The Chosen

considered stopping into The Undercroft for lunch, but then thought better of it. No doubt she’d run into people she knew, who would all ask questions about where she’d gone, and why. That part of her life was over, so why bother? I live somewhere else now, she thought, and got back into the car. My life is somewhere else…

Goodbye, city.

She drove back up Main, to catch Route 50 off the Circle. She slowed but wasn’t quite sure why. The streets were relatively empty, rows of shops shunned by the cold. A thin woman rushed across the street at the light, dressed in old jeans and a shale-colored overcoat. A stiff wind disheveled her short blond hair. Then, at the opposing sidewalk, she turned, obviously taking note of Vera’s shiny Lamborghini.

Then she walked on.

Vera stared dumbly ahead; at first she couldn’t imagine why. But when her subconscious finally clicked, she stomped the gas.

The blond woman was just turning at the Circle. Vera idled past the Old Post Office, lowering the power passenger window.

Don’t make an idiot of yourself, she fretted. Are you sure it’s who you think it is?

She was definitely sure when the blond woman, no doubt noticing that she was being followed by a brand-new two hundred thousand dollar car, stopped at the next corner and leaned over to look.

It’s her!

However faint, Vera recognized the telltale tattoo: the creepy green southern cross needled into the hollow of the blond woman’s throat. This was one of the women Paul was with that night.

“Excuse me,” Vera raised her voice. “I’d like to talk to you.”

The woman’s eyes thinned, and she smiled just as thinly. She got into the car, and seemed awed when the door lowered by itself.

“What a great ride,” she commented, then, oddly, she asked, “Are you a cop?”

Vera winced. “Of course not. I don’t know many cops who drive Lamborghinis.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” the woman chuckled. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and briskly rubbed her hands together. “So, I guess you know the score. Guys, girls, it don’t matter to me as long as the money’s right.”

“What?” Vera asked before really thinking.

The blonde lit a cigarette, spewing smoke as she continued. “You want to get it on, right? Fifty bucks for a half-hour, a hundred for an hour and a half. And I’ll do anything you want. But you also gotta spring for the room, unless you want me to do you in the car.” She chuckled again. “I’ve never eaten pussy in a Lamborghini. That might be kinda neat.”

Oh my God, Vera finally realized. She thinks I want to…“No, no, you don’t understand. I just want to talk.”

The blonde shrugged. “I’ll talk as dirty as you want, I’ll make you soak right through to the seat, but I have to see some green first.”

Vera was mortified. “I just want to talk to you, you know, just talk. Don’t you remember me? A couple of months ago? Paul Foster? Westwind Apartments? You and some redhead—”

“Oooooh, yeah,” the blonde slowly acknowledged with a nod. “You’re the chick who walked in on us. What, you’re his girlfriend?”

I thought you were his girlfriend now, Vera