Layers

by Sigal Ehrlich

  “Hilarious,” I snicker, sneering.

  Considering what’s at stake, I warn him, “Ian, for all that’s good in this world, please, don’t get involved with my boss.” I air quote ‘involve’. As if Ian really gets involved with anybody. Ian doesn’t do involved. He just leaves casualties as he swifts by.

  He looks as if he’s actually contemplating my request. “Don’t worry, I won’t do anything to put your job at risk.”

  I hug him.

  “And anyway, we both know I don’t go for the Abercrombie type.”

  We exchange animated stares that lead to a short laugh.

  “Now let’s get you out of here so I can keep doing this thing I do around here that I get paid for.”

  Before Ian leaves he tells me that he should get an answer within a couple of weeks.

  When I get back to my seat I notice a sticky note on my desk.

  Come to see me. Josh

  All of a sudden the new revelation about my boss’s sexual preferences becomes nothing but obvious. How have I missed this?

  “Close the door and sit down please,” Josh requests, his expression hard to read. I close the door and sit waiting for him to begin.

  “I got a call from Bryan earlier.”

  Bryan as in Bryan the editor? Here we go. My first strikeout. And before he actually says something I interrupt, “I didn’t have the chance to tell you beforehand, but I take complete responsibility. For failing to send the work on time.”

  He studies me, making a visible effort when choosing his words.

  “That happens, but I expect you to know how to manage people’s expectations, especially with the content unit.” He scratches an invisible spot at the side of his desk, gradually turning to face me. “In other words, Hayley, master the ability to evade any blame sticking to you or to our department.”

  Come again … Did he just tell me it’s okay to mess up but not take the blame? This is definitely not what I expected.

  “Clear?” His eyes are solid on mine.

  “I believe it is,” I say tentatively. And thank you for the office politics 101.

  And as though that were only a side matter not to be given too much attention, Josh says next, “Ian made quite an impression.”

  On whom exactly? You?

  “Did the focus group like him?”

  Josh grins, “As a matter of fact they did. A lot.” He looks as if he’s enjoying a private joke.

  “He is quite the charmer,” I confirm.

  I smile fondly, thinking of Ian’s irresistible charisma.

  “The two of you are pretty close, aren’t you?”

  Where is he taking this? No, don’t worry, we aren’t a couple …

  “Yes, we are. He’s one of my closest friends.”

  “I see,” he purrs, pensively, pauses for a brief while, perhaps considering further interrogation. But instead he just mutters, “It would be nice if they end up choosing him.”

  I nod in confirmation, and need to bite my tongue. If I could only speak freely in some situations. Way too revealing, boss.

  “For you of course,” he adds, a moment too late.

  Let’s just say that didn’t sound awkward at all and leave it at that.

  “Yes, I’d be thrilled,” I add.

  Not sure anymore if that would be such a good idea after all, given your Cheshire cat grin, boss.

  “Okay then, Hayley, have a good evening,” he concludes. He walks me to my station before he heads home.

  I am left somewhat cross after Josh leaves. Beginning with the fact that I don’t like having slip-ups with my name on them and continuing with the fact that I don’t like my boss obsessing over my best friend. Nothing good can come out of either of the two.

  Checking out the time, I realize it’s already a quarter past six. I decide to work for another hour and then go straight to Daniel’s. Thinking of how the latter part of my evening will probably end, my spirits immediately lift. When I’m deep into my work I’m distracted by my vibrating phone. Still absorbed I answer.

  “Hayley, can you come out? I’m in front of your building.”

  Daniel? Missed me too much, not able to withstand temptation? My lips instinctively stretch to a smile. “Hey,” I reply. “Why don’t you come in?”

  “Just come out, okay,” he snaps, and hangs up.

  Okay psycho, coming. What’s eating him? He sounded kind of tired, I muse as I walk toward the exit, hoping his situation at work isn’t too bad. I hate the thought of him being upset and annoyed.

  ~~~

  Daniel leans on the parked Viper as he waits for me. Glad to see him I quicken my pace, though as I get closer I’m taken aback by the cold expression veiling his face. He is his usual radiant self though something is completely different about the way he looks at me; there is a hazel storm brewing in his eyes. I hate what I’m seeing.

  Rather surprised by the fact that he doesn’t leave his position at the car, I get closer and give him an awkward hug that he doesn’t return. That’s a first. What’s going on?

  “Aren’t you in the middle of a busy day?” I try to sound casual to hide the dread building up in the pit of my stomach.

  “I am,” he grunts.

  “But yet you came to see me?” I smile wholeheartedly.

  “Just don’t,” he says in a stone cold voice that makes my heart hitch. I watch him, trying to understand what’s wrong. In return he studies me coldly as if I were a stranger.

  “What’s going on, Daniel? You’re scaring me.” My teeth dig into my bottom lip, not sure what to think of his sudden inexplicable distance. He examines me for the longest, most excruciating few seconds and then pulls a white paper out of his back pocket. I watch him, trying to figure out what’s going on while fear crawls slowly up my spine. He hands the paper to me.

  “Read it out loud,” he instructs in a grave tone, his eyes unnervingly burning into me.

  I unfold the paper, literally shaking inside, glancing at him to check his expression once more, only to find it still unchanged. Something is so immensely wrong. I look at the paper and try to comprehend what I’m seeing.

  “Out loud,” he says, in that same clipped, cold tone, though now I sense some kind of internal battle waging within him. What the hell is going on?

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He rubs his face with both hands, throwing a flinty look my way, then snaps, “Could you read the god damn thing already?”

  I swallow hard and my hands start to shake. I skim through the first paragraph and when I reach the second I ask in total disbelief, “What? What is this? Where did you get it?”

  “Are you going to read it for fuck’s sake or should I?” he asks, detached and impatient.

  I start reading in a shaky voice, “Daniel Stark has made a name for himself as one of the business industry’s most private tycoons, and at the age of thirty-four, with millions cushioning his bank account, he is one of the most mysterious and eligible bachelors on the market. Mr. Stark is an intriguing enigma, hoping to be solved by a vast number of single women.”

  My blood at once drains from my face as I read the next sentence. I halt to stabilize my voice and try to inhale.

  “To our luck …” I choke. “To our luck the SF born multi-millionaire stud is now in a relationship with a less reserved sweetheart. Disturbing facts were revealed today as Stark’s current beau conceded some juicy details about the magnate which made yours truly understand Stark’s persistent preservation of privacy.

  “Rejections, hookers, abundance and neglect were some of the words used to illustrate Stark’s past and his now-questionable way of life.”

  I can’t continue. My voice breaks. Cold sweat covers me head to toe.

  “What is this?” I question, shaken to my bones. He disregards my question, the frozen depths in his eyes directing chilled tremors up my body, making the hair on the nape of my neck slightly rise.

  “Did you or did you not say these things about me?” he se
ethes, in a deadly voice. I try to breathe in and find it extremely hard for the air to actually flow.

  “Yes. No,” my words break again.

  “There’s only one simple answer here. Yes or No.” He tries to stay composed but I can see in his eyes the commotion transpiring within him.

  “Yes,” I say as tears prick my eyes and the hugest lump forms rapidly in my throat. “Yes, but not like that, not to, to a …”

  “Stop!” His voice is harsh and loud. Though there is something else in his stare that make me ache terribly inside, there is a mixture of disappointment and pain in these eyes, caused somehow by me.

  “Daniel, don’t let this thing turn into something it’s really not,” I beg as I start to comprehend the implication of this insanity. The reason he broke up with his previous girlfriend sinks threateningly into my consciousness.

  “I don’t want to hear you,” he says firmly, clenching his fists. He sizes me up for a few seconds more with a new look, a look that bring to my mind an unpleasant thought of loathing.

  “Daniel,” I try again, feeling both contrite and wounded.

  “Let’s take some time apart for both our sakes.” No … His voice is rigid. He then glimpses hastily right in my eyes and without further ado, turns to the driver side of the car.

  Panicked, I call after him. He turns back for a brief moment and the only thing that comes to my mouth, dreading the moment that he’ll leave, is, “Daniel, don’t let this be the last thing we ever say to each other.” I am regarded with a look of pure desolation. Shaken, torn, and in a daze, I watch him drive away. Tears fill my eyes and the sharpest pain spurs in my stomach. Breathing is not an option; my lungs are void.

  As the car’s rear disappears in the distance I slide till I meet the hard asphalt, and lean against the building’s rough brick wall. My legs are too weak to hold me. Utterly shattered at the deliriously surreal event, I try to reread the piece in an attempt to make sense of it. A dark thought creeps into my paralyzed mind. What must he think of me now? And that look of hurt before he left plays before my eyes.

  The Stark Truth

  Daniel Stark has made a name for himself as one of the business industry’s most private tycoons, and at the age of thirty-four, with millions cushioning his bank account, he is one of the most mysterious and eligible bachelors on the market. Mr. Stark is an intriguing enigma, hoping to be solved by a vast number of single women.

  To our luck the SF born multi-millionaire stud is now in a relationship with a less reserved sweetheart. Disturbing facts were revealed today as Stark’s current beau conceded some juicy details about the magnate which made yours truly understand Stark’s persistent preservation of privacy.

  Rejections, hookers, abundance and neglect were some of the words used to illustrate Stark’s past and his now-questionable way of life.

  Was it his father’s malice and abandonment at an early age, the violence, or was it his mother being consumed by a lethal disease when he was but a tot that led Stark to a licentious adult lifestyle of countless encounters with top of the line highly paid call girls? Is this the inscrutable millionaire’s way of dealing with his past? Is he just a frightened boy fighting his entrenched demons?

  And here’s just a personal note to Mr. Stark from yours truly.

  There’s improvement to be sought in the girlfriend department. We expect nothing but the best for you, so why settle for mediocrity? I’m available. Gossip Fairy.

  A representative for Mr. Stark could not be reached for comment.

  The bitter aftertaste of guilt fills my mouth when I am done.

  Chapter 34: Nuclear Fallout

  I’m not sure how I get home but evidently I do somehow. It feels like I’m caught in a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

  “Hales, is that you?”

  I can’t even manage to find the words or the strength to answer.

  “Hales?” Tasha steps closer. The concern on her face manifests exactly what I feel.

  “What’s wrong?” A question entwined with panic.

  Everything. I just hand her the paper and drop to the sofa. I concentrate on breathing as my chest hardly lets the air through. I feel like the walls are closing in on me. Is this what a panic attack feels like? Tasha sits next to me, and her expression of dismay tells me she read the article.

  “Hales, did Daniel see it?” she asks apprehensively, her small voice tinted with worry. I nod, still not able to form words.

  “He was the one who gave it to me,” I finally whisper and the tears erupt, flowing uncontrollably down my face.

  “This is our entire conversation taken brutally out of context.” She articulates what I’ve been thinking since the minute I read the article.

  “What did he say?” A compassionate emerald stare caresses me.

  “He didn’t want to hear me out, Tash,” I mumble between sobs.

  Tasha lets out a quiet sigh.

  It hurts so much, and all I want is him. I lie down, staring at the ceiling for what seems like a lifetime.

  “I’m going to bed,” I mutter wearily, eventually standing up, at first unsteady.

  “You want me to come with you, Hales?”

  “No, I want to be alone.”

  Once in bed I try to call Daniel, but he doesn’t answer. Weeping, I fall asleep, entirely drained, an empty soul that only a few hours ago used to be me.

  ~~~

  I wake up sweaty and confused, and I quickly realize yesterday’s nightmare wasn’t a dream as I see the worn piece of paper laying accusing and affirming on my night stand, reminding me of my new reality. With a dry, sore throat from excessive crying, I head to the kitchen for some much needed water.

  “Hales.” Tasha’s velvety voice welcomes me as I step into the kitchen. “You look terrible,” she says, trying to smile.

  “Thanks,” I murmur. All humor left me, a day ago.

  “Are you going to work?” she asks as I take a sip of the cold water.

  Shaking my head, I say, in a weary voice, “I am not able to physically do that.”

  She nods sympathetically. “You want me to stay with you?” Concern is reflected in her delicate features.

  “No, I want to be by myself. I just want to sleep it off.”

  “Okay, if that’s what you want.” She sighs in surrender, letting out another prolonged breath then nearing to hug me into her comforting embrace. The floodgates of my eyes open again with the kind gesture, letting out a fresh batch of tears.

  “Would you like me to call your boss?” she asks after a while. Once I respond that I’ll do it, she lets me be.

  When she leaves, I call Josh. As soon as he hears my voice he asks me whether I am ill which makes it easier to excuse myself from coming in. With that done I drag myself back to bed.

  Sitting under the protection of my blanket, absentminded, I fetch my sketchbook from its hiding place in the first drawer of my nightstand. With the blank paper resting on my thighs, my thoughts turned inward, I doodle aimlessly, letting the charcoal pencil lead me. As I sketch, my attention is drawn to the unintended force of my strokes. My sketching leaves deep marks in the pad while I bring my morbid imagination to paper. I try to distract my mind with sketching rather than thinking, but without much luck. I carry on till my fatigue conquers me.

  I sleep all through the rest of the day between rare waking moments and it is a comfort. It’s like being dead which is exactly how I feel, though, without the actual liability to the eternity crap.

  ~~~

  “Hales.”

  I sense Tasha’s body mass pressing onto the mattress as she scoots next to me into the bed. I hear her but do not physically react. I finally turn my stare from the TV. I’m not even sure what’s on right now.

  “Poor little princess. Which book is this drawing for? Bleeding Beauty?”

  I can’t help the thin smile curving on my lips as I see the drawing in my sketchbook that is in Tasha’s hands. The curly princess’s guts spill out from an open, blood
y wound; the teeth of a werewolf with furious eyes dig deeply into her flesh.

  “A picture worth a thousand psychological analyses,” Tasha comments dryly. “Twisted Missy at her very best,” she adds, shaking her head.

  She takes my hand in hers. “Hales, it’s been three days.” I turn to look at her, regarded in return by a motherly, tender response. Have three days actually gone by? Did I sleep three whole days, lost in my colossal gloom?

  As though sensing my inner dismay she adds, “Time to get back to the real world.”

  “Tash, three days. He didn’t even call. It’s over,” I say, feeling as though I’m under heavy sedation.

  “You need to get back up on your feet and when you are strong and clear enough you should try to talk to him, but not now, not like this.”

  “What’s the time?”

  “Half past seven.”

  “Let me sleep just a little more.”

  She sighs.

  “Hayley, seven thirty p.m.. You slept through the entire day.”

  “Just a bit more,” I murmur.

  Left alone, I fall asleep again.

  Chapter 35: The Good Doctor

  I lose track of time. I’m not sure how much Tasha has let me sleep but after a while she wakes me up again. Ungluing my heavy eyes I discover her smiling at me from her place at my doorframe. Hey, smiling hasn’t yet been declared a legitimate, allowed gesture at this stage.

  “Instead of following what the doctor prescribed I decided to just bring the doctor instead,” she declares, cheerfully. Once Ian’s handsome face lights the entrance I can’t help but give in to smiling.

  “Ian,” I call weakly, happily sniffing at his presence.

  “Now gorgeous, the first thing we do is get your supreme body bathed.”

  Tasha giggles at Ian taking control of the Hayley situation.

  “Up, girl. Or do you want me to carry you there?”

  Yet another smile escapes my lips.