After I called in sick to Young Souls, I decided to use the day to run all my errands. Even though I was still sore from last night, especially between the legs, I left the house with a plan to bike to the grocery store and get everything I’d need to make a pork adobo.
I wasn’t quite ready to face Yaron yet, so asking for a ride was out. But I knew we could probably both do with some Filipino comfort food in the wake of Victor’s visit. I also decided to replace that nice bottle of wine Victor had tossed instead of fishing it out of the kitchen trash. There was a boutique wine and cheese store just a couple blocks up from the Stop & Shop. Mmm, cheese!
As I walked out to the covered porch, I was already imagining myself later on in the day. I could just see myself: a fine bottle of Riesling, a cheese plate, and on TVs, the latest episode of His Majesty (yet another spin-off of Rap Stars Wives, this time starring one of the judges from American SuperStar and his blended family). But I stopped when I got outside. My bike was missing from its usual place where I always left it lying on its side after I came home. Had it gotten stolen?
No….
The memory of Victor all but tossing it into his trunk flashed across my memory. I cursed under my breath. It was probably still there.
Well, the only thing more excruciating than facing Yaron would be trying to get my bike back from Victor. So I guessed it was time to ask Yaron to drive me to the store to buy a new bike.
I minced out to the carport where the Audi was in its usual spot.
“Hey Yaron, need anything from Cal-Mart? I’ve got to go there to get a new…”
I trailed off when the window rolled down, revealing not Yaron but some tough looking Asian dude with a wispy mustache. His hair was gray, so he had to be a lot older than the driver I’d gotten to know over the past year. But he somehow looked way more dangerous than Yaron. His face was a dead blank, and he wore a simple black T-shirt, revealing two sleeves of tattoos.
Yaron wasn’t a 24/7 guard. That would be unreasonable. I knew somebody replaced him at night, but I’d never met that guard. Maybe this was him? Maybe Yaron had finally gotten that much deserved vacation he’d been talking about for months?
“Hey, where’s Yaron,” I asked the new guy, hoping that was true. “And who are you?”
“Yaron’s been reassigned,” the new guy answered, lighting a cigarette. “I’ll be your driver from now on.”
“Reassigned? Reassigned to where?” I asked, trying not to choke on the smoke he was blowing out.
He regarded me for a cold, bored beat before asking, “You said you want to go to Cal-Mart. Make me a list, and I’ll bring you back whatever you need.”
“This isn’t a list situation,” I answered, barely holding on to my patience. “I need to pick out a new bike.”
“No more bike,” the guard answered, his voice grumpy and short. “If you need to go somewhere, I’ll take you.”
Irritation and outrage rippled through me. “What if I want you to take me to get a bike so that I can take myself wherever I need to go?”
The guard blew out another careless plume of smoke. “So, are you getting me that list or what?”
He still hadn’t told me his name. And now I had the feeling that he wasn’t going to let me know. I rushed back into the house. Not just to make a list but also so he wouldn’t see me cry.
Losing my bike was bad enough, but Yaron too?
Maybe it was silly to shed tears over losing a guy who had only hung out with me because Victor was paying him. But he had been the only one in Rhode Island who knew my real situation. I’d considered him a friend. And now he was gone.
Because of Victor.
In the end, I gave the nameless guard my list. And when he came back a few hours later with the groceries, he delivered them all the way to the kitchen. Not to be gentlemanly as it turned out.
“Where’s the Riesling from that boutique on Pitman?” I demanded, going through all the bags.
“No more wine,” the nameless guard answered. There came a clinking sound. And I looked up to see him stuffing bottles of alcohol from the wine fridge into a huge IKEA bag. “Boss’s orders.”
Oh, fuck this bitter bitch.
I wasn’t even done cursing when my old Sidekick iD, which I always left charging on the kitchen counter, suddenly erupted with buzz after buzz.
I picked up the mobile device and found a wall of emails and text messages on its front screen.
