Tied Up in Wonderland

by London Saint James

  What? Seriously?

  “Listen,” I said. “I understand that you may be having a bad day, and I totally get that, but I’m having a bad day as well, and I really need to make a deadline.”

  “And I needed to marry prince charming,” she said. “But that just didn’t happen.”

  Oh, my God. This woman was insane.

  “I want to speak to your supervisor,” I said.

  “You’re speaking with her.” She went back to sorting, ignoring me.

  “Unbelievable,” I said, exasperated.

  I moved down to the express line from hell and took my position at the end of the line. In front of me, a portly man with a really bad comb-over stood with a box tucked under his arm. He turned around, glanced down at me, and grinned.

  “Looks like we’ll be here a while,” he said.

  I nodded my head in agreement. “Umm…yeah.”

  “You’d think they would have more than two windows open with this kind of line.”

  “I agree,” I said.

  He repositioned the package under his arm.

  “I’m mailing a belated birthday present to my daughter. She lives in Arizona,” he said.

  “Oh, well, I’m sure she’ll be happy to get a present, belated or not.”

  I’m not really one for chit-chat with random people, but I couldn’t ignore the man after he started talking. Besides, where could I go? If I wanted to mail my envelope, I’d stick it out.

  “The older she gets, the harder it gets when it comes to gifts. She turned fifteen last week. Boy time flies. My daughter lives with her mother. Abby.” He crinkled his noise then clarified, “Abby was my wife. We split up a couple of years ago. She left me for the insurance salesman down the street. Never really saw that one coming.”

  “Ahh…”

  I tried to appear interested.

  “I got her a cell phone.” He slid the box out from under his arm. Held it up. “I hope she likes it.”

  “I’m sure she will.”

  “You have any children?”

  “Uh, no,” I said.

  “Married?”

  “I haven’t found Mr. Right.”

  He chuckled. “I thought I found Mrs. Right, but no. I decided to concentrate on Mrs. Right Now.” Thanks to the postal powers that be, the line finally moved. “We’re inching closer to the finish line,” he said.

  I nodded, and continued polite banter until my express line buddy made it to the counter. By the time I finally arrived at the coveted spot, I rubbed at my temple in disgust. I’d been counting down the time on my cell phone. Two minutes. I was two minutes late. It was 4:02 p.m., but I sent the journal anyway, along with the hope Master Hatter wasn’t a hard ass. I’d cross my fingers. Without the invitation, Wonderland was impossible to find. I needed that invitation. My reputation as an up and coming superstar reporter needed that invitation. Anyhow, all I could do was wait.

  Chapter Three

  What in the hell are you doing, Allison? I gazed at my reflection in the mirror. Unable to draw my attention away from the far too short, black and white replica of a Catholic school girl skirt I was wearing. You have lost your flippin’ mind. Oh, that thought had possibilities as I stood, a twenty-eight year old reporter for The Times, with long blonde hair pulled up into pigtails. I worried my glossy bottom red lip with my teeth, and studied the hot pink, cut-off tank top. The glitter adorned word “SLAVE” caught in the light, and sparkled across my breasts. Which by the way, were secured within a lift-up bra that created cleavage to my throat.

  I glanced back up to my face. Great. I’d be cleaning ruby red smudges off my teeth. But besides the leather studded collar around my neck, the real show stopper to this particular ensemble had to be the thigh-high lacy stockings, with the four inch high-heel black patent leather Mary-Jane shoes. The things I do for my job.

  “I’ll take it all,” I said to the sales clerk who helped me.

  “Awesome,” she replied. I handed over my credit card. “I’ve never done a total make-over before. Are you sure you don’t want the pink hair extension clips?”

  I smiled, but inside that sinking feeling lurked.

  “No, just the clothes.”

  I might be buying this outfit for nothing. Desperation began two days ago when I tried to reach Lydia with no success, and it had been four days since I mailed the journal, and still nothing. No invitation. No call or text from Lydia. Being two minutes late doesn’t seem like much, but that two minutes has eaten at me. Could two minutes really be the thing to keep me out of Wonderland?

  My cell phone pinged. My stomach dropped to my feet. I pulled the phone out of my bag hoping to see a text from Lydia.

  Alice. Your phone will ring at 2:00 p.m. tomorrow. Answer it no later than the second ring. Lydia.

  “Yes!”

  “What?” the gal waiting on me asked.

  “Oh, sorry. I’ve been waiting for a text, and finally got it,” I said.

  “Boyfriend?”

  “No. A work thing.”

  “I hate work calls,” she said and rubbed her freckled nose. “It usually means I have to cover a shift for someone.”

  I nodded, and shoved my phone back into my bag. “I’m going to change,” I said. “Can you go ahead and box up everything?”

  “Sure can.”

  “Thanks.”

  “By the way, my friends call me Tigra,” she said. “Look me up if you want to add anything to your new look.”

  “Tigra? How did you come by that name?”

  “It’s sort of a long story that involves my twenty-first birthday, tequila shooters, a Halloween party in Vegas, and a guy named Gaylord.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Oh, it was.”

  “I’ll be sure to look you up if I need to add anything to my wardrobe,” I said and removed the bands out of my hair, putting an end to the piggy tails. I gave one last glance at the mirror. “See ya later, Alice.”

  When I got home, I did a quick once over of my apartment. Straightened up my desk, vacuumed the carpet, and put all of my dirty dishes in the dishwasher. It was going to be one of those nights. My mind swirling with the possibilities of Wonderland, and the phone call I would get tomorrow. I needed to keep myself busy, tire myself out, so I headed to the gym. I didn’t have far to go, since I’m lucky enough to have a gym in my building. It’s located on the first floor next to the laundry facilities and a little lounge area where people can gather for parties and such.

  I caught a glimpse of Mr. Mysterious when I exited the elevator. He was heading out, dressed in creamy black leather. What I wouldn’t give to see him straddle that Harley of his. The thought of him astride the roaring beasts of a motorcycle, wearing black leather, and looking like the definition of a deadly sin occupied my mind for a moment. Until Sherman, the doorman, broke my thoughts with his usual cheerful greeting.

  “Good evening, Ms. McCray,” he said.

  I nodded. “Hi, Sherman.”

  “Bea-u-ti-ful night.”

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  “Off to the gym?” he asked.

  “Yep. You have a good night, Sherman.”

  “Oh, I will. And you too, Ms. McCray,” he said before putting a stop to the little redheaded girl from 603 C’s fun. She loved to run through the foyer in wild twirling spins. I knew this particular tid-bit of information because I’ve been on the short end of a spin, having my groceries knocked out of my hand due to her spasmodic ballerina moves.

  The rest of my evening flew by after spending and hour on the stationary bike, taking a long, hot, bubble bath, eating some chocolate chip cookies, which I dipped into my glass of milk, and reading two chapters out of the newest Nora Roberts book I bought last week.

  The morning greeted not by alarm clock, but by the guy upstairs pounding and sliding his way across the floor. I swear he plays hockey or something up there. I rolled out of bed, staggered into the kitchen, made some toast, and listened to the news on the radio.
r />   “A local Seattle college student, Nina Robbins, age twenty, has been missing for the past two days,” the commentator said. “Ms. Robbins told a roommate she would be attending a underground club that has become a well known or perhaps a not so well known mystery location around the greater Seattle area. This mystery club is called Wonderland. Ms. Robbins’ roommate became concerned when Nina never returned to her dorm. A police investigation is currently underway. If any of our listeners have any information about the last known whereabouts of Nina Robbins, you are encouraged to contact the Seattle police department.”

  The story of the year just stepped up a notch. While I hated to hear about the disappearance of this girl, Nina Robbins, it only confirmed I needed to find my way into Wonderland, and fast.

  I finished my toast, drank a glass of milk, placed my dishes in the sink, jumped in the shower, shaved my legs since I intended to wear a skirt today then hopped out of the shower to finish all of my morning procedures. After hair and makeup, I stood in my closet for a good few minutes deciding on my choices. I picked something dressy, but not too dressy for work, and headed out.

  “Hey,” Derek greeted. He happened to be in the parking garage at the office when I exited my car.

  “Hi, Derek,” I said.

  “So did you hear about the latest with Wonderland?”

  “I heard,” I said, and made my way to the front doors of The Times.

  “You need backup if you’re still working on this story.”

  “I’ll be fine, Derek. We don’t even know if Wonderland and the disappearance of Nina Robbins are really connected.”

  “Allison,” Derek said, his voice sounding stern. I’d never heard his voice command such presence before. I stopped on the sidewalk. Looked at him, a little surprised. “I’m all for equal rights, the feminist movement, and the empowerment of women and all, but there comes a time when a man isn’t such a bad thing to have around.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please.”

  I took two steps. Derek’s large hand wrapped around my upper arm. Stopping me. “I’m serious. You may need my help.”

  “Derek,” I said. “I’m sort of flattered you’re worried about me, and I understand the need for most men to jump on their white horse and swoop in to save the damsel in distress, but—”

  “Allison. I’m not most men, and I’m not obligated to save the damsel in distress.” His voice hit those stern tones again. For a moment the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. “I am, however, your friend, your co-worker, and someone who does give a good God damn about you.” Derek let loose of my arm. Walked to the front door of the office. Jerked it open. “For a reporter, you aren’t very observant,” he said. “Perhaps if you took to the time to get down off that pedestal you place yourself on, and paid attention to what’s right in front of you, you may find there’s more out there then fake heroes, and maybe even a man who won’t let you down.”

  Derek walked inside The Times. He didn’t hold the door open for me to enter.

  My morning consisted of a meeting with Dwayne, so I could give him an update on my Wonderland progress, and a couple of phone calls to place some feelers out on the Nina Robbins disappearance. I had a couple of detectives in the police department who didn’t mind sharing what they knew as long as I returned the favor.

  By lunch, I was more than ready to go. Being cooped up inside my small cubicle was driving me crazy, especially knowing I was so close to gaining my invitation into Wonderland. I grabbed my purse, avoided Derek’s side of the office, and headed out to grab a bite.

  I am to no surprise or by any great revelation a creature of habit. So I decided to go to my favorite spot to eat, and sit, in my usual sunny spot, sipping my ice water with fresh lemon wedges, waiting for my lunch order to arrive. I find almost everywhere I go there is a story itching to be told, but today I’m not looking for a story. I’ve already found one. Today, I’m counting down the time until 2:00 p.m.

  The table next to me had been invaded by four women. One of them wearing vivid red lipstick, and sporting large flamboyant bright orange hair. She’d shoehorned herself into a skintight low-cut zebra printed mini-dress, accompanied by black shiny stiletto heels, and reminded me of the Peg Bundy character off the old Married with Children TV show. You can still catch reruns on Nick at Night. She absolutely reeked of a horrible cheep knockoff of something trying hard to be obsession perfume. It drifted over the entire garden terrace like a bad dream, in well, I’m just going to say it, a nauseating wave.

  I attempted to ignore them. I observed the condensation roll like tears down my water glass, but no matter how much I tried to block out the high pitched screeching, I was unable to. The lady in the zebra-print dress never stopped talking on her cell phone. I heard all about her aunt’s hernia operation, not to mention the subsequent torture of her last date that turned out to be a disappointment. It would seem big Tony wasn’t so big. “Tootsie Roll.” Her words, not mine. Poor guy. I actually felt sorry for him, because to what I am sure would be his utter consternation, he was also bad in bed.

  “Tabitha, get off the GD phone,” the short dark-haired lady with bobbing curls said with a huff. She waved her hand in the air like a traffic cop. The other two women were eyeing the waiter and talking about his well formed ass, ignoring Tabitha and Cathy at the moment.

  Tabitha smirked as she held up one perfectly manicured finger. “Sorry, Fran, Cathy is being a total bitch so I need to get off the phone. I’ll call ya later, when we can talk. Chow, love ya,” Tabitha or a.k.a. Peg Bundy on crack said, snapping her phone shut in a dramatic Emmy Award winning flair. “Oh, my God, Cathy, PMS or what?” she shrilled and pulled out her lipstick from an over-sized suitcase of a purse. Zebra striped to match her dress. She started reapplying the bright red over the already red lips that adorned her heart shaped face.

  “God, Tabitha. We are here together. It’s rude to spend all your time on the phone,” Cathy returned.

  My phone rang. Interrupting the Tabitha and Cathy show.

  “Hello,” I answered.

  “Hey!”

  “Hi, Derik. What do you need?”

  “Don’t sound so thrilled,” he said. “I was a little harsh this morning, so I thought I’d make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m fine. Working on my story.”

  “The Wonderland deal?”

  “Yep. I think I will have some good news after two.”

  “Why are you talking so quietly?”

  “Don’t want everyone to hear me. I’m at the Bistro, on the terrace.”

  “Ah. Good steak sandwiches there,” he said. “Listen, I have something sort of huge to pitch to Dwayne. I thought maybe you and I could get some dinner, talk about it, see what you think.”

  “Derik, I’m busy right now, and expect to be busy for the next few days.”

  “So is that a no?”

  “I’m not trying to be rude, but pitch your ideas to Jeff. I don’t think he’s working on anything at the moment, and I am.”

  “Okay. I thought I’d offer,” he said.

  “Sorry, but I can’t help.”

  “All right. Call me if you need any help with Wonderland.”

  “Sure,” I said, but I’m pretty confident both he and I knew I wouldn’t be calling. I plopped my phone down on the table beside me.

  It was warm, so I pulled a clip out of my bag and proceeded to twist my hair up off my neck. I felt something snag on one of the buttons of my silk blouse. I glanced down to see it was a rough spot on the edge of the table. As a result, I moved to the other side. After all, I couldn’t have something ruin my shirt or leave a smudge or something. It was the color of champagne and a smudge would stick out like a sore thumb.

  After I moved, I had that feeling. You know the one. That feeling you get when you are being watched and your Spidey senses kick in. Well, that’s it. I felt someone watching me. I glanced up to find Mr. Mysterious, Zaden Quinn. He was seated at the table across from mine. This mak
es the third time I’ve ran into him lately. First, at The Grind. Then inside the elevator in my building. And now at the Bistro. Was it fate? Luck? My Destiny?

  Without hesitation, his amber-eyed gaze started at the heel of my strappy shoe, but he didn’t stop there. He stared at me. At my calf, my thigh, lingered at my bosom, and rested upon my face. He smiled at me. White teeth glistening. I gave a half smile in return then adjusted my chair, slightly. I’m not sure why he was taking notice, but to have him, the one man I fantasized about, the man who was so far out of my league and totally unobtainable look at me, unnerved me. Best to play it cool.

  Grabbing my ice water, I took a sip with every intention of ignoring him. The only problem, I couldn’t continue to sip on my water so I sat the glass back down. I wiped my moist fingers on my napkin then pondered what I should do. I had that Nora Roberts book with me. I dragged it out of my bag. Finding the need not to procrastinate, I started in where I’d left off.

  “Your pasta,” the waiter announced. He placed the plate in front of me along with a couple of bread-sticks tucked neatly inside a silver basket. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “Some more ice when you get a moment, and thanks,” I said and sat the book aside.

  “Sure.”

  I was almost finished with my pasta when Tabitha’s shrill voice started yammering into her bedazzled phone, talking non-stop. She got up from the table. Her suitcase of a purse knocked my favorite Fendi bag from the chair next to me.

  “Sorry,” she sniffed as she breezed past. She headed for the doors of the Bistro, obviously having had drinks, not lunch.

  “No problem,” I replied. I bent down to pick up my bag and lost my grip. I dumped not only my bag, but the entire contents onto the floor. “Shit!” I knew I should have attached the buckle after taking out the book I used as a shield to ignore Zaden.

  “Here, let me help you,” Zaden said. The breeze of his movement blew across me. He smelled good.

  “Thanks,” I muttered. I grabbed my wallet, my compact, and flipped them back into the bag he held.

  The sun from the Bistro windows hit him across his right shoulder, and highlighted one side of his face. The other side was partially obscured, being dappled in shadow.