Verse 2 - Hunger

Chapter 4

The knock on the door eventually woke Laura up. Really, the knock had become more of a banging. Laura opened her eyes and was struck with how sore her body was; the back of her throat, her arm, and her abs all ... ached.

"Holy shit," she croaked. "I've got the flu."

She tried to sit up, but the room spun around her. She gripped the side of her head and fell back into her comfy bed. Yes, the bed was safe.

The banging on the door continued.

"Laura?" squeaked someone from behind the door. "Are you alive?"

"Barely," said Laura. Her voice was strained and cracking.

Laura lurched to the side and grabbed her cell phone. It was almost noon. "Holy shit," she muttered. "The day's almost over."

More banging. "Laura? It's Angelica. Can I come in?"

"Come in," shouted Laura as loud as she could--apparently `as loud as she could' was something like a smoker cough.

The door turned and Angelica came in, her hair was fairly messy. And was she out of breath? "Good morning, sleepyhead." Laura raised one arm and let it flop back to the comforter.

"Not feeling well?" asked Angelica. "We tried to wake you earlier today, but you didn't respond."

"I'm sick," moaned Laura. On the second day. Can you call out sick on the second day of work? Especially after part of the job was to move into the place? Especially after you watched your boss get devoured by two gorgeous men who were also, somehow, your co-workers? Was there a precedent for this?

"I figured," said Angelica. "Do you feel like eating? We can get Jacque to make something special for what you're feeling."

"Does he have morphine? I'd like morphine."

Angelica laughed and moved to the large curtains on each side of Laura's bed. She thrust them open and light flooded the room.

"There," she sighed. "My mother used to say light kept away disease."

"It also keeps away sleep." Laura flung the comforter back over her head.

"You can sleep later. You need food."

"I don't feel like anything."

"That's because you haven't eaten anything. We'll give you something simple to earn back that appetite."

"Are you going to ignore everything I say and do whatever you want?"

"Pretty much."

Laura flipped the comforter off of her head. "Fine," she sighed. "Just not meat, okay?"

"Bacon wrapped sausages, coming up."

"Cute."

Laura rolled over and grabbed her phone while Angelica stepped out. She had two missed calls from her father and seventeen missed calls from Claire, as well as fourteen angry text messages.

Holy shit. Claire. She didn't know Laura was moving out. She must have freaked out when a bunch of strange men started loading Laura's stuff into a van and carting it away. Why didn't she think to message her and explain it? Well, shit.

She called Claire without hesitating. Claire answered on the first ring.

"You got some motherfucking explaining to do," snapped her roommate.

"Calm down."

"Are you hurt? Are you dead? Did someone kidnap you?"

"They did, but the only ransom they want is for you to calm down," said Laura. Claire tended to be a drama queen. Everything was the end of the world or the best in the world. There was nothing in between.

Claire sighed into the phone. "What's going on?" she asked.

"I got the job."

"And you already got another apartment? Without me?"

"Sort of," said Laura, looking around her room. Her stuff was already neatly put away and organized. It probably wasn't just the way she liked it, but it was still kinder than dumping her stuff in the middle of the room. That's precisely what Claire would have done.

"Then what?"

"She wanted me to move in with her."

"Ohmygod, she's a lesbian?"

"I doubt that very much," muttered Laura. She sat up. Her strength was returning to her, but she still felt sore. She felt stiff. The slightest movement hurt, but it also stretched her and eased her discomfort.

"Then what?"

"It's a perk of the job. I get to live in Camille Kontalban's mansion."

"Holy shit."

"I know, right?" Laura smiled to herself. It felt strange to say aloud. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a fantasy. She really was living in a mansion as a personal copy editor to a successful writer. Sure, a crappy romance writer, but she was doing what she always wished she could do. She was part of something besides filling forms and flipping burgers.

"Holy shit," repeated Claire.

"Yeah, it's pretty great."

"No, it's awful. How am I supposed to pay rent without you?"

"With money?"

"No, Laura. I don't make enough money to pay rent on my own."

"Oh," said Laura. She hadn't considered Claire's finances when she took the job or the room.

Laura looked around the room. What else hadn't she thought about? What kind of writer makes their copy editor live with them? What kind of woman makes her copy editor watch her get off? Laura felt so caught up in the moment, so excited to finally have a job, a real job, why hadn't she thought this weird? This was weird.

"Sorry," muttered Laura. Claire kept going on about finding a new apartment, but Laura's mind was elsewhere. Claire would figure things out. She always did. But Laura, for the first time, was thinking about the new life she had signed up for. She was thinking about Graumann and the strange staff that now surrounded her, but most of all, she was thinking about Camille with her legs spread and her servants eager to please her.

And Marcilla. Who was she? Why did Camille use some unknown poet writing about yawns to get off to? What the hell was this whole freakshow and what it did it have to do with bad poetry? Laura felt a burning desire to get her hands on that book again, as though the book would explain everything going on. Once Laura could understand Marcilla, maybe she would understand Camille.

Or maybe she knew nothing.

"Hello?" asked Claire. "Are you there?"

"Uh, yeah," muttered Laura. "I'm just not feeling well."

"Yeah, you sound like shit."

"Thanks."

"You sick?"

"Nothing gets passed you," said Laura.

"On your second day? How the hell does that work? Can you call out sick if you live where you work? And what if you're not sick? Do you get fired for lying about calling out sick? Jesus, I'd hate that. I'd just die if I couldn't call out sick whenever I was fucking fed up with Horatio and the bar. Speaking of which, he asked me out ... again. I don't belong to him or anything like after one-"

"Claire?" croaked Laura.

"Yeah?"

"It really hurts to talk right now."

"Then just listen."

"It hurts to sit up."

"Then lay down."

"It just hurts," said Laura. "Everything hurts. I'm going to go. Okay? I'll call you when I feel better."

"You're really leaving me out to dry here, Laura."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'll help you find another apartment, I promise. Just not this very moment."

There was a pause. Laura checked to see if Claire had hung up, but the line was still open. "Claire?" asked Laura.

"You're not in trouble?" whispered Claire. "Just say `sweet Caroline' if you're not in trouble."

Laura smiled. Old joke. "Goodbye, sweet Caroline." She hung up.

***