In Time to Love

by Gloria Martin

  I’m not the only one confused—the clerk also has to think twice before typing the name in. “Okay, Thomas D. Figaro,” she says, searching the system. “I’m sorry, miss, no Mr. Figaro either.”

  “Okay, no problem,” Gloria says, squeezing the space between her eyebrows. “Oh, will you try Roy Denum?”

  This must be some kind of joke, I think. Does Denver really go by so many aliases? Maybe that’s just part of the billionaire lifestyle, who am I to tell?

  The clerk types it in with out saying anything, and then her eyes perk up. “Okay, here we do have a Mr. Roy Denum,” she says finally. “It says here that all of Mr. Denum’s information is to remain confidential, so I apologize for the inconvenience.”

  I did not put the right make up on for this kind of day. Never did I expect to be at the hotel again, let alone learning that Denver’s life is much more complicated than I could have imagined.

  “If it says that all of his information is confidential,” Gloria goes on, “then it also says whomever tells you that his password is Divided Orange Three will be immediately granted access to his whereabouts.”

  Suddenly I feel like I’m stuck in a 007 movie, or a videogame, or something. Just the other day I was a sous-chef at a reputable restaurant, and then a billionaire ate there and everything got turned upside down. I’m standing in a hotel lobby that would be zeroes and zeroes out of my price range, and Gloria’s got the secret password to at least one of Denver’s secret identities. Divided Orange Three. I don’t know if I should remember that or pretend I never heard it.

  The clerk swallows hard, apparently trying to make the same decision as me. “Yes, that note does appear on Mr. Denum’s file,” she says. “I will have the concierge escort you to his room.”

  “Has he checked out?” Gloria asks.

  “No, he has not,” she says.

  That doesn’t make sense, I think. He was gone when I woke up this morning. Maybe he went back? I’m obviously clueless—I didn’t even know I was staying in a room registered to someone name Roy Denum. It sounds like a name pulled out of an old detective show. I make a mental note to search it on the internet later.

  The concierge comes around the desk, and I exhale with relief to see that it’s a different one from last night. I don’t know what I would have done. Someone still might recognize me. It’s just best to keep my eyes low and only respond when Gloria speaks to me. Once we’re in the elevator, I’m pretty sure both the concierge and Gloria are suspicious of my heavy breathing. I also believe I’m sweating through my shirt.

  The elevator dings open and the concierge leads us out. Denver’s door is close to the elevator, and in moments we’ll be at the room. All because Gloria has secret access to him. I envy what she has over me, and while I’m nervous about where Denver is, I can’t get my mind off of how much I want that kind of access.

  *****

  As we enter the luxury suite, I’m instantly taken back to last night. I even smell a hint of my apricot lotion. Oh my god, I think, I’m wearing it today. Gloria will know I was here.

  “Here you are, ladies,” the concierge says, closing the door behind him. Gloria steps forward, leaving me in the doorway. How is one supposed to act when they’re in a place that they said they’ve never been to? I pretend to look around like Gloria is, basically mimicking her.

  “Denver, are you here?” she calls out. No response. The bed hasn’t been made since I left it, and there are no signs of clothing or leftovers from last night. That’s the first thing I check for.

  However, she doesn’t waste her time—she goes right for the bed and reaches into her handbag. From the handbag she withdraws a small black stick, and when she turns it on a purple light emits from it. Oh no, I think. Is that a black light? I would have maybe checked the gigantic bathroom, closet, or kitchenette first.

  She hovers the little black stick over the pillowcases and the sheets. Her face twists when the light stumbles upon a bright glowing splotch—and it just happens to be the spot where I was sitting when Denver finished all over my chest. Some must have went rogue and landed in the sheets. Then again, I kind of passed out right afterward, so some might have accidentally gotten on the linen.

  Whoops.

  “There’s no doubt,” Gloria says. “He was here last night and he was with a woman. The question is which woman.” I don’t think my heart has ever beat so hard before. I want to just confess to her, it would make this so much easier—but I want last night to be my secret. I want it to stay between Denver and I.

  “Who do you think it could have been?” I ask, trying not to show that my lip is trembling.

  “Well, Jill didn’t leave last night,” Gloria says. Why does her mind go straight to Jill? “Mae Lin was in the office, and I was at the mansion. The only other woman he would have been with is you.”

  This is all happening really fast—all these deductions. If her process of elimination is based on the four of us, does that mean that he casually sleeps with the three of them?

  Oh, and don’t forget, Tara, I think, Gloria just told you that the last chef was poisoned.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie. I can play poker like this, I grew up in Cleveland, after all. “And to be honest with you I’m kind of offended that you even say that. I barely know the man and am coming out of a very fucked up, but very serious relationship.” My finger is pointing all over the place to emphasize my anger. While I do feel offended, it would be a joke to call my relationship with Dominic serious or fucked up.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I just assumed that he might be with you because you’re on contract.”

  “Wrong,” I say. “I’m not ‘on contract’ yet, and frankly I don’t even really know what all this means. To be real, it’s pretty nasty to pull out that little pen and look for his bodily fluids like that.” My objective here is to get her to put it away, because I’m sweating the possibility of it exploiting my secretion from last night as well. Lord knows there are several places she could look.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” she says, putting it back in her handbag. “It is wrong of me to assume. But by now if you haven’t signed it, then at least you have some idea of what’s going on, and it doesn’t hurt to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “So all of you sleep with him?” I ask. It’s the last thing I wanted to say, and I pray it doesn’t let on the fact that Denver and I were together last night.

  “No, all of us don’t sleep with him,” she hisses. Now the tables have turned and I’ve offended her. “I just thought that out of anyone in his life right now it would be you he’d want to be with.”

  “That makes absolutely zero sense to me,” I say, and it’s true. “We just met. Why would he want to be with me out of anyone else? I’m sure he’s got women lined up to be with him. I don’t know about you or the other girls, but I just do my job, okay?”

  How long can I keep this lie up?

  She doesn’t blink in this last, hesitant gaze and then she swallows hard, going on about the search. She checks the drawers, takes off the sheets, looks in the shower—even the smallest corner is turned over for any clue that could lead us to Denver.

  “Alright, I’ll let Mae Lin know that he’s not here,” she says with a smile. And, walking toward the hotel room door, she says without looking at me, “And that your hair was all over his sheets.”

  *****

  On the way to Point Dume I don’t say a word. With the remark about my hair being in the sheets, now I feel the same way about Gloria as I did when Jill told me that I didn’t want to know how she knew that I was with Denver. I’m starting to feel like I’m on some kind of sick reality show. If that’s the case I don’t care how much it costs, I’m suing up the ass.

  The gorgeous blue ocean and sky have now turned gray, and as we enter the beach it looks more desolate than exotic, especially with police cruisers idling around Denver’s car. This sight is unreal—the car is literally between the par
king lot and the water, in the sand, all doors open, trunk and hood popped.

  “Did they do that to his car?” Gloria asks me. I suppose she forgot we’re not on speaking terms at the moment.

  “I have no idea,” I whisper, trying to look around the parameters of the windshield to get a better view. As Gloria’s car rolls up closer, everything seems more fake. The car looks like it was meant to be abandoned. Did Denver get hammered? Maybe someone really did steal the car. But that doesn’t explain where Denver is.

  Is it possible that he got kidnapped again?

  Here, the whole time I’ve been getting offended but if I was honest with Gloria and told her that Denver and I were together last night, maybe that might put us one step closer to finding him. Whatever, there’s no need to admit it out loud, I think. She already knows. The hair doesn’t lie. I can at least keep my pride for a little while.

  Gloria stops the car at enough of a distance so that we don’t have to be bombarded by the police right away. “I don’t care what your story is,” she says, “just keep it straight when they start asking us questions. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I answer. As she opens her door, I’m unsure as to whether she wants me to follow her.

  “Yes, you’re coming,” she says, practically reading my mind. “The way I see it, this is probably your fault anyway.”

  This car ride has certainly taken a turn for the worse. If I was my sixteen-year-old self in Cleveland right now this girl might seriously get jacked. Let’s just say I’ve come a long way since then.

  Getting out of my side, I don’t hesitate to slam the door closed. Her car is the least of my concerns, and I have some pent up anger that I need to let out. Looking forward to the ocean, the last thing I want to do is approach these police officers. I’m sure Gloria and I are feeling the same thing on this one, fearing that they will tell us the worst.

  “Hello, how are we doing today?” the taller officer asks. He’s about six even and looks like he’s at the gym when he’s not on duty.

  “Well, we were hoping you could tell us,” Gloria says. “We work for the man who owns this car, and we understand that his whereabouts are currently unknown.”

  The officer hesitates to answer. He looks over to his partner, an older woman who looks like she can handle herself. Their silence tells me that they’re unsure if they should talk to us or not. Gloria takes the hint.

  “The vehicle belongs to Mr. Denver D. Phillips, owner of Paerotech, a very big software company,” she says, bypassing them to get to the car. I’m surprised that they don’t restrain her. “We don’t know where he is, and that is a problem for us because we are legally obligated to find him. In fact, I think you might be able to confirm this with Lieutenant Hasboro in the LAPD. Since the car is registered to Los Angeles County, technically you have no jurisdiction here, officers.”

  Wow, I think, this chick really knows her stuff.

  The female officer nods, confirming with the male. She walks past me without a glance to her cruiser and radios over to ask about Lieutenant Hasboro. By the sound of it, the story actually checks out. Gloria stands there with a gaping smile, the ocean breeze blowing her dark hair about. That’s a smile of victory.

  “Alright, Davis, looks like we might as well head back on this one,” the lady officer says.

  “Well, we’ll leave it to you, then,” the man says. “Good luck.” He puts his sunglasses down over his eyes and enters his own cruiser. They both back up and pull away from the Point Dume beach entrance. When I look over to Gloria, she’s beaming at me.

  “I can’t lie,” I say. “I’m impressed.”

  “You’ll start to learn, too,” she says, “if you open up a little.”

  She could be right about me, but I’m still more concerned about where my man is.

  My man? I must be tripping.

  “So now what?” I ask. “He’s not at the hotel, he’s not in the car. Have you heard from Mae Lin?”

  Gloria looks to her phone and shakes her head. “She texted that there’s no sign of him and no sign of Jill.”

  “I honestly don’t know where else he would be,” I say. I wish I did, but we haven’t exactly gotten around to talking much. The physical tension between us was atomic, and I assumed we’d get around to getting to know each other soon enough.

  “Catch,” she says, tossing something to me.

  I open my hands, and by luck I catch the object—car keys. The keys to Denver’s car. Does she expect me to drive his Mercedes Benz? That’s downright preposterous.

  “Meet me back at the mansion,” she says.

  “Wait, wait,” I stumble. “Why don’t you drive this and I’ll drive your car?”

  “Technically, they’re both Denver’s cars,” she says, “And I’m contractually—”

  “—Contractually obligated to never drive this car?” I finish, to her excitement.

  “Now you’re getting it,” she smiles.

  “I can’t drive this car,” I say. It’s a definite fact.

  “It’s easier than you think,” she says. “Welcome to the family.”

  She turns to walk through the sand and down the empty lot back to her car without turning to look at me once. With Gloria backing out of the beach, I’m left here all alone—just me, the ocean, and Denver’s car. I graduated from Le Cordon Bleu, I’m not supposed to be driving a billionaire’s deserted vehicle out of the sand and back to his mansion while he’s missing the morning after making love to him. I’m Tara Rogers from Cleveland—this kind of thing just isn’t supposed to happen to me.

  *****

  The beach is desolate, and I can’t believe I’m seriously about to drive Denver’s very, very expensive car. Looking inside, I can at least relax when I see that it’s not a stick shift. I might have had to call a tow truck.

  I shut the hood, the trunk, and the three other doors before getting into the driver’s seat. Inside, it smells brand new. He could get a different car every week with the money he’s got. I find it strange that there aren’t even any lifeguards here. Am I missing something?

  Putting the key in the ignition, something feels wrong about this. I haven’t signed Denver’s little contract yet, so am I allowed to drive this? Instantly the sirens go off in my head—Tara, I think, the last chef was POISONED.

  Something in me starts to believe in the likeliness of this car blowing up when I turn the ignition over, and I quickly open the driver side door and jump out into the sand. Hustling to my feet I try to run as far away from the car as I can. With all of my heart I anticipate an explosion that will send me off my feet—but no sounds come except the whisper of the ocean, and no feelings come except for its cool breeze against my skin.

  “Seriously, Tara,” I say aloud. I look up to the sky and feel the urge to drop down on my knees and cry, but right now I need to be stronger than that. Why haven’t I just tried calling Denver myself? I take my phone out of my pocket and realized since I stepped foot in the mansion this morning, I’ve been around the other girls. The thought never even crossed my mind.

  I look for his number in my recent calls because I haven’t even bothered programming him in yet. Without a moment’s thought I click the number and the screen switches to call mode. With the phone up to my ear, I hold my breath while it rings. Two rings, three—I count seven altogether and finally it stops. Did someone pick up? There’s no voicemail prompt.

  “Hello, Denver?” I say.

  “Tara, I’ve been waiting for you,” a voice says.

  It’s Denver.

  “Denver?” I say, nearly stuttering. “Where are you? Are you okay? Did someone kidnap you?”

  “Relax,” he says in a calm voice. “I’m safe. You’re safe. We’re both safe. That’s all that matters.”

  How can I relax? Does he not realize that there’s an outright manhunt going on in his name right now? “Denver, everyone has been looking for you,” I say, trying to stress the severity of the situation.

  “I know that,
Tara,” he says. “I’m able to track everyone I have on contract. They know that.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. Does that mean my phone’s bugged? I haven’t signed anything yet.

  “Listen to me,” he continues. “I want you to get in the car and drive. Head north on the PCH and I’ll guide you from there.”

  “Denver, this is crazy,” I say. “Jill, Gloria, Mae Lin, they’re worried about you. I’m worried about you.”

  “If I told you that I was waiting for you, would you come for me?” he asks.

  “Of course I would,” I say. Standing in the sand, my feet are now covered in the stuff.

  “I’m waiting for you,” Denver says.

  “The car’s not going to blow up?” I ask. I have to clear the air. I’m afraid here. He laughs on the other end.

  “No, the car’s not going to blow up,” he says. “Please, just come see me. I need you. Right now.”

  “There’s one thing I need to know first,” I say. It’s the one thing ringing the alarm in my mind.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “Who is Danielle, and how did she die?” I know that deep down I don’t even want to know the answer.

  “Danielle…” he whispers. “Danielle was a very dear friend and employee. She was poisoned, killed. She was my previous chef.”

  “And you don’t know who poisoned her?” I ask.

  “No, I don’t. It was a terrible loss. Please come to me and we will talk about it, Tara. Together, in person.”

  The ocean is on my left, the Mercedes Benz is in front of me, and a cliff of jagged rocks sits to my right and behind me. I could drop the phone in the sand, take the car, find my way home without it, and forget all this. Why is he pulling me further and further down? Why would he have gone through something so elaborate just to get me alone?

  “Okay,” I say. “I’m on my way.”

  *****

  Driving the Benz is like walking on air, and on the vast California road there is nothing more freeing than cruising with the windows down, my thick hair frizzed and swirling about. Gloria expects me to drive back to the mansion. Won’t she come looking for me? And what about the police?