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Helen
Work was intensely difficult. Lisa didn’t mind that I showed up late, but everyone wanted to ask me about Roxy.
The stunning photos of the delicate, beautiful woman tied in purple rope had gone viral in our office. Everyone wanted to meet this model that graced the page with her extraordinary composure. Even some of our regular models expressed extreme jealousy. I just smiled and told them Roxy hadn’t been in many publications yet, that was why they hadn’t seen her in anything.
The pictures kept popping up, on my desk, in my email, in the break room. People were gushing about her relaxed pose and calm but energized expression. Roxy just doesn’t get it—modelling isn’t easy. Holding a pose is something anyone can do, but to do it calmly but with good expression is extremely difficult.
I wish she had taken my compliments as they were given. I wish that I could take back all my words about dressing her ‘properly’ and telling her what to do with her time.
That’s just my training, the exact training that I’m trying to break. What is the ‘proper’ way to dress or act, anyway? I don’t know what I was thinking.
As the day winds to a close I feel completely exhausted, even though I came in late. I can’t wait to get home and lie down, although I suppose I’ll have to talk to Roxy first.
I wait for a cab as the wind starts to turn cold. Even though I’m still angry and frustrated, I can’t wait to see my girl.
We just need to talk. If she doesn’t want to model, I’ll be disappointed, but I can’t push that on her. Work dinners will be a thing. She can’t refuse every time. As for the wedding, she can plan it however she likes. So long as I’m standing next to her at the altar, that’s all that matters.
By the time I get out of the cab I’m practically singing. I nod to my doorman as I walk past, swinging my hips. My girl is upstairs and soon I’m going to talk to her and straighten out this whole damn mess.
When I open the door, I almost expect her to jump on me. Sexually or angrily, I’m not sure which. When I open the door and there is no sound at all, I feel terribly let down.
After standing there for a few seconds, I start to get scared.
Maybe she’s just in the bath.
I head up the hallway, waiting to hear splashes or singing. Nothing. The lights are off. Not there.
I go to the bedroom, really hoping—and expecting—that she will be waiting for me between the sheets.
The bedroom is dark. Not there.
I can feel my breath coming harder and shorter as my heart rate starts to rise. I get hot in the cheeks and I’m terrified because I don’t even know how to deal with this physical response to stress. I spent my whole life carefully guarding against it.
I talk myself down in the way I always have. She went for a walk, she’s just down the road, everything is fine.
I go for a shower and try to lose myself in the relaxation of the water, but it doesn’t help. I’m just far too tense. When I get out and put on some loose slacks and a top, I pace by the window.
I don’t even recognize myself.
I decide on a cup of tea. If it doesn’t soothe my nerves it will at least give me something to do. While the kettle build, I try a few texts, but Roxy doesn’t answer.
I’m too chicken to call.
While I make the tea, I decide to take a look at my stash. Whenever I have a hundred dollar note I stick it in the coffee can. Sometimes I put it in the bank, other times I’ll blow it on a big present for myself. A weekend at a spa, sexy new outfit, something like that.
Thinking about all the ways I can treat myself makes me feel better immediately. Maybe I can buy something for Roxy. Obviously, I won’t suggest a new outfit.
When I pull out the jar and open it, the money isn’t there.
I frown at it uncertainly, as if all I have to do is glare and the money will reappear as easily as it vanished. I know it was here.
I start opening jars like crazy. Why do I have so many different types of coffee! By the time I’m done I have about twenty jars in front of me, coffee, sugar, tea. Not one of them has the wad of cash.
Every note was a hundred. There was several thousand dollars in there. I was thinking about going on a cruise. Where the fuck did it go? Money doesn’t just get up and walk away!
But Roxy does.
From the stories she’s told, she’s really good at it, too.
