Ten Thousand Points of Light

by Michelle Warren

  “You’re happy because you have a rap sheet now?”

  “Phfft. I’ve had one of those for years. I’m happy because I met Paul.” She continues, “He’s gorgeous and charming, and he has a white horse that he dresses like a unicorn. Sort of. And there’s a strong possibility we may never see each other again.”

  She sighs and pinches her shoulders to her ears with glee, “It was a brief and beautiful love affair.”

  I clutch the pillow to my chest and belt out a hysterical giggle until my gut hurts. I curl into the pain and hold my midsection. Tears stream down my cheeks, blurring my vision. The movement makes my hangover pound, so I grab my head and rub the skull-splitting pain. But the longer I laugh, the more the tension releases until it’s gone.

  “I didn’t even tell you the good part,” she protests.

  “Oh man,” I rein in the laughter and wipe the tears away. I needed that. “I should have come with you.”

  “Didn’t you do your normal woe-is-me-sucky-non-happy-hour and then run for five hours?”

  “How do you know me so well?”

  “I just imagine the most boring thing in the world and that’s usually what you’re doing.”

  My lips twist. I could tell Aggie everything, but I’m too ashamed to confess my launch into possible awesomeness and my quick descent into epic crash and burn. Besides, I’d prefer to hear the details of her night than relive the horrors of mine. I reposition on the couch, moving closer.

  She relays her story while sharing photos on her phone. In true Aggie fashion, it’s no less than amazing. By the time she’s finished her epic tale, I believe with my entire heart she and Paul belong together. At least that’s what I tell her. I’m a little more of a cynic than that, but why kill her buzz? She’s happy and over weasel-boy Brad with one crazy night. Maybe there’s something to finding a new guy to replace the old one?

  She kicks her feet onto the love sofa, relaxing into the cushions. Her attention swings around the room. “I should bring some stuff over to decorate. Your apartment needs some color. Some happy.”

  “Or you could stay at your place and admire your crazy stuff from there.”

  “But you don’t even have a TV.” She spouts off all the reality shows she’s missing, including the current season of some “psychic, secret lover, wilderness tree house” survival show she’s obsessed with.

  I don’t admit the reason I don’t have a TV. With my amnesia, watching is overwhelming. I avoid the news. Hearing of any violence sends me into a panic attack. Watching abstract commercials flash from one scene to the next leaves me with a thousand questions, from wondering why watermelon is pink to why Kanye West thinks he’s so awesome. Some things make sense while others don’t. Thankfully I remembered words, their meanings, and procedural activates, like driving or cleaning laundry.

  Recovering has been more than remembering my life. It’s been about sorting out and making sense of almost everything else too. During my recovery, I spent a large part of my time with various tutors and therapists who helped get me back into college so I could return to a normal existence—whatever that is.

  That being said, I’ve learned a lot from watching movies and TV shows on Netflix on my iPad. Depending on how you look at it, they saved me or gave me a false view of the world. It’s easier to follow a simple story from beginning to end where I can piece together some semblance of meaning. Still, I stick to romance and comedy. That’s all I can handle.

  Aggie would be shocked to learn her Princess of Darkness needs to laugh at a comedy or sink into a romance rather than watch The Walking Dead. I’ve had enough of that on my own.

  We nap on the couch for a few hours. After we wake, Aggie heads home. I rise with the bizarre and overwhelming urge to shop. Or maybe I know exactly why I need to shop but can’t come to terms with the reason.

  Evan still hasn’t fixed my hot water handle when I return home with an armful of shopping bags. It pains me more on Monday when I take another freezing shower for work.

  I select some of my new purchases: a trim crimson dress suit and black heels with red soles. This morning I style my hair in loose waves down my back and apply makeup. When I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. The last time I wore bright colors or makeup? I can’t recall.

  And there’s the information I want to ignore. The reason I’m doing this in the first place. I needed to reassure myself after Saturday night’s rejection. I need to feel better even it’s only physically. But a more troublesome part wants to make Evan regret his dismissal. I’m reasonable enough to understand this is a childish response, but I’m stuck on the idea of revenge.

  You look ridiculous. I sigh and twist in front of the mirror. My mind picks at the roundness of my hips, the thickness of my thighs, the way the suit sticks too tight to the curve of my butt, and cautions I’ll be fighting the tangles in my hair all day. No matter what I do, I’ll still be the same mess beneath the lipgloss and painted fingernails. I sigh at my stupidity.

  Giving in to the negative whispers, I unbutton my jacket and shimmy out of it. I hang it while mentally making plans to return all impulse purchases tonight. The suits, the shoes, the lingerie. What was I thinking?

  When I remove my normal Monday suit from the closet, my cell chirps. I pick it up from my dresser and read the message.

  LINDEN: Where r u? Meeting moved 2 8:30.

  I freeze at the information and then glance at the clock. I yelp. It’s 8:15 a.m. For the sake of my job I forgo the self-pity, snatch the jacket back from the hanger, and race for the front door. No time to change.

  At the bottom of the stairs I’m dressed again. I dart through the lobby, pulse racing, and out the building’s front door and into the blaring sunshine. The chilled morning air smacks me in the face, and I burrow into my jacket before shuffling down the front stoop.

  Evan’s leaning over a long garden planter on hands and knees. He’s tugging out the dying summer flowers, replacing them with purple and orange mums for the fall. There’s dark potting soil everywhere.

  I ignore him and tiptoe across the crunching dirt to reach the curb. I raise my arm, frantic to wave down a taxi. It’s the only way I’ll arrive at work on time.

  “Morning, sunshine,” Evan says.

  I sink at his greeting. I look over at him even though I don’t want to. He shifts from kneeling and sits on the ground, one arm draped over a raised knee. He peers at me with squinting eyes. The fringe of his dark lashes press together. The golden sun hits his face, highlighting a patch of smudged dirt on his cheek.

  I hoped he would leave me alone in my shame, but it wouldn’t be Evan if he did. Instead, he’s giving me extra attention. He doesn’t bother hiding his longing gaze. It catches my ankles first, pauses at the SpongeBob Band-Aid I left there, perhaps on purpose, and meanders up my legs. I’m wearing a new pair of what Aggie would call fuck-me heels, which I also may have originally worn on purpose. But now? I want to step into the street to move as far away from him as possible. Instead of giving in to self-consciousness, I roll my shoulders back, lift myself higher, and take a deep breath.

  “Morning, Evan.” I remain cheery. If I pretend nothing happened the other night, that I’m not affected by him, that I haven’t spent the better part of the weekend thinking about his body pressed against mine, maybe my exterior facade will reflect the outrageous lie.

  When two taxis pass with fares I wave a little harder, desperate for someone to rescue me. Impatient, I shift from one foot to another.

  “Did you buy that sexy new outfit for me?”

  My eyes widen. I return the zing, unwilling to let him win whatever this game is between us. I refuse to step down or lose.

  “No new outfit needed. I’m naturally sexy.” On the inside I cringe. What the hell am I doing?

  “Snappier than usual too. Special occasion?”

  I’ll continue this charade of confidence to put him in his place, to affirm I’m splendid, despite every inner voice screaming to st
op. The actress releases. The mask of happiness takes over. “Oh it’s because I love crisp days.” I pop my shoulder and grasp at the straps of my handbag.

  “Why’s that?”

  “I love the chilly wind whipping underneath my skirt when I’m pantiless.”

  As his jaw drops, I step off the curb to meet a stopped taxi and open the back door. Before I leave, I turn my backside to him and say, “No panty lines, see?”

  I don’t wait for his response. Instead, I swing my hips into the backseat, slip my feet inside, and slam the back passenger door. Shocked at my own fearlessness, I mutter the address to the driver. He sets his meter and takes off.

  Eyes glazing over, I replay our conversation in my head. An unexpected snap of a frenzied laugh escapes my lips, and I cover my mouth with my hand when the driver curiously glances back through the rearview mirror.

  With pure enjoyment I watch the world pass but only see Evan’s shocked expression behind my eyes. I took control. I put him in his place. And for the first time since after, I’m discovering how much fun it is to flirt, and I think I like it.

  CHAPTER 10

  I sashay into the offices of Grayson & Wade on an Evan-seducing high. I don’t even know what’s happening. I don’t recognize myself. I’m a stranger wielding my newfound powers, and it’s exhilarating.

  “Morning,” I sing as I drop my bag on the conference room table. I remove my sunglasses and slide out of my coat.

  Aggie lifts her glance from prepping each seat with a bottled water, pen, notepad, and presentation booklet. “Why do you look like a goddess while I look like death? We drank together last night, didn’t we?”

  “Must have been your other best friend.”

  “Maybe.” She looks perplexed, but then cocks her head. “You’re wearing red. And you’re smiling. On a Monday. What’s going on?”

  She scurries closer to get a better look at me.

  “It’s not black?” I glance down at myself.

  “If that’s black, I did get wasted last night.”

  I lean into my laptop and click through our PowerPoint presentation, refreshing my memory on the bullet points, even though I can recite them forward and backward. I find myself bouncing my head, turning them into a song in my mind.

  “I guess I’ll blame Adam,” she says.

  As I’m about to ask her to explain what she was doing with Adam when she was fixated on Paul twenty-four hours before, Linden struts in.

  “You two can men bash later. Everything ready?”

  We nod. Linden buttons his Armani suit jacket like it’s his armor and he’s readying for battle. His features turn from tight to smiling, and he disappears to greet the executives who are gathering in the lobby.

  I descend from my high when I remember the seriousness of today’s meeting. I’m Linden’s warrior, and I can’t let a personal victory with Evan throw off my workday. I stand tall and adjust my own clothes and smooth my hair. Mentally preparing, I pace along the interior windows.

  If I can close the deal, it will be my job to find Lakeman, Shire and Black a new office space for their two-hundred-person law firm. A fifteen-year lease could mean millions for G&W and a substantial commission for me, enough for a down payment on Ozzy’s home.

  The Lakeman execs settle around the conference table. Linden stands at the head, loosening everyone with a few jokes. He’s a charming salesman, an expert storyteller, and everything I know about financing, networking, and schmoozing, I learned from watching him. He introduces me when everyone’s prepped.

  I unfurl my clenched hands, pumping them open and closed until I’m standing front and center. I glance around the faces in the room. My smile is bright to engage. Beneath the mask I’m terrified, but today I must convince each executive they can’t live without my expertise.

  I present four properties. In this case, each space is either unfinished or vacated by another tenant. I showcase floor plans, specs, amenities, history, and area info. A carousel of photos projects on the wall, showing the current state of each space, the city skyline views, and for a finale, I wow them with beautiful 3-D renderings drawn by Adam. The images represent how the spaces can be modernized and transformed to meet their specific needs.

  The presentation is flawless and one hour later, the meeting convenes with a deal for G&W to represent Lakeman. Everyone stands to mingle. A rumble of chatter fills the room. I take a deep breath, though I’m not ready to celebrate.

  “Cait, have you met, Mr. Henley?” Linden gestures to the man beside him.

  “I haven’t. Nice to meet you.”

  Mr. Henley is tall. Light brown hair with honey highlights touch his collar. A haircut that’s different than what I expect from an attorney. There’s a contrast of unrefined versus the distinguished dark silver suit. He wears no tie and his shirt spreads open at the neck, relaxed. His pale blue eyes sear. Simply holding their attention heats my face, but still, I find myself moving closer.

  “Please, call me James. Great presentation. Really interested in the State Street property.” His handshake is strong and the warmth spreads from his grasp, transferring to my body.

  “James will be your contact with Lakeman. He’ll visit the properties and work on the initial leasing details,” Linden adds.

  “Wonderful.” I beam.

  “I’ll leave you two to work out a schedule.” Linden disappears to socialize with the executives and see them out.

  James slides his business card from his wallet. He snags a pen, leans over the table, and jots on it before handing it to me. “These are all my numbers. Call me anytime.”

  “I’m looking forward to working with you.” I reach out.

  He takes my hand again but steps closer this time, collapsing his free hand over the top of mine. Now we’re eye to eye and close enough for me to smell his cologne. It’s airy. Sensual.

  “Me too,” his gravelly voice whispers.

  My eyebrow arcs. It’s an involuntary reaction to his charm.

  With a confident swagger held up by his height and squared shoulders, he swivels to leave. I regard him until the glass door swings shut behind him and Aggie and I are alone. From across the table she’s studying me. I busy myself, hoping to step out of her crosshairs.

  “I see you set your sights on a new victim.” She grins.

  I flounder, neither denying or confirming his good looks. So much for playing it cool. “You know this deal is too important. It’s the first time Linden’s given me full control.”

  “And you’ve handled it like a pro. All I’m saying is you’re an adult. James is an adult. And by the look on his face, he wants to rub your adultness together.” She gathers her laptop and papers, holding them at her chest. She’s thrilled at her suggestion.

  “You’re crazy, you know that?” I circle the table, collecting half-empty water bottles.

  “It would be so fun to live vicariously through you... if you would ever do anything fun.”

  I pause in front of her. This is the perfect time to confess the details of my unsuccessful weekend but my triumphant morning. Maybe it would change the way Aggie views me, or better, the way I view myself. For now I’m still contemplating what I’ve done, but more importantly, I’m stewing over what I’m now considering. An insane plan’s been formulating in my mind since Saturday night’s rejection. The new wardrobe, which I’ve decided to keep, is only the beginning.

  “Beyond this business deal, I have no interest in James Henley. Promise.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Outside my building, I lean into the railing and remove my heels. I moan with the pleasure of allowing my toes to stretch. There’s a painful price to wearing new shoes, and that price seems higher the prettier and higher the heel. Barefooted, I scale the stairs and step into the vestibule.

  I stop to check my mail and shuffle through the stack. Junk. Junk. Junk. I pause on a cream envelope. My fingers tremble when they touch the return address. It’s from Maryland. The beautiful cursive lettering belongs
to my mother. They’ve found me. My pulse sprints.

  Yes, my parents knew I returned to Chicago. They were against it. So adamant we haven’t talked since I moved. They’ve texted, but I always ignore them. I don’t want to say I’ve been hiding, but I’m not broadcasting my exact location. Doing so might entice them to visit, something I’m not ready for. Whenever it happens, I want it to occur on my terms. Not like this. Not with another demand on how I should live my life.

  I flip the note to open it but pause before ripping the back flap. Instead of allowing them to needle me, I drop the unopened letter into the trash bin with the junk mail. Ignoring them and their disappointment is easier than dealing, especially now that I’m feeling something.

  Being lost in my mind for so long, these new somethings surprise me. It’s happiness and laughter with Aggie, flustered and annoyed with Evan, or affection and horniness with Evan, but most of all it’s real hope. And that one’s mine alone, with no help from anyone. Or maybe it’s because of those shared experiences with others that I can experience hope. Whatever it is I want to push toward those positive emotions and away from the others. I want that high-on-life passion I experienced this morning while teasing Evan, and I want it all the time in every facet of my life.

  I know it won’t happen overnight, but it’s a spark of a flame I want to burn so bright no darkness from before remains. Even though it shouldn’t, this search for newness heightens my interest in Evan. I experience the most when I’m with him, positive or negative. And I confess, I want more of it.

  In this scenario I do what any overachiever would. After I settle in at home, I take out a stack of blank index cards for my new project. I open my computer, find a browser, and type how to make my crush notice me.

  I roll my eyes when the first result in the search engine is for Teen Beat Magazine. But hey, I learned all this before. I just don’t remember it. I only need a refresher on the basics, right?