Belinda problem for you?"
Amara had wanted to get a laugh out of Serena, or at least a chuckle, but to her surprise, Serena tapped her chin thoughtfully, as if she were considering doing just that. She raised her eyebrows; this was the girl who thought double-dipping from your own bowl of salsa was a cardinal sin.
"Serena?" She had to know what was going through her friend's mind.
"You know what, I think you're onto something, Amara." Serena winked at her and walked away, leaving Amara to stare at her, open-mouthed. What did she have up her sleeve?
---
Darien sat behind his desk, thinking of the conversation he just had with Serena. He had always been on the outside looking in, even when he was in college and friends with Ken; for the first time since Lily's death, he didn't feel that way. Lily would sometimes jokingly call him anti-social, but he just thought of himself as introverted. When Lily died, he became not just introverted, but withdrawn. It was only when he realized that his daughters, especially Raye, still needed him that he slowly dug himself out of the hole Lily's death had caused.
He began to date, not an easy thing to do for a guy who married his college sweetheart. And yes, he had slept with some women—he wasn't a monk, after all—but he had never felt the same connection with them that he felt with Lily. She had been dead for years but he still felt her loss as if the accident had happened only yesterday. Thank God Heather was okay; she had been buckled up in her car seat and only suffered minor scratches when the car hit the concrete utility pole head-on.
Lily's death had destroyed him; he was still feeling the effects of it. Part of the reason he uprooted his entire family to New York was to get as far away as he possibly could from the place of her death. He stayed away from California all this time because he thought the old adage was true: Out of sight, out of mind. But it wasn't the case. He only had to look at his children to see Lily's eyes, her smile, hear her laughter as they joked with each other about things only little girls could understand. But then one day, he got that letter from Ken, and he knew he was ready to move forward with his life. He still had that letter, and would sometimes take it out late at night when he felt lonely.
"Mr. Shields," his secretary said over the intercom, "phone call for you. It's Ken Lombard."
"Thanks Ivy. Put him through." Well, well, speak of the devil. He heard a click on the line, letting him know that the call had been connected. "Ken?"
"Hey Darien!" Ken's voice was so loud, Darien thought his eardrum had burst. "What's up?"
"Nothing but your volume level," he joked, lowering the volume on his phone. "How's everything going?"
"Oh, same old, same old. Irene's fully absorbed in her studies; every week she's got another writing assignment. She's so busy, I hardly ever see her anymore. Aren't you glad we're done with all that stuff?"
"And those all-nighters we pulled every time we had an assignment due or had an exam the next day?" Darien asked, remembering all the times he stumbled into an exam bleary-eyed and groggy.
"Boy, do I ever. Which is why I admire Irene for wanting to go back to that after all these years," Ken said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. He cleared his throat. "So, how's work?"
Darien smiled knowingly. He knew there was another reason behind Ken's phone call. "Work's good," he said. He remained silent, waiting for the next move even though he knew Ken wanted him to elaborate on the exact meaning of 'good'.
"Just come right out and ask, Ken," he said.
"Fine, smart-ass. How's my little girl doing?" Ken laughed at himself. "No matter how old they are, we still think of them as little girls, huh?"
"Raye's operating under the foolish notion that she's allowed to date. The last boy I allowed to take my daughter to the movies ended up taking her to the make-out spot kids their age go because their parents aren't more diligent. Good thing I was following them so he couldn't get very far with my baby." He chuckled, remembering how mad Raye was when she spotted her dad peering at them through the foggy windows. He glared silently at her until she got out of the car on her own, and drove her back home. Two months later, he learned that same boy got another girl pregnant and he skipped town to avoid her parents' wrath. When he thought the same thing almost happened to his daughter… The pencil in his hand broke in two.
"So, really, how's Serena doing?" Ken prodded. "You're not working her too hard, are you? I expect my daughter to come home for Thanksgiving, not work through it."
Darien laughed. "Despite what my children tell you, I'm not a slave driver. We're keeping Serena pretty busy around here, but nothing she can't handle. I guess she gets her work ethic from her mother."
"We're talking about a woman who hasn't worked for more than 20 years," Ken said, then immediately felt guilty about saying it. "Look, forget what I just said."
"What'd you say?" Ken chuckled. "So how's Mina doing?"
"Mina is…doing okay, whatever that means." Ken sighed heavily into the phone. "I don't know Darien. I know we're not supposed to have favourites, but Mina was my special little girl. The first time I looked into her eyes, I was hooked. I had big dreams for her. Then she dropped out of school and now she's starring in movies that make me feel ashamed to know that I once got a kick out of watching similar movies when I was younger. I'm afraid she's going to learn her lesson the hard way."
"You're just going to have to let her learn it herself," Darien counselled, even though he knew he'd feel the same frustration Ken was feeling if any of his daughters decided to take Mina's route. "I know it's hard to stand back and watch her make mistake after mistake, but she's a grown woman and has a mind of her own."
Thank God Raye was only 17. He still had one more year to control her before she was legally turned loose upon the world. God help them all when that time came.
"Irene is having such a hard time dealing with Mina about this," Ken told him. "The last time Mina came home, she and Irene had a huge fight because she had to borrow money to pay for the rent. I know I told her that it was the last time we would bail her out, but I know if it happens again, I'd have my chequebook out in a heartbeat."
Ken remembered that day well. He had yelled at Mina for letting her credit record suffer for the sake of her 'art', then left the room after giving her the money to keep her off the streets, at least for one more month. After he had cooled off in the kitchen, he decided to go back into the living room where she and Irene were to work things out with his daughter.
That was when he overheard their conversation. Irene accused Mina of being a failure in life; Mina accused her mother of the same thing. Then a shocking thing happened: Mina accused Irene of not loving her as much as she loved Serena, and Irene couldn't find it in herself—or her heart—to deny it. Ken felt crushed for his little girl; he knew a parent's love was the greatest gift a parent could give to his or her child. To know that his wife could deny their daughter of it made him see Irene in a totally different light. What depressed him the most was his daughter's quiet acceptance of it, as if she wasn't surprised by her mother's admission.
When Mina left, he confronted Irene about it, the first serious fight they had in years. How could she make their daughter think she didn't love her? Irene retorted that ever since Mina decided to become an actress, he himself hadn't been prone to showering her with signs of affection. That realization made him realize that he was just as guilty of the crime he had just been accusing his wife of. It made him ashamed to know that he was ostracizing their daughter just because he didn't approve of her lifestyle.
They never spoke of it again. The subject of Mina had become an almost taboo topic in their household, as if by not speaking about Mina, they were absolving themselves of their actions towards her. But he didn't forgive himself and he certainly hadn't forgotten the crushed look in Mina's eyes when she left their house. He tried calling her to arrange a lunch meeting with her just like the old days, but she never returned his calls.
After the way he and his wife had been treating her, he didn't blame her. He realized that Darien was still on the other line, waiting expectantly for him to elaborate but he just didn't feel like rehashing just how bad a parent he really was. He cleared his throat. "Listen, Dare, I have to go. I'm on a deadline and I have to go cover this event across town…"
"Hey, no problem," Darien said, understanding his friend's need to keep things to himself. "I'll talk to you later, okay? Give my love to Irene."
"I will," Ken promised and hung up.
Darien hung up the phone and thought back to the first time he met Mina. She seemed like such a self-assured young lady, ready to take on Hollywood by storm. One night, when he was alone in the house, curiosity got the better of him and he rented one of Mina's obscure movies from the video store. The movie was crap but Mina had an on-screen presence that was undeniable. She became her role and delivered her lines with perfection. Too bad she had to be topless for her to do that.
Her agent must not realize the golden goose he had in Mina. Either he was really lazy and didn't work hard enough to find her better roles, or he didn't have enough pull with producers to get her any auditions. Mina had talent underneath her sex-bomb looks; it was time someone noticed. Darien thought about the pain his best friend was going through, watching his firstborn put herself through such degradation just to be in a movie, then thought about how all this must be affecting Serena. It had to be tough, watching her sister make so many mistakes and be used by her parents as an example of what to strive for.
So, with the image of Serena in his brain, he flipped through his Rolodex until he found the name and number of the person who could most likely help Mina. Without hesitation, he dialled the number.
"Cutting Edge Talent Agency, how may I help you?"
"I'd like to speak with Nathan, please," he said. "Tell him it's Darien calling."
"Just a moment, please." He was put on hold for a few seconds before he was transferred to Nathan's extension.
"Darien, what can I do for you? You need another model for a commercial, or something?" Nathan asked. "But model recruiting isn't really your department, now is it?"
"You're right, it's not," Darien agreed. "Listen, I have a proposition for you…"
---
She knew something was wrong the minute she stepped into the room and saw Mr. Dunn wearing nothing but a bathrobe. She should've listened to her instincts screaming for her to leave this place, but practicality kicked in and reminded her about her overdue rent payment. She swallowed her doubts and stayed.
She hoped she wouldn't live to regret it.
Mina cleared her throat nervously. "Mr. Dunn? Should I begin?" She didn't like the way he was leering at her, but then again, she was used to that in this business.
Mr. Dunn, if that was his real name, leaned back on the bed, resting his weight on his elbows. His robe fell open just a bit more, revealing a thick mat of dark hair covering his chest. Mina inwardly shuddered.
She took a deep breath, felt her identity move to the back of her consciousness to allow the character to take over. This was the part of acting she loved best: the ability to become someone else while retaining her own sense of self. She acted to escape, to experience things that she might never—
"Excuse me, but can you take your clothes off now?"
Mina blinked; did he just ask her to take her clothes off? Forward little horn-dog, wasn't he? Irritated, she raised her eyebrow scornfully and said, "No."
Mr. Dunn looked confused. "Well okay, but I have to get back to work in forty-five minutes so I suggest we hurry this thing up."
"Um, okay…" If he was in such a hurry to get back to his studio, why'd he agree to meet her here, anyway? And how can she be expected to give a decent audition if she was being told to hurry through it? Honestly, this man had been doing and saying the weirdest things ever since she had walked through that door. Mina tried to regain her focus but it was hard with all the pounding footsteps outside in the hallway. It sounded as if there was a football game in the hallway and the players were headed their way. "What the hell?"
Then the door was kicked open. Mina screamed in terror as four police officers burst through the doorway, their guns drawn. Mr. Dunn scrambled off the bed, desperately trying to close his robe as two cops tackled him to the floor, handcuffing his hands behind his back.
"You have the right to remain silent!" one of them shouted to the now blubbering Mr. Dunn. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." Mr. Dunn kicked and bucked, trying to dislodge his captors as they Mirandized him.
Mina stood in the background as the cops rushed around the room, toppling things over in search for what, she didn't know. She wanted no part of this. Maybe if she slowly inched her way out the door, they wouldn't even notice she was gone.
She took a few steps towards the fallen door, never taking her eyes off the policemen. Mr. Dunn was now crying out for his wife, begging her to forgive him. She looked at him in pity; whatever it was he did, she doubted his wife would forgive him very easily.
"And just where do you think you're going?" Mina jumped, bumping into the cop that had addressed her. He was a few inches taller than her, with sandy brown hair and emerald green eyes that regarded her with amused patience.
"I'm leaving," she replied simply, hoping he wouldn't be a jackass about it and just let her go. "Excuse me."
"I don't think so, sweet cakes," he said, turning her around and cuffing her hands behind her back. "You're under arrest."
"For what?" she exploded. She struggled against him but he only held her tighter. To her horror, her eyes started stinging with panicked tears. What would her parents think when they found out? How much more would her mother hate her when she heard about this?
"For prostitution," he said matter-of-factly.
For a moment, Mina was too stunned to speak. She barely heard him reading her rights, didn't know she nodded to acknowledge them. She allowed him to lead her to the hallway and down the back stairs, her mind unable to process what was happening to her. Prostitution? This had to be some kind of nightmare and any minute now, she was going to wake up on her mattress in the middle of her bedroom floor.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to wake up. But she didn't. When she opened her eyes again, she was standing in front of a police car. The officer gently nudged her towards it, urging her to accept a fate that wasn't hers to take.
Two feet away from the car, Mina dug in her heels and refused to move. She was not a prostitute, never have been, never will be. She shoved backwards, taking the officer by surprise. She took off when he fell against a dumpster, running quickly despite having her hands restricted behind her back.
She didn't stop to think about the consequences of her actions. What was worst, getting arrested for a crime she didn't commit, or passively letting them take her to jail when she knew she wasn't what they accused her of. If they wanted to arrest her, they were going to have to get her; she wasn't going to make it easy for them. So she ran.
But she didn't get very far. The officer managed to recover from his fumble and caught up to her. Mina was wild-eyed from her narrow escape; her captor was grim-faced and annoyed. He didn't appreciate being slammed against a dumpster, getting his newly cleaned sport jacket doused with unidentifiable garbage juices. He considered himself a pretty strong guy; not many men his size could get the better of him in the boxing ring or on the streets.
So how did this slim girl with the big blue eyes and wheat-blonde hair catch him off-guard? He was pissed with himself; he thought he was above falling for the vulnerable pretty-faced ones.
"Now you can add resisting arrest to your charges," he said gruffly. Even now he was having a hard time keeping a tight rein on her. She fought like cornered tiger: ferociously, blindly, and with wild abandon. She didn't care that her feet struck his shins so hard, he would have to ice them later that night, or that the top of her head butted up against his chin, almost causing his head to snap back. Any harder and she could've broken his neck. Despite the situation, he couldn't help but roll his eyes, remembering how he had wanted to join the police force because he wanted to see some 'action'. Well, he got that and then some.
"Let me go! Let me go!" she shrieked over and over. Mina knew the cop was shouting at her but she couldn't hear anything above the sound of her own heartbeat. She could feel it beating faster and faster, the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She transformed into a warrior of old, fighting for her lift with her bare hands, with everything she had.
"Holy shit," the cop grunted under his breath. She wasn't going down without a fight and he kind of respected her for that. When he realized he wasn't getting any closer to the car, he slung her bodily over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and dumped her in the backseat of the car. He was surprised to actually feel beads of sweat pouring down his face, and his breathing was heavy.
Mina watched him hatefully as he wiped his forehead. She somehow managed to tear a couple of buttons off his shirt in the struggle and he winced with pain every time he moved. Good. She hoped he'd feel each hit she landed on him every night for the next ten years. "I know you couldn't care less, but I am not a prostitute."
The cop snorted and wiped a drop of blood from his bottom lip. "That's what they all say, honey."
Mina glared at him. "I'm not your honey." She pointedly turned her head in the other direction to avoid having to look at him.
He didn't know why, but having her ignore him pissed him off tremendously. He wanted to forcibly turn her around and see those sparks shooting out of her eyes. "Out of curiosity," he said, his friendly tone finally getting her to turn around, "how much would it take for you to become my honey?"
That did it; Mina's eyes filled with angry tears that she fought hard to prevent from escaping. "Fuck you," she said quietly and rested her head against the seat, all the fight going out of her. Mina turned her head away from the cop, not wanting him to see her crying softly.
Now he felt like a jackass. What was it about this girl that made him want to provoke her? He hated making girls cry, even hardened prostitutes. But this girl looked nothing like some of the streetwalkers he'd encountered in the five years he'd been in Vice. She was a study of contradictions: fresh-faced but weary-looking, sexy and innocent, strong yet vulnerable. He turned his head when he heard his partner call out his name.
"What?" His partner, Billy, was prodding the crying Mr. Dunn ahead of him.
"Let's take the lovebirds back to the precinct. Get in there," Billy growled, not hearing Mina's scared whimper. As an afterthought, he added, "watch your head."
Billy slammed the door after him and turned to his partner. He saw the signs of struggle and fatigue all over his face. "Christ, Drew, she did that to you?"
Detective Andrew Mulligan, Drew to his friends and family, rubbed the back of his aching neck sheepishly. "Kind of," he admitted.
Billy whistled low and shook his head. He tapped his knuckles against the window Mina was leaning her head on. She regarded him warily. "Don't get too comfortable in there," he told her, angry on behalf of his partner. "Soon you'll be in a cell with your colleagues."
Mina's lower lip wobbled and she turned away from both of them. Billy was about to taunt her some more, but Andrew stopped him. "Let's just go," he said quietly. He didn't want to make her cry again.
They pulled out of the parking lot, leaving the other unmarked police-issue Oldsmobile behind as their owners stayed in the hotel room gathering evidence. Twenty minutes later, they were at the station. Mina felt hands pulling her along, fingerprinting her, taking her mug shot—she didn't notice any of it. She felt strangely detached from her body, as if she was just an observant to her final humiliation instead of an unwilling participant.
She was thrust into a holding cell until she could be interrogated. The door was shut behind her, the metallic clang ringing like a death knell in her ears. So this is what jail was like. Funny, it didn't look like the jail set she was once on, playing a character that had been wrongfully accused of killing her cheating husband. Where was the fake landscape behind the window? The PVC bars fitted into the window that were spray-painted to look like metal? The loyal friend waiting outside the jail, ready to bust her out with a stick of dynamite? At least they removed the damn handcuffs before they shoved her in this hellhole.
Mina closed her eyes and tried to blend into the walls. She knew her cellmates were staring at her, probably judging her, but she didn't care. She just wanted to go home. Questions were whirling around in her mind. Who were they? What had they done to land in place like this? Did they know what she was in here for?
She opened her eyes; she couldn't put off the inevitable. She counted five people in the holding cell, six including her. To her surprise, she knew three of the women in there. They all shared the same agent, Vinny Marquez. "What are you guys doing here?"
One of them, a girl named Katie, scoffed. "Same thing you're doing here, Mina. Someone must've ratted us out."
Mina shook her head in confusion. "What're you talking about? Ratted us out for what?"
She must've said the wrong thing because from then on, the girls shut her out. They formed a pack on the other side of the cell, ignoring her pleas for them to tell her what was going on. Finally, she gave up; they wouldn't give. She sat down on the hard bench and hugged her knees to her chest, protecting herself from everyone in the room. She knew that by law, she was allowed one phone call, but to whom? Her parents? If her mother didn't already hate her for borrowing money from them, she would now that she had been arrested for prostitution. No, she wanted to be in a better state of mind before she bit the bullet and called them. This was all just a misunderstanding, she assured herself. She needed to convince herself of that first before she tried to convince her parents.
She supposed she could've called a lawyer but she couldn't even afford to buy groceries. How was she supposed to pay for a lawyer? She could get a public defender but her pride stopped her from asking for one. She had always prided herself on the fact that she was financially independent; the fact that she had to borrow money from her parents had been a minor setback and just a one-time thing. Besides, borrowing money from her parents was one thing, taking a handout from strangers was another. She was not a charity case.
She still couldn't get over it. What the hell gave the police the idea that she prostituted herself? Her empty bank account? Her apartment almost completely devoid of any furniture? She had done many stupid things since dropping out of college but selling her body wasn't one of them. If she had stooped low enough to prostitute herself, she certainly wouldn't have to beg her parents for rent money. Please. With a body like hers, who'd need to pay rent for a run-down studio apartment with peeling linoleum and windows that barely opened? She'd own the whole damn house.
A metal door slid open and heavy footsteps walked slowly down the hallway, coming to a stop in front of their cell. "Mina Lombard?" It was Officer Mulligan.
She raised her head slowly and regarded him with a blank stare. "Yes?" Her voice was hoarse from screaming so much.
He said nothing as he took out a key ring and inserted one of the many keys into the lock. "You're free to go."
Mina stared dumbly at him. "I'm…free to go?" she asked slowly, not wanting there to be any misunderstandings between them. "Just like that?"
He nodded. She rose from her seat and, with as much dignity as she could muster, walked across the room, ignoring the heated stares of her cellmates and out the door. She followed him down the dimly lit hallway and into one of the interrogation rooms. He shut the door behind her and motioned for her to take a seat.
She sat down, keeping her back rigid and her hands primly resting on her lap, waiting for him to say something. She was the picture of calm but inside, she was a bundle of nerves. If he didn't say something soon, she was going to snap.
"We've been investigating a talent agency for months that one of our informants told us was just a front for a prostitution ring," he began. He opened up a file folder he had with him and slid a few pictures across the table to her. They were surveillance photos of Vinny out and about town. In some pictures, he was with a client, in others, he was with one of Mina's colleagues. Mina just stared at the pictures, unable to tear her eyes away from a black and white image of her and Vinny, dining at a café near his office. She remembered that day: they were discussing what she should wear for her audition later that day. She thought she was going to be sick.
"The pimp, posing as an agent, recruited wannabe-actresses into his agency, then set up fake auditions with clients who were really just johns that didn't want the average streetwalker. They wanted their whores to come from good backgrounds, be in excellent health, and be model beautiful. In short, they wanted to be guaranteed of their purchase before they paid up, something you don't get by cruising the streets."
Mina just sat there trying to take it all in. "Are you telling me that Vinny isn't a real agent? That he's a pimp?" she asked incredulously. "But then how did I manage to land some roles?"
"Well, not everyone in the agency was a prostitute," Andrew explained. "Vinny needed a few real actresses to make his business look legit." He looked sadly at her; she wasn't going to like what she was going to hear next.
"We've got Vinny in custody and he told us some interesting facts about how he ran his business. The real prostitutes posed as actresses auditioning for a producer or director—a john. The actresses, meanwhile, were pressured into performing—" he cleared his throat, "—sexual favours in exchange for landing minor roles in some two-bit operation. Because the actress was unaware of being pimped off by Vinny, all the money went to him. You were one of these girls, Mina."
It took a while for everything to sink in. So the charges were true; she was a prostitute, only she was too dumb to know it! God, she felt like such a fool. No wonder her career wasn't advancing as quickly as she had hoped. No wonder all the movie roles she seemed to be landing had a definite sexual vibe to them. Her agent was a pimp!
"Where is he?" she asked, her voice dangerously low. She looked out the window into the main precinct, searching for Vinny's balding head amidst all the officers in blue uniforms. Finally, she spotted him sitting in a metal chair, waiting to be fingerprinted.
Before he could stop her, Mina charged out of her seat on a mission to kill a certain agent/pimp for passing her around Hollywood like a pack of cigarettes. The door slammed open with such a force, the doorknob smashed through the drywall behind it and got stuck there. Andrew paused to look at the damage, his eyes widening at the sight of the doorknob wedged cleanly through the wall.
"Vinny!" Mina shouted, running for him. Around her, everything stopped as officers and criminals alike turned to look at the pissed-off blonde shooting fire from her steel-blue eyes. "You fucking bastard!"
The man known as Vinny yelped and tried to hide behind the burly officer who was taking his prints but the man knew the story and stepped out of the way, leaving Vinny to fend for himself. He froze, knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop the enraged Mina from launching herself at him, tearing his throat right out of his neck with her teeth.
Mina blocked out everything else but Vinny's face so she didn't even see the five or so cops that tried to stop her or tackle her to the ground, all in an effort to spare Vinny from her wrath. When she was just four feet away from him, she felt herself being picked up from behind, two arms banding around her stomach to prevent her from getting any further.
But nothing was going to stop her from planting her foot on Vinny's face or one of his other body parts. She used the momentum to jump, pushing her upper body back as she extended both legs forward. Her feet connected solidly with Vinny's chest, and she had the extreme satisfaction of seeing his pain just before she landed on top of the officer who tried to restrain her.
Vinny lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, vomiting the remains of his lunch mixed with a little blood from his split lip. As soon as Mina recovered from her rough landing, she pushed herself off the cop—she later found out it was Andrew—and lunged for Vinny's throat. Before she could wrap her hands around his neck, however, she was tackled to the floor.
Before she could shake herself free, two more cops joined the pile-up. Their weight plus the weight of the person that tackled her made it hard for her to breathe. The side of her face was pressed against the floor, her arms and legs pinned down by all the bodies on top of her. She was slowly starting lose air.
Voices. Mina could hear voices but they sounded like they were underwater: garbled, disembodied, alien. Her breathing slowed and her vision started to dim.
"Get the fuck off, you guys!" Andrew shouted. He was the one who had tackled her, and now he lay on top of her. "She can't breathe!"
Vinny was screaming his head off, threatening to sue everyone from Mina to the department for assaulting him. "I want my lawyer! I know my rights!"
Andrew turned from trying to revive Mina and threw Vinny an annoyed glare. "Would you shut the fuck up?" he growled.
"I was assaulted!" Vinny shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Mina who was just starting to come to. "You're all my witnesses. You saw her attack me!"
"Actually, I didn't see a thing," Andrew replied, feigning an innocent expression. He turned to the two guys that helped him pin Mina down. "How 'bout you guys?"
"Nope, sorry."
"My head was turned." One by one, all the officers in the room offered their excuses. Mina was starting to come around and could hear every vile word Vinny was saying about her.
"Why are you guys defending this bitch?" he demanded. "Don't think she's so innocent; she'll suck cock for free—"
Andrew didn't let him finish his sentence. He picked Vinny up by the collar and slammed him against the wall. "Keep talking, asshole. Let's see how far you can shove your foot in that big mouth of yours before I decide to help you out."
Vinny's eyes widened as Andrew tightened his hold. He turned his head to look at the other cops behind Andrew. "Police brutality! I want my lawyer!"
Pissed, Andrew shoved Vinny towards Billy, who caught him with ease. "Take this bastard out of my sight," he barked at his partner. Before he could be taken away, however, Andrew pulled Vinny towards him by his shirtfront and said through gritted teeth, "This is LA—we invented police brutality."
"Word of advice when the judge sends your sorry ass to prison," Billy said as he cuffed Vinny's hands again. "Don't bend over."
Vinny's screams, which Billy just ignored good-naturedly, could be heard all the way to the male prisoner holding cell. When he was gone, everyone went back to work as if nothing had happened. Mina was, by this time, leaning against the wall, trying to regain enough strength to make as graceful and dignified an exit as she could.
Don't think she's so innocent; she'll suck cock for free…
Mina swallowed a sob. As much as she hated to admit it, Vinny was right. That made her worst than a prostitute. Prostitutes sold themselves for money; she sold herself for even less than that. She had willingly degraded herself with each audition, not thinking about how her actions reflected upon her as a person.
She'll suck cock for free…
"Are you okay?" Mina turned towards the voice; it was Officer Mulligan. He was watching her with something that looked like concern in his eyes.
"I told you I wasn't a hooker," she said without any real conviction. She was tired, humiliated and lonely. Today had been the scariest day of her life and she didn't know who to call for help. She didn't want to embarrass her parents by calling them from a police precinct. She didn't want her sister to know about this chapter of her life—it would be too humiliating. She didn't have many friends, certainly not close ones. She was alone, as she had been for the majority of her life.
"Am I free to go now?" she asked dully. She couldn't look him in the eye; he knew too much about her.
He nodded. "Is there someone you want to call?"
Mina shook her head and rubbed her hands over her arms. "I just want to go home, forget this day ever happened. Forget I ever knew Vinny."
"Do you want me to call you a cab?" he offered. He would drive her home but he was still on duty. This was the best he could do.
"No thanks." She couldn't afford one. "I have to go…"
"Okay." He watched her walk away, slowly, like a salmon fighting to go upstream.
She stopped at the front desk to collect her belongings: a purse containing her wallet, address book, a cosmetics bag; the gold necklace her parents had given her for her 16th birthday and the small diamond earrings she had treated herself with after landing a recurring role in a primetime medical drama. The show had been cancelled two months after she got the job. Too bad no one told her until after she had spent a small fortune on the earrings.
Mina gathered up her things, now tainted after having spent time with the belongings of real criminals, and left without looking back. Her brush with the law had taken her about an hour more away from the hotel, which was already about an hour's bus ride away from her apartment. The neighbourhood was a bad one—graffiti adorning every available surface, sirens screaming in the distance, distrust written over everyone's faces. Mina didn't want to stay here one minute longer.
She'll suck cock for free.
---
Well, that's the end of chapter four, version 1238975340834. Seriously, I don't think I've ever had so many versions and revisions of one chapter of any story, ever. Mad thanks to my editor, Ladysolo, who read through the two final versions, helped me pick which one was best for this story, and edit it even though she was busy with working two jobs, packing, cleaning her room, and keeping me sane. As much as I hated to get rid of the Jerry Springer scene, I'm glad you gently prodded me to do it. I don't know what I was smoking when I wrote that scene. And yes, Mirandized is a "real" word in the sense that it's the verb cops (and authors) use when they have to read someone their Miranda rights. You've got eyes like an eagle and the patience of a statue. Thanks for doing such a great job.
Some of my readers who also happen to be members of Aria's Ink may already know that I helped co-found a group called Writing to Improve Standards of Excellence, or W.I.S.E. for short. This group represents authors and readers who are concerned with the direction the Sailor Moon fandom (and all other fandoms) are taking, and are trying to improve fanfiction by giving honest critiques, which the authors will then use to help improve their writing. It's a win-win situation for all: honest reviewsàbetter writingàbetter stories. Please help us turn the fandom around by leaving reviews for this, and any other fics you read. Just in case you don't know what to say in your reviews, here are some questions I have that would help me improve the next chapters, and my writing overall:
What was your emotional response to this story thus far?
Are there any particular phrases, images or scenes that stand out and linger?
Did any aspect of the writing confuse you? Are there places where you needed more information?
I'd love to hear what you guys have to say so please review. Thanks for reading this story and stay tuned for the next chapter!
---
Crystal Rose, member of Writing to Improve Standards of Excellence
WISE up! Read a fic, Review a fic, Revive fanfiction standards!