Evaleen is standing now and pacing the floor.
"Let me get this straight, you don't know what he looks like and you only know his screen name. He also hasn't asked what you look like or for your real name either. He could be a seventy year old man in Orlando or a North Korean spy for all you know."
I chuckle at her paranoia. Shaking my head I put my feet up on the desk and play with my pen between my fingers.
"The dating site matches you based on age and where you live. So unless he lied about being in his early to mid-thirties and living in Chicago, then I am fine. Anybody can lie on those things, it's always a risk. I'm not telling him my bank account, just likes and dislikes. You know, normal stuff people do when they get to know each other. I doubt a North Korean spy has any interest in my belief that afternoon napping should be a law in this country. Businesses should adopt the Spanish act of siestas; we close for two hours every afternoon, preferably from one to three, so their employees can get in a much deserved nap.”
"I guess so, but just be careful okay. Every man wants to get laid eventually, and I just worry there is something wrong with him if he doesn't want to even talk to you on the phone."
Her eyes bug out as she stops pacing the room. Evaleen walks over to the corner of my desk and stares down at me.
"What if he's married?"
"He might be, Bechmann. Only time will tell. I'm not going to get myself worked up over something that might not even be true." I'm starting to get a little freaked out now. Why didn't I realize this stuff before? The way he said everything it just seemed normal, natural, and even a little romantic that he wanted to only use the written word to communicate. He could be in prison! Oh God, he's probably in prison, and he only gets internet privileges in the evening when we chat. He's going to get out of jail, track me down, and rape or kill me, or at least steal my money, not that I have much.
"Drake you're a better woman than I. I would be afraid he's a serial killer or something. Well, I better get back. It's almost eleven; shouldn't you be hanging out in the kitchen to avoid the nuclear fallout from the Brooks bomb?"
I nod my head and just sit there in shock as I watch her walk away. Maybe I should push him tonight when we chat to give me a picture, and ask if he's married and if he's ever been affiliated with the communist party.
My brain is making a mental list of all the questions I will discuss with him tonight when my nostrils become assaulted with a pungent odor. I look up and realize Ken Brooks has crept into the bathroom without my knowledge. It smells like he is shitting out a three day old dead raccoon. I've got to get out of here.
Chapter 2
Morgana's Problem: Her Friend
I walk through the front door of my apartment after a massively long day at work and toss my purse on the antique wooden writing desk that I inherited from my grandmother when she decided RVing across the country is the spice of life.
Mr. Payne ate most of the pizza I ordered, leaving one tiny slice for me. I never realized what an appetite that man has. Of course he made me eat my food at my desk, alone. It's like he’s allergic to humans.
Sighing as I flop down on my brown sofa sectional I grab the remote from our white particle board coffee table and flip on the television. I turn my attention from the small flat screen that stands on a red metal cabinet that looks like a squashed high school locker to the footsteps stomping out of the hall. I see my roommate, Aria, standing in front of me blocking the television. Her arms are folded and she is tapping her foot on our worn reddish Persian rug, another castoff from my grandma. It doesn’t take a genius to realize she is angry. The real question is what has her panties in a bunch now?
"Yes Aria, what did I do this time?" I try to look around her to catch the ending of The Mindy Project.
"Who the hell is [email protected]? And why is he sending you steamy emails?"
I wave her away from in front of me. She walks over to the couch and flops down, hugging her knees to her chest. I sit up a bit and face her.
"First of all, you really need to learn boundaries Aria. I think it's illegal to read other people’s email."
She shakes her head defiantly, sending her fine platinum blonde hair flying in the dry static filled air.
"No it's not. It's illegal to read postal mail that isn't addressed to you, but not email. I should know, my dad's a lawyer."
She has no idea. Her father may be a lawyer, but she doesn't know nor care what he does. She hates anything business related, being more the artistic spirit like her mom. Aria only breaks out the 'dad's a lawyer' argument when she doesn't want to bother with the explanation or threatening someone.
"Anyway, secondly Aria, it's none of your business who he is."