THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY

   I could not get that smell out of my nose. It was so strong that is started to make me gag. This seemed to be a bad omen and one that caused me to rethink what had happened just a month ago.

   It was the end of the day and spending a quiet night by myself without anyone telling me one more story of how miserable life was for them was what I needed. Candles were lit and my favorite tunes were playing in the background as I worked on my latest creative artistic endeavor. This is what I told myself to do to get into a better Zen moment, paint. Modern art was something I was exploring. Odd shapes, faces and colors were keeping me focused this evening. By the middle of the evening, I was pretty content with my accomplishments. But that moment was not for long because the front door was suddenly shaking with someone pounding on it. I jumped up, looked out and saw a familiar face. It was Monica. The calm night I so desperately needed soon erupted into chaos. I opened the door and this woman burst through in a panic frantically telling me or begging me to help her. I quickly encouraged her to come in and sit down then closed the door. But she kept pacing the room repeating over and over the same words, “I didn’t fold it right! I didn’t fold it right!” Grabbing ahold of her shoulders and speaking loudly into her face, I told her to stop and to tell me what was going on.

   “He said I would be fired, and no one would hire me!” She paused and repeated the same words, “I didn’t fold it right!”

   I had no idea what she was talking about, so I promptly put my hands up, told her to stop, back up and tell me what happened.

   She hesitated, then slowly confessed. “I killed him.”

   My mouth opened to say something, but the shock of her words left me speechless. It took me a moment to get back into a rational mode of thinking and finally I said, “Okay. You need to tell me what went down.” There was nothing else to offer at this time other than to just let her vent and I knew my conscious was telling me to do the right thing. I could not show her the Sonya of my other life, which was a persona created so totally opposite of the Sonya she had known. After a few moments, she felt comfortable enough to begin to tell her story. “Thank you for letting me in, Sonya.”

   “Hey,” Sonya smiled and gave her another hug, “No worries. It’s me, remember, the one that’s always here for you, and glad to help.” 

What was I thinking! This was to be the worst idea I had at the moment. I’m due to be out of the country and now I have to somehow help this person who is a confessed killer. Oh, my gosh! In all the scenarios that have been thrown my way, this one, especially now, is as unreal as it gets.

   The two had recently reconnected their friendship, as her friend now worked at the dry cleaners a block away from Sonya’s family and apartment. In Sonya’s so-called business, she needed her tailored suits perfectly cleaned, pressed, and presentable every day. She was one of a few woman CEOs in a man’s world. IRON Press On had exceptionable skill for her ‘must-have’ image and now this?

   There was no turning back. She had to know more. The owner of the business, her friend confessed, was demanding more from her, every second she was there. It seemed, something had changed dramatically, as he had become more hostile towards her. She also noticed; certain vehicles began appearing after closing time in the alley behind the building. He would make her stay in the shop, put up the ‘closed’ sign, and threaten her if she did not do exactly what he needed done. This story seemed so out of the ordinary, it was almost unbelievable. But who comes knocking on your door at night with a scenario like this? Sonya encouraged her to spell it all out. “What” she prompted, “did he want you to do?”

   “I got the feeling that he was in on some money exchange scam, and it was becoming very scary for me.” She went on to describe, how cloth napkins were to be layered with a bundle of cash and folded to appear set up for delivery to a swank hotel event. The pattern had to be perfect, as that was the code to the recipient, on where it came from. He put her on task, to create a unique pattern fold, for each one, of the six different locations, that were in on the planned scheme. However, something seemed to have gone wrong, and this is where the story changed.

   “He was the one that mixed up the code, but told me this is all my fault, and now I would be the one paying the price for his mistake.”

   “There IS NO DAMN CUSTOMER SERVICE DESK to demand a refund for your stupid mistake.” Monica repeated this angry outburst he spewed to her.

   “He blasted these words at me to make his point. He told me that the ones who were shortchanged will not take any excuse. There was no fix. Sitting with hands folded, Sonya’s friend continued a bit more calmly now, taking in the soft lights, candle scent and music, and then added more to this odd story. What she had found out was that her so-called error, resulted in her boss’s last business location being burned to the ground. He told her, that she, would be the one to pay for the mistake. With a sneer, he added that there would be an unconditional payment made to the client. The payment would be - her. Monica with More Delight, as he told the client, would be made to offer comfort services, at his Gentlemen’s Club. Monica was so embarrassed. Soon after this demand was told to her, he got word that the offer was well received, by the owner of the business. He hoped that this gesture, would smooth the waters, so they could continue with their planned venture. “I panicked and tried to reason with him, but he grabbed me in a choke hold and threw me up against the wall. He threatened my family if I didn’t cooperate. The plan, he told me expressively, was to go home, pack, and show up the next night at 9 pm, sharp.”

   Monica restated the story. “You WILL be dressed in accordance with whom and what they expect. I WILL NOT repeat any of this. Show up, dressed to impress, or there will NOT be another chance.” He grabbed her arm, brought her to the door, and told her to get out.” Be back tomorrow. DO NOT speak with any one or else!”

   The next day was spent in a frantic agitation mode. Her boss had eyes on her family. He knew things about them that she never told him. How he was able to have details about her family that he now threw at her, was deeper than she thought, and prayed that it would end, and she would wake up from this horrific nightmare. The FM station was playing the same music over and over. It seemed like it, anyway, as the night dragged on. Monica was sitting at a table, waiting for her consort. That was what he told her to refer to him as. This was the one in charge, who everyone referred to as El Charro. She decided long ago, that if they wanted a victim then she would play the victim. 

What would Sonya do?