by Izzy Mason
Amber heads back to the front desk. I slip into the bathroom to check myself in the mirror. Whoever it is, I should look as professional as possible. I flatten a few flyaway hairs and freshen up my natural colored lipstick. Then I find myself frozen at the mirror, gazing into my own sad, lifeless eyes.
You’re going to be fine, I tell my reflection. Somehow, you’ll get through this. Just like you got through everything else. You’re going to be fine. Just take a breath and think of all the positive things you have in your life. You’ll be fine.
I take a deep breath and head out of the bathroom. When I reach the front desk area I don’t see anyone. I look at Amber, confused. She looks stiff and uneasy. Then I smell the cigarette smoke. My whole body goes cold. Like corpse cold. Like I wish I was dead cold.
It’s my mother.
Chapter Nine
She leans against the black glass partition, a cigarette dangling from her lips. The sight of her there—the woman who used to whip my legs with a wooden spoon when I burned her breakfast or didn’t pour her drink quick enough—is surreal. This can’t be happening. She doesn’t belong here. She doesn’t belong in this fashionable neighborhood or this edgy, expensive design firm. She doesn’t belong in Denver. She doesn’t belong in my life.
When she sees me, she says nothing. She only squints through the smoke.
“Mom…?” I gasp. My legs go stiff and I can’t move. I can smell the booze from where I stand. “What are you doing here?”
She stares at me with those critical, weasel eyes. “Didn’t even recognize you.”
I don’t know how to process this. “How did you find me?”
She lets out a short, sharp laugh and sucks hard on her cigarette. “Heard it from Pam Hollister. Says she saw you here. And she saw you in some TV thing that one of your old classmates posted up on Facebook. So I looked up this place and here I am.” She takes in my skirt suit, the heels, and pulls on her cigarette again. “You got fancy.”
“Mom, you can’t smoke in here.”
Just as I say it, I hear Devon shout from the back. “Who’s smoking in here?” No one hates the smell of cigarettes more than Devon.
I panic. The last thing I want to do is have to introduce my mother. I don’t want anyone to know I was raised a half-step up from trailer trash. I grab my mom by the arm and pull her toward the door.
“Come on,” I whisper. “Hurry.”
She pulls back against me. “Hey! What the hell? Is this any way to treat your own...?”
“Get your ass out here!” I growl, yanking her arm as hard as I can until she stumbles toward the door. Then I shove it open and pull her outside.
“Walk,” I command, pulling her down the sidewalk, hoping to get as far from the office as possible.
But she grinds to a stop and I can’t budge her. “Don’t you take that tone with me, Mickey! Who the hell do you think you are? You think your fancy pantsy clothes and fancy pantsy job make you better than your family? You goddamned better well know where you come from! Get lippy with me again and I’ll clock you.”
I glare at her. The hatred inside me seethes so intensely it burns. “Like hell you will.” I take a step toward her. For the first time I realize that I’m taller than her by at least two inches. “I’m not a kid anymore, Mom. Can’t you see that? I’ll clock you right the hell back.”
Without waiting for a response, I turn and storm down the sidewalk. She can stand there and rot for all I care. But Mom hurries to catch up with me. The skittering sound of her hard-soled flats on the sidewalk behind me gives me the shivers.
“Fine, you’re right! You’re grown!” she mutters. “It’s still no way to greet your own mother.”
She catches up to me, but I don’t slow my pace. I know she doesn’t have the wind for this. In no time, she’s puffing and wheezing. Finally, she grabs my arm.
“Come on, Mick. Slow down. I got something to tell you.”
“I don’t care. I didn’t ask you to come here. I don’t want to…”
“Daddy died.”
Her words seem to suck all sound from the streets. The cars. The voices. The music floating through the open doors of restaurants. Everything is suddenly muted. Daddy died. Is that possible? I stare at her.
“What?”
“You heard me. Your daddy is dead.”
I don’t know what to feel. Even though I hated my father, the thought of him being dead makes me feel an emptiness I can’t understand. A mysterious void. It’s just impossible to believe it’s true.
“What happened?” I ask, breathless.
She pulls on her cigarette again, and looks away from me. “Started puking blood. Took him to the hospital about six months ago. Buried him shortly after. Didn’t know where you were, so couldn’t give you the news.”
Her voice cracks slightly at the end. I know she loved him. They fought constantly, but they needed each other. Together they drove everyone in their lives away until they were an island of two. I was just unwanted cargo. I feel a flash of pity for my mother.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I am. I’m really sorry.”
The hint of tears shines in her eyes. She won’t look at me. “Yeah,” she mumbles. “Yeah.”
We stand frozen on the sidewalk while the world moves purposefully around us. I don’t know what to say. My daddy is dead. My daddy is dead. My daddy is dead. I say this silently over and over until I can begin to process it. My cruel daddy. My drunk daddy. My angry daddy. Dead. Suddenly, I feel the emotions rushing in. More than anything, it’s an overwhelming sense of relief.
“I’m glad you took the trouble to find me, Mom. It was a long way to come.”
My mother stands there squinting blindly at the cars going by. She tosses her cigarette into the gutter and heaves a sigh.
“You did good here, Mick. You always were a determined little shit.”
That’s about as much of a compliment my mother can give.
“Did you drive out?”
She lets out a phlegmy cough and shakes her head. “Sold the car. I took a Greyhound.”
“Where are you staying?” I don’t really even care where she’s staying. But I don’t know what else to say.
“Motel 6 out by the highway. Smells like shit.”
I get an uneasy feeling. Now every cell in my body wants to run away. To just turn around without a word and haul ass down the sidewalk, leaving her far behind. But knowing her, she’d just turn up at my work again, planting herself in the reception area with a cigarette, waiting to ruin my life. I have to get rid of her somehow. To send her on her way.
“Do you need a ride to the bus station?” I ask hopefully.
My mother sniffs and fishes a cigarette packet from her sweater pocket. “Nothing for me to go back to, really. Daddy’s gone. Bank took the house…”
I feel my stomach drop out as if I’ve just stepped off a bridge and am plummeting toward an abyss. My throat clenches and a feel like I can’t breathe. I try to hold my composure. If I show any weakness at all, Mom will be on me like a hyena.
“So where are you going to go?”
She shrugs. “Why go anywhere if my daughter is here? And you’re doing real good. You can’t tell me they don’t pay you well in that chichi place.”
I gape at her, trying desperately not to hyperventilate. “You want to live with me?”
She finally looks at me. Her eyes are somehow both blazing and cold. “Are you saying that you won’t even take in your destitute mother? You want to leave me to die on the streets?”
“Well, that’s what you did to me!” I shout.
“You were the one who left, missy! Don’t blame me if things weren’t smooth sailing for you. You chose to be a runaway.”
A few passersby glance our way and I feel my face go hot with shame. I start walking again, not knowing where to go. Mom keeps pace. This isn’t happening. I want to wake up. I want to get back to the beautiful days of being followed by thugs and deprived of the love of my
life. It was a walk in park next to this nightmare.
“You can’t stay with me, Mom. I have only one bedroom. It’s too small.”
“I don’t mind sharing a bed.”
“Oh my God. No way. I just…”
Mom stops abruptly and folds her arms. She sets her jaw in that way that says trouble. “Well,” she says, “You better figure it out, because I ain’t going nowhere.”
My whole body goes numb and I freeze. I know her. And when she makes up her mind about something, there’s no force on earth powerful enough to change it.
Chapter Ten
When Dev picks me up that night, it’s all I can do to make conversation. In a moment of abject panic, I’d flagged a cab and left my mother standing alone on the sidewalk. I didn’t even turn my head to look at her or watch her fade into the distance. I immediately called the firm and insisted the receptionist keep my home address and cell number secret.
But I knew it was just a delay. She knows where I work, and she’ll haunt me like an angry ghost until I give in. But I don’t care. I’d rather die than let her move into my apartment. It’s mine. My sacred space. The only place I’ve ever felt safe and at home. And if Mom wants to persist, I’ll call the cops on her in a heartbeat. I’m not going to let her imprison me in her toxic hell again. I’ve been through too much to go back now.
“Still down in the dumps?” Devon asks, glancing at me as she pulls onto the freeway and heads south. “You may need to pull out that fakey smile after all or you’ll scare everybody away.”
I frown and look out the window. I see a black town car following close behind us in the wing mirror. This is my life now.
“I’ll be okay. Just don’t make me smile till I have to.”
“I don’t suppose you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
I don’t answer. I know she’s too distracted anyway. She squints into the oncoming headlights and then checks her watch. We’re late to the party, but I don’t care. Devon is always late for everything, but she’s somehow always surprised by it.
“Shit, the good food better not be gone. No one raids a well-catered spread like the uber rich. You’d think they’d never seen a scallop before.” She glances over at me again. “By the way, you look great, doll. Just find Cain and charm him right out of his Depends.”
I make a face. “Is he that old?”
“Eh…” Devon shrugs. “Whatever. Everyone over fifty looks old to me.”
“What does he look like?” I ask, trying to shift my focus to the professional job at hand. “Just so I can be prepared.”
“I’ve only seen photos of the guy,” Devon says. “He’s gray, a little pudgy from the good life. You know the type.”
“Do you really think he wants me to do a job for him?”
She rolls her eyes. “No, the guy just can’t think of another way to get a hot girl alone. Rich guys have no options, right?”
I think about this. Maybe I am really on the rise in my career. Then I flash to my mother and wonder where she’s gone. Where will she be sleeping? Does she really have nothing left? Do I even care? I sigh. Why can’t things just go straight and easy for once? Why does everything good come with a shit ton of grief on the side?
“Well, then that’s awesome.”
“And maybe you’ll meet a gorgeous society guy to get your mind off whoever it is you’ve been moping about. Someone with a great smile and a charge card.”
She grins at me. I smile back, but it’s just another phony one. Considering I think about Lazarus at least every thirty seconds, I doubt that’s going to happen. I don’t think I’ll ever get my mind off him.
The party is at a mansion somewhere between Denver and the rich suburbs of Castle Rock. We exit the freeway and drive along a frontage road through the dark prairie until Devon turns left onto a private drive. It’s an unlit, narrow, paved road that winds through the grasslands and over low hills for what seems like forever. Finally, I see the house flickering with sumptuous light in the blackness up ahead like the enormous sun.
As we get closer I can see that the exterior is mostly floor to ceiling windows looking out at the Front Range. Inside, candles have been lit everywhere. The place glows like a crystal cathedral. Cars have been parked in rows in a field beyond the house. When we reach the end of the drive, a valet opens my door and bows his head, deferentially.
I gaze up at the house in wonder. What a way to live. I swear. If more broke ass people like me had the chance to see places like this, there would be an old school peasant revolt. The architecture is beautifully modern, all sleek steel and glass. A trellised gate leads to a spectacular swimming pool, which stretches along the side of the house, shimmering in blue light. And even in the drought, a lawn of thick grass stretches out and circles the house like a green halo.
“Wow,” I mutter, and then blush to find the valet standing there waiting for me. I give him an awkward smile, trying to say, hey, I’m more like you than them. But it’s impossible. He doesn’t see me that way. Instead he gives me a blank look, closes my door, and heads to the driver’s side to hold the door open for Devon.
“Thanks, doll,” she mumbles, barely looking at him. She walks around the car and hooks her arm in mine. “You ready to be fabulous?”
I force another smile. “Absolutely.”
Inside, a white carpet creates a hushed feeling in spite of the glass. The candles flicker all around and several tastefully low lamps provide just enough ambient light to make the place look soft and lovely. A jazz trio plays in the corner. The living room is enormous and the ceilings are so high I feel like I’m still outside. Well-dressed, attractive people stand around in clusters chatting while caterers swoop around them with trays of hors d’oeuvres and white wine.
“Let’s get a drink,” Devon says, pulling me in the direction of a long table covered in white linen, filled with rows and rows of wine glasses, and several bottles submerged in buckets of melting ice. Devon fills up two glasses and hands one to me.
I feel exhausted. The shock of seeing my mother has drained the life out of me, and all I want to do is go to bed. Instead, I take a long drink of wine and steel myself for a tedious evening of pretending to be something I’m not.
“Mavis!” Devon calls loudly, stretching out her arms flamboyantly.
I turn to find a tall, slinky blond in a hip-hugging white dress approaching with a wide, perfect teeth smile. She stretches out her arms as well and whoops loudly, as if they were in the middle of a noisy concert and not a hushed cocktail party with a jazz trio.
“Girl! You are a sight for sore eyes! Look at you!” the blond shouts, throwing her arms around Devon.
They hug for a moment before releasing each other and standing at arm’s length looking the other up and down.
“Damn, you’re hot!” Devon laughs.
The blond grins. “You look amazing! Where the hell have you been hiding yourself?”
“Honey, don’t you know?” Devon says. “Building up a firm with Nate. We’re on fire!” This reminds her of me, standing there, looking horribly uncomfortable. “This is our newest addition! Michaela. She’s a genius!”
The blond smiles at me and hooks up an eyebrow. “Seriously? She’s just a kid!”
I give her a stiff smile. Get me out of here! Devon laughs again.
“I know! A wunderkind! We have a wunderkind! Can you believe it?” She puts a hand on my back. “Mickey, this is my old friend Marney. She’s the madam of the house.”
“You make it sound like a brothel!” Marney says jokingly, giving Dev’s arm a gentle slap.
Devon glances around the room at all of the slender young women cavorting with rich looking men, some of them far too old to be normal. “Hey, if the shoe fits!”
I can’t keep up with their energy, so I hold out a limp hand and hold the smile. “You have a beautiful home.” It sounds so stupid to my ears, like standing in Buckingham Palace and saying to Queen Elizabeth, nice pad you’ve got here.
&nb
sp; “Thanks,” she says. “Please, try the food. The ceviche is so fresh it’s practically swimming off the trays.”
Then she turns back to Devon and they make their way to a sofa to sit and talk. I’m left standing alone feeling like an idiot. I take another long drink of wine that empties half my glass. It barely leaves my lips before a short woman in a black apron fills it up again.
I scan the room wondering which way I should go. I’m out glamoured in every direction. Finally, I make my way to the other side of the room where the windows look out onto the lovely outdoor pool. I stand by the glass and watch the soothing ripples in the water, wondering how long Devon is going to want to stay. I might as well make myself useful and find Cornell Cain.
“Excuse me, you have a cigarette?” says a husky, accented voice beside me.
I can smell the expensive perfume before I even turn my head. When I do, I catch my breath. A stunning, dark-haired woman stands with one hand on her hip, looking like a model for Vogue. She wears a black dress that clings to her body, the neckline plunging to her navel, which allows for more than a peek of her full breasts. She’s as beautiful as she is ice cold.
Celestina.
Chapter Eleven
My stomach goes into free fall. Holy fuck. Does this mean Lazarus is here? And if it does, will we be punished for it?
I force myself to hold the chilly gaze of her dark eyes. I realize that she doesn’t know who I am. She runs a hand through her black, blunt cut hair.
“I am so bored,” she sighs. “I need to smoke.”
I shake my head and shrug, then turn my eyes back to the window. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any cigarettes.”
She lets out an indignant little huff of air through her nose. “What a strange country,” she grumbles. “No one smokes.”
A caterer appears with a tray of cold shrimp and holds it out solicitously. Without a word, Celestina shoos him away with her hand. Be gone, knave!
I take in a deep breath, trying to play it cool. “Where are you from?”