by Cee Smith
Tuesday, September 29th Continued
Coffee shops in Greenwich are always busy, so when I stepped inside Think Coffee and saw a little table just inside the window, I made a dash for it. The other patrons heard “mine” as my purse slammed against the top of the table. I ignored the awkward glances, afraid they’d recognize the crazy in me—wind-tangled hair, purposely forgettable clothing, and a nervousness clinging to me like a bad aftertaste. Shoving the loose strands back into my bun, I waited a few minutes until the disturbance of my appearance was forgotten and I could get a cup of coffee to otherwise explain my reason for being there.
With my cup firmly in hand, I resumed my spot in the window and looked out across the red and brown brick building I’d only seen once before. I didn’t know what propelled me to go. Wait, that’s a lie. I did know. Everett’s mention of dinner caught my attention, and like that spot of dribbled coffee on an otherwise unmarked blouse, I became fixated on his words.
If you would have asked me at the time, I wouldn’t have been able to say what exactly I expected while sitting in that cafe listening to the bustling of bodies shuffling to and from the counter. The espresso wand frothed milk, other patrons driveled on about their weekends, their jobs, their kids, people-watching like an observer at the zoo—it felt normal there, felt like I was regaining some portion of my sanity. It was only everywhere else I seemed to be losing my grasp on reality.
The sun climbed down from the sky, lifting shadows across the rust-colored building. I stared at the entrance wondering how many times I’d passed his home in all of the years I’d lived here. How many times might I have seen Everett before that night on the train? I liked to think I would have acknowledged him. He carried a confidence that trailed behind him like a cloud of smoke marking his path, and I lingered, consumed as much by the man as I was by my reaction to him.
I tried so hard to break the thread that separated our worlds. That was how I ended up seeing him that evening, at a time when it seemed almost serendipitous I would see him at that exact moment. I’d like to say the crowds parted and a light shined down from the skies to highlight his steps, but it was nothing that ethereal. In truth, it felt like the city kept moving in spite of this turning point I felt happening as he exited his apartment’s lobby.
Water clung to his dirty blonde hair painting his strands chocolate brown in the light that refracted off his glistening locks. He looked polished as usual, his slim fit navy pants and crisp white shirt making him look like a man more comfortable in the French Riviera than New York. There was one thing that was different about him though. A certain comfort I’d never seen him wear. But it wasn’t his clothing that changed. It was the looseness of his shoulders, the casual smile, and the way his face lit up. He was happy. I shouldn’t have been shocked by the expression of emotion overcoming his face; it was just that I wasn’t used to seeing him so expressive. When I thought about it, I’d only ever seen him in control. Even when he laughed, there was an underlying tenseness there, like a weight he couldn’t let fall.
He pushed through the door and stopped.
Then she followed through right behind him.
The source of his happiness.
The reason for that smile.
A knife to my belly wouldn’t have hurt as much as the canyon threatening to divide me in that very moment. The pain was acute, a lancing ache echoing throughout me. I didn’t know what I had expected when I showed up, but I wasn’t expecting this. What I was seeing was real. Not some distant image of a time that happened before me or a life that felt so separate from mine. Like those other moments on the train, I felt our worlds merging. A bridge joined us, except upon closer inspection, it looked like the other side was ablaze.
With coffee cup in hand, I felt frozen in the moment, watching as he held the door open for her to pass through after him. She was the perfect embodiment of a woman I imagined on his arm. A Barbie-pink dress, modest yet alluring, which accentuated her petiteness. Sun-kissed blonde hair was pulled back in a chignon, and even with the distance, I could tell her makeup was flawless. She was perfect.
They were perfect.
Despite the pain twisting in my gut, encouraging me to turn away, I watched on. He helped her down to the curb and called a cab with the same hand that had flogged my ass only days ago. I flinched at the memory of the whip cracking against my flesh. Or was it the vision of them being carried off into the sea of vehicles like sands of the shore returning to the ocean bed? I can’t remember, but both devastated me in vastly different ways.
Gulping down my remaining coffee, I ignored the burn of my tongue with each pour of liquid flowing into my mouth. Now the sounds crashing in the too-cramped café overwhelmed my senses, driving me from the place that granted me reprieve only twenty minutes prior.
I dashed from the coffee shop, ever grateful for my long legs and how quickly they helped me flee. The subway called to me, the opening in the concrete offering me solace for my dejected heart. Taking one last look at his building, I entered the crosswalk, but instead of following the flood of bodies drawing closer to my intended target, I moved against the grain. The little green lights of the crosswalk sign that reminded me so much of his eyes pulled me nearer. The light began blinking red and I skipped the remainder of the way, feeling a renewed sense of energy course through me. I let the feeling lead me into his building, onto the elevator, and up to the fourth floor where I stood just outside his door.
I looked up and down the hallway, my mind already two steps ahead of my hands. Opening the zipper of my purse, I pulled out the lock pick set I’d begun carrying around with me since second semester of freshman year. About the time when I realized that Teagan was not responsible enough to keep track of her keys, let alone mine. After shaking out the nerves, I positioned the picks at the lock of his door. It’d been months since I needed to use those things, but I remembered the YouTube tutorial. Quieting my breath, I exhaled through my nose as I listened for the click, alerting me of my success.
The sound of the deadbolt turning made me fumble the picks in hand. Turning the handle, I rushed in, afraid a neighbor of his might catch me. The last thing I needed was someone thinking I was trying to burgle him. I didn’t know if what I was doing was any better, but it sounded better in my head.
His wood door held me up, calmed the rapid breaths wheezing from my lungs. With my back still at the door, I felt for the lock, turning it to its previous state. After a few moments, my anxiety leveled out and I took a look around. Not expecting his home to be that large, I was pleasantly surprised to find his apartment spanned two floors and was as open as it was inviting. The light gray couch and oak end tables juxtaposed the brick wall spanning both floors and the exposed ductwork overhead. To the left was a modest-sized kitchen with an island and some artistically rustic dining table like those from Restoration Hardware.
Aside from large furnishings there wasn’t a lot of decoration, proving he was a bit of a minimalist in and out of the office. I walked through the apartment, inhaling his lingering scent of vanilla and eucalyptus. It grew stronger the closer I got to the staircase. Like a hound that caught a scent, I followed where my legs led me. The rusted steps of his staircase protested my ascent with every step. My fingers ghosted the railing, the cold metal shocking my senses in the moments where my steps were less than graceful.
The stairs opened up to a loft space above. Light shined in through the wall of windows spotlighting dust motes protesting my sudden appearance. His bed swallowed the large space, jutting up to the glass. I walked up to the window and looked down over the small courtyard existing between buildings. A bench sat empty in the middle of the grass surrounded by yellow leaves of the nearby maple. What kinds of things has that bench seen, I thought as my hands found their place against the warm panes. My exhibitionist thoughts kept me company in the solitary room.
Even in his bedroom, everything seemed to have its place, down to the lone book on his nightstand. The book titled Cos
mos reminded me of our trip to the museum. It was those things that seemed to bring awareness to the age gap between us. How many men my age would consider Cosmos nighttime reading? I set the book back down, making sure to place it back in its original position.
Gleaming white subway tiles and the large glass structure on the opposite wall caught my eye, and I could still see drops of water clinging to the drain in the floor. The shower and pedestal sink might have been open to the bedroom, but just to the right of the shower was a small room for the toilet. The closet was much smaller than mine, but the contents of that one little room were worth more than almost everything I owned. With arms outstretched, I relished the feel of expensive fabrics brushed across my skin, recognizing some of the suits as I made my way back to the bedroom.
Just as I was about to head back downstairs, I noticed the low-profile dresser against the banister. Two lone frames caught my eye, prompting me to backtrack in hopes of catching a glimpse of his private life. In one frame was a picture of a little boy and girl, both golden-haired kids with toothy grins at Coney Island. The photo was faded and had a yellowish tint, but I could clearly make out the little boy. I would recognize those eyes anywhere.
In the frame next to it, the boy and girl were no longer kids but now adults, surrounded by an older woman with gray hair clinging to the fading blonde locks. Her smile was bright, although it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Everett no longer had the glow of childhood his other picture so clearly displayed. However, what caught my attention more was the blonde in the picture. It was the same woman seen leaving his apartment not more than twenty minutes before.
The woman must be his sister. With the three of them all lined up, it was so clearly obvious. My eyes shifted over the figures, taking mental notes on their similarities. Their cheekbones, the strong angle of their jaws, the shape of their eyebrows.
While looking at the image, I could feel the pit in my stomach mending itself. I needed to leave while that feeling was still fresh. While I still had a hope that there was space in his life for me, for more than what we currently shared.
I stepped back and stared at the dresser, curious of its contents. I’d yet to see inside the dresser at Fetish, but I was always curious what was inside his bag of tricks. With the hope that I would be invited back someday, I ran back to the stairs, hustled back down to the first floor, and fled his apartment.
Wednesday, September 30th
Serenity blanketed the room as I watched in admiration of the command Everett had over the rest of the office. It was as if by crossing the threshold of the conference room, we were stepping into his arena and handing over our voices in the process. He was a god here and we, his disciples, hung onto his every word.
Maybe he could make a submissive out of anyone. I looked across the room, not quite knowing what I was looking for, but hoping I would know once I found it.
“I wanted to thank you all for your hard work these last couple weeks. You were dealing with an additional challenge of not knowing the client, but we adhere to our clients’ requests here at DM, and due to a confidentiality agreement, we were unable to share client information until now.”
Simultaneously, employees scooted to the edges of their seats, leaning forward as if by proximity the news would reach their ears faster.
Everett continued speaking, his cadence unwavering in the anticipation clearly visible in the room. “I can officially announce that Oaken Industries is now a client of Digital Monument—” His voice was drowned out by the mass of cheers and whispers.
Ed turned to me, the lights overhead making the whites of his eyes shine like pearls.
“Oaken Industries, Indy.”
“Now you see why he was riding us so hard. I still can’t believe we got it though.”
“This is huge. Did you meet him?”
He looked as eager as I felt the day Everett said we would be meeting Oaken, like the magic of meeting someone that incredible could be experienced through osmosis.
With a cheek-splitting smile, I recalled the memory, letting it swell in the vibrancy of the room. Everett’s eyes were on me. I felt them across the room, across the crowd, too swept up in the excitement to notice his lingering eyes. Ed seemed unaware of my change of focus—how my eyes cut to the side, my chin tipped toward the front of the room, the crossing of my legs. I absorbed Everett’s attention, his eyes touching me with needy hands.
He cleared his throat and the room quieted once more, his words washing over us like holy water at a baptism. I scanned the faces of my co-workers, observing their bright eyes and relaxed smiles, high on the news of what it could mean for Digital Monument. The news was huge. It had the power to take Digital Monument and Everett’s name, in particular, worldwide. Sure DM was well known in New York and quite possibly held its own as one of the biggest consulting agencies on the East Coast, but this had the power to change everything. It seemed everyone was thinking the same thing.
The meeting ended and Everett exchanged parting words with a few stragglers. Ed stood up, preparing to leave. “You coming?”
I pulled my purse up from the floor, plopping it into the seat next to me, busying my hands in the bottomless bag.
“Um, I’ll catch up with you. I. Just. Need—” I didn’t know how to end the sentence so I stopped, continuing to feign like I was pulling Moby Dick out of my purse with my bare hands. Ed’s large shoulders shrugged and eyebrows quirked as if wondering about the secrets hidden inside a woman’s purse.
While approaching Everett, I noticed the hunger in his eyes. The same look I saw before. It was a craving that swirled like galaxies in his eyes. Recognizing the desire, my stomach grew tight, my breaths came faster. A weight settled within me, gravity urging my knees to crumple. I fought the feeling, absorbed it so I could unleash it later—at the right time, at the right place.
Everett’s lips curled up at the ends. Not exactly a smile like he wore the night he left his apartment with his sister, but a smile I had become accustomed to. The look of unspoken knowledge—an, “I know something you don’t know” look he’d mastered in adulthood.
I looked Everett up and down. He was just a man, just a mortal, yet there was a quiet strength there. Some thing that most men hadn’t tapped into. Whatever it was, he carried it with ease—in his erect posture that would make ordinary men seem mechanical, but with him it only seemed to draw more attention to the fluidity of his sculpted muscles.
“How does it feel to have everyone hanging on your every word?”
Without saying it, he knew what I meant. His eyes traveled a road familiar to his hands and tongue. They fell down to my breasts, spending an indecent amount of time there, so we both knew the truth of what was left unspoken—I was included in “everyone.” Just like my co-workers, I clung to his words, even though I already knew who the client was.
“Meet me tonight and I’ll tell you.”
“Tonight? But it’s Wednesd—”
“Be sure to stop by my office before you leave.”
Before I left work, I did as Everett instructed. Catherine motioned for me to enter, and I pushed through the door, stilling in the emptiness of the room. Somehow it felt worse being in his office without him than it did sneaking inside his home. Maybe the guilt of my trespassing was starting to weigh on me. A line had to be drawn somewhere. What could only be described as infatuation with Everett was growing out of control. Somewhere in the back of my mind, while slipping through his house, I knew that. It wasn’t until I was back in the comfort of my own home, armoring myself against Tea’s curiosity of my whereabouts, that I questioned my ethics.
Still just within the door I looked up and saw the box on his desk. If this was a test in self-control I failed because that box lured me closer. A closer look, that’s all I wanted. He could have left the present for me.
My reason for snooping proved worthwhile. I pulled the yellow sticky with my name splashed across off the top of the box, folded it, and placed it in my pocket. Both
hands fell to the sides of the box, wiggling the snug top loose. I shifted the opaque white paper aside. Reflexively my hand fell across my mouth. Taking a glance at the door, I moved to the left to block the view of the box from anyone else that might have entered behind me.
Bundled in the box, like a carefully wrapped newborn, was an anal plug. Upon first look, I could see how one might confuse it for something else. Perhaps part of a costume that would require a long bushy tail, nearly identical to real fox fur. It was the bulb of tapered metal that gave it away. Sunrays danced across the metal throwing light up to the ceiling.
I pulled the mass of fur through my opened fist. The indulgent urge of rubbing the fur on my face pressed at me. I stopped myself from doing just that and let the tail fall back into the box.
A small card was nestled there in the paper. My core throbbed at the words written: “Be ready to play.”
I quickly left and boarded the train to the intended destination. The eyes of the other passengers watched me as I remembered what happened in Everett’s office. Did they know what was in the box? Did the narrow matte-black box without any logo or insignia speak of its contents? I threw my purse atop the box, hiding it from lecherous eyes.
As the train slowed, I leapt up. The man next to me eyed me warily. When the doors slid open, I sprinted out onto the platform, the box lodged beneath my arm so tight it left an outline of the lid imprinted in my skin.