Forget Me Not 1: DECEIVED Page 2

  What can such a perfect-looking and wealthy woman want to talk to a poor barista like me about? It’s not like she loved the way I pour the coffee out of the coffee machine and now wants to have me as her personal coffee-pourer.

  “I’d like to hire you as a nanny for my two kids,” she starts.

  “Excuse me?” Coffee-pourer would have been less awkward since she can’t possibly have a single idea about my child-care skills. For all she knows, I might be into child pornography and record her kids naked while bathing. Sick people are everywhere. That’s why a responsible parent should run background checks and call a variety of references to make sure her kids are safe. I assume safety isn’t on her priority list.

  “Yes,” she smiles and continues explaining with a gentle and friendly tone. “I need a nanny, but your main job won’t be exactly looking after my kids. They go to daycare from eight ‘til five and I’ll be with them and with you the rest of the time. You won’t really have to be their nanny in the real sense.”

  Her explanation makes me even more confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “I need you to pretend to be my children’s nanny, but your main duty will be…ahh, it’ll sound very strange and I apologize for that, but… I’ll need you to seduce my husband.”

  Just when I start rolling my eyes, she leans forward and holds my elbow with a careful tug of her hand. “Please, don’t go yet. Before you dismiss my proposal, it involves a lot of money. The kind of money that you could mean not ever having to work as a barista ever in your life again.”

  I swallow, curious and scared in equal amounts. She might be a Madame of a bordello on the lookout for her next virgin prostitute, for all I know. Only I’m not a virgin and prostitution is really the last resort I’d consider and that would be only if I were facing jail time for my debts.

  “My husband is a very wealthy man,” she continues. “And I want to divorce him. But I don’t want to end up with a measly alimony and child support. I want half of his assets and, because of our prenup, getting him to cheat on me is the only way I can get what I deserve.”

  I have serious doubts about her sight. Surely, it can’t be as good as her looks if she’s considering me appealing enough to seduce anyone, especially a rich man. She’s a solid ten on the attractiveness scale, and I’d be probably a five if I put on a revealing dress and get my makeup and hair done professionally. How can she expect me to seduce a husband who is used to her level of beauty? That is, if I were to accept her offer.

  “Ma’am, thank you for considering me for the job you have in mind, but I’m an ordinary girl. I might be poor, but I work my ass off so I don’t end up sucking someone’s dick on the street. What you’re offering me is exactly that. I won’t become a whore to your husband no matter how much money you offer me.”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Believe me, I love my husband and would remain married to him if it was up to me. But—” Her gaze falls on her hands on the table, and her lips begin trembling, signaling a sob that’s coming any second. “—He’s not the man I married. He’s always been very attractive, and he’s become very wealthy. But recently, he’s become the center of attention since he appeared as one of the hottest five up-and-coming businessmen of the nation in a popular magazine. He’s getting hundreds of love letters and emails every day from gorgeous women who are more than willing to become his whore for nothing. He probably wouldn’t marry me if I met him now. I don’t think he’s cheating on me at the moment, but he’s only human and will eventually succumb to his weakness. I don’t want to be unprepared when he does. I want to control it when the worst case scenario happens. I want my husband to cheat on me with you so I have proof of his adultery and can use it against him in court.”

  She straightens up and looks right into my eyes. “I love him very much, but this suspicion and the fear that he’ll leave me for another woman is killing me. I don’t want to be hurt. And the only way to avoid it is to have control of it.”

  She sounds genuine, and as silly as it may sound, I feel sorry for her. I take a long breath and glance up at her with a smile on my lips. “You don’t know if your husband will find me attractive. In fact, I can assure you he won’t even take a second look at me, if what you’re saying is true about beautiful women throwing themselves at him. I’m not pretty.” Hearing the truth about my looks from my own mouth makes my stomach churn in disgust. I don’t have money. I don’t have beauty in any sense. All I have is my drive to make it one more day in this ugly world without getting sick or having to beg someone else for food or shelter.

  “You might not be beautiful in the traditional sense, but I witnessed earlier how my husband sized you up and down. The way he looked at you reminded me of the first time he laid eyes on me. It made me sad catching him eyeing a young girl as if he could fuck you right there and then, if the circumstances allowed. Believe me, I’ve seen him surrounded by women, but never once saw him glancing at any of them the way he looked at you.”

  She must have a different idea about her husband’s attractiveness if he indeed looked at me for longer than half a second. I slip a hand out of my pocket and tug at the collar of my shirt in discomfort. “I don’t feel good about the prospect of becoming someone’s whore, a married man no less.”

  “Please, don’t dismiss my offer just yet. Your help will mean a lot to me, and I’ll reward you with a lot of money and other benefits. I have a wide network of friends, and if you want I can get you enrolled in a university of your preference, or get you a corporate job in addition to the money I’ll pay you. Whatever you want, I promise you’ll get it. And, if I didn’t misinterpret the way you checked out my husband, you liked him, too.”

  “I’m not sure you saw it right. I don’t check out customers. Ever.”

  “You do, my dear.” She gets her phone out of her bag and pushes it up close to my face. I glance down at the screen and see in embarrassment the picture of her husband, Magnetic Eyes, who tipped me sixteen dollar earlier. In my defense, my empty stomach and the shock of the offer had caused me to forget about the brief encounter with him.

  “He’ll give you the time of your life,” Loraine continues. “I can assure you that. He’s a sex god in bed.”

  “This is ridiculous. Sorry, but there’s no way I can have sex with your husband, no matter how sexy he is.” I push to my feet and start to head toward the entrance of the café. Chris must be already freaking out for having to attend the customers all by himself.

  “Wait,” she yells behind me, her voice loud enough to make my head turn. “Here. A thousand dollars in cash just so you think it over tonight.”

  My eyes land on the stash of money she drops on the table. A thousand dollars just like that? My goodness, how much money is she planning to pay me in exchange for my nonexistent dick-sucking skills? Her offer might be an insult to my dignity, but I won’t turn my back on money that basically requires nothing on my part. A thousand dollars means two months worry-free for me or finally buying a car and not being dependent on buses to get around in L.A.

  “Deal.” I nod, much too quickly, and walk back to the table to get the money before she realizes she’s practically throwing it away.

  She pushes the money toward me and then crosses her arms on her chest. “If you accept, I’ll hire you for five months, and you’ll get paid $4000 a month salary as a nanny. You’ll receive it no matter what. But, if you can get my husband to sleep with you and have photos to prove it, I’ll pay you another $200,000. I’ll say it again, the $20,000 from the nanny job will be yours no matter what.”

  She’s filthy rich but not very clever for not considering the possibility that I can basically attend her kids without even moving a finger to seduce her husband.

  As if reading my mind, she adds, “You’ll follow my plan verbatim in order to keep your job for five months. The minute I notice negligence from your side, you’ll find yourself out the door. That’s my only condition.”

  I let out a
long breath and grab the stash of money, glancing left and right to make sure none of my colleagues witness the transaction.

  “This is my card.” She places a business card on the table and gets up. “I’ll be expecting your call by this time tomorrow. Don’t make me wait too long.”

  “I won’t.” Slipping the card into the pocket of my apron along with the money, I watch her climb into a metallic-gray Mercedes parked in front of the café.

  CH 2

  ~

  After work, I gulp down a big Mac and wash it down with water. Nope, I can never consider myself rich enough to spend money on coke or juice when water will do.

  Staying hungry for almost a day and then eating way too quickly leaves me with a feeling of heaviness. I walk to the nearest bus stop and wait half an hour for the bus to come. The only silver lining is that it’s the only bus I need to take to go to Walmart. While waiting on the bus, I consider the happy thought that I now have the option to finally become a car owner. L.A. streets might be overflowing with cars as it is, but I’m tired of depending on busses for every little thing I do.

  During the twenty-minute ride, I set the alarm on my ancient cell phone and allow myself a little luxury of dozing off with dreams of not having to remain hungry for longer than a couple of hours and of having a small apartment where I don’t have to worry about the rent.

  The alarm of my phone goes off right before my stop, and I nearly jump off my seat, glancing around, disoriented. When I remember the thousand dollars in my backpack, a relaxed smile takes over my face. It feels good to have backup money.

  I don’t go overboard with shopping and just buy the basic minimums, save for a pound of grapes. God, I don’t remember the last time I ate grapes. It must have been half a lifetime ago. I doze off again on the ride home, hugging my backpack with the groceries in it tightly.

  My roommate, Monika, calls out as soon as I insert my key into the lock of the front door, not because she has laser-sharp hearing skills, but because we share possibly the smallest studio apartment in L.A. Our humble home consists of two beds, a plastic white round table, two plastic chairs, and a worn-out carpet that must be half a century old.

  “Lisa, finally you’re home,” she says with a weak voice and tries to sit up in her bed. She had a fever and was complaining about her stomach the whole night. We decided to wait it out before starting to think about a Plan B if she didn’t improve. It looks like it’s just gotten worse during my morning shift.

  I run to her bed and place my hand on her forehead, my mouth instantly opening in shock at the heat coming off of her skin. My one and only friend, the only person I consider family, has been suffering some kind of stomach flu on and off for the last two months, and I can’t help her. “Your fever is too high. We need to get you to a hospital.”

  She looks up at me with exhausted eyes, her skin pale and her whole body ready to fall back on the bed. “I can’t. I need to get ready for work.” Sliding her legs from beneath the sheet, she puts her feet on the floor. As soon as she stands, she collapses right back onto her mattress.

  I launch forward and grab her arms in a panic to prevent her from hitting her head on the iron headboard. “Are you crazy? You can’t work in this condition. I’ll call Azzam to tell him you’re sick.”

  Her eyes glare at me before they close. “No,” she whispers with the little energy left in her. “He’ll fire me if I don’t go to work today. Please help me to the bathroom so I can take a shower. I’ll feel better afterward.”

  “Yeah, right. Shower rinses away all the germs,” I say and immediately feel guilty for my sarcastic remark. “I’ll work your shift. He can’t fire you if you get the work done one way or another. He won’t even know. But, we have to get you to the hospital first.”

  “I don’t have the money.” Her face cringes and soon tears start flowing down her cheeks as she lays on her side, her head heavy on the pillow.

  My heart aches for her and the hopeless way she feels. Sickness is our one big enemy. We can handle almost everything else, work our asses off, live in shitty places to avoid high rent, eat only simple sandwiches, but when sick, our lifeline closes down. Without the cash flow, we’re useless and the risk of becoming homeless multiplies every minute we’re in bed…not to mention the major medical expenses we face. When we were foster kids, we had the case workers and our foster parents to attend to our illnesses, but now we’re all alone without anyone wasting a second worrying about our problems.

  “The free clinic here is overbooked for the next two weeks, and I don’t have the stomach to ride three buses to go to the one in Hollywood,” she explains.

  I move down and sit at the edge of her bed, remembering the cash I have in my backpack, money that we can use to get a taxi. “Don’t you worry about the commute!” I squeeze her foot and explain to her quickly about the strange encounter I had with the wealthy lady who wants me to seduce her husband. Some people have really pleasant problems.

  Then, I get up to empty my backpack in the kitchen, find clean clothes for Monika, and help her change so we can get her the medical care she needs as soon as possible.

  Nothing beats the comfort of riding in a taxi. Without the hustle of walking to the bus stop, fighting with the other passengers over one available seat, or the nauseating body odors, the forty-minute ride to Hollywood is like an afternoon of fun at an amusement park, except for the painful aftermath of having to separate from sixty dollars for the taxi fare.

  I help Monika out and slide my arm around her to help her walk through the sliding doors of the free clinic. As expected, a sizable portion of the patients waiting to be treated are homeless, which I have nothing against, except for the repulsive smell. Still, I can sit close to them and wait for our turn, but Monika’s stomach is too delicate, and she urges me to find her a bathroom to throw up in, the second we step into the waiting room.

  I hold her ponytail and her waist to support her as she launches for the toilet bowl. The thought of the millions of germs in this very public and very dirty bathroom makes me feel sick to my own stomach. How much worse must my poor friend be feeling? At least, nothing comes out of her empty stomach that can make the water inside the bowl splash up on us.

  After her stomach settles down a bit, I wash her face with cold water and walk her back to the waiting room. This time, though, we make sure to cover her nose with napkins to help her avoid smelling any bad body odor.

  We wait four hours for a whopping ten minute medical consultation and a prescription for antibiotics and a suggestion of drinking extra fluids, exactly the same story we had the last time Monika had to see a doctor for her stomach problem. I try to raise my concerns about Monika’s repeated episodes of illness despite the bottles of antibiotics she has consumed, but the doctor repeats her suggestions as if my words mean nothing.

  Out of the clinic and on our way to a supermarket to get the prescription filled, I try to convince Monika to go to a paid walk-in clinic. She shakes her head adamantly and grabs a box of saltines in the supermarket before heading for the pharmacy.

  CH 3

  ~

  The taxi ride back home isn’t as much fun as the first round because I’m fairly sure the doctor hasn’t diagnosed Monika’s illness correctly and the prescription won’t help her recover and may even make her condition worse. She needs to see a doctor who’s not in a hurry to see the next patient and will take the time to get to the bottom of her illness. But, that requires money that we don’t have.

  After helping Monika into her bed, I bring her a glass of water and the bottle of antibiotics. With weak hands, she pops a pill into her mouth and gulps down the water. It takes a whole five seconds before she covers her mouth and shoots me a glance of urgency. I grab the bucket beside her bed and hold it beneath her face while she throws up. So much for the antibiotics.

  Heart-wrenching sobs follow her violent pukes. “What’s going on with me? I can’t even take a medication to recover.”

  I run to
the bathroom to get her a wet towel and wipe her face before helping her lie on the bed. “Give yourself a little time. You’ll be fine. ” I try to control myself to restrain the sob pushing up my throat but can’t help the tears streaming down my face. Oh, God! Is there anything worse than the feeling of hopelessness?

  Her breathing shallow and restless, she closes her eyes and buries her head in the pillow. “Please take my shift today. They’ll fire me if those rooms don’t get cleaned before midnight.”

  Although leaving her alone in such a weak condition is the last thing I want to do, I can’t argue with her. Albeit low-paid, hers is a steady job and her boss promised to include her in the health insurance plan once she completes half a year of employment, five months of which she already has under her belt.

  Reluctantly, I phone her co-worker at the hotel where she works as a maid and tell her I’ll be taking over Monika’s shift for today. With thoughts of Monika’s illness filling my mind, I hop on the bus to the hotel and go through the five hours of cleaning toilet bowls, changing sweat-and-sperm-covered bed sheets and emptying trash cans.

  After I finally spread the covers on the last bed, I drop to the floor and lean back against the wall, feeling the exhaustion settling deep in my bones. Monika and I have been stuck at this phase of our lives, she as a maid, I as a barista, since the day we legally became adults and can’t get better jobs to save our lives. We don’t have the money to get an education in order to make more money. Ironic, isn’t it? And now our bodies are weakening because of the continued physical and emotional strains of our jobs and the poor conditions we live in.

  The door opens after a loud knock. I have just enough energy to crane my head to see who’s entering the room. Azzam closes the door and strolls in, his dark eyes assessing the room with obvious skepticism. I can tell by the assured way he walks around the bed, the forty-something hotel manager is clearly enjoying his superior position.

  Despite my exhaustion, I push myself to my feet and drop my gaze to the floor, hoping the room will pass inspection. This isn’t the first time I’ve filled in for Monika and he’s never had an issue with it as long as the rooms are top-notch, but today something feels off.