John Shepherd was jolted awake by the ringing of his phone. He fumbled for it, glancing at the time as he did so – six-thirty. Oh, well, he sighed to himself, he was going to get up around seven anyway.
A weak female voice at the other end pleaded "John, you've got to help me. I don't know who else to call..."
John struggled to identify the voice. It was somewhat familiar, a little like his cousin Julie, but why would she be calling him? They had never gotten along with each other.
"Julie? Is that you? What's wrong?"
There was no answer.
"Julie?...Julie?...JULIE!...Answer me!"
His voice was met with silence at the other end.
Grumbling, John pulled on his clothes. "That little snot better not be playing games with me."
He looked over at his packed luggage. Today was the first day of his week's vacation, and he was ready to head out of town, out of the bustle of Manhattan to the far eastern reaches of Long Island. A train ride to the end of the line, a rental car, and a whole week of relaxation. Nothing was planned; he was free to do whatever he wanted. Maybe go to Montauk and do some deep sea fishing. Maybe wind through the Hampton's and see how the other half lived. Maybe taste his way through wine country on the North Fork.
Another reason he wanted to get out of town was the virulent flu that was rampaging though the country. This new strain resisted all the known vaccines and spread rapidly, especially in crowded cities. Many people had already died from it and many more who had it wished they were dead. He was lucky and hadn't caught it, but thought if he could just get out of the crowded city he might be safer. Now he'd be late getting off.
As he headed uptown on the subway he reflected on their relationship.
John's father, Bob Shepherd and Julie's mother, April Barstow, were cousins, making John and Julie second cousins. Bob Shepherd and 'Aunt' April, as John had called her since he was a child, had been part of a close family growing up. Aunt April was widowed when Julie was five. John's father tried to help her out as much as he could, but the two families lived far enough apart that their visits were not as frequent as Bob would have liked. Whenever Aunt April really needed something done around the house Bob took John, four years older than Julie, with him to help with whatever fix-up was needed.
Julie was one of those girls who was pretty and knew it. She thought herself above anyone else in the family, and spent hours in front of a mirror dressing up and posing, ignoring everyone else. Julie, from an early age, rebuffed John's, and everyone else's in the family for that matter, overtures at friendship. She always wanted to be a model, and as she grew she developed the body for it – tall and slender with delicate facial features, a flawless complexion, long blonde hair and blue-gray eyes. During her high school years she actually had a number of local modeling opportunities, and seemed to be good at it.
John went to college when Julie was still in high school, so he thankfully didn't have to put up with her snotty attitude very much after that. John graduated from college and had a good job offer from a firm in New York City. The position paid enough that he could afford to live in Manhattan – a small one bedroom apartment on the nineteenth floor of an apartment building in an area of Manhattan known as Chelsea, on the west side. The last time he had seen Julie, until last year, was when she was fifteen. She had grown particularly surly and had developed something of a potty mouth, much to the dismay of her mother – another thing that made her not very likeable.
Julie graduated from high school and thought she had what it took to make it big as a fashion model so, against her mother's wishes, she packed up and moved to New York, also. John heard she had an apartment on the Upper East Side, on the edge of Harlem, but he never had any cause or desire to go see her.
One day last year he had a call from Julie's mother. Aunt April hadn't heard from Julie for several weeks and was worried about her. Would John go and see if she was all right? As distasteful as the prospect seemed he felt he owed it to her mother to investigate. He took an extended lunch the next day and headed by subway and cross-town bus to Julie's place. The neighborhood she lived in seemed to be populated with a lot of immigrants and some artsy types that he guessed were aspiring actors and singers and such hoping to make it on Broadway.
Her building was a small four-story walk-up with a locked main entry door. To gain admittance required buzzing the occupant who could unlock the door remotely by pressing a button.
When he buzzed Julie's number she answered "Who is it?"
"It's your cousin, John."
"What the hell do you want?"
"Your mom was worried about you and wanted me to look in on you."
"Just fuck off and tell her I'm okay."
"She asked me to look in on you and all I've seen is a speaker box."
"Shit." was followed by the click of the door as it was unlocked.
John mounted three flights of well worn stairs. The hallway was filled with the sound of crying babies, mothers loudly scolding children and couples arguing in strange languages. As he reached to knock on the door it swung open, and Julie stood before him, arms crossed and scowling, with her hair in curlers.
"Here, have a look and then go away."
The apartment consisted of a one main room with a small bathroom in one corner. There was a sofa and a couple of chairs in the 'living room' and a television on a rickety table next to the door. One wall had a 'kitchen' with a two burner gas stove, sink and small refrigerator. Counter space and storage space were minimal. The 'dining room' area had a tiny table and two chairs. That was it. No bed was visible, nor was there room for one, and an old wooden wardrobe appeared to be the only place to store clothes, as there were no closets, as far as he could tell. The floor was well worn wood that she had partially covered with a couple of small area rugs. She was lucky enough to have a corner room, so there were two windows, one that looked out onto a rusty metal fire escape over a dirty alley, and one onto the noisy street below. The place had not been painted for years. Who knew what the original color was; now the walls just looked dingy, with water stains under the windows. She had brightened it up a little, though, with some colorful curtains framing squeaky clean windows. She had always been a neat freak, so the place actually looked tidy.
"Very compact, Julie. The whole place looks hardly bigger than your bedroom at home. Where on earth do you sleep? On the sofa?"
"If you must know there is a Murphy bed that folds up into the wall." She pointed to what looked alike a sort of flat cabinet along one wall. "When it's down I have to push some furniture around and there isn't much room to move around, so I keep it up until bed time. Now you've seen it so you can leave. I have a photo shoot this afternoon."
"First I need to know why you haven't called home. Your mother is worried sick."
"I'm temporarily out of minutes for my phone. I'll have a phone again after I get paid next."
"Okay.....Is that your portfolio?" There was a sort of notebook with her name in large letters lying on the kitchen table, so he picked it up.
"Give me that back!" she demanded.
"I just want to see some of your work."
