Five Uneasy Pieces

Lila’s expression changed suddenly, and she scrambled off the bed. Dr. Fein dropped to a squat as she walked to the window, cupped a hand against the glass, and looked out at the street where the Escalade had been. Apparently she didn’t notice Dr. Fein cowering nearby. Then she pulled the blind shut. But not before Dr. Fein had snapped several photos of her.

As he drove home, the memory of Lila’s body made Dr. Fein’s head reel. He was breathing so hard the windows were fogging as he pulled onto a quiet side street to park and get his bearings. Glancing around and seeing no one, he opened his phone and viewed the series of shots—not great on detail but good enough—of Lila’s lithe, barely clad body. Before he knew it, his pants were unzipped, and he was fondling himself.

As he clicked through the photos, fogging the windows all the more, he couldn’t help thinking of Sarah’s voice—reprimanding, reproachful, whining—but helpless to stop him. The satisfaction of this knowledge brought him to a climax that left him astonished and gasping.

*****

“They say it wasn’t there! And they want all the money back.”

Dr. Fein had called Lila the next day. After assuring her it wasn’t about payment for the missed appointment (though he normally would have insisted she pay in full), he asked whether she was all right.

What followed was a lengthy, tearful account. Parts of it he already knew, parts he could guess, but some details came as a complete surprise, including the fact that the suitcase had somehow gotten into the wrong hands and the people who’d hired Lila to make the delivery now wanted back the money they’d paid her.

“Then pay them.” Dr. Fein tried, without complete success, to keep a note of irritation out of his voice.

She gulped loudly enough to be audible through the line. “It’s not that simple. Most of the money ... well, it’s gone.”

“How much money is that?”

“Twenty thousand dollars.”

“How could you possibly—?” Dr. Fein cut himself off. The note of irritation threatened to flare into anger, disgust and disbelief.

“There were old debts. Plus ...”

The line went quiet. Dr. Fein counted slowly to ten, then kept going, instead of screaming “What!?” as he might have done otherwise.

A deep, shuddering breath came from the other end. Wait for it, he thought.

“I gambled a lot of it,” she said. “A whole lot of it ...”

Dr. Fein fell back in his chair, and his eyes rolled skyward as Lila told him about her visits to the Laurel racetrack, where she couldn’t resist playing the ponies. She’d win a small, safe bet and gain the courage to try something bigger, riskier—only to see her money slip away. She kept going back, tried several times to recoup her losses by placing more bets. Of course she lost more than she won. In the end, the money that didn’t go toward her debts was frittered away at the track.

Dr. Fein despised gambling. Lila might as well have flushed her money down the toilet.

“I’m scared, Dr. Fein.” Lila’s voice quavered over the line. “If I don’t pay them back, they’ll ... they’ll kill me. Or worse.” Her voice broke upon uttering the last two words.

Dr. Fein could feel pain run like a thread being pulled between his temples. He massaged his forehead and tried to think.

“What am I going to do, Dr. Fein? I don’t know what to do.” Lila moaned. “I don’t have their twenty thousand dollars. I have nothing of that value to sell. No one will lend me the money. I rent my house, I have no collateral, and these people ... well, they don’t exactly take credit cards, do they? I just don’t know—”

“Lila,” Dr. Fein interrupted, in a soft, but firm voice. He continued to knead his forehead. “Hold on for a moment while I think.”

“But I’m scared. What am I supposed to do?” Lila’s voice took on a whiny edge. Then she started babbling. “I could run away, but I don’t know where to go that they won’t find me. I have to do something. Maybe I should buy a gun. I can’t afford a bodyguard, and I have to protect myself. But I ... I just don’t know. Could I really shoot someone if I had to? Maybe, maybe not. I’m just—oh, God! I just could kick myself for letting this happen. I just could—”

“Lila!” Dr. Fein barked as a surge in the pain seared through his forehead. His imperative tone had the desired effect this time. “Lila,” he continued, more quietly. “Please just let me think for a moment.”

After half a minute of silence, Lila said in a halting voice, “Dr. Fein? Are you still there?”

“I’m still here, Lila.” Dr. Fein could feel the pain subside. “Can I call you back in ten minutes?”

“Oh—okay.” Lila sounded hurt, like she didn’t believe him.

He started to put the receiver down but heard her faint, childlike voice—like a toddler’s whimper—calling his name before it hit the cradle.

Bringing it up to his ear again, he said, “Yes, Lila?”

“Just ten minutes, right?”