Work Text:
Rabbit
“Take Pictures with Me”
The monophonic ring and accompanying audible haptic vibration jarred Rabbit out of his rapidly spiraling thoughts. He snapped the flip phone open and brought it to his ear, “Hi, I’m Rabbit and I’m a go-getter.”
“Do you own a suit?” Dispatch asked without preamble.
He didn’t know why the question sounded ominous, it was asked with exactly the same inflection with which Dispatch always spoke. Out of all of the things he’d had to do, something requiring a suit couldn’t be that bad, could it? Still, his answer came out hesitant, “Yes…?”
“Good, you’ll need that and three other outfits. You’ll like this one,” Dispatch continued cheerfully. “Comes with a five star dinner.”
Rabbit opened and closed his mouth a few times, but couldn’t form even his thoughts into coherent responses. He ended up just blurting, “What?”
“Yeah, client needs a bunch of pictures with a man pretending to be her boyfriend. That includes pictures of some celebration dinner at a fancy restaurant. So, meal is included. But you gotta get there early enough for the other costume changes, too.”
In the general scheme of his life, that sounded too good to be true. “Okay. What’s the catch?”
“Catch?! No catch! Bring some clothes, take some pictures, eat some fancy food! Then, Monday, bring the pictures to her office.”
There was more. Of course there was more. “How long is this job? What kind of pictures are we talking about?”
“For the amount of money this woman paid, be ready for anything.”
Rabbit felt his face flush, “I-I’m not really comfortable with that.”
“Look, she wants them at her office, so I’m guessing they’re gonna be tasteful. She asked for you to bring enough clothes to make it look like an authentic relationship that’s been going on for some time, not a random hookup. Her only stipulation was,” the sound of papers shuffling came through the line, “that ‘he’s near enough to’ her age ‘so as not to look creepy’.”
That didn’t sound too terrible. “Is she trying to make an ex jealous or something? She didn’t specify the type of guy she wanted? Like handsome or strong or…” he trailed off for a moment, deciding to aim lower, “cute?”
“Nope,” Dispatch answered, “just close to her age, and that’s you.”
“Oh,” Rabbit sighed.
“Look, if I was ten years younger, I’d be the one havin’ the three-course dinner at 71Above.”
“Just ten?”
Click.
Rabbit closed his phone with a snap, nodding.
As he walked through the hallway of the swanky downtown apartment complex, Rabbit shifted the garment bag slung over his shoulder uncomfortably. This job felt like a trap. Could the Biancos know he was still alive? When he found the correct door, he took a deep, steadying, breath, then knocked.
A tiny, mousy-looking brunette, standing barely as tall as his shoulders, opened the door. Her wide, terrified, brown eyes glanced up to his for only a moment before falling back down, glueing themselves to her shoes.
“Um,” damn it, he berated himself, he was more professional than that, “Were you looking for a photographer?”
“N-no,” her voice was barely above a whisper, “I just n-need a few snapshots.” Code phrase spoken, she shifted to allow him inside.
He was undecided as to if this development made it feel more or less like a trap. Either was equally plausible. He carefully studied the interior of the apartment for any indication, but found nothing. It was a cluttered but tidy studio, the bathroom door and blinds to the balcony were both open, with no one lurking in wait. The closet was closed, but from the look of the door, she would have had a hard time fitting into the thing. A sofa that was probably sold as a two-seater, but was hardly more than one and a half was between him and the right wall that was lined with three filled bookcases. To his left was a neatly made bed. The woman stood before him, eyes still downcast, clutching her hands to her chest. Her shoulders were hunched; she looked as if she was trying to make herself even smaller.
He stood awkwardly for a few moments, waiting for her to start whatever this was supposed to be. “So,” she startled when he spoke, “what type of pictures did you need?”
She wrung her hands, her answer stammering and barely audible, “I-I just need…I, um,” her eyes darted up to his then back down again, she looked near tears, “I-I’m sorry.” Again, she lapsed into silent handwringing, with the addition of chewing her lower lip.
Suppressing a sigh, Rabbit realized that he was going to have to pry every answer out of her. At least he was beginning to believe that this wasn’t going to involve anything dangerous. He raised the garment bag slightly, “Can I put this down, and we can talk about what you want?”
“Oh!” She nodded, “Yes. I’m sorry.” She waved toward the bed, “There’s fine. But you can hang it in the bathroom, if you want. So it’s easier to change. Not that what you’re wearing isn’t nice, too. It’s just, it needs to look like…you know, not the same thing in every…” the ramble came to an abrupt stop, she seemed to completely shut down once again.
He chose to place the bag on the bed. When he took a step toward it, she immediately backed away. How the hell were they supposed to pose for pictures when she was obviously terrified of him?!
This was fine. He was a professional. He could do this. Unzipping the bag, he spoke as gently as he could, “I brought a few different looks because they didn’t tell me what you were going for. Are we trying to impress parents? Make an ex jealous?”
He snuck a glance over his shoulder, her face was pinched, and she shook her head, “What? No. Nothing like that.”
She didn’t elaborate. He ground his teeth frustration, but kept his voice light, “Then why?” He turned toward her and perched on the edge of the bed, hoping the pose would come across as non-threatening.
She was chewing the inside of her cheek, and curling even farther into herself. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “I work for a construction company. It’s almost all men, and most of them are super nice and great! Even the couple who have asked me out have been really respectful when I said no. But…” her eyes found his and she gave him a sad smile before she turned her face away, shrugging, “Jimmy won’t take no for an answer.” She turned back to him, pleading, “I told him to stop! I went to HR! They said he wasn’t doing anything wrong. I like my job! I’m really good at it. I’ve been there for years, and he just hired in and I shouldn’t have to leave just to make him stop! A few months ago I said I was dating someone and that worked! But now he’s starting to get suspicious that I’m making it all up. I just want him to stop.”
He nodded, “I actually get a lot of jobs like this,” he paused, mulling over that factoid, “honestly, that’s kinda telling. But most of the time it’s to threaten or beat up the men.”
She gasped and her gaze darted to his gloved hands before going back to her own shoes as she tried to make herself even smaller. He closed his eyes and gave a frustrated sigh, realizing that he was not, in any way, helping his situation. Before he could speak, she replied softly, “I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I just want him to stop.”
Rabbit slowly stood, he tugged off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. He offered his hand, palm up, as if trying to coax a scared animal. She stared at it blankly for a moment before placing her hand in his. She was trembling violently. He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way, stroking her knuckles, “Then let’s take some pictures for you to put on your desk.” She nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I need you to do something, first, okay?”
She looked at him attentively, but still swallowed fearfully.
“If we walk out of this apartment with you acting like this, the only thing that’s going to happen is someone calling the cops on me. I need you to relax.”
She pulled her hand away, shrinking back into herself, “I’m sorry.”
He tried to reach out again, but she flinched back. He held up his hands, “You’re the one in charge of everything that happens. If you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t. But if you want to make this look real, you may have to make a few compromises.”
She huffed, “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just…I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Me either. He turned back to his extra clothes, removing from the bag a blue button down shirt of the same style as the white one he was wearing under his jacket, “Let’s start over. You’ve obviously tried to convince Jimmy that your boyfriend is real. What’s his name?”
“Ryan.”
Rabbit closed his eyes, stood tall, and took a deep breath, settling into character. He put on his most charming smile before turning back to her. He extended his hand, “Hello, my name is Ryan. What’s yours?”
She scoffed, but the corners of her lips curled upward, just enough for him to consider it a win. She took his hand, “Hi. I’m Emma.”
“So, Emma,” he tugged her hand a bit, pulling her a mere fraction closer, “how did we meet?”
Her cheeks reddened, “At The Last Bookstore.”
He nodded for her to continue.
“He was looking for a book with a specific short story, The Statement of Randolph Carter.”
Rabbit thought for a moment, he recognized that. “Is that Lovecraft?”
Those were apparently the magic words because her entire demeanor changed. A huge grin split her face, “Yeah! We started talking about our favorite stories of his. And how we were sad the Lovecraft Festival isn’t in San Pedro anymore! Then, I told him that I had a silent film version of The Call of Cthulhu, and asked…” her blush deepened and she looked away, “if he wanted to come over and watch it sometime.”
That was surprising, “You asked him?”
She shrugged, her mood souring, “I didn’t want Jimmy to think that I said yes random men asking me on dates.”
Rabbit considered that, “Smart.” He turned back to his clothes, “Book worm, I can work with that. What do I do for a living?”
“Something IT. I don’t know a lot about computers, so if Jimmy asked I could honestly say I didn’t understand.”
He removed his jacket and laid it on the bed, going back to sorting the clothes he had brought. “So, any ideas about settings?” He glanced up to find her staring, she quickly looked away. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” she shrugged. He was getting very sick of that phrase, “There’s an area on the roof with fake grass and stuff,” she pointed to an actual picnic basket on the counter of the kitchen area near the door. “I thought that might look like a date?”
Rabbit surveyed his clothes, deciding what would be the best “picnic in the park” outfit. “Anything else?”
She was silent for too long, when he looked up, she was staring down again, shuffling her feet. This job was paying far too well for him to lose his temper and he was sure that getting angry would have the opposite effect of what he wanted, so he simply waited. Eventually she pointed to the kitchen area near the entry. “Everyone at work knows I don’t cook, so maybe a couple of you making eggs or something? So it looks like…you’ve stayed here?”
That was easy enough, “Were you thinking wrinkled morning after clothes or does Ryan come over enough to have something more comfortable to sleep in here?”
He stared at her expectedly, eventually she responded, “You brought something like that?”
“I was told to be prepared to make it look like a real relationship.”
“Wow, I didn’t expect this to be taken so seriously.”
“Yeah, well,” he intoned, “I’m a go-getter.”
He was startled by her laugh. It was bubbly, tittering, slightly awkward. She had covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle it, but at least she was no longer cowering. “You’re not what I expected.”
“What were you expecting?” He was curious.
She looked ashamed, “Someone scary? I called a sketchy place to hire a fake boyfriend for a photo op. I didn’t know who was going to show up.”
He lifted a leather jacket from the garment bag, “I can do scary, if you want to intimidate this Jimmy.”
At that she outright giggled. “You really came prepared.” He opened his mouth to respond, but she waved her hand, cutting him off, “Go-getter, right. But no one’s going to believe that I’m dating someone intimidating. If you have sweats and a tee or something, that’s perfect. I’ll change, too.”
He retrieved the proper attire and headed to the bathroom. When he exited, wearing grey jogging pants and white under shirt, Emma was sitting on the bed in pink polka dot flannel pajamas, with matching fluffy headband and her hair pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head. She held out her phone, “I don’t think I’m tall enough to get us both.”
He took the phone and offered his other hand to help her stand. He held her hand as they shuffled the few steps to the kitchen area, where she had laid out the ingredients and equipment for scrambled eggs. She was tense, but far less than the moments before. Studying the area, he planned the angles of shots in his mind, but they all depended on one thing. “You are completely in charge of everything I do, but I have a few ideas. Are you comfortable with me touching you?”
She shrugged, holding up their joined hands, “I will manage. What are your ideas?”
“They know you don’t cook? Cooking lesson,” he released her hand to step behind her, she tensed as he seemingly boxed her in against the counter, he loosely encircled her waist, in such a way so that there was hardly any contact between them, and lifted the camera. “Go ahead and crack the eggs into the bowl.”
He guided her through making the meal, angling the camera in such a way that they appeared closer than they were. Whenever he needed to touch her, he announced exactly where it would be, waited for her to approve, and held it only the time to take the picture. It wasn’t long before she relaxed and began acting more natural. Any photo that did not include his face had some part of him obvious: a hand on her hip; his arm extended on the side of her; a hand adding a pinch of salt… He ended the shoot with photos of her feeding him a forkful of the bland, rubbery, eggs. He overacted his reaction to the taste, capturing Emma’s offended, but laughing expression. The whole experience lasted no longer than ten minutes, but had completely turned the situation.
He made a face and pushed the plate of uneaten eggs away when her phone rang. He quickly handed it over.
She didn’t look at the screen, just tapped it and brought it to her ear, “Hey, Lis. No, I’m good. I’ll call you when it’s over. Yup. Bye.” She tried to pass it back to him.
“Was that a safety check?” He shouldn’t have felt as offended as he did.
“Yes,” she said emphatically. “I hired a fake boyfriend from a sketchy place to come to my home.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
“That was faster than I thought. Can we do the picnic like that?”
He didn’t see a problem with that, “Sure, I think so. It’s gonna be a little different, though. Outside. Less control over the lighting and stuff, I might have to get a little closer. Especially if we can get someone to take a few for us.”
She nodded, “I understand. Thank you, for…I don’t know.”
“Doing what you paid me to do?”
“Not being gross.”
He wanted to ask why she was doing this at all if that was what she had expected, but it was none of his business.
After a moment she asked, “Are you going to wear that blue shirt next or what you came in wearing?”
He honestly didn’t think it mattered, “Either, I mean, it’s your choice, really.”
She nodded, “Both are good.” She stepped to the closet and pulled out a flowery sun dress, “I’m going to wear pink. Do you think the blue would be cliché?”
“Do you like the blue better?”
She shrugged, “They’re your clothes, I’m guessing you don’t wear anything you think you look bad in. We’re going on a picnic, Ryan,” she emphasized the name, “what would you wear to a picnic?”
He chose the blue.
While she was changing he stepped to the bookshelves and quickly scanned for an important prop. The books were meticulously organized and he found it quickly.
The rooftop of the complex looked like a small park. There was a gas fire pit surrounded by cushioned seats, barbecue grills, picnic tables, a basketball court, and the area covered in fake grass. A small group of women sat by the fire pit, chatting, and four men played on the court. Emma set the basket on one of the tables.
“I have an idea,” he said as she pulled out plastic packages of cheese cubes, sliced meats, and other charcuterie snacks. “I’m gonna see if someone is willing to take a few for us.” She nodded and continued setting the scene.
He stepped to the group of women chatting at the fire pit, giving a bashful smile, “Hey, so…I was wondering if you could help me out?”
The looked him over suspiciously and one asked, “What do you need?”
He shifted his weight and ran a hand through his hair in what he hoped looked nervous, “That’s my girlfriend, Emma. I’m planning on proposing to her next week. I have this big thing with a projector and photos planned. That’s the dress she wore on our first date and I don’t have any pictures of her in it. Could you take some of us for me?” He held out the phone for them.
The women were ooh-ing and ahh-ing, three reached for the phone at the same time, the woman who spoke took it, “Oh, of course! Can we do anything else?”
That was easy. “Just, she doesn’t know. So…”
“Of course! Totally.”
This scene was even faster than the last. The woman did nearly everything for him: told them where to stand, how to pose, where to look. Before they could hand the phone back, he stopped them, “Just one more?” He reached into his jacket and pulled the paperback copy of “The Call of Cthulhu and Other Short Stories.” He held it out to Emma, “Our first date.”
The women swooned while Emma stared at it blankly for a moment. Maybe the book was a little too far? It was obviously one of her favorites, what if she didn’t want to have it forever associated with this lie?
She bit her lip, but she took it, “You were paying attention?” She whispered too quietly for their impromptu photographers to hear.
He shrugged, “Go-getter.”
The women positioned them on the bench, Emma’s back leaning against his chest, his arms around her holding the book open in her lap. They had him move the book a few times, ensuring the cover was in the shot. Damn, those women were more professional than he was.
As the group handed back the phone, they lavished him with compliments and repeatedly told Emma that they looked great together. It made him uncomfortable. He was doing his job, it was supposed to look real, but he didn’t want Emma getting any of the wrong ideas.
Emma took a seat next to him, as he indicated when the women went back to their seats. He took a few selfies before setting the phone down. She spoke as grabbed an olive and popped it into her mouth. “What did you tell them?”
“That I needed pictures for a proposal video.”
She barked out a laugh and immediately slapped a hand over her mouth to cover it up. “Go-getter is right.” She pushed a tray of mixed deli slices toward him, “It would probably be weird if we just left. Pre-dinner snack?”
He took a slice of prosciutto.
When they returned to the apartment, Emma stated that she needed to change her makeup and do her hair for dinner. He changed into his plain black suit quickly, leaving his collar unbuttoned and a blue tie hanging untied around his neck. Bored of wondering the tiny apartment, Rabbit took a deeper look her bookshelves. It was an eclectic collection; some old, leather bound classics; well worn newer pulp paperbacks; sci-fi; horror; mystery; all arranged in Dewy-decimal meticulosity. Her favorites were obvious, there were multiple copies of Poe and Lovecraft works, with Cthulhu bookends and assorted monstrous knickknacks.
She appeared from the bathroom in a modest black dress and heels, hair tied back and tucked in on itself, a barrette with blue rhinestones clipped to it.
“The Uber will be here in a few minutes.”
He nodded. He was going to attempt small talk, but her phone rang, “Another safety check?”
She looked at the phone with a frown before answering, “This is Russel.”
He couldn’t hear the words through the speaker, but the tone was frantic. The change that washed over Emma was stark. She was a completely different person than the one he’d just spent the last hour attempting to calm. Her voice was sharp and authoritative, “Whitney, I need you to breathe. Say that again.” She stepped over to the bed, pushing his garment bag aside quickly, and sat as she pulled open a laptop and switched the phone to speaker.
“There was a fire at the job on 112th!” Whitney cried.
“Just breathe, okay?” She typed furiously. “Do you know how bad?”
“They said small, it’s already out.”
“Was anyone hurt? I know it sound callous, but that changes how we deal with it.”
The voice on the phone sighed, “No, no one was hurt.”
“I’m emailing Raul and Shane now. We need them to assess the damage and integrity before we can do anything. If I don’t hear from them by morning, I will make the calls. Did you tell Cesar?”
“I’m sorry for ruining your birthday! I just didn’t know what to do! I know Ryan…”
“You’re not ruining anything. Did you tell Cesar?”
“No, I was afraid to.”
She studied her computer screen, “Call Cesar, tell him what happened and that I’m on it. I’ll take care of the rest. Email me the itinerary so I know who was the last there. The insurance company will want to investigate, too.”
“But your dinner!”
“We can’t do anything about it until they respond, which will probably be tomorrow morning. I have notifications on. If I see an email earlier, I will let you know.”
“I’m sorry!”
“It’s taken care of. Breathe. I’ve got it.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you Monday. Please enjoy your dinner. Tell Ryan I say hi.”
“Will do.” She ended the call on and proceeded to type on her computer for a few moments before she noticed him staring, “What?”
He held up his hands, the strong, demanding tone was completely the opposite of how she had spoken to him over the last hour. “Nothing, you handled that well.”
She rolled her eyes impatiently, returning her attention to the computer. “So, I don’t know how to date, or,” she gestured toward him, “fake date. I’m really good at my job.”
At least he could relate to that.
Her phone pinged, causing her to sigh. “Well, Uber’s here, I can finish this in the car.” She closed the laptop, “Shall we?”
The drive was relatively quick for downtown Los Angeles’ standard. He remembered that Dispatch had mentioned 71Above, but had never heard of that restaurant before. He’d been more preoccupied with gathering clothing to fit multiple settings than to look up information on the situation for which he knew he was wearing his only suit. When they stepped out in front of the U.S. Bank Tower, he stared at it for a moment, “We taking pictures on the SkySlide before dinner?”
“It’s on the seventy-first floor. 71Above, get it?”
Rabbit was ashamed of the way he froze when they stepped out of the elevator. He’d been in perilous situations, done things he did not want to think about, but he was woefully unprepared for the emotions this situation dredged. His suit felt disastrously cheap and insufficient for the setting. Most of the white clothed tables were set against the floor to ceiling windows, giving each setting a pristine view of the sea of city lights twinkling beneath the clear night sky. As perfect a scene for romantic couples’ pictures as it was a place that he would never be able to afford in his lifetime.
Professional. You’re a professional, he repeated mentally. He took a deep breath, hoping that Emma had not noticed. He could do this.
When they were seated, he marveled at the view for a moment before he noticed Emma smiling at him. “What?”
She shook her head, “Nothing. It’s pretty, isn’t it? I’ve never been here before, my mom recommended it.”
“And you brought me here, for your birthday?”
She shrugged, “I knew I wanted to make Jimmy stop, so when my mom asked what I wanted, I asked for cash for a fancy dinner. She was sad that I wasn’t inviting her, but then she’d think I had a boyfriend and I’m not sure I could afford paying you to keep up that ruse.”
“I’m not the kind of guy mothers approve of anyway.”
“Honestly, she’d be happy as long as I introduced a human; but you: all witty; well dressed; and handsome? She’d be ecstatic. She would say something about the no-show socks, however.”
That was rude, but it was nice to have her conversing with him. “It’s the style.”
“It is a style.”
After pointedly not panicking, when he glanced at the menu and noticed an appetizer priced at eighty one dollars, he reminded himself that this was included for the job. Dispatch had told him to take pictures and enjoy an expensive meal. Though, the fact that there were no prices next to the other items did give him pause.
She seemed to notice his hesitation. “You pick one from each course, it’s all included in the price. I would ask that you not pick the caviar or Wagyu, cause those cost extra, but I guess I can’t stop you.”
“I thought I told you that you’re the one in charge of everything?”
“Sure, but still, get something you want to eat. No point in coming to a place like this if you don’t enjoy it.”
Meaningless small talk got old very quickly, halfway through the first course he decided to change the subject to what had pulled her out of the initial terror. “So, Lovecraft?”
He listened politely as she gushed animatedly about what was obviously a favorite topic, if not obsession. Everything from where it had started-her mother reading it to her as bedtime stories as a small child-to the history and interconnected stories. She seemed content to continue with little prompting, only an occasional question or sound that affirmed he was still listening. He enjoyed his food and the extended break from having to force all conversation.
They were finishing the entree course when she asked, “What about you? You pretend to be someone’s boyfriend before?” The moment she spoke, she caught herself, looking back down at her food, her voice and demeanor reverting to the timid woman who’d answered the door. “I’m sorry, I’m not supposed to ask stuff like that, am I?”
He debated internally for only a moment before answering, “I have, actually.”
“Was she trying to get rid of a creeper, too?”
“He was pretending to be gay to try to eventually have sex with his best friend.” She laughed in disbelief; he continued, “Isn’t going to work, though. She knew he was faking.”
“She just went along with it?!” Emma seemed riveted, as if it was some reality-tv drama.
“She said they loved each other in their own way,” he shrugged. “I guess that’s true.”
“At least your job is interesting.”
“Sometimes it’s too interesting.”
“Oh?” She intoned, but seemed to think better of it, “I probably don’t want to know, do I?”
“Probably not.”
After dessert, they took the necessary pictures. Emma was much more relaxed, she even initiated contact, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning against his chest, though it only lasted the length of the photographs. The ride back was amiable. Once back at the apartment, Emma quickly set about connecting her phone to her laptop, downloading the pictures.
It was the first time she had fully turned her back on him the entire evening. Rabbit smiled to himself, glad that she was comfortable with him, even if it had taken the entire length of the job. Perhaps it was because of her comfort that his curiosity got the better of him: “I have to ask, all of this, wouldn’t it be easier and cheaper to just go on a real date? Try to find a real boyfriend?”
Emma tensed and barely glanced over her shoulder as she answered quietly, “You know how Jason Mamoa and Michael B. Jordan and the Chrises are all really hot? Like, you, with you’re perfect swoopy hair that falls right in your eyes. You’re really handsome, too.”
Confused but more than willing to take the complement of being put in the same category as those men, he responded, “Um…thank you?”
She rolled her eyes, “No, I mean, that’s all I feel. Ever.”
“That men are hot?”
“That they’re nice to look at, but that’s it. I don’t feel anything else. I don’t want to do anything else.”
He now regretted asking. There was a reason he didn’t think about this.
Yet, she continued, “Maybe the romancey bits would be nice, like flowers or remembering what I order at the Indian place around the corner, but I guess I like the idea more than anything. I don’t want to pretend to feel something anymore, but when I don’t pretend, guys think it’s something to be fixed or worse, a challenge. I’m not ‘traumatized’ or ‘haven’t had good enough sex,’ I just don’t feel that.” She angrily wiped a tear, “Men don’t like to hear that.” She sighed, “I’m just sick of being told I’m wrong.”
He should have known better than to ask. He didn’t want to think about this. Even though she was still turned away from him he nodded, “I understand,” he responded, because he did, more than he was willing to admit.
She swiped at her eyes again, snatched up a box, and opened it with more force than necessary. Inside was a digital photo frame which she connected to the computer.
She took a moment to collect herself as the download began before finally turning to face him again, “Sorry, that’s probably more personal than we’re supposed to get.”
Rabbit shrugged guiltily, “I’m the one who asked.”
The computer pinged. Emma disconnected the frame and stuffed it into a gift bag along with tissue paper. She hesitated handing it over, “You don’t have to bring it. The pictures might be enough.”
“You paid for delivery,” he held out his hand to take it, but left the decision to her.
She nodded and scoffed, “It would be nice to see Jimmy’s face when you walk in.”
He took the bag, “I’ll see you Monday, then. The address?”
Emma scribbled it onto a sticky note and handed it over. They said their goodbyes and Rabbit walked home.
As he prepared for bed, the plain little gift bag taunted Tommy from where it sat on his table. He tried his best to ignore the pull that something wasn’t right. He’d done three-quarters of the job. He just needed to deliver the damn thing and it would be over.
While it had been one of the most time consuming jobs he’d agreed to, it was also probably the most pleasant. Jobs were never that easy or simple. The people who hired him were generally rude or dismissive. He had committed heinous acts that he may never reconcile with himself.
All Emma had wanted was to do her job in peace. She hadn’t even wanted Jimmy threatened!
He flopped onto his mattress. With a sigh, he checked his bank account. He scoffed at the latest deposit, Dispatch had been right. She must have paid an obscene amount if that’s what he got after The Service’s fee.
Once again, Tommy found himself staring at the gift bag. It wasn’t enough. Emma had played up her boyfriend to her coworkers. “Ryan” had a full backstory, they’d been dating for months, he couldn’t show up to her work with only a picture frame. Emma had paid for authenticity. Ryan had to be perfect to ensure that Jimmy knew that he would never break them up.
Rolling onto his side away from the offending package, Tommy berated himself for the inability to shake this stupid job off as he had so many others.
No. He was a professional. When he did a job, he did it correctly. The frame alone wouldn’t be correct.
A card would only be a couple dollars, and if she didn’t cook, she must have been a frequent enough customer at the Indian takeout place near her that they would know her order. If they didn’t know her by name, well, he had enough pictures of her to show them.
Resigned, he sat up to complete the preparations for Monday.
Rabbit walked into the small office of Emma’s company Monday at 11:42 AM, with a bag in each hand. He smiled at the preoccupied receptionist, “Hi, I’m looking for Emma Russel?”
The woman frowned, asked whomever she was on the phone with to hold and responded, “Is she expecting you?”
“Not really?” He made it sound more like a question than a statement, “I brought her some lunch.” He held up the bag, hoping the strong scent of spices would stop any interrogation before it started.
“Oh,” the receptionist waved him forward toward the open arranged desks, “You can’t miss it. Look for all the green.” She went back to the call and began scribbling on a notepad.
Spotting Emma’s desk could not have been easier, even if the woman hadn’t been sitting at it. Green wasn’t the half of it. All of the desk organizers, pen holders, file sorters, tape dispenser, stapler, even the keyboard and mouse for her computer were green. Small Cthulhu figurines ranging from cute to grotesque were scattered around the desk top. He had to hold back self satisfied smile, knowing that his minor additions were perfect.
The scene behind the desk told him he was there at exactly the right time. A smug looking man who was the very definition of a frat-bro had his hand on Emma’s tense shoulder. “It was lovely,” she bit out forcefully.
“Really?” The man said sarcastically, “What did Ryan order?”
That was obviously Jimmy and they were talking about the dinner. Rabbit put on his most charming smile and cleared his throat, “I had a salad, she had the octopus to start. For entrees, I got the ribeye, she had the pork. Honestly, the pork had better sides. I’d wanted the sorbet for dessert, but she couldn’t decide between the rose water thing and the chocolate/peanut butter/marshmallow cake and it was her birthday, so we had those.”
The mix of disbelief and fury on Jimmy’s face was priceless.
Emma’s answering smile was that of relief, “Ryan,” she almost sounded surprised, “what are you doing here?”
He held up both packages, “Lunch and a present. I thought since it was for your desk, I should bring it here.”
Her eyes darted from the gift bag she was expecting to the takeout bag, her eyebrows furrowed questioningly.
He continued his reassuring smile as he handed over the present first, making sure she noticed the envelope sticking out of the top. “Go ahead, open it.” Rabbit kept his eyes trained on Emma, but he could feel the animosity radiating off of Jimmy. Out of his periphery, he noticed a few others in the office inching toward them. He wished that he could mouth for her to simply play along as she warily opened the envelope.
She gasped in delight when she slid out the card; she held it up for Jimmy to see then turned it around to the gathering behind Rabbit, “It’s a picture of Lovecraft’s-”
“Original sketch of Cthulhu,” he finished. She smiled brightly, as she opened to read the card, he smoothly recited his practiced final blow to Jimmy’s belief that Emma would ever single again, “We’ll always have Cthulhu.”
She laughed outright, as if it really were some in-joke between the two of them, showing their audience those exact words written on the interior of the card, signed, “love, Ryan.”
She gingerly stood the card between two figurines. “Thank you,” she said, her voice completely genuine, “it’s perfect.”
Rabbit laughed, “You didn’t even open it.”
“Oh!” She reached for the bag and pulled out the frame.
“Nothing big, just some pictures from the last few months.”
She kept her eyes on him as she ran her fingers over the plastic. “It’s perfect,” she repeated.
He set the takeout on her desk, “Lamb curry and ‘the spiciest thing on the line,’ which today was chicken vindaloo, with garlic naan.”
Her smile faltered for a moment, as she most likely tried to remember if she had ever mentioned her order, but quickly recovered. “Thank you.”
“I can’t stay. I just wanted to say happy birthday, again.”
She stood, “I’ll walk you out?”
He nodded and offered his hand, which she took.
Once they were outside the building, sure they had not been followed, Emma threw herself at Rabbit, enveloping him as much as she could in a tight hug. “That was beyond perfect! Do you take tips?! That was more amazing than I’d thought! Did you see his face?! He’ll leave me alone for sure!”
With an awkward laugh, he gently pushed her away, “I just did what you paid me to do.”
She shook her head, “No, I paid you to take pictures and deliver a digital frame. You…” she shook her head. “You’re a really kind person. I hope you have someone to do this for, for real.”
He thought of Natalie for a fleeting moment and gave a melancholy smile.
She reached around, hugging him again, he let her. “I mean it. Thank you for being such a good person. You could have just taken a couple selfies, eaten dinner, and dropped off the pictures, but you didn’t. You were perfect. Thank you.”
A warmth filled his chest. He wasn’t sure if he truly believed her words, but they comforted him, nonetheless. “You’re welcome.”
Even though he went by a new name, he had spent so long as Toad that it was just what he thought of himself while on the job. Working for the Biancos was certainly different. Protection was such a simpler racket, his only boss was The Family, no more stupid clients telling him what to do. And he was in charge of the construction companies! With so many subcontractors and permit charges, it was easy enough for the smaller companies to hide the Bianco’s share. This one in particular had required a little extra prompting: a small electrical fire when no one was around. It had taken less than a week for them to call and agree to pay. It also didn't hurt that the girls who worked in the office weren’t bad to look at.
He waited by the secretary’s desk while she went to wherever the boss stored his money. Whitney, one of the office girls who had flirted with him on his initial visit, was on the phone, eyeing him suggestively. He smiled back, before letting his eyes wonder around the cubicles in his boredom. The weird, little, monster-obsessed girl wasn’t at her desk. Toad didn’t like her, she was dismissive and ignored all of his attempts to talk to her. Bitch thought she was better than him. Whitney as prettier than her anyway.
He was about to turn back to Whitney as he heard her hang up the phone, when he saw the pictures scrolling through on the frame at the weird girl’s desk. He started; it was Rabbit! The creepy monster girl and Rabbit having dinner at a fancy restaurant! He leaned in, not believing his eyes as the photo changed to a selfie of the two, her leaning against Rabbit’s chest as he held up a book. “Rabbit?”
“Oh, do you know Ryan?” Whitney asked.
He snapped his mouth shut, he hadn’t noticed it was hanging open. “Ryan?”
“Yeah, Emma’s boyfriend! None of us really believed he was real, you know? I mean, who meets someone at their favorite bookstore looking for a book by their favorite author? It sounded like something out of a bad romance novel.” She rolled her eyes. “Months of stories that couldn’t possibly be true, like, who else would be as obsessed with some dead horror author, let alone find her more of those creepy figurines? But he came here with her favorite lunch and a card that says ‘We’ll always have Cthulhu’ and everything for her birthday a couple days ago. He was really sweet. Jimmy is still pouting.”
A few days?! Rabbit was still alive?! He took a breath before smiling back at Whitney, “Yeah, I use to work with,” he paused, “Ryan.” He scoffed, “We called him Rabbit.”
She giggled, “I can see that.”
The secretary returned and handed him a manila envelope that contained his cash. He thanked her, and bid Whitney goodbye. He didn’t have time to flirt. A perfect plan to get rid of Rabbit-Ryan-was already forming.