Escape (Part Three) Read online

  “Did you call me?” he asked. “About the change of plans?”

  “No,” I said, my throat tightening. “I messaged you.”

  “No you didn’t,” he said, showing me our text message conversations. The last one was from over a week ago, when he demanded I pick up coffee on my way to work. My response was cold: Sure.

  I remember that morning, the scowl on my face as I crawled out of bed, dreading going to the office and looking at Chace. He would find something wrong with the coffee like he always did. It was too hot or too thick. As if I had any control over the consistency. He threw it in the trash and told me to buy him another cup.

  I barely recognized that girl, the slumped shoulders, the heels scraping across the floor, the resentment building in her belly whenever she thought about her boss.

  “I messaged you on MatchU,” I said.

  He slowly nodded. “And I deleted it.”

  “You did.”

  He sat on the edge of his bed, sinking onto the mattress, his hands gripping his knees. “We were messaging on a hookup app. I remember,” a small smirk tugged at his mouth. “I remember my username was brownsfan6. And yours…” A flicker of recognition passed over his face. He looked up at me, eyes bright and wild as if he was seeing me in a new light.

  “Veronica,” he said, fingers tightening around his knees.

  I nodded. “We met at a party.”

  “In lower Manhattan,” he finished.

  I could almost see the events of that night flickering behind his eyes. The heat of the room, crawling up the three flights of stairs, meeting me in the hall with that ridiculous mask shielding my eyes.

  “You told me your name was Veronica,” he said. “I took off my mask, I told you who I was and you lied to me.” That familiar anger built inside of him.

  “But you figured it out.”

  “What happened after the party? Which I barely remember.”

  “We had plans for Saturday night.”

  “Fill that in.” My fingers gripped the pen as I scribbled in the correct box. “What else?”

  “But I didn’t show up.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “You came to my apartment and told me I was coming with you to your parents’ house. You were drunk and angry, I assumed it was because I was ignoring your messages and your calls.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t remember that,” he said, one hand gripping the side of his head. “I don’t remember that at all.”

  “You gave my sister some money,” I said looking at him, mildly concerned. “To watch the kids while we were away.”

  “Fuck.” He shot to his feet. “I don’t remember that. I need to – When did we get together? Here?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Alice,” he said, tugging at his hair. “You need to be direct with me.”

  “We didn’t…We never really…”

  “Spit it out,” he hissed.

  “You kissed me in the guest room and you told me to make up my mind but --”

  His shoulders hunched over as he stormed towards the door and back again, pacing violently before he stopped in his tracks.

  “We weren’t together when I went to The Dirty Kitty, were we?”

  “No.”

  He bustled over to his desk and looked down at the timeline, tracing from the moment he hit his head at The Dirty Kitty to our interview with Cheryl.

  If there was one thing I knew about Chace is that he wasn’t an idiot. It took seconds for him to unearth the truth on his own.

  His hands curled around the edge of his desk, white knuckled, fingers pressing into the wood.

  “Do you remember now?” I said.

  His shoulders were trembling. He refused to look at me.

  “You can leave,” he said.

  I stood there for a minute, waiting for him to turn around and spit out an insult between his teeth. Something to remind me of the old Chace; his clenched teeth, his tight shoulders, but his gaze remained on his desk.

  He wasn’t going to turn around until I left the room.

  So, I did.

  Nine

  The knock on my bedroom door hoisted me to my feet.

  “Come in,” I said, straightening my blouse.

  I’d changed out of Evie’s clothes and folded them neatly on the bed, slipping on an outfit that was entirely me, something the stylist had scoffed at before.

  I was hoping it was Chace but Jonah opened the door with a frown. “You might want to have a seat,” he said.

  I gingerly sat on the edge of my bed.

  Jonah walked to the other side of the room where the large armoire stood closed and untouched. His shoulder knocked against it. “I got Jennifer to agree to keep her mouth shut on one condition.”

  “What is it?”

  “You have to leave tonight for New York.”

  The clock on my nightstand flashed red. It was midnight.

  “I can’t,” I said. “Doesn’t she know I have a job?”

  Jonah released a slow, single nod. He crossed his arms as he leaned against the armoire, glancing down at my suitcase, half-packed since the moment I arrived.

  “You don’t have a job anymore.”

  A cold sliver of fear ran up my back, cool fingers wrapping around the strands before pulling at the roots. “I’m sorry?”

  “Chace told me you spoke with him tonight?”

  I nodded. “I thought I should tell him the truth.”

  “You did the right thing. But the right thing always comes with consequences. I’m sure you know that. Or maybe you don’t.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Jonah held up his hand. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve called a car. You have ten minutes to gather your things and meet me outside. You’re going home.”

  Jonah headed for the door and I stood up, my fists clenched. I tried to storm past him but he grabbed my arm.

  “Get off of me,” I said.

  “Where are you going?”

  “If Chace is going to fire me, he can do it himself.”

  Jonah threw me in my room and stepped in front of the door, his wide shoulders blocking it. “Get your things,” he said.

  “I want to hear it from him.”

  “I’m not going to let that happen. You’ve put my family through too much.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “This whole nonsense with Jennifer wouldn’t have happened if you would’ve told my brother the truth, after he hit his head. Have you talked to my mother recently?” I shook my head. “She’s so stressed out she barely wants to get out of bed. Having a television crew in her home, investigating her son and the mother of her grandchild isn’t making matters better.”

  “This isn’t my fault,” I said. “I wasn’t the one who called Cheryl or the paparazzi --”

  “A large part of growing up is admitting when you’re truly at fault, which you are. Now pack your things and get downstairs. If you try to talk to my brother, I’ll have you thrown out of the house.”

  With a tight jaw Jonah flung the bedroom door open and shut it behind him. This was final.

  A wave of tears built in my throat but I swallowed them and turned away. I reached for my suitcase, pulling the rest of it from underneath my bed. I picked up a pile of shirts before I collapsed into myself, arms thrown around my knees, forehead resting against them.

  This is what I deserved.

  ***

  Evie waited with me on the front steps of the house, her arms tight across her chest. “My brothers are such assholes.”

  “They’re not,” I said. “Jonah’s just doing his job and Chace has every right to be upset.”

  She looked at me. “You don’t really believe that.”

  I ducked my head.

  The truth was, even then, I believed it. While everything wasn’t my fault I set the whole situation in motion, the one who stood at the edge of a
cliff with the boulder and knocked it over.

  Cheryl and her crew left but Jennifer was still in the house. I could smell her as I came down the stairs, her perfume floating through the house like a sickness, her laughter pitchy in the living room where Jonah locked her until I left. Evie told me she was staying so she and Chace could work things out, Bonnie’s orders.

  “I would rather have you then her,” she said.

  I smiled. “This doesn’t mean we still can’t be friends.

  “Of course. I’ll come visit all the time.”

  Headlights traveled down the long driveway, a black car looping around the fountain in the middle of the cobblestone entrance.

  The driver hopped out of the front seat. “Miss Posner?” he said, looking between Evie and me.

  “That’s me,” I said.

  He grabbed my bags and placed them in the trunk. I was steps away from climbing inside when Evie’s arms wrapped around me. I turned around and hugged her, our hands flat against each other’s backs, foreheads resting against shoulders, breath moving against hair.

  “I’m going to miss you,” she said.

  “Yeah,” I swallowed my tears. “Me too.”

  I pulled back. There was a light in her eyes. She was crying but wiped her tears with the back of her hand. I gave her a small wave before stepping into the car.

  The engine rumbled beneath me. I looked out the passenger-side window where Evie stood, waving. I thought, that should be Chace. The pinch in my stomach told me it was time to stop thinking about him.

  The car pulled away and my mind told me not to look back. I threw a look over my shoulder and standing in the window was Chace, watching the car roll down the road.

  Ten

  My sister was a wizard behind the bar, her wrists were like magic, flipping heavy bottles perfectly into the air, fingers twisting around their necks, pouring perfect counts of alcohol into slippery metal shakers – one, two, three, four, five – until she snapped it back up and filled the tin with ice. She would shake while pouring four shot glasses full of bright blue liquid, lining them neatly on the bar top for one of the other servers to take.

  They were magical too but in a lesser way, one that was contained in their tight mouths and sharp eyes, concentrating on balancing a tray full of drinks and food on one palm, while smiling and maneuvering through the crowd.

  Men loved watching her. Groups of them would crowd at the bar, their eyes dropping to her breasts dripping out of her V-neck dresses. Bartenders were allowed to wear dresses and boots that came up to their knees, but they were the only ones.

  “There has to be some distinction.” Richard, the manager of the bar told me. “Between those who are allowed behind the bar and those who aren’t.”

  Bartender was a coveted position, one my sister sweat over for months before she was promoted. The tips were better, you could make a living wage, and you didn’t go home doused in grease and ketchup and salt and smelling like the kitchen.

  I didn’t envy her, or the other bartenders, like the rest of the new server girls. The ones who’d hopped off the train at Grand Central a few weeks ago, with years of serving experience at their local Denny’s, and were stunned to find out that no one would treat them like a superstar here. They had to start from the bottom, again. We were all called variations of our physical traits: Blondie, Brown Eyes, Lips, Hips, Girl-with-the-Rack. Except for me.

  My name was “Laura’s Sister”. Or sometimes just “Sister”. It didn’t bother me as much as it would’ve months ago, before I screwed up with Chace, lost my job, and had to beg my sister to let me work with her.

  I loved being called “Laura’s Sister” because every time Laura heard it made her scowl a little less. When our eyes met across the bar the corner of her mouth would tug into a grin, especially when I managed to complete an order without spilling beer on a customer’s arm, or dousing their plate of food with a twenty dollar glass of Gin Martini.

  I was absolutely shitty at my job. Richard told me so after every shift but the longer I worked there the more he said, “But you’re getting better,” which was better than staying the same.

  Working for seven hours straight kept me busy. I rarely thought of Chace and the incident with Jennifer, even when Evie was blowing up my phone with text messages. She kept her promise and visited every other weekend, staying in Manhattan in a pricy hotel room she begged me to share, the two of us pigging out on room service and overpriced bottles of champagne, drinking until we were tipsy and confident enough to order an entire cake.

  Much like Chace she was good with kids. My niece and nephew flocked to her like lambs. When my sister and I had to work, Evie gave the babysitter a break and spent the day with them at the park or the museum, whispering lines of French in their ears, planting dreams of Parisian secondary schools and universities.

  She visited last week and told me she wasn’t going to see me for a while. “I’m going to France,” she said with a smile.

  “For what?” I asked, popping a chocolate covered strawberry in my mouth.

  “My mom’s selling the estate and moving into a smaller house. It’s something she’s always wanted to do and now that my father’s gone,” Evie cleared her throat. “Tyler’s moving to Los Angeles --”

  “To do what?”

  She shrugged. “Jonah’s back in the city. Mom’s finally immersing herself in her art and I thought, it’s time to make a change. Do something exciting.”

  “There’s nothing more exciting than moving overseas without a plan.”

  Evie laughed. “You’re trying to be my voice of reason. You?”

  Evie was the only one who could joke about the Jennifer event without making me clam up.

  “I know. No one should take any advice from me.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she said, plucking a sandwich from the silver tray. “Chace is back in town too.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I tried to look uninterested.

  “Yes. Have you been keeping tabs on him?”

  “No.”

  Part of forgetting Chace was letting him go completely. That meant deleting his name from my Google alerts, ignoring all e-mails that pertained to him, and avoiding the magazine stands on my way to work, hand shielding the left side so I wasn’t tempted to look for news about him and Jennifer.

  “Huh,” she said. “Well I’m not going to press the issue.”

  As much as I tried to keep the thoughts of Chace at bay, there were moments where an image of Jennifer popped into my head - her belly swollen over her hips, her manicured hands massaging her stomach as she laid in bed. My stomach twisted with an obscene jealousy but I swallowed it and tucked it away.

  I thought dating might do the trick but it only seemed to make things worse. Most of the men reminded me of the worst facets of Chace. The ones who didn’t remind me of him were uncomfortable in their skin and spoke with a fledging confidence, always checking my eyes to make sure I was paying attention, watching every tick of my face. Should I change the conversation, is she laughing loud enough, is she going to call me again?

  “Sis,” one of the hostess’, Julie said, swatting me on my shoulder. I was standing in the small hallway between the floor and the kitchen with three other girls, waiting to be called for a table. “You’ve got booth number three.” She grinned and winked.

  Julie liked me because she liked my sister. She was always giving me tables full of good-looking men. I was still in that awkward stage of serving where I didn’t know what to do with them. The other girls worked guys like a pro, flirting enough that they left a tip but not a string of phone numbers they felt obligated to call. I was nice, but didn’t lather it on thick. I flirted but never to the point of touching their arm or running my hand through their hair (some of the girls did and they were always the ones grinning at the end of the night).

  I straightened my shoulders and stuck out my chest, balancing my tray between two fing
ers as I wandered over to booth number three. Five heads of hair stood over the brown leather booth, laughter pouring from the circular space.

  “You guys seem to be having a good time,” I said, plastering on my customer service voice, pitchy and bright. “But I think a pitcher of beer might make it better.”

  The man in the middle looked up from his phone and my breath caught in my chest. I should’ve recognized him from the familiar top of his head. Chace was wearing a plaid shirt, opened at the top to reveal a t-shirt underneath, like something he stole out of Tyler’s closet. Gone were his pressed suits and slicked back hair, his hair was shorter and combed neatly to the side. He let his stubble grow in, cool, casual, and attractive amongst a group of four men who were mirror images. He caught my eye and the light in his eyes flickered off.

  “How about two pitchers of Sam Adams?” the man closest to me said, wrapping his hand around my arm.

  I plastered on a smile. Handsy customers were always good tippers. “Two pitchers,” I said, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. My eyes glazed over Chace as I looked around the group. “Celebrating anything tonight?”

  The man on Chace’s left whistled. “We sure are,” he said, throwing his arm around Chace’s shoulder. He was staring at me, his eyes burning holes into the bridge of my nose and the space between my eyes but I wouldn’t look at him. His friend gleefully patted his chest. “We just found out my friend here is not going to be a father.”

  The rest of the men cheered and something like regret tightened in my stomach. Did something happen to Jennifer and the baby?

  “Congratulations?” I said, my smile wavering.

  “Honey,” said the red-head, “you have no idea the bullet my friend just missed.”

  I punched in their order before rushing towards the hall near the bathrooms, needing a moment to think.

  My breath was caught in my chest, refusing to move through my body, trapping me as I leaned against the brick wall. I told myself to breathe.

  I hated Jennifer, that much was true, but I didn’t want them to lose their baby. And for Chace to be here celebrating about it? The mere thought made a sliver of vomit crawl up my throat.