“Hand it to me. I might be able to recover the message.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll use Brian this weekend, and Gabby and I will just have drinks at my apartment.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” He holds his hand out. “Phone, please.”
“You can’t make me give you my cell phone,” I say like a petulant child.
He cocks his head to the side. “Now, Corrine.”
I slowly reach into my pocket. I wish I could erase the message without it being obvious. I place it in Jackson’s hand.
I shut my eyes, hoping this is a dream. “He says some things I’d rather you not hear,” I quietly explain.
Jackson pushes some buttons, and Bobby’s voice mail plays on the phone’s speaker.
As soon as it starts, I can feel his eyes boring into me. “Why didn’t you send this to the police?”
“They wouldn’t have done anything. Everyone reveres Bobby in this town.” The idea that Bobby thinks I’m fat and suck at sex is not a humiliation I could handle if it got out.
Jackson listens to the message several times before pushing some buttons and handing me back my phone. “He’s an asshole. I hope you know that.”
I fight back the tears. “Thank you.”
I return to my desk and gather my things. Brian follows me out to the Suburban. In the car, I send a text to Gabby.
Me: I’m just finishing work. I’m stuck with the bodyguard so if you still want to get together for drinks, we can meet at my place. The girls are gone, and it’s just me this weekend.
Gabby: Great idea. I’ll pick something up at the bodega at the corner.
Me: Perfect. Thanks.
Things will get better. “Brian, what do you have going on this weekend?”
“I’m working for you,” he says.
“You’re not doing anything with the twins?”
“Not this weekend. I’ll be parked in front of your building by seven tomorrow morning, unless you need me earlier.”
“I hope to still be sleeping. How about nine instead? I’m going into the office for some work.”
He’s watching me in the rearview mirror. “I’ll meet you at nine.”
When we arrive, Brian walks me to my door and hands me a card with his cell phone number on it. “I can be back in less than twenty minutes with the car. Please don’t sneak out. That’s a good way to get me fired.”
“You know my soft spot.”
He does a quick walkthrough of my apartment and waves goodbye.
This is not what I ever expected my week would look like. I get out of my skirt and pull off my bra. Ahh. The bra was definitely invented by a man. I put on a ratty UT sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants. So much better.
I turn my tunes on loud and pop a giant bowl of popcorn—not air-popped, but with coconut oil in a pan. I then melt an entire stick of butter, and as I pour it on and salt it well, the buzzer rings. Gabby’s here!
You can tell Gabby is excited. Her eyes are big, and her smile is enormous. “You’ll never guess what I found.”
I shake my head.
Out of the paper bag, she pulls two four-packs of berry wine coolers. Her grin is infectious.
“I haven’t seen wine coolers since college. They’re perfect.” I giggle.
Gabby begins to sniff the air. “I smell popcorn.”
“You do. I put an entire stick of butter in.” I show her the giant bowl and pop a few kernels in my mouth. Delicious.
“Love it.” She takes a big handful of popcorn and stuffs it in her mouth.
I can sort of make out her saying, “What’s on Netflix?”
“You pick, and I’ll tell you about my day—starting with the worst part where Jackson listened to Bobby’s voice mail.”
She stops, and her head swings away from the television and focuses on me. “What?”
I nod. “He listened to it a few times and also forwarded it to someone.”
“Who?” She studies me carefully.
“I don’t know. He did call Bobby an asshole.”
“Good. He can be an honorary member of the I Hate Bobby Sanders Club.”
She stops at a romantic comedy we’ve watched a few dozen times. It’s perfect for catching up and if we can’t finish watching. “What else did he say?”
“Not much. I’m working tomorrow.”
“You’re always working on weekends.”
“We’re busy, and now we think our CFO and his admin are up to something, but we’re not sure what. I’m going to do some snooping.”
“Are you going in by yourself?”
I stuff a big handful of popcorn in my mouth. “No, Brian is picking me up at nine.”
“That’s good. After the week you’ve had, it’s good you’re not alone at work. Damien is out to drinks with his boys, and I’m going to meet up with him later. Is that okay?”
“Of course.” I shovel more popcorn in my mouth. We watch the movie for a little over an hour before she has to go.
“Enjoy those wine coolers.”
I laugh. “I’ll save the leftovers for your next visit.”
I lock the door behind her, and suddenly I’m nervous about being alone. I’m so rarely alone. I share an office space with Heather outside Jackson’s office. And I live in a literal old-time closet between two women, and usually one of them is home. I like the idea of being alone in theory, but with so much going on, I miss my roommates. There’s safety in numbers.
The baseboard electric furnace snaps, crackles, and pops, and it sends my heart racing. It takes me a long time to fall asleep. I keep thinking of Jackson’s face as he listened to Bobby’s message. He was shocked at first and then seemed to understand why I was embarrassed. He wouldn’t look at me while Bobby told me why he broke up with me. It’s not like I have anything to offer Jackson that he’d want, but still—no one wants to know their admin is terrible in bed.
At some point, I fall asleep and wake naturally when the sun comes up. Saturday is the one day I can sleep in, but my body has other ideas. When my mind starts circling around Bobby and his new girlfriend, the package, and Heather’s strange behavior, I can’t take it anymore. I throw off the covers to brave the cold air of my apartment.
I make myself a plate of eggs and piddle around. I pick up our mess from last night and read the San Francisco Chronicle for the local update and Cosmo from my phone. It has tips on how to satisfy your man. I look at a few diets, but none of them has enough chocolate in it.
When the buzzer to my apartment rings at nine, I realize I never got dressed. I buzz Brian up and quickly slip on a pair of jeans and a cute sweater with my Ked sneakers.
“Sorry, Brian. I got up early and have done nothing this morning.”
“You don’t have to hurry on my account. I’m also fine if you want me to wait in the car.”
I flip some mascara over my lashes, smooth on some lip gloss, and walk out. “No, I’m ready. Do you mind if we stop at Starbucks?”
“I go where you want, not the other way around.”
After our Starbucks run, we walk to the office. Brian alerts the weekend security guard of where we’ll be and asks him to inform us of anyone coming upstairs. “I wouldn’t want to shoot anyone,” he explains.