Poison in Pumps

by Karen Anne

  I pulled on my cardigan and got in my car. A quick glance at the mirror and I was officially able to confirm I had pulled off the bat-shit crazy look. My pony tail was crooked, and aside from lip balm, I had no make-up on. It didn’t matter. I just couldn’t be late. The one consistent thing I had going right now was this job, and I needed to keep it while I figured out the rest of my life.

  I made it, only a few minutes late, but not enough to raise a brow. I tied on my apron and started getting the dessert trays ready for the day. Saturday mornings were usually an older crowd, sometimes we even got families with children. The little kids always liked it here. What kid wouldn't like a place that looks like Halloween all year round? The nights were when the college crowd took over, and the line to get in was around the corner. Too bad the families didn’t come at night; they had a tendency to leave better tips.

  I had taken my first order when Brit burst through the door, screaming my name like a freaking banshee.

  My first thought was Erik. Something must have happened to him. Why else would she be so insane? “What?” I asked, my voice already shaking from her catching me off guard.

  “The mail came!” She waved an envelope in the air.

  “Yeah, I almost knocked the mailman down. What’s up, are we being evicted?” I joked.

  “This!” She pushed the envelope up to my nose so I could see the return address.

  Lincoln Center. It was from Juilliard.

  “You ran all the way here to give me my rejection letter? Uh… thanks?”

  “You don’t know what it says until you open it.”

  “You open it.” I grabbed a stack of menus and began nervously wiping them down.

  “It says Kristen Forte. That’s you, not me.”

  “Brit, just open it.”

  She looked disappointed in me but agreed. “Fine.” She opened it fast, making the envelope all torn and jagged and pulled the letter out. One letter. If I had been accepted, it would have been attached with forms and stuff.

  “Dear Ms. Forte,” she began.

  “No. Stop!” I shook my head vigorously. “You can’t read it out loud.”

  “Either I read it out loud or you read it in private.” She flashed me a rather defiant look. I hated when she played dirty.

  “Give me that. We can use it to start a bon fire.” I snatched the letter out of her hands and read it to myself.

  Dear Ms. Forte,

  Back in January, we had the opportunity to witness a rare treat. Based on the unexpected twist in your audition, we have a rather unique offer for you. We here at Juilliard would like to offer you a spot in our vocal school. We are aware you auditioned for classical piano, however, we feel, at this time, vocals would be a better fit for you. We are also aware you did not apply to this sect of our school, and therefore may not be interested in this position. However, should you accept, please note that our offer also includes a partial scholarship.

  Before we can formally present you with the details, we would need you to fill out the paperwork for our vocal school.

  There was a number to contact them as well as an email address. My hands were shaking.

  “Kris?” Brit asked. I looked up at her, and her worried expression appeared as though she were regretting her delivery. “What does it say?”

  “It says…” I glanced at the letter again just to make sure. I was convinced the words would disappear, but there they were, safe and sound. We here at Juilliard, would like to offer you a spot in our vocal school. Bubbles of excitement began to pop inside me, releasing pure euphoria. This was unreal. It had to be. “It says I’m going to Juilliard.”

  We had a small gathering after hours at the Draught. My boss was really cool about opening the coffee house up to our friends. I think because half of my friends worked there. We had cake, and Brit and I sang karaoke on the stage, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like me again. Yes, parts of me were still broken, or missing, but looking around at my support team, I knew I’d be okay.

  I had a plan. A good plan, too! I was going to New York and one step closer to my dreams. I had shied away from them over the past few years, focusing on piano and teaching my students. I had assumed I could always fall back on teaching and get a Master’s in education. It wasn’t my dream, but it was realistic. Not all people get to live their dreams. But David was, and now, with this new start, maybe I could, too.

  Erik was huddled with Jaime and Beaver. “What are they up to?” Brit asked suspiciously.

  Natalie drank her root beer float and looked at them. “No clue, but I’m very curious.”

  The boys jumped on the stage, Erik in the center, Jaime and Beaver flanking him on either side.

  “I think they're going to woo us,” Natalie said with a smirk. Brit smiled, and we waited, then the familiar guitar strings played through the speakers as Erik grabbed the mic and started singing Twist and Shout. He was better than I thought he’d be. Jaime and Beaver were hilarious as his back up, and we were cheering the boys, grabbing our hair and screaming as if they were the Beatles. Brit lunged forward and held on to Erik’s leg while he sang. It was hilarious. He offered his hand, and she jumped on the stage and started dancing with him. Not wanting to miss out, Natalie and I jumped out of our seats. Jaime grabbed my hand and twirled me around, and Beaver started shaking it with Drama Queen. It was good clean fun. Something I didn’t think I could ever enjoy again.

  When the song ended, I was holding my sides from laughing so hard. “That was a perfect way to end tonight. Thank you, boys!”

  “No, I need to hear you sing one more song before we call it a night,” Brit said as she loaded the karaoke machine Natalie had brought from the sorority house.

  “You’ll have to twist my arm,” I said with a laugh. I was the karaoke queen tonight. Beaver leaned over to see what song Brit was setting up.

  “You sure about that one?” he asked, looking concerned.

  “Are you kidding? No one sings this song like Kris!” She pushed play, and I turned to the screen to see what she had entered. When the title came on, I smiled at first, knowing it was my favorite karaoke song. But then Beaver’s comment hit home. It was On my Own from Les Miserables, probably the most heartbreaking song about unrequited love ever written. Seeing my face, Brit must have realized her mistake.

  “Should I—?”

  “Leave it. I sort of need to sing this.” I forced a smile and listened to the opening bar, taking a breath before I began. The room got quiet, and I imagined I wasn’t on the stage at the Draught but on Broadway. I had heard once that great actors draw upon their own pain to deliver emotion in their performance. That’s what I did now. I let go and became a character. A character I could relate to.

  I didn’t need to look at the screen. I knew the lyrics. Every word.

  When I sang the final note, I was shaking. But not because I was in pain. Because I had finally let go. Erik broke the silence first, whistling and clapping, and Brit gave me a rather unexpected hug.

  “Hey, Kris,” Jaime said, looking blown away by my private performance. “Don’t forget about us when your name is up in lights, okay?”

  I let go of Brit and put my arms around Jaime. “How could I ever forget about the people who brought me back to life?”

  THIRTY-SIX

  May was almost gone, and that meant finals and freedom. It was strange being so close to the finish line because it felt like I wasn’t finished. I had started collecting boxes and sorting through my stuff. It was crazy to think that I would be packing for good this time. The sorority house had been my home for so long, and it was daunting to think I’d have to spend my summer looking for an apartment in Manhattan. Since I had been accepted late, all the grad housing was booked. Not that I minded; I was excited to start apartment hunting, I was just worried about what I’d actually be able to afford.

  Since Brit was at the concert with Erik, the band had the night off as well. She was their lead singer, and it was pretty much s
enseless to just have bass and drums without their lead guitar. I had to admit, I was crazy proud of Brit. Not only had she embraced her performance fears, but she was kicking ass in David’s band. Well, I guess it wasn’t David’s anymore. They had kept the name, but without Brit, the guys would have probably just found work elsewhere. She was the glue that held them together. I sort of loved that although the guys were older than Brit by almost a decade, they never spoke down to her and instead treated her as an equal. That’s what David would have wanted.

  Look at me, speaking about him like he was dead. I’m so morbid.

  Without live music, I needed to improvise. I clicked my phone into the speakers and found a random Pandora channel then counted the cash drawer. I hated working without Erik. The rest of the wait staff was cool, but he made the shifts go faster. Yup, I actually missed him. Ever since that night with Harry, I had a new respect for him and Jaime. I always felt Erik was special, but now I got to see him through Brit’s eyes. And with this new view, I knew graduation was going to be hard for her. She was losing everyone she cared about at the same time. She was a survivor, but I could only imagine how she would be in the fall. I was happy she had Natalie. She would help her, in her own dramatic way.

  Friday nights were always crowded, especially after the multiplex let out. Couples would swarm to the Draught and get a cappuccino and make-out in corners of our quirky coffee shop before we closed. I welcomed the crowd; more customers meant I’d be busy and the time would fly. Plus, I needed the tips. The coffee house simply didn’t pay as well as music lessons had.

  Still, even with the swarm of customers, the night seemed to drag on without my friends. Funny how you can be in a room full of people yet still feel lonely. The coffee shop had its own hum, the buzz of conversation. The sound of steam from the cappuccino machine. The clink of cup against saucer. It was its own music, which meant the music station we played for our guests easily faded into the background. I was taking an order when I heard it. A song I had never heard before pouring out of the speakers. I momentarily forgot about the Pandora channel and instinctively looked toward the stage to see if David was there. This was his place, that was his stage. It seemed natural to hear his voice in here.

  The stage was dark except for a few red lights. Feeling as though I were losing my mind, I jotted down the rest of their order lightning fast, ran over to the speakers, ignoring the other customers that tried to flag me down for their check or a coffee refill. I had to see… I had to know.

  Pulling my phone out of the dock, the music instantly disconnected from the speakers, instead playing softly from my phone that now lay in the palm of my hand, which had started to tremble. The song and artist were as plain as day.

  Tattooed Kisses. David Archer.

  “Hey? What happened to the music?” Frank, my manager asked, popping his head out from the stock room. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. All I could do was stare at the title and artist. Frank came over to me. “Kristen? Put it back on!”

  Instead, I turned the phone so he could see. He pulled his glasses that were resting on top of his bald head down to the bridge of his nose. “What am I looking at?”

  “Look at the artist,” I somehow managed to say.

  “Tattooed Kisses… by… David Archer! Haha! He really did it! Fantastic! And to think, I hired him first!”

  I had no response. I hadn’t even heard the words of his song, all I knew was the title. And I knew it had to be about me.

  The rest of the night was a slow crawl, and driving home was scary as I was finding it rather difficult to concentrate on the road. As soon as I got home, I ran upstairs, turned on my laptop and went straight to iTunes. I downloaded the song, put headphones on, and took a deep breath. The strumming was familiar. He must have played something similar around me. Maybe he was trying it out, and I was too busy to pay attention. My guilt kicked into hyper-drive. And then, his voice… his beautiful warm velvety voice that I hadn’t heard in months washed over me.

  When we parted I asked you not to cry,

  You wrapped your scarf around me,

  And I breathed in our good-bye

  Your eyes dropped in sadness,

  As you urged me to walk away.

  I leaned in closer, it was David.

  Your kiss is tattooed on my heart— on my mind

  I see you in my dreams when I close my eyes.

  No matter the distance, no matter the miles…

  Our souls are forever tied

  I heard the familiar strumming, a melody that was so clearly David. It gripped at my heart, holding me perfectly still.

  And I can’t breathe if you are angry,

  No, I can’t smile if you aren’t near.

  You’ve made me all that I am,

  but I’m still not the man you deserve,

  Oh, how I want to be the man you deserve.

  The tears slid down my cheeks as the song returned to the chorus.

  Your kiss is tattooed on my heart— on my mind

  I see you in my dreams when I close my eyes.

  No matter the distance, no matter the miles…

  Our souls are forever tied

  Oh, against the raging waters, against the roaring storm,

  I’d battle hell and fire to have you in my arms.

  Tattooed kisses, whispered secrets,

  Beneath the blanket of broken dreams

  Chasing memories, the future fades—what I’d give to turn back time.

  Oh love, how I need you right now.

  Your kiss is tattooed on my heart— on my mind

  I see you in my dreams when I close my eyes.

  No matter the distance, no matter the miles…

  Our souls are forever tied

  He had to have written it when he was in London. That part was clear. But was it post break up? I wasn’t certain. Part of me wanted to believe that David was trying to send a message out into the universe for me. I checked my watch. It was almost midnight here, which would mean not even dawn there. I couldn’t call him now, could I? It was far too late. Then I realized I still didn’t know his number. I couldn’t call him now because I couldn’t call him ever.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  The desire to talk to David was stronger than any pill I had taken with Harry. I had listened to his song on loop last night, falling asleep with him singing in my ear and waking up to his heartfelt lyrics. In my groggy state, I almost believed he was here.

  Having never met David’s parents, I didn’t have their number. It was just one of those things I never really considered needing. They lived in London, and I was someone they would meet one day. So that really only left me with one solution. I needed to see Harry.

  I’m not sure what I expected. I had never been to a rehab facility before. I imagined something out of One flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest, but it was rather… cheery. There were gardens outside where people were walking, and they all wore regular clothes. Aside from the wrist bands, it could have been the clinic on campus.

  I went over to the desk and inquired about Harry. I expected to be shown to a room, but they told me to have a seat and they would get him for me. I sat down, wondering who would greet me. Would it be Harry who was mean? The one who called me a whore? The man who professed his love like a child and only asked that I love him in return? Would it be someone so drugged up he didn’t recognize me? I hoped it would be my friend.

  “Kristen? What are you doing here?” I looked up and saw Harry. He was wearing a very worn Yankees cap, a grey shirt, and a pair of jeans. The surprise on his face couldn’t be masked, but I wasn’t sure if he was happy to see me or embarrassed that I had come. Regardless, he looked better than I had hoped.

  “I wanted to know if you had David’s new number.”

  “Oh.” His face fell, and I knew I had hurt his feelings, but considering how our last encounter had gone down, did it matter?

  “They took my phone when I checked in. I don’t get my stuff until my time is up. I’m i
n here for ninety days.”

  “Oh,” I said again, not sure how I felt about that. “When the nurse told me you checked in she said it would only be a few weeks. A month tops.”

  “Yes, well my parents came that day, and my mom wanted me to only do a few weeks and come back home, but I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve been through this before, Kris. I have another chance, and I don’t want to mess up. I want to live without a crutch.” My bottom lip quivered with emotion. There had been so much anger attached to Harry. My friends looked at him like a disease and I was at risk of infection. I almost believed them. But Harry was more a threat to himself than to me. He had an addiction, and I now saw the roots of his problem ran deeper than I had imagined.

  “Yeah, I’m really sorry you came over here for nothing. If I knew his number by heart I’d rattle it off to you, but I never really paid it any attention. Gotta love smart phones.”

  I could leave now, or I could try to make sense of the nonsense. Harry was all alone in here, but maybe he didn’t have to be. “It doesn’t have to be for nothing. I think we should talk. Can you go for a walk?”

  His expression lifted. “Yeah. Yeah, I can.”

  There was a garden in the back and some areas for recreational activities like a basketball court. I sat down on a bench near a rose bush. Harry sat down, careful to put some distance between us.

  “The way you acted that night—” I began, no need for ceremonies.

  His body became rigid, a flare of fear in his blue eyes. “Kris, I try so damn hard to replay that night in my mind. It’s just flashes. I’m scared to even ask you what happened.” He pushed up his glasses and stole a glance at me. “Did I hurt you?”

  “You hurt me emotionally, not physically.”

  My words didn’t soften the blow. Confirmed he had hurt me in some form he pulled down the brim of his hat. I think if he could have the ground swallow him whole he would have gladly accepted. “I can still hear you telling me to stop.” He was shaking. I swallowed recalling all too well what his kisses felt like on my neck. The crazed look in his eyes. The absence of the man I had trusted. “But I didn’t.” Harry dropped his face into his hands. “I’m so ashamed.”