Desperate Measures

by Elle Casey

  “And how old would that be?” asked Kiki, sitting down next to the old woman while holding onto her skirt bottom so it wouldn’t ride up, dropping her satchel on the ground next to her chair. She turned her legs sideways so she wouldn’t flash her underwear at Elizabeth who was sitting down across from her.

  The old woman smiled. “Sassy. I like it. I’ll be ninety-seven this month.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” said Aimee, smiling and taking a seat on the other side of Betty. “That’s wonderful. What’s your secret?”

  “Sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” answered Betty, without missing a beat.

  Kiki burst out laughing, unable to help herself. She looked at Betty, and they shared a smile. Kiki knew right away, Betty was someone she could get along with.

  Kiki looked over at Elizabeth and saw that her cheeks had a little color in them now and she was no longer looking at Betty; instead, she was busying herself with getting things out of her purse. Out came a paperback of the book they would be discussing and a leather portfolio binder. Finally, she pulled a very expensive-looking silver pen from the outside pocket.

  “I took the liberty of structuring some questions that we could discuss as a jumping-off point. Some were suggested on a few websites I visited, and others were some I just came up with after reading the book.” Elizabeth looked up at everyone sitting in the room. “If that’s okay with all of you.”

  Aimee looked at the door and out into the bookstore beyond, before asking, “Is there anyone else coming? Maybe we should wait.”

  “Don’t bother,” said Betty. “I talked to Ethel. She fell down two days ago and still has a sore hip. She’s not coming.”

  Elizabeth smiled apologetically. “The group is still pretty new. It’s taking us a while to get off the ground.”

  Kiki knew she should just get up and walk out – get the hospital trip over with and then go to work, even though it was still early. But the expression on Elizabeth’s face stopped her. She looked so sad for a second. Kiki didn’t want to be the one to make her feel any worse.

  “I’m not worried about small groups. Go ahead with your questions if you want. I’m ready.” Kiki looked at the other two and they seemed to be in agreement.

  Aimee put her purse behind her in the chair and leaned over with her hands clasped in her lap, looking attentively at Elizabeth. Betty just nodded her head, her attention focused on the bootie in front of her.

  Elizabeth smiled, tapping her pen on her list. “Okay, then. First, I have this question: ‘This book had a contemporary setting in a big city. How do you think that influenced the characters and the decisions they made in the story?’”

  Betty was the first one to speak up, and Kiki was more than a little surprised at how insightful her comment was. Aimee jumped in, eager to agree and then expand on what Betty had said. Elizabeth put her pad down on the table and laid the pen on top, joining in to discuss a counter-point that instantly got the conversation up to a very lively level. Kiki felt herself drawn in, unable to just observe anymore.

  Ninety minutes later, Kiki looked down at her watch and gasped, shocked that she’d stayed that long. “Oh, shit. Sorry ladies, but I have to go.” She stood up and quickly pushed down her skirt.

  Three sets of eyes followed her progress up. Aimee was the first one to speak. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’m glad you decided to stay.”

  Kiki smiled. “Me too.”

  “You’ll come to our next meeting, I hope?” said Elizabeth.

  “You’d better. Without you, we’ll all just be agreeing with each other the whole time, and that’s boring,” said Betty, finishing up the second bootie she’d started somewhere in the middle of the debate on the finer points of using love triangles in romances.

  “I’ll be back. As long as you guys will be.”

  All the heads around the table were nodding like bobble dolls. “Good,” said Kiki. And she meant it. “See you in two weeks then? Seven o’clock?”

  “Yes. Exactly. Why don’t you give me your email address? I’ll send you a reminder,” suggested Elizabeth, handing over her portfolio and pen so Kiki could write it down. “I’ll send a group email out and then you guys will have each other’s addresses too.”

  Kiki took the paper and pen from her and wrote down her full name and email address, adding her cell phone number, just in case. “You can also text me if there are any sudden changes. I put my cell on there too.” She handed the paper over to Aimee.

  Kiki grabbed her satchel and threw it over her shoulder. “Okay. I’m out of here. I’ll see you girls in a couple weeks.”

  Aimee stood up, putting the folder and pen down on the table in a hurry so she could come over to Kiki. Kiki found herself bending over automatically to be grabbed into an enthusiastic hug. She reached around awkwardly to pat Aimee on the back. “Uh, thanks. That’s ... nice.”

  Aimee stepped back. “Sorry. I’m a hugger.”

  Kiki smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I like hugs as much as the next girl.”

  Elizabeth stood and held out her hand.

  Kiki took it and shook it firmly.

  Betty waved her knitting at Kiki. “See you later, sweetie.”

  “Bye, Betty,” said Kiki. She left the circle of women and went out the glass door. She looked back and saw that they were all gathering their things to leave too. It made her feel good for some reason to know that they weren’t going to continue the meeting without her.

  As she walked out to her car, the bright orange Camaro parked next to Aimee’s Toyota, she smiled at how strange it was that she’d enjoyed herself so much. A book club wasn’t her normal type of club to hang out in. And Betty wasn’t even from the same generation. And the other two? Well, they were from different worlds entirely. But none of it mattered. She’d had a good time and hadn’t laughed so hard or felt so free to just relax and talk about something that interested her in ... well, she couldn’t remember how long it had been.

  She wondered, as she drove her car over to the hospital, if she’d ever had a good time like the one she’d had just now. Sure, she had friends. One of them was currently hospitalized after having been mugged recently. And she talked plenty when she was at work. But it wasn’t the same. Everywhere else, she had to watch herself, guard her words, be the person everyone expected her to be. With Aimee, Elizabeth, and Betty, she hadn’t felt that way at all. It was as if they wanted to hear what she had to say, and then thought about it after she’d said it. She liked the feeling that her words had value to someone other than herself.

  She pulled into the hospital parking lot and steeled herself for this visit with her friend, pushing aside the warm feelings she felt growing for her new friends. The ugliness she had to deal with now would only taint it unfairly, and she didn’t want that to happen. This new, budding friendship, that had just fallen into her lap without effort, was something special. She just knew it.

  Chapter 6

  ELIZABETH DROVE BACK TO HER office after leaving the bookstore. She wanted to lock the golf clubs in the closet behind her desk, so when her client came tomorrow, she could hand them over. She didn’t like the idea of something this valuable being in her car overnight.

  Normally she didn’t do back-door dealing for clients, but this guy was special. He was a golf fanatic, which she knew only too well, because she did all of the bookkeeping for his personal and business expenses. He was a moderately successful businessman who had built his company up from nothing, and liked to work in a golf game whenever he could. He’d had the dream of owning these ridiculously-priced clubs for a while, but she had threatened him with dire consequences if he even thought about increasing his dividend check for that expense; his business was cyclical and with the current economy, it couldn’t take much more of a hit if he was going to stay in the black.

  When she’d gotten the idea of helping him get the clubs he wanted, while also saving him some bucks, she’d started searching online. It was only by chance that she’d seen Aimee’s ad when it
popped up on her radar. She hated to see entrepreneurs not being able to enjoy the fruits of their labors, especially when they worked as hard as this client did, so she was happy to go the extra mile and help him out. Even if she didn’t get the whole golf obsession thing, personally.

  Elizabeth pulled into the valet area in front of the building. It was after-hours, but there were always a few guards on duty. She went to the front desk and sweet-talked one of the younger guys into helping her get the clubs out of her car and into the elevator. She assured him that she could handle the bag from there, so he left her in the lift by herself. She balanced the clubs in the corner so she could press the button. Her face was sweaty, so she blew some air up into it as she rode the elevator to the twelfth floor. Her hair was hanging down in spots, no longer perfectly contained in its prison of hair pins, but she disregarded it. She was alone and there was no one to see her not being perfect except herself.

  The door opened to a dark and empty floor. It was after tax season, so nobody was working late tonight. They’d all earned a rest, now that May had finally rolled around.

  Elizabeth dragged the clubs to her office, and before locking them up in her closet, pulled her binder out from the large side pocket of the golf bag where she’d stowed it. Once the bag was safely locked away, she sat down at her computer and logged on. She sent off a quick email to the client telling him of her find and letting him know he could come pick up the clubs tomorrow after nine when she knew her secretary would be in for a half-day of weekend catch-up work. Then she sent off an email to Betty, Aimee, and Kiki, thanking them for coming to the meeting and promising to stay in touch about the next one.

  About to log off the computer, she spied a pile of papers on the corner of her desk. Sighing long and loud, she reached over and pulled the stack to her, removing her fingers from the log-off keys. Might as well stay and work. I’ve got nothing better to do.

  Elizabeth remained until well after midnight, calculating profits and losses and constructing balance sheets and statements for client after client, wishing for the thousandth time that they were her own financials she was looking at.

  Chapter 7

  AIMEE COULDN’T WIPE THE SMILE off her face. That book club meeting was the most fun she’d had in a long time. She was already planning to go to the library tomorrow to see if she could check out the club’s next title. If that didn’t work out, she would go to the used bookstore. They usually had a good selection. She’d decided against spending any of the golf club money on new books. She had to stretch it as far as she could and every dollar would count.

  As she pulled into her driveway, her happiness faded rapidly into trepidation. There was a light on in the living room, and Jack’s Aston Martin was in the driveway. Aimee instantly felt sick to her stomach. She parked off to the side so he would be able to leave whenever he was done yelling at her, threatening her, or stealing from her.

  She turned off the ignition and sat in the car for a few seconds, looking over at her purse. Should I take the money in with me? What if he’s here for the clubs? What if he gets angry and takes my purse? It sounded nuts, but she wouldn’t put it past him at this point. She made a split-second decision, pulling out the envelope and shoving it under the front passenger seat. It was probably just crazy paranoia, but better to be safe than sorry. She didn’t worry about Jack taking her Toyota. Neither he nor Tiffany would be caught dead in it, since it wasn’t worth more than seven thousand dollars on a good day. It was five years old and not the luxury model. She’d picked it out herself, loving the smooth lines and great gas mileage. Jack had always refused to ride in it.

  Aimee zipped her purse shut and got out of the car slowly, reluctant to face the angry confrontation she knew was waiting for her. Sighing as she walked up to the front door, she wished Jack didn’t have a key anymore.

  She wasn’t two steps into the house before he accosted her, his face already red, showing how steaming mad he was.

  “Where are my golf clubs, Aimee?”

  Aimee smiled at him, using every bit of confidence she had left to not tremble in his presence. “I have no idea. Where did you leave them?”

  His voice rose, and spittle began to fly. “You know very well I left them in the garage the other day. You saw me do it.”

  “Oh, really? I don’t remember seeing you do that,” she said calmly, putting her purse down on the front hall table, infinitely glad she had thought to leave the money in the car. Otherwise, she would have been clinging to her bag in fear, and Jack would surely have gotten suspicious.

  “Don’t play stupid with me. You were looking right at me when I took them out of my trunk.”

  Aimee shrugged. “Sorry. Like I said … I don’t remember.”

  Jack followed her into the kitchen, standing too close as she reached into the refrigerator to grab the orange juice and pour herself a glass. She was going to offer Jack one, but changed her mind. A picture of Kiki’s and Elizabeth’s faces flashed across her memory. It distracted her from Jack’s tirade, as she wondered what they might do in a situation like this. Kiki would probably tell him to go to hell. Elizabeth would probably ... I don’t know ... list all the reasons he should leave, in very neat and professional handwriting.

  She poured the orange juice into the short, clear glass and turned to put the container back in the fridge, but Jack stopped her.

  He grabbed her wrist, squeezing it hard. “If you did something with my clubs, you’re going to be sorry.”

  “I’m already sorry, Jack. Sorry I ever met you.” Aimee looked him straight in the eye, her nostrils flaring with the anger that was coming over her. How dare he touch me and threaten me like that! In my kitchen, of all places.

  He squeezed her harder, so much that it made her drop the container of juice, spilling it all over the floor and onto her pants. He didn’t apologize after he let go

  “Ow, Jack! That hurt! What’s your frigging problem?” Aimee looked down incredulously at the mess. Jack was an asshole, but he’d never been violent with her – except for that one time when he’d been drinking. “Are you drunk?” she asked, backing up, headed for the sink to get a sponge.

  “No, I’m not drunk, you stupid bitch! I want my golf clubs!”

  “Hey!” she said, pointing a finger at him. “That’s enough, Jack! You can’t call me that name in my house. Get out! I don’t want you here anymore.”

  Jack advanced on her, a mean sneer twisting his handsome face into someone she didn’t recognize. “That’s the thing, Aimee,” he said in a dangerous, low voice. “This isn’t your house. It’s my house. I paid for it and I own it. Just like I own you.”

  Aimee didn’t like the look in his cold gray eyes. It was predatory and practically promised cruelty. She knew Jack well enough to recognize a threat when she saw it. She moved quickly to her right, putting the kitchen island between them. “Jack, you need to leave. If you don’t, I’m calling the cops.”

  “Go ahead, call them. What are you going to tell them? That you stole my golf clubs?”

  Aimee swallowed hard, trying to manage the sick feelings that were rising up from her stomach. “No. Because I didn’t. Like you said to me when you took that vase you bought for me for my birthday last year and gave it to Tiffany – everything we bought when we were together is joint property. What’s yours is mine.”

  She wasn’t prepared for his sudden response, so he had a good head start on her. He raced around the island, nearly getting to her before she took off running. She tried to keep the large granite barrier between them, but the spilled orange juice foiled her plans. She went down with a solid thud, her head hitting the tiled floor with a loud crack. She only had a couple seconds to relish the intense pain ripping through her skull before Jack made it over to her.

  He grabbed the front of her shirt and pulled her up, screaming in her face. “Where are my fucking golf clubs, you bitch?!”

  Luckily darkness came and took her. The last thing she remembered was a fuzzy visi
on of an angry monster floating above her, bits of his spit hitting her face, before she passed out.

  Aimee came-to later and found herself alone. She was still lying on her back on the floor, her hair stuck to something on the tile. She sat up gingerly, wincing at the hair being pulled out of her head, fighting off the waves of nausea. She looked back and saw that her head had been stuck to a disgusting combination of blood and gooey orange juice.

  She reached up slowly to gingerly touch the back of her head. Her hair was matted in one spot – the place that had smacked the floor – and she could feel wetness there. She got onto her hands and knees and crawled over to the sink, using the edge of the counter to pull herself up while holding off the dizziness. She turned the water on to lukewarm and then leaned over, using the removable nozzle of the faucet to rinse out the worst of it from her hair. She winced at the pain caused by the flow hitting her open wound. Trying to feel the injury with her fingers, all she came up with was more blood and a terrible stinging pain.

  Dammit. I think I need stitches.

  She shut the water off, put a dishtowel over the back of her head, and shuffled over to the front hall table where she’d left her purse. She found it on the floor, its contents spilled out all over the place. She sent out a thank-you to the universe that she’d thought to leave the money in the car. Her fears sent her to the front door where she peeked out the window to see if it was still there. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was parked where she’d left it, and that it appeared to be unmolested. Unlike herself.

  She went back to her purse, putting everything that wasn’t broken back inside, awkwardly with one hand. Jack had apparently decided her phone wasn’t necessary and had destroyed it. The front was broken, and it wouldn’t power up. She tried pushing the button several times, but nothing happened. She sighed, throwing it in her purse anyway. Tomorrow she was going to use Jack’s golf club money to buy herself a new one ... in red, to commemorate the blood seeping out of her wound. She had some decisions to make, now that he’d acted out like this. Staying in this huge house was no longer an option. She couldn’t afford the mortgage payment anyway, and Jack had a key. Unfortunately, she didn’t know the law well enough to know whether he was right when he said it was his house and he could come and go as he pleased. And she couldn’t afford a lawyer to tell her otherwise.