Page 46 of Dark Ugly Places

“Yeah, but he won’t be covering,” Agnes says patiently. “And I’ve talked to them. So has my assistant. We won’t let them run it like last time.”

“But see, this is where I have a problem, Agnes.” More pacing. Jason flicks his hands through his unwashed hair. Bambi’s nose wrinkles. “You already let them run the piece before, and that shit was very, very damaging to my career.”

Agnes clears her throat and coughs. “I know, sweetie, but this time will be different. Just be your charming, lovable self, and it will be great.”

“No,” Jason half shouts down the phone. “Fuck them and their review. I’m not doing it. They can fuck right off!”

Bambi goes outside. Jason’s raised voice echoes through the house. So, what’s next then? Finish shouting and come outside for a swim? Drink until the haze in his eyes creates the illusion of contentment? But something will stir him, upset him—as it always does—and Bambi will have to deal with the aftermath.

Bambi walks the perimeter of the pool, a decision forming in her mind far away, like the marine layer rolling in off the coast, enveloping her slowly, distantly, so imperceptible she hardly notices. But it’s there, nonetheless. Inside the house, Jason hangs up the phone and comes outside, the ice in his glass tinkling from across the pool. He stands watching her, his stare icy and yet alluring. Bambi shivers, but not from the cold. She feels the painful creep of desire forming in her belly, the feeling of wanting to be wanted by him.

Stupid Bambi, she chastises herself. But she can’t shake the deep-rooted desire to please, to be close, to feel loved. Or Jason’s version of love. A wave of exhaustion forces her to sit at the edge of the pool, her feet dangling into the water. Across the water, Jason silently removes his clothes and steps into the pool, leaving his drink at the side.

She watches him swim toward her, the strong arches and curves of his shoulders, the ripples of his back and chest. Bambi splashes the water, frustration mounting at herself for wanting this asshole.

He nears her and pulls himself through the water until he’s parallel with her legs.

“Everything okay?”

He pulls himself to her through the water, embraces her legs, and rests his head on her shins. “Everyone’s out to get me, Bambs.”

He turns his head, kissing her legs lightly, the scent of alcohol on him.

For a moment, she collapses into the feeling of him touching her. Her legs part. She feels him kissing her inner thighs, pulling up her dress until his mouth is closer and closer to her center.

“Jason,” she says, pushing him away with her hands. “Not here. Come on.”

But he doesn’t stop. Bambi angles back as his hands grip her bottom, his mouth consuming her. She tries to pull herself away, the fabric of her dress tearing beneath her on the wet concrete.

His strength overwhelms her, and Bambi cannot resist. She leans back, taking in the sensation of him, his wet hands caressing her. After a few moments, she gives in, holding the back of his head near her, unable to speak or to move for the pleasure.

“I want you,” he whispers and pulls her down into the water. Her dress floats eerily to both sides of her, the white fabric like a ghost on the water as Jason pulls her toward him once more.

Twelve a.m. Upstairs, the house is cool and quiet, as if no one lives there. In her office, the sound of the crickets and the coos of a few birds drift in with the night air through an open window.

She sits and flips open her laptop to check her email. Her inbox is flooded with replies to her ad. One by one, she clicks through them, most of them duds with shady email addresses and single-sentence replies that she can’t wait to delete. Her heart sinks. She should have known. She’s about to give up when she sees one final message. Its content catches her off guard.

Congratulations, you have met your woman. I’m everything you listed and more. Give me the chance to show you why in person. Strong. Yes, I’m a Goliath. Sweet, only when I need to attract certain bees with honey. Pretty enough, according to my daughter (I’m a single mom), and highly educated, thanks to the school of life. I live nearby and can be the reliable, solid chick you are looking for. Just ask my therapist …

Kidding.

Seriously, though, I won’t flake, I don’t take kindly to losing—never have—and I don’t smoke weed. I’m a top-notch organizer, and I will take care of business the right way. I can be there for an interview; just say the word.

Also … I’m a professional. I always do my utmost without ego, without drama, without oversight. Let me make your life easier and take the hard stuff off your plate.

Thank you for your consideration. Hugs and kisses,

Martha

Bambi never got gut feelings, and if she did, she’s very used to ignoring them. But something about this letter is different. Something is telling her to call this woman, this Martha. She jots down her name and number into her phone, pops two Ambiens, washes her face, and sets a reminder to call her first thing in the morning.

21

Nicola

The hum of lawn mowers outside wakes me. Downstairs, Emmy must be making toast. I wince, thinking of my daughter alone with her—Martha. She’s still nearby.

My esophagus burns, and my stomach feels sour. There’s something lurking in my awareness that makes me feel uneasy, but I can’t recall precisely what. Moments later, I remember: Martha sold my engagement ring. Fuck! How did I not notice until now? I sit up and feel the empty place on my ring finger, the subtle indentation of the lines from where it was. Instinctively, I reach for an Imitrex and my morning Topamax, but then I remember. Thanks to Martha, they’re all gone, too.