Mabel Shot

"Are you sure this is the place?" I look lost at Rumeu's private driver, who parks the car in front of a large house with modern architecture, situated practically on the other side of Moscow.
Rumeu didn't let me escape the darn delivery; I'm imagining that the sale of the 610 must have satisfied him because of the astronomical amount that painting was worth. The curator even gave up his driver just to make sure the canvas arrived correctly to the owner. I tried to convince him that since the driver was bringing it, there was no need for me to come too, but the sneaky Russian, presuming I would try to escape his tricks, acted faster, telling my boss that I had arranged to deliver the canvas personally to him and that I would also analyze the other paintings he had acquired in India, which he was interested in donating to the gallery as a gift for Rumeu. Czar made sure my boss wouldn’t let me escape this meeting.
"It was this address the boss gave." The kind little man turns off the car, stopping in front of the iron gates that mark the boundary of the property. He turns his face and looks at me. "If you want, I can wait here for you. I'll let Mr. Boris know that I can only pick you up later."
"Actually, I don't think you need to stay here; I’ll manage. I like to walk, you know, and in the end, it's good because I discover new places in Moscow. I'll just deliver the canvas and I'll be on my way." I smile at him and look at the backseat, where the canvas is wrapped. "If anything, I'll take a taxi. Thank you for bringing me, Bingo. I really think I would have never found my way here on my own."
"That's my job, Miss Shot." He smiles at me and opens the car door.
I do the same, opening my door and stepping outside, still looking confused at the imposing structure. I spent the whole trip thinking about what the driver would say if he parked the car in front of a butcher shop, how I would explain to him that the canvas was going there. But instead of the butcher shop, I ended up in a luxurious mansion in a distant neighborhood, practically on the other side of the city. I grab my bag, which I left on the car floor, and adjust it on my shoulder, feeling much more comfortable in my clothes than in the uniform. The long-sleeve shirt matches my denim overall dress, which goes down to my calves; the white sneakers are comfortable, much better than the high heels I wear during the day at work. I push a loose strand of hair behind my ear, which had come loose from my ponytail. I open the back door and carefully take the wrapped canvas, completely protected in bubble wrap.
"Thank you, Bingo," I say to the driver, who helps me close the car door.
"See you tomorrow, Miss Shot." He smiles at me and walks around the car, returning to the inside and starting it up.
"See you tomorrow," I murmur, leaving a polite smile on my face as I watch him leave.
I lower my eyes to the painting and let out a long sigh before facing the grand house again.
"What the hell, Mabel! What the hell!"
I walk angrily towards the gate, still not believing that among all the canvases I could have sold to this man, it was this one I chose. The Violation of Era, as the painter named it. The canvas came from Turkey, painted by a pagan Ottoman, for which Rumeu practically sold his soul to possess it. I remember the first time I saw it; it was raw, colorless, just the black and white painting of a violation of nature represented by a woman made of tree roots, with a black and perverse angel forcing its body over hers. It’s not a painting that would draw gasps, but rather one that shocks while it fascinates. I had spent hours looking at it during my breaks, sharing a certain empathy for Era, as if I were sharing the emotions she was feeling. It’s a painting that pleases few but quickly captivates observers, an explicit act of dominance and submission. It was so automatic to say its numbers that I didn’t even stop to think about who I was delivering this canvas to. I raise my fingers to ring the doorbell, but I'm surprised by the creaking of the gate opening.
"Okay!" I murmur, biting the corner of my mouth.
I take a step forward, aware of who awaits me inside the residence. I walk cowardly, imagining this is my last march, like those condemned in death row, only it’s not an electric chair waiting for me at the end, nor a lethal injection in the vein, but rather a dark man who is three times my size and has a strange power over me. A demon tamer, a dangerous and frightening trainer. I engage in a strange mental exercise that distracts me, imagining what could go wrong in this whole scenario. This alleviates my anxiety and nervousness. He could be a psychopath or a serial killer who likes to have sex with his victims before killing them, perhaps a stalker; that would explain why he showed up at the gallery. I try to think of all the horrible things he could do to me that Nate hadn’t done. But I can’t imagine anything; even if he killed me, it wouldn’t be bad; on the contrary, he would be giving me peace.
"What the hell, Mabel, who are you trying to fool?!" I clear my throat and take a deep breath. "Going after this man was the biggest idiocy you've ever done." I shake my head and blink rapidly. "No! Allowing him to fuck you with his knee, inside your workplace, was!"
I correct myself, cursing myself for ending up here. Maybe I could just claim I was exhausted on Friday night. I had worked the entire week; I was tired and had crazy thoughts running through my mind; it was just a collapse from exhaustion. I wasn't in a good state of mind.
"Surely Friday wasn’t one of my best moments," I ramble quietly and raise my index finger, biting the corner of my nail. "Hell, I didn’t even think I would really find him, let alone that he would accept!"