THE WORST OF LOVE CONTESTANT
“Pittsburgh Local Singles, my name is Dominique. What’s yours?”
“Kelly.”
“I’ve never had a woman call me on this line before. You’re into women, Kelly?”
“No. I can’t really say that I am.”
“I’m not sure why you’d be calling, then, sweetheart. This is a… a way for people to connect, you know.”
“I know.”
“But you’re not calling about sex.”
“I am, kind of. But not from you.”
“Why do you need me, then?”
“My sex appeal, Dominique. It’s gone. My husband lost interest in me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but…”
“You have a great voice. When you talk, all anyone can probably think about is sex. I wish I had that kind of voice. I sound like a little girl. Nobody’s going to be turned on by that.”
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Kelly. Your voice is fine.”
“No, it’s not. But that’s not the only thing that got between my husband and I.”
“Oh?”
“We both worked long hours, and I was too tired for sex when we came home in the evenings. I tried, but I never had the energy. We started fighting.”
“Maybe you should just lay back and enjoy it and not worry too much about your energy, sweetheart.”
“I should have, but I didn’t. I ignored the problem until things were too far gone.”
“Did he leave you?”
“Not in so many words, but yes, he’s gone.”
“Do you want help with your voice? You think talking dirty’s going to bring him back to you? I can give you a few pointers, if you like. You know, this is costing you three dollars a minute. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on here before too much time goes by.”
“Nothing’s bringing him back now, Dominique. He found another woman. Another local woman. At first, I think he was just looking at porn online. I was so tired that I didn’t mind it. Then I found charges on our phone bill that didn’t make sense, and I blew those off too. Finally, he stopped coming home after work, making excuses about taking clients out for drinks, that kind of thing. I wasn’t born yesterday. I knew what he was doing.”
“I’m sorry to hear all of this. But you’re still willing to take him back, though, right? That’s why you called, isn’t it? You must love him very much.”
“That’s true. I do. Tell me something. Have you ever met someone from the Singles line, Dominique?”
“I can’t say I-”
“Come off it. Have you ever met a man named Doug, in particular?”
“I don’t know, I-”
“Don’t lie to me, Dominique. You want to know something interesting?”
“What?”
“I know where you work, and I know where your office is. It’s a crappy, ramshackle little hole in the wall in the industrial district. Oxidized brass ornaments in front of the ground-floor door. You work on the fourth floor, poor lighting, the paint peeling off the wood in the hallway. There’s only a few desks behind the door of your office, three or four girls besides you, and they’re off this weekend.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“Your business card. You left it in his pocket. Who the hell do you think did his laundry? While he was off fucking you in that thirty-dollar motel, I was at home taking care of things, even after working ten hour days. He left their matches in his pocket, too. Same pocket and everything. I’m starting to think he didn’t even care if I saw. I made him care, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you seen Doug lately, Dominique? Has he called you? Has he met you in the parking lot outside of the motel with his wallet stuffed full of Trojans? I don’t think he has.”
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“Did he ever tell you about his home life? About the house we had just outside the city? It’s a grey cedar house, very popular in the eighties, with about four acres of yard. A real bitch to mow. He bought a nice riding mower a few years ago, cost a pretty penny. Lots of woods surrounding the yard, separating us from our neighbors. It’s a nice place, though the property taxes are a bit high. Did he ever tell you about me, about the house, any of that?”
“No. He didn’t tell me anything. I didn’t even know about you until now.”
“Typical.”
“Why are you telling me this? Why did you even call me?”
“Because I wanted to talk to you, just this once. I wanted to hear it from your side. I don’t think you’ll tell me the truth, which is a shame. I don’t think Doug was entirely honest, either, but when he admitted that you were working alone, he was telling the truth. I can hear it in your voice.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You should.”
“Where’s Doug now?”
“Back at the house. Back at the house, where he’ll remain from now on. You, too. It’s a beautiful yard, with an amazing view.”
“This is sick. You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
“What was that noise?”
“The footsteps, you mean? That’s me, in the hallway. Your employer doesn’t much care for your safety, I don’t think. Offices like this ought to have locks and buzzers. You don’t sound too sexy right now, Dominique. I thought I should tell you that.”
©2009 Jessica Brown
Jessica Brown is an author of horror and dark fantasy whose work has been featured in Shadow Feast, The Nocturnal Lyric, Bloodfetish, Horrotica and The Harrow. Her short story “Forward Forward Forward” has recently been included in Pill Hill Press’ Twisted Legends anthology, and her short “Porn and the First-Person Shooter” will be in the upcoming Baconology collection from Library of Horror Press. She lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and can be found online at http://jessicarbrown.blogspot.com/
December 13th, 2009 at 10:48 pm
Wickedly good
December 14th, 2009 at 10:30 am
Ooooh, so devilish. Very nice work.
December 14th, 2009 at 10:56 am
I hope Dominique has a gun.
December 14th, 2009 at 8:06 pm
Perfect pacing, great subtle shift in the power of the characters. Great story.
December 14th, 2009 at 9:12 pm
Slick! Nice and tasty. I liked it, Jessica.
December 17th, 2009 at 9:32 am
Always delightfully nasty, Jessica. A woman scorned and all that…