by Messe, Ellie
Bringing my items to the cashier, I overpay for my generic items and shuffle back out into society. I walk slowly to mull over my new arrangement with Logan. I’m so wishy-washy, one minute I vow to go, the next I’m thinking up sudden illnesses I can pass off as having. When I turn the corner my eyes zero in on the shiny black car that’s pulled up in front of the apartment. A uniformed gentleman stands at the passenger door, patiently waiting.
There is no way in hell anyone in this neighborhood can afford wheels like that; given the fact it looks just like the car that picked up Logan Saturday night, I have a distinct feeling this ride is for me. I realize that I haven’t made up my mind yet if I’m actually going to go through with this, my thoughts whine on a loop as I cross the street. I avoid looking in the man’s direction at all costs, it’s highly unlikely that he knows who I am, but I still hurry inside regardless.
Making it into the apartment, my back pocket buzzes. Setting the bag on the table, I pull out my phone,
LOGAN: I’ve sent a car to collect you. Should be waiting out front.
ME: I saw. I haven’t made up my mind if I’m coming.
I stare at my phone like it’s going to bite me when three dots appear.
LOGAN: Wuss. What’s the worst that could happen?
ME: I could die.
ME: You might be a cannibal.
ME: I could be chopped into little bits and fed to the birds.
ME: I could die.
LOGAN: The birds can feed themselves, I’m obviously going to sacrifice you to my crate monster under the stairs.
I crack a smile.
ME: I don’t know you, you could easily have a crate monster.
LOGAN: His name is Fluffy.
I smile a little harder.
ME: The address you gave me goes to an apartment building.
LOGAN: You’re correct. Now, come over; Fluffy’s starving.
ME: I don’t know.
LOGAN: Wuss.
ME: Shut up. This is self-preservation.
LOGAN: I assume your friend knows of your plans. If you’d be more comfortable, we can move it to a more public setting. I had jumped to the assumption you’d want privacy while discussing our diabolical plan to win Carl back.
ME: His name is Cole.
LOGAN: What would you prefer?
Gah! I don’t know.
ME: Hold on.
Opening up a message to Amy I quickly send her a text.
ME: Mr. Money Bags wants to help me win back Cole. He wants me to go to his apartment.
CROTCHSNIFFER: NO WAY!!!!
CROTCHSNIFFER: YOU BETTER NOT BE MESSING WITH ME!!!
CROTCHSNIFFER: DEVINA ANGERSON
CROTCHSNIFFER: *ANDERSON
CROTCHSNIFFER: YOU SAID YES RIGHT.
CROTCHSNIFFER: RIGHT?!?!
I feel like my hand is going to break off from the constant vibration of her mass texts.
ME: I didn’t say anything. I don’t know him.
CROTCHSNIFFER: Hopefully you’ll know him in the biblical sense after this.
CROTCHSNIFFER: OMG MY BEST FRIEND’S GOING TO MARRY A MILLIONAIRE!!!!!!!
ME: Am not. Reread my first text; he wants to help me win back Cole.
CROTCHSNIFFER: WHAT THE FUCK EVER. No, he doesn't. He wants to get into your panties.
ME: Well, that answers that then. Thanks, bestie.
CROTCHSNIFFER: Answers what?
CROTCHSNIFFER: NOOOOOOO.
CROTCHSNIFFER: Don’t you dare turn him down!!!!! IM KIDDING!!!! ...well, kinda.
CROTCHSNIFFER: GO!
My phone proceeds to buzz constantly as she sends the word ‘GO!’ over and over again.
ME: Stooooop already!
CROTCHSNIFFER: What’s the worst thing that could happen?
Backing out, I screenshot Logan and I’s conversation where he said the same thing and send it to her.
CROTCHSNIFFER: I bet his “Crate Monster” is a euphemism for his dick.
ME: He said its name was fluffy so I really hope you're wrong about that. You’re not helping, btw.
CROTCHSNIFFER: You’re not going to die, Devina. If all you’re worried about is your safety, then call me and keep your phone down so if anything bad happens I can call the cops ASAP. If he turns out not to be a murderer you can hang up.
CROTCHSNIFFER: Seriously though. No harm in going over.
ME: Fine.
ME: Be near your phone, his driver’s outside and is supposed to take me to his apartment. I’ll fwd you the address.
CROTCHSNIFFER: EEEEEEEEEEEEEP! I can almost smell the money bouquet I’m going to catch at your wedding.
I roll my eyes, returning to Logan’s messages.
ME: I’m coming.
LOGAN: I’ll see you shortly.
I forward the address to Amy as I descend the stairs. Pushing the door open, the same man stands at the car; I don’t think this person has moved at all since I saw him last.
“Excuse me?” He looks up as I approach, “My name’s Devina Anderson. Logan said he was sending a car?”
“This would be it. Please,” He opens the back door for me, and I have to admit I’m not sure what to do. Do I close it? What if he closes it on me? My thoughts are answered when he politely asks if I’m in. After murmuring a soft ‘yes’ and ‘thank you’ he closes it for before moving to take the driver’s seat.
The seats are heated leather, and shiny, a very fine layer of grease can be felt as my fingers run over the surface.
“Do you wax your seats?”
“Leather polish, ma’am. It won’t stain your clothing.”
“Oh, I wasn’t worried about that.” I chuckle. Pretty sure I’ve had these jeans since high school. “Just making conversation.”
He doesn’t reply so I resort to playing with the automatic window. Once I grow bored of that, I shift to the middle seat, leaning into the center console.
“So, like, he’s not a murderer or rapist or anything, right?”
He chuckles hoarsely, “No, ma’am.”
“Just checking. You’d tell me right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s your name?”
“Caleb, ma’am.”
“Cool. I’m Devina.”
I see the crows feet deepen with a smile in the rearview window.
“If he murders me, I’m haunting you first,” I say, earning me a chuckle. “I’m serious. I’ll leave ominous messages on the foggy mirror and hide all your left shoes.”
“Mr. Devitt isn’t a murderer.”
“I’m just giving you the option to save yourself from a haunting.”
All I get out of him is another chuckle, so I sit back and watch pedestrians until they begin to fade. The possibility of seeing Cole is slim to none, but I still sink in my seat when we approach my former street. I remain buried in my seat for the duration of Lenox Hill until Caleb turns on 72nd street heading towards 5th Ave.
There’s no way; I tell myself sitting upright. Sure enough, we turn on 5th Ave. Shouldering the car in front of a gorgeous brick building, he steps out and opens the door for me.
“You’ll need this to access the seventeenth floor.” He hands me what looks like a hotel keycard. “Suite A.”
“Are you off to get the rubber sheets and hacksaw?”
He smiles, the wear on his face suggests he’s in his mid-forties, “Have a pleasant afternoon, Miss Devina. I’ll be back to bring you home.”
“Home as in my apartment or home like heaven?”
He chuckles, climbing back into the car, leaving me alone.
Sucking in a breath, I tell myself it’s courage rather than oxygen and venture inside.
CHAPTER NINE
Holy mother of crap.
Marble floors, crystal chandelier...it’s gaudy and uglier than sin; I love it! This is exactly what you see in those cheesy movies; there’s even an old woman in pearls with a dog. I refuse to acknowledge the fact it’s a service dog because it’ll ruin the illusion.
Finding the hideous golden elevator, I rock back on my heels and watch as I get countless side eyes. This is kind of fun. I wonder why Amy and I have never entered into a building just to scope out all the rich people and talk in British accents.
When the elevator opens, I step in followed by three other people, all of them give me an unimpressed once over so you can understand my pure joy when I hold the keycard in front of the little black circle and select the seventeenth floor.
No one glances in my direction again. I feel like a king when the elevator stops on the thirteenth floor, allowing the peasants to get off my damn chariot.
“Cheerio!” I yell through the crack, smiling at myself like an idiot. Quickly pulling out my phone, I take a selfie pointing to the little glowing button of the seventeenth floor and send it to Amy. Within seconds my phone vibrates with her response. I don’t have a chance to look at it because the elevator stops, opening to the seventeenth floor. All joy is replaced with trepidation.
Like the good little girl scout, I speed dial Amy and shove the phone into my back pocket. My ratty combat boots sink into the plush maroon and gold carpet as I approach Suite A. Slowly raising my hand, I give it a gentle knock if that’s what you could even call it. The roaches in Amy’s stairwell knock harder than I just did.
My nerves hit DEFCON 1 when the door opens, revealing Logan in a form-fitting black shirt and designer jeans.
Instead of offering a greeting like a civilized human being, Logan’s eyes narrow as he glowers at my outfit, “What the hell are you wearing?”
I glance down at my sweater and jeans, “Clothes.”
“If that’s what you want to call it.” His eyes are glued to my top, “What color is that, mustard?”
“Well, hello to you too.”
“That’s rough looking.”
“Am I expected to stand here and have you mock my clothing or are you going to invite me in?”
“You actually dress like this? Regularly?”
Ugh! What the hell was I thinking coming over here?
“Thanks for the wise words, Logan. I’m sure I’ll be able to win Cole back with the supreme knowledge that my clothing sucks.” I say, turning around to leave.
His hand snakes around my elbow stopping me, “This is the first time I’ve seen you outside of a dress, forgive me for being a little shocked.” I hear the echo of a familiar laugh leak out of my back pocket.
“Are you done being a jerk?”
He smiles an easy smile releasing my arm before turning to enter his apartment. Half of me wants to get into the elevator and leave, but the other half is incredibly nosy and wants to see what his apartment looks like.
With a loud sigh, I follow him.
“Holy crap.” I gasp upon entering.
His place is amazing; floor to ceiling windows, hardwood floors, crown molding, dark, sleek furniture, and a massive kitchen. This is insane.
The view of Manhattan is spectacular. Usually, even in a building this tall, your only view is the building next to you that’s just as tall or taller, but not his, he has a clear view over Pilgrim Hill, and it’s breathtaking.
A chuckle from the open kitchen draws my gaze; Logan leans against the counter watching me.
“Alright guru, let’s get this over with.” I groan.
“This isn’t a one-day thing; you understand that right?”
“Sure.” He has until Thanksgiving after all.
“Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Depends. Do you have anything in a can or does Alfred bring you everything in champagne glasses?”
He smiles, “I have both.”
“You have an Alfred?!” I crane my neck trying to find a wizened old man in a tux with a towel over his arm.
Logan laughs, bringing heat to my cheeks, “I have cans and flutes, whichever you’d prefer.”
“Oh. Well, whatever’s easier.”
I hear the fridge open as I take in the space. I bet I could fit Amy’s apartment six times over in here and still have room to spare. Logan returns with two cans of Coke and a fancy flute glass.
“In the event you wanted both.” He smiles, and I feel the tease.
“I think it’s a mistake to let me handle anything spillable in here,” I say, accepting the can.
He places his drink and the empty glass on a weird circle table between two chairs. It’s not big enough to be a coffee table, but not high enough to be an end table. Rich people buy weird things, I decide.
“Please,” He waves to the empty chair, “Have a seat.”
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I sit down and stuff the device between my thighs careful not to end the call.
“So tell me about Kurt.” He says, sitting down as well.
“His name is Cole, and he’s a computer engineer.”
“You said you were in a...five?” I nod, knowing where he’s going with this. “Five-year relationship.”
“Yeah, Amy and I met him at a bar when we first moved here.”
“Where’d you move from?”
“Boston.”
“What made you want to move?”
“Amy and I made a pact when we were kids to move here, so we did.”
“And Amy is the woman from the bar and event at 88 Keys, correct?”
My lap makes a noise as Amy yells into the line. Logan cocks a brow but remains silent.
“Yes. We were neighbors as kids.”
He nods before tipping his drink back, “So the computer engineer gets with the book editor.”
“Yes,” I answer defensively, feeling like his statement is more of a shot at my career than repeating a fact.
“Is he native to the area.”
“No, he attended NYU on a scholarship,” I announce with pride.
“And the woman he cheated on you with?”
“She was a client of mine.”
“An author?” I nod. “Is she well known?”
“Monica Claire, I mean I guess she’s well known.”
He shakes his head, “Never heard of her.” pulling out his phone he begins sliding his finger across the screen while mine continues to murmur between my legs. I’m going to kill her.
“Is this her?” He turns his phone to show a pretty brunette.
“No, may I?” He hands over his phone, backing out I quickly find a photo of the blonde tramp and hand it back. “That’s her.”
A low whistle escapes his lips as he looks at her perfect image. I used to gush over how pretty she was; full lips with a defined cupid's bow under a straight perky nose and clear blue eyes set off by platinum hair. She’s the exact opposite of me where I have mousy brown hair and brown eyes currently hiding behind thick frame glasses without any defining features to set me apart from the next nobody walking down the street.
“She’s pretty, I know.”
“She’s had more work done than Caitlyn Jenner.” He says stuffing the phone into his pocket.
My lap once again calls attention as Amy cackles into the receiver. “I’m glad one of you appreciates my humor.”
Folding my lips in, I offer an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry. She’s here in case of murder.”
“In case of murder.” He chuckles to himself, before waving to my lap, “Well, cat’s out of the bag now. Might as well put her on speaker.”
Feeling like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, I remove my phone from my lap and place it on the circular table before pressing the little speaker button.
“Hello, Amy.”
“Oh God, I didn’t know he could hear me!”
“You were all but shouting,” I tell her as Logan smiles.
“I’m sorry!”
“To catch you up, we were discussing Kent and his plastic girlfriend.”
“Cole.” I correct him yet again.
“That’s what I said.”
“You called him Kent.”
“Oh, well after seeing the Barbie he’s playing with, the name K
ent seems more appropriate.”
“That was Ken.” Sometimes I wish I could swallow my mouth to avoid speaking every thought that pops into my mind.
Logan doesn’t seem to mind, he’s busy listening to Amy ramble, “Like she even holds a candle to Dee. I mean seriously, the girls about as smart as a box of rocks and as plastic as my nails.”
I go to correct that her nails are acrylic but wisely keep my mouth shut. I annoy myself with the need to always correct people so I can assume the feeling is reciprocated tenfold.
“But I mean, look at Dee; she’s gorgeous, don’t you think?”
My eyes widen in horror as my cheeks heat once again, “Okay!” I say before anyone can say anything else, “Thanks for being my emergency hotline, he’s not really putting off any murder vibes, so I’ll call you later.” Though at the embarrassment she’s brought me, I kind of wish he was.
“No, don’t hang up!”
“Aren’t you at work?”
“Pssht, all these rich Betty’s can find their own overpriced handbags, this is much more interesting.”
“Goodbye, Ames.”
She huffs loudly making Logan chuckle. “Bye, Dee. Bye Mr. Money Bags.”
“Bye.” He chuckles, I’m glad he seems unaffected by her refusal to use his name.
Ending the call, I offer another apologetic smile, “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs, “I cut up my food; you keep your friend on the line while conversing with someone. We all have our quirks.”
“I don’t usually do that, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t serious about your pet monster.”
The corner of his mouth raises into another smile, “Don’t rule that out just yet, it’s still early.”
Spinning my coke can in a circle, I gnaw on my bottom lip.
“What kind of things did you and your boyfriend do?”
“I don’t know, stuff.” I shrug, “We used to go out on the weekends or see a show.”
“Just to be clear when you use the term ‘we used to’ is that past tense because you’re separated or because that was at the beginning of the relationship?”