See Me (2 page)

Abigail tapped her fingertip against the window. Her breath fogged the glass as she squished her nose against the warm pane. “Please, please. Please get out of the truck.”

“Let me call him. Abs, you have to back up, or he’s going to see you.”

She kept her gaze glued to the white truck sitting in the front parking lot. She needed this guy. The client was from Germany. She couldn’t help but smile. Italy, Spain, Ireland, England, and now Germany. Her little company that started out as a way for her to relieve her own tension had grown into an international phenomenon. “He can’t see me through the rain. Can he?” She spun around. “Oh, shit! What if he can see me, and he doesn’t want to come in because I’m watching him? Shit, shit! Ron, do something!”

Ron set the book on the metal desk. “Sit down. You’re getting your underwear in a twist again. Damn, I can’t convince the stud to come in
and
babysit your nerves at the same time. Now stop biting your nails and keep your mouth shut.”

She plopped down into the black office chair and took two deep breaths. She owed him at least the courtesy of being less annoying. Ron had been a good friend—scratch that, a great friend. Through the nightly phone calls and panic attacks, he was there, soothing her without pushing for too much information. He’d been there four years ago when she’d arrived at Westside High in Macon, the terribly shy “new girl” who always sat alone in the teacher’s lounge. Until the day Ron sat down beside her and shared his PB&J. It made Abigail feel much better when Ron confessed he was gay. His muscular size didn’t seem quite so frightening after he shared his secret.

Ron even came to her apartment when she was let go because she’d called off work on too many occasions. It was easier to call in sick than to tell the front office she just couldn’t get out of bed, that she was afraid to leave her apartment because her ex-husband could be waiting by her car or around any corner, for that matter.

The first two years after the divorce were spent in such a grip of fear that leaving her small apartment made her insides shake and wasn’t an option.

Eventually, the courage to live outweighed the despair to die, and she gathered what little guts she had and went for a walk, the threats from her ex still lingering in her ears. After so long spent running, she wore down. The cravings to satisfy her needs were too great to be ignored any longer. She had to figure out how to find pleasure in a secret way, in case her ex was watching.

She wanted to see romance, kissing, touching, all the things her usual videos lacked. Out of necessity, she hired two students from the university to star in a personalized adult film, for her eyes only. Then, after joining a few online chat groups, she discovered she wasn’t alone. There were others out there like her. Once she realized their needs were as great as her own, she started an online adult-film site for customized videos.

Ron was supportive when she told him her idea. Matter of fact, he was so excited he quit his history teaching gig and hired himself. The day Abigail had turned her first $1,000 profit, which was the first day they opened the online site, they celebrated over enchiladas and margaritas.

“Okay, see, I’m calm. I’m not moving. Will you call him now?” she asked.

Ron gave her a sickly sweet smile. “Yes, boss lady.” He tapped the touchscreen on his cell phone.

Abigail zoned out Ron as she shifted her frazzled nerves to the three ledgers spread out on the desk. Thomas O’Reilly had been her business advisor for over two years. And for over two years, she hadn’t been able to understand the jargon coming out of his mouth. Somehow she seemed to always have money to purchase new set supplies and catering for the performers, but he never quite knew how to make her understand the complicated world of her finances. She was starting to question if he understood it himself.

The taxes were paid, and the performers were compensated. She guessed that was enough.

What had started as a necessity for her personal needs had grown into a lucrative, successful empire.

“Come by whenever you can,” Ron said before shoving the phone back into his pocket.

“Well? Well, what did he say? Tell me!”

Ron’s husky laugh always slowed the frantic cadence of her heart. “God, you’re so impatient. He’s caught in traffic.”

Abigail pressed her brows tight. “What? I thought he was in the parking lot.”

“He is. He sounds nervous. Give him a minute. He’s a thinker. He’s turned down every other guy who’s asked him to step into the ring at the gym. Why he took
me
up on the offer still baffles me.”

“Maybe he’s gay?”

“No way, every guy in there has tried to get a piece of him. He barely says two words to anybody. I’ve got his application stuff ready. If he works out, let me know before he leaves so I can set up his appointment with Dr. Johnston.”

Abigail scrolled the tiny arrow on the computer to the mail tab and double clicked. “He kind of sounds like a jerk. He’s probably one of those gym rats who only likes skinny girls. Oh God, Ron, what if he does only like skinny girls? The client asked for Sasha, and she’s got hips on her. Are you sure about him?”

“I’m sure. And, you’ve got to get over this skinny girl, fat girl dilemma you’ve got going on, seriously. Besides, he was really cool once he started talking to me. We’ve sparred a couple of times, and now he talks more. Don’t get me wrong, he’s not going to get all Dr. Phil, but at least he’ll make eye contact now. He’s just kind of shy, I guess.”

“Shy or not, I need him. Hopefully, he won’t be too bashful to get naked. He needs to get his ass up here.”

“Just stay busy until I bring him in. Don’t get all nervous. Keep your voice calm, and don’t do that fidgety thing with your hands.”

“But, what if—”

“What if, nothing. Keep calm, and everything will go fine. Do you want another cup of coffee?”

She loved it when he played secretary. “Yes, Ms. Carlone, and you can get your notepad and take a letter for me.” It was her turn to laugh. She needed it.

The last she saw of Ron was his tight butt leaving her office. “Bitch” trailed behind it.

She turned to the computer screen. Opening her e-mail had always been a fun adventure, until four months ago. The number six designated the number of letters in her personal box and fifty-six in her business one. “Jeez, people. Give me a minute to catch my breath, you little horny toads.” She smiled, knowing the people on the other end of those e-mails were placing orders, asking for advice, and giving feedback on their recent purchases. Many customers returned to place more orders, creating a hectic schedule for her already overworked performers.

Abigail was proud of what she’d created. Her parents were giddy that she’d started up a successful “online video rental company.” When her mother asked if she could subscribe to the service, Abigail swallowed and politely told her that they didn’t carry the classics she knew her mother enjoyed. She wasn’t about to look her mother in the face and tell her the videos she sold were created from the personal fantasies of her clients. Her prudish mother would have tossed her manicured nails in the air and yelled for Abigail’s father to get her pills out of her new handbag.

Her family had been placed on a need-to-know basis. Heck, everyone had been, and at this point, there was less and less they needed to know. The last thing she wanted to do was confess about the events that led to that horrible night. She didn’t want everyone to be in danger.

Abigail chipped at a piece of pink fingernail polish. It would be nice to go to dinner from time to time, to be able to go to the grocery store without having a panic attack. She was tired of asking Ron to grab a carton of eggs or a gallon of milk for her. It was her time, without the black eyes and broken arm, to be able to enjoy life. Justin Parker could burn in hell.

She clicked on the six personal e-mails. Her sisters had e-mailed. Jenny, her younger sister, begged Abigail to fly to Hawaii for her next surfing competition and slapped an exclamation point after everything involving her new surfboard. Jenny was their resident marine biologist and professional surfer.

Sandra, the oldest sister, sent pictures of the kids swinging on the new jungle gym her husband had built. Sandra was the shining star. She married an attorney, which made their father happy as a clam. He was the good son-in-law. None of the kids had chosen to follow in their dad’s footsteps, so the sons-in-law took up the slack to save the day. Justin, the other son-in-law, was an attorney too, but also turned out to be an asshole of the worst caliber. Knew the law. Knew how to get away with the worst of crimes. Abigail cringed at the thought and buried it—again.

Douglas, the only son, almost put their parents in the psych ward when he chose to attend Harvard only to promptly drop out his senior year and pursue a career in art. Doug was her partner in crime. The two middle kids in a house of expectations and disappointments, Doug was always there for her. There was only one time in her life he hadn’t been there to save the day. He never e-mailed. He was one of the only humans left on the planet who actually picked up a phone and called someone.

KathySwansonGrandma
was the next e-mail. Mom, of course, had sent the invite for the annual Fourth of July bash at the lake house. Her usual itinerary was neatly listed into the appropriate categories for the two-day event. How could Abigail have fallen so far from the apple tree? Her mother’s letters were always precise and perfect, while Abigail had trouble compiling a grocery list that wasn’t pieced together on a napkin.

Abigail moved the electronic letters into their respective folders.

Spectre5
was the next in line.

Abigail felt her stomach condense into a pile of cement. Her throat stuck, holding on to the saliva that was about to choke her. What if this was like Seattle all over again? The phone calls came at all hours of the night. She looked up at the open door. It was a saving grace in a room that was slowly closing in around her. Breathe in. Breathe out. After reading the third self-help book, she finally realized that the breathing exercises really did help when the panic started to rise. Breathe in. Breathe out. As the air crept through her lungs, the tight grip she felt around her throat started to ease until finally it was gone. She blew a long breath out, feeling good to finally have some kind of control over the insane anxiety that plagued her.

Her momentary serenity was squandered when she looked back at the eight characters on the screen. Eight gut-twisting, confusing, possibly nothing characters. She clicked the little yellow envelope.

An e-card—another e-card! This time, bright red roses rested in a heart-shaped vase next to a gray kitten. The caption read:
We’re purrrfect together
. She knew who thought they were perfect together, and the asshole couldn’t be further from the truth. It was time to change her e-mail once again.

The idea that the sender had misplaced the correct e-mail address had long ago been squashed. She’d e-mailed back the first few times to tell the sender he or she was sending to the wrong mailbox. The cards kept coming.

She moved it into the folder titled “Justin.” That was where she kept them. All Valentine e-cards. All sappy and commercially typical: a couple on the beach, a couple drinking coffee in bed, one of those black-and-white ones with the two kids. The girl pointing her pert nose up to see the boy’s smiling face, a red rose behind his back.

The small corner of Abigail’s brain, the one that controlled fear, the one that had managed to take over the rest of her gray matter, screamed to call the police. To tell everything. But she wasn’t ready. Wasn’t ready to talk about the afternoon Justin had come home early from work to beat her because she’d not cleaned the kitchen to his liking. Or the time they’d gone out to dinner and he’d slapped her when they were in the parking lot. No, she just wasn’t ready.

She slipped her hand under the hem of her T-shirt. The scars were still there. They’d always be there. Her fingertips slipped along the jagged remnant of her secret. The secret she kept locked away about the horrible night Justin had broken into her home, taken her by the hair to drag her into the bathroom and used a knife from the kitchen to destroy her life. The last words out of his mouth would be her undoing as he left her on the floor to die in a pool of blood. No, there would be no confessions about her past today. No fidgeting, no nail-biting, and no confessions!

THE SMALL LOBBY caught Sean off guard. Brightly colored Oriental rugs were scattered over the concrete floor. The red loveseat against the wall had three tiny silk-looking pillows resting against the back cushions. He lost count of the potted plants sitting on the tables and shelves. It was warm and inviting. Not too gaudy, but…homey.

“You made it!”

He looked over at the desk in the corner. It was Ron. God, the man looked even bigger when he was in jeans and a T-shirt. Sean squinted to read his red and black shirt.
Keep your friends close and your husbands closer
. “Man, you look great. Thanks for coming by.”

Sean looked down at his wet shirt. It was soaked through to the white undershirt beneath. “Sorry I’m so late. I hope I haven’t kept Ms. Swanson from another appointment.”

Ron rounded the desk with a stack of papers in hand. “Not at all. I have an application for you to fill out first. Then she’ll do the interview. The app is lengthy, but it gives us an idea if you’re the right man for the job.”

Sean took the application and looked around for a place to sit.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, here.” Ron went back over to the desk and grabbed a pen and clipboard. “You can have a seat on the sofa. I’ll get you a towel. It was coming down pretty hard out there.”

“Yeah.” Sean felt his stomach drop as he started to flip through the pages. The questions were beyond personal. Some of them bypassed embarrassing all together.
Who in the hell would ask if I like to stick things up my ass?

Ron returned with a towel. “I know, man. Your face looks like you want to puke. The questions are a bit out there, but Abigail feels they’ll help you perform better and help the clients get exactly what they’re paying for.”