Lucky
Calliope Bradford-Clarke
I insert my key and my apartment door swings open. Reaching into my purse, I arm myself with pepper spray and stare into the dark space.
Did I forget to lock up this morning?
It’s hard to say. Every day blends into the next. Today, I made coffee and fed Dyna or she would’ve complained. I took the campus shuttle, worked in the lab, and in the blink of an eye, my day was over.
“Hello? Anyone here?” My boots tap-tap on the linoleum as I work my way through the kitchen and into the living room.
My breath sounds too loud in the eerie silence and when I flip on the lamp, something hits my shoulder. Holy crap! It takes a full five seconds to stop screaming and realize it was just my cat. Dyna scrunches under the couch and peers at me with her yellow eyes wide.
“You almost gave me a heart attack.” I squat and pat her head until she purrs with her eyes closed. Then, I glance up and freak.
What the hell?
I generally prefer my artwork on my wall but it lies haphazardly all over my living room floor. Scarier still, above the mantel, my safe is open.
Oh shit. What if someone’s still lurking? I grab Dyna and dash back into the hall. Then, I take out my cell phone, push nine-one, and stop right there.
I can imagine what will happen next. I’ll say, “This is Calliope Bradford-Clarke calling to report a break-in.” I’ll give the operator my address. Soon after, the chief of police will call the mayor who’ll inform my mother.
No, no, no.
It pains me but there’s only one person I can trust to come at this late hour. I inhale deeply and text Gerry.
Me: Someone broke into my apartment.
Ger: B there in 5
Me: TY
This is stupid. Whoever broke in is long gone or Dyna wouldn’t purr contentedly at my feet. Or, perhaps I’m dead and this is hell. With that cheerful thought in mind, I grip my mace, check the hall closets, and under the bed. When I swing back the shower curtain, I shudder as I picture Janet Leigh in Psycho.
Thank God, there’s no crazy guy with a knife in my apartment so I bolt the door and wait.
Two cups of chamomile tea later, Gerard bangs on my apartment door. “Callie? You in there?”
“Just a sec.”
He continues his assault on the wood as I peer into the tiny peephole to verify no one’s holding a gun to his head. I guess I took too long because by the time I open the door, Gerard seems fit to be tied.
That’s why you shouldn’t’ve called him.
Thank you very much, Captain Obvious.
When he steps into my kitchen, Dyna hisses, bats a paw at his ankle, and darts under the couch.
“Stupid cat.” Gerard brushes off his pant legs, his gaze drifts to my living room, and his mouth drops open. “My God, did they get your earrings?”
“No, they’re in my safety deposit box.” Annoyed he asked about them before me, I grab my covered bridge canvas and step onto my couch.
I stretch the wire over the nail head and think. The state of the room bothers me. My pictures were moved and yet nothing else was touched. Clearly, the thief, or thieves knew I had a safe in the living room, just not where.
I make a mental note to tell the police chief. That is, if and when I decide to call.
Gerard helps me off my sofa and pulls me into an unexpected kiss.
“Don’t.” I shove at his chest. “Jeesh. We’ve talked about this.”
“Right. We’re friends.” He uses air quotes on the last word and laughing, tugs on a short lock of my blond hair like he did in grade school.
However, I’m not amused. He needs to get it through his thick skull we’re not a couple and this is not a booty call.
When his hand slips to my butt, I slap it away. If his frown is any indication, maybe he’s getting a clue.
Absent-mindedly, he plays with the safe door while I cringe, thinking of ruined evidence and fingerprints. “How long ago did you call the police?”
“I didn’t.” Mother will have conniptions.
“I could stay, if you like.” His smile creeps me out and I hope he doesn’t notice.
I need his damn approval to publish my thesis. As much as I wish it was different, sex with him was abysmal.
“Please Gerry…”
When his eyes flash with anger, I try not to get mad. After all, I was the one who called him.
“Dammit, Calliope. Just call.” Turning, he stomps down the hall, through my living room, and into the kitchen. A chair scrapes roughly across the tiles and I give him a moment before I follow.
His brown eyes glare at me through lowered lids as I sit and clunk my forehead on the table. I got an IQ over one-sixty and people skills, near zero. There’s not much I can do about either.
“Fine.” I press nine-one-one and as predicted, it’s hours before I can heave an exhausted sigh and crawl into bed.
It seems like seconds later when my alarm goes off. Picking up the cheerful chirping, I aim, about to throw it across the room.
What’s this? Surprise, surprise. There’re six incoming calls from my mother and at least as many texts. What a wonderful way to start my day.
My brain screams for coffee so I use the bathroom, a pod goes into the Keurig, and a carton of half-and-half comes from the ’fridge. After guzzling down my first cup, I start on a second, and auto-dial my mom.
Before I get a ring tone, she begins, “Why didn’t you call me?”
“It was late.”
Hello to you, too, mom. Nice to hear your voice. “Better I hear what happened from the mayor? Finding out you were robbed? What will my garden club think?”
Here we go… With the speaker on and the microphone muted, I set my phone on the kitchen table. In the bedroom, I dress to ‘Mom’s Tirade Symphony in A Major.’
I bet it’ll take at least five minutes for her to notice I haven’t responded.
“… party and how do you think it looks? I’ve checked social media and you have over a hundred thousand hits and the sun isn’t even up yet. Every year I work so hard…”
In truth, publicity can only help her charity but I know better than to barge in. Instead, I slip on a pair of comfortable leggings, don a long sweater, and brush my hair.
Putting on my makeup, I shout out when she pauses. “Yes, I’m listening. Just multi-tasking.”
After a little blush and lip gloss, I check in my bedroom’s full-length mirror and sigh. Nobody looks great on four hours of sleep.
A new variation on her old theme grabs my attention so I rush into the kitchen.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I said I’m hiring you a bodyguard.” Her smug tone has a matching expression which I picture clearly.
Acid burns away at my stomach lining. “But mother, I always use Bert and he’s agreed to come.”
“That old coot was fine when no one was actually targeting you, dear. But really, for a Rhodes scholar, you can be so oblivious. I’ve called the best in the business, Grayson Patten, and signed a contract.”
How she got ahold of the billionaire before normal business hours is beyond me. No doubt, she called someone who called someone else who knows his wife. Then, I bet my mom had no problem calling him at home.
“Mother, I’m not going to have a gorilla looming over me all evening. Surely, even you can see how it’d put a damper on your ball.”
“I couldn’t agree more and told Grayson to find someone suitable to act as your escort.”
Volcanic steam hisses out the top of my head, my ears, and my mouth. This time, she’s gone too far.
“I will not have some thick-headed, ignorant, hairy orangutan on my arm all evening. Besides, I already invited someone.”
Okay, I lied, but even if I have to empty my checking account, I’ll find the perfect escort. I know a couple of gay friends who’ve mentioned they’d love getting their picture taken in pantaloons and an iron codpiece.
“Now dear, just explain it all to Gerry. He’ll understand.”
“I’m not going with Gerard.”
Everyone knows if you roll your eyes often enough, they’ll eventually get stuck. So, while I check the mirror, my mother’s voice goes up a notch. “Who then? That married professor? Please, dear, use some discretion.”
“Arrggh! For the last time, I didn’t know he was married and Alan was years ago.”
“Well, once you’ve tasted the forbidden fruit…”
For crying out loud, this conversation needs to end.“I’m late for work. I need to go.”
“I’ll have Grayson text you the details.”
Of course, she’s on first name basis with the billionaire. No doubt she also knows he funds my department and I’d never put my project in jeopardy.
“So long, mother.” I click the red icon.
Then, me and Dyna glare at the phone and pray it doesn’t ring again.