by Jesse Joren
I went right for my early favorite, the midnight blue number. It was simple and elegant, and I was on my way to being in love as I slipped it over my head.
Something was wrong with the dress. It stuck above my breasts, and no way the zipper would close. Maybe it could be forced, but the seams would be in danger and breathing wouldn't be an option.
"If you need anything, let me know," the saleslady said with a discreet knock on the door.
"This was marked wrong," I said. "Can I please get another one of these in a nine?" I passed the faulty dress back to her.
"Of course. I'll be right back."
On to the other choices. Any of them would look good, but something told me that when the blue one came back, it was the winner. It wouldn't hurt to see how the others looked too.
I had at least a dozen pretty dresses to try on. After a moment, I realized that something was very wrong.
None of the dresses fit. Not a single one.
All of them were too small or too tight, binding in places they should have fit perfectly. My fingers moved faster and faster, pulling apart zippers and buttons that refused to close once the dresses were on me.
Soon there was a sea of discarded fabric around me. All of the dresses were crumpled into a shimmering pool, with the occasional buckle or bead catching the overhead lights.
Confused, I stood there in my bra and panties trying to figure it out. This was a fabric-scented nightmare, holding me hostage as "The Girl From Ipanema" melted through hidden speakers.
The saleslady's tap startled me. I opened the door, but it was Natalie standing there, holding the same blue dress I'd sent back. She gave me a level look.
All at once, I knew why she hesitated when I mentioned going shopping. It was the same truth I saw mutely reflected in the pile of rejected dresses at my feet.
I wasn't a single-digit size. Not even close. I was surrounded by mounds of proof that everything I'd believed about myself since Walden was a fraud.
Chapter Forty-Eight
"How long have you known?" I asked.
We were sitting almost knee-to-knee in the dressing room, the incriminating dresses re-hung and mocking me. I had been quiet for a long time, long enough for the saleslady to return twice to check on us.
"I wondered for a while," Natalie admitted, "but it was just a hunch. When I saw the clothes in your closet, I was pretty sure they weren't the right size."
My mind ticked back to the night I'd spilled my guts about Hex over pizza and booze. There had been a moment when she almost said something, then seemed to change her mind.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"What good would that do?" she retorted.
"It might have saved me from making a fool of myself," I said with a bitter little laugh. "Stella was right after all. I was parading around and pretending to be—"
"Pretending to be what? A hot, confident girl in nice clothes? That's what you are, or were until you came in this dressing room."
"If I'd known, I could have at least—"
"Gone back to being ashamed of yourself? What a shitty idea. If I thought for one second that you were making a fool of yourself, I'd tell you."
She paused. "Like now. You're being a fool right now."
Talk about kicking someone when they were down. Her words stung me right in my pride, but she reached out and touched my hand.
"I don't like Stephen's methods, but he knows you inside-out," she said. "He tricked you, and I kept quiet, so we're both guilty. When are you going to realize that you're the worst critic you'll ever have?"
"Why are you so fixated on small sizes?" she went on. "You're beautiful and smart and sexy. These last few weeks, he made you believe it too. That's why you get treated better."
She tapped the blue dress.
"This is perfect, a great cut for your body. It was just a guess, but I think the one I brought in here might be your real size."
For a moment I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall. What came to mind wasn't dresses, or Natalie's words, or even Hex. It was me, telling Stella to fuck off.
Other images came in quick succession. Peddling on that stupid bike for a whole morning in the Ritz gym. Slapping Peter and telling him to get in the floor. Sitting across from Del and seeing his admiration.
And Hex. Always there was Hex. From Paris to Walden, seeing the gleam in his eyes when he smiled at me.
The clothes and their sizes were a lie, but I wasn't. All of those things were pure Eva Bright, and no one made them happen but me. Maybe I could live myself, no matter what the size.
"I think that dress is a winner too," I said. "If you'll stop crowding me, I might even be able to try it on."
She grinned, stretching as she stood up.
"Good. I didn't burn vacation to sit around psychoanalyzing you. Let me see your shoes."
I pointed at my favorite pair of low-heeled suede boots. They were perfect with my brown slacks on this chilly day, but not exactly a match for the dress.
"You need better heels for full effect," she said. "Stay right here before you try it on. I'll be back."
She left the dressing room, closing the door behind her.
I ran my hands over the soft fabric of the dress, which was close to the same dark blue as my bra and panties. I almost turned the tag to see the size, but somehow I wasn't quite ready for that.
--
"I knew those heels were going to be perfect," Natalie gloated as I stood at the mirror outside the dressing rooms.
The dress fit me like it was made for me, hugging my body and flaring out above my knees. Natalie had reappeared with a pair of sexy Louboutins in the exact same shade as the dress. Sassy bows accentuated the sky-high heels, making me look almost tall.
"They're gorgeous," I said, "but there are lots of other shoes at home that will work. I can't afford these."
"Neither can I. Your boyfriend or whatever you call him is going to reimburse me. You have to get these. They're perfect."
"I agree," the saleslady said, running a practiced glance from my hair to my shoes. "That color and those lines are perfect on you."
My mind returned to that night at Ro, weeks ago, when Dani had helped me into a gold designer dress. This was nowhere close in quality, but somehow it was even better.
A low whistle made me look toward the aisle. Two high school guys were loping past us. Both of them craned their necks to watch me as they passed.
"Two of us and two of you," one of them called. "Wanna meet up over at the food court?"
"Good God," Natalie muttered. "Get out of that dress."
"Sorry," I called. "Gotta go back to work. Thanks, though."
He made an exaggerated I-tried shrug, both of them waving as they went along. I waved back, and my ego wasn't offended at all. Not one little bit.
The motion of my wave caught the string with the dangling size tag. I turned it over.
Size 14.
I was back to the size I'd always been before the whole Brody and Michael mess. I'd never been a pixie, even as a kid.
No big deal, right?
No. It was no big, hairy, plus-sized deal.
"Thank you," I said to Natalie, but I wasn't just talking about the dress.
"Thank me by shutting up about your size, please," she said with a grin.
Hex had tricked me again, but now I understood why. My fears about the conversation with Roy McLeod suddenly seemed stupid. At every turn, Hex had showed love in ways that were sometimes strange, but always in my best interests.
Tonight, I would tell him about this shopping trip, confessing also about my secret searches on him. I would tell him everything, and then there would be nothing else for me to hide.
Chapter Forty-Nine
When I got back to work, the afternoon was pretty much gone. I wouldn't have gone back, but I realized that I'd left my phone in my office when I went shopping.
My coworkers were heading out to their cars, so I had no trouble getting a p
arking spot near the front. I was starting to love the Cayenne, but paying for my own ride should be my next step to independence. Maybe I could work out a payment plan.
Sure, if Hex gives you terms for about thirty years.
My dress was hanging in the backseat, and the sassy new shoes were nestled inside of the brown-with-white Louboutin box. Hex had an expensive afternoon, even if he didn't know it yet.
That made me grin as I pushed open the heavy glass door. Sarah, the night security guard, was already on duty.
I waved at her and started toward the elevators.
"Um, Eva, wait a minute," she called. "The police are here, and they want to talk to you. I've been calling your cell, but there was no answer."
"I left it here," I apologized. "Sure, I'll talk to them."
I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice. This Peter thing just wouldn't die. The police had called or visited me half a dozen times since my colorful morning at the coffee shop. It felt more like curiosity than police work.
That Vigilante Vixen business just wouldn't die.
Sarah pointed toward a corner of the lobby. A female Atlanta police officer was pacing the space.
"This is Eva," Sarah called, and the officer started toward me.
She was a little older than me, her tone brisk and professional. OFFICER ANDREWS was engraved on her badge, glinting against the black of her uniform.
"Evangeline Bright?" she asked formally.
I nodded, wondering how fast I could get rid of her.
"I'm Officer Andrews with the Atlanta Police Department. " She glanced at Sarah at the desk. "Let's step over there so we can speak privately."
She led me to an alcove partially hidden behind a huge ficus tree, lowering her voice.
"Are you a relative of Stephen Dante?" she asked.
Hearing his name on her lips startled me. "Yes, I know him."
What has he done now?
"May I see some ID, please?"
I fumbled out my driver's license. She gave it a quick glance and handed it back to me.
"And what is your relationship to the…to Mr. Dante?"
"His girlfriend. What is this about?"
"Ms. Bright," she said, "I'm very sorry to inform you that Mr. Dante has been involved in a car accident. He was carrying a card in his wallet that identified you as his emergency contact."
Hex.
Accident.
Emergency.
The entire lobby seemed to go on a spin cycle as the blood drained from my face. The officer put her hand on my arm.
"Ma'am, do you need to sit down?"
"No." My lips were cold and numb. "How bad?"
"He's trapped at the scene. We…it's not possible to move him. He asked for you, but he's in and out of consciousness."
Some part of me seemed to float above us, watching me take this news with a white, calm face. How could that girl be so still when she was screaming inside?
"Why can't you move him?" My voice was trembling.
The way she wouldn't meet my eyes terrified me. "The crew that responded said that moving him would be…they felt it was best to wait until you arrived. Can I call someone to drive you?"
"Where is he?" Inside my head that was a scream, but out loud it was nothing but a whisper.
"On I-75, at the exit from Hartfield."
"I'll follow you," I said. "Take me there."
"Ma'am, someone should drive you, for safety. We'll wait for them to pick you up, and they can follow—"
"There isn't time!" Now my voice really was a scream, making her step back.
"Ms. Bright, our procedure is—"
"Fuck your procedure. He's going to die while you spout regulations at me!"
Something about her stoic, struggling expression cut through the horror trying to swallow me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "Take me before it's too late. Please."
She sighed, motioning me to the door to the back parking lot.
"I'm going to catch so much shit for this," she said, "but I get it. If it was my boyfriend, I'd want someone to –"
Her words flowed around me without meaning. In my mind's eye, all I saw was Hex, watching me with a little smile in those amazing silvery eyes.
How long had he protected me, even from myself? Now he was bleeding on some highway, and I wasn't there to comfort him.
She didn't have to spell it out for me. Entrapment and not moving him meant he wasn't going to survive. Maybe he had already—
No. He couldn’t be taken from me without seeing him one more time. He couldn't leave me without a good-bye. The horror suddenly fell away from me. I felt cold and untouchable, but I had a plan.
I would be strong. I would hold him. I would say good-bye as best I could while curious strangers gawked.
After our farewell, I'd return to the Ritz and write notes to the people I still loved. I'd put out lots of food and water for Roxy, along with a note for Natalie.
Then I would soak in that decadent bathtub, surrounding myself with honeysuckle. The razor's kiss would go deep into both of my ankles, giving the water a rose-red stain.
It would be the last time I would release my pain.
Last time pays for all.
Chapter Fifty
Halfway back to Atlanta, a feeling of dread fell on me. There was no immediate reason for it. My business had gone without a hitch, and it was a smooth flight pattern.
It didn't matter. That feeling only grew worse.
Part of it was that Eva being alone made me uneasy. Even now, she didn't fully understand just how many bad things happen to pretty girls in a big city.
My gut feelings had been keeping me alive for a long time. By the time we landed at Hartsfield, that feeling of urgency was all over me.
"Someone lit your ass on fire," Marco observed as I grabbed my bag. "Tell Miss Paris hello from me."
Once I was driving, I called her. Six rings, then her voice message. That low, breathy tone always made me want to rip her clothes off.
She might be home by now, or she might be with Natalie. She might be sleeping. She might be taking a bath. She could be wrapping presents, or baking, or playing a video game, or reading.
Those things were all plausible, but instinct told me they were all wrong. Instead of going to the Ritz, I drove to her office.
The building was mostly deserted as a young security guard buzzed me into the building.
"I'm here to see Eva." The smile I gave her tended to be very effective on women of any age. "Can you point me to her office?"
"She's not here," she said.
"I thought I saw her car."
"She left with the cops. I don't know when they'll be back, but you're welcome to wait."
Her eyes crawled over me with bright interest.
Eva said she needed privacy and trust. I had tried to respect that.
Fuck privacy. All bets were off now.
It had been second nature to map the security camera locations as I walked in. This system would take no time to break.
I leaned over the counter, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial tone.
"Why did she go with the police –" my eyes flicked to her name tag "—Sarah? Do you know?"
She leaned toward me, her eyes bright and eager.
"I couldn't help overhearing some of it," she said, telling me she'd heard every word. "Someone she knew had an accident that sounded pretty bad. The cop told Eva to have someone drive her there, but she said that…wait a minute."
She reached under the desk and brought out a light, bulky envelope marked EVA BRIGHT in block letters.
"I almost forgot. A guy came in few minutes later and gave me this. He said Eva wanted to leave it, in case someone came to pick her up."
She gave me the envelope. No request for identification, not even asking my name. Whoever ran security here needed to get their shit together.
"Thanks," I said, walking out.
Rage kindled inside of me, red-hot and ice-co
ld all at once. I ripped open the envelope, and something dark blue dropped to the pavement.
It looked like a pair of Eva's panties. I pressed them to my face, and yes, they were definitely hers. A white flutter of paper was partially trapped underneath.
It was a crumpled receipt from a gas station. A brief note had been written on the back in cheap blue ink.
I like this pretty little weakness of yours.
Nice panties. Nicer ass.
Want to play?
You know I always win.
There was no signature. None was needed.
My promise to give Eva privacy went against all of my instincts. Now the price of that decision might have cost me everything.
Eva wasn't missing, and she wasn't dead yet. Instead, she was at the mercy of my worst enemy.
NOVEMBER 30
Chapter Fifty-One
Pain.
Intense, red-clawed pain fished me out of the darkness. My head throbbed, and my body was cold as it bounced from side to side.
It took me a long time to realize that I was on my side in what felt like the trunk of a car. My hands were bound behind me, and something heavy was thrown over me. The rough texture touching my skin told me that my clothes were gone.
Hex?
Was this some extra-twisted fantasy, some overlooked page of The Book of Eva? The pain in my head and my chafed wrists said not. Hex would never hurt me like this, even during a scene.
Unless Roy McLeod was right.
It was hard to focus. The last thing I remembered was the female officer directing me to a police cruiser. As I was climbing in, something hit the back of my head.
Then I remembered why I was getting into that car.
Hex, trapped and dying somewhere on I-75. Me, trying to get to him before he slipped away.
Remembering this made the swimming grayness return. Instead of resisting, I welcomed anything to take away the pain.
--
Someone was shaking me, none too gently. This time the sleep had been lighter, with the grogginess receding much faster.
I tried to take stock before opening my eyes. I was sitting, and now I was almost too warm. My mouth still felt sandy and dry, but the pain in my head had slowed from a stampede to a trot.