Choices Read online

  Choices

  by

  Galia Ryan

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  Fanny Press

  PO Box 70515

  Seattle, WA 98127

  For more information go to: www.fannypress.com

  Galiaryan.fannypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Sabrina Sun

  CHOICES

  Copyright © 2013 by Galia Ryan

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-514-7 (Trade Paper)

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-515-4 (eBook)

  This book uses British spelling

  Produced in the United States of America

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Fannypress.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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  Chapter 1.

  Anna’s corporate skirt and jacket was soaked and her feet chilled to the bone as she fumbled to key her code into the security pad. Even the overhang of the building provided little shelter from the icy wind and rain intent on whipping her umbrella out of her hand.

  “Good evening.”

  The heavy glass doors—the first level of security for the thirty-story apartment block—had parted, but not for her. Instead a fellow resident had paused on the threshold to open his own umbrella. The fact that he had inadvertently blocked her access to shelter seemed lost on him.

  “What terrible weather,” he observed, scanning the street as if hoping for a lull when he could make his move. “You should get indoors.”

  Anna gritted her teeth in an effort to contain her temper.

  “I should, shouldn’t I?”

  Pushing past him, she headed for the bank of mailboxes in the foyer. Hers was one of the lower ones—another irritation because she couldn’t open it without putting her bags down first. As she searched for her key, rainwater dripped from the spike of her umbrella to form a puddle on the otherwise pristine marble floor.

  Along with yet another flyer advertising a local takeaway—how many did they think she needed for heaven sake—the box held an envelope with an all-too-familiar logo. Had it been possible, her spirits would have sunk even further. For a brief moment she thought about dealing with it another day, but what would be the point? If she didn’t respond within a certain number of days, they’d only send another. The same would happen if she ripped it up and argued she hadn’t received it. She felt like screaming. Why did no one understand? It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to pay her bills, she simply couldn’t. She didn’t have the money.

  By the time Anna emerged on the twenty-first floor she was beginning to calm down. Thankfully it was Friday, and she planned to do nothing more that weekend than a touch of housework and start reading the bestseller she had borrowed.

  Anna loved her apartment and the sense of peace it provided the moment she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Blessed silence was the term she thought most fitting, the one that had come to mind the first time she had viewed it. Perhaps it was the location on one of the higher floors. She had no idea. She just found an incredible sense of freedom being cut off from the sights and sounds of the world below. She felt safe.

  The apartment had other advantages that the rental manager had quickly pointed out—sought-after location, unusually large floor space.

  Not everyone had agreed with her choice.

  “I know it’s expensive, but I can afford it,” she had gone out of her way to reassure her father during his first visit. “I’ve got a good job and I’m well paid. Don’t forget the bonuses. I wouldn’t have signed the lease otherwise.”

  “But why this place?”

  “Alto is one of the few blocks in this city which ticks all the boxes, Dad,” she had linked her arm in his and given it a squeeze, “and it has a state of the art security system. And a pool, and a gym! It’s not easy to find a place here. They don’t come up very often.”

  “Well, I think it’s lovely,” her mother had conceded, emerging from the kitchen. “You’ve got a dishwasher and a microwave.”

  Her father had been less impressed.

  “It’s way too small for what you’re paying.”

  “I don’t think so,” her mother had said. “The bathroom’s very nice, and there are views from the living room.”

  “Of what? A few rooftops? You could get something much bigger farther out of the city. And cheaper.”

  “Closer to home, you mean?” She knew her father meant well. He was just having a hard time letting go. “I could, but then I’d have to worry about transport costs. One counteracts the other.”

  “Not if you took on a flatmate.”

  It was a valid but unappealing argument. Anna’s focus was space, her own space.

  “Leave her alone,” her mother had said gently, “she’s old enough to know her own mind. And who wouldn’t want to live right in the middle of the city where it’s all happening. Especially at her age!”

  “You see,” Anna was triumphant, “Mum understands.”

  Later that same day her mother had calmly told her she’d been diagnosed with cancer, and that it was aggressive. They had wandered into the bedroom, ostensibly to discuss a particularly good brand of bed linen.

  “But you can’t have,” Anna had protested.

  “I’ve had all the tests and there’s nothing anyone can do.” Her mother had been surprisingly calm.

  “I’ll come home.”

  “No. There’s no point. Dad will take care of me.”

  “But he’s right. I should be closer. I want to be with you. I can help.”

  As tears streamed down Anna’s face, her mother took her into her arms.

  “I don’t want you to. I’m not shutting you out. You’ll come and see me. But this is your life now. Look at you! Young, successful, and with all your life ahead of you. If only you knew how proud I am.”

  A child of the eighties, Anna’s expectations were vastly different from that of her parents. Her mother’s life had been a balance of pleasing her employer and pleasing her husband. The first was not too onerous, given that she only worked two and a half days a week in the archive department of the town hall. Nor had Anna’s father made excessive demands: he liked his meals on time, a clean shirt every day and the occasional beer at the returned servicemen’s club. Anna’s mother, who was exasperatingly content with the life that had been dealt her, had trouble understanding her daughter.

  “What on earth is wrong with getting married and having children?”

  They had been sitting at the kitchen table. Anna had been fifteen.

  “It’s just not what I want. I want to be someone. Not just someone’s wife,” Anna had stated bluntly, wondering why it had to be so difficult. Just what didn’t her mother get?

  “You can be both, you know,” her mother had pointed out mildly.

  Had there been siblings things might have been different, but as the only offspring of parents who had almost given up on the hope of having children, she had carried the burden of three sets of aspirations. Favouring little more than marital bliss, her mother’s had been the least appealing. Although
to her credit, she did acknowledge the desirability of some form of career. Her suggestion that a lesser position would at least allow the flexibility of raising a family did little to enthuse her daughter.

  Her father’s ambition for her had been the opposite. It involved university and a profession, alternatives he had been denied by his father, a staunch blue collar worker with whom such lofty ideals did not sit well.

  Anna had longed for travel and adventure, of working on kibbutzim in Israel and organic farms in New Zealand. She had wanted to do her share in saving the planet’s resources and at an early age had taped a world map to her bedroom wall. Colour-coded pins marked the places she would go.

  She couldn’t remember when, but at some point in her life her own dreams had been put on hold and she had bowed to the inevitable. As her father had pointed out, the world would still be there after she had graduated.

  Surprising even herself, Anna had discovered she enjoyed analysing figures and accounts. A straight ‘A’ student, she had enjoyed a career progression after university that had been—if not exactly meteoric—upward enough to satisfy both parents that they had produced a child who lacked neither intelligence nor commitment. Her success in obtaining an entry-level management position with a major retail bank gave rise to her father’s remark that she must think with the left side of her brain as he did. Her mother was more interested in hearing about the young men who worked alongside her.

  Anna’s inherent drive and determination drew the notice of her employers, who gave her more responsibility and the financial rewards that went with it. At last she was able to indulge in her desire to travel. Not for long periods, of course, and not to the darkest jungles of Africa or the South American rainforest, but a couple of weeks in the Maldives were definitely better than nothing.

  Dumping her umbrella in the sink, Anna eased off her shoes and the sodden jacket that would have to be hung up in the bathroom if there was any chance of it drying over the weekend. The skirt, too. Padding over to the fridge, she hoped for at least the remnants of a bottle of wine. After the day she’d had, it was no more than she deserved.

  Not only was there no wine, there was hardly any milk, either.

  “For once, just for once you could have been on my side!” she said to the door, giving it a hearty shove.

  Anna’s position as a senior lending specialist meant that she enjoyed a better than average salary. But even that was no longer sufficient. Thanks to the world’s financial problems, everything seemed so much more expensive. It was the little things that caused her the most frustration. Take food. Convinced that prices were rising weekly, she had already turned to the more economical supermarket brands rather than the higher priced labels she preferred. That or she went without. More worrisome, though, was her savings. Thanks to a number of bills she had underestimated and unexpected expenses, they were all but gone. The power company account had been the one to start the downward trend, with a bill almost twice what she had budgeted. To her credit it had been a winter account, but even so, she had tried to ensure the next one would not be so bad by being more careful. The following month reflected her efforts, but the bill was still higher than she had hoped. A call to the customer service department led to the helpful suggestion that instead of struggling, she should make an arrangement to pay a set amount each fortnight. It had seemed a good idea, especially when the phone company had been happy to offer a similar payment structure.

  She had then turned her attention to her car—a so-called smart car, large enough to fit two in comfort or four if they were underweight seventh graders—and analysed the running costs. Petrol and parking were the main considerations when taken into account over a long period. With little hope of any decrease in the cost of fuel on the horizon, the vehicle had virtually taken root in the garage space allocated to her apartment.

  The trip to the dentist was totally unanticipated. A filling had fallen out, and the resulting pain had been excruciating. She’d used her credit card—the same card that had been declined in her local supermarket a day or two later. Reading that she was not alone, that the cost of living was spiralling out of control, was of little help. Reluctantly she applied to a finance company for a personal loan. The interest rate was a few points higher than her own bank offered, but Anna had no intention of alerting her employers to her financial problems. She was not that stupid.

  Finally, in a last ditch effort to create a monetary safety net, she had cut out all unnecessary expenditures and social activities. No more casual visits to tapas bars after work. No more impulse purchases of shoes or clothing. No more catching up with old friends. No more gym sessions with her personal trainer. She even made her own lunches before leaving for work.

  When questioned, she replied that she was on a health kick.

  After a while demand for her company dried up. She knew her friends wondered why she no longer wanted to join them in the bars and clubs that up until now had been her favourite haunts, but she had her pride and felt it was no one’s business but her own. Even the most stringent measures left her only treading water. A flatmate—the logical solution given that keeping the apartment was her priority—was out of the question. While the place was a reasonable size, it only had one bedroom.

  She would have to take on a second job. The bank wouldn’t like it, but she reasoned they wouldn’t have to know. Running through her options was becoming an almost daily event. She needed something that would not impact her career, and wondered about evening and weekend bar work. With new venues constantly opening up in the city, surely there would be a shortage of good staff?

  Anna was aware that time was running out. She needed to be more proactive, especially now that reminder letters from those she owed money to were appearing daily in her mailbox.

  Chapter 2.

  Finding a second job wasn’t as easy as she’d thought.

  Anna began to buy the evening paper regularly and while the calls she made in response to the ‘sits vacant’ ads started well, the moment she was asked about her previous experience everything unravelled.

  “So where have you been working recently?”

  “Well, actually, I haven’t. Not in a bar anyway. I work in a bank during the day. But I’m a good learner.” She tried to put just the right amount of enthusiasm into her voice.

  For the first time in her life no one was interested in the fact that she had a business degree and had spent the last three years processing applications for loans that amounted to hundreds of millions of dollars worth of business. She widened her search, and over the following days replied not only to pubs and clubs, but also to a couple of restaurants wanting waiting staff. It was even more disheartening to continually get the same response. Was she setting her sights too high by replying only to restaurants whose reputations she knew?

  Then, as if life wasn’t hard enough, she learned during a monthly one-on-one meeting with her departmental head that she had not qualified for her quarterly bonus—something she had been relying on to clear a store account so overdue it had triggered demanding phone calls.

  “What do you mean I haven’t made it?” She was trying to contain her panic. “I always make my bonuses.”

  “Not this time, I’m afraid. If it’s any consolation, you were really close. Just a couple of thousand dollars short, in fact. Look, I’m sure you’ll be back on track in time for the next one.”

  Whether intentional or not, the words were patronising. It took an effort to control her temper, especially considering the stress she was under.

  Thankfully her local supermarket had been running a wine sale on the day her previous salary had gone into her account. Blowing her budget, she had bought half a dozen bottles of an acceptable white. That evening there was just one left—one she had held on to specifically. A talisman. Knowing her options had completely run out, she opened it and filled her glass.

  She didn’t bother with the staff vacancies for bars or restaurants; instead she went straight to
the ads she always dismissed. There were six or seven. Some even had borders and words picked out in bold print. She read them all, hoping to find at least one that offered a modicum of respectability. Finally she lifted the phone and pressed a sequence of numbers.

  “Good evening. Welcome to Elite Escorts. How may I help?”

  Anna closed her eyes and took a breath.

  “Hi. I saw your ad in tonight’s paper and, um, wondered if you could tell me exactly what the job entails?”

  “I take it from your question you know nothing about escorting?” The woman’s voice sounded friendly enough.

  “No.”

  “Well, it can be a very rewarding line of work if you enjoy meeting other people.”

  “Oh.”

  “Can I ask how old you are?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “And are you single?”

  “Yes. Is that important?”

  “No, not at all. We do have ladies who are married or in relationships. Look, would you like to come in for a chat? I would be more than happy to discuss things in more detail with you.”

  “Can I call you back?”

  “Of course. My name is Stephanie. Just call the number in the advertisement again.”

  Anna threw the phone down in disgust, telling herself there had to be other options. But when she drained her glass and the wine hit the base of her stomach, she felt the burning acidity of hopelessness.

  The following day she thought about the call. It was not as if she had time to be distracted from her work—work that required a considerable amount of concentration and attention to detail—but something about the woman’s voice had surprised her. As she closed one file and reached for another, she realised she had expected sleaze, but Stephanie had sounded educated—cultured, even.