Angry Annie

by Dawn L. Chiletz

  I move to the bar to check my reflection in a small corner of the mirror and unbutton two buttons of my blouse. I fluff my long blond hair and run my fingers through the ends to make sure it looks sexy, but not like I tried. I need to use every weapon in my arsenal to get what I want from him. As I pull down on my shirt to straighten it, I confirm in my mind that tonight’s weapon is my cleavage.

  I catch a faraway glimpse of a stranger in the reflection of the mirror. His bright white teeth stand out along his dark, scruffy beard. He immediately draws my attention. He appears to be smiling at me. He shakes his head and lifts his beer to his lips, never losing eye contact. I strain to watch him in the mirror as a crowd moves behind me, blocking my view. Turning around, I look for him over and around heads, but he’s gone. It’s as if he was never there to begin with although I’m certain I still feel his eyes on me. He was quite alluring.

  “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

  I turn toward the familiar voice. The prey has sought out the predator. “Well, hello there, Adam. Can’t a girl grab a beer after a long day of work?” I flip my hair and tilt my head to the side before smiling at him like he’s a home-cooked meal and I’m starving. The responding look on his face tells me he’s already planning our children’s names in his head.

  “You can have anything you want when I’m around.” He snaps his fingers in the air to get the bartender’s attention. He’s pouring a whiskey and makes direct eye contact with Adam’s fingers right before he turns to help someone else. I try not to snicker at Adam’s audacity. He should know that type of behavior is a surefire way to get spit in your drink. Just because he’s a cop doesn’t mean he owns the joint. Respect goes a long way with everyone.

  “No, no,” I begin. “You’re not paying for my drink. I don’t want you thinking I owe you something at the end of the night.” I wink as I grab ahold of his arm and lean toward him.

  He’s speechless and I know I have him right where I want him. I rest my forearms on the bar, smile, and am immediately served. Adam tries to pay, but the bartender takes the cash from my hand, ignoring him. With a cold one in my hand, Adam and I walk toward a booth in the back corner. When I slide into the seat, he slides in next to me instead of across from me. No surprise.

  I know I’m laying it on thick to get his attention, but damn, he’s way too close. I’m getting tired and bored. I need to get this over with.

  “You know, sometimes I wish I’d gone into law enforcement.”

  “You? You’re too pretty to be a cop.”

  “That’s so sweet of you to say.” I touch his arm and let my fingers linger for a moment. “But, if I were a police officer, then I’d get to work with you.”

  “That’s very true, but you don’t need to work with me to see me. You could see me every night if you wanted to.”

  “Oh, I wish. I never seem to have the time for stuff like that.” I sigh heavily. “Work, work, work. It’s all I do. I’ve got this big project and I’m really struggling.” I bat my eyes and force them to water, hoping to play on his emotions. I sniff and turn away from him.

  “Hey . . . Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  “I don’t want to bother you with all my problems.”

  “You’re not bothering me. It’s my job to be a good listener and you know I’d do anything for you.”

  “You would?” I bring a napkin to my eyes.

  Adam scoots in a little closer. “Tell me what’s got you so upset.”

  “Well . . . my boss has me doing this research project and I’m supposed to find this lady who has some facts we need to confirm a story. I’ve done everything I can think of and I don’t know how to contact her. If I don’t get a quote from her, I think he’s going to fire me. I really wish I had her address.”

  His brows furrow immediately. I can tell he’s worried about crossing a line.

  I place my hand on his thigh. “But like I said, it’s my problem. Let’s talk about something else.” I suck in a few breaths like I’m fighting back tears.

  He places his hand on mine. “I wish I could help you, but I’m not supposed to use my records access for personal stuff.”

  “I know. I didn’t want to talk about it. Forget it. You know, I think I should go. Could you let me out?”

  I grab my purse and motion for him to move.

  “You don’t have to go already, do you?”

  He’s staring at me so earnestly, I almost feel bad. Ugh. Why did I think this would work? I ponder the idea of coming clean but then decide to forget my dumb plan to lure him into helping me. I’ll figure out how to find Annie another way.

  “Adam, I’m sorry. Just forget I said anything. Really. I do need to go.”

  He moves and as I stand, he stares down at the ground, concerned. I place a soft kiss on his cheek. It’s the least I can do for being such a flirt.

  “It was good to see you. Take care.”

  I turn toward the exit and he grabs my arm.

  “I suppose I could do it this once. But you can’t tell anyone.”

  My eyes bulge as my heart skips in my chest. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

  “Ah, I won’t. It’s not like I’ve never looked up an address of a girl I liked before. What’s the difference?”

  I secretly wonder if he’s referring to me. The idea that he knows where I live slightly concerns me, but he seems harmless. I smile in response and pull a small notebook from my purse along with a pen. “Her name is Annie McClintonuck. I don’t know anything about her other than that she lives around here. But how many McClintonucks can there be?” I laugh and he grins.

  I write down her name and hand it to him. He reaches for the paper but places his hand over mine instead.

  “I’ll do it on one condition.”

  “Okay. What?” I’m almost afraid to know.

  “You have to let me take you on a real date. Just the two of us. No sister. And not to a bar.”

  “But, it’s so late.”

  “Not tonight. When you’re less stressed. Maybe next week?”

  Ugh. I stare down at the paper and wonder if a night with Adam is worth Annie’s address. In my mind I see the byline of my article on the front page of The Gaggle and I know what I have to do.

  “You got yourself a date.”

  AS I GLANCE THROUGH my passenger window at Annie’s house, I check and recheck the address to make sure it matches the info from Adam. The small, orange, brick ranch is in an older neighborhood within walking distance of town. I love the mature trees up and down the street. They almost make it feel like I’m in the country. The yard is impeccably groomed. The grass is lush and dark green even with the drought we’ve had this summer. The bushes have been trimmed with the precision of a surgeon and gorgeous flowers line the walkway to the door. I’d think Anne of Green Gables lived here if not for the bars on the windows and garbage piled by the front door.

  I’d contemplated following her and purposely running into her somewhere to befriend her, but I’ve been watching her house for the last two hours and there’s been no movement. My fingers drum on the leather-wrapped steering wheel. I don’t have a lot of time to write this article, and who knows how long it would take to make friends with someone like her.

  It’s possible she isn’t home, but it’s 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning. Unless she’s up and at ’em early, chances are she’s still in there. She’s probably on her computer trying to find another person’s life to ruin.

  “Plan B,” I say out loud to no one as I grab my bag and open the car door. I stroll up the walkway to her front door with absolutely no idea what I’m going to say to her. But I’m good under pressure, so I’m certain I’ll think of something.

  The black bars on the windows and door make me wonder if there’s a lot of crime in the neighborhood. Glancing behind me and then at both neighbors’ houses, I notice they don’t have bars. Strange. Is she paranoid or are they careless?

 
There are two dirty plates and a Tupperware container by her front door along with a garbage bag that seems to have a comforter in it. I swat away the flies. Gross.

  Lifting my hand to ring the bell, a piece of paper near the door catches my eye. I squat slightly to read it.

  “No solicitors. I don’t like cookies. I’ve found my Lord and Savior. I already have an alarm. I don’t need you to cut my grass. I don’t like raffle tickets or children. I don’t care if you’re putting yourself through school, I’m not buying. I don’t donate anything to anyone. Beware the dog, he bites. I don’t need any new friends. I don’t care if you just moved in. I know who I’m voting for and don’t want to hear your opinions. Don’t ring the bell. Don’t knock. Don’t stand on my porch. Go away!”

  Wow. She’s a real peach. I pull the paper off the door and stuff it into my bag. Then, I ring the bell. A loud barking dog responds to the push of the button and takes me aback. I expect it to continue for a while, but it stops barking after a few seconds. No one comes to the door, so I ring it again. The dog starts barking then stops, like before. I have a theory, so I ring the bell three times in a row and the barking stops and stutters. Her door chime is a dog. Okay . . . I knock on the door. No barking this time. Her sign should warn to beware the dog chime not the dog.

  I stand and wait and still, no one answers. There’s a small window panel alongside the door, so I cup my hands around my face and glance inside. I can’t see much, and I press my face into the bars to get a better view.

  I can make out a hall that leads to what seems to be the kitchen. Just as I’m trying to focus on the furniture, someone steps in front of the window and I shriek, stumbling back.

  The door opens forcibly and the bars are the only thing between me and the small old woman standing in front of me.

  “Can’t you read?” she shouts.

  I cough and place my hand on my heart to steady myself.

  “Do-you-know-En-glish?” she asks, enunciating every syllable slowly.

  “Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I was looking for Annie McClintonuck. Do you know her?”

  Her hands fly to her hips. “What part of ‘don’t knock’ do you not understand?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, feigning innocence.

  “The sign, woman! Read the sign!”

  She starts to close the door and I shout, “What sign?”

  She huffs and points to the outside of the door. I shrug and shake my head.

  “Oh, for the love of all things holy.” She mumbles the words as she unlocks the bars, reaches her hand around the door, and feels for the paper that isn’t there.

  I pull my bag tightly against my waist.

  “Well, son of a nutcracker’s ass. If that boy took my sign, I’ll beat him with my broom.”

  She’s loud and fierce for a tiny little thing. I’m convinced by her stance she could take me if she wanted to. She looks strong. I wonder if Annie moved. What if this isn’t her address after all?

  I clear my throat. “Anyway, I was wondering if you could tell me where I could find Annie McClintonuck.”

  “What you want with her? She owe you money?”

  I fake a small laugh. “Oh, gosh no. I was actually hoping I could give her some.”

  Where did that come from? I don’t have money to give away.

  “Hmm . . . Give her money? She win the lottery?”

  Money drives the world. She seems a little more interested in talking, so I go with it. “No, but there’s some cash waiting for her if she’s willing to speak to me.” I cautiously peer over her head to see if anyone else is inside.

  “You lose something?” she asks. “Ain’t nothin’ in my house for you to see.”

  “Oh, so you do live here.” My shoulders slump. I guess this is the wrong address after all. “Do you have any idea where I can find Annie?”

  The intensity with which she stares at me makes me straighten up. She’s silent as she crosses her arms. I hear a clicking noise that seems to be coming from her mouth even though I don’t see it moving. Is this another stare down match? Here I go again. Why does everyone insist on starting a contest with me lately?

  “Could you answer the question?” I don’t have time for games. I have an article to write.

  “How much money?” she asks. “And whatchoo need her to tell you?”

  “I really need to have this conversation with Annie. If you could just tell me where I can find her then I can—”

  “You lookin’ at her. How much money?”

  “You’re Annie?” I say with a chuckle. She’s got to be kidding me.

  “Are you slow or something? You got medical issues? I swear. Just my luck someone comes knockin’ with money and it’s gotta be a dopey damsel with no fashion sense. You get those shoes from Walmart? Or did you steal them off a homeless person?”

  What a bitch! Holy crap, maybe this is her after all. “Annie?” I question. “Annie McClintonuck?”

  “Oh, for the sake of fuck, did I stutter?”

  “Hi, umm . . . Annie, my name is Joslyn Walters. I’m relieved to have finally found you.”

  “Child, you better not be wasting my time. You said you had money. Now tell me how much or get off my stoop and go climb back into that heap you drive. I got stuff to do. I don’t care who you are and I don’t wanna hear none of your pleasantries. Spit out what you gotta say or move on.”

  Angry Annie is really angry. And she’s old. Her hair is dark in places, but the gray is more apparent. So are all the wrinkles around her eyes. I’d say she had laugh lines around her mouth if I thought she knew how to smile. My guess is they’re from years of frowning at people. I don’t know why I imagined her to be a big-titted bimbo. I gaze at her chest. Well, maybe she still is. At this point, anything is possible. She wants straightforward, so I give it to her.

  “I’m a reporter for The Gaggle.”

  “The gurgle?”

  “Gaggle. The magazine?” There’s zero recognition on her face. She must not have left one of her nasty reviews for them, yet. “Anyway, we’re doing a piece about people who leave online reviews. You have quite a following online and our readers would love to know more about you and how you go about testing products.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I still haven’t heard any mention of dollar bills.”

  Shit. She’s going to want that money. Darla didn’t give me a budget. As a matter of fact, I’m certain there would never be one. Should I offer to pay her out of my own pocket? How much money is in my checkbook right now? I answer as if there isn’t an issue.

  “Of course we’d be willing to pay you for your time.” I’m such a good liar.

  “How much?”

  “One hundred dollars?” Shit. I shouldn’t have posed that as a question.

  Her eyes squint and she waves me off as she turns to reenter the house.

  “I mean today. Just for today.”

  She turns. “How many days?”

  I ponder the question. What do I need to know and how long will it take? “Well, that depends on what you’re willing to share. The more you give me, the more I pay.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I want to know what made you start leaving reviews. What motivates you? How do you pick the items or places? Why do you do what you do?”

  Annie swats at a fly. “These damn bugs. I don’t like being out here.”

  “Let’s go inside then.”

  “Well, damn. I guess my memory has flown the coop ’cause I don’t remember ever inviting you anywhere.”

  She’s a tough cookie. I decide on reverse psychology. “Look, I have an article to write. If you’re not interested in the money, I have a list of other reviewers I can contact who would be more than willing to tell me their stories.”

  I spin on my heel and hop down her stairs. Concern washes over me. I offer a silent prayer that Annie needs money as much as I think she does. As my hand reaches for the door handle of my car, she finally speaks.

&nbs
p; “I won’t talk for less than five hundred.”

  I’m relieved to hear her voice and exasperated at the same time. “Five hundred? That’s a lot of money. Why would I pay you that much?”

  “’Cause I’m famous. ’Cause I got stuff to say that people wanna hear. You said it yourself. Now you can go talk to those other folks you got on your list, but I can guarantee there isn’t anyone on it half as interesting as me.”

  Annie’s arms swirl around her head. “These flies are Satan’s spawn.”

  I point toward her front door. “If you didn’t leave your dirty dishes on the porch, then maybe you wouldn’t have flies.”

  “They ain’t my dishes.”

  What the hell? “Whose dishes are they?”

  “I ain’t telling you nothin’ else till I see some green.”

  I put on my best poker face while I calculate whether or not I can afford to give this woman five hundred dollars for a story. What if she’s boring? What if I can’t get enough out of her to expose her? I need to know how she operates and something tells me, she’s going to be hard to crack. This is going to take some time. I’m going to have to follow her if I want to know things. Maybe I should take some vacation time. Is it even worth it?

  I scratch my head. If I write this story and impress Darla, maybe she’ll give me other assignments. I’ll be a journalist before I know it and I’ll be glad I spent the money. Maybe I should think of it as an investment. I wonder if I can deduct it on my taxes. Chewing on the inside of my cheek for a moment, I make a decision.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I begin. “I’ll give you a check for fifty dollars today and another for four hundred and fifty at the end of the week, assuming you make it worth my while.”

  “A check? Do I look like a bank? Girl . . . in my world, checks bounce higher than a man’s balls during sex. I want cash or no deal.”

  I sigh. Nothing here is going to be easy. I can feel it. “How about this . . . I’ll give you twenty bucks today to talk to me for an hour. Then you have nothing to lose. I’ll get you your cash and pay you daily to let me follow you around.”