Alexa

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The email dropped into my mailbox about nine thirty on Tuesday night.

The little ding caught my attention, drawing me away from the dry journal article in front of me titled, "Confidence Building Measures and the Cold War" by Professor someone from somesuch think tank. It was required reading for my comprehensive exam for the International Relations MA at Columbia.

I ignored it at first. I hadn’t used that email address for almost two years. It had to be spam.

Candace, my BFF from my high school years back in Oregon, my constant partner in crime and the one person who could talk me into almost anything, sat beside me at her own desk, one knee tucked under her chin. Her dark hair was tied up into a messy bun, and she wore black horn-rimmed glasses that exposed her as the geek that she was. To top it off, she wore a Watchmen t-shirt, tattered grey sweatpants and old slippers that had seen better days.

I wasn’t much better in my own Bucky Barnes t-shirt and pajama shorts, finished by fuzzy purple socks. In high school, people called us the Nerd Twins, and we were, except that I had fair hair and was short while she was dark and tall. Other than that difference, we were two geeky peas in a pod.

We had been inside all week, drinking coffee by the gallons, eating takeout food instead of cooking, because cooking required shopping, preparing and cleaning. In comparison, the remains of a takeout meal went right into the refrigerator for later consumption or into the trash.

I should have ignored the email. It had been so long since I used that address, I was surprised that the email service hadn’t cancelled it. But my OCD got the best of me and I just had to open the email to get rid of the bold button. Besides, I needed a break, so I clicked on the mailbox and checked out the subject line in the preview.

"That's strange," I said and checked the date, wondering if it wasn't one of those ghost emails that show up months or even years after they were sent due to some mix-up with the server.

Candace glanced over at me. "What is it?" she asked, crunching on a Cheeto.

"It's an email sent to my old 9-1-1 address."

"Whoa," she said, her brown eyes wide. "What's it been – almost two years since you worked there?"

“Yep.” I opened the email even though I'd promised myself I wasn't going to check my email for a full two hours. First off, pretty much all the email I received was spam. Second, everyone I knew used texts, and finally, everyone who mattered knew I was busy studying for my comp for my MA, and was not to be bothered – not even on a Tuesday night. The comprehensive exam was the following week, and I was still studying.

So, when the email notification sounded, I thought it must either be a real emergency or spam.

I was wrong. Well, not technically. But it was neither.

---

---

“Oh, my God…” I was in awe that anyone could write an email like that and use an email address like that.

"What?" Candace scooted over next to my desk in her rolling desk chair. She craned her neck and squeezed even closer.

“It’s from – get this – Mr. Big Shot 69. You won’t believe what this jerk wrote.”

“What does it say?”

I read it out loud.

"Mr. Big Shot 69?" She laughed derisively. "What -- is he a freshman in high school?"

“I can't believe he actually chose that email ID and added a 69. Is he a total asshole?”

“Must be."

I read it again in disbelief. "He thinks I’m an escort and wants me to attend a family event with him.”

“He wants an escort to go to a family event with him?”

“He thinks I’m really high end and brainy.” I wagged my eyebrows at her. “He’s right, of course.”

Candace laughed out loud at that. “But of course you are! You should play along. Pretend you’re Sexy Lexi. Come on – you always wanted to be an actor. Write him back. Lead him on.”

I glanced at her and bit my lip.

She was right about the always wanting to be an actor. I'd even enrolled in a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree when I first went to college in Oregon, but that was years ago in another life. Stuff happened that changed the course of my life and I decided to move across the country and start a new life completely different from the one I left behind.

Now, there's something you should know about Candace. She was the one who always got the two of us in trouble back when we were in high school. She was the instigator of all the bad things we did, from egging houses at Halloween (Everyone does it, Alexa, honest!) to driving around with boys who were older than us and who were drinking (They can drive, Alexa, honest!) to stealing cigarette packs from the display in the corner store (Just stick it up your sleeve. No one will notice, Alexa, honest!)

How many times had the girl gotten me in trouble? Luckily, I emerged from my teenage years alive, unscathed, and without a criminal record, but only barely.

So, I should have known to trust my own gut.

But I didn’t…

“There must be a Lexi911 who’s an escort. One tiny typo…”

I read over his email once more and considered. Should I play along, pretend to be the infamous Sexy Lexi? Part of me said no, because that would be unethical, but the other part said he was likely a real jerk to use an escort service. I mean, who pays women money to go out with them? Who pays for sex? It was unethical – immoral.

“Are you going to reply?”

I chewed a nail. “You think I should?”

“Do it.” She moved closer, her chair almost crowding me out. “He’s probably a real jackass.”

“He deserves the best I can give.” I smiled as I pressed reply. “The very best.”

And so, I sealed my fate and started writing.

I mean – Mr. Big Shot 69?

What kind of lame email address was that? What kind of lame man thought up an email like that? It was arrogant and crass.

I tried to keep up.

---

---

I should have immediately sent him an email that he had the wrong address and left it at that, but there was something about his message that had me intrigued.

"There," I said. "Sent."

“Oh, my God.” Candace and I stared at each other, huge grins on our faces. “Way to go!” She held up her hand for a high-five, and I dutifully responded, our palms slapping. “You did it!”

“I did, I did,” I said but I didn't feel triumphant. I felt this vague sense of Oh, my God what did I just do…

I knew the moment I sent my response that I’d made a mistake but I had no idea how to recall an email sent through Yahoo and so I took in a deep breath and waited to see how he’d respond.

I turned back to the screen, wondering if he’d reply. I bit my lip and watched my screen, thinking he’d most likely catch on and realize he was being played. I actually hoped he’d reply in all seriousness. It could turn out to be a good laugh.

After about five minutes, Candace and I returned reluctantly to our books. I figured he backed out of responding, maybe realizing his mistake. Then my computer chimed once more and sure enough, an email appeared in my mailbox.

---

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I laughed out loud at his response. “I don’t know how many times I can say Oh My God.”

Candace rolled her chair back to my desk and read it, turning to me with the biggest grin on her face.

“Can you believe it? What a dick!”

“You can say that again.” At the same time, my mind went to more venal thoughts. Mr. Big? I’d watched practically every episode of Sex and the City several times and Mr. Big had a permanent place in my sexual fantasies.

MrBigShot69 was willing to pay some call girl $1000 to go to a fundraiser with him so he could rub her in someone’s face?

"Who is he? Whose face does he want to rub – me – in? The ex-girlfriend? She must have broken his heart and not the other way around."

"Must be the one who broke up with him. She's probably going to be there and he wants to have some hot babe on his arm to make her jealous. Typical male."

"He's probably some rich computer geek working on Wall Street, most likely."

"Most likely…"

I should have stopped at that point, but it was too much fun so I decided to keep playing along.

---

---

“I can’t wait to see him,” Candace said. “He’s probably five feet nothing and weighs a hundred pounds, with a pencil neck, thick glasses and a pocket protector.”

“You mean like every other geek we know?”

“Exactly.” She patted me on the back. “We attract only the best.”

I grinned at that and wondered what he looked like. I couldn’t believe a truly handsome man would have to take an escort to a fundraiser. If he was a half-decent person, he’d probably have a friend or even his sister who could go with him in a pinch. The fact he was ready to hire an escort didn’t speak too well of him as a person.

I waited to see if he was going to send me a photo of himself, give me his real name and his cell. If he did, I’d be shocked. He must be desperate if so. I felt bad for him, but seriously. He had to be more careful with personal security. Emailing some woman he didn’t know out of the blue? Some high-priced call girl whose number he got from his friend?

My inbox dinged and I opened the email, noting several attachments.

"Oh. My. God… He's that desperate?" I turned to Candace. "Doesn’t he have a female colleague he could ask to this function? I'm afraid to open the email, for fear of what I'll see."

I hesitated only briefly before I opened the email and clicked on the icon for the attachment. The software scanned the image and finding no virus, the image opened immediately. My jaw dropped to the floor when I saw what he sent.

A screen cap of his American Express Black Card beside a bill with the unlimited credit limit displayed…

At least that was gorgeous…

“What an asshole.” I showed Candace. She peered at the image.

“He sent a credit limit pic?” She turned to me, a look of incredulity on her face. “That’s an all-time new level of pretentiousness.”

We both bent over with laughter. “What a dick…”

Then I opened the next image. It was a picture of a watch.

It was a Rolex Sea-Dweller. Black.

"The dick sent a picture of his watch." I showed it to Candace.

"A Sea-Dweller?" She frowned. "What's that?"

I opened a browser window and googled Rolex Sea-Dweller.

"It's a diving watch." My eyes bugged out when I saw the price. "Holy cow, it's worth $25,000."

She stared at me, her eyes wide, her mouth open. "Oh, my God, what a jerk!"

We both turned back to the screen to read his email.

---

---

I sat open-mouthed.

“He wants me to sign a non-disclosure agreement?”

I stared at the email and the pic of his Amex limit and Rolex. Then I responded.

---

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Another email popped into my folder. I opened it and read the single line of text.

---

---

My jaw dropped yet again when I opened the attachment.

It was a pic of his naked six-pack abdomen, which was amazingly washboard. I saw a very pronounced hip cleft and the start of a noticeably bulging package beneath some black Joe Boxer briefs.

I sent a text to his cell number, using my Lexi911 alias.

---

Lexi911: Phew… I worried that you were a skinny geek with thick glasses. I don’t send my photo to just anyone. We’ll have to meet in person. One question – what happened to your date?

---

His response came right away.

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MBS69: Geek, yes. Glasses, yes, sometimes when I have to read fine print. Skinny, no. As to what happened to my date? Suffice to say that both our expectations were off. She broke the rules, and I’m nothing if not a stickler for rules, so the relationship was off as well.

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Lexi911: You are a stickler for rules for your women? My kind of man.

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"Heartless jerk…" I said.

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MBS69: I do not lead anyone on about my expectations, and I expect the same from the women I become involved with. I have rules. She had the wrong idea about how willing I’d be to break them.

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Lexi911: Let me guess… you wanted sex but no strings, and she wanted you to tie her up with a big knot but not in the fun way.

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MBS69: Let me put it this way – our relationship did not move to the next level on my part, but it did on hers. My family was interfering and trying to push things, but it wasn’t working for me. So, I had to end it. That left me without a date on Saturday for this family dinner.

---

Lexi911: You could always go alone?

---

MBS69: Not with this crowd. They’re all married with trophy wives and expect the same of me and everyone in their circle. John said you were beautiful. If he thinks you’re hot, I know you’re perfect. Make sure you look classy and conservative. You have something appropriate, I hope? John said you were high end.

---

Lexi911: Oh, I’m very high end. The highest. I’d like to meet you in person before I go out with you. You like rules? That’s one of mine. Hard and fast. Coffee would be fine. 1:00 Thursday. The food court at the Columbus Circle mall. Outside that sushi place. Wear something red so I know who you are. You can bring your Non-Disclosure Agreement and I’ll sign. You’re a stickler for rules? Same here.

---

MBS69: That’s pretty short notice. I’m a business person and I am exceptionally busy.

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Lexi911: Precisely. Me as well. See you then, Mr. Big. Shot.

---

“You’re really going to go meet him, right?” Candace's eyes were wide. It was something she would do, but not me.

“No.” I was already hatching a plan to spy on him. “I’m going to go incognito and see what he looks like. I'll stand him up, let him go to this fundraiser alone. Serves him right.”

“I wish I wasn’t going to be in a meeting tomorrow afternoon with Professor Everly,” Candace said, her voice sad, “but it’s about my committee members and I have to go. I want to come, too…” She pouted.

I bit my bottom lip and considered, doubts creeping in about whether I should lead him on.

“Maybe I should send him an email and confess.”

“No, no, no. You should go. This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing!”

“What if he’s mad and starts to harass me?”

She shrugged, like that was nothing. “You could always block his cell if he starts to bother you. You could delete your old email. You don’t use it anyway.”

I made a face, struggling with my decision. I created my Lexi911 email when I worked as a 9-1-1 relief operator during the summers. After everything that happened with Blaine, I had initially planned on becoming a paramedic, but realized after answering calls that I couldn’t face that kind of stress. So, I went into plain old social science instead. Something calm and non-stressful, like international relations. I did an undergrad in Portland, and then moved to Manhattan to do my MA at Columbia. Candace came with me, happy to leave the West Coast behind. I’d start my PhD next year, if all went well.

“He’s obviously a real dickhead, so don’t feel bad about leading him on.” Candace moved back to her desk and flipped a page in her file. “What kind of guy has such rigid rules and breaks up with women over them? He sounds like he doesn’t have a heart. He deserves some payback. Consider yourself Karma.”

“What about my Karma?” I examined the pic of his abdomen again. “Will this be good Karma or bad Karma if I go through with it and stand him up?”

Candace shrugged. “Has a guy ever treated you badly?” She raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

She knew very well that a guy had treated me badly. One particular guy named Blaine who I only barely escaped with my life. I tried not to think of Blaine, because it was a very dark and scary part of my life I'd rather forget, but that's the thing about trauma. You can't ever really forget it.

“Mr. Big Shot 69? Consider me Karma,” I said and smiled.