Bequeathed

Chapter Seven: Who is This?

Claire’s phone rings, waking her. It’s so easy to fall asleep caressed by fifteen hundred threads. Claire stumbles over to the white chaise with the gold cushions - a replica of the bed. The golden cushions on the chaise match the gold trim of the sheets and crisp white pillowcases perfectly. Twenty-four-karat gold. She pulls out her phone, answers. “Hello.” She hears nothing. “Hello.” Still nothing. She checks the phone; the seconds are ticking away. The line is still open. “Hello?” She checks the phone again, the number this time. Private. “Rob?” Now she hears breathing on the other end. “Rob? Is this you?” No answer, only more breathing. “Okay, Rob, when you decide to be a grown-up, we can talk.’

Claire hangs up. The minute she does, the phone rings again. “Hello?” There’s no delay this time, no silence, just heavy breathing. “Rob. Cut it out.” The person on the other end hangs up. This isn’t like Rob. Why would he want to unnerve her? It was strained when they left things, but Claire was certain there was enough left between her and Rob to revisit when all of this charade is over. Claire searches for his number to call, remembers she deleted it after she blocked him. She opens her keypad, tries to dial the number from memory. The call goes straight to voicemail. She dials again, voicemail. Again and again, her call goes straight to voicemail. Rob must have blocked her. Just as she’s blocked him. So why block her then torment her. She throws the phone down on the chaise; it rings again.

“Rob! This isn’t funny.”

Heavy breathing.

“You’re a real ass, you know that? Acting like a damn child.”

“I’m coming for you.”

Not Rob. “Who is this? Who are you? How did you get this number.”

“Your days are numbered, Princess.”

“William?” He doesn’t sound like William. But Claire needs it to be William. “Is this your idea of a joke?” Claire storms from her new room.

“A joke? I don’t have time for games, Princess.”

“You’re such an ass, William. I really won the asshole jackpot.”

“I’m not William!” The voice on the line sounds menacing. It stops Claire in her tracks then propels her to the other side of the house. She searches the guestroom; William isn’t there. She searches the bathroom adjacent to it - no William. She finds him sprawled on the bed that used to be hers. His shoes are off; he’s lying on a pillow with his hands folded behind his head. More breathing….breathing….breathing.

“Hey, Princess. Come to keep me company.” William sits up; his lips are twisted with a wry smile. “Or did you have other things in mind?” Willam leans on an elbow, inclines his head towards Claire.

More breathing…breathing…breathing.

“Claire?”

Claire goes over to the bed, stretches across it, yanks the pillow away. No phone. She taps the bed, fondles the sheets.

“Claire? What are you doing?”

Claire pulls off the top sheet, tugging at the section trapped by William’s body. William jumps off the bed, watches Claire peel off the other layers of linen.

“Hey, What are you doing?” He grabs Claire’s shoulder.

No phone.

“You can’t chase me off. You can’t act crazy and chase me out. I’m not leaving here without my money.”

“It isn’t you…”

“What? Listen, Princess. I don’t know what you’re on but…”

Claire zones William out. “Hello?” More breathing. She hangs up the phone, tosses it into the wall. She storms out of the room as she had stormed in, leaving William to jabber to himself.

***

While packing up her apartment, Claire finds bits and pieces of Rob. A white work shirt, a navy tie with baby blue pinstripes, shorts, a pair of jogging sneakers, a toothbrush, not enough to fill a box but enough of him to leave her feeling invaded. They’d agreed to maintain separate apartments yet her apartment has been stained by his presence. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t have keys; the walls hold his memories as well as hers; the apartment is filled with the knowledge of him. She dumps the items in a throwaway box, walks away, then returns for them. She too has been stained by him. She sniffs the musk that has settled into the collar of the shirt; Claire imagines sniffing Rob’s neck, planting a kiss there. Claire throws out the toothbrush, mixes in the rest of Rob’s items with her own clothes: his sneakers next to her shoes and the shirt and tie on her top of a pile of her work clothes.

Claire seals the box with her clothes, brings it to the living room, and labels it with "work clothes" with an orange sharpie. There’s a knock, someone tries the knob, opens the door. Claire is stooped next to the box; she turns her head for a view of the intruder. She’s both startled and relieved. Her landlady steps into the room, wearing a white dress with a single black stripe on one side, running from her neck to below her knees. The dress clings to her bosom, hips; it restricts her knees. The landlady stands with one hand on the knob, holding the door open. The other hand is propped on her hip. Claire is still stooping.

“I was told you were moving out,” the landlady says. “You are still bound by the lease.” The landlady takes the red, leather tote from her shoulder and pulls out a stack of papers.

“Hello, Beck. Nice to see you….in my apartment…uninvited.” Claire rises to her feet slowly and walks to the kitchen. Beck follows, her heel clopping loudly against the hardwood. Claire removes a stack of glass plates from the cupboard and places them on the counter; she turns to Beck, glaring at Beck and her noisy shoes. “I think you lost a tip,” Claire says. “If you scratch the floors, I’m not paying…”

“Oh, you will be paying,” Beck says. “You have months left.” Beck slices the air with the paper.

“Six.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have rented you this place.”

“Look,” Claire says. “Your rent has been paid for this month.”

“Barely.”

“It was paid and the other six months will be paid as well.”

“I won’t accept any more late payments. I expect payment on the third. Not the tenth...or the fifteenth…the third.”

“I was going to pay you in advance, move out so that you could rent this place out to someone else…You know…as some sort of thank you. But I don’t think so. I’m going to keep it, let it sit empty until my lease is up.”

Beck scoffs. “Pay me in advance? You couldn’t pay me on time, you’re going to pay me in advance.”

Claire bites her lips, studying Beck’s face. She wants to see the moment her expression shifts. “I’m technically a multi-millionaire. My aunt died, left me millions...well...billions.”

Beck’s mouth falls open. She clears her throat, pushes her shoulders back. “You always have a story, Claire. How many times is your aunt going to die? You used that excuse when you couldn’t pay last year. She died and you had to help with the funeral. Now she’s a millionaire? Now you’re a millionaire? Sorry, a billionaire.” Beck giggles, slides the contract across the counter to Claire. “Here’s another copy in case you’ve misplaced yours.”

“See yourself out, Beck.” Claire leaves the kitchen and continues packing up her room.

***

All of Claire’s life sits in boxes in the living room - with the exception of her sofa set and bedroom furniture that will have to be hauled out by movers. Claire walks the rooms, checking for anything missed. She returns to the living room and counts her boxes again. Her phone rings, gives her a start. It could be anybody calling. Claire’s frozen. After one encounter, the sound of her ringing phone terrifies her. She feels her pockets, searches the handbag resting on her sofa. She doesn’t have a phone. It’s in pieces in Will…in her old room. Another knock. Claire yanks the door open. “Listen, Beck…Oh. It’s you.”

“You’ve been gone a while,” William says. “I was starting to get worried. And I had no way of reaching you.”

“Was that your phone ringing?”

“Yes. A work call.”

Claire exhales audibly; she rests her head against the door.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. What are you doing here?”

“I asked Mr. Simms if he had any idea where I could find you. I came to see if you needed any help.”

“No. Just waiting on the movers.” Claire starts pushing the door shut; William holds it open. “I’ll wait with you.”

“You can’t take a hint, can you?”

“Can you?” William asks with a smirk. He pushes past Claire and plops down on Claire’s powder blue sofa.