Phantom Angel by David Handler

to talk about it?”
    â€œThere’s nothing to talk about,” she said woodenly. “He did whatever he wanted to me because he could. My mom wouldn’t believe me when I told her. Didn’t want to. She thought I blamed him for what happened to my dad. So as soon as I saved enough money I left. That chapter of my life is over now.”
    â€œNo, it’s not. It’ll never be over. That’s our curse.”
    She looked at me curiously. “Was it a priest who did it to you?”
    â€œI’m Jewish.”
    â€œSo, like, it was a rabbi?”
    I shook my head. “I ran away to Hollywood three weeks before I graduated from high school. When I was down to my last twenty-three cents a real nice guy named Larry offered to buy me a meal. Then he introduced me to his friend Steve. Next thing I knew they were both doing whatever they wanted to me in a motel room. My dad found me there three days later, drugged and dehydrated.”
    â€œHow on earth did he find you?”
    â€œHe was the best detective on the NYPD.”
    â€œWhat is he now?”
    â€œDead.”
    â€œDo you…?”
    â€œDo I what?”
    â€œGet nightmares?”
    I nodded. “All the time.”
    â€œMe, too. I hate going to sleep. If I could just function twenty-four hours a day without sleep I’d be so much happier.”
    â€œMe, too.”
    â€œHow about … sex? With someone who you like, I mean.”
    â€œThat takes time, but I’m getting there. You?”
    â€œWhenever John touched me I’d cringe and get all tense. I couldn’t tell him why. I just told him I’ve always been shy and I—I…” She trailed off, breathing in and out. “I don’t usually talk about this.”
    â€œI don’t either.”
    â€œI mean, we hardly even know each other, Bingo.”
    â€œIt’s Benji.”
    â€œOh, right. Sorry.”
    We were on the Verrazano Bridge now heading over the Narrows toward Brooklyn. Off in the distance, the lower Manhattan skyline was shrouded in a cloud of steamy, putrid smog.
    â€œTalk to me about R. J. Farnell.”
    â€œAre you sure you’re not playing me?”
    â€œWhy would I want to do that?”
    â€œPeople do all sorts of things for weird reasons.”
    â€œI’m not playing you. What you see is what you get. You told me I don’t know anything. What don’t I know?”
    Boso took a sip of water and gazed out at the skyline for a moment. “Well, just for starters, there is no such person as R. J. Farnell.”

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
    â€œTHERE’S NO R. J. FARNELL?”
    â€œThere’s no R. J. Farnell.”
    â€œOkay, maybe we’d better start from the beginning.”
    â€œYa think?” Boso chided me, shaking her blond head. “Listen, meeting Morrie’s the first big break I’ve gotten since I came to New York, okay? I mean, he’s like a major, major producer. And he promised he’d put me in Wuthering Heights, okay? Hire me as the understudy for Isabella, Edgar’s sister. If I’d do a sort of favor for him.”
    We’d crossed over the bridge into the Bay Ridge section of Brooklyn by now and were cruising the Gowanus Expressway.
    â€œWhat kind of a favor?”
    â€œHe told me he was playing an elaborate prank on a friend, which is something that rich New York guys do, I guess. What do I know? I’m just a little girl from Dumbfuckistan. And, let me tell you, when that man phoned me up I was so excited. All I’ve ever wanted to be my whole life is an actress. Except for when I thought about being a massage therapist. And don’t laugh. Not the sleazy kind. I mean somebody who helps people with chronic pain. I think anatomy’s real interesting. Did you know that giraffes and mice have the same exact number of bones in their necks? Nineteen. Guess how many we have. Go on, guess.”
    â€œI really have no idea.