Heroine: California Dreamin' by Elia Mirca Read Free Book Online Page B

it.
    “Well, then I do it the old-fashioned way.” I had an idea. I gave that woman the number of the phone from where I called and asked to leave a message. Ron should call me back between 18:00 and 18:30 because that would be the only time I had access to this phone.
    “Please tell him that Julie had called. She needs help regarding Robert.”
    “I’ll do that sweetie,” she replied matter-of-factly. “But don’t get your hopes up. I know the guys here. And they are not much more faithful than your Robert.” Before I really understood what she was hinting, the connection was aborted.
    When I wanted to enter the mall I noticed it was closed. It was closed every Sunday. Shit, then I have to go back to Roquetas. There the stores opened at eleven o’clock in the morning the latest.
    On my way there I calmed down again. To go shopping there would be totally normal. I must not get hysterical now, I thought. Soon I strolled slowly through the already crowded corridors and bought some small things here and there. I stopped at a booth that sold mobile phones and had a few models explained to me. The handsome salesman from India spoke worse American than I did. I explained to him that I wanted to pay the expenses for the phone at least three months in advance. I didn’t want to receive any cell phone bills at any address.
    “Well, that will cost you extra”, he laughed at me in a friendly way. “And I need your ID or driver’s license, the law demands that.”
    “Can’t we do that without it?” I asked flirtingly. After all, since I’ve passed my ‘exam’ as a hooker I might just as well behave like one.
    “I need to talk to my boss about that. You mind coming back in half an hour?” I nodded and winked at him once more with a smile.
    After an espresso and richer by a large purse that better fitted my imposed ‘profession’ I strolled back to the cell phone booth where my new friend was already awaiting me with a broad smile. The phone chip had arrived and he helped me activating it. For that I needed a new stylish cell phone whose color should match my newly acquired purse. Pink with spangles. In the end I had spent almost eight hundred dollars, a severe blow to my savings. But as a result I had a new phone number that could not be allocated to anybody. At least not in the USA or Europe. I could always reload credit at will via Internet or in cash at the booth. He preferred cash because that would be faster and more confidential. Now it was my Indian friend who winked.
    While sitting in the café I had pondered what I should do with the old phone number because my contract ran at least for another three months, with my name on it. Then I had an idea. That would keep callers like Igor in the dark for a while.
    In a stationary store I got a piece of paper without having to pay for it. That’s why I loved the Americans because they could be so splendidly uncomplicated. In Germany I probably would have needed to buy a whole package of paper. I wrote a message and a name on it that I remembered from a poster in Cologne.
    “Dali Beridze” or so was the name of a woman who had performed on a small stage back home. Then I walked up to an elderly woman who sat on a bench and asked her for help. Because all of a sudden I couldn’t speak English any more.
    With a terrible accent and waving hands and feet I explained to her that I had bought myself a new cell phone and that I would like to store a name onto its mailbox. I put my old cell phone into her hand and asked her to record a message.
    “Hi, this is the mailbox of Dali Beridze Please leave a message …” and so on. The old lady was really happy that she could help a young foreigner who surely would have her problems without knowing the language. I gave her a kiss on her cheeks and in my thoughts I apologized to all people from Georgia who I might have offended.
    Should Igor call he would at least be confused. Neither voice nor name matched me. Perhaps that