Page 3 of The Vacancy In Room 10

“I do charge a fee, though,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” he says, feeling for his phone and wallet, which I did place back in his pockets.

“Yeah, I thought it would be terrible if you ended up in jail, or I let you wander off and get a DUI, or if your wife found out you were with some chick name Kitty...”

“Hey, whoa, whoa. What? How do you—”

“Peggy would wanna know where you’ve been. I’m sure she’s worried sick. Your phone’s dead by the way, but she probably called all night.”

“Wha... Who are you? Seriously? How do you know my wife? I...”

“Listen, John. I had some time to look Peggy up. She’s a nurse. Good work, nursing. And you live on Ashbury Court, and Levi’s what, eleven or twelve now? I’m sure she doesn’t want to see this,” I say, and even as I show him my phone, displaying the photos I took of us with my lacy green bra and his lipstick-smeared cheek on my shoulder, I feel a wave of nausea for what I’m doing and have to remind myself he’s just like Reid. He deserves this.

His eyes go wet and glossy, and I can see him swallow. “We? What did we...”

“Oh, God no. Really, stud? You think you fall on my office floor in a drunken heap, and I have sex with you? Is that how it usually goes for ya? No, I just took these for insurance,” I say, and barely recognize the forced confidence in my voice.

“What? What does that mean?”

“It ensures that if you give me what I need, I don’t ruin your life. I hate to do it. I really actually do, but you’re a cheater, so...”

“What do you want!?” he says as spit flies from the corner of his mouth, red blotches beginning to dot his face.

“A thousand.”

“Dollars!?”

“Yeah. Dollars. I thought about a figure, and that seems reasonable.”

“What makes you... Are you insane? What makes you think I have that kind of money to give you?” He’s moving toward the door, but I see the hesitation—the knowing that he’s stuck.

“You’re a plumber. They make good money. A nurse, too. Not bad. I’m sure you can spare it.”

“I...” His mouth opens and then closes.

“Next time, you’ll think of Peggy before screwing strippers named Kitty. Only assuming there—the stripper part, but the name is telling. A name says a lot.”

“What is the matter with you? You did all this for... You did this fo—”

“I know you’re confused and probably have a wicked hangover, but I have Pegs’s email from her Facebook site. Can I call her Pegs? Looks like people do. You should tell her she shouldn’t have her info public like that. She looks nice—like the kinda person who would trust people, but still. Not a good quality these days. If you bring cash by the end of today and slip it under the office door—I mean, not loose cash, right? That would be silly. In an envelope or something—then I don’t send her the photos, and you go back to your delightful bungalow with Pegs and little Levi.”

John’s face is pale as the moon now. It seems to change color with every new revelation, and he feels for the doorknob behind him to leave.

“What if you send it to her anyway? How do I know you won’t?” he says in an almost whisper.

“You don’t know me, John, but I’m not an asshole. I’d have no reason to do that if you do what I’m asking. I hate to even do this to you at all, but...” But I was left with nothing, I almost say but don’t say. “I need the money. That’s it. Nothing personal. And you did a shitty thing, so...”

“If you send this photo out, people might see it—like anyone—people you know! Your family. I could show it around here for...revenge, or I don’t know. You’re not safe in this, either. You would look just as bad screwing a stranger, it could ruin...”

“John. Look around. Does it look like I have anything left to lose?”

After a few silent moments, he gives what might be interpreted as a tiny nod and then walks out into the icy morning air and across the street to whatever bar or club his car is at, I assume.

I’m shaking. My hands are trembling. I can’t believe what I just did. I don’t even know who I am right now.

Three hours later, I’m in my apartment eating canned ravioli and trying to get the satellite TV channels to come in when I see a Ford truck pull up on the side of the building. A large man in a hooded raincoat pushes something under the door of the office. My heart leaps. When the truck is far enough down the street, I push my feet into slippers and run next door. I let myself into the office and grab a manila envelope from the floor.

Back in the warmth of my apartment, I sit on the detested plaid sofa and spread the crisp cash-machine bills out on the coffee table. A thousand dollars. Oh, my God. I can’t believe it worked. I never would have sent those photos. He could have called my bluff. He also could have not taken it as relatively well as he did and attacked me instead...or worse.

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