Chapter 5: Will Work for Distractions

Roxanne slowly starts to feel her resolve slip with Trevor gone for an extended period of time.

A condominium in Manhattan is where Roxanne and her husband Trevor reside. Many years ago, she intended to live in Brooklyn so she could visit her parents' grave more often, but moved to Manhattan instead because of a job offer she couldn't refuse. Thankfully for her, the two cities are less than fifty minutes apart, making for a relatively cheap commute.

Roxanne works as a lawyer, much like her late father was. She is, and forever will be known as an advocate of sex industry rights, as well as a major catalyst in the legalization of prostitution in America. She's been lucky enough to have an incredible variety of clients over the years, and her job never fails to keep her busy at almost all times... which is a good thing, considering that Trevor is busy fending off countless enemies elsewhere in the world. If not for her frequent workload, Roxanne would spend most of her time brooding. And not because of her job or her lifestyle; she actually loves it, and would never do anything to ruin it for herself.

It is only when she comes home after each and every stressful day of work when things go sour for her. The first thing she does upon locking the door behind her is check the mirror in the hallway. As of now, Roxanne is in her late forties, the part of her life where she experiences hot flashes ad nauseam, obsesses over the type of food she eats, pulls her pants and skirts up higher than she used to, and wears absolutely everything with a tucked-in undershirt. Despite this, a lack of children has worked wonders in helping her age more slowly than most, keeping her butterscotch-colored skin from wrinkling too much. Still, it doesn't stop her hair from graying in a few spots, though thankfully nobody notices it, mistaking it for more highlights. She also takes notice of her own eyes, mahogany on the left, and gray on the right, each one inherited from her father and mother respectively. Neither of them have sunken in too much, but aren't as bright as they used to be. Prior to the start of World War III, that is.

Ugh, sometimes I hate being so short. You gain a mere two pounds and it looks as if you put on fifty, she thinks as she rolls her eyes.

After changing out of one of many business suits she owns, Roxanne passes through the living room and habitually turns on the TV to watch the news, though no matter how often she makes this mistake, she keeps forgetting not to make it. These days, all the outlets are doing nothing except discuss the ongoing war, which Roxanne does not want to hear about. She is lucky enough to have been given a choice on whether to serve or not, and she is not about to be guilt-tripped by her own television.

Shutting off the TV, she moseys to the kitchen and removes some leftovers from the fridge. When she's not working or relaxing with Trevor, one of Roxanne's favorite hobbies is cooking, especially Italian food, much like what her parents raised her on until their simultaneous demise when she was only twelve. Tonight's meal will be chicken lombardy served over farfalle, which she unwittingly plates and microwaves two portions of. The silverware she takes out includes a badly dented fork, the result of Trevor's carelessness with the garbage disposal a few years back. While she prepares dinner, she experiences a bit of trouble reaching some of the cabinets. Seeing how she stands at only 4'10", Roxanne often relies on Trevor to help her reach high-up objects, though he obviously can't do that right now.

As the food heats up, she takes the time to explore her condo for what has to be the millionth time, thinking about how she got to where she is now. From being the shy, meek twelve-year-old she once was, to her less soft-spoken persona of today. Being forced to leave not one, but two familial residences, and going through a wide-array of jobs ranging from a dog-walker when she was a kid, to prostitution (which would serve as inspiration for the future), to waitressing, and finally becoming a lawyer. Not many people can say they've had such a distinctive repertoire, and Roxanne is just as proud of it as one would expect her to be.

But it wasn't just inspiration that came from her life as a hooker; it was also during that iffy phase of her life when she met her husband, Trevor Bordeaux, a thin, trim man with thick glasses and curly brown hair that used to stop at his shoulders, before he cut it to ear-length well into their marriage. It's a part of her life that's forever ingrained into her memory, involving a routine she was enslaved to. Waking up in a dingy alleyway on Bourbon Street, sometimes chatting with fellow she-wolves as she waited for men to pick her up, collecting her pay and spending her days going back and forth between the street corner and random guys' homes. She only spent her money on the necessities: fast food, bottled water, and hygiene, as well as free contraceptives from the Planned Parenthood center just across the street from her corner.

While Roxanne is busy thinking back to the past, she quickly snaps back to the present as she realizes that she's prepared two portions of dinner for the umpteenth day in a row. Without really thinking, she sighs and engulfs what would be Trevor's helping. Stress-eating is anything but a healthy habit, but she just can't help herself.

If this keeps up, I might need to seek help, she thinks to herself.

After practically licking both plates clean, Roxanne takes them to the sink and hand-washes them thoroughly, despite having a seldom-used dishwasher in mint condition at her disposal. She figures that the best way to get over Trevor's absence would be to do whatever work she can, which would thus give her something else to think about in the meantime. Then the war will be over before she knows it, her man will be back safely at home, and her normal life will resume right where it left off... or least, that's what would happen in the best case scenario.