“Youve been made,” was all the text said. No punctuation marks, no name, no context – just three simple words: you’ve, been, made.

“Youve been made”

Made – like a mark. Or when you know the con. It seemed impossible though. In an age of catfishing, stolen identities, and celebrity presidents everything seems like a scam or a joke. Nothing that can’t be handled by submitting a claim or police report.

*so just dance, dance, dance, come on/all those things I shouldn’t do/but you dance, dance, dance but you dance, dance, dance*

Kyla’s phone was ringing. Rearranging her bags and her large mocha skim latte made with soy milk, no whip, and a sprinkle of cinnamon she eased her phone out of her pink jean jacket and looked at the caller id, “Hi Roger,” she said in an upbeat tone. “Why aren’t you working?”
“Hi Baby,” Roger replied in an optimistic tone, “I am. I was just calling to tell you that we had a system error and unless they fix it shortly, I’ll be home earlier tonight than expected. What’re you up to?”
Kyla rolled her eyes, and braced herself to answer, “Just picked up some stuff for Pee Gee, and you of course,” she giggled. “I was just going to stop over at one more store and then I was going to head home to start prepping dinner.”
“You’re so good to us. She comes home this weekend – she’ll be so excited. Hope this doesn’t ruin your planning,” Roger said with a natural smile spread across his face.
“Not at all,” Kyla emphasized. “Dinner will be ready for six, if that still works for you, dear.” She glanced up and down the busy street. She was in the fashion district, not the everyday shoppers section of downtown.
“Sounds good, babe. I’ll text you when I’m leaving here. We’re giving the IT department until three before we all pack up and abandon ship for the day.”
“Awesome,” Kyla added in her most cheerleader voice! “Talk to you soon!”
“Great. Love you,” Roger added.
Kyla hung up her phone and looked at the time – 2:15 pm. Not a ton of time, but just enough if she planned accordingly. Plugging in “catering near me” into her GPS Kyla found the closest restaurant that catered and requested an Uber. Two minutes away, the app told her. Not bad, K. Not bad at all.

Kyla called her order in while during the ten minute drive. She gave the driver an extra $5 in cash to wait for her while she ran inside. She impatiently waited five minutes for her food before returning to the car. She gave the driver an additional $5 for waiting for her instead of leaving it for the restaurant. Really, who makes people wait for their food? Especially when they asked for it undercooked.
“What time does it say you’re dropping me off?”
“2:52 miss,” Ralph or Ricardo answered.
Perfect. I’ll be upstairs in the appartement by 3:15. This gives me enough time to transfer everything to whatever hand-me-down cookware set his mother gave him and throw the empty takeaway boxes and bags before 3:30. Even if Roger leaves the office at 3:00 sharp, he won’t be home until 3:45 or so. Just enough time indeed. I can even close my eyes for a few minutes since we still have another fifteen minutes to go.

Just as Kyla’s eye’s closed her phone pinged. Daydreaming of their next extended weekend getaway, the untimely and mysterious soon to be death of Pee Gee – the pompous pomeranian, and how excited she would be when Roger forked over the 8 carat diamond she was envisioning along with a marriage proposal that she didn’t hear the text. Kevin, the driver, woke Kyla up as delicately as possible knowing you don’t mess with women like that. True to her plan by 3:32 she was out on the terrace of the 38th floor apartment with a mimosa in hand reading up on the dangers of the Cayman islands. It was always comforting to Kyla when her apartment, and its rent, was highest up in the complex. Kyla’s reading was interrupted by yet another ping to her cell phone, this one she heard.

Messages | 2 new messages. 3:35 PM
Roger
“Left the office a little while ago. Had to stop by a client in Bee Cave. BEE home in twenty minutes. See you soon, HONEY”

I should probably answer instead of laughing at him hard enough to get champagne bubbles up my nose.

“How do you do it with all those jokes BUZZING around..” oh-m-gee, I can’t. How does he stand himself? “You’re cute :0) Meet you in the HIVE in twenty” I click send before I start laughing again. It’s a terrible thing to laugh at someone instead of with them, but bee jokes? He’s lived in Austin for the past five years, there’s no way he hasn’t exhausted any and all jokes about Bee Cave before this. Then again, I’ve only had to put up with him for the past 10 months. Who knows what he was like before. I go back to my message inbox and open the second text from earlier.

UNKNOWN
“Don’t ignore your store bought dinner the way you ignored me. You might end up burning the building down.”

Ugh… at least there is punctuation this time. I guess “Unknown” had more time to be imposing and threatening this time. *ping*

Messages | 2 new messages. 3:39 PM
UNKNOWN
“How SWEET of you to finally read my last text. Remember you get more flies with HONEY than vinegar. Maybe I should text Roger to see if he can pick some up for you?”
“Meet me tomorrow morning, Princess. I know your schedule.”

Well that can’t be good… *ping* Again, what the fuck?

Messages | 1 new message. 3:41 PM
UNKNOWN
“In case you were thinking of canceling your 7:30 AM “Power Vivyasa” yoga you’ve already been made – might as well not make me angry. See you in the AM, toots”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Did I already say, fuck? FUCK. Breathe in. Raise arms to the sky – reach, reach – exhale bring arms to center and feel the energy flow to your toes. Fuck it. Shaking the yoga boga off I start to walk back inside to our bar area, but frustration is the space in where mistakes are made. Returning to the terrace and pick up my book. After ensuring that is back in a safe spot – the irony not being lost on me – I make my way over to the bar. Glancing at the clock I still have another 16 or so minutes before Roger vallets and begins heading up stairs. I make two martinis – one dark chocolate orange and one straight up. I set the orange chocolate one by Roger’s plate and keep the plain one with me while I head to the kitchen to make sure everything looks as it should: dishes in the sink, stuff in the oven on warm, and shit – I forgot the dessert. Get it together. Taking my phone out of my pocket I leave my computerized assistant to include more yoga class reminders and schedule daily runs. Too much time to focus on myself is apparently a detriment to my overall plans. Just because you’ve made the “Hail Mary” play in every game, doesn’t mean you should ever get comfortable. Looking in the ultra modern, high tech, and super expensive refrigerator Roger picked out to support my “Suzie-homemaker” vibe I see we have a bowl of strawberries and whipped cream. A silent nod is now owed to Rosario or Remedios for remembering to leave fresh fruit instead of chocolate after she cleans the apartment. For a Christmas bonus of $200 she leaves no trace of herself; makes small, loving touches, and makes tiny “cute” house cleaning hiccups to keep under the pretense that I just love taking care of Roger. Dessert will be on me tonight. Maybe we can draw it out, and it can fill the void the lack of my cardio has left with me today. Ugh, I might have just made a pun. Maybe 10 months with Roger is waring on me. Speaking of puns, I pull my phone back out of my pocket. Wait, my pocket… I’m still in today’s shopping outfit. Grabbing the can of whip cream off the shelf, I head into the bedroom. I pick out a nice top and dark, skinny jeans to compliment Roger’s business attire, and strip down to nothing. Sitting on the end of the bed, legs crossed holding the can of whipped cream strategically between my chest I snap a picture from the neck down.

Roger
| Attached: 1 file
“Desserts on me tonight ;)”
Sent 3:49 PM

UNKNOWN
“Hope my last text wasn’t too sweet for you, after all whipped cream and strawberries can be a little biting to some. As you can see yoga’s doing wonders for my body – you can join me in class or I’ll see you after”
“I don’t negotiate with terrorists. Don’t forget your towel. – KYLA”
Sent 3:51 PM

Kyla felt good about her texts both to Roger and to UNKNOWN. She planted the seed to make it a rigorous night, and ensured no one was going to ruin her workout the following morning. Fucking Roger was not an everyday option. And fucking him as a substitute for cardio, yoga, and an aerobics class everyday wasn’t in the realm of possibilities as far as Kyla was concerned. Kyla threw her outfit on and went to the bathroom. She tousled her hair, reapplied some of her make up, and sprayed herself with Roger’s favorite scent. He would be home in approximately 7 minutes.

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