I shake off the thoughts. Flustered, I grab for her wallet and keys on the table next to the door, giving her a reassuring smile. “Got everything right here.” But I catch myself just before handing anything over. As desperate as I am for this weird situation to be over, I wonder how Jane would handle this and I pause. The woman in front of me hasn’t even told me what happened to her yet. Why she disappeared on me. Where’s she’s been all this time. It’s still all a complete mystery.
“Can I ask what exactly happened yesterday?” I ask. “I mean, sorry to be rude, but where the hell did you go?”
There’s a subtle flicker of annoyance behind Emily’s eyes. “Ah, yeah. I guess I owe you an explanation, right?” She smiles apologetically. “I’ve kind of been having a bit of man trouble, so to speak. It’s complicated. I’m so sorry about the whole thing; getting you involved, putting you out.” She shakes her head at what I assume is the ludicrousness of her situation. “Basically, after you went down to feed the meter, I got a call, from my ex”—she rolls her eyes—“so I took it in the restroom. It was kind of an emergency and you were in your audition by then so I had to get an Uber across town to go sort it out straightaway rather than wait for you to finish and get my keys. I should have waited, or left a note like you did, but it was pretty time-sensitive. Anyway, the whole thing went on for ages and my phone ran out. So I only got your message when I finally got home and charged my phone this afternoon. It’s been intense”—she raises both hands, ringed forefingers crossed—“but hopefully I’m rid of this guy now.”
Jesus. I guess I was wrong about her not being the sort to take shit from boyfriends. But then I suppose even Jane took shit from her boyfriend.
It’s a vague story and I find it difficult to believe something could have been such an emergency that she’d have to leave her bank card with a complete stranger. But then conveniently she hasn’t actually told me what the emergency was. Again I feel Jane nudging me on. The plastic contours of Emily’s car keys sweaty in my hands, I decide that I deserve to know more. I’ve spent a day and a half of my life worrying about her.
“What did you have to sort out exactly?” I ask, my tone blunt.
She’s caught off guard by the directness of the question. I watch her realize that I still have her keys and wallet and she doesn’t have any choice but to answer. This woman who doesn’t quite look like Emily.
“Oh, okay. I broke up with my boyfriend a few months ago,” she answers dutifully. “But he’s turned up in LA the other day. And I got a call from someone in the building where I’m renting an apartment.” She shakes her head. “It was a neighbor, the woman next door. She was calling because a man was climbing in one of my windows.” She gives me a quick tight smile, and I can see where this story is going. “So I asked the neighbor what he looked like and she described my ex so I told her to tell him she was calling the cops. So she tells him that and he freaks out and he falls off the window ledge. He hits the ground at a funny angle, and he’s flailing around, yelling, and I can hear her shouting at him down the line and then he goes quiet. Completely blacked out. Turns out he broke his ankle. She tells me she’s calling an ambulance but I tell her not to because I know he doesn’t have health insurance because he’s still on my joint insurance. So I tell her to wait and then I look around for you in the waiting room but you’ve gone into your audition already so I called an Uber. I get back to my place, grab him, and take him to the ER, and then we’re there for like twelve hours. I had to call his family and tell them what happened. Which was the worst. Then I rang my insurer and had him taken off my policy afterward. And then my phone died.” She sighs heavily, her story complete. “So that’s what I had to sort out.”
I feel embarrassed for making her tell me.
“God. That sounds awful. Is he okay now, your ex?” I ask.
“Yeah I guess.” She shrugs wryly. “Although, kind of not my problem anymore.”