Chapter 2
“Miss Durham?” a voice said from the other end of the line.
“This is she,” Ashley replied.
“Ah, good. This is Saul Turnbuckle with First City Finance. I’m calling about your past due credit card balance. Are you able to make a payment today?”
“Today? No.”
“When can you make a payment?”
“I don’t know.”
The conversation went in one ear and out the other. She was getting used to the calls now. It had been nearly three months since she had kicked Dennis out of her apartment and bill collectors had started hounding her almost daily. Her salary from her job at the gallery was good and she made a bit of extra cash from the community art classes a few days a week, but it just wasn’t enough to cover everything she was behind on.
Instead, she had focused on the most imperative bills like the rent, utilities, food and left the credit cards slips until she could take care of them. It was wrecking her credit and fucking up her peace of mind, but it was all she could do. At the moment, she had about ten dollars in her account to get her through the rest of the week. Last week, it had only been two. Maybe that was improvement, but it was more likely just a fluke.
She had even been so desperate that she had gone down to the blood bank to inquire about selling plasma. When she found out they no longer did that, she had accepted their counteroffer of snacks, a free t-shirt and a gift certificate to the local movie theater. It was enough to get her out for an evening with enough left over for a soda and popcorn. She had finally even stopped reading her mail. It was nothing but bills she couldn’t pay, so it all lay in a stack on the table, unopened.
Though she was making a little progress with the bills, it was going to take her months, maybe years, to get everything caught up. In the meantime, she was eating ramen noodles and drinking water. She couldn’t even afford a decent bottle of wine, which she missed, especially when she could really use a bottle of vino and a bit of relaxation. Nothing she could do but persevere. She’d get out of this mess and she’d never let someone do this to her again.
Sitting down with her phone, she clicked through missed calls and messages. There were a lot of unknown numbers she didn’t even bother to check past assigning them a contact name of BC, code for bill collector, and a number, along with a silent ring-tone, so they wouldn’t be disturbing her all the time.
There were also multiple calls from Sasha, who she hadn’t even bothered to confront. She had found all she needed to know on the phone she had taken from Dennis. Not only were there calls and texts, but some very provocative photos from Sasha to him that backed up his claim. Sasha was as dead to her as he was. She went ahead and finally blocked her number.
Several days later, she put her phone on speaker and listened to the messages that had collected proverbial dust there, making notes on who she might actually need to call back and who she could continue to ignore. When she was done, she turned to the stack of mail, sighing loudly as she began to go through it. It was nothing out of the ordinary, just past due notices and threats of litigation. At first, those had frightened her, but a friend at work had invited her to dinner with her and her husband, an attorney. He had told her that it was usually just a bluff and as long as she was making an effort, they wouldn’t pursue legal remedies as it was usually more costly than what was owed.
One envelope stuck out from the rest. It wasn’t your usual manila business envelope. Instead, it was a thick granite gray one, like you’d find in a nice stationary shop. There was only a logo rather than a name and an address in New York City. If it was from a bill collector, they must be doing quite well with their recovery efforts. Opening it, she found herself looking at a very odd letter from a woman named Margaret Stanford. It was brief, getting right to the point.
Dear Miss Durham,
Our database indicates that you have a very rare blood type that might afford a very lucrative opportunity between you and our client. If you could possibly contact us at your earliest convenience to discuss further, we are very interested in speaking with you.
Sincerely,
Margaret Stanford
Client Services
Attached to the letter with a paper clip was a business card. It contained an address and a phone number on one side. Both the letter and the card, like the envelope, only reflected the logo rather than an actual business name, which she found odd. Doing a quick search on her phone for the physical address, she found it was some sort of surrogate service. Well, that was a bit much, even for her. She wasn’t that desperate. Laying the letter aside, she went through the rest of the mail and went to bed, not giving it another thought.
Walking into work the following day, she could tell something was amiss. She greeted the receptionist, as usual, but got only a cool glance in her direction. As soon as she had passed by the desk, she glanced to the side to see the girl whispering something into the phone. Halfway down the hallway to her office, where she worked in acquisitions, she was met by her boss, Mr. Timmons.
“Good Morning, Mr. Timmons,” she said, digging a fingernail into her palm to calm herself, for what reason, she wasn’t sure.
“Good Morning, Ashley. Can you step down to my office, please?”
“Sure. Is there a problem?” she asked.
“We’ll talk in private,” he replied, turning to lead the way.
Stepping inside, she took a seat, feeling incredibly anxious now. Her heart was thumping loudly against her chest, but skipped a beat when she looked up to see the human resource director stepping inside and closing the door as Mr. Timmons got seated behind his desk.
“Am I being fired?” she gasped.
“It has come to our attention that you have been receiving an excessive number of calls here at work from creditors.”
“Oh. Yes. I’m sorry about that. I had some unexpected financial issues that were beyond my control. I’m doing all I can to get them in order.”
“I understand. These things happen. Unfortunately, we have a policy here at the gallery that your financial standing must remain in good health for the duration of your employment.”
“Yes, and it will be. I just have to get things paid up.”
“I don’t want to mince words here, Ashley. You’ve been an exemplary employee, but we just can’t wait for you to get your affairs in order. The policy exists for a reason, so that we don’t have to worry about our people doing anything, let’s say . . . out of order, due to desperation.”
“So, you are firing me then.”
“I’m afraid so, but we want to be fair. You’ll receive two weeks’ severance pay.”
“Wow, two weeks? After five years of doing a fantastic job for this gallery, you’re just going to kick me out for having a little personal difficulty and give me a whole two weeks’ pay?” she barked at him.
“I don’t like your tone and we’re done here. You may clean out your desk under the supervision of human resources and then you’ll be escorted out.”
Ashley glared at him. How could he be so cold to her? They had always had a good relationship. It was strictly business, but amicable. Now, she was suddenly persona non grata? Was every man in the world a complete dick? She scoffed and raised herself out of her chair, following the HR director to her soon to be former office. An empty box was already there waiting, and she tossed a few personal things in it.
“If I forgot anything, my replacement can toss it in another box and have it sent to me,” she growled, storming out and down the hall with the woman in quick pursuit until she was sure she was headed out the exit.
Ashley made sure she was clear of the building and then sat on a nearby bench, finally letting loose all the pent up frustration she had been squashing for months. Once she calmed down, she wiped her face and made her way to the bus stop to head home. Inside her door, she dropped the box on the sofa and plopped down beside it. What was she going to do? With no job and already behind, she was going to really be screwed. She glanced at the stack of bills on the table, noting the gray envelope laying to one side.
“I wonder how lucrative?” she said aloud, before getting up to retrieve the card that lay on top and dialing the number.