Damaged

Sophia

I went back to the Stone Age last night and used my fingers to masturbate. No shame. It worked. It just took a little longer, and the tendons in my hand are sore this morning. I needed a release.

I’m in my longest dry spell of my adult life.

I was going on a couple dates with a cute guy named David last fall, but it fell apart before we got intimate. After that, I just stopped caring.

Then Hailee moved, so the three of us girls weren’t going to the bars on the weekend. It all made for the perfect storm. Or drought, I should say.

I haven’t even been that in-tune to it until now. Sex isn’t always on my mind. I’ve never even had what I would call great sex. Jake and I rotated three positions. It was getting a little stale towards the end. But that’s probably because he was having sex with someone else. Mediocre sex. Now that we’re not dating, I’ll admit he was selfish in bed, a little unimaginative.

I figure if there’s a man who knows what he’s doing with a woman, it’s James. I mean hell, I’ve gotten several five-star reviews from women through my ceiling.

Either they’re phenomenal actresses or the man can fuck. I think it’s the latter. And that’s what I need—to get fucked.

Used.

I want to be sore in the morning but not have it be my damn hand.

I’m not usually this horny while getting ready for work in the morning. Touching myself didn’t douse the fire. Masturbating just stoked the flames.

I go down to the lobby, and the same white Rolls Royce is already waiting. James is wearing a dark suit with a sky-blue dress shirt. It’s unbuttoned at the top so I can see the tan skin of his broad chest.

I have to look away. I greet both him and Brock business-like, trying to forget about James’s hand on my butt last night.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” James says. “Ready?”

I pat my olive satchel bag with my laptop in it. “All set.”

We get in the Rolls Royce and drive along the Nile heading south. I can catch a couple glimpses of the Pyramid of Giza to the east. I’m going to have to visit them up close, because from this distance and to my New York City brain, they look like mere Legos.

Nobody talks during the drive. I notice that Brock is too busy keeping his eyes on the rearview mirror and nothing else.

Is it that big of a risk that we’re being followed?

After about forty-five minutes, we reach a gate made from one single mass of solid steel. It’s painted rusty brown and is the size of an elephant. The white stone walls on either side tower another five feet above it.

This place is a fortress.

The gate swings open slowly. Its labored movement alone suggests the sheer weight of all the metal.

On the other side is about what I was expecting. There’s a circular drive with a white stone mansion on the far side of it. It shines, blinding in the sun, reflecting the heat. There are military trucks parked off to the side.

Two men in camouflage, with tall black boots and long rifles, stand smoking. The car comes to a stop, and a bald old man in a white suit opens the doors for us.

James and I both regroup on the path leading to the front door.

“Mr. Callaway. Welcome. Mr. Karim is waiting for you in the library. If you would follow me, please.”

He opens the main wooden door, which is about as tall as a basketball hoop. The foyer that’s revealed has a chandelier that rivals the gate in sheer size. A dual staircase descends from the second story on both sides of the wall.

We go upstairs, and the halls are all very wide and sparsely furnished. What furniture there is, hall tables and random leather sofas, looks miniature under the high ceilings.

The butler opens the door to the library and stands back to let us enter.

Inside, it’s like I’m in the hold of a cargo ship. In the middle is a table about twenty feet long, and on either side of it are lines of tall bookshelves. Each is filled with hundreds of leatherbound books.

Green bankers’ lamps, open books, and piles of others sit out on the table.

I smirk. This place is literally just like I had imagined.

We approach the table, where a young man stands with his hands clasped behind his back. He turns, revealing himself to be extremely young.

Twenty. Not even. His cheeks are pocked with acne scars, and he has a black mustache with visible gaps between every hair.

“Hello. You must be Mr. Callaway. I am Edward,” he says with an English accent. He offers James his hand, but James is slow to take it.

Edward looks and sounds like he’s of mixed heritage. Egyptian and English.

James cuts right to it. “Where’s your father?”

“He’s in prayer but will be out shortly. I hope you brought a lot of money with you. The artifacts we are looking to let go of won’t be cheap. As you know, the government likes taking the most historically valuable pieces, but we’ve found a way around that.”

“Money is not a problem,” James says, his tone short. “This is my assistant, . She’ll be appraising the pieces.”

I hold my hand out for Edward to shake, but he just stares at it. The corner of his mouth snarls a little as he finally takes it. He doesn’t shake. Just puts his hand in mine for a second and then lowers his to his side.

“You think you know Egyptian history?” he asks with a condescending smile stretching his lips.

“Well enough.”

“You went to college?”

“Yes.” I narrow my eyes at this kid.

“That’s too bad. A woman so pretty should not be concerned with the world of men.”

I look at James, wondering what my ability to talk back is here. I don’t want us to lose this deal, but I’m not going to stand and take this. There’s a flame in James’s eye, like he wants to fillet Edward.

I watch him close his eyes and take a deep breath. “Listen, kid. The last time I was here, you were crying because your dad took your Xbox away. You run your mouth again to her, and I’m taking my belt to your ass right here. Now where’s your dad?”

Edward goes white with fear. “Papa!” he yells, like he’s suddenly a kid again, and trots scared to the door.

What looks to be Mr. Karim himself walks in at the same time. He’s an older man with a graying beard and ballooning belly. I’m afraid we’re about to have the guards with rifles sprung on us, but instead Karim grabs his son by the ear and twists.

“Why did my friend have to threaten you with his belt? Huh? I’m sorry, James.”

“He was disrespectful to my assistant,” James says.

“Of course,” Karim says. “I listened to his mother and sent him to school in England to be a gentleman. Instead, he comes back from the west talking about being an alpha male . You would’ve learned better manners in Egypt! What do you say to the woman?”

“I’m sorry,” Edward whines.

His dad lets him go, and he flees the room.

“James.” Karim widens his arms, and the two give each other a big hug. “How’ve you been?”

“Getting richer.”

“Good, my boy! Good!” He looks at me and points at James. “That is what I told him he should be doing the last time he was here. Make more money.” Karim gives a toothy, charismatic smile, and then he takes my hand and shakes it vigorously. “And you are?”

“ Simms. I’ll be doing some appraisal estimates.”

“Very nice to meet you, . Apologies for my boy. You can only do so much. I’ve learned the minds of young men will always be shaped by other young men. And unfortunately, the stupid ones at that. A tragedy. Now!” He points to the back of the room. “Let us see the collection, shall we?”

He struts to the back of the room and stops in front of a bookshelf. He widens his arms. “Open sesame!” he says, and from somewhere deep in the bookshelf comes a tectonic click and then it swings open.

“Do you like that? Voice-activation software. It cost ten thousand dollars, but worth every penny. I am Ali Baba!”

James and I are both grinning. Karim has that big guy charisma that makes it hard not to like him, although I’m sure his fortune was made with rather questionable, and dark, methods.

He turns on a light switch, and my mind goes blank. Everything in front of me is glittering.

Everything is gold. The middle of the room is all gilded statues, ornaments, and bowls. The left wall of the room is a line of black basalt sarcophaguses, while on the right wall lie hunks of granite carved with hieroglyphics.

It’s a literal treasure trove.

“Oh my God,” I whisper.

“Impressive, yes? But it’s not just the items here. I take better care of it than the government. You see those.” He points at pipes running along the ceiling. “Top-of-the-art sprinkler system. And it’s climate controlled to keep out moisture.”

“I don’t know where to start,” I say.

“Lucky for you, it’s not all for sale. I have set aside some pieces in particular.”

Karim walks to the left wall, next to a towering sarcophagus that has been painted with a full-size depiction of the god Horus. His bird brow is narrowed like he’s angry.

I would not want to be left alone in here overnight.

“Are there any mummies in the collection?” I ask.

“No, no, no. I gave them all to the scientists. Although I’ve gotten strange offers. Apparently many still believe eating them gives one ancient healing properties.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Anyway, they don’t taste very good. Like sandy beef jerky, if you ask me.”

I stare ahead wide-eyed, and Karim grins.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I’ve never tried one. No one sells mummies to eat anymore. Bad juju. But every time I go to the palace, I still must tell that damn royal family No . No mummies to eat! Every single year. Then they look at me like I’m Dodi Fayed.” He ticks his tongue.

I expect him to say he’s kidding again, but from the frustration in Karim’s expression, I don’t think he is.

“Anyway. I have had an independent team do appraisals on these pieces based on comparables that have sold in the last five years. We will compare your estimates, , and hopefully strike a deal.”

“Sounds great.” I beam.

Karim turns to James. “How about some tea, James? I think I’d like to buy your updated software package, but you still must talk me into it.”

“Deal,” James says.

“We will be in my study. This will take you a couple hours, yes?” Karim asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“Perfect. I will have a man in the library waiting, ready to show you the way to us.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you! I have too much of this nonsense. I give it to a museum, and it goes in the back room with ninety-nine percent of the other artifacts. Might as well make some cash.”

I just nod, and James and Karim walk out, leaving me with the circle of artifacts that are left for appraisal.

I can see right away that there are artifacts from several different centuries. Golden statues of different gods ranging from the size of my palm to reaching my thigh. There are marriage scarabs from the Eleventh, Thirteenth, and Eighteenth Dynasties. A sword with lapis lazuli laid in the hilt.

Finally, there’s a golden amulet lying on felt. An emerald the size of a silver dollar glitters in the center.

I open my satchel and snap on a pair of white latex gloves before lifting it and holding it up to the light.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever held.

My mouth is open. My eyes water. Holding this amulet is single-handedly the highest moment of my professional career. It would fetch millions .

It’s the kind of thing that would get a Daily Mail article about it before it went to auction.

This crap is priceless. I’m nervous as can be. I can’t decipher the value of these items on their own.

I set the amulet down and do what I was planning to do all along—base my appraisals on recent comps, too. Maybe even the same comps Karim’s appraisers used.

I sit cross-legged and take my laptop out. I sit with my computer on my legs as it searches for a signal. None. No Wi-Fi to choose from.

I go back out to the library and set it on the table. Now there’s half a dozen to choose from. He must have a lot of foreign guests, because the names are in both Arabic and English.

I pick library and let out a sigh of relief when it connects with no password needed.

I pull up the auction records of artifacts I have already bookmarked, take out a pencil and paper to keep a ledger, and I get to work.

Two hours later, I’m still smiling. The artifacts elicit a childish sense of wonder. These things were touched and worn by pharaohs and princesses.

My hand is sore from writing by the time I’ve got my number, and it’s a big one. I double and triple check. Based on all auction records of similar Egyptian artifacts in recent years, I’ve got my closest number.

I go to the man Karim posted at the library door. It’s not the butler. From his suit coat and earpiece, he’s some kind of security. He leads me to an open-air room where Karim and James sit across from each other in leather chairs, smoking cigars. Even though a ceiling fan whirls at full speed, I can still feel how hot the day has gotten.

“I’ve got my estimates.” I hold up my notebook.

James looks over at me. He doesn’t respond right away, as his eyes dance over me from head to toe.

It looks like he’d forgotten I was here and was happy to see me. I watch him break the trance and lean towards the ashtray to snuff out his cigar. He holds his hand out to Karim, and they shake. “I’ll review them and get back to you with our final offer. Tomorrow.”

“Wonderful, James.”

Karim stands to shake my hand, too. He says his goodbyes here and stays put as we’re led out of the house and back to the air-conditioned Rolls Royce.

“So, what now?” I ask. “Would it be crazy to try to go see some crocodiles?” Ever since realizing that such deadly predators live in the river, the idea of trying to see one has fascinated me.

James lifts one brow at me. “You don’t want to go to the pyramids? Or the Museum of Antiquities?”

I squint to think about it. The pyramids would be cool. So would the museum. But for some reason, seeing a riverbank with giant, dinosaur-sized reptiles sunning themselves on it sounds cooler. “I mean, sure. But you don’t care for animals?”

“Sure, I do. I have a cat.”

“You do not have a cat. That’s the least James Callaway thing I’ve ever heard. Besides, your apartment may be big, but cats love me. And I never saw one when I was there.”

“Big Kitty lives in the country.”

“Big Kitty?”

“I didn’t name him,” James says quickly. “He was my drunk uncle’s cat. He ended up moving to rural Pennsylvania before he passed, and when he died, I bought his house so Big Kitty didn’t have to go to the pound.”

“Who lives there now?”

“Big Kitty.”

“What? You’re confusing me. You mean the cat?”

“Yeah. That’s his name. And I just said. It’s his house now.”

“He’s alone?”

“Trust me. He prefers it that way. I tried to hire a cat sitter and almost got sued. He’s never cared much for people. A relatable trait. I’ve visited once or twice, but I was still an unwelcome guest. The cat sitter is part-time now. Wears gloves and a parka even in the summer.”

“So, he’s safe just chilling there?”

James tilts his head back, like my question is ludicrous. “Nobody messes with Big Kitty.”

I’m silent for a moment. I look at James’s face, searching for the hint of a grin. That this is a joke. But there’s nothing.

“Okay, so let’s be clear. You don’t have a cat. You have a feline tenant.”

“Sure, but I respect his autonomy. I don’t not like animals. Don’t label me that way.”

“Alright,” I say. “Fair enough.”

“But we’re not going to see any crocodiles. Karim scheduled a meeting for me to meet the Deputy Minister of Defense. They might be interested in some firewall product of ours. I’m going to be dropped off. The car will continue to take you to the hotel. The driver has worked for Karim for thirty years. I trust him, but Brock has to come with me.”

“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”

James doesn’t ask me how the appraisal went. He doesn’t ask me for the price estimates, and I don’t offer. I have a hunch he’s purchasing no matter what. He’s busy with something on his phone, and before I know it, he’s getting out of the car. No goodbye or I’ll see you for dinner .

He does turn back though. “Copy those appraisals into an email and send them to me.”

“Of course,” I say.

James just shuts his door.

It looks like Icy Hot is back.