by Leanne Davis
He reached over and casually put his cigarette butt in the ashtray on the night table. He started kissing her. Deep and hot, his mouth moved over hers, as his hands slid on her back, along her body. She sighed at his touch.
“You seem better today,” he said, as his hand went into her, stroking her, and stoking her fire. “That’s good. I need you better. I need you, baby.”
He was instantly inside her, hot, hurried and intense. She wrapped her legs around his middle, and let herself get carried away by his voice, so soft and soothing as he spoke to her. His voice always seemed to lift her, her life, her love for him, to another plane of being.
Afterwards, as Rob was dressing to leave, and Joelle lay curled in their bed, it occurred to her they just had sex without protection. Her good mood, her relaxed desire for him that previously felt so good after so long a delay, withered. She’d been swept away, and became forgetful, no, stupid. She nearly groaned out loud in dismay, at her disappointment with herself. With Rob. He was already gone, joining the band downstairs. She nearly cried. Her good mood was long gone. Vanquished. Damn him. Damn her. Damn their life.
****
Joelle called Nick a few days later, and found out her car would be a week or more in the shop. Discouraged, she mentioned it to Rob, who got annoyed when she told him she needed his truck. Seeing as how she had to go to work, and he had nowhere important that he had to be, she didn’t quite get his annoyance at her. He acted as if she did it on purpose. He didn’t ask how she was going to pay for it, or how the car got to the shop in the first place. He never asked mundane questions about their household. That was all for her to work out.
She got Trina’s phone number from Nick, and now had been staring at it for three days. Every time she started to dial, she chickened out. Why was it that she could handle any amount of skanky band groupies, but a pregnant, suburban woman had her tied up in knots?
She finally called Trina’s number, and when Trina answered, she nearly hung up again, but decided to stick it out. She explained who she was, and how she’d gotten Trina’s number, with her own version of running into Nick. Trina didn’t seem what Joelle would have termed warm, or glad to hear from her, but she agreed to meet Joelle for coffee on her lunch hour, downtown. Joelle wasn’t happy about the distant location, but agreed without any complaints, and was glad Trina decided to come at all.
She was nervous all day. It felt like she’d gone back to a time in her life that she hadn’t thought of in years, and was someone she no longer embodied. It was weird as hell, but she could not deny the excitement, no matter how small, when she thought of seeing Trina again. They used to have such fun together. For years, they talked on the phone of boys and clothes, and watched each other’s adolescence bloom into first crushes, new fads, popularity, other friends, and all the while, pledged to be friends forever.
She opened the cafe’s door and saw Trina sitting with a warm drink in front of her. She took a breath for courage. Trina still had blonde hair, shoulder-length, that was fine and soft. Her face looked nearly the same, a little different makeup, a little more mature, but unmistakably, the same girl she had called her best friend for so much of her adolescence. Trina was only a few pounds heavier, despite her four months of pregnancy, and her loose-fitting, geometric top, paired with her black leggings, made her look stylishly adorable, a kind of motherhood chic. Trina glanced at her, then away. Joelle sighed to herself when not even a spark of recognition gleamed in Trina’s eyes. Nick obviously didn’t impart any information to his sister about her.
“Trina?” She stopped before her former friend.
Trina rounded her eyes and stared at Joelle up and down, with no attempt to hide her reaction. Her mouth came open, and then closed into a thin line of disapproval as she took in Joelle; whose hair was wrapped into a knot at the back of her head, and whose clothes, she supposed, to Trina, would look sloppy, worn, too grungy, and too harsh.
“Hi,” Joelle said, hating the tremor in her voice.
“Joelle?”
“Yes.”
“My God, what happened to you?”
She cringed. That hurt. Trina’s blatant disregard, and obvious dismissal, that just because Joelle wasn’t Gap-like anymore, something had to be wrong with her. Just because she wasn’t Trina’s idea of “normal,” she was somehow less? That’s what she never understood. Why did her dressing a little darker, a little… okay, a lot different, why would that made her any less in other people’s eyes?
“May I sit down?” Joelle asked, her polite tone contradicting her look. She always spoke quietly, nearly making people strain to hear her. No matter how loud her looks got, her personality never caught up, and never changed. She hid behind herself. She had always been quiet, shy, and intense. She still was, only now, it was mistaken as insolence and being rude.
“Yes,” Trina said, her tone obviously unsure. Trina flinched, and wrinkled her eyebrows as Joelle slid her jacket off. Trina stared at her arms. Her left wrist had a tattoo running from elbow to wrist, and the letters RJW intertwined in elaborate script. It was obvious to those who knew her; Rob and Joelle Williams. Rob had the exact same tattoo, and in the exact same spot.
“Forgive me, I didn’t expect... well this,” Trina said after staring another moment.
Joelle nodded, and flushed with embarrassment, which was unexpected, considering her dark, screw-off choice of makeup. “I guess I assumed Nick might have mentioned that I’m... that my tastes are different than they were in high school.”
“No. Nick said nothing except that he ran into you and gave you my number. How the hell did he recognize you? If I passed you in broad daylight, the thought would never even flash across my mind that I knew you.”
Thanks. She kept the retort to herself. Didn’t she deserve this anger? This attitude? She left Trina for college with little more than a phone call, and then disappeared without responding to any of Trina’s last emails and phone calls, in which she pleaded for Joelle to call her. Joelle was so enthralled with Rob, the band, their life, she had no interest or time for her past.
She shrugged, since she didn’t know how Nick recognized her. “I don’t know. Good memory, I guess. He mentioned that you’re expecting a baby soon. Congratulations.”
Trina covered her belly with her hand. “Yes. We can’t wait. My husband, Gavin, just finished painting the nursery. We bought a house; it’s about twenty-five minutes from the city. Gavin works downtown, so he has a bit of a commute, but we wanted a nice wholesome neighborhood to start our family in.”
Joelle agreed. That would be best for having a baby. She tried to ignore the smug, nearly condescending tone of Trina’s voice. She deserved it for being so careless to her old friend, and all for Rob. Joelle encouraged Trina to talk more about her quaint life with Gavin the Accountant who worked downtown. Finally, Trina stopped talking and studied Joelle.
“So, what is all this?”
“All what?”
Trina waved a hand at Joelle. “This look you’ve got? What’s this about? You in trouble or something?”
“No. I’m married. That’s what happened to me. I quit college and got married. We, well that’s part of why I wanted to see you. We did it all so fast. I shouldn’t have disappeared like I did. I wish I had an excuse, but I don’t. I was totally wrapped up in my life, my husband, I blew everything off. Including my friends. I’m really sorry.”
Trina regarded Joelle, and her face looked surprised. “I didn’t know that was why. Are you divorced now?”
“No. Nothing like that. We were traveling for the first few years.”
“Doing what?”
“Rob, that’s my husband, is a singer in a band. We toured a lot, trying to get a record deal. We’re back here for a while, to get some money, write some new songs, and just rest, I guess.”
“What band?” Trina asked, looking at her as if she thought Joelle were lying.
“Zenith. You might have heard of them if you’ve spent anytime downto
wn. They have a small, indie following here.”
Trina nodded. “Yeah, I know who they are. I saw them perform last New Year’s. You’re married to that man? The lead singer?”
Joelle nodded. Trina looked as if it were impossible that she, Joelle, could be married to Rob.
“Why?”
“He’s incredible. That voice. I mean, wow, and he’s hot. I wouldn’t have guessed, not ever. He likes this about you then? He likes you looking like this?”
Trina could have been a little less direct. It wasn’t like her heart was made out of the same leather and chain her coat was.
“Yes, of course, my husband likes me.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Then how did she mean it?
Trina stared, her eyes wide, before finally shaking her head. “Look, Joelle, I thought meeting might be fun, like a mini high school reunion. You know, gossip about old times, our old group. But now I see, you and I have nothing at all in common anymore. Not even a shred of the old connection. So I think it would be best if I left, and we just let sleeping dogs lie between us. I appreciate the apology, but I haven’t thought about you in years, and frankly, I just don’t see someone like you connecting with someone like me. I’m about to have a baby and you’re probably into a pretty fast lifestyle, which I choose not to be any part of.”
Joelle’s stomach clenched, as she turned and immediately started putting her coat on. Of course, Trina was right. Of course, Trina would feel that way. But it hurt. It cut to the bone to be told off so blatantly, so easily, and so quickly. Joelle miscalculated in trying to reconnect with Trina. She knew that almost before she sat down. She thought, maybe, differences could be part of what made people like each other. Obviously, Trina didn’t subscribe to that philosophy, and even seemed to suspect she was almost a drug addict or something. What could she say to that?
Joelle stood up. “Yes. That’s fine. Sorry I took up your time today.”
She turned and exited the café without a backwards glance. Nearly sick with embarrassment, she started down the sidewalk at a clipped rate. Damn it. Didn’t she deserve just that? After the way she treated Trina? And the way she looked now? Still it hurt; and it surprised her just how blunt Trina could be.
She walked for ten minutes before she calmed down. She was now downtown, the business district, Trina’s choice. Glancing up, Joelle noticed the street name and it rang a bell. Why would she know a street name down here? She never hung out around here. The skyscrapers were thick, spiking up into the sky, all shiny with glass and metal, and colored in blacks and grays. Nick. Nick’s firm’s address was on this street. She remembered it from his business card. She dug around in her bag until she found it and pulled it out. She started down the street until she found the cross street, then glanced up at the building Nick worked in. It was twenty stories or more, and new, shiny, sleek and expensive. Nick would easily belong there.
She crossed the street and glanced in the windows to the lobby. What was she doing? The man’s sister had just told her off, so why would she contemplate seeing Nick Lassiter? What did she intend to do? Watch him at work?
But she still owed him money. And she wanted to talk to him and figure out how she was going to pay that money back. She could call him, of course, but she was already here, thanks to his sister, so why not?
Joelle opened the door and walked towards the row of elevators. There were several people ordering coffee and pastries from the small coffee bar on the left. Other people stood waiting for the elevator, and all were dressed up as one would expect. Except her. She felt the looks. She noticed a security guard eyeing her carefully. She was grateful when the elevator doors slid open and she nearly jumped in, hoping to retreat to the corner. Nick worked on the fifteenth floor. Once there, she pushed her way through the few skirt-clad women and nattily dressed men. Briefcases and purses were clutched a little tighter as she passed, she noticed.
She stepped into a foyer of dark hardwood and crimson chairs that led to the front desk. Maroon walls and potted plants, plastic-looking in their sheer brilliance, decorated the entry. She was rethinking her spontaneous idea with each step. It was all so sophisticated, beautiful, elegant, and so the opposite of her. Stares lingered on her as two women scuttled past and down the hallway. A man looked up from his file folder and did a double take at her. Oh get over it. So she looked a little different. God! Didn’t people ever mind their own business?
There was a pretty woman at the reception desk, whose nametag said, Sommer Korte. She had a headset on and was clicking between phone lines. Glancing at Joelle, her eyes widened and she clicked off her phone call.
“Are you lost?”
“No. This is Next Generation Consulting, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Sommer Korte said, her tone suddenly sounding weary. What did she think? That she was going to pull a gun and start shooting up the place just because she happened to have a blue streak in her hair? Or because she wore a little too much black, now she was a dangerous sniper of preppy office workers?
“I’m looking for Nick Lassiter. Could you point me to his office?”
Sommer’s eyes widened and her mouth made a giant O. She took her headphones off and set them down on her desk.
“You can’t just go sauntering in to see Mr. Lassiter. You need an appointment. You want one? You can start by seeing his assistant. She’s down that hall to the left. But hold on, you can’t go down there unescorted.”
Joelle paused and stared in disbelief. She had to have an appointment with Nick’s secretary before she could even see said secretary? She’d never heard of anything so stupid in her life.
“You’re serious?”
“Well, of course I’m serious. Now do you want to wait?”
“For what? For Nick?”
“No, for an escort to take you to Mr. Lassiter’s assistant.”
Joelle stared for a second. “Okay. I guess that’s what I want.”
“Sit over there.”
Joelle desperately wished she had a cell phone. She could call Nick and have him come out. This was ridiculous. What were all these hoops she had to jump through? She was slouched in the reception chair for a good five minutes before a man, wearing a suit and his own headset came over to her and motioned for her to get up. As they started walking, Joelle was sure the bulge she saw in the man’s shoulder was a gun. Puzzled, annoyed, intimidated, Joelle obeyed as she was told.
She walked through a crowded inner area of cubicles and work stations. Then, rounding the corner, they came to a quiet hall, where her feet suddenly sank into deep, lush carpet, and original paintings tastefully lined the walls. A half dozen, cherrywood doors were all shut tight to the hallway, making the whole area hushed, private, beautiful. But very eerie.
Finally, her silent escort brought her to an ornate, dark-wood desk with the nameplate indicating it was Bev Richmond’s desk. There was a woman sitting there, tall and slender, beautifully dressed in a tailored suit with her hair piled atop her head.
“Mrs. Richmond?”
“Yes?” she said as she turned fully in her deep, cushy, black office chair. Mrs. Richmond started when she saw Joelle. The armed escort turned and left, all without a word to her. Joelle stared after him, then at the strange Mrs. Richmond.
“I’m here to see Nick Lassiter.”
“You don’t have an appointment.” Statement, not a question.
“No. I was in the area and decided to drop by.”
“Well, then, you won’t be seeing Mr. Lassiter.”
“But–”
“No exceptions. He’s a busy man and he doesn’t have time for whatever you’re doing here. Are you a reporter? Are you trying to get a story on Mr. Lassiter? It won’t work. Now please, leave.”
“No. No, I’m not a reporter. I’m just–” Joelle struggled for a word, unprepared to feel like she was entering a restricted zone just to say hello to Nick. “Just please tell him that Joelle Williams is here to see him. He
’ll know who I am.”
“I don’t care if he knows who you are, which I doubt. His schedule is full today.”
Joelle’s growing impatience, coupled with her anger at Trina, the stares and disdain she’d received thus far, suddenly culminated in her mind. She was aware of the people working down the hallway, now staring at her after Mrs. Richmond raised her voice. God, what was this place? A terrorist detention camp?
“I’ll wait then.”
“Fine. He won’t see you though. Be my guest, and waste your time.”
Joelle sat obediently in the chair Mrs. Richmond pointed at. Nearly saluting. Once seated, Joelle looked around until she glanced at the door near her, and read, Nick Lassiter, President.
Oh. Shit. Nick was the boss. That’s why she had to navigate all the hurdles to get back here. Why she gleaned so many stares just for asking to see him. What the hell did Nick do? He said he worked on computers. Yeah, right, no one used armed escorts in an average computer company. None of this made any sense. Could her day get any stranger? She quietly, obligingly now, got up and started to walk down the hall, hoping that Mrs. Richmond never imparted to Nick that Joelle Williams even dropped by.
She was nearly to the end of the strange, silent hallway when a voice from behind her called her name.
Chapter Six
“Joelle?”
Joelle stopped dead in her tracks. Nick’s voice. Nick had seen her. Damn it. She turned. Nick was down the hallway, exiting through one of the now opened cherry wood doors. A group of men, and two women spilled out behind him. Nick wore an expensive-looking, gray-colored suit, white shirt, and dark tie. Mrs. Richmond looked on, her eyes wide, as if she were stunned that Nick did indeed seem to know Joelle.
Joelle turned and walked towards Nick, feeling as if her feet were suddenly encased in concrete. What else could she do? Turn and run down the hall as if she were afraid of him? But suddenly, stupidly, she almost did.