[By request, with apologies. - Ed.]
When I say that she was a pathological liar, I want you to know it's not because she hurt me or lied to me. She was a criminal. She had stolen thousands of dollars from hundreds of people. She'd heard I'd be in Chicago for the weekend. She figured she'd make me one more victim.
I think it was her sob story that made me suspicious. I googled her name and found that she was wanted for massive fraud out of state. I should have done something--called the police, anything. Instead I decided I'd make a game out of it.
She said she was pregnant. She said she had cancer. She said the father was an abusive boyfriend she was running away from. She'd always been a big fan of my work. She wanted to hang out while she still had time. I pretended to believe her. It wasn't hard to pretend to like her. She was clever, if not terribly original. She was likeable.
She was utterly fucked up.
We almost went out for drinks later that evening, but she was clever enough to know that would tip her hand. She regretted not being able to and invited me back to my place. I started to feel sick, exploiting her like this--she wouldn't get a dime out of me.
In normal circumstances, it would have been a quiet, intimate evening. She confessed all of her entirely false fears, and each one made me feel sick. I told her how sorry I was. I told her I wished I could stay, or make it better.
We kissed in the dim light of the half-moon. I had never felt so wrong in my life. Then as she lay there in bed, not quite asleep I slipped outside to have a smoke.
When I returned she brushed a hand against my cheek and then sighed. "What's wrong?" I asked, sensing this would be her attempt to con me at last.
She framed it nicely. She didn't even make the request. She just made it sound so sad and lonely--she has no money to make sure everything is all right for her baby, to make sure he was taken care of when she was in the hospital. I told her I could give her something, but it was at home. I told her I'd go home and get it tonight, and made her promise to meet me at a restaurant halfway there so I could give her the money. "I'll even buy you lunch, if you want."
On the way home I had another cigarette and phoned the police. "She'll be there," I said. "Just tell me what to do."
20090902
grifter, reprise
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2 comments:
Lord I was hoping this was going to be Kari Ferrell erotica.
Please write Kari Ferrell erotica.
Please let this comment be the reason people start finding your blog by searching for the phrase "Kari Ferrell erotica" instead of "making out in public."
i'm the least erotic man alive, find someone else
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