Minino jumps up on the couch and crawls over to Beatriz, nuzzling into her hand as it strokes him when he settles in her lap, purring contently. Beatriz looks away from the trashy slashy junk she’s watching and regards her little friend with a smile as he begins to nap. He’s a good little cat: cute, friendly, affectionate, never makes too much of a mess or causes any trouble. She’s always happy to see him and she knows the feeling is mutual.
“One day, I’ll find you a girlfriend.” She says to him soothingly. “Would you like that?” He’s sleeping, but she continues to pet him, his belly. “I bet you would.”
A shrill scream brings her attention back to the movie. The cunt that’s been pissing on everyone for the last hour just got hers with a hatchet right between her perky tits. Beatriz is once again intrigued; she had her pegged as the psycho. Now she really wants to know who the crazed Malibu Barbie Nazi is.
Commercials cleave into the feature and she decides to get a refreshment. She finds Ciceros in the refrigerator on top of a can of Coke next to a bag of M+Ms and lit one when the phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hello,” a voice she doesn’t recognize repeats to her, “how are you tonight?” The voice is deep and smooth, reminds her of a late night DJ.
“I’m fine, I guess.” She says in a half-sigh. “You?”
“I’m ok. What is your name?”
“Who wants to know?” She’s not defensive about it.
“I do.” He says plainly.
“And you are…,” making a gesture, “who?”
“Who I am is not important.”
“Well, I don’t think who I am is important.”
“It is.”
She rolled her eyes with a sigh.
“Marcy.”
“Marcy?”
“Yes.”
“Mmmm, you sound too nice to be a Marcy.”
“Thank you…I guess.”
“Your voice is very pleasant, what kind of work do you do?”
“I’m a secretary at J.T. Marlin Accounting.”
“Oh, a secretary. Does your boss treat you nicely?”
“Well enough.”
“Does he have you take dictation?”
“Sometimes.” She smiles at that, she thought he was going to ask something else.
“Does he sexually harass you?” Harass as in harris, not her-ass.
“No, he doesn’t…unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?” He chuckles lowly, “Would you like him to?”
She smiles. “No, he’s a swell guy.”
“Swell?”
“Yes.”
All of it’s so seamless, if you didn’t know any better, you’d believe her.
“You sound really pretty, describe yourself to me, please.”
She becomes a little uneasy. “I don’t think I feel comfortable telling you that.”
“I like a visual of who I’m talking to over the phone.”
“And what was this call about again?”
“It’s about two people getting to know each other.”
“If this is about two people getting to know each other, why am I answering all the questions?”
There’s a pregnant pause on his end, she snubs her cigarette out in the sink.
“We were getting along so well, Marcy, please.”
She took the phone away from her ear, held it down, and muttered a bitter “Christ!” before resuming. She looked out into the living room, at the television set.
“Well, I’m short…my eyes are hazel and I have auburn hair.”
“Red hair is the sexiest thing a woman could have.” He’s smiling, she can hear it. “You have a boyfriend?”
“Actually, I just broke up with him.”
He makes a sympathetic noise. “Why, if you don’t mind telling me?”
“It was a lot of things, mainly the fact that he’s a big slut.”
She’s thinking about Trent right now. That man is Pussy Galore. The “benefits” are nice, but they seem pointless. He could get any girl he wanted, why does he need her in his harem? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she had other guys to give her love to, but that’s not her.
She loves him, she’s sure she does or else she would’ve sunk his battleship a long time ago, but there were times where she wanted to hurt him in the worst way. Of course though, she couldn’t.
It was at that moment that she terminated his “benefits”, ripped his platinum card to shreds. Not like he’ll miss them anyway. It’s not like she’s some prize to treasure, her “pearl” a true diamond.
She’s not special.
Leaning against the door less frame, that grotesque flower of self-loathing began to bloom, those hooked thorns jutting out as sharp as the Devil Himself.
You’re nothing special.
Fun drained out of her night like the blood spurting out of the new amputee’s leg on the screen, sans the horrible vocalized pain. She didn’t feel like playing this game anymore, what was the point anyway? Lying to some creep on the phone? Get a grip, you stupid girl.
“Marcy?” The caller’s concerned, seems to be.
“I’m here.” Her voice doesn’t break, she thought it would’ve.
“You got quiet on me.”
Sigh. “I was just thinking about my Dicklicker of an ex.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“No, I’m sorry. You’re ‘swellegant’.”
“Swellegant?” That makes him laugh; it’s a very pleasant laugh, “That guy’s an asshole, darling.”
There’s nothing ‘darling’ about me, mister.
“Well, Marcy, my name is Quinn and I’m currently serving fifteen to twenty years for killing the man that was fucking my wife.”
Her eyes widened and shone, a hand covered her mouth.
Fuck.
She slides down to the floor.
Beatriz, you cunt-rag!
“Marcy?”
“I’m here.” Her voice doesn’t tremble, she thought it would’ve.
“I really like talking to you and I hope this doesn’t affect anything. I would really like to talk to you sometimes.”
Tears welling. “You don’t want to talk to me, Quinn.”
“Sure I do. You sound like a nice girl.”
The tears pooled and ran in rivers of shame. “I’m not a nice girl; I’m a worthless bitch.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“My name is not Marcy, it’s Beatriz. I’m not a secretary, to my knowledge, there’s no such thing as J.T. Marlin. I look nothing like what I told you, I lied to you because I could, because it’s what I’m used to.” Her voice is breaking at this point. “I didn’t break up with my boyfriend; he broke up with me because I’m cheap.”
He’s silent.
“That’s why you don’t wanna talk to me!”
He’s still quiet, she imagines he hung up. Why wouldn’t he?
His voice shocks her after a bit, it’s soft and low. “Don’t cry, baby, I didn’t expect you to tell me anything. Very surprised I got this far. Beatriz is a beautiful name and your voice is so lovely. It doesn’t really matter what you look like and that guy is still a prick. Don’t cry.”
She wipes her face on her shirt, tries not to sniffle into the phone.
“Feeling better?”
“A little. I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I lied to you.”
“You talked to me and that’s what I wanted.”
They’re quiet for a few moments.
“You’re not disappointed?”
“No, honey, I’m not. You’re a nice girl, I know you are, I can hear it.”
Tears brim anew. He’s such a saint, she could kiss him.
Oh, Quinn, you don’t know me.
“Well, the guard’s coming over. Could I please call you sometimes?”
“If you want.”
“I’d want to talk to Beatriz, not Marcy.”
He’s smiling, she can hear it. That makes her smile.
“Marcy’s gone.”
“Great. Good night, Beatriz.”
“Good night, Quinn.”
Something enters her mind with urgency.
“Hey, Quinn?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“How did you get my number?”
“Phonebook.” He says plainly.
“You knew?”
“Knew nothing. It’s from last year, for all I knew, Batista, Beatriz moved.”
“Why me?”
“Your name is pretty 'swellegant'.”
“Thank you, I guess.”
“Sleep well.”
“You too.”
“I will if I’m dreaming of you. Night.”
“Night.”
She says it even though she heard the click.
She sits on the couch, Minino crawls back over. The movie’s over for the most part and killer is revealed to be…Marcy, the “nice girl”.
Fancy that.
