By Appointment Only

by Lisa Eugene

  “Not so fast, Ms. Carmichael.” His voice surprised me, and I turned.

  His arm was outstretched, something dangling from his fingers. I should’ve simply walked out the door, but curiosity got the better of me. Making my way to the desk, I kept my spine straight. Frowning, I took the card he offered, avoiding the irresistible pull of his eyes. He studied me closely, the scrape of his gaze so keen on my skin that my cheeks grew hot from his scrutiny.

  I read the business card with the bold writing on the back, then looked at him, confused.

  “What is this?”

  “Are you truly incapable of reading, Ms. Carmichael?”

  “It—it’s an appointment card,” I stated incredulously.

  “Yes. I expect to see you next Wednesday at six p.m. here at my office,” he said firmly, then picked up his pen and returned to his papers.

  I was left again with my jaw hanging open, wondering about this infuriating man. Nothing he did made sense to me.

  “You expect me to come back here?”

  He sighed with obvious exasperation, then looked up. “Yes. We have certain matters to discuss. And unfortunately, I don’t have time today.”

  “After what just happened? Haven’t you insulted me enough? We have nothing further to discuss.”

  “There’re a few things I can think of, one being my car door.”

  My eyes flashed wide. I swallowed hard. Shit!

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.” He bowed his head again.

  More confused than ever, I walked numbly from his office.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I took Emmy out of the tub, dried her hair and secured it into a ponytail. Emmy’s hair was always the first order of business. She stood in the middle of the small bathroom, huddled in a towel while I grabbed her nighty. Scrunching the fabric, I started pulling it over her head. Emmy pushed my hands away, causing me to frown in puzzlement.

  “Em, this is your Dora nighty—your favorite,” I said, holding it out for her to see.

  Emmy shoved at it, this time with a small grunt.

  Hmmm . . . I sat back and bit my lip, trying to guess what was wrong. A second later, Emmy pointed to the bodice of the nighty where a small, dark stain stood out.

  “Oh, I see . . .” I smoothed the fabric on my lap, running my fingers over the spot. It would seem the dishwashing detergent hadn’t quite done the job.

  Emmy pointed out a smaller stain on the tank top I was wearing, causing me to laugh when I looked down. It was an old top, one I usually wore to bed.

  “Spots,” Emmy said, and I rejoiced at hearing her voice. The gravely sound was a rare treat.

  I chuckled again when she found another stain, this one next to a small, worn hole.

  “Yeah, Mommy has lots of stains.” I grinned, agreeing playfully. “I’m a messy mommy.”

  She grabbed her doll off the counter top where it had been stored during her bath. Picking up an eyeliner pencil, she drew small dots on the doll’s shirt that mirrored mine.

  I laughed again. “Is that supposed to be me?” I asked, looking at the doll’s crazy hairstyle.

  “Wait . . .”

  Pulling the band from my ponytail, I quickly swished my hands through my hair, teasing it into a mad state of disarray to match the doll’s. Using a towel, I scrubbed a circle in the smoggy mirror, grinned at my wild look, then turned to Emmy.

  “How’s this? Now we’re identical.”

  Emmy tilted her head and regarded me silently. I could only guess what she was thinking. I turned back to my reflection and chuckled, admitting to myself I did look crazy. It fit. I must be crazy to have done what I had in Mr. Rutherford’s office. I’d been recklessly bold, stupidly impetuous, and hoping to prove something—to him? To myself?

  He’d been unimpressed.

  I wanted to be angry. I tried my best to maintain my reflex dislike for him, but it was difficult. I just didn’t get him. Not. At. All.

  His actions belied my initial impression. Why had he allowed Emmy to re-enroll in the Academy, to the point where he’d fired his head administrator? Why did he ask me to come back to his office next week? What matters did he need to discuss? Was this just about the car door?

  I shouldn’t go. If I had any sense, I’d stay far away from him.

  My mind rode a perpetual seesaw of indecision, but the thought of seeing him again had my pulse tripping faster. He was an incredibly handsome man, tall, fit, broad shouldered and strangely compelling despite his cool interest. The way my body responded . . . the intensity of those blue eyes . . . Oh God . . .

  I did want to see him again, which was crazy. We were complete opposites—from two different worlds. And he seemed entirely indifferent to me. He’d said I fascinated him . . . perhaps like a lion might be fascinated by a pesky fly.

  Emmy looked directly at me, and I saw the smile in her eyes before it emerged on her face. Sunshine burst inside me. I hadn’t seen her smile since the day I was forced to pick her up from the Academy. And the smile was so beautiful it squeezed my breath. Emmy’s gaze was astute, filled with secret understanding, making me wonder if she’d sensed my confused and erratic emotions.

  I laughed out loud and brushed my lips across her forehead. Emmy ignored me, discovering more stains with a small finger. My love overflowed for my daughter. Emmy was complex in her simplicity, and so perceptive at times it was scary.

  “Let’s find you another nighty, and get you to bed before you start finding more things about me to criticize.”

  Taking her hand, I led her from the bathroom into her small room. I gently pulled her dresser drawer open, careful not to disrupt the rubber bands lining the top in neat rows in size order. Tomorrow morning, she would fill her backpack before school. I pulled out another Dora nightgown, making sure it was pristine. Dressed, Emmy curled up in bed with her doll, kicking away the covers. She never liked the fabric on her skin. After she fell asleep, I tiptoed from her room, leaving the door ajar.

  This was my favorite time of evening. As the noise of my day slipped into a restive quiet, I could sit and take stock, rebuild fresh hope for tomorrow, and try to believe things were going to get easier. I had a few more job interviews lined up. One at a fast food restaurant for the drive-thru line, and another at a department store as a stock clerk.

  On a whim, I decided to paint my toenails fire engine red, covering the ugly discoloration of my nail.That done, I fanned them dry and climbed into bed, futilely trying to keep a certain blue-eyed man from my thoughts.

  Closing my eyes, I drifted into a restless sleep.

  My eyes snapped open and I jerked upright in bed. Someone was banging on my door, the noise echoing like a drum through my small apartment. My initial thought was of Stanley, but a glance at the clock told me it was 1:00 a.m. My bare feet hit the floor, and I hastily pulled a robe over my shorts and tank top before padding out of my room. I approached the door, trying to make sense of the commotion, but also worrying it would wake up Emmy. Peeking through my peephole, surprise mixed with annoyance when my ex-husband’s face appeared on the other side.

  Three locks and a chain secured my door. I opened the deadbolt and the two others, keeping the chain intact. Cautiously, I cracked open the door.

  “Steven! What the hell are you doing here?” I whispered harshly, my voice still thick with sleep.

  “I’ve been trying to call you. I need to talk to you,” he croaked back.

  I huffed. “At one a.m. in the morning?”

  “It couldn’t wait.”“What the hell is going on?”

  “It’s important, Danielle.”

  I gave him a critical once over. He was dressed in wrinkled jeans and a tee, thinner than when I’d last seen him. His brown eyes seemed duller than usual, but lacked the glassy redness that always alarmed me. Worry lined his face, and I wondered what kind of trouble he was in, but didn’t want him thinking he could show up at my apartment whenever he wanted to. He no longer lived here. He’d lost th
at privilege long ago.

  “Go away, Steven! It’s late.” I made a move to close the door and he jammed his hand through the crack.

  “Wait, it’s about Emmy.”

  I sighed and stared at his pleading face, wondering what he could have to say about our daughter that required such urgency. He’d wanted nothing to do with her since the day she was born, and even more so when she’d started showing signs of a developmental disorder.

  Curious though, and maybe a little hopeful that this was about offering some financial support, I unhooked the chain lock and stood back as he walked into the apartment.

  Immediately, I realized my mistake.

  Steven’s gait was jerky and restless, his fingers vibrating with a fine tremor I hadn’t noticed through the door. I hadn’t seen him like this in a long time, but this was what he used to look like when he was going through coke withdrawal and looking for his next high. Closer, I could see that his pupils were so dilated they almost obscured the deep brown of his irises.

  I kept my apartment door wide open, staying rooted where I was.

  “Steven, you need to leave,” I ordered firmly.

  He marched to the middle of my living area, his gaze jerking around the confined space. “I said I needed to talk, God damn it! Why the fuck have you been ignoring me?”

  “Shhh . . .” I looked quickly to Emmy’s door. “It’s late. Say what you have to say and leave. You said it’s about Emmy?”

  He turned, meeting my gaze. “You know that gold necklace that my mom gave her when she was a baby?”

  I frowned. “You mean the one with the cross for her baptism?”

  “Y—yeah, that one,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice. “I need it back.” My eyes widened incredulously and he continued. “Well, technically it’s mine. It was from my side of the family. I need your engagement and wedding ring, too. Those are mine. I want all that shit back.”

  He spoke rapidly, an anxious step matching each word. I cursed my stupidity for letting him into the apartment. There was no way I was giving him my rings. Right now, they were all I had to keep me and my daughter off the streets until I could find a job.

  “Steven, I don’t have the rings. I pawned them. I needed to pay rent,” I lied.

  “What?” His hands gripped his head as though he’d heard the most horrible news in the world. “You’re fucking kidding me! Why would you do that?”

  Anger erupted inside me. Just the fact that he was here asking me for something was more than I could tolerate. Me? Who was now eating Ramen noodles every night for dinner, washing most of my clothes by hand, and only shopping at the dollar store.

  “What do you expect? You haven’t paid child support in more than two years! Where the hell am I supposed to get money from?” I hissed vehemently, trying to keep my voice to a whisper.

  “What about your job?”

  I sighed with exasperation. “I have no job, thanks to you! I got fired when I had no one to pick up Emmy.”

  Now seeing him like this, I was thankful he’d refused my request to pick up Emmy. I’d had no idea he was this bad again, this close to the edge. This was beyond recreational use of coke. He was an addict.

  “I lost my job, too,” he informed with a sneer. “See how Emmy fucking ruins everything? She did this to us. She should be locked up. She’s ruined our lives, Danielle.”

  The fact that he could blame Emmy for him losing his job was lost on me, but it would be futile trying to convince him otherwise. Steven always blamed his daughter for everything wrong in his life, refusing to believe our troubles had anything to do with the fact that he couldn’t keep blow from up his nose or his dick in his pants.

  “Steven, just leave. I can’t help you.”

  “C’mon Danielle, you gotta have something for me!” He made wider circles in my living room. “I know you—usually you’ve got something squirreled away.” He randomly pulled cushions from the couch, patting them down before tossing them to the floor.

  “Steven, get out!” I said bravely, but inside my stomach turned over with fear. He was a tall man, and even though he was thin, he was still very fit. “There’s nothing here. Seriously, I’m headed for the damn welfare line.”

  Snarling a curse, he kicked the crate, then swiveled to face me. I winced as the pseudo furniture crashed into a wall. My skin crawled when his gaze raked lewdly down my body. I pulled the edges of my robe together.

  “What about the man you’re fucking?” he asked with a rude laugh.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

  Squaring his shoulders, he started toward me, his gaze dirty. “I’m sure a woman who looks like you is being taken care of. I’d bet he gives you money.”

  The insinuation stung. “I’m no man’s whore,” I said through gritted teeth.

  He barked out another laugh, now standing in front of me. Sweat beaded my forehead and anxiety trickled down my spine, but at least he was closer to the door and farther away from Emmy’s room.

  He snatched my hair roughly, forcing my head back. Pain shot through my scalp. My knee shot up, aiming for his groin, but he angled away. The impact wasn’t nearly what I’d desired. He wheezed out a grunt, but his fingers tightened in my hair, the sting making my eyes water.

  “Get your damn hands off me!” I demanded, panic charging through my chest like a herd of wild horses.

  There was no telling what he’d do. He was unpredictable, volatile when he was on drugs. He smelled stale, like he hadn’t bathed in days.

  “I remember the days when you wanted my hands all over you,” he snickered, staring at my lips.

  I started to struggle, irrationally still trying to be quiet, to keep this from Emmy.

  “Quit it, Danielle!” He grabbed me again when I almost wiggled free. “You fucking black bitch!”

  His arm swung out, savagely back-handing me. My head whipped to the side, the sharp pain making my eyes water. I felt like I was drowning, a dark hell towing me under, but I kept fighting and kicking. I’d been pushed down too much and too long to not fight back.

  My chest imploded when a piercing screech stabbed through the apartment, followed by another, higher and shriller this time. From the corner of my eye, I saw Emmy standing just outside her bedroom door, her doll clutched to her small chest, her gaze fixed somewhere over our heads.

  Steven’s face twisted angrily. Releasing me, he turned toward Emmy. Pure terror flooded my system. I looked around my apartment, then quickly grabbed a pair of scissors off my coffee table. With a shout, I jumped between him and my daughter, my heart coming out of my bosom.

  “Get the hell out of here!”

  “Shut that fucking kid up, or I will!” Steven yelled, even more agitated.

  “You come anywhere near her, and they’ll be taking you out of here in pieces!” I threatened, waving the scissors in wide, reckless arcs.

  Emmy continued to scream behind me, loud and agonizing. Dull thumping started behind my living room wall, my neighbors channeling their anger over the commotion. Curses and irate shouts filtered through the thin barrier between the rooms. The voices were muffled, but I could still make out the harsh profanities and threats.

  “You’d better leave. When she gets like this, she doesn’t stop,” I warned Steven. “My neighbors will call the cops.”

  Sudden fear focused his eyes. He wouldn’t want to chance a run-in with the police, especially when he was high. We’d had enough of those during our marriage. With a rough oath, he turned and disappeared through the door. I took a shaky breath of relief, dropped the scissors, and ran to Emmy’s side. Not thinking, I flung my arms around her, drawing her close. Emmy erupted, her wails growing louder and more frantic. She pushed me away, her tiny arms flailing. When she was like this, she couldn’t be touched.

  “It’s okay, baby. It’s mommy. I’m here.” I retreated a step and forced myself to calm. I modulated my voice, trying to iron away the choking tension, but I was still br
ittle from Steven’s visit, still shaking, and my daughter was terrified. Tears flooded my eyes and my heart.

  It took more than a half hour to calm Emmy. The cops showed up along with my belligerent neighbors as well as nosy tenants from across the hall. My neighbors yelled and swore until the officers ordered them back to their own apartment. The old woman across the hall left the scene when there was no more gossip to be had. The two cops felt sorry for me, their gazes soft with pity as they took in my run-down apartment and my helpless disarray. I was visibly rattled, trying desperately to keep it together.

  After explaining about Emmy, I filed a report against Steven. It was almost 4:00 a.m. by the time I’d answered their probing questions, and when I finally slipped into bed, I was mentally and physically devastated.

  I stared at the peeling paint on my bedroom ceiling, wondering when things were finally going to get easier.

  The next day, I pawned the rings and put the cash in a bank account I opened under Emmy’s name. I didn’t get as much as I thought I would, but at least it would cover rent for two months. I gave Emmy’s gold necklace to Mom, who would make sure she got it back on her eighteenth birthday.

  Wednesday came and as of 5:00 p.m. I was still undecided whether I’d keep my appointment with Mr. Rutherford. I had so much shit in my life already. Did I need to invite more? I’d told Wanda about my scandalous behavior in his office. Now Wanda sat on the couch eyeing me curiously.

  “I saw him on the news the other day,” Wanda remarked, too casually.

  “Him, who?” I responded just as casually.

  I could almost see her eye roll even though I avoided her gaze.

  “Rutherfucker.”

  “Is that so?” I asked, not wanting to admit I’d seen him as well, that he’d looked sinfully gorgeous, even when he was tactfully skirting questions about the pollution allegations against his company. He’d worn a dark suit, looking stern, polished, and consummately professional.