by Amber Kay
“You don’t need to parent me. I can handle the Lynchs,” I say. “You do your job and I’ll do mine.” I hang up on her and immediately regret the words. Famous last words.
33
Sometime around 8:30, I drive by Frank’s restaurant just as he’s closing up for the night. After parking, I kill the engine, but the key remains in the ignition as I stare out the windshield then at the restaurant, asking myself, why am I here?
I can’t bring myself to enter the restaurant. I linger outside for several minutes before allowing myself to alert Frank.
“Frank?” I tap on the glass door until he acknowledges me then lumbers over to open the door.
“Cassandra? What in hell are you doing here this time of night?” he asks.
“I didn’t want to go back to my apartment,” I say. With no hesitation, he steps aside to let me inside and locks the door behind me then watches as I stagger into a table booth.
“Can I get you something? A drink? Some food? I haven’t cleaned the kitchen yet so I'm sure I can scrap something together.”
I slide closer to the window in the booth to watch as the rain begins. Droplets peck the glass and I remain transfixed by my own thoughts. Frank sits in my booth. I feel him watching me before he ever says a word.
“I heard about Sasha. You take all the time you need off before coming back to work.”
I shake my head and turn away from the window to face him.
“I'm not even really sure what to do with myself right now,” I say.
“I know, honey,” he says and I see the scrutiny in his eyes. I sniff back tears then entwine my fingers atop the table to stop them from trembling so much. Frank notices and rests his hands atop mine until the trembles stop. When he squeezes them inside his fists, I welcome his touch by squeezing back.
“I need you to talk me out of something, Frank.”
“Sure, of course, just calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”
I take his advice and breathe to relax. I then search my purse and fish out my cell phone.
“Here,” I say while handing him the device. “Take my phone and don’t give it back to me until morning.”
Frank stares briefly, obviously questioning my sanity with his expression.
“Cassandra, what’s going on with you,” he says. “I know that this isn’t just about Sasha. I’ve seen some things on the news. And that article on the internet…Cassandra, I know none of it is true, but—”
I shake my head. “I can’t get you involved.”
“You show up at the restaurant this time of night begging me to hide your cell phone and you won’t bother me with the details?”
“I can’t be in that apartment right now,” I say. “Everything is a reminder of her. I need somewhere else to sleep for the night. Please let me sleep at the restaurant.”
“I can’t just leave you here in the middle of the night,” he says. “Not like this.”
Tears streak my face as I think about the alternatives of avoiding my apartment. I don’t want to face that dreadful emptiness, not with the aura of her haunting those rooms. I don’t want Frank involved either. Then I remember Karen’s words—words that suggested I do the opposite of what I want.
I stare at my cell phone, regretting the decision harassing my thoughts. I don’t want to consider it, but it’s all I have left. Karen was right. I owe Sasha. Frank continues staring at me, trying to comprehend.
“Do you need me to call anyone for you?” he asks.
“No!” I say, hoping to sway him away from that decision. “I’m the only one who can make that call.”
“Are you sure that you—”
“Frank, it’s okay,” I interject. “I know what I have to do. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”
He hesitates, but eventually leaves the booth and heads toward the counter to count the day’s wages. I remain in my booth, gazing at the rain soaked window, fidgeting with my quivering fingers and staring at that phone, begging myself to reconsider my next choice, but it’s no use.
I can’t go back to the apartment. I can’t stay at the restaurant for the night and I don’t want to involve Frank any more than I already have. The only decision I have left is the one I don’t want to make.
“I can’t believe I'm doing this.” I retrieve my phone and I dial. The phone rings only once before a familiar voice answers.
“Cassandra,” he says. “I'm not surprised that you called. I'm only surprised that you called so soon.”
I imagine a smug smile on his face as I clutch the phone to my ear and grit my teeth.
“I thought you said that your assistant would answer this line,” I say.
“Yes, but I never said this would be my assistant’s personal cell number. Isn’t it better that you have my number instead?”
“You tricked me into calling your private cell,” I reply. “You and Vivian love toying with people, don’t you?”
“You aren’t anyone’s toy,” he says. “You have more power over us than you think.”
I shudder at the tone of his voice, haunted by the lascivious subtext of what he isn’t saying aloud. Karen mentioned how easily Adrian will open up if I pretend to give in. Despite the nausea in my gut, I have to try this for Sasha’s sake.
“Then its time I use it,” I say.
He pauses. After the brief lull, he replies, “What can I do for you?”
“I can’t go back to my apartment,” I say. “I don’t think can deal with being there alone. Everything reminds me of Sasha. Since I don’t have the balls to go home, I guess that makes me homeless.”
“You must have forgotten who you’re talking to.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” I say, wanting to cut to the chase. “I need somewhere to stay for the night.”
“Very well,” he replies. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“It is a problem. I just don’t know how else to solve it,” I say.
“I assure that you won’t regret any of this,” he says. “You might even thank us.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
Adrian chuckles.
“Then I'm going to have to work overtime to prove it.”
“If you’re gonna hold me captive I will make sure that I get the best of everything from this arrangement,” I say. “I will continue to act as Vivian’s intern, but I won’t be anyone’s toy. Not anymore. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
I smile at myself, feeling smug, as if for once I have some control of the situation.
“I'm at Frank’s restaurant. I need you to pick me up. Send a chauffeur or something.”
“No,” he says. “I’ll personally pick you up and bring you to the manor to sleep in one of the guest rooms for the night.”
“I don’t want this, Adrian, so don’t expect me to be enthusiastic when you see me.”
He doesn’t reply then simply hangs up the phone. I sit for several minutes clutching the phone to my ear, simmering in the anguish stirring in my stomach. I can’t bring myself to move so I wait in the booth, staring at rain on the window, watching it trickle down the glass in jagged streaks of condensation.
34
When the silver limo pulls up, I'm standing beneath an awning outside the restaurant.
The rain picks up, releasing a downpour that thoroughly soaks the concrete ground. The limousine stops in front of me. I don’t react until the window rolls down and I spot Adrian in the backseat, greeting me with a smile that brings me no immediate comfort.
“Get in,” he orders after flinging the door open for me. I don’t move, wondering if I should reconsider this. I have the power, but he has the artillery. Once I'm inside that limo, I’ll be a sheep in his lair.
“Cassandra, you’re getting wet again,” Adrian tells me and I realize that I'm no longer beneath the awning. Without thinking, I had wandered out into the rain, lost in thought. I'm drenched through my clothes, hair sodden against my face.
“You’
ll catch pneumonia,” he says. Finally, I stagger toward the limo and plop onto the backseat beside Adrian. He must have just arrived from somewhere swanky—dressed in black slacks and a grey button down, crisp collar, the silver buttons like fragments of a pearl. The top two are undone; a white bowtie dangles limply around his neck.
The car door slams behind me. Adrian leans forward against the little window between the front and backseat. As I shiver in my wet clothes and examine the surroundings, he whispers something to the driver upfront then turns to me when the window slides close between them. A touch screen panel occupies the armrests on each of the car doors.
Carpeting covers the floor. Velvet curtains frame each of the windows, adding a touch of elegance to the interior. Before the gala, the last time I rode in the back of a limo was of course for prom. This limo makes the prom limo look pathetic. The Lynchs never cease to amaze me with what they buy with their money.
The leather seats make squishing noises as I fidget to get comfortable in my soggy clothes. I glance at the sunroof window and watch rain smudge the glass with immediate condensation. Adrian places a small gym bag atop my lap.
“What is this?” I ask while staring at the gym bag. When he doesn’t answer, I open the bag to examine the contents. Inside, there is a fresh pair of jeans, a cashmere sweater, a pair of socks and a full supply of toiletries, including a toothbrush, body wash, tampons and several brands of face wash.
“I wasn’t sure whether to buy Olay or Aveeno,” he says. “So I purchased both.”
I stare at him, briefly speechless and surprised by this random chivalrous gesture.
“Um, Olay is fine,” I say after stuffing the clothes and toiletries back into the bag.
Adrian presses a couple buttons on the touchscreen panel until it begins to feel warmer inside. He presses another button and a small sliding door on the back of the front seat pops open, revealing a mini refrigerator. He leans forward, removes a bottle of water and some yogurt from inside then hands them to me.
“Here,” he says. “Eat up.”
I don’t argue with his generosity, but I do inspect the yogurt, still unsure of his motives.
“Are you ever going to be convinced that I'm not trying to roofie you?” he asks.
I dip the plastic spoon inside and while swirling it around the plastic cup, I keep my eyes on him.
“Ever since you told me about how you sedate Vivian, I can’t help feeling a little…uneasy around you.”
He chuckles unexpectedly then removes a bottle of lemonade from inside the mini refrigerator. After he twists the top off and swallows a mouthful, I gape at him, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing.
“What’s wrong?” he asks me.
“You’re not drinking liquor?”
He shrugs. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. Some of it made sense.”
“What could I possibly have said to make you pick lemonade over booze?”
“You called me an alcoholic, remember?”
After a moment of reflection, I nod.
“Oh,” I reply and it’s hard not to blush at the recollection. I’d gone off on an entire rant about his budding alcoholism.
“I decided that maybe you were right,” he says. “I do drink too much. I feel like I'm becoming my father.”
“You’re quitting cold turkey?”
“Baby steps,” he says. “And only if you promise me something in return.”
I narrow my eyes in suspicion.
“What?”
“That you’ll stop vilifying me and at least try to trust me a little more.”
I glance into his eyes, finding a shade of sincerity staring back at me. As I glance at the yogurt once more then back at him, I realize that he’s trying to be nice and I'm being a bitch about the yogurt.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll try.”
“Then eat your yogurt.”
He watches me until I swallow a spoonful of yogurt. Then he smiles and turns away, seemingly pleased with himself.
“Does Vivian know I'm staying the night?” I ask to break ensuing silence.
“She will in the morning,” he says. “I medicated her earlier than usual. She won’t be awake for another seven hours.”
“You sedated her again?” I ask, thinking only of Sasha’s circumstances.
He sighs and takes another swig of lemonade.
“She lost her temper with one of the maids tonight. If I hadn’t intervened, we’d have an assault charge to deal with.”
“She’s slowly deteriorating, isn’t she?” I ask.
“More like self-destructing,” he replies. “Seeing you first thing in the morning should get her back on track.”
I sit aside the yogurt to drink my water. It does nothing to fill the empty void in the pit of my stomach. Adrian says nothing as I sit listening to his words amplify inside my head. Vivian is self-destructing. I don’t know if I worry more for her mental or physical state.
“You can’t abandon her,” he says and the dejected look in his eyes transfixes me before I consider his words. “I know she’s a pain in the ass, but she needs you.”
“Don’t say stuff like that to me,” I mutter. “I feel bad enough without you making me feel worse.”
“I don’t like having to beg you to befriend my wife,” he says. “I have never had to beg anyone for anything. You have no idea how much of my dignity and pride that I'm sacrificing to adhere to Vivian’s wishes.”
“You have no idea how to feels to be caught between the two of you,” I retort.
Adrian’s eyes widen. I immediately shut up, fearing that I’ve said too much.
“What do you mean by that?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
Adrian moves closer with deliberate intent.
“Has Vivian been ordering you to spend time with me?”
I bite my lip to keep from blurting the answer.
“She made me sign a contract,” I hedge. “I can't tell you anything she reveals to me in confidence. Not after what happened to Sasha. I told her too much and now she’s dead. I won’t let that happen to anyone else.”
“Vivian made your conversations with me a clause in some contract?” he asks. “Has she given you a rehearsed list of things that you can and can't talk to me about?”
I stuff my mouth with a spoonful of yogurt, refusing to look him in the eye. “I can’t tell you.”
“You damn well will tell me!” he snarls. I flinch at the harsh tone of his voice. I notice his hands and watch his fingers flex as he takes a deep breath before exhaling aloud and counts down from ten to one.
His hands clench into fists. I take a deep breath to oust the anxiety in my bones. He faces forward once more and continues drinking his lemonade. I turn away to focus on the passing scenery outside. There’s nothing much to enjoy with nightfall eating the view and shrouding the buildings in shadows cast from the streetlights.
Storm clouds thicken, forcing more rain to shower the city as we speed into the overcast in silence with nothing, but the usual orchestra droning from the surrounding speakers. Several minutes pass with no other words exchanged between us. I spot Adrian in my peripheral humming to the music.
I don’t resist stealing a glance at him. I can't even think straight. I hate feeling so tongue-tied, so disordered and out of control of my own senses, but he’s somehow tightened a pair of imaginary reins around my neck in a noose that has me speechless.
“What did you do?” I ask myself. Adrian obviously overhears. I can tell by the flicker of his left ear.
“Hmm?” he replies amidst his continuous humming to the music.
“Did you have anything to do with what happened to Sasha?”
He turns to me abruptly, glaring. “What?”
“They found drugs in her system.”
“What does that have to do with me?” he asks.
“You are the only man I know that uses drugs to subdue women,” I say. “You were also in the garden right around the time
they say she died. Why? What were you doing out there in the middle of the night?”
“Use some commonsense, Cassandra,” he retorts. “You and I both know what I was doing when Sasha died. I was with you…remember?”
His hand rests atop mine on the car seat. His thumb strokes my knuckles. My body turns to stone, my insides liquefying, churning like cream in a blender. I'm numb, cool to the touch like a sculpture made from ice.
The tip of his thumb draws circles on my palm as I sit, trying to soothe the savage thump of my heart, the heat on my cheeks. We sit in silence for a moment. I cross my legs and tug at my skirt to shield my exposed thigh.
Adrian grimaces. I pull away, removing my hand from beneath his to neutralize the situation. “It won’t happen again,” I say. I have no defense or offense. Accusing him for Sasha’s murder isn’t fair since I'm his alibi. I turn away, allowing my damp rainwater hair to shield my reddened cheeks from his view.
I glance out the window at the Lynch manor as it emerges into view, half-shrouded in shadow by the darkness of nightfall. All the shades are drawn. I spot a third floor window with a human shaped shadow standing between the opened curtains.
“I thought you said that Vivian was still asleep,” I say.
“She is,” he replies. When I turn again to glance back at that window, I notice that the shadow I’d seen before has vanished.
“Nevermind,” I reply after rubbing my eyes with to clear my vision as the limousine pulls into the manor’s teardrop driveway. Adrian exits first. Before I can open my door, he’s already outside opening it for me. I'm hesitant to move even when he reaches out for me, expecting me to take his hand. A clash of thunder roars from the sky, provoking a flash of lightning to frame his body in white light.
I flinch at the noise, gripping his hand to steady my nerves. With one effortless tug, he whisks me from the car and leads me toward the manor’s front doors, releasing my hand once we’re within the foyer. A dim light spills in from the adjoining room. Adrian hands me my gym bag full of toiletries then heads upstairs, prompting me to follow him.
