His thumbs caressed the backs of her hands, which looked so small in his. “It was quite a crowd, wasn’t it?” As if they were discussing the turnout at a ball game.
She withdrew her hands from his. It was too hard to think when his warmth radiated through her skin.
“So what was it supposed to be, some kind of a test?” If she had to ask again and again, she was determined to learn the truth.
He leaned closer, his eyes searching hers. “Is that what you think it was?”
His hair fell across his forehead. How easy it would be to tilt her head, bring her lips to his. Countless times, she’d imagined what it would feel like.
Instead, she leaned against the back of her chair. No way would he distract her into losing any more of herself.
She lowered her voice, but it was still edged with anger, frustration. “What are you, a psychiatrist? Don’t try your reverse psychology on me. If not a test, what else would it be?”
One of the advantages of having no soul, apparently, was not caring what others thought. The waitress glanced up from behind the counter to give her a nervous smile. Madelyn returned the smile, hoping she’d go about her business and leave them alone.
He reached inside his jacket, took out another business card and held it out.
“What’s this? My next appointment with destiny?” She’d have to tell Gwen that line. It would work well in her standup routine. Maybe bring down the house.
“For tomorrow. Don’t be late.” He stood.
“You’re leaving already?” Disappointment seeped into her voice. She hadn’t learned what she needed to know. When he was here, he felt like her only lifeline to the world, paradoxical as that sounded.
He leaned his hands on the table, his dark eyes, his Roman nose, his full lips mere inches away. “Shouldn’t I?”
If she weren’t soulless, she would place her hands along his jaw and kiss him, open her heart to him. Maybe he could fill the void that had been growing within her for so long.
Her head throbbed. He answered her questions with more questions, leading nowhere. “I could have been killed today.” If only he’d hold her, cradle her.
His lips pressed against her forehead and left a warm impression that spread through her body in a relaxing ripple effect. “You feel fine now, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t feel anything. Not even desperation to feel something.” She didn’t need to explain this to him; it felt as if he knew her thoughts before she did.
He looked up toward something beyond the window, and his smile faded to seriousness.
“Can you stay a little while longer? I need to talk to you.” If he would sit down, tell her everything would be fine, she’d believe him. The timbre of his voice had a way of resonating within her, calming and exciting her at the same time. She understood, finally, what the old song meant: I’ve got you under my skin. The essence of him was like a second skin; she carried him with her every minute, layered atop herself.
His eyes shifted to follow whatever caught his attention. “Tomorrow. Don’t be late.” He strode to the door, and once outside, ran past the window, his dark coat flowing behind him.
A dark figure rushed across the street in the direct path of a car that didn’t slow or beep at the jaywalker.
He skirted behind the car as it passed. Soon, they were out of sight.
“This is all too weird.” She was nothing but a pawn to him in this game, whatever it was.
The card sat on the table. With a heavy sigh, she picked it up. The back of the card indicated the appointment time: eleven thirty. At M&T Bank. There’d been some joke about it, going to the ATM but the account was with M&T so nothing came out. Gwen had rejected it as too lame – You’d have to literally spell it out for a bar crowd… M&T... MT… empty… get it?
On the bus heading home, Madelyn wondered what excuse to have on hand so she could get out of the office in time, but didn’t care enough to flesh out a fib. She’d wing it.
Eight
Madelyn was torn between going into work early to put in extra time or meeting Gwen, as usual, at the coffee shop.
Evelyn would get over it. Madelyn went to the coffee shop.
No sooner did she sit at a table than Gwen arrived, bouncing with excitement. “I can’t wait to tell you. I have a gig!”
“A gig? Let’s hear everything.” If only she could share in her friend’s exuberance.
Breathless, Gwen threw her coat over the back of a chair and sat. “This is what I’ve been waiting for. What I’ve been practicing for. A real gig. On Friday night.”
“This Friday?” The timing couldn’t be more awful. She might not be in this world, let alone in town.
“Yes. At Just for Laughs. I still can’t believe it. Of all the people at open mike night, he asked me.” Me came out as a squeal. She giggled.
Madelyn tried to muster some enthusiasm. “That’s so great.” On some level, she was happy for Gwen; just because she couldn’t physically feel it didn’t mean she couldn’t express it.
Gwen descended from cloud nine for a moment. “Remind me to give you the extra pass, so you won’t have to pay the cover charge.”
“I don’t know.” They’d always been a two-person support system, one bolstering the other in times of need. This time, Gwen might be better off without her; she might bring bad luck upon her friend.
“You have to come.” Excitement threatened to bubble over into a frenzied whine.
How could Madelyn say no? “I won’t let anything stand in my way.” If she had to break her promise, it was just one more sin to add to the list.
Madelyn asked more questions as they walked to the Whitney Center, details about what the comedy club manager said to Gwen, how he chose her out of how many others who auditioned. Besides being a show of support, it also acted as a diversion. The more Gwen focused on her gig, the less chance she’d ask what was new with Madelyn. She hadn’t told Gwen anything about meeting him the first time, let alone everything that happened afterward.
Madelyn stopped by Evelyn’s office and said she had a dental appointment at eleven and would take an early lunch; even the Doberman couldn’t argue with that excuse, though she did bare her teeth a little.
The morning passed too quickly. Having no emotions afforded Madelyn a clarity in approaching her work she’d never had before, and her efficiency nearly doubled.
With no particular reason to be at the bank at eleven, she browsed through the brochures in the lobby and tried to look interested in the certificate of deposit rates and the savings options. Miniature smiling scarecrows adorned various countertops, some holding dishes brimming with lollipops and wrapped chocolates. She contemplated whether she should ask for a consultation so she didn’t look so out of place, but then she’d probably end up opening an account to make her cover realistic. She had enough trouble managing one bank account.
Strands of autumn leaves strung across the entryway ruffled in the breeze as the doors opened. A man walked past in a vaguely familiar ratlike way.
“Bobby?” she asked without thinking it through. Now was not the time to socialize.
In high school, Bobby Schmutz had been outcast from every possible social group. Madelyn wondered if having an unfortunate last name that rhymed with putz and clutz and could be stretched to dunce when the others became too repetitive had contributed to his foray into loner-hood. She couldn’t remember if he’d dropped out of school altogether, or had just disappeared from everyone’s notice.
In agitated surprise, he turned. He searched her face and recognition appeared to set in. “Hi.”
At least she had an excuse now to linger. “How have you been? What are you up to?” She hoped he’d say that high school geekdom had paid off later in entrepreneurial riches, but he appeared just as down and out now, with a backpack slung over his shoulder. So beat up, it might be the same one he carried in high school.
“I’m not up to nothin’. I’m fine.” His social skills hadn’t evolved either.
<
br /> His neck jerked in a rooster-like way as he glanced from her to the guard to the tellers. He adjusted the strap of the backpack and shuffled his feet.
She wanted to grab his arms to steady him, but that would involve touching him. “That’s good. Me, too. I’ve been good.” Thanks for asking.
He looked toward the counter, where two tellers smiled at their customers, then to the street, as if he wished he’d already traversed the landscape.
Just standing there felt awkward, but at least the appearance of a conversation lent credence to her presence. “What are you up to these days? Are you married? Have kids?”
“Nothing. It was good to see you. You’re on your way out, right?” He glanced at the doorway, where a security camera pointed inside.
Now she had to make up a lie for Bobby. She was never good at impromptu lies. “Actually, no, I’m…”
He leaned close, his voice low. “Look, just go. All right? Get out now. Don’t ask any questions.” His stale cigarette breath made her want to cough.
Bobby was average in every way – medium height, medium build. The color of his clothes defied description. Everything about him was nondescript. Except his seriousness. His eyes, normally a dull grey with no sparkle to them, were dark and depthless; something in his demeanor contained an aura of menace never before apparent. Something similar to the shadowy figure that had been showing up in all the wrong places lately.
But with Bobby, desperation lurked beneath its surface.
She touched his arm. “No. Don’t do this, Bobby.” Words came from her mouth, but she didn’t know from where. “You can turn your life around. This will only lead to jail and then what? It’ll take years to get out. Just walk away. Now. Please.”
His brows knit in confusion, then furrowed in anger He shuffled his feet, and his head jerked as he quickly searched each corner of the room. “Who told you? Did Anthony call you?”
Madelyn struggled to recall an Anthony, but couldn’t.
“Geez. I tell him years ago I had a crush on you, and he uses it against me. He’s gone too far this time. Goddammit!”
Bobby’s voice carried across the hush of the bank’s interior and a few customers turned toward them. He reached inside his jacket, and yanked something over his head. He’d transformed into a rubbery-faced George W. Bush. Or maybe it was Alfred E. Neuman; the distinction was never clear.
He stepped behind Madelyn and yanked her to his chest. He waved a gun as he dragged her further inside the bank.
“Everybody on the floor! Hands where I can see them! Except you.” He pointed the revolver at a woman behind the counter. “You empty all the drawers into this backpack. Nobody else better move a muscle. Understand?” His voice wavered, and his swagger held less confidence now, making his menace slightly less convincing.
The teller moved from station to station, emptying the four drawers, then shoved the backpack across the counter toward him. Dragging Madelyn along, he shuffled toward it and peered inside.
Desperation wiped out the last trace of menace. “That’s it? You gotta be kidding me.” His hold on Madelyn relaxed. As imperceptibly as possible, she stepped to one side.
The woman hastened to explain, “Most transactions are electronic now. They’re just numbers in cyberspace. Not real cash.”
The alarm buzzed. A frenzied Bobby yelled at them, “I told you not to do that!”
The security guard scrambled to his feet as he unholstered his gun and pointed it at Bobby, whose only reaction was a whimper.
Madelyn moved in front of Bobby. “No! Don’t shoot!”
Tires squealed outside as two police cars careened to a stop in front of the building at crazy angles, their doors flying open as if choreographed.
Bobby/George groaned, “Oh God, no.”
Two officers rushed through the doors, guns drawn and aimed at him. “Drop it, W!”
She spread her arms in front of him. “He’ll surrender!” She said over her shoulder, “Put your gun down, Bobby. Nice and slow.”
He sniffed. An agonized moan escaped him, as if he might cry.
“Do it,” she urged. “Now.” She knew how pathetic he was, but the police focused on one thing: his weapon.
“Aw, geez.” He set the revolver on the counter in front of the teller. The policemen rushed forward, reached around Madelyn. They forced him to the ground and yanked his arms behind his back to handcuff him. The mask smiled, as oblivious as always. One of the officers recited Bobby his rights as they pulled him to his feet and dragged the mask from his head. Already he had the look of a condemned man as the police flanked his sides and marched him out to the car.
Madelyn felt shaky as she moved with the other customers to the window to watch as the officers shoved Bobby into the back seat of the nearest cruiser. His expression was desolately void as he looked at the bank. The cars sped off, lights flashing.
A woman – one of the bank employees, Madelyn thought – touched her arm. “Are you all right, honey?”
Madelyn shivered. “Yes, thanks. I’m fine.” Others might debate that.
A man jotted notes as he spoke to the security guard, who pointed at Madelyn. He pointed his digital camera at her and shot, then approached.
“Oh, not again.” If only she could disappear. But maybe she’d learn that trick sooner than she would like.
Nine
After work, Madelyn went to Sal and Al’s and sat at a window table. Just outside, her miniature wincing face leered back at her from within the Evening Gazette newspaper box. With a sigh, she lifted her coffee cup, wondering when the tremor would leave her hands.
He pushed open the door and flashed her a broad smile. “You’re here.”
Warmth flushed through her as he walked toward her and sat in the chair opposite hers. He hadn’t summoned her with a card or in any tangible means, but she felt summoned nonetheless.
“I was hoping you’d come.” Her nerves rattled inside her skin, like aftershocks following today’s earthquake.
“What’s wrong?” His hands enveloped hers atop the table, so warm she wanted to crawl inside his coat and wrap herself around him. If she had to disappear at all, that was her choice of conveyance.
Shamed, she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. “I didn’t stop him.”
“But you tried.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze and leaned closer. “That’s what counts.”
“None of this makes sense.” She searched his eyes for a clue, but grew distracted by his Disney-prince beauty.
“Who’s to say what’s sensible?” His tone was light as he pulled out another card. “Here.”
She frowned at it and left it on the table. “I don’t think I can.” Fear had paralyzed her, but not only for herself; she feared her potentially negative impact on those around her.
His soft, deep voice lulled her. “None of us know what we’re capable of. Until the moment of truth.” He winked.
She read the card as he stood. “Wait. This is for tomorrow night. Halloween night.”
“Yes.” He tugged his coat across his chest.
“Nine o’clock at Just for Laughs. I’m going to be there anyway.” This had to be more than a coincidence. Dread filled her.
He grinned. “Then it’s no inconvenience.”
Madelyn scrambled from her seat, gripping the card. “But it’s Gwen’s first real comedy gig. She’s opening for a semi-famous guy, who’s actually been on Letterman.”
“That’s wonderful.” The gist of it escaped him, apparently. Maybe comedy wasn’t big down there.
She poked the card at his coat. “Nothing bad can happen there.”
“It’ll be fine. You’ll see.” His hands briefly rested on her shoulders, and her verbal skills escaped through a hidden tunnel in her head. No other arguments came to mind, though she’d inadequately explained the situation.
Unlike last time, his strides toward the door were leisurely. He paused to look at her, then walked out.
The waitr
ess walked by with a pot of coffee. “Sweetie? Are you feeling all right?”
If all right included dejection, then she was dandy. “Yes, thanks. Sorry about that.”
Her dimples deepened as she smiled. “You must be a bundle of nerves. You were in the newspaper again – you were so brave! Did you see today’s Gazette, Al?” She pointed her grating voice toward the alcove leading to the kitchen. “Our Madelyn’s a hero. She stopped a bank robbery. And saved the robber, too. Two good deeds in one day!”
She didn’t know when she became their Madelyn, but it sounded kind of nice. “It was nothing. Just being in the right place at the right time.” He’d said that. “Or the wrong time.”
Al waddled out of the kitchen, his white apron full of stains, wiping his hands on a rag. “A hero, eh? Then she can order whatever she wants, on the house. What tickles your fancy, hon?”
A loaded question, if she ever heard one. Possibly another test.
She protested against any special favors, but the waitress insisted. Sally, her nametag read. Sal. And Al. She’d never stopped to put it all together, although she’d come to Sal and Al’s Coffee Shop almost every day for a year.
Sally wheedled the name of Madelyn’s favorite dessert, then sent her home with takeout tiramisu. “If you’re too tired tonight, save it ‘til tomorrow. It just gets better. But don’t wait too long.”
No, waiting too long would mean missing out on all sorts of good things.
She thanked them and said good night as she put on her coat.
“You be careful going home,” Sal said. “You never know what kind of kooks are out there.”
All too well, she did know. She didn’t tell Sal this.
Once safe at home, she decided there was no time like the present. After changing into her pajamas, she climbed under the covers, Styrofoam container and plastic fork in hand.
“This tiramisu is amazing.” The best she’d ever tasted. Something about it felt comforting; maybe because of Sal’s generosity and her genuine concern. The coffee shop was no longer just a place to get a good cup of coffee. It was Madelyn’s little community. She shared a morsel with Brutus, who purred.
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