by Sean Olin
“I feel like I’m in a movie,” she said as she stood on the tarmac of the parking lot and waited for her legs to adjust to being on solid ground. “Like I’ve been taken from my life into some other one where everything is ritzier and more elegant.”
“It’s not Paris,” Harlow said, “but it’s the best I could do on short notice.”
He held the crook of his arm out for her and she slipped her hand through.
Harlow was wearing a tailored midnight-blue suit that, with his slicked-back wavy hair and his vintage skinny tie, made him look like a 1950s movie star. Elena hoped the festively printed cocktail dress she’d chosen (it had belonged to her mother) held up next to his outfit.
As they headed toward the glass front doors of the hotel, she tried to play it cool, but it was hard to do in the heels she was wearing instead of her usual Doc Martens. She feared she might be outclassed, not just by him, but by everyone else who’d be thronging StarFish’s second-floor dance club, SeaHorse, for the New Year’s Eve party tonight.
Harlow must have noticed because just as they reached the curb that led up to the entrance, he leaned over and said, “Don’t worry. The other girls here are all going to be wishing they were you. You’re beautiful. You’ll see.”
She slipped her hand down Harlow’s arm and laced her fingers through his. It might not be as classy as walking arm in arm, but it was more comforting.
They wandered through the frosted glass doors and into the lobby with its plush dark carpet and its industrial steel-and-chrome details, heading straight toward the staircase leading up to the club. She felt like she was in a movie populated with people who were all hipper than she was. The one person she recognized was the concierge: a guy named Peter Talbot whom she remembered having starred in school plays when she was a sophomore. Instead of the Justin Bieber cut he used to have, he’d let his lax bleach-blond hair grow down to his shoulders and he looked different than he used to, older, more cosmopolitan somehow, like someone who knew how important he was.
He went by in a blur and then she and Harlow were inside the dance club, gyrating and popping alongside what seemed like a thousand other people to the pounding beat of the music. Harlow moved like a dream, with none of the awkward hopping and flailing she expected from guys. He had footwork, and as she twirled and swayed, she felt charged by the way his body seemed to anticipate and respond to her movements. She entered an altered state in which the world seemed to disappear and all that existed was his physical presence interacting with hers: the way he kicked his leg, the way he turned his head, the way he found the soft spot at the base of her spine and held one finger there like an acupuncture needle. It was all so intimate and yet so public, like they were inventing a secret language together, a code that contained all their deepest secrets.
Harlow leaned in after a while and shouted something in her ear, but the music was so loud she had no idea what it was. He grinned at her. He winked.
She just smiled and nodded, pretending to understand.
Taking her hand, he led her through the throngs and out into the lobby. She saw from the clocks on the wall behind the check-in desk that an hour and a half had passed, though it had felt like ten minutes tops while it was happening. It was eleven already. The new year was only one hour away.
“You want to go on an adventure?” Harlow whispered in her ear.
He led her through the lobby toward the elevators and pushed the up button.
“Tell me you didn’t get a room,” she said.
“Ha. I can do better than that,” he responded. His lip twisted mischievously. “I’ve just got something to show you. I think you’re going to like it.”
“What is it?”
“Can’t tell.”
They stepped into the elevator and he pushed the button for the top floor.
She wanted to tell him she wasn’t the kind of girl who just went along wherever the guy told her to go. But she didn’t know how to say this right now because she did want to go wherever he was taking her. She did like the thrill of not knowing what he’d do next.
They stood silently side by side watching their reflections in the mirrored door as the elevator rose to the top of the hotel.
When they exited, he put a finger to his lips and motioned for her to take her shoes off. They tiptoed down the velvet-lined hallway, past the two suites that occupied the entire floor. Then he opened a door in the wallpaper—she hadn’t even realized it was there!—and escorted her into a hidden stairway. Motioning her to follow him, he made his way up the stairs—one flight, two flights. She wondered how he knew about this place, how he could navigate through its secret hidden areas so easily.
“Are we allowed to be here?” she whispered.
He shot her that grin again, not answering, and climbed another flight of stairs. Finally, they reached a door with an emergency exit bar across it. Harlow took out a silver flask and twisted the cap off. He downed a swig and held it out to her.
“Fortification,” he whispered.
She took a small tug off the flask and the vodka inside burned in her throat.
Harlow untwisted a paper clip and slid one end into the lock on the door, turning and jiggling it until the door opened.
“You ready?” he said.
The mystery of the moment and the trust she had to place in him thrilled her.
“I’m ready.”
He pushed the door open and the brisk air hit their faces and Elena could see that they were at the tippy top of the hotel, standing at the edge of a helipad. The lights of Dream Point spread in a fan around one side of them, and on the other side she saw the darkness of the ocean. She’d never been up so high, and the mixture of romance and transgression contained in the moment brought that feeling of light-headedness she’d had earlier in the evening rushing back.
“Happy New Year,” Harlow said. He wrapped his arms around her waist. She could feel his finger pressing into her belly button.
A charge ran up her spine like an electric wire had sparked in her. She felt something spinning inside her skin—so this was what a swoon felt like. The only way to quell the feeling was to kiss Harlow.
So that’s what she did. She turned and she pulled him as tight to her as she could and she found his lips with her own, running her hands along his back, excited at the feel of his own on her hips, on the side of her rib cage, on the back of her neck—they seemed to softly flow everywhere, across her body.
The kiss went on and on. She wanted it to never stop. And as they kissed, Harlow walked her backward out of the doorway, onto the cement platform of the helipad.
Surges, like waves, crashed inside her. No matter how close she held him, how deeply she kissed him, she couldn’t get close enough to him.
They were down on their knees. They were down on their sides. Still kissing. And then their clothes were coming off. It felt inevitable. Like the only thing that could be done. She’d never wanted anyone or anything as much as she wanted Harlow right that minute.
His hands and his lips seemed to know just where to go and what to do. So this is what it’s supposed to feel like, she thought. The two guys she’d had sex with in her life had both been clumsy, inexperienced, unsure of themselves. She’d thought it had been her fault, like she’d been somehow doing it wrong, but now, here, with Harlow, she understood, it had been them. Definitely them.
Harlow had his fingers tangled in her hair, and suddenly, without warning, he pulled her head back, hard, twisting her neck.
She gasped.
For a moment, she felt like she’d lost all control, like he might really hurt her, but then he kissed her neck and released her head and she felt the force of his passion tumble over her fear.
Afterward, as they lay naked and curled together on the chilly cement, she remembered what he’d said on the beach that day. “Where are we going? Anywhere. Everywhere.” They really were. She felt reckless and free and far away from all the conflicts that filled up her life.
&
nbsp; Something in her itched to tell him how hard she was falling for him. To say, You’re like a dream I never dared to dream. I’d do anything for you if only it meant we could stay like this forever. But she resisted. She was afraid that revealing herself like that would chase him away, and that was a thought she couldn’t bear.
So instead, she held him tight and listened to his breathing, slow and even. He seemed lost in thought. Folding her hands on his chest so she could rest her chin in them and gaze at his face, she asked him what he was thinking.
He looked into her eyes for a long moment and she felt like his soul was spilling into her own. “I was just thinking how you’re the only person in the whole world I feel like I can trust,” he said.
Her heart ached for him and all the troubles he kept hidden from her. “Yes,” she said. “Yes. You can trust me. I promise.”
26
Jake heard the knock on his bedroom door, he was just choosing to ignore it.
In the week since he’d put Arnold on the case, he hadn’t heard back from the kid. As his anxiety and wounded pride tightened in his chest, he’d decided in desperation to put his limited researching tools to the task. He’d been holed up inside for hours with the lights off, searching every animation and video site he could think of, typing random search terms into Google just to see what would come up, obsessively refusing to believe that if Harlow was the person he claimed to be there could be no evidence at all of his existence.
“Jake? I’d really like it if you’d let me in, sweetie.”
Jake cringed when he heard the word sweetie. This was the third time his mom had tried his door tonight. He realized she was worried about how moody he’d been, but really, sweetie? He wasn’t a five-year-old.
He shouted through the door, “I’m busy!”
Then he returned to his task. Who knew there were so many anime sites in the world? For the past hour he’d been rummaging around on a Japanese site with a name he couldn’t pronounce. It seemed to specialize in videos of samurai and ronin. When he’d stumbled on it, his first thought was of that Sigur Rós thing Elena had shown him that day on the beach. Thinking maybe that he could find that video here, he’d been following link after link, not really sure where they would lead him since all the text was written in Japanese, which showed up as wingdings on his computer.
“It’s almost ten thirty,” his mother called through the door. “If you’re going to celebrate New Year’s at all, you should think about getting ready.”
Wait, what was this? He’d clicked on a dark, brooding video, painted in watercolors. It didn’t have a Sigur Rós sound track, but the visuals seemed pretty similar to what he remembered of the animation Elena had shown him. Could it . . . was it . . . ?
“Jake?”
“Give me one second!”
He cued up the animation again and studied it closely. Either the Japanese kid had stolen it from Harlow or Harlow had stolen it from the kid. Everything in him said that Harlow was the one doing the stealing. As the animation reached its end, he saw a small copyright symbol in the corner of the frame. 2002. That’s when this was made. Harlow would have been four or five years old. He’d known it. Maybe, sure, he might really be the person he claimed to be, but he was definitely a fraud. Bastard.
The question now was what to do with this valuable information. He’d have to be strategic. And sensitive to Elena’s emotions. But he had to wonder, given the way she’d reacted when he told her he loved her, if his new knowledge would make any difference between them.
Anyway, he couldn’t put his mom off forever. “All clear,” he called. “Mom? You can come in.”
His door slowly opened and his mom peeked her head into the room like she was checking for danger before entering.
“You okay?” she said, that steady calming look in her eyes. “I would have thought you’d be doing something with Elena tonight.”
Jake looked down at his keyboard. “Yeah, well,” he said. “Not this year.”
Her gaze remained steady, compassionate. She’d always been this way, letting him come to her with his problems when he was ready, not pushing him, but registering, noticing when he was going through something.
“Cameron’s put you on the guest list at StarFish,” she said. “You could go check it out. It might be fun.”
Jake made a face. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help but wonder when Cameron would want something in return for all the free things he kept throwing Jake’s way.
His mom moved deeper into the room. She sat on the bed and folded her hands in her lap.
“I know it’s hard,” she said.
“What’s hard?”
“Getting used to all this.” She gestured around the room. “Cameron and his lifestyle and the things he can provide.”
Jake looked around the room, focusing on anything but her as he tried to understand what she wanted him to say in response to this. Then, maybe because he was already feeling raw because of Harlow, or maybe because of the pressure to blindly adore Cameron that he felt hovering in the house, or the spooky insinuations he’d picked up from Nathaniel, or all of this together, but Jake couldn’t stop himself from defensively blurting out, “What does he want from me, anyway?”
“Nothing,” his mom said simply.
Jake couldn’t give up his skepticism that easily. “Really?”
“Really. He wants you to feel welcome. He wants you to know he understands that loving me means loving you, too.”
“But does he love you?”
Jake’s mom tipped her head inquisitively. She was cool, unflappable.
“Of course he does,” she said. “Why would you ever think that he doesn’t?”
“It’s just . . . Nathaniel—”
“Nathaniel’s troubled,” his mom said, cutting him off. “You can’t take the things Nathaniel says to heart.”
Jake tried not to let his concern show, but his mom noticed everything. She always had.
Changing tactics, she said, “You know, Cameron’s spent years struggling with how to do what’s best for Nathaniel. He constantly worries about him. Really, Jake. Give him a chance. He’s more sensitive than he sometimes seems to be. He hides behind his charm and sometimes he can seem a little presumptuous, probably, but really he’s kind. You’ll see as he gets more comfortable with you and begins to let down his guard.”
She scrunched her eyes at him.
“Okay?” she said.
Jake tentatively nodded.
“It’s New Year’s Eve,” she said. “You should go have fun.”
“All right,” Jake said. “I’ll go. But I’m doing this for you, not for Cameron.”
“That’s fine,” she said. “These things take time.” She checked her watch. “You know, you can still get to StarFish in time for the countdown.”
Shutting the screen of his computer, Jake pulled on his hooded sweatshirt and slipped into his Cons. He decided he’d take the Rumbler, not the Mini. He wasn’t ready yet to change his mind completely about Cameron.
He was pretty sure, also, that he wasn’t going to be able to find the energy to enjoy himself. That would take an intervention from Elena, and since their sad conversation at Christmas, she’d stayed away from him. He understood why. If he were her he’d stay away from him, too.
27
Riding the elevator back to the lobby, Elena and Harlow studied their reflections in the mirrored door.
Elena shined with the afterglow of their adventure on the roof. She adjusted her dress so it hung on her hips in the free-spirited way it was supposed to. She fidgeted with her hair, trying to get her curls to fall back into place and re-create the flapper style she’d worked so hard on before going out.
Harlow played with his collar and tugged at his pant leg.
They were conscious of the possibility of the doors opening at any moment and letting in strangers who might figure out what they’d just been up to on the roof. They were aware of the camera hidden in the corner abo
ve them. They tried their best to act like nothing had happened. Two people waiting to exit and go on their way.
But they couldn’t help glancing silently at each other in the mirror every few seconds and smirking, shooting knowing looks back and forth, giggling and then tearing their gazes away from each other, their expressions betraying the reckless glee they were feeling about having gotten away with such a crazy stunt.
As the elevator finally bounced to a halt on the lobby level, Harlow reached across the space between them and gave Elena’s thumb one quick squeeze. She felt the intoxicating current of his desire shoot through her body one last time.
Then the doors opened and they stepped out into the throngs of party revelers and hotel patrons as though they were completely innocent, just a guy and a girl getting off an elevator.
“Where to now?” she asked.
She heard the answer she wanted him to give, “Anywhere. Everywhere,” bop through her head.
Instead, he glanced at his fancy massive watch and said, “It’s almost midnight. We could go back into the club. Watch the clock tick down to—” He froze midsentence. “Fuck.”
His eyes narrowed and his body tensed up like he’d been struck by lightning. It took Elena a second to catch up with his change of mood. When she did, a spike of fear shot through her.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said. But his body language said it very much was not nothing. He was making himself subtly smaller, ducking and shifting, eyes darting everywhere. His mischievous, wry half smile had been replaced with a tight-lipped anxiousness, a testy expression that frightened her just a little.
“Something’s wrong. I can tell. What is it?” she said, trying not to panic, hoping he’d trust her and let her in.
When he just tensed his cheek and said nothing, peering out at her from someplace deep inside himself that seemed like a universe away, she pushed further.