Commitment

by Forrester, Nia

  Tracy swept out of the car, as though she lived there, straightening her crisp beige pants and tossing her hair back before heading for the door.

  The woman who met them inside was almost exactly what Riley expected. Thirtyish with blonde helmet hair perfectly applied make-up and a faux Chanel suit with pearls. She held out a hand, introducing herself as Iris Greenberg and led Riley and Tracy through the lobby, which was surprisingly nondescript, given the grandeur of the exterior, and toward the elevators.

  “I’ve spoken to your husband on the telephone on a number of occasions,” Iris Greenberg said. She had a clipped, precise way of speaking, like someone who’d had elocution lessons. “And I assured him that this building is quite diverse. There’s an eclectic group here – entertainers such as himself, some university professors, businessmen. No one would be out of place here. He said you had some concerns about diversity, that kind of thing.”

  Riley blushed. “Not concerns, really. Just questions.”

  Despite what Iris said, she could think of some people who would be out of place. People who weren’t millionaires, for instance.

  “The unit is on the tenth floor,” Iris prattled on. “So you won’t have very much of the traffic noise that some of the lower floor units experience. And then there’s the bonus of the view across the park.”

  In the elevator Riley noticed that Iris was wearing patent leather pumps. She hated patent leather pumps.

  “How many units are there in the building?” Riley asked adopting Iris Greenberg’s real estate lingo.

  “Just over one hundred. Some are smaller than others. Certainly most are smaller than the one we’re going to look at. It’s two-thousand seven hundred square feet and one of only two on your floor”

  Riley closed her eyes. Over one hundred units. That was a far cry from the tiny building she lived in now, just above a Korean restaurant. An old couple - Mr. and Mrs. Kim - owned the building. It wasn’t unusual for them to knock on Riley’s door just to see how she was doing, or to drop off leftovers from the spicy, fragrant dishes they sometimes cooked especially for themselves in the restaurant kitchen. Mrs. Kim even remembered to decorate the doors with Christmas wreaths every December even though she and her family were Buddhist and didn’t observe the holiday personally. In a building like this, there was virtually no chance of making the acquaintance of people like the Kims.

  On the tenth floor, Iris led Riley and Tracy down a plush carpeted hallway to the end of the building.

  “As I said, there’s only one other unit on this floor.” Iris Greenberg produced a set of keys and opened the door, switching on a light on the wall just inside. “Here we are.”

  It was beautiful. Even empty, it screamed with possibilities. The floors were a pristine blonde bamboo, and the walls painted a stark white. Directly opposite the foyer was at least forty feet of glass. Instead of walls, the entire park-facing side of the apartment was made up of windows, stretching from the floors to what looked like a fifteen-foot ceiling.

  “Stunning, isn’t it? Some people don’t like the feeling of being exposed that all that glass brings,” Iris said. “But I always say, you’re all the way up here, who’s to see you?”

  Tracy nudged Riley in the side. “So?”

  “It’s nice,” she admitted.

  “Let me show you the suites,” Iris said, energized by even this moderately positive review.

  She flounced ahead of Riley, her heels making a clicking noise as she walked.

  “There’s a loft just off the second suite. These floors will stay brilliant no matter what you do to them,” she said over her shoulder.

  Two bedroom suites were on opposite sides of the apartment, both of them immense and both with the same floor to ceiling glass windows, looking out onto the most glorious view of the Manhattan skyline Riley had ever seen. Every single room, including the kitchen, had a view. The master bath was like a mini-spa with a jetted tub, shower room and separate water closet, European-style. The his-and-hers sinks had nickel fixtures that looked like pieces of modern art, but they were set so far apart that if they were both brushing their teeth in the morning, she and Shawn would not be able to touch each other, even if they completely extended their arms.

  “Look!” Tracy said from one corner. “A bidet! Who knew they still made these things.”

  Iris Greenberg was positively beaming. “Wonderful, isn’t it?”

  Riley said nothing. In a matter of weeks, she might be living here. All she had to do was say she liked it, and Shawn would buy the place. Just thinking about it made her dizzy. She reached behind her and sat on the edge of the tub.

  “Could we have a minute?” she said, smiling weakly at the realtor.

  “Oh, of course.” Iris walked out, shutting the door behind her.

  “What’s the matter?” Tracy sat next to her. “You don’t like it?”

  “No. I do. It’s just . . .”

  “What Riley?”

  “Should I be doing this?”

  “Doing what?” Tracy looked confused.

  “I don’t know. Living this life. It just feels like . . .”

  “Like what?”

  Riley looked up at Tracy, tears were welling up in her eyes and she hadn’t a clue why.

  “Like I’m being swallowed up by Shawn’s life. This isn’t even my life anymore. It’s like I’m quitting my life and living his. I like my life and my friends and my apartment and . . .”

  She was sobbing and gulping now, and Tracy was looking at her like she was crazy, and she felt as though she must be, to be anything other than overjoyed to be married to Shawn who she loved more than anything, and to be considering moving into a place as gorgeous as this. But then Tracy hugged her, pulling her closer so that Riley was enveloped in her arms. She held her until her tears stopped and then put her at arms’ length, looking her in eyes.

  “Oh, sweetie. I know who you are. And more important than that, you know who you are. And none of that’s going to change. You’ll give up little things, like an apartment in Flushing but remember what you get in return. And I don’t mean the money. Shawn loves the crap out of you. That’s why you married him. All this other stuff? They’re just incidentals. That’s all they are. Okay?”

  Riley nodded.

  This was why she loved Tracy. Besides Lorna, she had more misgivings about this marriage than anyone and yet she always stepped up, putting her own personal feelings aside and talking Riley off the ledge.

  But in spite of Tracy’s kind words, the problem was, the ‘incidentals’ were huge. So huge they just might overshadow her and Shawn and everything else. She couldn’t believe how far they come from where they’d started. Now she was sitting on the edge of a Jacuzzi in a four-million dollar apartment. And a woman whose commission on the sale would be more than she made in a year at the magazine was waiting outside desperate for her to say that she loved it and would recommend to her husband that they make an offer. And if she said she liked it, he would buy it without a second thought. It was enough to make her start with the hysterics again.

  “So what do you think?” Tracy was asking her. “Do you think you could live here, or do we want Iris to show us a couple more places?”

  Riley laughed, wiping her face with the back of a hand.

  “Of course I could live here. And I think I’ve looked at enough high-priced real estate to last me a lifetime, thank you very much.”

  “Okay then. So let’s go make that woman’s day and go have some pad Thai.”

  They went to one of Riley’s favorite places in the Village, a Thai restaurant decorated like a country diner but serving the best food of its kind in Manhattan for more than reasonable prices. At least once a week when they’d first moved to the city after college, Tracy and Riley ate there, just to feel hip and cosmopolitan.

  “Want to call Brian?” Tracy asked while they were waiting to order. “His apartment’s like what? Four blocks away?”

  “I don’t think that’s a g
ood idea.”

  “Why not? Don’t tell me Shawn has you that trained already.”

  “It’s not that. I just still feel funny about everything that happened, and you know, that time when I asked him to meet me at the café.”

  “Riley, I told you I spoke to him and he’s okay. I think when he had a chance to sit with it for awhile, that last talk really helped him too.”

  “Yeah, but I still feel weird about this. I’m not even sure I can face him.”

  “It’s a little late to start feeling guilty. Besides, you’ve a lot of the same friends. What’re you planning to do, avoid him all your life?”

  “No, but . . .”

  “Then I’m calling him.” Tracy pulled out her mobile and started dialing before Riley could protest.

  The conversation was brief. “He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

  “Did he ask if I was with you?”

  Tracy nodded. “Yes he did. And it’s probably the only reason he’s dragging himself out.”

  “So basically, he’s coming just to watch me squirm.”

  “Why would you squirm? He’s just coming to wish you the best in your new marriage,” Tracy said innocently.

  “Yeah, sure. I don’t feel ready for this, Tracy.”

  “You need to get over yourself. I think by now he’s able to get out of bed every morning without weeping.”

  Riley rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

  The waiting was tense, and Riley ordered and drank two glasses of wine before he showed up. She had just polished off the second when Tracy waved him over from the front door where he stood looking about for them.

  “The old married lady,” Brian said to Riley as he sat.

  “How are you?”

  Brian paused to kiss Tracy on the cheek. “Nothing much going on with me. Life is good. Oh . . . if you don’t count my ex-girlfriend getting married to a rap star.”

  Riley’s shoulders sagged. “Brian, we’re not going to do this again, are we?”

  His face became serious. “I just never thought it would last, that’s all.”

  Riley looked down at the table to avoid his eyes. He wasn’t alone there. She hadn’t believed it would last either. Like everyone else, she thought Shawn was a thing she was going through.

  When she looked up, Brian was gazing at her with genuine affection in his eyes and she noted something else. The hurt that had been there the last time she’d seen him had begun to recede. She smiled and he reached across the table, touching the side of her face.

  “You look good, Riley,” he said. “You look really good.”

  “Let’s order,” Tracy said, raising a hand to summon the waitress.

  g

  It was after eleven when Tracy finally dropped Brian off and they headed back to the hotel. Only as they pulled up in front and Riley felt the keycard for the suite in her pocket did she remember that no one else could get into the suite without it.

  “Oh crap,” she said, almost to herself.

  “What’s the matter? Missed your curfew?”

  “Don’t start. I have the only key. Shawn said he’d be back by ten and I totally forgot to leave it at the front desk.”

  “They have to have another key,” Tracy said uninterestedly. “See you at yoga tomorrow. Say hi to Shawn for me. Or not.”

  Riley was already opening the door and getting out.

  Shawn was nowhere in sight in the lobby, thankfully. She ran toward the elevator and cursed herself the entire ride up. She paused before letting herself into the suite. Music from the television greeted her as she entered, and the sight of Shawn lying on his back on the bed, fully clothed, his boots still on.

  “Hey you,” she stretched herself along the length of him, kissing him firmly on the lips. “Sorry about the keycard. I totally forgot.”

  “I almost had to get another room, Riley. Y’know how tired I am?”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She stretched out next to him and kissed him along his neck. “How was your thing?”

  “Loud as fuck. People grabbing me.”

  He was irritable, the way he always was after these kinds of appearances. Some performers claimed to be energized by contact with their fans en masse, but unless protected by the buffer of the stage, Shawn hated it.

  “How was the place?” he asked, sitting up.

  “The view is amazing, the rooms are humongous and the bathrooms incredible. And the second bedroom suite is a loft, so it’s big enough for you to set your music stuff up. You could practically build a studio in there if you wanted to. Tracy liked it too.”

  “So she did go with you?”

  “Yeah. After we looked at the place we went to get something to eat with Brian in the Village and then we went for drinks and I completely lost track of the time.” She kicked off her shoes and started massaging her feet.

  “Brian.” It was clear he wasn’t pleased. “What’s he still hanging around for?”

  “We called him,” Riley said slowly. “I hadn’t seen him since . . .”

  Shawn grabbed her left hand, holding her fingers up so that her engagement ring and wedding band were directly in her face.

  “He see this? He know what this means?”

  Riley wrenched her hand away.

  “Jesus, Shawn. Of course he knows.”

  “Then what the fuck does he want?”

  “I thought we’d been over this ground,” she said keeping her voice level. “He’s a friend. That’s all. A friend.”

  “And you’re my wife. Make sure he understands that shit.”

  He pushed himself up off the bed and Riley grabbed the tail of his shirt, exasperated.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Right now, anyplace but here.”

  He held her hand and pried open her fingers to release himself.

  Riley sat on the edge of the bed staring at the door for several minutes after he left. The problem with Shawn was that she was never sure whether these outbursts were a power struggle or common old jealousy. If it was the former, she had to hold her ground; she would not let him dictate who her friends could be – she was her mother’s daughter after all. And if it was the latter, she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t exciting to have someone this fiercely possessive of her.

  But god, didn’t he get tired of it ever? All this angst about something that had been so definitively resolved? Tracy was right – he’d won, and yet he still wasn’t satisfied. She’d gotten married – married – something she hadn’t even begun to contemplate for herself until he gave her an impossible choice; and yet he still wasn’t assured of her commitment to him. What was it going to take?

  Even after a hot shower and turning off all the lights and television, she couldn’t even begin to think of sleep as a possibility until she heard the door to the suite open sometime around two a.m. Riley closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing, listening as Shawn undressed and got into bed. It was maddening how he affected her; when he was around, all of her senses seemed sharper, all her nerve endings humming, and when he was gone, they dulled.

  Her breath stilled when she felt his hand, warm through her gossamer-thin cotton nightshirt. Without a word, Riley turned and kissed him back when his lips pressed into her neck. Her body warmed in response to him. He tasted like beer, and maybe something stronger. When he raised her shirt over her head and parted her legs with his knee she instinctively tilted her hips upward to receive him.

  g

  Shawn awoke to the bitter taste of stale beer and a pasty feeling in his mouth. As he lay there, the previous evening came back to him in bits and pieces: waiting for Riley in the lobby, finally being let into the room and then to have her get in – later than she said she would—and announce that she’d spent the last few hours with her ex-boyfriend. Again.

  When he walked out on her, he hadn’t gotten very far; just to the bar downstairs, where he stared blankly at the mounted television screen playing a rerun of a baseball game and drinking watery MGDs from the tap.
A bunch of fraternity guys had shown up around midnight and wanted to buy him drinks, so he killed a couple hours with them while they laid it on thick about how much they liked his music. One of them performed a drunken rendition of one of the rhymes from his new CD which had everyone, including Shawn, laughing uncontrollably.

  Sitting around shooting the breeze with five college boys who were inebriated off their asses was a welcome distraction from the news of where Riley had been. Just hearing Brian’s name could take him back to a time and place where he didn’t want to be – when he was second in line for her time. Just remembering that shit rattled his cage. His head told him that Brian wasn’t a factor anymore, but some other part of him – the dark, ugly place that made him want to crack skulls open – came alive when he heard anything even vaguely connected to someone she had been with. Women couldn’t fully understand the kind of anger that made a man feel like blowing up the whole damn world rather than face the fact that out there, walking the earth was someone who had touched his woman, made her squirm and moan and scream the way she did when she was with him.

  He looked over at her now, sleeping with her mouth partially open, snoring softly. It was the craziest thing. Even now that they were married she still messed with his head like no woman he ever knew. Whoever said marriage would cure you of a love jones didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. He’d been foolish enough to think that once she had that ring on her finger he would relax. Occasionally, he would look up and find her doing something mundane, like standing at the kitchen sink rinsing a glass, or ironing a blouse for work, and it would blow his mind that she was his wife. He had so much more to lose now that they were married. It was primitive and territorial, but sometimes just seeing the ring on her finger was enough to get his dick hard.

  Shawn lowered his feet to the floor, trying to stand without waking her. Maybe the sex last night meant she wasn’t pissed, but probably not. She never refused him, so that wasn’t an accurate gauge of anything. For him, it had been about reminding himself that he could have her whenever he wanted her; it had been about marking his territory once again, plain and simple.