The Bound Bride

The Bound Bride

By:

Anne Lawrence

Copyright © 2013 RascalHearts.com

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

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Chapter One

“What am I supposed to do?”

Cassandra Dodd sat on the floor of her studio apartment, surrounded by piles of papers. The situation seemed less dire than it truly was if she named them such. It could seem like just another carefree all-nighter spent cramming for an econ quiz or trying to finish a poly-sci paper.
That
was stress in its own way. But fun stress. Stress that promised the future just beyond the horizon. A passing grade meant the reward of shots at Hendricks followed by sleeping until two on a Saturday. She’d start the process over again come Monday morning. Drown in more work. She recalled bemoaning the never-ending assignment and the admittedly foolish decision to take eighteen credits in one small semester. But it would all be worth it. It had to be.

She reached for the most menacing piece of paper. She’d been avoiding it for days, hiding it under a coffee table book, stuffing it in her purse, glancing at it briefly before crumpling it in rage and cracking open a beer. But the page stuck to her like an old Band-Aid. She couldn’t just give it a quick tug and let the wound heal. The bleeding would
not
stop.

Cassandra smoothed the page across the floor and stared. It was a mass of legal jargon that she could comprehend but didn’t want to. But there was avoiding the large red stamp pressed against the top left corner at a jaunty, teasing angle.

Final notice
.

She closed her eyes and willed the letters to disappear. She remembered younger days when she’d believed that if she just
wished
for something hard enough, a new backpack, Matt Brower to notice her, her parents fighting to stop, it would come to pass. Her desires went unfulfilled. Well, not entirely. Matt Brower
had
felt her up at the spring formal. And he told everyone
just how far
she had gone the very next day. But most of her dreams stayed in their ethereal state. Images in her head. Why should anything be different now?

Her eyes opened.

Final notice.

She hadn’t paid her rent in two months. The prospects for her leased Civic weren’t much better. Everything that she felt was
hers
was slipping away. Slipping back into the hands of their rightful owners.

And there was no wish loud enough to change that.

She left the
final notice
and grabbed her credit card statement. When she had been able to pay the bill, she’d done it all online. But she never went entirely paperless. A lesson from her father.

Keep track of your accounts, Sandy.

A lesson unlearned.

She had watched the line of available credit dwindle and the amount due expand to epic proportions. Over and over again she resolved to cut it up until she had secured a job.
Any
job. But with no incoming cash flow fattening her bank account, she turned back to the piece of plastic when she needed a ready-made sandwich or beer or a pack of smokes.

How about just buying some actual groceries and making something? Cut out the cigs and the booze. That would aid your cause.

Now it was as if her mother was in the room. Right at her ear.

Cassandra flipped the bill aside and reached for her purse to pull out her wallet. There was more than
one
card within the pockets.

There were seven.

And she was living on
all
of them, living on borrowed time.

A search for cash revealed no bills. Just a handful of spare change. She thought of searching the rest of the single room that was her home. Her pockets, forgotten bags, cluttered drawers. Maybe she’d locate enough coin and start rolling it up in paper tubes. Or just press it into a jar missing its tomato sauce and take it to the bank. She’d find a friendly teller and walk out with enough
paper
to get her life back on track. She could already feel the fingerprints of others once the bills were in her hands.

But she’d already done that. And she was still in the hole.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Her words were for no one. Just her. And she
was
hearing them. She heard them in her mind, falling off her tongue. They followed her into her dreams. More like nightmares. If she didn’t come up with something, and
fast
, she’d find herself living a worst case scenario where she pushed all of her belongings along the sidewalk while wearing rags and searching for an alley to huddle in. It would be her best bet for sleep and the hope of remembering happier times.

She couldn’t face that.

Cassandra climbed to her feet and hit the fridge. She pulled out a beer and opened the can. The bubbles hit her tongue and ran down her throat. She could feel foam leaving her mouth and streaming down her chin. She didn’t bother to wipe it away and continued to drink the can dry until it was empty. The aluminum crushed under her fingers, and she tossed the can into the sink. Her breathing quickened as the slight buzz hit her brain. It’d be okay. She’d find a way out. This couldn’t be the rest of her life.

She barely stifled a loud belch.

That told it like it was.

Cassandra fell to the couch and scanned the wreckage. She hadn’t even had the courage to fire up her computer and look at her student loan. Paperless was mandatory in that world. She’d secured a deferment on account of her inability to secure work. But the interest still accrued. Even if she lived to be a thousand, she’d never
pay it off.

Her phone rang. Cassandra reached for the coffee table and lifted it to her eyes. The incoming call promised Iris. Cassandra was quick to answer.

“Iris? Hey!”

She could hear all manner of restaurant traffic in the background. Iris had promised to talk to her boss about bringing Cassandra on. Part time. But it was
something
. Cassandra had interviewed with Max and his gut, accentuated by the belt around his ill-fitting khakis. He had scanned her resume and asked her, point blank, just
how
her brief stint as
Calliope
co-editor, the
best literary journal at any college in the Northeast, would translate to pouring coffee and remembering requests for gluten-free toast.

“Um… I’m good with details?”

When it came out as a question, Cassandra felt that she was already doomed. But Iris had assured her that Max needed another girl. And why shouldn’t it be
her
? It wasn’t selecting poems that spoke to the Microsoft Word question mark icon as the true bane of humanity, but she could still carry a tray and communicate orders to sweaty short order cooks. And here it was. The call to action. Cassandra would be there before the dinner rush of seniors who had to be home by six. After the stoners pigged out on seasoned fries with cheese and gravy. She’d be there through all of it and happily collect her tips. She could already see her many outstanding balances fading into memory.

“Cass?”

Iris’s voice drew Cassandra out of her daydream. She moved the edge of the couch and sat up straight. She was
so
ready to take
everyone’s
orders.

“Right here, Iris! So what’s the verdict?”

She had to just be bursting to share the news!

Cassandra waited for words. Iris gave her only silence. Then a sigh.

“I’m sorry, Cass. He picked someone else. Not that he wasn’t impressed. He
was
.”

Cassandra bit her lip and bounced her toe against the leg of the coffee table.
Impressed
.
Right
.

“It’s just,” Iris continued, “he wanted someone with restaurant experience. Can’t blame him for
that
, right?”

She could. She could blame him for not taking a chance on her. She could blame Iris for not making a stronger case when she
knew
how much Cassandra needed this. Needed
anything
. But in the end, she had no one to blame but herself.
She
had made a college career of reading the classics and never learning Photoshop or Dreamweaver. And as a result there were no jobs. Just mounting debt. And for the briefest of moments, being a waitress seemed like a way out.

And she’d failed at that, too.

“Cass? You there?”

Cassandra wiped her nose and wished for any other point of view. She’d even take the skies falling in all around her at this point. She saw only the crack in her ceiling and heard only the pounding footsteps of her upstairs neighbor who apparently did everything in his work boots. He should just pound them into her head and end her misery.

“Cass?”

She sniffed and finally found her voice.

“I’m here, Iris.”

“You okay?”

No. far from it. And she felt that she’d
never
be again.

“Cass?”

“Yeah, Iris?”

“I’m coming over after my shift.”

Cassandra nodded and burst into tears.

Chapter Two

She had herself a good cry. She was getting to be a pro at it. Cassandra wondered if there might be a way to turn
that
into a career. Maybe she could take up acting. If she could tap into this lowest point over and over again when imagined lovers abandoned her or someone threatened her with grave bodily harm, then she’d be a star. Of course, if her star ascended and the hard times faded into memory, would she still be able to cry? People trained for years to keep the bad times flowing when the curtain rose or the camera rolled.

She’d probably crash and burn before even getting started only to wind up back in an even smaller
studio apartment. But there was always the possibility of starting and repeating the whole process over and over again. Cassandra, the comeback kid, succeeding, then failing, only to succeed again before falling to the earth in a final hail of drugs, sex, and booze.

Just the thought of it made her dizzy. But another drink would taste perfect just about now.

She opened another beer.

Cassandra kicked the bills away and curled up on the couch as she grabbed the remote. Somehow, the cable was not off. Yet. It was as if some unseen bill collector had her back. He was taking pity on her past dues and late fees and granting her the one reprieve she had from the gloom. A window into other people’s lives. People who got it together and kept it going. She aspired to their heights and resented
all
of them as she clicked through the stations.

She liked marathons. Time was when you had to wait for a holiday weekend to catch a continuous block of a favorite show.
The Twilight Zone
on New Year’s Eve into New Year’s Day always played in the background as she and her friends passed joints around and mixed everything from orange juice to Dr. Pepper with Absolut. She was usually throwing up in a reserved hotel bathroom before the monsters even hit Maple Street.

These days, every day, was New Year’s Eve. She settled on a series of
Golden Girls
episodes and lit a cigarette. She tried to lose herself in the one where Blanche dates Stan, Dorothy’s ex, and the fur starts to fly. Cassandra watched the women, old and glamorous without any real cares in the world. She feared that when
she
reached their ages, she would be reduced to eating cat food. She imagined it as all she’d be able to afford.

Forget passing fifty. A regular diet of Fancy Feast would be her future in the space of a month if
this
kept up. She nursed her second beer, and the taste mixed with a fresh round of tears.

By the time Dorothy and Stan nearly remarried but ultimately parted ways (like Dorothy was
ever
leaving the house; at least not until the series’ end), there was a light rap on her door. She tried to ignore it and muted the set. It was probably someone from the rental office here to evict her and set her on a bag lady’s path. If she stayed very quiet and pretended that she wasn’t there, maybe they’d just go away.

There was a second knock, a little louder, much more insistent. Still she stayed on the couch. Okay. Fine. Let them take a battering ram to her door and force their way in. She would still sit. They’d have to drag her out by her hair, kicking and screaming and spitting all the way. At least she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Knock number three. The loudest of all. Cassandra braced herself for an all-out assault.

“Cass! Are you okay?”

Just Iris. So today was not her day of reckoning.

Cassandra dropped her
fourth
can of beer, half-emptied, to the coffee table and moved to the door. She peered through the peephole and saw Iris, still attired from her most recent stint at the diner. Cassandra could practically smell the grease that perfumed her hair. She undid the latch.

Iris appeared wide-eyed and worried as Cassandra came into view. She clasped her friend close. Cassandra’s body absorbed the grease, the smell, the feel,
all
of it. It was the next best thing to actually landing the job. She’d have to settle for it.

Iris pulled away and held Cassandra’s face. She pressed her fingers against Cassandra’s tear stained cheeks.

“Oh, Cass. I am
so
sorry.”

And Cassandra knew that she really was. Iris had likely put in every good word possible. She probably threw in a few lies for good measure. In the end, it wasn’t enough. But Cassandra still appreciated the effort.

“It’s not your fault, Iris. Thanks for trying.”

Iris hugged her again and led Cassandra back into the studio apartment. As soon as they hit the main room, the
only
room, Cassandra saw Iris’s eyes scanning the beer cans. She sighed and held Cassandra tighter about her shoulders.

“Now what is that going to solve?”

Nothing. And she didn’t even feel any better. It was no longer a New Year’s Eve buzz, vomit and all. That would’ve made for a much more pleasant sensation. But it was all she could do to kill the infinite amount of time on her hands.

Cassandra sat on the couch without an answer for her friend. Iris sank to her side and took Cassandra’s hand. Why couldn’t her familiar touch simply solve everything?

“Cass? You need to get a hold of yourself here.”

Thus spoke the woman with a job. Minimum wage, barely, but there were tips galore and the promise of more to come from return customers. Cassandra wished she’d have waitressed in between quizzes and term papers. At least she’d have a usable skill
at her disposal. But once she left
Calliope
and decided that art history was the way to go, she spent her spare time as a museum intern. Cassandra had envisioned herself a curator when the ink was barely dry on her degree. But in a failing job market, white collar jobs, fancy
pants
jobs, as her mother liked to call them, were evaporating like the morning fog as it skimmed the surface of a bobbing lake.

“Cass?”

Cassandra rubbed her face with her hands and tried to sober up.

“Yeah?”

“Any…
anything
?”

Iris wasn’t accusing Cassandra or blaming her for a lack of effort. That was her parents’ game. She was just asking. This time she would answer.

“Besides my legendary meeting with Max?”

She couldn’t resist one quick, tender jab. Iris laughed it off and fell against Cassandra’s shoulder.

“He said he liked you,” Iris said.

“Well that’s just
great
.”

They sat in silence. Iris looked to the scattered bills. She didn’t have to move any closer to know that they spelled Cassandra’s inevitable doom if something didn’t change. But what could Iris offer but words of encouragement and another shot at Max when his new girl eventually flaked?

She reached into her pocket for her iPhone, keyed in her passcode, and tapped the Safari browser to life. What now? A job posting from Indeed that she’d be
just perfect
for? Some get rich quick scheme having to do with recruiting suckers from the comfort of home with the promise of hauling in 5K a week? Or maybe an article about how much money desperate, infertile couples were willing to part with for a chance at her eggs? Cassandra had actually already considered that option. But smoking girls who downed beer like water were
not
prime candidates when it came to baby making.

“Iris—”

“Just look.”

Iris swiped and clicked to an option she’d never tossed around her brain or even heard of. From Iris’s phone she saw a sea of smiling faces, all of them prettier than her, likely models. Below their perfect features, she read these words:

A rich man is a lonely man without a lady on his arm. BE that lady! Be his dinner date. Be his friend. Organize his home. Organize his life. He NEEDS a companion.

Is it YOU?

Sign up today!

Cassandra’s eyes drifted to the top of the phone. For the first time, she was the web address.

LeaseALady.com.

No way
.

Cassandra bolted from her seat and glared down at Iris.

“What is that?”

“Cass—”

“What is it? Are you… are you suggesting I… what?
Prostitute
myself for a quick buck?”

“Cassandra—”

“Cause that’ll solve
everything
. Can’t be a waitress? No problem. Be a whore. Thanks, Iris.”

She started towards the bathroom, the only other room in the place. Iris was on her feet. She grabbed Cassandra’s wrist and held her in place.

“It’s not like that.”

“Right.”

“Cass, this is something that a few of the other girls at the diner are doing.”

“Good for them.”

“Just listen to me!”

Iris often raised her voice. She was excitable, passionate. And foolish. But Cassandra always said that she like having Iris on her side. Iris had her own history of bad calls that she rarely learned from. But try telling her that.

“I’m listening,” Cassandra whispered.

Iris released her grip and scanned through the site.

“Better. And just remember, I’d never steer you wrong.”

She trusted Iris, but that remained to be seen.

“Here’s the deal, Cass. The men who make the money still need things. They need
wives
. Or what a wife does. Cook, clean, watch the kids. But he’s too busy for bars. Even too busy for speed dating.”

Now that
was
busy.

“So you sign up for this sight, they screen you, and you find yourself a… a benefactor.”

Even in those terms, it still sounded shady. What happened
after
lights out for the little ones?

“Well, I guess this is the answer,” Cassandra said. “Playing with perverts.”

Iris sighed.

“Like you’re such a prude. Cass, it’s safe. They screen you. Take your particulars. They take his. And it’s money. If you don’t mind scouring a pot now and then!”

Iris’s words and the images of retro styled housewives and cabaret dates made it sound tame. And tempting. Her eyes settled on a blonde, blue girl smiling at an olive-skinned Adonis. They clinked glasses. And the girl, even if she was a model, or an actress, looked completely relaxed. She had no worries. She was happy.

Cassandra took the phone from Iris and clicked to the screen where she was invited to register. It was easy. And it was free. The second part appealed to her most. She was about to be evicted. The next knock
wouldn’t
be just Iris.

“And… and it’s not a…
sex
thing?” Cassandra asked.

Iris patted her shoulder.

“It can
be, Cass.

That wasn’t a total turn off. Iris had called it. Cassandra wasn’t shy.

“But it doesn’t have to be. These two girls I know? One’s got a profile that says she’s down for
anything
.”

“And the other?” Cassandra asked.

“She’s there when he gets home, sees that he’s fed, and leaves him with a beer and a ballgame.”