Working for Payday
an excerpt

Catherine hung up the phone, grabbed me, and hurled me against the living room wall. Only then did I realize how angry she was.

Fortunately, I’m made of sturdy stuff. Nothing broke, although my big toe, which hit first, scuffed the wall above the magazine rack where I landed, my fall cushioned by December’s copies of Entertainment Weekly and the Monday edition of the Las Vegas Review-Journal. Thanks for being there for me guys.

Let me tell you, she’s going to regret this when she calms down. I know. This isn’t the first time she’s let rage get the better of her and taken it out on me. Once she locked me in the closet for three days. Another time, she tossed me out of the passenger side of our car in a supermarket parking lot. A lady passing by saw me as I hit the pavement and screamed as if her own leg had been cut off. What a fright we gave her – although in retrospect, I must admit, it was kind of funny.

At one point, our therapist, Margaret, confronted Catherine about our relationship and the countless times she has threatened to get rid of me. Margaret said that blaming me for her inadequacies is one of Catherine’s coping behaviors. I’m her scapegoat. She needs to see that I am not the problem. I am the solution, and being dependent on me doesn’t make her any less of a woman.

That’s something Catherine refuses to admit. She still wants to believe she can live without me. Margaret would tell her that throwing me against the wall is a manifestation of her denial. But it will pass. After she comes back to her senses, she will apologize, embrace me, and tell me how whatever is bothering her is not my fault. The fact is she needs me. If not for me, her life wouldn’t be worth living. She simply has to learn to deal with it.

For now, I’m stuck here on top of the magazines, and she is just sitting there on the sofa, her head in her hands, muttering. I can just barely make out her words.

“What a f***ing great way to start the New Year.”

===

For the first few weeks after the accident, Catherine’s brother, Paul, came out from San Francisco to be with her. Lawyers and doctors were telling her what she needed to do, and he helped her sort through the decisions that needed to be made. One of the biggest ones was whether or not to sue the driver of the other car. It turned out he had been drinking. When he recovered from his own injuries, he went almost immediately to jail for driving under the influence. Paul was furious and said jail was not punishment enough. He wanted to sue the driver for millions of dollars. His sister was going to be crippled for the rest of her life. Somebody had to pay for it and pay big.

That was not to be case. After lots of consultation, the lawyers convinced Catherine that suing the driver was going to be a huge waste of her time and emotional energy. If they took the case to trial, it would be easy enough to show the driver was as fault. They would almost certainly get a guilty verdict. But because Catherine’s amputation did not leave her completely disabled and she would be able to walk using a prosthesis – namely me – she was not prevented from working. The cost of her medical bills would be easy enough to calculate, but not so the income she might have lost as a result of the accident, and they said that’s what juries look at most when determining how large a settlement should be. I’ve learned that among humans, more often than not, everything comes down to dollars, not sense.

What Paul and Catherine found even more disturbing was what they were told would happen if they did manage to win a big award from the jury. The lawyers said they would never be able to collect more than a small percentage of it. The guy who hit her had $300,000 in insurance coverage, but no significant investments or other liquid assets. Sitting in jail, he had no income, either. If Catherine sued him and won, he’d simply declare bankruptcy, which would protect his only truly valuable property – a $700,000 home half-mortgaged – leaving her with no more than the insurance settlement, minus legal fees and medical liens. Even though it looked on paper like they could sue for more than a million dollars, it might actually cost Catherine more to go after it than the insurance company was offering outright. Her lawyers recommended that they settle everything out of court. They insurance people agreed.

So against the tide of strong emotion, Paul and Catherine decided take the money that was offered and get on with life. All of her immediate expenses were covered, including the fabrication of an incredibly sophisticated, $7,500 prosthetic marvel. Me.

===

When Catherine regained consciousness a few minutes later, her head was resting against Derrick’s chest where it had fallen. He was cradling her shoulders in his arms. Mary was standing over her as she opened her eyes.

“Oh my,” said Mary. “You gave us such a scare. Are you okay now? Are you going to be all right?”

“Water,” said Catherine. “My pills. In my purse, there.”

It did not take long for Mary to locate the vial in Catherine’s handbag, get her paper cup of water, and help her take two of the anti-anxiety pills.

“I’m so sorry,” Catherine said after she swallowed her medication. “I just got so dizzy all of a sudden. I have….”

She stumbled for the right words

“I have a condition. I forgot to take my medication this morning. I’ll be just fine in a few minutes. It’s nothing to worry about. Really.”

Now remember, all this was happening while Catherine was resting against Derrick. At a conscious level, nothing was communicated, but I was getting a really strong vibration from their contact, like no vibration I had sensed before. It was coming from him, not her. The message was so loud, I don’t know how Catherine managed to ignore it. Let’s see if I can recreate it accurately for you:

“SSSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEXXXXXXXXXXXXX!!!!!!!!!!!”

Yes, that’s what it was. Human males, I’ve since discovered, have this particular vibration running through them constantly as a subconscious undertone. It breaks to the surface of their thoughts several times each day—as often as every seven seconds among the younger ones—beginning at a stage of life they call “puberty.” The frequency of these breakthroughs diminishes with age, so some of the older males get prescriptions for hormonal stimulants, which have an effect quite the opposite of Sertraline, exciting the vibration rather than calming it down.

Well, I could sense how badly Derrick wanted to act on this vibration after Catherine fainted against him. The warmth of her body against his, the lilac shampoo scent of her hair within olfactory proximity to his nose, and her temporary helplessness, all fueled the roar of that vibration within him. He had not read the handbook at that point. Who would blame him if he ripped off Catherine’s clothes and ravaged her anatomically right there on the conference room floor? Mary would be powerless to stop him if he pounced. He would have his way with us before anyone could intervene

===

“Any idea what’s going on?” Sylvie asked us.

Catherine wanted to be able to tell her about the horse and the embroidered colors, but she had promised Snake not to say a word, so she lied, “All I know is that it’s got nothing to do with you or me or the little Terrorist this time.”

“Then let ‘em tear the place up,” said Sylvie, who reached down to pat Winter on the head. “Did Missy tell you where we are going tonight?”

“No, I’m just following along.”

“She wants to try out a new place on the Strip. It’s called ‘Vamp.’”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Just opened before Memorial Day. It’s supposed to be kinda like Tao at the Venetian—you know, restaurant, club, bar, ultralounge with its own private pool—but with a sexy vampire theme.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“Don’t worry, Cat. We got you covered.”

‘Is it inside the Venetian, too?”

“No, it’s at the Desert Oasis. You’ve been there before.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Oh honey, you need to get out more. You are gonna love this.”