96 Hours

by Georgia Beers

  “Hoo,” Erica said, closing her eyes momentarily. “I’m going to have to graduate to sipping from now on.” The world around her swam out of focus for a second, then cleared.

  The dice and book went to Michael, who rolled Brian’s number. “If you could own one article of clothing from any film, what would you take?”

  “Oh, that’s a good one,” Erica said. Abby agreed.

  “I’d have to say . . .” Brian scratched his chin. “I’d have to say Bogie’s hat from Casablanca. Coolest hat ever.”

  “Good choice,” Abby commended him, then turned her crystal blue gaze on Erica. “What would you have said?”

  “Lara Croft’s entire tomb-raiding outfit,” she replied without missing a beat.

  “Complete with guns?” Abby asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “Complete with guns.”

  “And would you actually wear it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You’d look hot.”

  “Damn right I would.” Erica could feel the guys watching them, but the tequila told her she didn’t care.

  “Brian,” Abby said after a moment of holding Erica’s gaze. “Your turn.”

  He rolled Erica’s number, scanned the page, and grinned wickedly. “If you were to become a prostitute, how much money do you think you could charge per hour?”

  “Am I wearing the Lara Croft clothes?” Erica deadpanned.

  “Oh, yeah,” Brian answered.

  “You couldn’t afford me.”

  Michael and Abby both burst into laughter.

  “I could save up my money for a couple of weeks,” Brian chuckled, playing along as he slid the dice and book in Erica’s direction.

  “You still couldn’t afford me.”

  “Months?”

  “Maybe a year. Two. Two years.” She laughed, and realized that she was feeling almost relaxed. Immediately after that thought came the relief. It was good to just . . . be. She rolled the dice.

  “Abby. What is the one thing you’ve learned about yourself that you wish you knew when you were fifteen?”

  “Hello? That I like girls.”

  “To girls,” Brian toasted. They clinked glasses in the middle of the table.

  They played on for another half hour before Michael decided to pack it in. “I’m exhausted, my friends. Not to mention a wee bit intoxicated.” They all laughed, louder than necessary because they were all intoxicated. “I know it’s barely seven o’clock, but I slept rather badly last night, as I’m sure we all did, and I’m afraid the jet lag is kicking my sorry behind. Time for me to catch forty winks. Or in this case, about three times that, I hope. It’s been fun.” He raised his glass in salute, downed the remainder of his drink, and was off.

  “And then there were three,” Abby said. “Brian.”

  “What, we’re not rolling the dice any more?”

  “If you could have prevented any single fashion idea or trend from happening, what would it be?”

  “Oh, for god’s sake, the damn mullet. Who the hell thought that was a good idea?”

  Abby and Erica exchanged glances before both burst into laughter. “Amen to that, my friend,” Abby said. “Erica. If you could relive one experience with your mate, what would it be?”

  Abby held Erica’s gaze and a delicious tension slipped into the room on silent feet, enveloping the two of them. The air seemed to shift and Erica blinked slowly.

  “I don’t have a mate, so I can’t really answer that.”

  “Me, neither,” Brian chimed in, feeling suddenly left out. He raised his glass. “To being single.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Erica said.

  “So will I,” Abby added, one corner of her mouth turned up in mischief.

  They clinked, Abby and Erica never breaking their gaze. Erica snatched the book from Abby’s hand, then seemed surprised to have it in her grasp, her vision was that foggy.

  “Okay,” she said, squinting at a page. “Abby. If you were to be the opposite sex for a single day, what would you do?”

  Abby furrowed her dark brows in concentration as if looking for the absolute perfect answer. Brian and Erica waited, watching. “I have two things. Is that okay?”

  A nod.

  “First, I’d pee standing up.” At the ensuing laughter, she went on. “Come on. What woman doesn’t wish she could do that?”

  “True enough. And then?”

  “I’d make love to a woman with my 24-hour dick.”

  Brian choked on his sip of tequila, recovered, and stood. “And that’s my cue.” He pretended not to notice how flushed Erica had become. “Ladies, it’s been fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  They watched him go and Erica started up from her chair. Abby stopped her with a hand on her forearm.

  “Oh, no. I have more questions for you,” she said, a glint in her eye.

  “I’m drunk.” Erica’s voice was matter-of-fact.

  “I know.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Yup.”

  Erica sat.

  “Where’s the most unusual place you’ve ever had sex?”

  “Sex questions? Is that what we’ve come to?”

  “Apparently,” Abby said and cocked an eyebrow expectantly.

  “On the dining room table.” They both looked at the table in front of them.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Abby swallowed. “Have you ever had a threesome?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “Yes. I don’t recommend it. Somebody always ends up feeling left out. What’s your favorite part of a woman’s body?”

  “The place where her neck and shoulder meet.” Erica squinted at her suspiciously. “Hey. These aren’t ‘if’ questions.”

  “They’re not?” Abby feigned confusion while sporting a half-grin and turning the book around so she could look at it from various angles.

  “You’re making these up.”

  “Could be. What do you wear to bed?”

  “Nothing.”

  Abby swallowed again. Hard. Erica was looking at her, but obviously not focusing well. They were almost done, Abby knew. “You’re fun when you’re drunk.”

  “I know.”

  “And modest, too.”

  “I’m just as modest when I’m sober.”

  “But not as fun.” A moment passed. “One last question.”

  “Okay.”

  “What the hell’s your problem with Walmart?”

  Erica burst out laughing, a feminine, musical sound Abby realized she was only hearing for the first time. “You really want to hear my Walmart story? You asked for it.”

  Abby propped her chin in her hand and listened as Erica spoke.

  “I was fourteen,” she began as her memory took her back nearly two decades. She wanted to be at the mall. Not because her friends were there—lord knows, she’d had precious few of those. Nobody wanted to be friends with the brainiac—nobody popular anyway. Her closest friend was Julia, and Julia had already gotten her new school clothes. Right there at Walmart. No, Erica wanted to be at the mall so the popular girls would see her there, at least think they were wrong about where she shopped. That damn Kristy Tarrington could spot a designer knockoff from clear across the classroom and she was never shy about saying so. She’d humiliated Erica on more than one occasion.

  Because of that, Erica had given her parents endless amounts of grief about her “cheap, stupid clothes.”

  “I don’t know where you got such expensive taste,” her father had said. “When you get a job and you’re making your own money, you can buy whatever you want. Until then, you’ll get what we can afford or you’ll get nothing. Your choice. Understand?”

  She’d run to her room in full-out sob mode, screaming that she hated him, teenage oblivion preventing her from comprehending just how much such a remark could hurt. And from that moment on, she’d vowed that once she was employed, she would never, ever buy clothes in a Walmart again. Ever.

&n
bsp; Until yesterday.

  Abby’s face registered new understanding while Erica’s flushed pink and she looked away, embarrassed.

  “You should take me to bed,” she said to Abby.

  They looked at each other, Abby with an expression of amused satisfaction until Erica realized what she’d said.

  “Help me to bed, I mean. Put me to bed. Ugh.” She covered her eyes with her hand. “I’m going to hate myself in the morning.” Removing her hand and glaring, she added, “And you.”

  “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.” Abby stood and steadied herself against the table, feeling suddenly more inebriated than she’d thought she was. “Stay here for a second.” She gathered the glasses and took them to the kitchen, loaded them into Corinne’s dishwasher and set it to run. Back in the dining room, Erica was sitting with her cheek on the table, her arms dangling between her knees. “Ready?” Abby held out a hand. She was startled by how warm and soft Erica’s hand was, how snugly it fit into hers.

  With some measured maneuvering and deliberate steps, they managed to make it down the basement stairs without becoming a rolling ball of flailing limbs. Once at the bottom, Erica went straight to the bathroom to relieve herself, leaving the door wide open. Abby bit her lip and shook her head, baffled by the enormity of the difference between cool, poised, sober Erica and witty, doesn’t-give-a-shit, intoxicated Erica. She stifled a sigh, knowing un-fun Erica would be back in the morning. Probably with a wicked hangover. As Abby wondered how much of tonight’s Q & A Erica would remember, Erica came out of the bathroom, removing clothes as she walked.

  “Everything okay?” Abby asked as Erica peeled off her T-shirt, then slid off her pants.

  “Uh-huh,” she responded in bra and panties, both of which were quickly discarded. Abby’s eyes widened and she wanted to turn away out of respect, but couldn’t bring herself to do so. Erica pulled the covers back and crawled into bed, but not before Abby got an eyeful of milky skin covering flesh that was a glorious combination of curves and muscle. Thick, strong thighs. Rounded, feminine hips. Abby flexed her fingers, clenching her fists to tamp down the desire to run a hand over the roundest, tightest behind she’d ever seen unclothed. Erica flopped onto the mattress on her stomach and pulled the covers over her, nearly jarring Abby out of her trance.

  A deep breath in and then out slowly, Abby wet her lips and pulled herself together. In the bathroom, she found some Motrin and a glass, which she filled with water. Catching Erica before she passed out, Abby ordered her, “Here. Take these and drink this water. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Erica was snoring like a truck driver and Abby was still awake. She lay on the loveseat with her feet propped up on the arm and hanging over, not exactly comfortable, but she’d slept on worse. It was barely nine-thirty and she was exhausted, but she couldn’t get her mind to turn off. It went from the horrifying visions of the towers collapsing and people plummeting to their deaths, to the smiling faces of Tim and Corinne MacDougal, to Michael and Brian clacking their shot glasses together, to Erica’s pale, beautiful body crawling naked into bed. Around and around the pictures went until Abby thought she’d go insane. The next time the towers appeared in her mind’s eye, she got up and quietly rummaged until she found Erica’s cell phone, reminding herself once again that she really should get one of her own. She left the bathroom light on, then took the phone outside and dialed. When there was no answer at home, she took a chance and dialed her mother’s office number at the museum. Luck was with her.

  “Mom?” Hearing her mother’s voice was such a relief, it brought tears to Abby’s eyes.

  “Abby, baby, how are you? Are you still in Canada?” Michelle Hayes sounded tired. She sounded surprised, thankful, and happy to hear her daughter’s voice, but mostly, she sounded exhausted.

  “I’m okay. How are you? You’re still at work?”

  “Oh, Abby. It’s all so awful. It’s just . . . it’s crazy here. It’s nuts. People don’t know what to do. Traffic is a disaster. Hundreds are missing. It’s just . . . it’s awful. I’m actually glad you’re not here right now. Are you okay there? Is it terrible?”

  “I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry.” She relayed the story of the MacDougals and what they’d done for their little foursome. It soon became obvious that her stories were helping to calm Michelle, so she continued, telling about the Walmart trip, about dinner, about the game. By the time she finished, her mother was almost chuckling, the smile apparent in her voice.

  “Any idea when you’ll be here?”

  “You probably have a better handle on that than I do,” Abby told her. “We haven’t heard anything; it’s kind of remote here. I do know that nearly forty planes landed here, so there have to be thousands of people stranded like me and nobody’s allowed to get their baggage.”

  “You’re safe. That’s all that matters right now, believe me. I’m so thankful I’m not one of those poor people wandering the streets outside trying to find their loved ones. I can’t imagine.”

  “You’re safe, too. Right?”

  “I’m fine, baby. I decided to stay here for the night simply because it’s too crazy to go out there. The subway is packed, cabs are at a standstill.”

  “Sounds like staying put is smart.”

  “There are seven of us here. I have a change of clothes in my gym bag and one of the higher-ups has a shower he’s letting us use. There’s a cafeteria downstairs, so we have food. We’re fine. It just makes more sense.”

  “Good.”

  They spoke a little longer about mundane things, mostly just to keep hearing each other’s voice. Abby was reluctant to hang up, but worried about the cell phone bill she could be causing. And the irritation Erica would have when she found out. Abby briefly wondered if she could keep Erica drunk for the remainder of their stay.

  Back in the basement, Erica hadn’t moved and still sounded like a chain saw, which brought a smile to Abby’s face. The cat had reappeared and was curled up between Erica’s legs.

  “Lucky cat,” Abby muttered as she put the phone back where she’d found it. The bathroom light made it easy for her to see, and she paused to study Erica’s face. The same thing she’d noticed at the Lions Club struck her again: how relaxed Erica looked while asleep and what a departure it was from her usual stern, studied gaze. Her face was relaxed, the skin smooth, all the scowl lines and worry creases gone and nothing left but a creamy, even complexion sprinkled with freckles. A corkscrew of auburn hair fell over one closed eye, and Abby gently moved it. As she did so, she wondered for the umpteenth time just what it was that kept Erica from being more comfortable in her own skin, why she was so serious, so contemplative, so reserved. Alcohol had loosened her up and loosened her up quickly. Abby found that interesting. She wondered if that meant the grave and stoic exterior was just that: an exterior. If maybe the fun, witty Erica she’d seen tonight was actually the real Erica, the one who was being hidden. But why?

  And why did she care? That was the biggest question of all. Why should Abby give a shit? After all, they were going to go their separate ways eventually, probably sooner rather than later, and she would probably never cross Erica’s mind again. So why should she expend so much time and energy on trying to figure out a woman she’d most likely never see again after this ordeal?

  That was the question that stayed with her as she re-settled herself on the loveseat, adjusted blankets, punched and reshaped pillows, and attempted to get at least a few hours of sleep. It stayed with her because she had no answer.

  September 13, 2001

  Thursday

  Chapter 8

  “Wow! Erica? Erica Ryan? Is that really you? You look . . . fabulous.” The expression on Kristy Tarrington’s shockingly pudgy face said the words forced their way past her lips, that she wanted to say anything but them.

  “Yes. Yes, it’s me. Erica Ryan. Graduate of the same high school as you.” Erica was on a stage, under a spotlight, and wearing a to-di
e-for emerald green bikini. Kristy was right: she looked fabulous. Striking a model’s pose, she tucked a hand on her hip and stood with one foot slightly in front of the other as she spoke. “The same girl you called an ugly nerd, a hopeless wannabe, and . . . what was the other one? Oh, yeah. A sad and pathetic specimen of the human female. Wasn’t that it?”

  Kristy grimaced, giving prominence to all three of her chins. “Oh, come on. We were kids. That stuff didn’t mean anything.”

  Erica’s eyes flew open wide. “Didn’t mean anything? To who? To you? I’ve got news for you, Kristy. It sure meant something to me. You ruined my teenage years. You made me feel like crap, day in and day out. The things you said to me all through high school, the names you called me—they shaped how I think about myself even today. I’m thirty-two years old, for god’s sake, and I can still remember how worthless you made me feel. Don’t you get that?”

  Kristy shrugged. “Jesus, Erica. Don’t you think it’s time you get over that stuff? I mean, really, it’s been more than ten years.”

  Erica was appalled. Was it supposed to go this way? Wasn’t Kristy supposed to apologize? She blinked rapidly, searching for something to say, horrified that she felt small, insignificant, and sixteen all over again.

  “You got fat.” It was the best she could come up with.

  “Yup,” Kristy replied, pulling a cheeseburger out of thin air. She took a bite and looked above Erica’s head as she chewed. “Heads up.” Erica followed her gaze just in time to see the light grid falling down on top of her, smashing into her skull, causing immediate and splintering pain . . .

  Pain.

  Throbbing.

  Pain and throbbing. The only things of which she was aware.

  Throbbing like timpani being beaten inside her head and pain like jackhammers pounding against the interior of her skull.

  “Ugh.”

  She was afraid to move. She was afraid to open her eyes. A mental inventory told her that she was in bed on her stomach. Her right arm was under the pillow beneath her head and had fallen asleep some time ago; she couldn’t feel it. Her mouth felt pasty, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and her teeth sporting furry little sweaters. Her legs were splayed in opposite directions, a strange vibration humming against her left calf.