After Hours (8 page)

But he wasn’t always. She remembered when he used to follow her around the house like a shadow. He used to like to dress up in superhero costumes and pretend to rescue her from villains. Her husband had squashed those playful times fast, with the back of his hand or a belt, forcing Curtis to abandon his childish ways.

“He made a choice not to know us. You did nothing wrong.”

Camille gripped the phone. She’d made Kyle believe that, even though she knew it was a lie.

***

That Thursday, Amera called in sick. She had plenty of sick leave left and still hadn’t come up with her revenge strategy, so she decided to take a day to look over her resume and review her list of references. After retrieving her mail from the lobby, she walked back into her apartment, and tossed it on the table. The diamond ring caught the light and twinkled. She held out her hand and stared at the ring. It was gorgeous. It wasn’t like Curtis to be impulsive, but she was glad he had been.

She liked wearing it. She liked the feeling of ownership, even though it would be brief since she didn’t plan to keep it. It was nice to imagine being the kind of woman who received such gifts. Her looks were what the western world called exotic, but they were considered ordinary in the small African country, squashed between Gabon and Congo, where she had been born. Her light brown hair and eyes had made her unusual, but she had soon learned how to fit in, and not stand out, whenever she could, by keeping her hair pulled back most of the time, and not wearing makeup to bring attention to herself.

She looked at the ring then rested her hand on her shoulder. “Oh this?” she said to an imaginary companion. “Yes, I was shocked too when he proposed. He even ordered a string-quartet. The honeymoon? I couldn’t decide whether I wanted us to go to Milan, Morocco, Maine or Madrid so he’s taking me to all four. I know, he’s amazing and so considerate.” She laughed then caught her reflection in the mirror.

That’s when she saw a woman who nobody loved, who nobody remembered. She saw a woman with haunted eyes who had felt the sting of cruelty which had withered her heart. For a moment, she had brief flashes of long dirt roads and a blazing sun, a refugee camp where the flies were fatter than the people. She remembered sitting in a classroom devouring as many books as she could--dreaming of traveling to Ghana, England and Canada, wondering what minced pie tasted like and imagining the sensation of feeling snow and sledding in the winter. She privately dreamed of finding a family like the redheaded girl she’d read about, who lived on Prince Edward Island or being the reluctant pickpocket surviving the streets of London, and finding his rightful inheritance. But she soon learned that there was no grandfather for her to live with in the Swiss Alps, or gracious Uncle who had a secret garden, who would come to her rescue. She remembered when she stopped reading those books. When she stopped dreaming.

She’d learned to depend on herself. She used the excellent education she had received to forge a path away from the horrors of her past. Miss Agatha Wenthrop, the woman who had created the Wenthrop Children’s Home, the second orphanage she had been raised in believed in education. It didn’t matter that they lived miles away from western civilization, she insisted that the curriculum be equal to those who attended the best schools. When Amera arrived in America as an asylee with permanent residence status, she had no trouble securing a place in a small prestigious college, which was paid for by a scholarship she won.

She frowned down at the ring, embarrassed by her moment of weakness and dreamy, wistful thoughts and tried to pull it off. She didn’t need a family. She didn’t need a man. She was fine as she was. She may be alone, but she wasn’t lonely. She twisted the ring, but it wouldn’t budge. She sighed. She’d remove it later.

Amera picked through her mail on the table, not expecting anything interesting. She quickly waded through bills and junk mail then a beautiful envelope caught her eye.

Intrigued, Amera turned the envelope over and studied it. It looked like an invitation. She didn't get invitations. Had it come to the wrong address? She checked the label and saw her full name:
America Blessings Thurston
. Who could it be from? Who knew her full name? She never used her middle name, Blessings. She grabbed a letter opener and swiftly cut open the gold lined envelope. Inside was a handwritten note on expensive parchment paper lined with finely woven lace. She read:
You have been personally selected to join The Black Stockings Society, an elite, members-only club that will change your life and help you find the man of your dreams. Guaranteed.

The Black Stockings Society? She’d never heard of any such organization. Was it some kind of lingerie club? How had they gotten her name? Why were they inviting her, of all people, to join? She scanned the rest of the note.

Dumped? Bored? Tired of being single? Ready to live dangerously? Then this is the club for you. Guaranteed results! Submit your application today.

Dumped?
Well, she’d been dumped from her job, did that count?

Tired of being single?
Hmmm. Had Susan given her name to some group to cheer her up?

Ready to live dangerously?
She wasn’t sure, maybe. She could use a change. She held up her hand again. She wouldn’t mind shaking up her life a little, especially since she’d be out of work soon. “Sure. Why not?” she said out loud to no one in particular.

Guaranteed results, huh? She looked at the nominal fee and application.
It wouldn’t hurt to try it out.
She got a pen and looked at the enclosed questionnaire. Then frowned with disappointment when she looked at the questions. They reminded her of the silly questions one found in those cheap women’s magazines. Asking her how she’d spend her holidays or what she’d eat. She tossed the application down. She was a serious woman. This didn’t make sense to her. She stood and changed for bed. She was about to turn out the lights when the sight of the invitation floated in her mind.
Tired of being single? Ready to live dangerously?
Those two questions kept going over and over in her mind and every time the answer was yes. She pushed the sheets back and jumped out of bed.

“I don’t know what's wrong with me,” she mumbled, as she picked up the questionnaire again. But she was eager to see what would happen. She bit her lip then started to answer the questions.

How would you spend your holidays?
She’d love a family holiday. A holiday surrounded by people who cared about her, where she felt she belonged. But she didn’t have a family so she knew it was just wishful thinking.

Would you prefer candy canes or gingerbread cookies?
Definitely,
gingerbread cookies.

What would your ideal man be like?
She wished people would stop asking her that.
I don’t know.
Really. A good person? She didn’t have an ideal. She thought of Curtis standing alone at the hotel window--isolated and distant. She felt sorry for him, although she knew no one else would, and besides, he seemed content with his life. What if he wasn’t like that? What if he were different? She bit her lip then quickly wrote: A more human, warm version of Curtis. She wasn’t even sure what that meant. She crossed it out. Ugh!!! Florence was right. Curtis was the only man in her life. Why would she even think of him as a possibility? She should think of some celebrity or prominent person she admired instead. But Curtis’ name kept coming to her. Annoyed, she hastily wrote: ‘A smiling Curtis’. It still didn’t make sense, but somehow it sounded right. They probably wouldn’t know what she meant since they didn’t know who Curtis was, but it was all she could think of.

Amera carefully read the ‘sworn’ oath.
As a member of The Black Stockings Society, I swear I will not reveal club secrets, I will accept nothing but the best and I will no longer settle for less.
She signed the application, gave her credit card information for the nominal membership fee, then hurried back into the hallway to put the application in the outgoing mailbox.

She called in sick the next day too. Her phone rang, but she didn’t answer it. Curtis would be upset, but there was nothing he could do about it. She secretly hoped something disastrous happened forcing him to realize how much he needed her. Her mouth spread into a satisfied grin as she imagined him knocking on her door...

“Curtis? What are you doing here?” she said, surprised by his disheveled appearance.

“You didn’t answer your phone.”

“I’m taking a sick day.”

He frowned. “You don’t look sick.”

“I’m taking the day anyway.” She started to close the door.

“Wait,” he said grabbing the handle, his voice cracking with panic. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need you.”

She stared at him stunned. “What?”

“I need your help.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his tone heavy with regret. “I was wrong. Nothing is going right without you by my side. I didn’t realize it until now. Letting you go was the biggest mistake of my life.”

“I don’t care. I’ve already gotten another job offer.”

“Tell me who. I’ll triple whatever they say.”

“No.”

He fell to his knees. “Please. Please come back to me, Em. Give me another chance. I’ll give you whatever you want...”

Amera replayed her fantasy throughout the day, sometimes changing the details--once she even imagined him crying, but that was so unlike Curtis she found herself laughing instead. It put her in a good enough mood that she didn’t mind her job search and even sketched out a way she could anonymously send Bill money if he needed it.

That Saturday, a medium sized package arrived. Inside the box, encased in a purple satin cloth, were four pairs of different types of stockings, a membership card that read
America (Amera) Blessings Thurston, Member, The Black Stockings Society
, and strict instructions. She read the instructions with particular care.

Welcome to The Black Stockings Society. Your first assignment is to take your membership card to Rejuvenation Spa, where you will ask for the deluxe special. Please set aside plenty of time for this appointment. Once you have gone to the spa you will select and wear one of your stockings to work.

How odd? Why would she need to wear her stockings to work? What did that have to do with meeting the man of her dreams? She glanced down at her watch and decided to call the number provided and make an appointment at the spa. The receptionist answered on the first ring.

“Hello, I’d like to make an appointment for the deluxe special.”

“We’re really busy due to the holidays, but I can squeeze you in if you’d like.”

“Sure.”

“Can you get here in an hour?”

“What? You want me to come
today
?”

“Yep, otherwise you’ll have to wait until the New Year.”

Amera rubbed her forehead. She hadn’t planned on doing something like this so soon. Maybe she should just wait.

“Ma’am?”

“Okay, yes,” Amera said in a rush. “I’ll be there.” She gave the receptionist her name then plugged the address in her phone and grabbed her car keys.

She couldn’t believe where the spa was located, in a suburb on the opposite side of the city from where she lived. She parked her car then glanced up at the large mansion which had been converted into a total service spa retreat. How did the Society expect her to pay for this? Was she going to get a special discount? She looked at the clock, her hour was almost up. She didn’t have time to wonder. She hurried inside then skidded to a stop when she saw Crystal. What was she doing here? Or better yet, why did she have to be here now? She didn’t want to see her. She’d wait for the New Year. She’d been reckless and that wasn’t like her. She spun around.

“Amera?”

She froze, hearing Crystal’s heel clicking closer.

“Amera. Is that you?” Crystal walked in front of her. “It is you! What are you doing here?” Her eyes filled with fear and she glanced around like a scared animal. “Is Curtis having me followed because of the other night?”

“No, I’m not here because of him.” She turned and headed for the receptionist desk. Since she had gotten caught, she might as well make the most of it. “I’m here for me.”

“Oh,” Crystal said confused.

Amera could understand her confusion. They both knew she couldn’t afford the place on her salary. Amera waved her hand. “It’s something I’ve saved up for.”

Crystal started to reply, then her eyes widened, this time not from fear but shock, her mouth forming a perfect ‘o’. “Oh. My God.”

Amera frowned. “It’s not that incredible.”

“You’re getting married?”

Amera felt blood drain from her face. The damn ring! She waved her hands and shook her head with a vehemence that almost made her dizzy. “No, this isn’t what you think. I couldn’t get it off.”

Crystal pointed at her and flashed sly grin. “I knew you were the one. You’re so brave. He's paying for this, isn’t he?”

“No, I told you--.”

“Sure.” She winked. “No one’s to know. They’re supposed to think it’s real. I get it. But do you think the money’s really worth it?”