by Lara Hunter
I hadn’t been kissed in a long time, six months at least. When his lips were against mine, when I felt that gentle pressure and amazing heat, I didn’t feel as though I were onstage. A warm tingling rushed through my limbs, and a knot of yearning gathered behind my breastbone. I pulled myself closer to him, my fingers pressing through the fabric of his jacket into the muscles of his back. I felt a shudder run through his body in response.
When he finally released me, I didn’t have to pretend that I was breathless and flushed. Harvey looked into my face, his expression dark, intent, almost wondering. He stepped back, taking his arms from around me. It took some effort for me to not sway on my feet. He gestured, and I realized dimly that Ted was holding the car door for me. I steadied myself and let Harvey help me into the car. The few seconds my hand was in his were like an aftershock of the intimacy of a few moments before. I took deep, regular breaths as I settled into the car, trying to center myself again.
Harvey didn’t say much on the drive back to my apartment, which was fine with me. My own thoughts were more than enough to occupy me. They said one thing to me, over and over: Be careful.
I laid my hand on my chest where my heartbeat still hadn’t quite returned to normal.
Oh, yes, Alice. Please be careful.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was an enormous relief to be alone again inside my new apartment. I dropped my purse and kicked off my shoes, feeling entirely overwhelmed. I wished desperately that I were home in my own space, where I could find a ratty t-shirt and fuzzy socks and curl up in my own lumpy but familiar bed.
I opened a few dresser drawers and found that they were still mostly empty; Susan had said that it would be tomorrow before most of my clothes arrived. She hadn’t left me completely bereft, though. I found some nightgowns in a bottom drawer. They were long and silky, something I’d never buy for myself. I was so tired, though, that I didn’t care. I undressed and put one on, brushed my teeth, and got into bed. The sheets were incredibly smooth and soft. I sighed as I relaxed into the mattress, pulling the covers up to my chin.
What am I doing? I thought. This is insane.
I felt lost. I’d done method acting before, dressing and speaking in character around the clock for weeks, trying to get inside the life of the person I was to become onstage. This was something different, though. I’d never been trapped inside a role; it had never been out of my control. I didn’t know how long I could continue this.
I found my phone and sent a text message to Rose: “Don’t know if I can do this.”
She responded almost at once: “Hang tight, Allie. I’ll call you in the morning. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
I sighed and put my phone away. I turned out the lights and tried to pretend that this place was home, that it wasn’t strange to me. I told myself that I would feel better after a good night’s sleep.
It was a long time before sleep came.
~ ~ ~
I was awakened in the morning by a sharp knocking on the door to the apartment. I dragged myself out of bed, still in just a nightgown, looking around for a robe. I gave up after a minute and just went to the door. I opened it a crack, peering around it into the hallway. A man in a brown uniform stood outside.
“Delivery, ma’am,” he said.
“Oh, okay,” I said sleepily. I gave up on modesty and opened the door. The delivery man, probably well used to customers opening the door in all states of undress, did not react to my appearance.
“Sign here, please,” he said, holding out an electronic signature pad. I signed it, remembering at the last second to sign ‘Clarke’ instead of ‘Brennan.’
He disappeared back into the hallway after I signed, and came back in a moment later with a large box.
“You can just leave it on the table,” I said, indicating the coffee table in the living room.
“Uh, there are quite a few, ma’am,” he said.
“Oh, well, then just leave them anywhere,” I said. “I’m going to go get dressed.”
“Of course, ma’am. Thank you.”
I retreated back to the bedroom and headed for the shower. Despite my weariness from a poor night’s sleep and the anxiety that I hadn’t managed to shake, I couldn’t help but enjoy the shower. My own apartment had pitiable water pressure; showering there was a way to get clean (eventually), but the shower in this place was a truly luxurious experience. The hot, pulsing stream helped work out much of the tension that I’d woken with. The body washes, shampoos, and other products stocked in the bathroom smelled and felt heavenly on my skin. When, almost an hour later, I stepped out and dried off, I felt a good deal better than I had when I’d woken.
I toweled off my hair, then went to the vanity mirror and did my best to recreate the style that Astra had taught me the day before. I brushed and blow-dried and smoothed as best I could. Afterward, I opened up the many cosmetic containers that Susan had sent home with me and did my best to paint my face the way it had looked the day before. When I was finally done powdering and spraying and crimping and curling, I looked at myself in the mirror. The finished result wasn’t quite a match to what the professionals had done for me yesterday, but I still thought it would do. I still looked nothing like myself.
I walked, naked, to the bedroom door and called out into the living room.
“Hello?”
No one answered. The delivery man must have left the packages and gone. I went out into the living room and stopped short. There weren’t two or three boxes left for me; there were at least two dozen. I went to the first one: a tall, flat box almost as tall as me. I used my keys to break the tape on it and pull it open.
The box was full of clothes, business suits, to be exact. I ran a hand over the smooth, pale blue fabric of the jacket and skirt. I opened a few more boxes, and found more of the same: dresses, suits, skirts, slacks, sweaters, sun dresses, shoes, camisoles, lingerie, hose, slippers, even hats. I sat down on the couch, overwhelmed.
This is who you are now, my mind told me. The thought was exciting and terrifying.
I finally chose a pale ivory skirt, a coral-colored shell top, and an ivory cardigan to wear over it. I put on nude hose as well and slipped on a pair of pumps that matched the skirt and sweater. I finished it off with a string of pearls and matching pearl stud earrings. I looked in the mirror for a long moment, and I could almost feel this character within me. I could almost feel myself becoming her, in that exciting way that sometimes happened onstage or in rehearsal, when the writing is good and the acting is going well, when you leave yourself behind you and transform into someone new.
But you’re not just doing a job, a voice inside reminded me. You’re deceiving someone. You’re planning to ruin a man who trusts you.
“He ruined us,” I said aloud. “I’m getting justice for us.”
What he did wasn’t personal, the voice said. He didn’t know you. But you’ve met him; you’ve kissed him, and now you’re just going to lie and lie—
I rushed to the bedroom and picked up my phone. I dialed Rose’s number.
“Hello?” she said, sounding sleepy. It was Sunday, I remembered. Rose probably wanted to sleep late. Well, too bad.
“Rose,” I said, my eyes filling with tears. “I don’t think I can do this. It’s just… It’s not who I am! I know what happened to us was awful, but how does any of this change that?” The words rushed out in a barely-coherent tumble as I tried to keep from sobbing.
“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” she said. “Did you do something? Did you mess this up?”
“No, I didn’t. I’m just feeling—”
“You’re feeling bad because you’re a good person,” Rose said. “Of course you are.”
“I feel terrible. I don’t want to do this.” I did start to cry then.
“Come on, Allie,” Rose said. “You gotta get over this. You have a chance here. Of all the people he and people like him have hurt, you have a chance to make it right, make him feel how it feels to have th
e rug pulled out from under him. You owe that to mom and dad, to me, and to yourself.”
“I know,” I said, sniffling. “It just feels so awful.”
“You have to put that out of your mind,” she said. “It’s just for a little while. A few weeks, maybe a little longer. You can’t let him just get away with everything because you’re so soft-hearted.”
“I’ll try,” I said. “I’m trying…”
“Do you remember that first Thanksgiving?” Rose said, her voice hardening. “Mom cooking dinner in the little kitchen of that shitty apartment? She tried to be so happy and positive about all of it, but I caught her crying, Alice. When she thought no one was around. That… man stole our history. Our family should have always been in that house. Mom and dad should have Thanksgiving for their grandbabies there, but that’s never going to happen.”
I did remember that Thanksgiving: the cramped, awkward cooking; mom’s careful cheerfulness; the tense awareness of loss that hung in the air despite our attempts at celebration.
“This man,” Rose continued. “Harvey Pace… He might seem nice, normal. But you’ve got to remember that he’s not. He does whatever he wants to people to get what he wants. He doesn’t deserve your trust, and he doesn’t deserve your pity. You have to stay strong, Alice. We’re counting on you. Don’t let us down.”
“I won’t,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect it to feel this way; I just lost it a little bit. But I’m better now.”
“You can do this,” she said.
“I can do this,” I agreed.
~ ~ ~
Talking to Rose helped. It reminded me of the world outside this expensive apartment and the person I was before Harvey Pace swept in and made me over. I spent the morning organizing the clothes that had been sent over, trying to plan future outfits and accessories for Alice Clarke. I talked aloud to myself as I worked, practicing both my accent and my word choices. Miss Clarke had been raised differently than Alice the actress; she would be expected to speak differently.
As I got toward the end of the boxes, I found a small one that I hadn’t yet opened. I sliced it open, and found a cell phone inside, along with a note.
“Carry only this phone. I’ve added my cell and office numbers, as well as Mick’s and Susan’s cell numbers. No personal calls on this phone. –Harvey”
Even as I recognized the good sense in his instructions, I felt a surge of irritation at his casual dominance.
You’re his employee, my mind reminded me. Of course he expects you to accept and follow instructions from him.
I turned the phone on, pressing buttons and trying out its functions. It was a much newer, more complicated model than the basic one I normally carried, and I figured I should know how to use it so I didn’t look like an idiot the first time I tried to make a phone call in front of someone. When I felt sufficiently able to operate the phone, I dropped it into my purse.
I was getting hungry then, and went into the kitchen to see what I could find. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the kitchen was well-stocked with a variety of fresh foods: fruits, vegetables, good quality meats, pasta, cheeses, sauces, spices… I could prepare meals for a month with what I found. It was certainly an improvement over the Ramen noodles and canned soup I’d had to resort to more than a few times when work was scarce and money was nonexistent.
I also found an envelope on the counter. Inside was a letter, a credit card, and several hundred dollars in cash. As I opened the letter, I recognized Harvey’s handwriting. It read:
“Feel free to make use of this for any reasonable living expenses or suitable entertainment. I will be busy for the next day or two, but I’ll get in touch after that. Please contact Mick or Susan if you have any needs in the meantime. – Harvey.”
I felt a surge of relief as I realized that I would have some time to myself, time to think and resettle before I had to interact with Harvey again. I wasn’t sure what his definition of “suitable entertainment” was, and I decided that I didn’t care. There were at least two movies out that I’d been wanting to see, and I’d gotten way behind on my reading while working on Miles to Go.
But first, some breakfast, even if it was almost late enough to call it lunch. I searched through the cupboards, finding the things I’d need to cook a really nice omelet before I headed out for some suitable entertainment.
~ ~ ~
The next two days passed too quickly. I spent the time doing nothing but what I pleased, which was both strange and pleasant, a dramatic change of pace from my real life, which was always full of either work or the search for work. I watched movies and browsed bookstores, and tried very hard not to think about my work. My British accent, which I was careful to keep up even during these excursions alone, was the only real obligation I had to worry about, and by the second day, it had begun to feel so natural that I’d almost forgotten it wasn’t real.
I’d gotten more comfortable in the apartment, too. I’d added a few personal touches to the place: some plants to make use of the ample sunlight in the place, a bulletin board in the kitchen with a few postcards pinned up (newly purchased, nothing with my real name on it), and a small painting that I’d bought from a street artist on a whim with $50 of Harvey’s money. The little changes had done a lot to make me feel more like a human being, and less like a bird in a cage.
The bed was feeling less strange than it had on the first night, and I’d come to appreciate a mattress that didn’t creak and poke. I’d tried out the Jacuzzi tub in the master bath, and found I loved it even more than the shower. I’d peeked into the guest room (bed, dressers, writing desk) and explored the office. I’d been pleased to find a computer on a large, glass-topped desk in there. I’d powered it on and written an email to my parents, inventing some entertaining stories about dinner theater stage mishaps and tourists with food poisoning. I assured them that I was staying safe and wearing sunscreen, and that I was thinking of them and missing them. The last part, at least, was true.
I hadn’t spoken to Rose again since that first morning. She’d helped me to stay focused on my plan for Harvey, but, at least for now, I’d decided not to dwell too much on where this job was leading. For now, I just needed to play my role, stay sane, and keep Harvey’s trust. It was easier to do that if I didn’t think too much about the rest of it.
Early on the third morning in the apartment, my cell phone – the new one – buzzed on my nightstand. I sat up in bed and read the message on it, from Harvey: I’m coming by around eleven.
I sighed as I got out of bed, trying to prepare mentally for interacting with Harvey again. I showered and dressed. He hadn’t mentioned any specific plans, and I wasn’t sure how I would need to dress. I checked the weather and found that the day would be warm and sunny. I chose a flowy yellow sundress and sandals. I could always change if necessary.
I was sitting by the window in the living room drinking coffee when Harvey knocked on the door. I let him in, offering him a cup.
“That would be great,” he said. He looked tired. He didn’t comment on my appearance, but he looked me up and down quickly, and seemed pleased.
“How do you take it?” I asked, calling over my shoulder as he sat down in an armchair near the couch.
“Just cream,” he said.
I brought him his coffee and sat back down on the couch.
“Thank you,” he said, taking a sip. “How are you finding the apartment? Any problems?”
“Not at all,” I said. “You and your people took care of everything. I’ve been quite comfortable.”
He gestured to the painting I’d added to the living room wall.
“A nice touch,” he said. “I don’t recognize the artist.”
“Hmm, I wouldn’t think you would,” I said. “He’s a street artist. He was selling pieces down on Richardson.”
A shadow crossed over Harvey’s face.
“You went down to that neighborhood alone?” he asked.
“I l
ive in a neighborhood like ‘that neighborhood,’ Harvey,” I said. “It’s fine. I walk in the city alone all the time. I know how to take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you think you do,” he said. “But you don’t look the way you used to.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you look like you’re worth robbing now,” he said. “You’re going to have to be more careful.”
I took a deep breath, feeling that familiar annoyance that crept in whenever Harvey ordered me around about something new.
“Fine,” I said.
“If you need to go somewhere like that, call Mick,” he said. “He’ll accompany you. Make sure you don’t run into trouble.”
“Alright,” I said. “I’ll remember.”
He nodded.
“The reason I came by today is to discuss our next outing,” he said. “One of Jenson Pace’s subsidiary companies is about to unveil a new product line. There’s going to be a gala to celebrate. We’ll be attending; this will be our first public appearance.”
“When is it?” I asked, sitting up straighter and setting my cup aside.