Carmen Phillips

I woke up to someone pounding on my door. It was going to be a long fucking day. My head throbbed as I fought to keep out the noise. The sorry ass excuse for a pillow I had over my head wasn’t working. I threw it off and got up and to go to the door. I opened it wide, trying to make my anger felt. A man in a suit with dark sunglasses was staring back at me, fist still raised mid-knock. He leaned back and looked at the doors on either side of mine.

"Who are you?"

I would have thought FED, but he was way to slick.

Nunya

"Nunya who?"

I can’t believe he fell for it.

"Nunya Goddamn business, that’s who."

I started to slam the door but his foot breached the threshold. I slammed it anyway and heard a crack when the door hit the flat of his palm. The calm I saw on his face evaporated into a glistening sheen on his forehead that trickled down to his reddened cheeks. Not one to normally back away from a fight, I took two steps into the room.

"I just got here last night, I don’t know who you are looking for…but it ain’t me."
I looked at my jacket and boots on the floor. They were the only things I needed to run. The cash was in my jacket and the knife was in my boots.

He saw me look at them and lunged, snatching up my coat.

I couldn’t let him take my money. I grabbed the nearest thing that wasn’t bolted down, it just happen to be the bedside lamp. Now, no matter what you have seen in the movies or on TV, hitting someone over the head is not pleasant. It doesn’t make a snappy sound, it’s more like a sickening thud that instantly creates a nauseating curl in your belly.

Thud

He hit the ground, it was a clean hit, no blood and he was still breathing.
I put on my boots, grabbed my jacket and walked out the door. I thought about leaving a note.

"I DIDN’T DO IT"

Well ok, I just gave him a reason to look for me, I hit him over the head. But I sure as hell wasn’t the person who took his money or whatever he was missing.

Shit

Where was I going to go now? I wasn’t ready to leave San Francisco.

I wandered down Market Street in the throng of people headed for lunch. Tourist snapped photos and pointed at odd looking people but they paid no attention to me. I breathed in the greasy air, tinged from a thousand grills firing up to serve the masses.

It was going to take a big lie to get me settled anywhere, but I was prepared for it. In The San Francisco Shopping Center I found what I was looking for, what I needed, to pull of the lie. A cheap bustier to push up my tits some tight fitting jeans that hugged my ass and spiked heals.
In a public bathroom I washed up, changed clothes and stuffed my dirty ones into the bag that was given to me when I made my purchase.

My hair wasn’t right, it was too long and I didn’t want to pay for a cut. I helped myself to a blow dryer and some hairspray in a mall salon—it was twenty minutes before anyone said anything.

"Who are you?"

"I’m friends with Jana."

I finished the last section and pulled it back into ponytail that brushed the middle of my back.
Satisfied I sprayed it liberally then turned to the woman questioning me.

"Thank you."

I raised my eyebrow and walked around her exiting the store.

In Macy’s it was my lucky day, M.A.C. was having free makeovers. It wasn’t my style but after slapping on some moisturizer at the Clinique counter and spritzing myself with perfume. I walked on over. The ooo’d and awed over my cheekbones, my lips. The only thing I could thank my mother for was my looks, they helped me get by when there was no other way. My fathers Mediterranean heritage gave them longevity, despite the smoking and drinking. Everyone said my mother looked like Carmen Phillips, whoever the hell that was…

When they were done a girl tried to hold up a hand held mirror for me to admire myself. I brushed it away and walked over to a full length one nearby.

My arms were lean, my stomach was still flat, I was a bit hipy from the crap I ate, but it worked. You could barely see the small lines that I noticed forming around my eyes. With a flip of my ponytail I walked away from the M.A.C. counter. On the street I hailed a cab.

There was one thing I was good at, now I just needed to find someone who needed my skills.