Abandon All Hope

by M. J. Schiller

  Not totally understanding why she did it, she threw herself down on the couch and sobbed. All the emotions she had been going through since Jack Delaney uttered Chase’s name came rolling up from deep inside her. Her anxiety over seeing him again; the passion he stirred when she had first laid eyes on him, when they had danced, when they had kissed; the doubts and fears; the anger over the past and over catching Phillip with Liz; her confusion over which road to take; her shock on discovering everything she believed to be true on prom night was false; the ecstasy of making love to him; and finally, the pain of watching him leave on the plane—all these things took possession of her and shattered her into a thousand pieces.

  Her apartment, which had been so full of him hours before, now seemed too empty. She could still smell him, but not feel his arms around her. The ache she felt now seemed familiar, bringing her back to the time after her prom night. Her heart cried out for him, but there was no answer. She had never felt so alone.

  * * *

  Hope blinked open her eyes. She was lying on the couch on her stomach, an arm trailing the ground. Her eyes were stinging and there was a ringing noise somewhere. What was it? She heard Chase’s voice on the answering machine. She dove for the phone, knocking it to the floor, then falling off the couch as she scrambled after it.

  “Hope? Hope? Are you there?”

  “Yes, Chase! I’m here. Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” His voice sounded happy. “We just touched down, so I called you as per your instructions.”

  “God, you sound sexy over the phone.”

  “Don’t toy with me, Hope. I’m two thousand miles away.”

  “Oh, Chase! This is so much harder than I thought it would be.”

  His voice was soft. “I know, babe, but we’ll be together soon.”

  There was a long pause.

  “I got your flowers. They are breathtaking!”

  “Just like you.”

  “They made me cry. It was so thoughtful—” Her voice caught.

  “They’re not supposed to make you cry.”

  “I know.” She reached for a tissue and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

  “I’m looking forward to that game of miniature golf.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Hal’s here. I better go. Good night, Hope. I love you.”

  “Will you call me tomorrow?”

  “Every day.”

  “Okay. Good night.” She listened until she heard the phone disconnect, then hung it up. She sat, simply breathing in and breathing out for several minutes. I will get this article. I will get it done quickly. I will see Chase soon.

  She marched over to the bar between the kitchen and the living room, and snapped open her laptop. Her fingers clattered over the keyboard as she pulled up every scrap of information she could access on Vasculli and Mulrooney. She needed an in somehow. Picture after picture splashed across the screen of Antonio Vasculli with one beautiful woman after another. So, he was a womanizer. Maybe she could use that to her advantage.

  But how to meet him? She had met Chase in school, Phillip at work; she didn’t know much about picking up men. She studied the pictures and stories over and over until her eyes burned from being in front of the computer screen. She got up and poured herself a glass of wine. It was well after midnight and her brain hurt.

  She wondered what Chase was doing right then. It was ten something out there… Had he turned in early? He had already sent her his tour itinerary by email. Tomorrow he would be in Seattle. Hang in there, Hope. You’ve waited eight years. You can wait another couple of days.

  With determination, she sat back down at the computer. She scrolled over the pictures again. After a few minutes, she sat up excitedly. Two of the pictures were taken outside of the same hotel. She scrolled down some more, there was another one. Over half of the pictures turned out to be in front of the same hotel, The Del Murrow. She sat back. She would go there tomorrow. She would go there and…and…she would pray for inspiration.

  She shut down the computer and peeled off her sweater, throwing it carelessly on the couch and ambling into the bathroom. She washed her face, slipped out of her jeans, and fell into bed without even changing into pajamas. She inhaled deeply. She could smell Chase here. She reached over tiredly and turned off the lamp. An hour later, after tossing and turning, and turning and tossing, she got out of bed. She switched on her compact disc player. Chase’s voice filled the room. She laid down her head, and fell asleep.

  At six o’clock, the phone rang.

  “Hey!”

  “Chase!”

  “Were you up?”

  She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Yes.” She took a glimpse at the clock. “What are you doing up? It’s like 4 a.m. there.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  She slid down in bed. “Gosh, it feels good to hear your voice! Although you sang me to sleep.”

  “I did?” He yawned. “I don’t remember.”

  “No, silly! I played one of your albums.”

  “Oh!” He yawned again. “Maybe you should sing to me,” he mumbled.

  “Oh no. Singing is your thing.”

  “Then just talk to me. Tell me how much you love me.”

  She smiled. “I do love you, Chase. I love the way you make me laugh. I love the way I feel with you. It’s like I’ve found my home.” She closed her eyes. “I love the way you look at me. And the way you touch me. Chase?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “When do you have to get up?”

  “In a few hours.”

  “Go to sleep, honey.”

  “I think I can now. Hope?”

  “Um-hum?”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Good night, Chase.”

  She heard the soft click of the connection being cut off. She hung up her phone, and tossed it carelessly on the bed next to her. She turned over, letting the sunlight bathe her face. The beach towel had slid off the curtain rod in the night; she would have to fix it later, but right now, the sunshine felt glorious. She slid out of bed, taking the sheet with her, just in case her nosy neighbor was on the roof next door. She filled up her beloved claw-foot tub, and soaked her body, thinking about Chase.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  She ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner at The Del Murrow’s upscale restaurant, 5 East, for three days, but didn’t see Antonio Vasculli. It was killing her to continue to pay those outrageous prices for food, but she put her time in, hoping against hope he would show up one day. On the fourth day, he walked in at lunchtime. Her heart skipped a beat as he sauntered past her table. She was racking her brain for what to do next when a young man approached her.

  “Excuse me, but aren’t you Hope Creswell?”

  “Why, yes,” she answered in surprise.

  The man waved his hand, and in a blink, a photographer stood at his side snapping pictures of her. She put up her hand; the flash was blinding.

  “Isn’t it true you are involved with Chase Hatton? How did you two meet? Is it true you dated in high school?”

  He fired off questions so rapidly she wasn’t able to even formulate a response.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I believe you are interrupting the lady’s meal,” a voice said pointedly.

  “Uh…we’re sorry,” the reporter said, his voice a little shaky. He and the photographer scampered off.

  Her eyes adjusted and she found Antonio Vasculli standing by her table. He wore an expensive, dark business suit with a snazzy gray and red tie. His jet black hair was slicked back neatly, and his dark, clear complexion set off his brilliant, white teeth, reminding her oddly of a shark. His face was handsome, with strong features and deep chocolate eyes, and he appeared to be in his mid-thirties. She was surprised to find he was better looking than his pictures made him out to be. He gave the impression of a man who knew how to work hard to get what he wanted, and would never accept anything less. “Are you okay, Miss?” he asked politely.

  “Umm…yes, I think
so.”

  He started to leave, but she put a hand on his arm. “Thank you so much.”

  His hand covered hers. “Not a problem. I hate to see a lady in trouble. Is your boyfriend going to be joining you?” He motioned to the chair across from her.

  “No. No, actually. I’ve just been waiting for a girlfriend, but I think she must have forgotten about our date.” She looked around for her “girlfriend” for show.

  “What a shame. Maybe you would consent to join me, then?”

  She smiled up at him. “I think I’d like that.”

  Antonio pulled out her chair for her, and placed a hand on her back. His hand fell on her bare skin, below where the straps of her white sundress crisscrossed over her shoulder blades. She shivered slightly. He pulled a chair out for her, and then sat down across the table.

  “You’re not waiting for someone?” she queried.

  “No. Actually, I eat here frequently by myself, so your company is welcome. I’m not much of a cook.”

  She nodded. “Well, I guess I should introduce myself.” She held out her hand. “I’m Hope Creswell.”

  He took her hand, covering it with his other hand. “Antonio Vasculli. So, you are Hope, Chase Hatton’s girlfriend. I recognize you from the pieces of the video they have been showing on the news. I can’t wait to see the whole thing.”

  “Oh no,” she said quickly. “Chase and I are not seeing each other.”

  “No? But I assumed from his acceptance speech—”

  “Oh, that was just a sort of…inside joke.” She thought quickly. She had heard it said the best lies contain some portion of the truth. “Chase and I did date in high school. But I caught him cheating on me the night of senior prom.” She took a sip of water. “I was recently assigned to do a story on him, up until a few days ago I worked for The Chicago Globe News, and got talked into shooting a video with him. Things got a little…hot, on the set, but I would never have anything to do with him again after what he did to me.”

  Vasculli listened attentively. “And he mentioned you in his speech, because…?”

  She feigned embarrassment. “I don’t know why, exactly. Because he knew the press would hound me, I guess, I’m not sure. In high school—you have to remember I was only seventeen or eighteen—I asked him to write me a love song. His saying he wrote all of his love songs for me was a way to, I don’t know, take a jab at me, to embarrass me or something.”

  The waiter appeared at her side. Antonio gave his order, handed the waiter his menu, and looked at her. She gave her order, but after the waiter left, she said, “Breakfast is on me”—he raised a hand in protest—“to thank you for sending that reporter away. He caught me off guard, I guess.”

  “It was my pleasure. My mother would be ashamed of me if she found out I didn’t come to the aid of a woman in need. And I insist on buying breakfast. Not feeding a beautiful lady, such as yourself, would also be ungallant of me.”

  She blushed, taking another sip of her water. “You are anything but ungallant.”

  “Thank you.” He took a drink of his water, too. “You said you worked for The Globe?”

  “Yes. Just a small-time reporter/photographer, doing family-centered pieces. Apparently too small-time, as the boss let me go last week. That, and I was…involved, with someone on the staff, and I had just broken up with him.”

  “Do you think that had something to do with it?”

  “Possibly. I know it’s not smart to get involved in workplace romances. Sometimes I just…get carried away, I guess.” She gazed at him meaningfully and she saw a spark in his eyes. Maybe playing up the nympho role would be beneficial.

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “I haven’t quite decided. Maybe something with my photography. But enough about me, Mr. Vasculli, what—”

  “Tony, please.”

  “Tony. What do you do for a living?”

  “Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that,” he answered vaguely. “I mostly own things. Shipping lines, construction companies, real estate… pretty boring stuff.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” she commented as their food arrived. “That must be a lot to manage.”

  “It can be,” he admitted. “That’s why I allow for plenty of time to entertain myself,” he added suggestively.

  A shrill noise issued from his side of the table. Apologizing, he leaned over and lifted a leather briefcase onto the table. He opened it, fished out the whistling, vibrating cell phone, and answered it.

  “Antonio Vasculli. Yes, Robert, would you hold one minute?” He covered the phone with his hand. “I’m sorry, it’s business. I’ll be right back.” He stepped out into the lobby.

  She stared at the briefcase. She could hear Antonio’s loud voice in the distance, though she could not make out what he was saying. A folder stuck out of the briefcase. She glanced over her shoulder. Antonio stood by a tall planter with his back to her. She leaned across the table to get a peek at the writing exposed on the folder. She made out the letters R.M. on the tab. Could it stand for Robert Mulrooney? The briefcase had a combination lock, but hadn’t he just opened it without turning the numbers? Maybe it was still unlocked. She reached a hand tentatively toward the release.

  “I hope you didn’t miss me too much,” came a deep voice from behind her. She froze, her heart skipping a beat. As he moved around her shoulder, he noticed her hand on his briefcase.

  “I was just noticing this lovely briefcase. I have to admit, I was tempted to smell it. I have a thing for the smell of leather.”

  “Do you, now?” Her host seemed to take this as a sign of some appealing perversity. “I’m sorry, Hope. But I have to go. Trouble on one of the sites.”

  “Oh!” she said, pretending to be disappointed. “Well, I guess a man like you doesn’t get to relax much.”

  “On the contrary, I make it my point to relax. Would you consider relaxing with me at dinner on Friday night?”

  She waited a beat, letting him think she was considering his proposal. “I’m not sure; I just got out of a relationship…”

  “But you are tempted, no?”

  She smiled. “Sorely.”

  “Be here Friday at seven. Oh, and wear a nice dress, if you can. They have dancing.” And with that, he was gone. She congratulated herself on a job well done, and headed home.

  * * *

  Hope could hear the phone ringing as she tried to unlock the door. Thinking it might be Chase, she scrambled to get inside. Leaving the keys in the door, she dove for the receiver, flopping on the couch as she answered.

  “Hey, babe!” His voice sounded fantastic.

  “Hey, stranger. How’s it going?” Her smile radiated from within.

  “Good. Except I’m missing the lady in my life.”

  “Oh!” She groaned. “I miss you, too.”

  “So why don’t you come out and see me?”

  “What? Just hop on a plane and fly out to…where are you, now?”

  “Toronto.”

  “Just fly to Toronto to see you?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I don’t know. It just seems kind of…extravagant.”

  “Hope, I’ve got the money, and dammit, I want to see you!”

  “I want to see you too, honey, I do. I’ve been thinking of you constantly. And sleeping in our bed, or not sleeping, to be more accurate, is about killing me.”

  “Our bed?”

  She played with a piece of fuzz on the couch, laying on her stomach and kicking her feet up behind her. “Did I say that?”

  “You did.”

  “Hmmm. I guess I think of it that way now.”

  “Really? What are you wearing, by the way?” he asked suggestively.

  A slow smile grew on her face. She kicked off her shoes as she answered, unbuttoning her sweater and shrugging it off. “A black teddy and thigh-high fishnet stockings.”

  “Oooh! I hope those beach towels are still up.”

  She glan
ced over to the windows where the light was streaming in. She had taken them down for Mr. Mewford, so he could still watch the pigeons strutting around on the ledge outside, taunting him, and bathe in the swath of rectangular sunlight on her warmed oak floors. I need to put those back up, she thought absently. “What are you wearing?”

  “Not a stitch.”

  “Oooh! You’re killing me!”

  “So, come out here then.”

  “Honey, I wish I could, but I’m working on this story and I can’t—”

  “What story? I thought you were fired?”

  She grimaced. “I just want to write one more story, as a freelancer.”

  “What kind of story?”

  “Uh…” She knew he would worry if she told him she was investigating someone who almost definitely had mob connections. “A story about a politician.” Part truth, part lie, this was getting easier. “Anyway, I’m meeting with one of his associates on Friday. Hopefully, I’ll get all of my information then and I’ll be able to come out there.”

  “So, what are you doing until Friday?”

  “Research, mainly.”

  “Research, which could be done in, say…Toronto?”

  She smiled. “You’re relentless.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “I could have the jet fueled and ready to go in an hour.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  He sighed.

  Mewford jumped up on the couch with a loud meow.

  “How’s Mr. Mewford?”

  “You heard that?” Hope was petting her friend while he kneaded on her chest. “He’s great! How’s Hal?”

  “Hal is thrilled that we worked things out, absolutely thrilled. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so excited…except when we hit platinum.” He paused. “He misses you terribly, though.”

  She could tell he was angling, again, for her to come, and the worst part was, she wanted to. She wanted to badly. She wanted to give it all up and run into his arms. But she knew this was something she had to see through to the end. She giggled. “In that case, I’ll be on the next plane.”