Page 24 of Passion

“Lorna Davids?”

“Yes, just—what do you want?” I could tell she was a real peach, probably why Vera hated taking calls from her so much.

“Ms. Davids, my name is Lucas Allen Smith.” The line was quiet. I could almost hear her heart pounding as I let the reality of who had called her sink in. There was a bit of background noise, a dog barking and a vacuum. I thought maybe she’d hung up, but the yapping continued. “Ms. Davids, I called to find out why you had a man follow me.”

“Well, I have no clue who you are or why you think I had someone following you. You must have the wrong number.” The noise behind her got quieter and she sounded more controlled.

“Ms. Davids, I have my means of investigation too. I know you hired a private investigator to look into me. I know who it was, how much you paid, what you required of him, and what he told you. I just want to know why you feel the need to look into me.” I thought I knew why, anyway. If I had a daughter and she started dating, I’d have a man follow those boys around too.

Another long silence was followed by a heavy, breathy sigh. “Nothing is too much for my daughter. Vera is the most important thing in my life, and I won’t allow her to be manipulated and controlled by an evil man. What do you have planned for her, anyway? Do you think just because she is beautiful that you can control her and sell her to what, the highest bidder?”

I laughed. Not a chuckle or a snicker, but a full, outright, raucous laughter that probably highly offended her and pissed her off, and I didn’t care. “Is that what you really think of me?” I calmed myself, but I couldn’t erase the stupid grin on my face that I was sure she could hear as I spoke. “I have no intention of controlling your daughter. She is intelligent and strong, and she does as she pleases. She is here under my roof because I helped her when the hurricane took everything she had and smashed it to pieces.”

“Well, I?—”

“You are wrong. I’m not a horrible person. I’m just a wealthy man who happened to care for someone I just met. Is that a crime?”

I chose my words carefully, not wanting her to have a reason to lash out at her daughter. Vera didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of her frustration when it was me who had caused it.

“Well, since my daughter has yet to invite me to come and find these things out myself, I can only use my resources to do so.” She cleared her throat. “I would like to come stay for a while and find out exactly who it is my daughter has taken a fancy to.”

This woman… I couldn’t believe the one-eighty she did. “I’m sure you’ll have to speak to your daughter about that. I can’t give you permission to invade her life.”

“Well… I suppose I will have to use my own means, then. Good day, Mr. Smith. Please do not call me again.”

She hung up, and I was left laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. I had done nothing but take care of Vera since the moment I met her and her mother thought I was a crook. I closed my laptop and decided I’d had enough for one night. I wanted to climb in bed next to Vera and hold her. I didn’t know how many more nights I’d have like this, and I wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.

19

VERA

The landlord opened the door—barely. He had to throw his shoulder into the swollen wood to knock it open, and it creaked the entire way. He was proud of his property, but my insides were cringing with every sight I took in. I followed him into the tiny space and Midge followed me. We’d gotten lost on the way to the place and witnessed either a drug deal or a mugging—I wasn’t sure which. The streets were littered with trash. They were my first clues that I would hate this place.

“You’ll see through there that the bathroom has a claw-foot tub and shower. The pipes squeak a bit, but it’s normal in a building this age.” The landlord pointed the way as I ventured further into what I could only call a death trap. The look on Midge’s face could only be described as horrified.

Bare wires hung from the ceiling where a fan or chandelier used to hang. Cracks sprawled across the old plaster, piles of it on the floor beneath them indicating they were still spreading. The carpet was threadbare in places and stained, evidence that it hadn’t been changed in decades. The kitchen boasted an old sixties-style refrigerator that let out a hum and a stove that looked like it came straight out of the Great Depression.

“This place is twelve-hundred dollars a month?” Midge gawked at the mess and turned on me like a viper. I shrugged and tried not to let my disgust become too obvious to the man who stood to my left. I padded over to the bathroom and opened the door.

“Yes, well that’s the going rate here in town.” The man’s voice faded as I leaned into the small space.

The bathroom was damp, smelling like mold and old socks. The mirror was chipped and fogged. Broken bits of tile scattered around the floor were a hazard for bare toes, and the “claw-foot” tub was a relic that should have remained in a dump somewhere, chips in the ceramic and rust stains to boot. The toilet tank hissed as water constantly trickled through the lines into it. I was appalled.

“Thank you, Mr. Kline, for showing us the place.” I tried to remain positive as I turned around. The older man was balding, his eyes dim with age. His belly bulged a little and he stooped over as he walked. Even his body had seen better days.

“Can we talk about this privately?” Midge asked him, hooking her arm through mine.

“Oh, I don’t see why not.” He winked at us and retreated outside the door and shut it, and Midge attacked me like a large predator.

“Vera, you can’t be serious. This place is horrid. You are not moving in here.” She grabbed me by both elbows and shook me. She was right. It was perfectly horrid, and no one should live here, least of all an up-and-coming supermodel.

“It’s the only one available. The agency said nothing was coming up for several months and the waitlist is like a mile long with everyone who has been displaced after hurricane Bryan.” I sighed. I didn’t want to admit to her what I actually felt. To do so would be to admit defeat, to say I wasn’t as independent as I wanted to be. It meant going back to Lucas and telling him I was either spoiled or entitled.

“Okay, well I’m not letting you live here. This is gross. You could be electrocuted.” She pointed to the bare wires overhead where a light should be.

“Midge—”

“No, you just march right back home to Mr. Sugar Daddy and snuggle up. I mean, I’d rather have a sugar daddy and be loud and proud about it than to live like this. You saw that drug deal going down. Vera, roughing it is one thing. Living in filth is another. You’re used to living in the lap of luxury. You’re not going back to this.” She let go of me and walked to the window, pulling up the mini blinds. Bars braced the outside of the glass as if put there to protect those inside from what might try to venture in from the fire escape. “Aw, hell no.”

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