Come Undone

by Jessica Hawkins

  “Oh Gretchen, don’t be vulgar!” Lucy cried.

  “I’m just stating the obvious,” she said simply. “Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking the exact same thing, Lucille Marie.” Lucy blushed crimson at the suggestion and looked away. “That’s what I thought,” Gretchen said with a nod and we laughed.

  When I saw her sharp eyes still concentrated in his direction, my laughter quickly faded. For the first time in a long time, I remembered the excitement that came from being unattached, excitement born of possibility and anticipation. “I’ll have to introduce myself later,” she said, more to herself than to us. Panic descended.

  “I met him in the kitchen,” I blurted, “and he seems like a jerk. Andrew practically said he is a playboy. I wouldn’t bother.” My temperature rose, and I wondered how many girls he had suckered in with those eyes; how often he got what he wanted.

  Gretchen gave me a curious glance, but it passed and she shrugged. “I’m not looking to marry the guy.”

  Lucy waved down a passing tray and handed us each a mini tuna tartare. “It’s true. Andrew says since he’s met him, he’s seen him with a few different women, and they were all striking. Yes, Andrew actually said ‘striking.’”

  “No thanks,” Gretchen said, waving the appetizer away. “Are we still on for lunch this week?”

  I pivoted slightly so I could see David from the corner of my eye. The bass of his endlessly deep voice vibrated in my ears as he talked animatedly with someone, and I strained to hear.

  Lucy’s voice cut unwelcomingly into my stalking attempt. “Olivia! My God, what is with you? You’re acting strange.”

  “What? What did I do?” I asked dazedly.

  “We’re talking about lunch on Monday. She asked if you’re still coming?”

  “Lunch?”

  “Yes. Park Grill? Bridal magazine bonanza.”

  “Oh, lunch. Shit, I forgot.” I tugged absentmindedly at my right earlobe, my brows furrowed, still trying to hear while answer Lucy. “That should be fine, yes.”

  “K, let’s meet at your office at eleven-thirty and walk together.” Lucy said something else and looked at me.

  “Sure, of course,” I replied. “Um, excuse me.” I ducked across the living room, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Was I crazy? Why was I letting him get under my skin?

  I was experiencing an overwhelming need to get out of the crowd, and I knew exactly where to do it. I pulled open the sliding glass door to the balcony, took a lungful of fresh air and then coughed as smoke filled my throat. I yanked the heavy door shut behind me when I spotted two lit cigarettes in the corner. One of the smokers I recognized as Andrew’s receptionist and nodded a hello to her. She looked about to say something, but I left for the opposite end of the balcony before she could.

  The iron railing felt cool under my palms when I touched it. I shivered and wrapped my arms around my bare skin. In my haste, I hadn’t thought to grab a jacket.

  Every time I looked out at the skyline, it was like the first time. Tiny blocks of light scattered randomly into the pattern of buildings, and I wondered about the inhabitants; what they were doing in that very moment. Leaning my stomach over the barrier, I examined the city below. It wasn’t a long drop from the eighth floor, but it was enough to accelerate my heartbeat.

  “Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?” my mother screamed. I hid behind the stucco wall and peered through the glass door as my father raised his hands in exasperation.

  “Leanore, you’re being ridiculous. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? Like you don’t trust me!”

  “How can I trust you when you’re flirting with every woman in the hotel lobby! And in front of your daughter!”

  “Don’t you bring Olivia into this,” he said, sticking his finger in her face. “This is your problem and you’re ruining our vacation. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I turned away from the door and looked over the railing that hit right below my eyes. My fingers grasped the bars of the balcony, and I pulled on them as I lifted myself onto the balls of my feet. I wondered what it might be like to fly. Had anyone ever tried? Perhaps it was possible and nobody knew it. We’d learned about evolution in school. Maybe we had wings that would know the difference between flying and falling.

  “Olivia.” I jumped at the voice behind me. “Come in here and fix your hair,” my dad boomed. “I’ll take you out for a milkshake but not until you brush those tangles out.”

  For no reason at all, I turned and looked over my shoulder to find the man filling the doorway, his hands fixed against the jamb and his head slightly cocked as he watched me. David. He appeared roguishly sexy in dark jeans and an open black pea coat.

  I nervously checked the smokers, who had stopped talking to gawk at him. He stepped out onto the concrete and stuck his hands in his pockets before gaiting over. As he neared, I turned my attention back to the skyline. My mouth dried and my heart thumped, but I wouldn’t let him know the effect he had on me. He came close enough that I caught a whiff of something familiar. It wasn’t natural, but it wasn’t cologne.

  “You’re married,” he said to my back.

  “Mhm.” I drew a breath. “Happily,” I added airily. I glanced back again and his face was solemn. Marveling at the believability of his act, I twisted to face him. Squaring my shoulders, I lifted my hands to the railing behind me in an attempt to appear casual. “And you’re quite the Don Juan.”

  He seemed taken aback by my tone, but then an ever so slight smile touched his lips. “You look cold, take my jacket.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, shaking my head definitively as he moved to take it off. Never mind that I was wearing a coat of goosebumps. He paused a moment, silent, before shrugging it back on.

  “Actually, I don’t have much time for gallivanting,” he said finally.

  I scoffed to myself. Yeah, right. And who says ‘gallivanting’? In an effort to show my indifference, I shrugged. “It’s not really my business.”

  “I suppose it’s not, but . . .”

  From my gut, I yearned for him to finish his sentence, but he looked as though he thought better of it and shook his head. “I have to run.”

  My heart fell a millimeter before I stopped it. I glimpsed over his shoulder again at the women in the corner. They had resumed their conversation but Andrew’s secretary – I searched to remember her name - glanced at us warily.

  “I’d like to see you again.”

  My eyes whipped back to his and my jaw fell. “What?” I exclaimed. Lowering my voice to a whisper, I motioned at the others on the balcony. “There are plenty of women here – single women,” I hissed, although I had no idea. “If you’re looking for company, I’m sure they would be much obliged.” With the change of his expression, I regretted my tone.

  “I didn’t mean anything romantic,” he said, “just a casual thing. You’re clearly spoken for. But believe me when I say, if that weren’t the case, we’d be having a different conversation.” His words burned into me. The intensity between us had never left, but it grew thicker in that moment. The truth was that I wanted to see him again. The thought of this being our last meeting sent a wave of dread through me, and I gripped the railing. “I should warn you Olivia, I don’t really take rejection well. I can be very persistent.”

  I looked him over, inhaling that intoxicating scent. I wasn’t sure if he meant it as a threat, but his words thrilled me more than anything. “A conversation,” I repeated blankly, as though it were a new concept.

  “No funny business, I promise,” he said, offering his palms.

  Without warning, emotions that I’d been purposefully suppressing for years surfaced, threatening to fight back. Something was tugging at the locked door behind my ribcage. I’d never encountered an intensity like this, and my response was foreign to me.

  If I could anticipate our meeting, at least I could manage it, I reasoned. Overcoming him would pose a challenge, a challenge tha
t would earn me a gold medal in my Olympic games of self-domination. The image had me lift my chin in anticipated glory, and I quickly swallowed the rising pang of guilt like a pesky pill.

  “Tomorrow night,” I relented, knowing Bill would be leaving for New York in the morning to prepare for his latest round of depositions.

  His broad chest visibly puffed as his lips crooked into a smile. “Come to Jerome’s on North Halsted at nine o’clock. I look forward to it, Olivia.” I flushed at the way he drew out my name. He turned away and for the first time, I could exhale.

  “Having fun, David?” The secretary was loud, but I couldn’t hear David’s mumbled response. “Care for a smoke?” she held out a pack, and I cringed. He said something else, and I could tell by the way he bowed his head that he had declined. I was glad when he left and after a few moments, I followed, making a point not to look over at the smokers.

  “So if you put the money in a Roth, it will grow tax free,” Andrew was saying to Gretchen when I walked up.

  “And that’s better?”

  “Well, yes, in your case - ”

  My heart jumbled with mixed emotions as I looked up to see David approaching. He stopped and hung behind Lucy, rubbing his jaw and peering at me as her head moved back and forth between Andrew and Gretchen.

  “There’s the bride-to-be.” Ever the hostess, she straightened immediately and turned to him. He dazzled her with a large smile, one that was almost too big for his face; one I had not yet seen. “Congratulations again. And thank you both for having me,” he said.

  “Anytime,” Andrew said, putting his arm around Lucy. “We’re glad you could make it. And I’m going to take you up on that offer.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Lucy said, suppressing a smile. “We’re in trouble if he falls in love with your sailboat.”

  “Why don’t you come too, Lucy? I’ll take you both out.”

  “Oh,” she said, covering Andrew’s hand with hers. “I suppose I could be convinced.”

  “Sounds great. I’m off, then.”

  “Leaving already? It’s not so late,” Gretchen commented flirtatiously. I looked away, focusing my eyes on anything but the impossible-to-ignore man in front of me.

  “It isn’t, but I have somewhere to be.”

  “Well that’s a shame,” she cooed, holding out her hand. “I’m Gretchen, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he said, but I knew his eyes were fixed on me.

  CHAPTER 6

  THE NEXT MORNING, I AWOKE to a faint early light coming through the windows. I closed my eyes and automatically slid from the edge to the middle of the bed. After a few moments, the light clicking of metal forced its way into my sleep. I eased myself up, feeling out of sorts. Once I had wiped the sleep from my eyes, I focused on Bill’s figure moving near the closet.

  “Morning,” he whispered, leaning over for a kiss.

  “New York,” I breathed. “Right.”

  “Yeah babe, sorry. Stay in bed,” he commanded gently as he hoisted his brown leather bag over his shoulder. I got out of bed anyway and followed him through the apartment. “I’ll be back late Thursday,” he told me as we stood in the doorway, but I already knew that. With a quick kiss, he exited into the hallway and then unexpectedly turned back and surprised me with a substantial kiss. “You look sexy right now,” he said, slipping his hand into my silk robe.

  “I doubt that.”

  “Agree to disagree,” he said, pinching my chin. “Bye.”

  ~

  A knot sat heavy in my stomach that day. In my unease, I couldn’t bring myself to eat a thing. A sweet text from Bill at the airport had me feeling especially troubled. I reminded myself that my impending meeting was an end rather than a beginning. I would tell him what he wanted to know and then reiterate that I was married. I tried to find comfort in this thought but could not. It was the ending part that was bothering me.

  In an effort to keep busy, I ran routine errands all afternoon. Even though I was alone for the week, and the thought of preparing meals wasn’t exactly appealing, I picked up groceries. Dropped off Bill’s dry cleaning. Took old linens to the animal shelter. Anything to keep me out of the apartment.

  After what felt like a never-ending day, I surveyed the contents of my closet. What did one wear to such a thing as this? To ‘a conversation,’ I recalled. I settled on a harmlessly beige silk blouse and tucked it into high-waisted black pants. My lipstick slid on darker than I expected, and I turned it over to check the name: Vamp. I yanked a tissue from the counter and held it to my lips but stopped short. The color was so vivid against my white skin that it almost looked theatrical. I let the tissue fall into the trashcan, deciding that maybe I’d be someone else tonight.

  After clasping on a gold necklace and stepping into heels, I gave myself a once-over in the bathroom mirror. I drew my hair away from my face and instantly released it, feeling exposed. My wristwatch – a black leather Movado from Bill on our second anniversary – read eight o’clock. I bundled into my coat, hiked up the collar, and decided a walk would be a welcome way to soothe my nerves.

  On the way, my emotions ping-ponged between excitement and fear. I wondered if I could actually go through with this, if I’d actually go in and sit down and wait for him. I rarely backed down from a dare, but this was a different type of risk. What harm can come from talking to him? Putting an end to things?

  When I found the bar, I realized why he had chosen it. Stone steps at the entrance led underground; at night, a place where people could spend the late hours as someone else; in the day, a place to hide from the unrelenting sun. I looked down the stairwell that faded into black, and the low swollen notes of a saxophone drifted up, beckoning me inside. The jazz looped through my ears and into my head, creeping into the dark corners of my mind. Like a devil on my shoulder, it willed me to take a step.

  My eyes welled with tears. I couldn’t do it. I’d come too far in life to throw it down this stairwell. My watch read ten ‘til nine. I’d been standing there for almost five minutes, entranced by the music. If I went back now it’d be as though I’d never left. Yes, that’s what I’ll do, I decided, turning to leave. And, as though he’d written it himself, he was there to catch me in his arms, his face so close to mine that I could feel the heat from his mouth on my forehead.

  “You’re early,” he stated, the words resting against my skin. My insides twisted at his electric touch. His rough, tanned skin, dark with the shadow of fresh stubble was close enough to kiss . . . .

  I jerked away suddenly, but he reached out like lightening and caught my wrist. I went to pull back when I realized why; I was teetering at the edge of the stairs, the darkness ready to break my fall. When I caught my balance and he let go, we descended into the shadows together.

  ~

  I watched him signal toward me from across the room, and the bartender nodded. His stroll was cool and controlled as he traversed the space between us, as if he did this type of thing every night. I twisted my lips and ignored the thought.

  Now alone, we were an anonymous couple in the small crowd, cloaked in nothing but candlelight. I looked down at my hands in my lap as I fingered my winking ring. “I’m not sure what I’m doing here,” I said to the table.

  “You look beautiful.” When I didn’t respond, he joked, “The bartender said. He wanted me to tell you.”

  I suppressed a smile and tugged on my right earlobe. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “To the bartender,” I added and looked imploringly at the waitress, who was unhurriedly making her way toward us. I caught her double take as she set my wine glass down and fixated on David. Appraising him slowly, she reached over his shoulder to place a tall glass of dark beer on the table. Something about the way she let her long hair graze his shoulder made me squirm. He thanked her, and she idled just a moment before slinking away. I immediately reached for my glass for a soothing gulp.

  “Shiraz?” I asked, inhaling. He smiled gently and nodded, appearing to s
ense my discomfort.

  “So, Olivia.” There it was again, my name, but not like I’d ever heard it in my twenty-seven years. It sounded as though it was made for his mouth. “Do you work?”

  “Yes,” I said, dipping my head in an exaggerated nod. “I work for Chicago M.”

  “Writer?” He leaned forward on his elbows.

  I shook my head. “Editorial assistant. Editor-in-training. I do contribute sometimes, but it’s not ultimately what I want to do.” It was becoming hard to ignore the fact that he was staring at my mouth as I spoke. “I don’t really like writing,” I continued nervously. “Editing is very methodical - almost like a puzzle, which I like. Do I have lipstick on my teeth?” I asked finally.

  “Oh uh, no, sorry. So no to writing. I’ve spoken with Diane at the magazine before. Do you work for her?”

  “Well,” I hesitated. “I was her assistant actually, but not anymore. She was let go recently.”

  “I see. So will you take her position?” His abrupt and somewhat intrusive tone reminded me of something my father would ask.

  “I’m in the running, yes. I am taking over her key features, and if they go well, I may get promoted.”

  He sat back and looked at me wistfully, as though he had just remembered something. I liked the way his molten brown eyes watched me, and the way they made me feel like I was the only person in the room. In this setting, between the jazz and the wine, I wondered how pure his intentions were in asking me to meet him. The dimly lit club was sensual and private, ideal for clandestine encounters.

  “Two more,” he said suddenly, jarring me from my thoughts.

  I glanced up to see the passing waitress nod.