Page 4 of Ring My Bell

He didn’t leave. After a moment, he exhaled gustily. “Look, I don’t know what you’re gonna do next, but try looking up this guy, Mathis Reisner, okay? He hates Raymond probably more than you do.”

I flipped him off over my shoulder. Finally, after an excruciating few seconds, he stomped off down the stairs towards the ground floor.

“Fuck,” I muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

While I waited, Sonny didn’t come back, and I wasn’t about to leave my few things with him. Therefore, I did something I was loathe to do: called my mother. A rollicking chastisement, tears on both sides, and a general feeling of failure later, she came to get my things. “I can’t let you stay with me,” she said as soon as she arrived. “Michael is using your old room for his studio. He’s a sculptor.”

“Good for him,” I sighed. “And it’s fine. I’m… I’m not going to need a place to stay. I’m good.”

She gave me a hard look, then nodded. “Fine. I’ll hold your things for a bit, but I’m not a storage facility, Iggy. Now. Go hustle. You’re getting too old to trade on your good looks.”

I stood on the sidewalk with a suitcase of clothes and toiletries, watching her pull away. “Love you too, Mom…”

I allowed myself two minutes of absolute, ugly-crying meltdown on the street. Then I scrubbed my hands over my eyes and fished my phone out of my pocket.

Regina answered on the second ring. “Iggy,” she sighed. “I’m sorry…”

“Let me guess. Raymond.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Well, actually, it was the fact you stole from him,” Regina said with a hint of sharpness. “Look, I get it, he’s a jerk, but—”

“But nothing,” I cried. “He—”

She’d already hung up on me.

I tried another quasi-friend. And another. And gave up after the fourth one. “The devil works fast, Raymond works faster,” I muttered. Word had gotten around: I was a thief, a diva, a stalker…

Sitting on my suitcase, I wished I hadn’t gone along with Mom’s wishes when I was twelve. I could’ve stuck with violin instead, stopped obsessing over that conservatory I’d dreamed of going to and worked to get into the community orchestra or something. “Fuck!”

“I don’t pay for it,” a guy striding past snorted. I flipped him off, too.

My middle finger was getting a workout, and it wasn’t even noon.

Shifting as I tried to figure out what to do next, the envelope in my pocket crinkled. “Fucking hell, what is it…”

Inside was a slip of paper and a small black rectangle of plastic.

Iggy:

If you haven’t found out yet, you’re going to soon. Raymond’s taken your name off your shared account so you won’t be able to access the money he promised you. He was never giving it to you. This isn’t exactly on the up and up, but you should be able to use this card at least for a week or two. It’s the account he uses to wine and dine his boy toys. It’ll at least get you to Mathis Reisner—he was in SF the last I heard.

Sorry things suck.

Monty

The blackcredit card stared up at me from the envelope. I knew it on sight because he loved to whip it out when we went on dates, a special account card for one of the velvet ropes and snooty teller banks downtown.

A pang of guilt wormed its way to the surface, but it lost out against the sharp edge of my anger at Raymond, at life, at myself…

“It could be a trap,” I muttered. “But I also don’t have a lot of options…”

Chapter Two

MATHIS

“Oh! I know, I know!” The young woman leaned over so far, her friends had to grab the back of her cheap Halloween-costume corset top so she wouldn’t pitch off the edge of the platform. “Play me that Taylor Swift song! You know, like…” She scrunched up her face and threw back her head. “Today was a fairytaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaale!” she warbled, head thrown back and long extensions flying, nearly dipping into her friend’s bright green drink. Her friends whooped, and someone snapped pictures with their damn flash on.

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