I, Porn Star (I #1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

plates I’m stacking on the tallboy trolley.
    I turn and spear
him with a cold look. “I didn’t say.”
    He looks taken
aback for an instant. Then he grins. “Come on, muchacha . I’m just trying to get to know you.
No need to be so prickly.”
    I turn away
without answering. He gets the hint because he doesn’t engage me again for the
rest of the morning.
    An hour before
the lunchtime rush is when hundreds of dirty plates are sent down. I found out
through a talkative Miguel that not only are Blackwood Tower employees given
three squares daily free of charge, the top executives are also given brunch,
hence the late morning madness. The only sliver of a lull comes after lunch, but
we’re allowed to take fifteen-minute breaks twice a day besides our lunch break.
    During the first
break, I pour myself a cup of cheap, but free, coffee from the rec room, grab
the burner phone from my locker and head upstairs. Outside, I head deeper into
the side street and make sure I’m alone before I turn on the phone.
    My heart hammers
and my palms grow clammy as I wait for the blue wheel to stop spinning. My
rational brain tells me it’s a burner and Clayton will have no way to trace it
unless I do something stupid, like call someone back at The Villa. I don’t
intend to. For one thing, nothing and no one back there triggers anything near
nostalgia, although every now and then I suffer a twinge of guilt for what I
did.
    All the same I’m
nearly dizzy with fear as I check for missed calls.
    Nothing.
    My heart drops,
thankfully along with a large dose of terror once the phone is powered down.
But in its place, anxiety rises.
    It’s Thursday.
The stranger with the mechanical voice said he’d be in touch within the week.
Did that mean in the next seven days or within this week, i.e. before Friday? I
stare into the middle distance and mull the words over. The longer I think
about what happened in that room, the more surreal it feels.
    The stunning, but
starkly minimalist apartment. The light grey walls with the uncomfortably,
artsy chair. The mirror. The futuristic looking camera.
    His robotic,
hypnotic voice.
    Had that all
really happened?
    “Elly.”
    My mind frees
itself from the lingering fear. I conclude that I must have fallen into some
Kubrick-style, hunger-induced delirium and fantasized the whole thing.
    “Elly?”
    Which means, my
life is still set on a countdown clock, which spans days, possibly a week or
two, tops. Because Clayton will find me. And when he does, he’ll kill
me. It might be slow or it might be fast. But death will be the ultimate
penalty.
    “Hey, Elly! ”
    It takes a
nano-second for the name to register as mine. Snapping fingers emphasize the call
and I turn to find Miguel hovering five feet from me. A cigarette dangles from
his fingers as he stares at me funny.
    My skin prickles
with thoughts of discovery, thoughts of flight. I force myself to remain calm,
not give away the fact that the name he’s calling me by is as familiar as it is
alien to me. “Yes?”
    He laughs. “You
didn’t hear me? You spaced out there for a sec, huh?”
    I slowly slide
the phone into my pocket. “Did you want something, Miguel?”
    “Not me, no. But
the boss wants you.”
    My heart skips several
beats. “Why?”
    He shrugs. “Hell
if I know. But he wants to see you, pronto.”
    I manage a nod
and keep a sensible distance between us as I leave the alley.
    “Uh…Elly?”
    My back stiffens,
the name a reminder of why I’m here in this cold, noisy city awaiting a
gruesome fate that looks exactly like death. I look over my shoulder.
    “Is everything
okay with you?” Miguel asks.
    “We don’t know
each other well enough for you to ask me that.”
    He shrugs. “Maybe
not. But I’m asking all the same.”
    I think of all
the answers I can give. Then settle on the only option available. “I’m fine.” I
dispose of my Styrofoam cup and hurry inside before he can stick his nose
further into my business.
    The man I