by Lucy Lambert
“Nothing,” I said, “Nothing at all.”
“What. Ever,” she replied, shouldering past me so hard I almost lost my balance.
There was no way I was sharing an elevator with her, so I let her take it and watched the door close behind her.
“Nice,” the guy said. I’d forgotten about him standing there.
Another door opened and an old, bald man wearing a stained wife-beater poked his head out into the hall. His nose was bright red, and a vein throbbed in his forehead.
“What in hell is going on?” he said, looking between us.
I pointed to myself, shocked. What did he think was going on? That I was involved? That I was the blonde bitch?
“Nothing, nothing at all, boss,” Mr. Rebel said, still leaning with his arms crossed.
“Yeah?” the irate neighbor said, stabbing on finger out, “Well you can explain that to the cops!”
That made Mr. Rebel pause. He stood up straight and let his hands fall to his sides.
“You called the cops on me?”
“When a girl screams bloody murder, you bet your scrawny ass I’m callin’ the cops! You all right, miss? He didn’t hurt you?” he said, turning back to me.
I am such an idiot, I thought. This is why you don’t stick your nose into other people’s business. Because then you get involved. I already had enough business of my own (and Bud’s) to take care of without worrying about a third party.
I should have just turned around and taken the next elevator. Or gone up the stairs. It was only a floor up. I put it all down to craziness induced by being recently cheated on and dumped.
Brushing some hair back over my ear, I smiled.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
The bald man squinted at me, screwing up his face as he tried to decide whether I lied to him.
“Well, it doesn’t look like he hit you…”
We went back and forth like that for ten minutes, with me reassuring him that Mr. Rebel had done me no harm. That whole time, Mr. Rebel stood in the doorway staring at me. It made me self-conscious. It made me want to run upstairs to redo my makeup, and to put on something nice. I felt very aware of just how hungover and exhausted I must have looked.
Then the cops got there. Two tall guys with dark uniforms, shiny badges, and guns on their hips. They took Irate Neighbor’s statement, then mine and Mr. Rebel’s. I had to say, we made a pretty good team. He gave his name as “Drake Tyler” to the cops.
You see, it turns out we were just rehearsing for a YouTube video. Drake even offered to show them what we’d come up with on his computer so far.
The cops looked at each other, sharing a rolling of the eyes. Just another couple kids and their internet shenanigans. I could see it in their faces right before they told us to keep it down and left.
“Hey, thanks… Jennifer, was it?” Drake said.
I faced him. He tall enough that I had to tilt my head back a bit to look up into his eyes. Those were lovely, dark and deep. I could see how he used them to such great effect at the clubs and bars.
His arms were well-defined, and the features of his face just had some sort of pop to them that made you notice just how nice his cheeks and jaw were. And those were further emphasized with what seemed like perfectly spread out stubble.
I had to remind myself that Jerry had looked nice, too. And this Drake seemed to go through women like a chain smoker with access to free cigarettes.
“Yeah, well, you’re lucky you caught me in the right mood. And lucky I got off on the wrong floor. I’m in 404.”
“Luck, and my good looks, right?” Drake said, flashing me a smile.
For some reason, my headache chose to kick back in at that moment. The pain in my feet redoubled. Hotness and sex appeal be damned, I couldn’t spend another minute standing out there!
“Keep telling yourself that. Nice meeting you; try not to get into any more trouble. Otherwise we might actually have to make that YouTube video next time.”
“Sounds like fun!” he said, that crooked smile broadening.
Something in me ached to fall for that badboy charm, but exhaustion overpowered it. So I gave him a wry shake of my head and waited for the elevator. He stood leaning against his doorframe, arms crossed, watching me as I got on.
I think I dreamed about that smile. I know I passed out as soon as my head hit my pillow.
***
One of my plans the previous day had been to stop at a small corner grocery store to pick up a few things.
Most of the food in my place “belonged” to Jerry, or he saw it that way in any case. When he left, he took most of it with him. I had plenty of dishes, nice shiny pots and pans and lovely square plates, and no food to serve on them.
I hadn’t slept well, either. In fact, I woke up exactly forty-two minutes before my alarm was supposed to go off. Instead of wasting all that time trying in vain to return to my restless sleep, I got up.
It actually gave me enough time for a nice, long shower. It’s amazing what standing under that stream of hot, steaming water can do for your state of mind. It not only washes away sweat and dirt, but also some of that emotional and mental grime as well.
Or that’s how I felt, anyway.
So it was feeling refreshed that I got out of the shower and wiped a curved line out of the fog on the mirror. My hair looked so dark when wet, a nut brown color. My bare shoulders steamed, and the tile floor of the bathroom made my toes curl from the cold.
I looked my reflection in the eye. Was that a flash of determination? It had only been a couple days since I’d been dumped and started the job from hell. I felt proud of myself for feeling determination so soon.
All those movies and books I grew up with said I was supposed to be an emotional wreck for weeks. Vulnerable and delicate. I nodded to my reflection. That wasn’t going to happen, not to me.
“No more men,” I said coming to a decision.
I was going to be a career girl. First thing today, I intended on reporting Bud Loughery to HR for sexual harassment. His replacement had to be better, right? Then Lucinda and I could go grab dinner and vent.
It was a bit odd, how I found myself thinking of Lucinda, clinging to her. We’d only known each other a couple days as well, but I felt the potential for a strong friendship there.
I smiled at myself, taking a moment to admire my teeth. I’d gotten braces a year before I started college, and any time I looked at myself like that I remembered the awful tightening sessions, the inability to eat what I wanted, the constant pain.
It was a nice smile. A winning smile. A smile I could use to help advance my position at Styrex.
Man, I needed to take showers more often! It had been so long since I’d felt so inspired.
It had nothing to do with my little charade with Drake last night, I swear! Though, as I went to work getting myself ready to face another new day, I thought that it had been exciting. Dangerous, somehow. I bet those cops wouldn’t be pleased to learn how we’d fooled them.
I also wasn’t doing myself up looking so nice for him. No, not in the least! Good looking people did better in life, that was a fact. And I wanted to do well.
For a moment, I clicked my blow-dryer off, plunging the bathroom into comparative silence, and fantasized. Yeah, I’d go to the elevator and find Drake there. No club bitch on his arm yet. He’d smile at me. I’d smile at him. All alone there in the elevator, he’d hit the “Stop” button, and we’d reach out for each other…
“Gah!” I said at my reflection. Most of the steam was cleared.
What did I just tell myself? No more men! No more how handsome and dangerous and rebellious they seemed. No matter how thick their auras of mystery!
My alarm went off in the bedroom. It was tuned to a pop music station. I didn’t recognize the song, but knew Katy Perry’s voice right away. I danced to it as I dressed (a grey skirt ending below the knees, a creamy blouse, and a nice jacket).
There was a nice diner just down the st
reet I’d noticed. I bet they had good breakfast. Grabbing up my purse, I went down the hall only to find the pile of mail by the door. In my stupor last night, I’d just stepped over it all.
Picking it up, I leafed through it. Bills. My first round of real bills as a real adult! A flyer for a pizza place, something for duct cleaning. And a letter from home.
I recognized the scrawl across the front as my mom’s handwriting. At first, I thought I would just toss it on the counter in the kitchen and get on with my day. Instead, I put my purse down and tore the letter open.
It was just like her to send an actual letter, rather than calling, or sending an email. The written word (and by that, I mean written on a piece of paper with a black pen, always black) held so much more weight with her. And calling? Well, she was probably just trying to save either one or both of us the long distance fees.
It was thick paper, folded twice. I dropped the torn envelope as I let my eyes scan her writing.
The gist of it was this: dad was starting to show the first stages of Alzheimer’s. It ran pretty heavily on his side of the family. He was only just fifty three this year, I kept thinking. Wasn’t he too young for that?
My week just kept getting better and better!
Thinking that made the last vestiges of my first good mood in three days disappear, replaced by a sour feeling in my empty stomach.
And I also felt guilty about feeling angry. I’d just been dumped, and hit on at work, not diagnosed with an awful, personality and memory-consuming disease!
Mom ended the letter by wishing me a good start to my “first real job” as she put it, and hoping that the news wouldn’t put me in low spirits.
“Thanks, mom,” I said, sighing as I folded the letter back up and tucked it into my purse, wedged between my iPhone and my wallet.
My stomach grumbled a complaint at me as I slipped my feet into my shoes.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Everyone had something to complain about with me. Even my own body!
I glanced at my watch as I checked to make sure my door was locked. Coming up on eight. That would leave me enough time for breakfast, if I ate quickly. I stepped into the elevator. It lurched as it started, making my stomach feel even weirder.
As I watched it move from “3” to “2” I also experienced a pang of regret. I’d had a not so subtle desire to see Drake again as I recalled my fantasy after the shower.
Oh well, it was one less distraction. Today I wasn’t going to be late!
The elevator chimed as the door opened to reveal the lobby. The first thing I saw when I stepped out was the concierge. He was an older guy, with grey hair.
Drake was the second thing I saw. He wore his standard uniform of jeans, a t-shirt, and the skull-emblazoned leather jacket. At that moment, he leaned against the front desk, chatting with the concierge about something.
When he heard the elevator, he turned and smiled at me. I almost started walking faster. I almost ignored him. If I got caught up, I knew I’d probably miss breakfast and likely be late for work.
“Hey, Jenn,” he said, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket as he sauntered over to me.
He stood between myself and the door. I could see the traffic already choking the street, consisting mostly of yellow taxis. They honked incessantly at each other.
“Hey yourself. What, no drunken girl hanging off your arm yet?” I said, trying to step around him.
He blocked me, smiling as I frowned up at him.
“Not yet. Hey, wanna grab some food? There’s this great bagel shop like three doors down from here.”
I paused, trying to formulate a reply. I had a sneaking suspicion that the bagel shop he mentioned was the same little cafe I wanted to go to.
Just do it! something in me said. The bad side of me. The part of me that liked the whole rebel thing Drake had going on.
The rest of me knew it was a bad idea. That crooked smile of his broadened as he saw my confusion.
“Come on, let me get your breakfast…” he said, looking over his shoulder at the concierge and then lowering his voice for the next part, “It’s the least I can do. With my luck, I would still be in the holding cell right now.”
My stomach grumbled at the mention of breakfast. Heat rose to my cheeks, and I tried passing it off as noise from outside. What could it hurt? It was just breakfast. I was going to get some anyway.
And this way, it would be free! Free food is always the best food.
“Fine,” I said, giving him a mock roll of my eyes.
Then he did something surprising. He turned and offered me the crook of his arm. I took it after a moment. The leather of his jacket was soft and warm as he led me out, holding the door open and everything.
He even smelled nice. That clean, masculine scent of plain soap and a good shower. As we stepped outside, I wondered if he’d showered especially for me.
Did that mean that I’d showered especially for him? I wasn’t sure.
The bagel shop cafe was busy, but through a team effort I snagged us a small table in the corner while Drake went and got our breakfast. The air was heavy with the smell of fresh baking, and recently brewed coffee. My mouth watered as I pulled my chair out and sat down.
Drake disappeared into the long line, which stretched out the door seemingly right after we came in. Very lucky, I thought. I checked my watch again. About quarter after eight. I had time to gulp down some coffee, gobble up a bagel, and run to the subway.
I promised myself that I wouldn’t let him hold me up. He was just being polite, thanking me for keeping him from getting arrested. That was all.
Drake wove his way around customers and between tables. He held the tray with our coffee and bagels up high.
The coffee was a bit too hot, and black (I liked it one cream and two sugars) but I didn’t have the time to let it cool and get it tasting just right.
“Thanks!” I said.
He motioned at the food, “No, thank you. Really.”
I started in right away, but he sat there for a bit and watched me, hardly blinking. I became very aware of how I must look, chomping down on a bagel half and washing it down with big gulps from my cup of too-hot steaming black coffee.
I slowed down, meeting his eyes. It was one of those times where you want to say something, but your mouth is busy chewing too much food. I had to hold up my finger and chew as quickly as I could even as he raised that eyebrow at me again.
“What are you looking at?”
“You,” he said.
I picked up a napkin and dabbed at my lips, desperately hoping there were no crumbs or bits of cream cheese stuck to them.
“Aren’t you hungry?” I asked, balling the napkin up.
He shrugged with that perfect apathy and nonchalance of his, “I guess. I’m just not a human vacuum cleaner like you.”
“Shut up!” I said, unable to keep my lips from twitching into a smile.
I covered my mouth, again worrying that there might be food stuck to my teeth. Why did he make me feel so self conscious? Just remember Jerry, I told myself, and what he did.
“Whatever,” he said, winking. “But seriously, thanks again. This might be too much info, but that would have been my third strike. You really saved my ass.”
“Really? So… you owe me big-time, then?”
He snorted, then finally picked up his bagel and took a bite. He chewed with agonizing slowness, clearly reveling in my annoyance at his lack of response. If this had been back in elementary school, it would have been like him pulling my pigtails at recess.
That made me think of Bud. Not really the best association, and it soured my mood again. I checked my watch. Twenty five after eight. I still had a few minutes before having to rush out. This was the most fun I’d had in days, and I felt the desire to claw as much as I could out of the experience to help get me through work.
He swallowed, then daintily dabbed at his lips with his napkin in an exaggerated fashion. He was making fun of
me!
“Hey!” I said, snatching the napkin away from him.
“Why’d you do that? I need to make certain my perfect lips are clean!”
We laughed. I’d never felt so comfortable with a person right away. It was like he didn’t care for all that pretension, all that getting-to-know-you crap, and just jumped right into familiarity.
I could see how he managed to get so many girls. He made you feel good, feel happy. It was something not many people could do. And that whole bad boy, rebel look and attitude he put on just completed the package and made him almost irresistible. Almost.
“So what do you do?” I said.
He shrugged, “I’m in a band.”
“And that pays the bills?”
He gave me that crooked smile and stretched his arms up above his head. I got the impression he could seem like he was relaxed anywhere.
“I’m not gonna lie, we’re kind of a big deal.”
“Shut up!” I said.
“No, really. We’ve got so many gigs that we have to turn down most of them. Every night a different bar in Manhattan.”
This was just getting ridiculous. He’s in a band? Are you kidding me?
“What do you do in it?” I said, already having a pretty good guess.
“Vocals. Some rhythm guitar if we need it. I wrote most of our stuff, too.”
Yep. Lead singer in a band. I laughed and shook my head.
“What? What’s so funny?” he said.
“You’re just too much. Really.”
He leaned forward and I found our eyes locked together. It was an intense stare. The world fell away around us. The noise of customers, the clink of the cash register and the hum of the ovens. It felt like there were just the two of us. He was good. Damn good.
“But you like it. I can tell,” he said.
“I’m not another one of your barflies,” I whispered, making him lean forward even more so that he could hear.
His eyes widened as he realized it wasn’t working. Well, it wasn’t working as well as he thought, anyway. I had to admit, there were impure thoughts flying about in my mind. The only thing that saved me was reveling in his sudden discomfort and disappointment.