Underground Spirit

by Foxglove Lee

  Norma’s brow went up, whether from jealousy or suspicion Whitney couldn’t say.

  “That way I could keep an eye on you,” the handsome man went on. “I’ll make sure you get home safely. And if you faint again, I’ll just hit redial.”

  “So it was you who called 911?” Whitney asked, feeling a blush consume her.

  “Well, me and probably about fifty other people. There were plenty of onlookers when you took your tumble.”

  “I took a tumble?”

  “You don’t remember?” he asked, with a glint in his eye and a boyish smirk on his lips.

  Whitney shook her head, a hand on each cheek, trying to cool her hot skin with her eternally cold hands. “Good Lord, how embarrassing.”

  “Well, we caught you before you fell right down,” Norma cut in. “You didn’t hit your head or anything.”

  “Oh. Good.” Whitney had already forgotten Norma was still hanging around. When nobody said anything for a moment, the older woman got the point. She said she’d see Whitney tomorrow and “call if you need anything,” knowing full well Whitney didn’t have her number.

  But that was okay. She didn’t need Norma. She had the handsome man… who probably had a name, come to think of it.

  Once Norma had joined the cluster of commuters in the underground path, Whitney extended her hand. “I’m Whitney, by the way.”

  Shaking her hand, the handsome man said, “I’m Bruce. I work in the gold tower.”

  “Ahh, so you’re in banking?”

  He nodded. “And you’re a lawyer, I hear.”

  “That I am.”

  They were still shaking. She didn’t want to let go. His hand was strong and soft, his shake slightly firmer than hers. She couldn’t stop smiling. It was ridiculous. If she didn’t stop soon, he was going to think she belonged in a looney bin.

  “So,” he said, withdrawing his hand from hers. “Dinner?”

  “Where were you thinking?”

  “What do you feel like?”

  She watched the throngs of people going by. Anyone who glanced in their direction right now would think they were a couple for sure. They were definitely giving off that vibe.

  “Protein?” she asked, like she wasn’t sure of the answer. “What’s the best thing to eat after you’ve fainted?”

  “A steak?” he asked, like he wasn’t sure either. “Or… do you eat meat?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said. “Oh, do you?”

  “Yes, I was just…”

  “Oh good.”

  “Checking.”

  “Good.” She couldn’t stop smiling. She tried, but she couldn’t. “Just give me a minute, if that’s okay. I mean, you can go if you don’t want to wait. I just need another minute to regain my strength.”

  She didn’t expect him to get up and walk away without even saying goodbye.

  Fortunately, he didn’t go far. She followed him with her eyes, to the fancy juice place a couple stores down. He returned with a large cup, a purple straw sticking out the top.

  “I hope you like orange,” he said. “Help get your strength up.”

  “Thank you so much. How thoughtful of you.” She unzipped her purse. “How much?”

  Rolling his eyes, he said, “My treat, silly.”

  She didn’t even argue, just thanked him again and took hold of the cup. It was the best juice she’d ever tasted, but she was pretty sure the company accounted for a certain amount of that sweetness, the kind you can feel in your cheeks. The kind that feels so good it hurts.

  Chapter Four

  When Whitney recovered her strength, at least to some degree, Handsome Bruce escorted her to the steakhouse the partners from her firm went to any time they were celebrating a big victory. She was too junior to be invited to their shindigs, and when she got a load of the menu prices, she balked.

  “I don’t think I can afford a side salad in this place,” she told him.

  “Good,” he replied. “Because they don’t serve side salads here. It’s potatoes or nothin’, sister!”

  She laughed because his expression was so comical.

  “But really,” he went on. “Don’t worry about money. It’s on me.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t…”

  “You could and you can and you will,” he said with a smile.

  She smiled too, and looked at her menu… then sneaked a peek at him. He was still smiling. Just gazing at her with a generous grin. Oh, he was cute! A friendly banker. Who’d have imagined?

  “Student loans,” she blurted.

  He cocked his head. “What’s that?”

  “What’s a student loan?”

  “No, I know what a student loan is. I just wasn’t sure I heard you right.”

  “I’m still paying back student loans,” she clarified. “I racked up a lot of debt, putting myself through law school.”

  He nodded, poking at everything on the table: water glass, silverware folded up in a cloth napkin, the breadbasket they hadn’t started in on. He pushed that in Whitney’s direction, and she took a roll, buttered it.

  “You didn’t have… family support?” he asked, softly, like he knew this was a loaded question.

  “I wouldn’t have had their financial support anyway,” she told him. “They’re not that kind of family. I was really hoping for scholarships.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t get them,” Bruce said.

  “No kidding. Black trans lady, here. You’d think everyone would jump at the chance to give me free money.”

  Bruce blushed, honest to goodness blushed, before saying, “That’s not what I meant. Just that you seem so intelligent. Highly, highly intelligent.”

  “Lots of students are highly, highly intelligent,” Whitney reasoned. “And many were more highly, highly intelligent than me. So I took out student loans. Them’s the breaks.”

  “And now you’re a lawyer. All’s well that ends well, I guess. Bet your parents are proud.”

  The waiter hit them up for orders just then. Perfect timing.

  Whitney thought it best not to drink alcohol after fainting, so Bruce opted not to either. What a perfect gentleman.

  “I might slip off to the ladies’ room,” she whispered to Bruce once the waiter had walked away. That giant orange juice was catching up with her.

  “Give me your phone,” he said, holding out his hand.

  She cocked a brow, then slipped her phone from her purse. “What are you up to?”

  “I’m going to put my number in your phone.

  Laughing, she said, “I’m not going to pull a Holly Golightly, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  He laughed too, and said, “That’s the farthest thing from my mind. I’m only giving you my number so that, if you feel weak, you can call me and I’ll come help.”

  “In the ladies’ room?” she asked, with dubious amusement.

  “There’s nothing I might see in a ladies’ room that I haven’t already seen in a co-ed dorm.”

  It was Whitney’s turn to blush, this time. She didn’t quite know why. Just being around this man made her feel all bubbly and weird.

  She glanced around, then asked, “Do you know where the restrooms are, in this place?”

  He pointed her in the right direction, and chuckled, “You might want to use your phone as a flashlight. That hallway takes mood lighting to the next level.”

  “Good advice,” she said, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt.

  He was right about the hallway. The walls were painted a very dark shade of burgundy. There were sconces very high up, almost at the ceiling, but they barely gave off any light at all.

  The restrooms were at the end of the hallway: men’s room on the left, ladies’ on the right. In the middle stood some kind of statue. Whitney couldn’t quite make it out through the darkness. A human figure, like one of those Greek statues, except those were usually white, weren’t they? This one wasn’t. It was dark. Very dark.

  As Whitney approached, the statue moved. She jumped
, clutching her phone to her chest. Obviously this was a living person in the hallway, not a statue at all.

  She apologized to the figure, laughing cautiously at her own mistake. “Sorry, I thought you weren’t real.”

  The figure didn’t say a word.

  Whitney didn’t quite know what to do. This person was somewhat blocking her path to the ladies’ room. “I’m just trying to get in… get in there… if I could just squeeze by you.”

  She hadn’t even stepped close enough to see this person clearly. Truth be clear, she found herself intimidated by this person, even though the figure was shorter and smaller than Whitney herself. It was just such a strange thing to do, block someone’s entry to the restroom, and stand there silently when spoken to.

  Bruce’s advice about using her phone as a flashlight came to mind. That man was full of good ideas. She pressed a button so it would light up, and shone that light down the hallway to get a better look at what was in front of her.

  Oh Lord! Oh no! It can’t be!

  But it was. It was her. The girl who’d been crushed by the escalator.

  Whitney saw her plain as day. She wasn’t fuzzy, the way you’d expect a ghost to look. The outline of her body was sharp. Same long frock Whitney had seen in the underground. Same knitted scarf hanging down all the way to her feet. Same blue skin, same shredded scalp, matted and bloodied hair.

  Eyes. Dark eyes. If eyes were the windows to the soul, why couldn’t Whitney see what this girl was all about? Why are you following me? What do you want? She had so many questions she couldn’t ask, because she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

  Take a picture! Take a picture! Take a picture! It’s proof!

  Her hands trembled around her phone, and she prayed she wouldn’t drop it. She just kept tapping at the screen, hoping to get a photo taken, but her hands were shaking too much. Her whole body was shaking. She was tapping all the wrong icons.

  The door to the ladies’ room opened, shining soft yellow light into the dark hallway. Whitney had never felt fear like this in all her life. She expected a monster from the depths of hell to emerge from the restroom, but it was just an old white lady. She gave Whitney an odd look as she passed by, but Whitney was more concerned about capturing the figure between the two restrooms.

  Except that it wasn’t there anymore.

  It was gone.

  The restroom door closed, leaving the hallway again in darkness.

  The lady who’d left the restroom was gone now, too.

  And still, a disquieting sensation haunted Whitney. She felt on high alert, like something was about to happen. Something that would scare her half to death.

  “Hello?” asked a disembodied voice. “Whitney? Is that you?”

  Chapter Five

  Whitney looked down at her phone. In all that tapping of icons, she’d somehow managed to phone Bruce. She didn’t mean to.

  “Bruce,” she said. “I’m sorry. I called you by accident.”

  “You don’t sound so good. Are you dizzy again? Did you faint?”

  “No, nothing like that,” she told him, but he must have run from the table to the back hallway, because he was by her side in seconds.

  Grasping her shoulders, he said, “Whitney, you’re trembling. What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “Nothing,” she replied. She wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I need to… go.” She pointed to the ladies’ room, then slipped away from him to enter inside. He wouldn’t follow her. Or maybe he would. Hard to say. They’d only just met.

  When she emerged from the restroom, Bruce was standing just where she’d left him.

  “I’m very concerned about you.”

  “Don’t be.”

  She tried to act strong and confident as she strode to the table, but she felt weak as a kitten. Not dizzy, not like before. More… tired. Exhausted, in fact.

  Their meals came and they ate in virtual silence. She wouldn’t look him in the eye. She couldn’t. He cared so much and he was so concerned. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. She knew that in her heart.

  Why was she freezing him out?

  Because he’d think she was crazy if she told him the truth.

  Bruce covered the bill, as promised, and surprised her by saying, “Allow me to ride the subway with you. I just need to get you home safe. Is that okay?”

  She nodded, still without looking him in the eye.

  The underground pathway had emptied out while they were eating dinner. Hardly anyone hanging around at this hour.

  “Where do you live?” he asked as he walked her to the subway.

  When she told him her station, he said, “That’s where I’m going, too! How about that? We live in the same neighbourhood.”

  “But you probably live in one of those big houses on the ravine. I live in a low-rise apartment near the station.”

  “You’ll live in a big house one day,” he said encouragingly. “Successful lawyer like you. Once those student loans are paid back, you’ll take off like a star in the sky.”

  In a way, she wished she hadn’t disclosed so much personal information to a man she’d only just met.

  The subway wasn’t too crowded. Whitney sat among a cluster of empty seats. Bruce could have sat across the aisle, or on an angle to her, but he chose the seat right beside hers.

  When he sat down, his suit touched hers. As their fabrics mingled, she felt such warmth coming off his body that she was tempted to put her head on his shoulder. But what would he make of that? She’d barely said a word to him throughout dinner. She couldn’t suddenly cuddle up next to him like that had never happened.

  “Thanks for the steak,” she said, staring at the bag in her lap. “It was delicious. I can’t believe I ate the whole thing.”

  He chuckled, and she did too.

  His hand was sitting right there on his lap. Close enough to touch. She took a chance and reached for it, wrapped her fingers around his. “I’m sorry for acting so… weird.”

  “It’s okay,” he assured her. “You’ve obviously had a rough day: fainting, paramedics, and here’s this guy you don’t even know.”

  “No, it’s not that,” she pleaded.

  But she was interrupted in that moment by a homeless man asking for change. Bruce had to break free from their handhold in order to reach into his pocket. He handed the guy quite a few coins. Whitney was impressed. But she avoided eye contact until the homeless man went away, and then it was time to get up. Their stop was next.

  You could see Whitney’s building from the station. She pointed it out as they stepped outside. The rain had stopped, leaving the roads to glisten against the streetlights. She liked the smell in the air, spring on the cusp of summer. It was such a lovely scent.

  “I can walk you home,” he said. “But I don’t have to if you’d rather I didn’t.”

  They were standing too close to the subway entrance. They moved so other people could get by.

  Whitney said, “Well… where do you live?”

  “Just down that way,” he said, pointing in the direction that led to the residential streets. “Eight-minute walk to the subway.”

  “Mine’s two minutes,” she said. “I got you beat.”

  He smiled, chuckled, looked down at his shoes. Nice shoes. Banker shoes.

  “How about this,” Whitney suggested. “I walk you home, then you walk me home.”

  “And then I walk myself home?”

  “Unless you’re afraid of the dark,” she said with a smile.

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said, hooking his arm around hers in such a comical way she didn’t even notice, at first, that they were touching.

  Together, they walked toward Bruce’s neck of the woods. The houses on his street were big. Some of them gated. Everyone around here probably had a gardener. Maybe she would too, one day, although she didn’t know how she’d feel about that. She didn’t feel like she was the kind of person who needed a big house or a gardener.

  Whitney po
inted out houses she liked as they passed by, pointed out interesting features and gorgeous gardens. The rains had made everything pop, and the grasses glowed an extraordinary shade of green.

  “There’s mine,” Bruce said as another house came into view.

  It wasn’t big at all, not compared to the others. A two-storey brick pre-war build, the kind with leaded glass windows and narrow front rooms.

  “You know what they say,” he went on. “Buy the smallest house on the nicest street. That’s what I did. Anyone else would have demolished the place and built much bigger, but I like my little house.”

  “I like it too,” she agreed, and she meant it, too. She loved that his house was smaller than the others on the block. She’d have been intimidated by a huge mansion. “Your garden is beautiful. Don’t tell me you planted this yourself.”

  “I could, but I’d be lying.”

  She was sort of disappointed. “You have a gardener?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Blushing, he said, “My mom planted my garden.”

  Whitney laughed despite herself, then asked, “She doesn’t live with you?”

  “No, no. She just loves gardening, and now that she’s retired, one garden isn’t enough. She planted mine, my sister’s, she volunteers at a community garden. She just loves getting her hands dirty.”

  “Awww,” Whitney cooed. “That’s so cute. I want to meet your mom!”

  Bruce made a face, then laughed. “I’m just kidding. She’s great. Do you want to come in, get the grand tour?”

  Did she ever! But that wasn’t the plan. She politely declined, and Bruce led her in a northerly direction. They’d circled south to get to his place. Obviously he wanted to extend their time together by taking the long way back to hers. She didn’t hate him for it.

  As they walked around faintly familiar residential streets, she felt strangely close to him, considering they’d only just met. She’d been so rude at the steakhouse. She had to tell him why. He wouldn’t think she was crazy. He wouldn’t.

  She stopped in front of a small parkette, just one bench, a couple trees and a planting bed.

  He stopped too, and looked down at her feet, at her shoes. “Oh! Sorry, I’m an idiot, making you walk in those.”