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Tommy leans over and kisses my cheek by surprise, before jumping out of the passenger’s side of the car and saying, “See that you do, pet. I want our time together to be deeply and fully satisfying.” He doesn’t hesitate to emphasize those words and inspire the fantasies playing around in my head now. “I’ll be thinking of you this weekend. I’ll call you.” He smiles as he closes the door. “Just to make sure I have the right number.”
“Sure,” I say. “Just to make sure.”
Tommy and I chuckle, enjoying the bullshit we are tossing at each other. He finishes closing his side of my car, and I watch him go the short way to his car and get in.
As he does, I squeal with happiness. I put my hands over my mouth and shout, “God above, he’s so handsome! So adorable! I might die from how wonderful he is!”
Right as I say this, I see Tommy blow a kiss at me from out his window as he circles his less-fancy car out of the parking lot and into the light, late evening traffic.
“Oh my God,” I say, feeling my giggling turn to sobbing. “If this was the guy I was worthy of the whole time, no wonder Dennis left me so suddenly! His careless and cruel treatment of me couldn’t stand up underneath Tommy’s warm and noble heart! Not even from thousands of miles away!”
After that, I don’t remember what happened. Just that I dissolve into fervent prayers to God, asking for Tommy’s safe return home tonight and gratitude for his wisdom in setting me free from the pain and suffering I had with Dennis but was unable to see.
It’s then that I understand part of why we might have been brought together: we both believe we are unworthy. And we need each other to show us otherwise.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Tommy
After my dinner date with Melissa on Friday night, Saturday day and night go by easily. Mostly because I have Melissa and our plans to think about and prepare for. I do research on the kinds of places I think we are likely to go to for our shopping trip. I also take the time to look at my bank account and my budget in preparation.
I do get paid on Saturday, but, as Ms. Vanacore threatened she might, my paycheck is less than I had initially projected. I make a note of it on my phone. I don’t know if I’m actually going to do anything with this information, but I have decided to keep track of everything and anything to do with Ms. Vanacore.
Including the “extra work” she threatened to have me start doing on Monday. I’ve created a document on my phone. I’ve titled it Sunset, knowing that all of this information could be the “sunset” of Vanacore’s career and of her flawless, unmarked reputation.
It’s Sunday now, though, and I’m getting more anxious. More stressed about what exactly it is that I’ve planned to do on Monday. And that is that I’ve decided to go with her demands. I’ve decided, as Melissa and I touched on a couple times on Friday, to play Vanacore’s little game with her. To act like I want to engage in whatever sexual or intimate activities she wants, to capture them on my phone and gain irrefutable evidence of her predatory behavior.
While all of that sounded good and brave on Friday, now that it’s Sunday evening at about nine o’clock, I’m starting to question the sanity of that idea. The goodness of it, since it will mean that I’m putting myself at risk for any and everything Vanacore may want to do. I may also not be successful in getting any evidence. Or if I am, she may find out that I’m tricking her. And with a temper like she has, I’m scared of what she might actually do. How she may twist my attempt to corner her to harm me.
Finally, after two or three miserable hours of going back and forth in my head about whether I should or shouldn’t go through with this, I decide to call Melissa. Not only because I promised her I would on Friday evening, but because I need someone and something to get my mind off of the upcoming week at work.
I dial her number, hoping she is still awake. Hoping she doesn’t mind hearing from me.
Melissa picks up after one, maybe two, rings of her cell phone. “I was wondering when you would call me,” she says, without bothering to ask who it is. She sounds happy, pleasant, though not surprised.
The minute her warm, lightly-accented voice caresses my ears, I’m relaxed and less stressed, though I’m still kicking around what I’m going to do about my boss. I worry about Monday morning when Vanacore will more than likely make good on her threat to get me doing other kinds of “work.”
