By the time I sit down at the table, Magda has typed another message for me.
— I understand you like girls.
I look up at her. She runs a finger along her lips. Then types again.
— I like girls too.
I smile awkwardly and give her a thumbs-up sign. Then I hand her a fork and a plate of fish. I’m not going anywhere with those thoughts right now.
After dinner, we settle on the sofa with bowls of ice cream and I switch on the TV. I bring the laptop in there too, in case there’s something we want to say to each other. I give Magda the remote. She settles on one of those stations that play nonstop makeover shows. It seems not much is lost in the translation — she cackles right on cue with the purchase of an ugly shirt and tie.
It’s after midnight and Magda is doing the last of the dishes when the phone rings.
“This won’t take very long,” says the voice on the line, “if you listen carefully.”
“Hello?” I say. “Who is this?”
“I know Magda is there, and I don’t want this conversation to be even a second longer than need be.” Comb-over?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, buying time.
“Cut the crap. There are these things called phone books, and once some old bitty gives you a name and you have an address, it’s easy-peasy to look a number up. I know you’re in there, and I know Magda is in there too.”
Easy-peasy. I want to laugh. His scratchy voice sounds exactly like a pimp, or at least a bad dramatization of a pimp. Magda looks over anxiously.
“What do you want?” I say.
“I want my employee back, or I want you to pay for her time.”
“I didn’t ask her to come here.”
“That’s of little concern to me. Right now, whether you choose to accept it or not, you are in possession of my property, and you are not paying for its use. So, if you would like to keep her there, you either hand over her rate in cash, or you hand Magda over, understand?”
“And what if I don’t? What if I call the cops instead?”
“Well, then you have made some pretty powerful enemies; enemies who know where you live. And don’t think you’ll be doing Magda any favors either, calling the police. We’ll just recruit her twelve-year-old little sister back in Poland. I can’t wait to ripen that tender ass. Plus, once Maggie’s deported back to Poland, we’ll just pick her up and put her right back into harness.”
Magda finishes the dishes and lays the dishcloth over the tap to dry. She walks over and puts her arms around me from behind. I’m not expecting it, and I shiver a little. She holds me closer and rests her head on the back of my neck. I start to pull away, but then I wonder if she’s trying to hear the phone. I don’t move.
“Look,” I say. “I’m tired. What do I need to do to make you go away so I can think this through?”
“Pay for her. $400 for tonight, and $200 every night after that.”
“Fine.”
“You’re a smart dyke.”
“Yeah. So how would you like the money? I don’t suppose you take PayPal?”
“You’ll be passing through Union Station in the morning?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Go to the pay phones nearest the digital platform sign at 8:30 a.m., all right? Bring the cash in a plain envelope and leave it underneath the third phone, then just walk away. I’ll be watching you. If it’s not the right amount, I’ll drive straight to your place and wait for you to come home. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice doing business with you, Chris. Enjoy Magda tonight. Just pay extra in the envelope if you’re not through with her. If you misplace the merchandise and she goes AWOL, though, you’re responsible for the full price of the goods, got it?”
“And how much is that?”
“Ten thousand dollars, at least, and that’s if I give you a discount.”
I hang up. Magda unwraps her arms and looks at me, a question in her eyes. I get the laptop and tell her that it’s okay, but just for tonight. She reads the translation, eyes bright. She pulls on my hands and giggles. I tell her that I’m tired and need to go to bed. She puts her hands on my waist and pulls me into a long hug. Then I go to my room with the laptop and shut the door. I plan on researching a place that will help Magda, but I’m too tired to think. I scrunch the duvet up around my ears and fall asleep.
I pick up the cash and do the drop, just as comb-over said. Then I pretend to leave the station, but do a U-turn on Front Street and come back down. I watch the pay phone from behind one of the pillars. A redhead in a Hooters T-shirt and jeans is on the phone. One hand on the receiver, she reaches under the box and slips the envelope into her purse. Is that what Magda was up to yesterday? I shake the thought out of my head. If that were the case, why should she run away?
I’d put $600 in the envelope, to buy us time. I had the savings, and it wouldn’t even pinch. She was still asleep when I left the house this morning. I poked my head into the guestroom. Her full lips were parted, eyelids soft, her hair arranged in spokes, like rays of the sun, over her pillow. I left a loaf of bread on the counter, an econo-sized jar of peanut butter and my phone number at work scribbled on a pad, just in case.
After work, I unlock the door and find her sprawled on the sofa with a bag of nacho chips and the remote. More makeover shows. She’s wearing another oversized T-shirt of mine from the ’80s. Relax, it says, in bold caps. She stands up and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
“Hi, Chris!” she says cheerily. “Laptop?”
I take it out of my briefcase and open it up. She writes,
— How was your day?
After dinner, we curl up on the sofa again, Mag at one end, me on the other. We’ve hit on black gold — a marathon of home improvement shows. Mag giggles when they take a sledgehammer to the walls. During a commercial break, she says my name. I look over. She splits her legs apart, lifting her T-shirt. No panties. My face goes hot. I stand up and walk into the kitchen. She follows behind. The laptop is on the counter. I type,
— I am very tired. I am going to bed.
— I arrive to your bed too?
I shake my head.
The phone rings at midnight again. “I hope you enjoyed yourself,” comb-over sneers. “Now you know the drill. You want her for another night? Just leave the money there, same time, same place. If not, I expect Magda to be standing there instead. Got it?”
“And what if I need to phone you?” I say. “If there’s some kind of problem?”
“Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”
“Hello?”
I turn out the light and settle into my pillow. This whole charade could cost me a fair wad of cash. I’m drifting off again, when I hear the latch to my bedroom door click. I reach for the light. It’s Magda. She’s leaning up against the doorframe, her blond hair tussled.
“You need something?” I say. “You okay?”
She walks over to the bed and climbs in.
“Fine,” I say, “But no funny stuff.”
I put out the light. I’m too tired to argue anyway. I turn my back to her and fall asleep.
I drop the money off and walk the same loop as before. It’s picked up by the same girl, same shtick with the telephone. I wonder what Magda is doing in my apartment. I should get another set of keys made if she’s going to be staying awhile. At least then she could go out. I explained to her yesterday how the auto-lock works. If she leaves, she won’t be able to get back in. She didn’t seem to mind. She’s probably sleeping the day away. I imagine she has a lot of zeds to catch up on.