[Blind Barriers 01.0] Fragile Facade

by Sophie Davis

  Before I met Blake, I was usually tucked into the corner of the sectional after school, fingers wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate with just a splash of Bailey’s. That was the extent of my weeknight imbibing, though the same could not be said for the rest of my friends. Annie was the only one besides me who exercised any restraint, and the two of us took great pleasure in laughing at the antics of our inebriated friends. We sang loudly and laughed at retellings of the guys’ disastrous conquests. There was never a dull minute. They were idiots, but they were my idiots. I really did love them.

  Unfortunately, instead of watching the spectacle alongside Annie tonight, I hurried up the cement steps of the 125th Street subway station. Pulling my coat closed against the chilly wind, I only slightly regretted my decision to take public transportation.

  Despite the cold air and the stench—a cross between moldy gym socks and cabbage—I was getting quite the rush from my rebellious adventure. Out in the world, when no one knew where I was or could follow my trail, I felt free. It was thrilling. The more freedom I tasted, the harder it was to deny the craving.

  The world was full of regular, unaffected, unassuming people. Hardworking men and women walked their own dogs down the sidewalks, even bending to clean up after the animals. In the warmer months, I imagined little girls played hopscotch on grids they’d draw with fat pieces of chalk. Their mothers—not nannies—would watch from the windows above. I longed to be part of a community, a place like this where people actually cared about anything other than wealth.

  Anxiety quickened my pace, my nerves in overdrive. I was on my way to see Navid, the jeweler I’d entrusted with my family’s priceless gem. Though he’d assured me I had nothing to worry about, I was still concerned. He had a stellar reputation and was known for his discretion in delicate matters, but if something happened to my mother’s necklace….

  Shaking my head, I banished the thought before my anxiety turned to panic. To Navid, his reputation was everything. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. Not even for one of the most famous diamonds in the world.

  I turned down an unremarkable cobblestoned side street, the space barely wide enough for a single car to pass through. Ahead, a small, navy awning marked Navid’s business. The heavy, metal door lacked the colorful graffiti found on many like it. Once inside the small vestibule, the outer door slammed shut behind me with a muffled clank that made me jump.

  A second metal door lay directly in front of me. The black button of an intercom was positioned on the wall to the right of it, and a camera watched from overhead. Pressing the buzzer for only a moment, I pulled my cashmere hat back from my face and looked up at the camera. A loud click answered, and I quickly entered.

  A man in an immaculately cut suit emerged from a back room. The large smile on his face showcased the white of his teeth. He clasped my hand in both of his, pumping enthusiastically as he leaned down to place a kiss on either cheek.

  “Darling, so lovely to see you,” the jeweler said, his accent subtle but noticeable.

  “You, too, Navid,” I replied.

  Social etiquette dictated a certain amount of small talk take place prior to a business transaction, but I was too excited for pleasantries. I was practically vibrating as I stood in the middle of his shining displays, staring at Navid expectantly.

  Navid was exceptional at what he did, a born charmer and natural salesman. It took him all of three seconds to realize I didn’t care to chat or peruse the cases. Hopefully he realized I was excited, not being rude.

  “Shall we go take a look at what I have for you?” Navid gestured to the back of the showroom. The smile he wore was somewhere between smug and eager. He was as keen to show off his work as I was to see it.

  “Please,” I answered, already walking to the door he’d come through to greet me.

  This one was locked as well. Navid’s watch caught the light and glittered brightly as he ran a fob over the scanner. With a whoosh of air, the door opened, and we entered the back office. He gestured to a chair opposite the antique mahogany desk.

  “Please, Ms. Kingsley, have a seat. May I offer you something to drink?”

  “No, thank you, Navid,” I replied. On more than one occasion I had asked the jeweler to call me by my first name, but he never did.

  “Very well. One moment, if you please.”

  “Of course.”

  The jeweler pulled a painting back to reveal a wall safe. He entered a combination on a keypad that undoubtedly responded to his fingerprint alone. After the door opened, Navid withdrew two large cases. He closed the safe door, then sat behind the desk.

  “This was a very…interesting project. I don’t know that we’ve ever had an order quite like this,” Navid said, dark eyes flashing with an excitement that mirrored my own.

  From the middle drawer of his desk, he produced white gloves and a velvet-lined display board. I had to remind myself to breathe.

  “Well, yes. I have quite the imagination,” I answered vaguely, hoping he wouldn’t press for more details.

  Navid started to open the first case, but I held up my hand to stop him. “I have something to ask of you before we continue here,” I started. Emulating my father’s tone in business dealings, mine was a careful medium between polite and brusque.

  He paused after pulling on the gloves, eyebrows raised. “Of course, darling, what can I do?”

  I pulled a manila file folder from my tote and set it on the desk. Glancing at the identical pages inside, I slid both across the desk and placed them in front of Navid.

  “This is nothing you haven’t seen before, just a simple Confidentiality Agreement. My father’s lawyers drew it up, it’s standard practice with the family.”

  In fact, I’d looked through my father’s desk, knowing he’d have something close to what I required at the ready. From there, it was a simple matter of copying the language and adding a bit where necessary. Anyone the least bit familiar with legalese wouldn’t believe for a moment those parts were written by an attorney. Still, I wasn’t overly concerned. I just needed Navid to understand my desire for secrecy.

  “It’s standard language,” I continued. “You may not disclose the pieces we’ve ordered or share that we’re clients.” Looking directly into his chocolaty eyes, I hoped to convey the gravity of that last part. This would disappoint him, though he’d be more concerned about losing my repeat business.

  “Of course, of course,” he said, giving me a knowing wink.

  Without another word, he pulled an expensive pen from his breast pocket and signed both copies with a flourish. This was the reason Navid was trusted within certain circles—no questions asked, the utmost privacy assured. It made no difference to him. Clients paid a markup for his skill, for his expertise, and his silence.

  “So,” he began, sliding one copy back across the desk to me, “are you ready to take a look?”

  “Yes.”

  Navid opened the first box. His gloved hands gently slid the necklace out and set it on the velvet display board. He took another piece of jewelry from the second box, put it next to the first, then turned the board toward me. Admiration and pride shone in his eyes with a touch of apprehension. Leaning forward, I touched each with only my fingertips.

  “Navid…you’ve outdone yourself.”

  Indeed, they were more beautiful than I’d hoped. The utility was more important, but Navid didn’t stop there. Delicate gold wings and a gleaming opal shone against the black backdrop.

  “Here, let me show you,” he replied. A broad smile crossed his face as he cradled the butterfly.

  I beamed back while he explained all of the handcrafted details.

  “And my mother’s necklace?” I asked when he’d finished his spiel. I couldn’t stop grinning, marveling at the way he’d crafted my requests.

  “Ah, that one is not quite ready yet,” he replied, sitting back slightly in his chair. For the first time since my arrival, Navid seemed unsure of himself.

  �
�I understand. I knew that one would take more time. My mother is so particular. It has to pass muster, you know?” I assured him.

  “I do,” he said, nodding and looking relieved.

  Navid gently placed each of my pieces in a small velvet bag and then into their respective boxes. Both of these were placed in a carrying tote that Navid handed to me. I carefully set it in my oversized bag and stood up.

  “Perfect. You can reach me on my cell when it’s done,” I said. “I’ll be the one picking it up, and there’s no sense trying to leave a message with our maid. She’s not always the most reliable.” I managed a small laugh at this.

  “Of course, darling. Can I call your driver to bring the car?” I knew he was being helpful, but my heart skipped a beat.

  “No, no, but thank you. I’m meeting a friend,” I lied effortlessly.

  He walked me out with assurances of contacting me the instant he’d finished with my mother’s necklace.

  “Oh, and Lark?” I was pushing open the first of the two metal security doors and turned back to face him. “Be careful out there. It is not safe for a girl like you to be out alone at night.”

  Navid was right. At least, considering what I now had in my possession. It would be valuable to others based on the materials alone. But, to some of us, it was priceless.

  Twenty

  Raven

  Saturday morning, I embarked on a Washington, D.C. rite of passage: brunch at a DuPont Circle restaurant and bookstore called Phrases. The smiling hostess informed Asher and me that the wait was currently forty-five minutes, and we were free to browse in the meantime. Asher assured me it would be worth the time, and pulled me over to the bookstore section.

  After ordering an iced mocha from the coffee bar, I wandered and perused the new releases. Asher scanned the nonfiction section for law school study aides. I’d found a corner to lean in and was just becoming engrossed in the latest novel by John Grisham, when Asher let me know our table was ready.

  “Are you gonna buy that?” he asked, pointing to the hardback.

  I glanced at the back of the book and sighed. With limited funds at my disposal, the hardback price tag was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

  “Too rich for my blood,” I told him with a smile. “I’ll snag the e-book instead.”

  I replaced the book on the shelf and followed the hostess. After a few steps through the crowded bookstore, I noticed Asher wasn’t behind me. Turning back, I saw him staring contemplatively at the stack of books in his arms. He wore khakis and a pink button-down, with a pair of aviators perched on his stylishly messy hair. He looked adorable. Scratch that. Asher was hot.

  And I wasn’t the only female noticing him. A group of college-aged girls were staring admiringly at my brunch companion.

  “You coming?” I called.

  The group of girls looked disbelievingly between Asher and me, no doubt wondering what a preppy law student was doing with a barely-legal hobo. One of the girls sneered in my direction, then whispered something to her friend. They both erupted in giggles. Self-consciously, I looked down at the navy miniskirt I’d paired with a gauzy, yellow top. The outfit was just as cute now as when I’d seen it in the mirror two hours before, the top perfectly matching the embroidered sailboats on the skirt. Though it wasn’t something I’d normally purchase, I really liked it. In fact, it wasn’t something I’d purchased at all. The skirt and the top were Lark’s.

  In addition to still having the tags on them, her clothes were very close to my size. When I’d woken up that morning in rumpled clothes, it seemed easier to borrow something of Lark’s than to have people think I was making the walk of shame. The bottoms were a little loose around the waist and the top was slightly baggy in the chest, but they fit well otherwise.

  “Go ahead. I’ve got to pay for these.” Asher held up the books for emphasis. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Want me to order you a drink?”

  “Orange juice,” he called back.

  I gave him a thumbs up, which earned another round of hysterical giggling from his new fan club. Okay, so maybe the gesture was a little cheesy and juvenile.

  The hostess seated me at a two-person table by the window. I thanked her and accepted the menu.

  “Kristoph is your server, and he’ll be right with you,” she told me pleasantly.

  The waiter appeared a moment later with a bread basket and two glasses of ice water.

  “Good morning and welcome to Phrases,” Kristoph said with a thick accent as he set down the basket and beverages. “Have you been here before?”

  “Nope,” I replied.

  “Let me tell you about our specials….”

  The waiter launched into a speech that included lobster omelets, crab cake benedict, and a smoked salmon scramble with caviar. My mouth watered just hearing about the options. Once he finished, I ordered Asher’s orange juice and an apple juice for myself. While perusing the menu, a commotion across the room caught my attention. A snort of laugher was out before my hand made it to my mouth.

  A Phrases shopping bag slung over one shoulder, Asher was attempting to navigate through the exceptionally narrow aisle between tables. “Bull in a china shop” was the phrase that came to mind. His tall, athletic frame was already too big for such a small space, and the bag of books just added to the problem. Asher was apologizing profusely to a dreamy-eyed blonde who was rubbing the back of her head. Evidently, she’d spilled her mimosa upon being knocked upside the head with the bag of books. To make matters worse, the girl was wearing white, satin shorts.

  Instead of ranting and raving at Asher, like most people would have, the girl was cooing that it was “no big deal” and batting her eyelashes. I rolled my eyes, all traces of sympathy gone, when Asher’s latest admirer placed her hand on his waist.

  I’d given little thought to our relationship progressing beyond friendship. But as I watched the blonde bat her big, doe eyes at Asher, I had the urge to smack her a second time with the bag of books. The thought surprised me, and I felt a little ashamed.

  Asher sent me a pleading glance. His brown eyes seemed to be saying, “Raven, do something.” Luckily, before I had to decide whether to intervene, the hostess appeared with napkins and a fresh mimosa for the girl.

  “I’ll take it from here,” she told Asher pleasantly. Then she pointed to where I sat, chewing my thumbnail into a sharper weapon, and loudly added, “Your girlfriend is right over there.”

  Visibly relieved, Asher didn’t bother to correct her assumption. He thanked the hostess and apologized again to the blonde. Cradling the bag to his chest, Asher hurried over and plopped into the chair opposite mine.

  “You okay there, killer?” I asked.

  “I can’t believe I did that,” he muttered, making a great show of opening his menu. “Thank goodness she’s been drinking, the girl was really nice about it.”

  “Uh, huh…,” I said, the teasing tone gone.

  In his embarrassment, Asher didn’t seem to notice.

  “I feel awful, but it was so hard to not laugh when I was apologizing.” His eyes sparkled when he looked at me over the top of his menu.

  I smiled, somehow relieved that he thought the whole encounter was comical.

  Kristoph returned with our drinks and repeated the specials for Asher. We ordered, and the waiter disappeared again.

  Once we were alone, I told Asher about the odd diary entry I’d read the night before. Though he’d been the one to call and invite me to brunch, I was planning to do the same to get his thoughts on Lark’s latest developments.

  “That’s so weird,” Asher agreed after I finished explaining the two wildly different versions of Lark and Blake’s first encounter. “Do you think it’s a clue?”

  “It’s definitely a clue, but I can’t figure out what it means. I made a list of all the letters she capitalized. Beyond that, I’m stuck.” I gave him my most winning smile. “I was hoping you’d have some ideas.”

  Asher watched me th
oughtfully as he took a long drink from the mocha I’d ordered at the coffee bar. The act was oddly intimate, like I really was his girlfriend and we frequently shared drinks.

  “Well, it’s probably some sort of cipher,” he said.

  “Right…,” I replied. Retrieving my notebook from my bag, I flipped to the page with the list of letters and pushed it across the table. “But how do I decode it?”

  Asher blew out a long breath, his brown eyes thoughtful as he stared at the page.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted after a minute. Something in my expression made him add, “We’ll figure it out, Raven. We’re in this together.”

  My response was barely above a whisper. “What if we can’t? What if….” I trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought.

  “She’s gotten under your skin, hasn’t she?” Asher guessed.

  “Kind of.” I shrugged. “I mean, I’ve been reading her diary. It’s sort of hard to not feel like you know someone after you’ve read their private thoughts. Is that stupid?”

  “Not at all.”

  Asher reached across the table and held out his hand. Tentatively, I placed my palm in his. He squeezed it gently.

  “I think it’s amazing that you’re willing to help someone you’ve never met,” he said.

  I blushed and averted my eyes.

  Kristoph materialized with our meals, interrupting the oddly inmate moment.

  While we ate, I gave Asher a rundown of my middle-of-the-night trip to Lark’s apartment. Though I told him about the entire wardrobe of new clothing, I left out the fact I was currently wearing some of them. I also left out the part about falling asleep in Lark’s bed while listening to her iPod. Even though I wasn’t embarrassed about that—like I was about wearing Lark’s clothes—it sounded a little too much like a scene from Single White Female.

  “Don’t do that again,” Asher scolded after I’d finished. His expression had turned hard and disapproving.

  “What? Why?”

  “Raven,” he began, setting his fork on the table and locking my gaze. “From what you’ve told me, it sounds like Lark was involved in some bad stuff. People might be looking for her. And not–”