Chapter 18 – Aricia
Chapter Eighteen
Aricia
Ireturn to my office after a lengthy trip downstairs to find Inessa cowering in a corner with her knees tucked up against her chest and Rana standing over her menacingly. The janitor won’t be up here for another twenty minutes to clean the blood on my desk… or splattered on the walls.
I’ll just tell him a client had a nosebleed and hope he doesn’t ask too many questions. My office smells like Inessa’s trashy perfume and fear. The adrenaline makes the room putrid and I want this space to return to being a safe one rather than a potential crime scene.
“This isn’t over,” Inessa slobbers over herself as she scrambles to her feet once I open the door. She yanks down her shirt and fumbles with the minimal extensions Rana left intact while slamming her head into the desk.
Rana folds her arms, staring down at her with fierce satisfaction that is almost enough to get me high too.
Even if I have to be the adultier-adult in this situation and not encourage Rana to beat her ass.
Inessa sniffles and snatches her brown folder and flinches as Rana lunges towards her just to taunt her one last time.
Rana doesn’t stop her escape this time and I hold the door wide open for Inessa to leave. Just looking at her makes me physically sick, but Rana’s victory feels like it belongs to me too. I can’t beat Inessa’s ass, but I can sure as heck enjoy watching it happen.
“It’s over today,” Rana says. “Now get out, before I deflate your other implant.”
Inessa yelps a little and then runs down the hallway, dragging open the door to the staircase emergency exit as she speeds down the stairs. Rana and I listen as her heels clunk awkwardly down the stairs.
“She’s gone,” Rana says, exhaling with relief.
“How badly did you hurt her?”
Rana shows me her knuckles and I grimace. My higher self knows that I shouldn’t have encouraged this, but there’s a part of me that swells with pride seeing how badly she cut herself up.
“It doesn’t hurt that bad. That psychopath deserved it.”
“That psychopath might come after us both in court.”
“Not if you tell your boyfriend from the bar.”
The boyfriend who got me pregnant? I can’t hide that Rana bringing up Peter stops me dead in my tracks. And he’s not my boyfriend. He’s not my anything. He’s just…
BZZT. BZZT.
“Is that him?”
“It’s my phone.”
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Rana says. I reach into the pocket of my navy blue wool work trousers and pull out my phone, trying to hide the rush of heat to my face that feels painfully obvious. It’s Peter. I silence the call and shove the phone back into my pocket.
“Peter is not my boyfriend. He’s… a client. Sort of.”
My heart throbs with guilt because of how distant my response is from the truth.
Peter isn’t even my client and he might not be my boyfriend either but…
I have feelings for him. Feelings that I shouldn’t let get ahead of me since we have the serious matter between us currently sitting without discussion.
“He is not a client. We have an associate on his brother’s case and he’s super hot and mobbed up. He could probably throw Inessa over Niagara Falls for you.”
“Peter is not a criminal. I don’t think he would–”
I can’t look Rana in the eye and lie through my teeth to her.
Despite what people think, being a good defense attorney is less about outright lying and more about presenting an alternate version of the facts.
On some level, you have to buy your own bullshit and I can’t pull that off right now, not a situation I find myself in often.
Rana grins. “He totally would. Can I ask him?”
“No. Do not ask him.”
“Why isn’t he your boyfriend yet? Can I ask about that?”
“I’m going to take you to my house and clean your wounds. Then we’re going to discuss what happened here and come up with a reasonable solution to my ex-husband’s mistress storming into my office and making threats.”
“Do you think she’s actually pregnant?” Rana asks, clearly concerned about Inessa’s threats.
I’m concerned too, but the pregnancy part doesn’t shock or offend me anymore than I was shocked or offended the first time I realized what Kennard was up to.
And he’s dead, facing no consequences and making my life a living hell.
Maybe I should let his stupid ass mistress expose him…
I shrug. Who knows if she’s telling the truth. I’m still in shock from the splattering of blood on my desk and now that I look closely, there are hair extensions everywhere. Rana didn’t go easy on her.
“That would be the least surprising piece of information I learned about Inessa at this point,” I mutter. “Let me get my bag and talk to the front desk.”
“Gotcha,” Rana says, gleaming with excitement that can only come from successfully whooping someone’s ass who truly deserves it. “This is the best job ever.”
I shake my head and try “For the record, you’re not allowed to do that ever again at work.”
“Am I going to get a write up?”
“Hm. More like a raise.”
“Yes,” Rana says with an excited hiss. “I knew it… If there’s anyone else you need me to fight outside of work… that was kind of a rush.”
“Maybe you should join the mob.”
“Oh my God is he actually in the mob?” Rana asks, lowering her voice and looking up at me with wide, dark eyes.
“No. He’s not,” I say, barely sounding like I believe what I’m saying. “I mean… I mind my business, Rana. And you should too.”
“If this is what life is like after divorce, I need to hurry up and get married,” Rana says wistfully.
I raise my eyebrow, but she looks down at her phone and she’s lost to one of those apps young people use for the next few minutes while I pack my things.
She just barely wiped the blood off her knuckles, but the last thing I need is for those cuts that she shouldn’t have gotten in the first place to get infected.
Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.
My phone buzzes on the walk down to my car.
Rana asks if it’s Peter again, but I don’t check my phone.
I know it’s him. I don’t want to talk to him right now.
Inessa was a painful reminder of what happens when you let your guard down around a man – they let a psychotic white woman with a vendetta into your life…
I didn’t expect this from Kennard. He was supposed to be my black king and put black love first. Bzzt.
Bzzt. Maybe that sense of betrayal is the only thing drawing me to Peter.
I want to get one over on the man who hurt me in the worst way…
in a way that only seems to get worse the colder Kennard’s body gets in the ground.
There’s no way in hell I’m going to give Peter the chance to hurt me the way my ex-husband hurt me.
I’ll draft up an ironclad custody agreement, give him whatever he wants, and if we go through with this baby, we’ll do it in a mature business-like way appropriate for people our age.
We’re too mature to follow our passions to the ends of the earth.
And I’m too old to love again and have it end up the way it did with Kennard.
I was already born sensitive and I had to become tough because I happened to be born with a certain complexion and to have the drive towards a highly competitive career that wasn’t designed to accommodate women like me.
I don’t want to be an old woman chasing my husband’s dildo-wielding mistress across my front lawn.
I’m too damn tired. And I’m so tired of being tired.
I miss the black woman I used to be… who had hope in everything and who saw the future as bright and beautiful to behold.
Behind the wheel of my car, I put on an album that I could never admit to anyone at work I’ve listened to several times. Traumazine by Megan Thee Stallion.
Yes, Rana introduced me to the album, I didn’t learn how to be cool on my own.
But I listen to it whenever I’m alone and just drown out the bullshit going on with the voice of a black woman who chases her dreams and inspires me to be confident.
I wouldn’t dare to try rapping – I know my corniness limits – but I bounce my head along to the first song on the album, NDA, and enjoy the early drive home from work.
Maybe I should retire early…
Rana barely flinches when I clean her wounds with peroxide and analyze their extent. She has Inessa’s toothmarks on her arm too, so I have to clean those out and chastise Rana for not telling me she had a bite earlier.
“I don’t think she was rabid,” Rana grumbles. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
“I’m your boss. I shouldn’t have you fighting my battles in the first place. I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“Who cares?!” Rana says with surprising venom. I drop her hand and look at her seriously. She seems upset.
“You’re too nice, Aricia. I think Peter’s good for you.”
“We don’t know what Peter wants from me.”
“Ugh, I don’t know how people do this. I guess it’s better than the apps but… aren’t you… I don’t know… totally anxious!?”
“My ex-husband’s mistress showed up at my job and attacked one of my most dedicated employees and a loyal friend of mine. I’m not worried about my personal life right now.”
Bzzt. Bzzt.
“Even if your personal life is begging for attention?” Rana asks, examining and approving of her bandages.
“Peter is doing just fine. He’s just thirsty, like most single men his age.”
“If he’s thirsty, it’s because you’re a catch.”
“Rana…”
“I’m serious, Aricia! I want to be you someday… even if it probably means I’m never going to find love.”
“Don’t say that. Take time off. Go to Italy. I’ll update your contract if you need more time off to do something special.”
“I love my job. I don’t want to get on a plane and end up having to take a water slide down an exit ramp.”
“Then do a road trip.”
“Aricia… I’m fine. I’d much rather talk about your hot mafia boyfriend now that we’re away from the office.”
“We should be getting work done at my kitchen counter.”
“Can’t we talk about Peter?”
“We can talk about Peter once I log a full day’s work. Now… Are you going to stay, or do you want the rest of the day off?”
“Um… If I don’t stay, I can’t hold you to your word about Peter. You could turn your phone off and ignore all my annoying questions.”
She uncovered my plan, but at least Rana staying behind will help with my workload. She fills up both of our metal Stanley cups – I didn’t buy the strangely addictive-to-drink-out-of 64 oz monstrosity for myself, Rana got it for me, but the hydration helps me focus on my casework.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
Every hour, I have to ignore a call from Peter.
He doesn’t stop calling until some time after eight p.m. when I finally finish working and get Rana to order us some food before she heads home for the night.
She yawns as she scans through our dinner options on that app I barely understand how to use.
“Do you want pho?”
“Rana. You know I want chicken wings. Anywhere between fifteen and thirty.”
I honestly want thirty, but I don’t need my young, healthy employee judging me for the number of wings I can put back.
“Peter stopped calling,” Rana says.
“Did you put that order in yet?”
“Yes, Aricia. It takes like three seconds.”
“I don’t know how these apps work.”
“They’re not hard to use.”
“I have no interest in learning, Rana. There are simply too many apps and I won’t be chasing after new information the rest of my life. I went to law school, my brain is full.”
“Fair enough. I think my brain is rotted by my screen,” Rana says. “But I still think… You know, Aricia. You deserved so much better than Kennard. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I know, Rana. But thank you. It means a lot to hear it from someone else.”
“Are we screwed because we’re strong women?”
I smirk. “No. They’re screwed because they aren’t strong men. We are always going to be okay.”
Rana nods. “Okay”, she says. “But don’t use that as an excuse to keep your walls up.”
I want to listen to Rana, but it’s still so hard to imagine that I could stumble out of one nightmarish situation into someone worth spending the rest of my life with.
Considering how unlucky I got with Kennard, it doesn’t seem like my luck would start now, after his death and after his ex-mistress threatened me.
His pregnant ex-mistress. Like the situation I’m facing couldn’t get any worse.