Fragile Facade (Blind Barriers Trilogy Book 1)

by Sophie Davis

  I hate the winter; sunlight is too scarce and the night lasts too long. It’s so difficult to keep going with my days when it’s already pitch black by the time I leave school. Why we still practice Daylight Savings Time has always been a mystery to me. Can’t the farmers just wake up an hour later?

  Today, though, I was thankful for the cover of darkness as I set about running my evening errands. This task wasn’t on my usual to-do list. It wasn’t a charity board meeting, an FBLA gathering, or any of my other extracurricular resume-padders. No, today’s errand was much more personal, one I actually cared about and was excited for.

  Slipping away from my friends had been tricky. Lately, I’d been ditching quite a bit of quality time with the Eight to either see Blake or run one of my illicit errands. My absence hadn’t gone unnoticed or unacknowledged. Regretfully, I glanced at my watch and thought about what my friends were doing right then.

  They would be either at or on their way to Ilan Avery’s house. All of us were spoiled to some degree, but none of us quite like Ilan. He didn’t have a bedroom or even a suite; he had a wing. Three levels, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a game room, an entertainment room, a library – you get the picture.

  It was actually sort of sad the way his parents had moved him from the main part of the house when he was fourteen; almost as if they were saying they no longer took responsibility for his actions. But Ilan didn’t feel sorry for himself, and neither did most of the Eight. Having his own entryway from the outside and a door with a lock separating his space from that of his parents made it ideal for avoiding parental scrutiny after an evening of drinking, pot smoking, and general debauchery. Yep, we were the future leaders of tomorrow….

  Of the approximately 3000 square feet dedicated to Ilan, we typically used the 500 of them that made up the entertainment room. An 84” flat screen dominated an entire wall and a ginormous overstuffed sectional curved around the other three walls. Random beanbag chairs added pops of blues, greens, and reds to the dark brown carpeting. Sports memorabilia decorated the walls, all signed by baseball greats and football legends. The room was so male, so Ilan, and so lived-in. The lived-in feel was why I loved going there.

  Usually, I could be found tucked into the corner of the sectional, fingers wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate spiked with just a splash of Bailey’s. That was typically the extent of my weeknight imbibing, though the same could not be said for the rest of my friends. Ally thought himself a master joint roller, and most of the group enjoyed the fruits of his labor on a regular basis. He frequently gave lessons to Cam, who never could get the hang of it. Ilan couldn’t be bothered with rolling papers, and had usually cleared his two-foot glass bubbler more than once by the time Ally was finished with his first masterpiece.

  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. There were headstand contests – Cam’s small, compact frame meant she always won – and Madden-a-thons on a regular basis. There was a running drinking game, where everyone took a sip when one of the guys made an inappropriate comment about Juliet, Ilan’s au pair-turned-housekeeper. We all stopped what we were doing and sang along when certain songs came on, and laughed at retellings of the guys’ disastrous conquests. There was never a dull minute. They were idiots, but they were my idiots, and I really did love them.

  Unfortunately, tonight, instead of watching the spectacle alongside Annie, I was hurrying up the cement steps of the 125th Street subway station. Pulling my coat closed against the chilly wind, I only slightly regretting my decision to take public transportation. Yes, there were some inconveniences, and things weren’t always as comfortable as in my world. But those comforts came with so many expectations, and limitations. I was really starting to enjoy the way the other half lived.

  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. And the more freedom I tasted, the harder the craving was to deny.

  I was not in a rough part of town by any means, but neither was I in an affluent area. This was the home of regular, unaffected, unassuming people. It felt so much more alive, so much more authentic. Bus stop shelters sat on most corners, instead of just signs. Most everyone here actually used the public transportation, not just household employees traveling back to their own neighborhoods after a long day’s work. Some of the streetlights were burned out. Hardworking men and women walked their own dogs up and down the sidewalks, even bending to clean up after their 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.

  Unfortunately, I was just passing through. Anyone watching might think my hastened steps were because I felt unsafe in this middleclass neighborhood. That was definitely not the case. Anxiety was pushing me on, my nerves in overdrive quickening my strides. I was on my way to see Navid, the jeweler I’d entrusted with my family’s priceless gem. Though he’d assured me that I had nothing to worry about, I was still concerned. Sure, he had a stellar reputation, and was known for his discretion in delicate matters. And then there was the small fortune I was paying him, just in case he got any funny ideas. But if something happened to my mother’s necklace, if something happened to the priceless stone….

  I shook my head to banish 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. It may have been considered an alleyway, though it was lacking the usual trash bags and dumpsters found in the routes that ran behind most buildings in the city. Up ahead, on the right, was a space in the bricks, only a small navy awning to hint that this was anything other than a typical back door to a building. The heavy door was made of metal, and lacked the colorful graffiti found on many like it. My hands were unsteady as I gripped the silver door handle. Once inside the small vestibule, the outer door slammed shut behind me with a muffled clank that made me jump. A second metal door stood directly in front of me now. The black button of an intercom was positioned on the wall to the right of it, with a camera overhead. Pressing the buzzer for only a moment, I pulled my ivory cashmere hat back from my face and looked up at the camera. A loud click answered my actions. I quickly grabbed the handle and walked through the second entryway.

  It was like stepping into a bright sunny day from a cave. The space was expansive. Glass cases lined the walls. Each one contained precious gemstones that twinkled a welcome. A man in an immaculately cut suit emerged from a back room. The large smile on his face showcased the white of his teeth, impossibly bright next to his cappuccino skin. 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 Persian accent subtle but noticeable.

  “You too, Navid,” I replied. Social etiquette dictated that a certain amount of small talk take place prior to a business transaction, but I was far too excited to exchange further pleasantries. I was practically vibrating as I stood in the middle of his shining sea of lavishness, staring at him 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 showroom floor. My purpose was clear. I hoped he realized I was excited, not being rude.

  “Shall we go take a look at what I have for you?” Navid gestured toward 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 door was locked as well. Navid’s watch caught the light and glittered brightly as he ran a fob over the scanner. Undoubtedly, his wrist piece was worth upwards of a quarter of a million. Both the watch face itself and the frame were covered in diamonds. It was the sort of flashy piece worn to display status and wealth, though it wouldn’t be found on the wrist of anyone I knew well. For my father’s friends and their sons, it was either/or: either diamond embellishment on the face, or adorning the dial. You know, to be subtle.

  While these musings flashed through my head, I entered the back office and took a seat opposite the antique mahogany desk. Navid stood in front of a wall safe and entered a combination on a keypad that undoubtedly responded to his fingerprint alone. After the door opened, it took only a moment to withdraw two large cases. Shutting the safe door first, he took a seat 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.

  Out came white gloves from the middle drawer of his desk, 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 start asking questions. This was one of those times that men who thought themselves charming irritated me. He was hoping to build a rapport, to refer to me as a friend to others, and to secure my repeat business. It was time to shut down at least one of those hopes.

  “Navid, I have something to ask of you before we begin here,” I started. My tone was a careful medium between polite and brusque. I did my best to emulate my father in a business dealing. Navid paused after pulling on the gloves, eyebrows raising.

  “Of course, darling, what can I do?”

  I pulled a manila file folder from my tote and set it on the desk. I took a moment to look over the identical pages inside, before sliding both across the desk and placing them side by side in front of Navid.

  “I’m sure this is nothing you haven’t seen before, just a simple Client Confidentiality Agreement. My father’s lawyers drew it up, just standard practice with the family,” I tried for nonchalance. Since I knew I probably didn’t sound as casual as I’d hoped, I was careful to not hold my breath at the lie. I was determined to not display any tell-tale signs of deceit.

  In fact, I had 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 I needed and inserting additional clauses where necessary. I didn’t kid myself; I knew that anyone familiar with legalese wouldn’t believe for a moment that those parts were written by an attorney. Still, I wasn’t overly concerned. I just needed Navid to understand my desire for secrecy.

  “So, it’s very standard language – just that you may not disclose the pieces I have ordered from you with anyone other than myself and those listed. In fact, I ask that you not even reveal that I am a client of yours to anyone else, under any circumstance whatsoever.” At this I looked directly into his chocolaty eyes, hoping to convey the gravity of my last statement. Surely this would disappoint him, though not as much as if I didn’t call on him again.

  “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 of the agreement with a flourish. It was for this reason – no questions asked, the utmost privacy assured – that Navid was known within certain circles. Sure, in some cases it was as simple as a piece being purchased for a mistress. Other situations, like mine, had reasons that were far more imperative. But it made no difference to him. We paid a markup for his skill, for his expertise, and for his silence.

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

  “Yes,” I breathed, again struggling to contain my enthusiasm. The white gloves were pulled on, one at a time. If he was trying to draw out the moment, it was working.

  Navid opened the first box in front of him. His gloved hands gently slid the necklace out and set it on the velvet. He did the same with the second box, then slowly turned the board towards me. Admiration and pride shone in his eyes, with a touch of apprehension. I leaned forward, touching each in turn 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 would’ve never stopped there. Aesthetics were his passion, and it was apparent. Delicate gold filigree wings and gleaming opal shone against the black backdrop.

  “Here, let me show you,” he replied, a broad smile across his face as he cradled the butterfly in his gloved hand. I beamed back while he explained all of the handcrafted details, pointing each out, knowing that he took great pride in his abilities.

  “And my mother’s necklace?” I asked when he’d finished his spiel. I couldn’t stop the grin on my face, marveling at how exquisitely he’d crafted my requests. They were simply perfection.

  “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, no doubt worried that I would be upset about the delay.

  “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 smiling indulgently back at me.

  Having seen my satisfaction, Navid was systematically wrapping my pieces up. First he gently slipped each in a small black velvet bag, then into their respective large display boxes. Both of these were placed in a carrying tote, which Navid handed over to me. A self-satisfied grin was still plastered on his face. I carefully set it in my oversized bag, and then stood up.

  “Perfect. You can reach me on my cell when it’s done. 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 brightest.” I managed a small laugh at this.

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

  “No, no, but thank you. You know me, low maintenance,” I said with a wink.

  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 had now. It would be valuable to others. To me, it was priceless.

  Saturday morning found me embarking on an apparent Washington, D.C. rite of passage: brunch at a DuPont Circle restaurant and independent bookstore called “Phrases.” Upon our arrival, the smiling hostess had informed Asher and me that the wait was currently forty-five minutes, and we were free to browse in the meantime. My first instinct, to not waste that long hanging around for a table to open up, was tamped down when Asher assured me it would be worth the time. He pulled me away from the line that had formed behind us and over to the bookstore side.

  I ordered an iced mocha from the coffee bar and wandered over to peruse 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 found me and said that our table was ready.

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

  I glanced at the price on the back of the book and sighed. With limited funds at my disposal, $27.99 seemed like a luxury I couldn’t afford. “Too rich for my blood,” I told him with a smile.

  I replaced the book on the shelf where I’d found it and started to follow the hostess. After a couple of steps through the crowded booksto
re, I noticed Asher wasn’t behind me. I turned and saw him staring contemplatively at the stack of books in his arms. Today he wore khakis and a pink button-down, aviators perched on top of his stylishly messy brown hair. He looked adorable. No, scratch that. Asher was hot. And I wasn’t the only female noticing him. A group of college-aged girls in sundresses and Jack Roger’s thongs 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, and then whispered something to her friend. They both erupted in giggles. Self-consciously, I looked down at the navy miniskirt with white and yellow sailboats that 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. And, while the skirt wasn’t something I’d have normally purchased, 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, otherwise, they fit well.

  “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 as I accepted the menu she handed me.