by Ethan Egorov
“Doesn’t seem like it.” I snap my attention back elsewhere and look in her eyes when she manages to look up at me. Her eyes squint at the sun behind me and I take a step left to block it in the right place.
“I… I just—“
“Maybe you went to the wrong bank.” I suggest, even though that’s not a real thing. But I try to say something that helps, anything really.
“No, I didn’t. My life just sucks this bad. And if you expect something for your help, I’m sorry to say that is not happening.” She accentuates with her hands and only makes me laugh. Her accent and the absurdity of it together make it funny.
“That’s not how things work around here. I can’t tell if you’re strapped for cash or in the wrong place. Nice car,” I gesture to the Mercedes behind her and chuckle.
She frowns and glances back at it. “Oh. That’s… that’s not my car.” She says awkwardly.
“You’re just used to finding the nicest one in the lot.” I suspect. She frowns up at me and I know that I’m right. All these clues coming together are helping me piece this up, but it is still pretty rough.
“Look I can give you a ride somewhere if you need it.”
“I took a cab into town and came right to the bank so…” she blinks hard. I wonder if she doesn’t even know where she is, but she doesn’t seem crazy. It’s like she woke up this morning and got ready to have a day nothing like this at all.
“Well uh, I know a place you can lay low for a bit. If you want.” I suggest. I’m thinking of the club because it is practically empty right now and the rooms in the back aren’t as bad as they seem. She tightens a purse I hadn’t noticed she was carrying over her shoulder, one of the big ones I assume has some of her things in it, but it’s clear she hadn’t planned on leaving town.
“You’re a stranger.” Is her response.
“One that wants to help you.” I chuckle. And I don’t know why. I don’t think it’s just because she’s cute, this is too much trouble for just a cute girl.
“Okay…where?”
To that I laugh because I have no idea how to tell her where I plan on taking her. But I lead us over to my bike and she seems to change her mind entirely.
“This looks like a bad idea.” She eyes my bike with a funny look, and I smile at her.
“It’s not so bad. The drive is short. Oh, I’m Logan by the way.” I shake her hand when I come around the other side, I linger around her small, soft hand as she smiles at me for the first time.
“Chantal. Nice to meet you.”
I hand her the helmet and get on the bike, she gets on after me, a bit unsteady but she makes it. She has to hike her dress up a bit and I dust my elbow over her thigh but don’t feel anything over my jacket. She tightens them around me and brings her arms around my waist slowly. With caution, I guess since we don’t know each other.
“You ready?” I ask Chantal. It’s a fitting name for this persona that she has, a city girl for sure, privileged second to that. I’m ready to find out what is really going on.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
2
Chantal
“Where am I supposed to go? I can’t just pack my things and leave.”
“All your things, I bought for you. So, don’t bother packing them. I told you to do things my way or—“
“You would kick me out. I thought you were my father, who is supposed to love me unconditionally.”
“I’m a businessman, that’s not the way I operate. I don’t say anything without meaning it.”
I stare at my Dad in his office chair, who stares back at me like this is a normal occurrence. Like this is nothing but a business meeting. I hold back all my tears, but it is of no use. I saw this coming but refused to believe that he would actually do this. Without mom here, there is no one to referee us anymore. My father is powerful, rich, and controlling. At one point he stopped raising me and just started controlling me instead. I don’t want to go into the family business, I don’t want my life dictated and if that means going off on my own…
“Fine. I’m leaving.” I slam the latest check from my trust down on his desk, the one that came with a letter from his office demanding I step up and take an executive role in the company. To which I declined and has led me here.
My father and I never got along. After mom died when I was twelve, he tried for a few years until sending me to boarding school. Since then I saw him once a year through college and it has led me here. I majored in business to satisfy him, since he was paying for it. He thought it was to prepare me for working at the company, but I did it for myself, so I could start my own. He never listened when I voiced what I actually want to do, so perhaps it was my mistake to expect him to come around. But this is still disappointing, and sad.
“Give your hard pass to Jane on the way out.” Is all my father has to say.
Seated behind his desk with a hard look on his face, his once blond hair now all grayed silver, no love in his eyes when he looks at me. It makes my tears fall rapidly fast in disbelief at this all. I woke up this morning, prepared for an easy breakfast and somewhat civilized conversation about this but it took a hard turn. I succeeded in relenting to him for some time, but I couldn’t compromise anymore. I can’t be controlled by his money anymore.
So, I have to go.
I didn’t think this through, clearly.
After leaving his office, the last place I wanted to go was back to the estate, so I just pressed forward. With the cash in my wallet, I got on a bus looking absolutely insane with no bags, and in a yellow sundress, but its not like I have a perfect escape plan. I am still almost glad that I hadn’t returned home to try and pack some of my things. Because then I would have become nostalgic and talked myself into staying. Just for a little while, to try and convince my dad otherwise. But I know him well, he cannot be convinced or toyed with.
I am just as smart as him, but I haven’t thought this through; the bus pulls in a few hours later to a town I had not even heard of, I just saw the city name and thought of sun shine. But here I am, with minimal cash in my wallet.
“Think Chantal, think…” I murmur to myself, stepping off the bus to the warm breeze blowing through. The other people on the bus look like they know where they are, this is their territory, and I look like a complete outsider. I feel like it too.
It’s the sight of an ATM that gets my thought process going. I would need a real bank, but my mint account is linked to my dad’s, there is no way he unlinked them this fast. It is one of the banks that doesn’t have a debit or credit card linked, so I need a physical trust bank. A quick map search on my phone leads the way, and I’m lucky it isn’t as far as it could have been. My plan is simple, fool proof, until I actually get there.
“What do you mean it’s empty?” I shriek, forgetting I am in public. The teller is a young woman with a mean look, scowling at me like I am inconveniencing her. I gave her all the correct info, and I realize she is looking at me like this because of how I appear; my overly nice clothes, the recent tan and blow out… god, this is not me. This can’t be my life now.
“I did check, there’s nothing here. In fact you don’t even have access to the account information, it says here—“
“I don’t care what it says!” I shout, and immediately wince at myself the way everyone else in here is. “I’m sorry, I just…” I take a calming breath and find it in myself to remain calm, somehow. But if I can’t get to this money, I am stranded. I don’t have friends back home, not real ones. All the girls on my speed dial are only good for spa days, tight society circles, not dire situations.
It seems all hope is lost, until one of those good samaritans you only hear about in books or see in movies shows up. It’s almost like I feel him before I see him, and then up close to me—I force myself not to look. In all this turmoil of the past few hours, my face streaked and redone with makeup, I still find it in me to feel something other than despair.
The man asks the teller to check agai
n, I watch only her facial expressions and it is like she knows him somehow. This man, with a voice deeper than the ocean; I inhale his scent that swarms around me and my shaking fingers die down, just a little bit.
But it’s of no use, when she does check and find that there is nothing there for me.
“Oh my god…” I groan and take my purse, stomping out of the bank and trying not to make eye contact at the all the eyes on me.
I leave and keep going, stopping at a shiny purple car that looks just like mine—well I guess it isn’t mine anymore, since it is back home. The sun hurts less than before, I forgot how long I was on that bus. Hoping, wishing. I brace myself against the car, even though it isn’t mine, and hope the owner doesn’t show up.
“Hey, wait!” The same deep voice from earlier calls after me but I ignore it.
My chest heaves as tears cloud my eyes again, and my face heats at this embarrassing moment with a stranger thinking I am unwell. Or crazy. Or both.
“Are you alright? Need some help?” The man asks me. I can feel him closer now, and I didn’t even get a good look at him earlier. I try to in the reflection of the car but that falls short, the image is too distorted.
But he is being nice, it would be rude to ignore him. So, I turn around—and I wish I hadn’t.
I grew up around men that looked like wax figurines of political power, and business men. This is not that. He—he is rough around the edges but has a soft quality that I can’t explain. The lightness of his hair sets off the deep tan of his skin, the gray vee neck he has on dips down his clavicle and shows how deep his muscles are, that and the way his leather jacket tightens around his muscles to show them off. And he is tall, very much so. The soft smirk he has on his face is more comforting than creepy, even though I don’t know him at all.
“I don’t need any help. Thank you.” I tear my gaze from his the same time he drags his eyes down my body. I know the feeling, but this is more than that—with all the confusion in my head right now, his gaze surveying me is distracting enough that it works.
“Doesn’t seem like it.” He says. His voice is so deep and rugged, not like he smokes or anything, but just… like he is holding something back. I squint around the sun at him and he shifts on his feet, blocking the light.
“I… I just—“
“Maybe you went to the wrong bank.” If it were any other time, I’d laugh at that suggestion.
“No, I didn’t. My life just sucks this bad. And if you expect something for your help, I’m sorry to say that is not happening.” I add, realizing this might be one of those situations where a nice stranger isn’t just a nice stranger at all.
“That’s not how things work around here. I can’t tell if you’re strapped for cash or in the wrong place. Nice car,” he looks off behind me and chuckles.
I am confused for a second before I turn and look at it. “Oh. That’s… that’s not my car.” I say awkwardly, because I know how this must look. The way I am dressed, the car, it doesn’t make any sense at all.
“You’re just used to finding the nicest one in the lot.”
I only frown at that comment. He acts like he knows me, and for some reason he is good at it. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, my eyes dip down to his crotch and I force them to surface back up. But his face isn’t much better; the jaw line, those full lips,
“Look, I can give you a ride somewhere if you need it.”
“I took a cab into town and came right to the bank so…” I fluster. My eyes blink away the last of the pity tears and I realize I don’t know where to go at all.
“Well uh, I know a place you can lay low for a bit. If you want.”
“You’re a stranger.” I say, tightening my grip on the tote bag I have. I’m lucky it is always stocked with toiletries of the mini size, a change of panties, a mirror… but not enough to help me through this.
“One that wants to help you.” He chuckles.
It’s the honesty in his eyes that makes me give way. This town… it feels like the soft, small town vibes I would watch in the movies. Where everyone is nice for no reason. Maybe he does want something, but I know I won’t give it to him. And if my father taught me anything, it is to be smart and use other people where you can.
“Okay…where?” I ask him, to that he laughs, and I am unsure of why, he composes himself though and leads me toward the other end of the lot. I follow him, watching him walk in the heavy black boots stomping the ground. Until we reach—
“This looks like a bad idea.” I look at his bike like it might eat me. One of those big chrome and black Harley’s that belong in movies, not in real life. He just grins at me like he suspected it and I wonder if he saw this coming all along.
“It’s not so bad. The drive is short. Oh, I’m Logan by the way.” He reaches around the bike and I realize we completely missed that part. I shake it, the rough calloused heat of his hand lingers on mine long after he lets me go.
“Chantal. Nice to meet you.” I say back.
The maneuvering to the bike is short lived. I don’t have much choice, I’m running out of cash to give to cabs and I don’t even know where to go yet, I need a place to rest my head. This strange man, Logan, with his fictional looking bike can probably do that. Its enough to stop my roaming thoughts about my dad, about how much this really hurts. Even more so is getting on the bike, near him—
I forget that he is a stranger after he puts my helmet on for me and I climb on after him. I have to spread my legs around him, there is no other way, and hike my dress up a bit too. The sun and wind hit my legs at the same time, causing a flurry of heat, that is still less than my body hitting Logan’s, where I have to press up close to him. I wrap my arms around him and feel… secure.
“You ready?” He asks me.
And though I have no idea where I am going, what I will be doing tomorrow, I’m with him right now and it comes easy—
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
3
Logan
I drive down this road damn near every day, but it feels completely different right now. It is like I don’t recognize the winding turns and purr of the bike at all, not with who is on it with me right now.
Chantal…
I think her name over and over as I continue down the road, this town that knows almost everyone in it is probably as shocked as me to see her here.
She doesn’t look the part, that much was established. With her bright yellow, expensive looking dress, the rest of her looks expensive too. High maintenance is the only thing that comes to mind only she didn’t seem that way. Minus the yelling in the middle of a crowded bank, she’s completely normal to me. Something has gone wrong, obviously, but I’m inclined to know what. Instead of just brushing her off like I might have, I realize it might be because she reminds me of Chelsea, my ex. We met in college, she was one of the people with seemingly no worries, especially related to money—we’re complete opposites. So, I don’t know why I’m putting myself through this again, but I guess this might be my type. A consequential, unfortunate type.
Once I hit the compound of the club, I feel the eyes on us already. I pass Darrius in the garage, see Kit’s bike parked to the side of the main entrance, and I already know I’m in for it. At least Rafe isn’t here, he would definitely get a kick out of this bundle of sunshine perched on the back of my bike. I almost don’t want to stop because once I do, she won’t have her arms and legs wrapped around me anymore. Through the thick material of my jeans, I can imagine how soft her legs are, how full her thighs are. And her arms wrapped around the leather of my cut, hands clenched right against my abs. I stop the bike anyway, and as suspected she unlinks herself from me as fast as possible.
“What is this place?” Her soft voice cuts the sounds rolling out of the club, the cars passing us.
The club is located off the highway, right under the route circle, so anyone coming or going can see it. It’s really a way that we can mark our turf to outside clubs, but it is mostly a tou
rist attraction to anyone else.
I get off the bike, turn and look at Chantal under the bright air of the sun. Her soft face is contorted in confusion, eyes wide like she thinks she made the wrong choice.
“Don’t worry, this isn’t where I kill you.” I chuckle, but it only makes her audibly gasp and further widen her eyes, so I stop laughing.
“This is the place I go when I want to scream in the middle of a bank, when my life is falling apart. Am I close to what you’re going through?” I gravitate towards her and find myself staring right down into her eyes, close enough to smell her sweet scent; like a medley of berries and literal sunshine. I lose myself in the moment, just for a second, and I reach out for her only to brush against her fingertips with mine.
She doesn’t move away. Not right away at least, but she comes pretty close to doing it. So, I do it first. I forget she is a complete stranger a bit too easily.
“Yeah. Pretty close.” She exhales, and her shoulders visibly soften. I look away from the blue expanse of her eyes and feel a part of me soften up too.
“Good then. The guys here are pretty nice, just ignore the weird looks, they don’t mean any harm. But,” I put my arm around her shoulders and show her, “I’m gonna walk in with you like this, okay?”
She swallows, her fingers fumbling the band of her helmet until she gets it off.
“Is this a motorcycle club, like in the movies?” She hands me her helmet and I stow it away, noticing about fifty bikes parked all around the place that probably clued her in.
“Something like that.”
I start walking and as I told her, I have my arm around her shoulders. It’s not like all the guys are bad people but pretty women can make men crazy. It shouldn’t, but it does. Especially testosterone filled places like this, long and boring days sometimes without any club action. That’s how it is around here. Even me on the exec board, I spent the day balancing the books and going to the bank, Chantal is all the action I’ve had all week.