She Is Risen (She Is Risen: The Gun Control Case Studies) (10 page)

            “Hello.” She answers the phone reluctantly after
a moment.  

            “Yes, Letisha Belfort, please?” A young female
voice asks in a professional manner.

            “This is she.” Letisha replies, putting her free
hand on her hip and waiting for a sales pitch.

            “Letisha, this is Kara with the Roscoe Group,
we’ve received your resume and would like you to come down for an interview.”

            “An interview for the hair and makeup position?”
Letisha asks feeling suddenly excited. 

            “Yes.” The woman replies with scintillating
charm.  “There is a new movie that will start shooting in two weeks and we’d
like to see if you’re the right fit for this position.  Are you someone that can
handle doing hair and makeup for leading ladies?”

            “Oh my gosh! I would love that!” Letisha replies
with an elation that she’s not felt since before Phillip went off to war.

            “Fantastic!” The woman replies with
satisfaction. “Can you be at our offices in an hour?  Do you need the address?”

            “Yes, I can be there!” Letisha announces with a
clenched fist and a smile, holding her right hand up in a victory pose.  “One
hour will be no problem; I don’t need the address.”

            “Excellent.  Just come to the thirty-seventh
floor and check in with the receptionist at suite 115.”

            “That’s great! I will see you soon.  Thank you
so much!”

            “Likewise, Letisha.  We look forward to seeing
you.”

The Roscoe Group – Downtown Los Angeles

            Forty-five minutes later, Letisha breathes
heavily with anxiety as she walks across the warmed concrete slabs of the sidewalk
in front of a tall office building.  Her eyes are covered with sunglasses, and
her chest feels as compressed as a submarine in a deep sea dive while she moves
daintily forward.  The sexy orange dress makes her skin crawl and the expensive
heels make her feel vulnerable and cheap. 

            Letisha closes her eyes and counts to ten,
having not dressed anything like this since the attack.  She puts her right
hand out and steadies herself on a large, blue mailbox, letting the tension
drain from her body as a woman on a bicycle passes from behind, followed by a
curious couple that crosses her path from the front.  As these people approach
closer, it inspires Letisha to panic, but she breathes in low, careful gasps,
telling herself that everything will be okay.

            Once she is alone on the sidewalk, the young
woman looks up at the fifty-story building, thinking of all the glamorous
people she could meet, and the incredible lunches to be had near Wilshire and
Rodeo.  She takes in one solid, deep breath, forcing herself to move forward,
staying focused on the money and satisfaction that this job will bring.  A
smile forms on her thick, red lips as Letisha regains her courage, and the sun
reflects on her light, walnut-colored skin, filling her with warmth.  She
builds confidence with every step now, making her way through the lobby to the
sleek, black glass doors of the elevator.

            Letisha continues to grin with her back resting
gently against the false wall of the elevator, just to the right of control
panel.  She holds her breath with a bit of nervous energy, staring down at the
circle of light around button number thirty-seven, and feeling unmistakable
butterflies in her stomach. 

            She begins to consider what she might say during
the interview, but her thoughts are interrupted as a large, athletic man
strides into the elevator in front of her. 

            The tall redhead has deep blue eyes and he wears
a grimace on his face, displaying to the world that he ‘stopped giving a shit’
a long time ago.  He turns quickly to his right, pausing to take a mental
picture of Letisha’s breasts, and then presses the button to close the doors. 

            Letisha stares at the back of the elevator to
her left, ignoring the man as he ogles her chest, and waiting uncomfortably for
the doors to close.  She has become immediately sick inside, putting her mind
elsewhere to avoid panicking.  Out of her left eye, she watches the man press a
button that is further down on the control panel than floor thirty-seven.

            “So what brings you here?”  The man asks with
sudden, small-town cheerfulness.  “Are you taking over the marketing position
with Sutter & Meiers?”

            “No, I’m just here to interview with The Roscoe
Group.” Letisha announces, displaying a nervous smirk, feeling proud of herself
for putting together a strong resume.

            “Oh, wow, you’re going to be keeping Hollywood… looking Hollywood?”  The man asks rhetorically, watching the progress of the
elevator on the digital display above the doors.  “Congratulations!”

            “Thank you!”  Letisha beams with a warm smile,
starting to feel comfortable in her own skin.

            “You know what I’d like to do!?” The man snarls
unexpectedly, placing his right hand next to Letisha’s head as he leans close
to her face.  “I’d like to bend you over, squeeze your ass, and rip your
panties off!”

            Letisha backs up against the elevator wall, her
heart is racing and tears are emerging from her soft, brown eyes.  To her
surprise, the athletic redhead returns to his position in the center of the
elevator, wearing a pleasant expression as if nothing happened.

            “It should be a good interview,” he says with a
reassuring smirk.  “I wish you luck!”

            “Take your luck and shove it up your ass, Sir!”
Letisha responds with disgust as the elevator doors open on the thirty-seventh
floor.  “Don’t you ever talk to me that way again, motherfucker!”

            The man looks at her with confusion as she steps
past him, seeming innocent and betrayed.

            “I beg you pardon?” He asks with more
confusion.  “You don’t want me to wish you luck?”

            “You just stay the hell away from me!” She
commands with a firm gaze as the elevator doors close, watching his perplexed
expression.  “Get it together, girl.” She whispers to herself as the elevator
doors close all the way.

            Letisha bends down to check her dress, looking
for any wet spots, knowing that she peed a little bit when the man slammed his
hand against the wall.  After a short inspection, she notices a small dark
circle on the back of her dress, about the size of a quarter, and exhales in
deep frustration.  She takes out her cell phone and looks at the time,
realizing that she won’t be able to step into the bathroom and inspect her
dress further.  Instead, she retrieves a small bottle of perfume and gives her
dress two spurts on the front below her belly, and two more below the small of
her back.  The scent of the perfume gives her confidence to move forward, and
she decides to keep her backside pointed toward the wall during the interview. 

            With rejuvenated strength, Letisha steps across
the sleek, glossy tan and black tiles, looking for suite 115 as she goes. 
After passing a few neat glass entryways with beautiful frosted windows, she
locates the familiar logo of The Roscoe Group to her right, toward the end of
the hallway.  With her delicate right hand she grips the smooth round steel of
the chrome-plated door handle, having a difficult time restraining the childish
excitement that is bursting forth from within. 

            As she enters the office, Letisha struts with
her best Hollywoodesque ambiance, wanting to appear strong and desirable.  She
approaches the high-profile reception desk with supreme confidence, allowing
herself to own the room. 

            “May I help you?”  A sexy brunette asks from
behind the desk, showing off her glamorous hair and makeup that compliments her
Latino cheekbones and short, curly hair. 

            “Yes, I’m Letisha Belfort, and I have an
interview at eleven.”  Letisha conveys with a broad smile, resting her elbows
on top of the smooth oak desk.

            “We’re not… interviewing for any positions right
now…” The young woman declares with a lost expression.  “Let me check the
calendar…  No, we don’t have interviews or open positions right now.”

            “Well, I spoke to a lady about an hour ago,”
Letisha begins with a soft voice, losing her confidence a bit, “and she asked
if I could be here within the hour for an interview.”

            “Can you give me her name?”  The receptionist
requests optimistically.

            “Yes, she said her name was Kara.” Letisha
responds with a slight smile.

            “Is this some kind of joke!?”  The young Latino
demands with a brazen voice, folding her arms and glaring at Letisha.  “Kara died
over two years ago.  She was the Senior Vice-President, and everyone loved
her!”

            “Well… That’s what she said her name was…” 
Letisha replies with a shocked expression, staring off to her right.

            “I think you should leave!” The receptionist
says in a blunt manner, showing that she’s dealt with all types of crazy in Los Angeles.  “Look, maybe someone played a joke on you here, and if that’s true, I’m
sorry, but you need to leave.”  She emphasizes her position by putting her hand
on the receiver of her desk phone and staring Letisha down.

            Letisha nods, slowly accepting this terrible
news, and walks instinctively to the door, moving hastily away from this
awkward situation.  As soon as she gets a few feet away from the suite, tears
burst forth from her bright eyes, and a flood of emotions seep back into her
heart like putrid waters engulfing a once clean and dry boat. 

            Her stomach is aching with fresh knots of pain
as she makes the dizzying journey back down the elevator, through the lobby,
and out of the building.  When Letisha finally reaches the outside air, her
emotions come forth with the destructiveness of a hurricane.  She finds herself
in the secluded smoking area near the building, alone in a small maze of
concrete, walled off from the world in a place where she can release her
anger.  Letisha leans against the large concrete wall, not caring about getting
her dress dirty as she lets the tears roll forward, shaking her abdomen with
convulsive sobs from her bowels to her chest. 

            “You know what I’d like to do!?”  A male voice
asks, approaching her from behind.  “I’d like to attack your naked body!”

            Letisha spins around to see a jogger in a black
shirt and shorts running past her through the maze of concrete.  He smiles and
waves as though nothing happened, checking his watch briefly and continuing his
route around the building.  She closes her eyes, not knowing what is real
anymore; the job interview; the disgusting voices in her head; the memories of
her assault.

            “You know what I’d like to do!?”  A female voice
asks, as a frail figure steps around the side of the cement structure.  “I’d
like to hold you down and taste your sweetness!”

            “Stop it! Stop it!” Letisha cries out, covering
her ears as she turns halfway around and sees an older woman approaching from
the right.

            “Oh my God, sweetheart, are you okay?”  The
older woman asks as she steps closer to comfort her.

            The woman is wearing a black pantsuit and white
blouse, looking smart and approachable.  Despite her motherly intentions,
Letisha wrenches away in a violent manner, holding her arms near her chest to
protect herself.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Letisha screams,
placing her right hand on her forehead in anguish.  “Don’t fucking touch me; I
don’t know who you are… I don’t know who I am…”

            The older woman is shocked by these words and
instantly takes a detour toward the back part of the building, her expensive
heels clicking the sidewalk with nerve-fueled urgency. 

            Letisha takes out her cell phone, feeling
hysterical and panicked, suddenly wanting the comfort of her husband. 

            “Hey, baby, is everything okay?” Phillip’s
gentle voice comes through the phone like a water supply truck showing up at
desolate refugee camp.

            “Hello, sweetheart.” Letisha says with impulsive
laughter, feeling childish joy just from the sound of his voice.  “I’m having a
bad day, and I really need you.”

            “Baby, what’s wrong!?  Is everything okay?” 
Phillip asks with authentic concern, his voice filled with tension.

            “I’m okay, just scared and confused.”  Letisha
replies, pouring out her emotions in waves of tears and heavy breathing.  “This
lady invited me to an interview with The Roscoe Group, and when I got here,
they said the lady has been dead for a few years.”

            “What!?” Phillip asks with bewilderment, clearly
still a bit distracted by his work.

            “On my way up to the interview, a man said he
wanted to rip off my panties.”  She explains with the terror of a
four-year-old. 

            “What man, Letisha?  Who said that to you!? 
I’ll beat his fuckin’ ass!”  Phillip’s voice is ablaze with rage, and his
breathing becomes elevated.