by Alexa Reign
“Yeah, it is,” I talked over him, drawing a sharp breath. “People are starting to talk. I've never cared too much for rules, but there is such a thing as crossing a line. For Christ's sake, you took it out on that intern for accidentally spilling your coffee on the hard copy of your script –”
“I know, I know, that wasn't cool.” Ace leaned his head back and shook the last drops of his beer onto his tongue. “I took her aside and apologized to her, but I think the damage has been done. Let's just hope I didn't scare her off.”
“And what if you did?” I turned away from the view, facing him. “Let's just – hey, stop.”
I batted his hand away and seized the 6-pack by the plastic rings.
“Goddammit!” Ace flared up. He massaged the point between his brows, breathing like a lunging Great Dane that had just been yanked back by its chain. “The hell is your problem? That might have been amusing the first time, but –”
“You think babysitting a grown man is my idea of a fun time?” I set the unopened cans behind me and booted them over to a faraway corner with the side of my foot. “Are you trying to get yourself fired? Because if you are, you're doing an excellent job –”
“Of course not,” Ace snapped. He unbuttoned his titanium football cufflinks and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. “Look, I get it, I'm real grateful for your concern, but I never asked for any of this. I just want to be alone.”
“Not a problem.” I grabbed the beer from the floor and slung the cans over my shoulder. “But I'm taking this with me.”
“But –”
“If you get hungry or thirsty –” I jabbed my thumb behind me, gesturing at the food on the ledge. “– knock yourself out.”
I strutted towards the door with my chin held high, but when I heard Ace calling out to me, I felt a surge of satisfaction.
“Yo, Victoria.”
Curbing my smile, I swiveled around offhandedly.
“Yeah?”
“I don't really have much of an appetite today. Can't finish all this food.” Ace jammed his hands into his pockets, his eyes landing everywhere but on me. “You can stay and hang out, if you want.”
“I guess so.”
“Come on.”
Ace shoveled the food and sweet tea onto his blazer, bundled it up, and swung it over his shoulder like a bindle. I cupped a hand over my eyes, watching as he clambered up the 30-ft ladder of the muddy-green water tower. When he got onto the landing, he held onto the railing, gazing down at me.
“Need help?”
“I got it!”
I took off my kitten heels. With my fingers hooked onto the insides of my shoes, I heaved myself onto the ladder, gripping the gritty steel bars. I climbed slowly, the movement of my legs restricted by the bind of my cable-knit pencil skirt.
Ace extended a firm hand, grunting as he helped me onto the landing.
“Thanks.”
I adjusted the waistband of my skirt and sat down next to him, inserting my legs through the bottom gap of the railing.
“You want the ham-and-egg sandwich, or the lobster club?”
“Ham-and-egg.”
I handed Ace his sandwich and ripped off the packaging on mine. As the buttery lobster and tangy sauce rolled around on my tongue, I admired the world below my swinging legs. The view was even more spectacular from up here. I could see the Hudson River in the east of the city. Colorful boats the size of Monopoly tokens coasted across the twinkling blue surface, leaving ripples in the water behind them.
“That was pretty good.” Ace had already gobbled down his sandwich. He crumpled up the packaging and tossed it aside, reaching for his sweet tea. “You got that from the vending machine?”
“Yup. Mine isn't half bad, either.”
There was another lull as we pulled off the tabs of our drinks, sipping in silence.
“I'm scared.”
Ace said this so softly his words nearly disappeared behind the humming and sloshing of the water tower. The man looked defeated, his head hanging between his slouched shoulders. I felt this fleeting urge to reach over and wrap my arms around him, but I stayed put.
“What are you scared of?”
“What happened that day – I've been trying to piece it together for years. Everything comes back in flashes, and the smells...” Ace's gaze floated off into the distance. “That smell of burning rubber stayed with me for weeks. But there's one thing I'll never forget – it – it won't let me.”
He paused, his words sounding choked.
“Brooklyn's face – it was the last thing I saw before we crashed. She looked so fucking scared, and her screams... She knew exactly what was coming, and there was nothing I could do to stop any of it. That's the face that keeps me up at night.”
Ace cleared his throat roughly and looked away from me, swiping across his eyes.
“I was so sure she was gone. And now, this? I don't know what to believe. I can't let my guard down again. I want it to be her. It has to be her.”
“I know you do.” I shifted closer to him, my hand just inches away from his.
“And if it isn't – if this is just some scam to get my ass jumped and mugged – fuck, I'm scared outta my mind just thinking about it. If I get beat down, I get beat down, but losing her again? I don't know if I got it in me.”
“There's nothing wrong with being scared.” I raised my pinkie, lightly scratching up and down the side of his hand. “I know it must feel impossible to look at any of this with anything but a negative light, but you owe it to yourself to try. There's nothing wrong with being hopeful, either – in fact, there'd be something wrong if you weren't. Just keep an open mind. Be prepared.”
“Yup.”
“I could come with you, if you want. You know, for moral support.” I withdrew my hand and popped a bag of chips open. The air and barbecue flavoring coughed right in my face. “I'll stay close by, maybe hang out at a coffee shop. We can work out a system – if I don't hear from you by a certain time, I'll know something's wrong, and I'll get help.”
“You'd do that for me?” Ace raised his eyebrows.
“Yup. If it'll make things a little easier for you.”
“It might, thanks.” Ace gave me a quick, sideways glance, and a lopsided smile. “Why do you keep trying to help me, anyway? And don't give me any of that this-is-what-neighbors-do crap again.”
“I've been asking myself the same question,” I answered him honestly, sitting on my hands. “I just feel – what's the word – compelled to help you. First, the letter ends up in my hands, then I can't get rid of you no matter where I go. I don't know. There's something about you, I guess – but don't let that get to your head.”
“Too late.”
Ace was now full-on grinning. The tiny wrinkles next to his eyes made my heart melt. Dammit, I wish he'd just stop looking at me like that...
“But hey, I feel the same way, too.” Ace stretched out his arms behind him and gave me a small nudge with his shoulder. “I know I bitch and moan, but having you around ain't all that bad.”
“Aw, that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me,” I said dryly.
Ace laughed, pinching the back of his neck.
“Your shoulders still bothering you?”
I pulled my legs back up and knelt behind him. As I pressed down on his shoulders with the tip of my fingers, searching for the knot, my heart drummed hard against my chest. The muscles of his warm back felt so tough under my palms, yet so easy to mold.
“Mm, yeah, right there.” His eyes fell shut with a low, sexy grunt. He rolled his head back, gnawing on the corner of his bottom lip. “Man, therapy and a shoulder-rub – I think you're really onto something here...”
“Want me to go harder?”
I leaned closer to him, kneading my palm against the knot. Gradually, I added more pressure. My breasts began to sway with me, knocking lightly against his back. My other hand was wrapped around his left arm for support. And as his breathy groans grew louder, my nails b
egan to dig into the cottony fabric of his dress shirt.
Ace's eyes flickered open. I gazed into his cozy brown eyes, dragging my teeth across my moistening lip. The quiet between us said it all – his narrowed eyes bouncing between my lip and my collarbone, pining for me. I wanted to slam him down and run my hands through his hair as I slipped my tongue into his mouth. I wanted him to taste my tongue as I nibbled on his bottom lip, and send the buttons on his fancy dress shirt flying. I wanted to run my tongue down every chisel of his sculpted chest and stomach, all the way down to his...
My gasp wedged itself in my throat. I looked down, my eyes rounding at the clear-cut contour of his hard-on. The dark-gray of his slacks made the bulge across the side of his zipper even more obvious.
“Shit,” Ace muttered.
He quickly rearranged himself and hauled himself to his feet.
“It happens,” I shared rather unhelpfully. Before I knew it, I was babbling. “My friend, Adam, used to get these half-chubs when I massaged him. It's like a reflex. Jake, his boyfriend of 3 years, will gladly back me up on –”
“I gotta go.” Ace started down the ladder, stopping on the 2nd step. “Thanks for lunch, and uh, the neck rub. I'll see you around.”
“See ya.”
Ace hopped off the ladder and shook out his blazer before putting it on. He looked up at me and gave me another quick wave. And then he was off. But as my eyes lingered on the closing door, an unnerving realization slithered its way into my thoughts. As much as I hated to admit it, a little part of me hoped it wasn't Brooklyn.
Shuddering, I cast the selfish thought to the back of my mind and pulled myself to my feet.
Chapter Five: Ace
“Uno!”
Derrick held up his last card giddily, grinning at me with a gap-toothed smile.
“Well, shit. When did that happen?” I looked down at the 7 cards fanned out in my hands.
“Hey, no swearing!”
“Right, right, my bad...” I plucked a green 5 from my cards and threw it onto the pile.
“Ha!” Derrick rapped his fists against the table, giving himself a drum roll. His beam spreading wider, he snatched up his card and laid it up face-up on the top of the pile. “A blue 5! I win!”
“Yeah, you did, buddy.” I raised a hand over my head. “Up top!”
Derrick slapped me a high-five and flumped back in his seat, pooling all the cards together.
“Is something wrong, Ace?” Derrick asked as he shuffled the deck. Dude's sleight of hand was incredible, his fingers moving smoothly over both ends of the cascading cards. “Do you not want to play with me anymore?”
“'Course I do.” I rested both arms on the table, leaning in. “Deal me in.”
Derrick distributed the cards, his small gray eyes squinched in concentration.
“Are you upset?”
“With you? No.” I gathered my cards together and spread them out, organizing them mindlessly. “I've got a big day coming up in a few days, so I'm sorry if I seem a little distracted.”
“What kind of big day?”
“Well, uh, I'm about to see someone I haven't seen in a long, long time.”
“Are you excited?”
“You could say that.” I leaned against my armrest and drew a card from the deck, kicking off the game. “I miss her. A lot.”
“I miss Daymond, too,” said Derrick woodenly. “I wrote him a bunch of letters, but I guess he's too busy. Maybe he doesn't remember me anymore. Sometimes I have to wait 3 whole weeks to get 1 letter back from him. Do you know when he's coming back to see me?”
I didn't know how to respond. Derrick was 3 years my senior. His bowl cut and 5 o'clock shadow was peppered with white, and he had a good 70 lbs on me, but the innocence in his wide, gleaming eyes remained that of a 6-year-old's.
I opened my mouth to say something when a perky blonde nurse cropped up next to our table.
“Alright, Derrick – it's 6:30,” the nurse sang. The hairs on the large mole under her lip danced with her chins. “You know what that means. Visiting time's over.”
“Already?” Derrick whined, shrinking away from her. “But we just started a new game!”
“Rules are rules, Derrick,” the nurse coaxed patiently. “Come on, let's get you washed up and ready for dinner. We're having Chef Ivan's famous fried chicken tonight!”
“What's for dessert?” Derrick narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“Nutty chocolate drumsticks.”
“Well, okay, then.” Derrick was sold. He got up and pulled his shabby Pinky & the Brain hoodie over his round gut. “Thanks for bringing me a new Hawkman comic book. I like to share them with Larry.”
“Happy to hear that, buddy. No problem. I'll come down and see you again real soon, yeah?”
“Okay.”
Derrick went off to join the group filing out of the visiting room.
“Bless you for checking in on Derrick every month,” the nurse gushed with a warm smile. “Daymond was his only visitor, and when the visits stopped, we were deeply worried about how he'd adjust – until you came along. Derrick looks forward to every one of your visits. He gets very chatty, and it's all he can talk about for days!”
“Good.” I nodded, rising to my feet. “Always glad to be of service.”
“You're a good man, Mr. Warner. Have a nice evening.”
“You too.”
I walked past the childish crayon self-portraits and finger-painted hand-turkeys hung up on the hallways and exited the Lemon Pines vestibule. Someone had taken up my usual spot outside the beauty salon across the street, so I'd parked about a block down. But midway to my parking spot, I found myself slowing down.
A dude in an open-collar plaid shirt and khakis stepped out of his scintillating Jeep Cherokee. He placed his foam coffee cup on his hood and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. I squinted at him to get a better look, my forehead creasing. Where have I seen this guy before?
Then again, all these hipsters looked the same to me – equal parts fashionable lumberjack and coffee aficionado. I was about to dismiss the whole thing when Hipster McGee turned around to feed the parking meter. I stopped in my tracks a second time, my jaw slacking as I homed in on the silverback wolf on the side of his neck.
“Yo!”
I ran across the street and caught up with him. The dude jolted back from the meter. The second he saw me, he blanched, turning his back on me.
“Hey, man, don't I know you from somewhere?”
“I think you've got the wrong guy –”
He grabbed his coffee and was about to scram, but I seized the spindly dude by the collar and yanked him towards me. I gnashed my teeth, scanning him up and down. His grungy Cobain hair had been cut off and the sides of his head sheared, but this was definitely the dude. And he sure as shit didn't look homeless to me.
“Birdman, right? We met out front on The Whistling Ox.”
“Hey, back off, dude.” He jerked away from me, still refusing to look me in the eye. “I – I said I don't know you. Just leave me alone.”
The dude fled across the street, nearly jumping out of his skin as a tow truck blasted its horn in his face. His cup flew out of his hands, and the coffee slopped across the asphalt. Startled, he glanced back at me one final time and bolted from the scene.
The tow truck drove on. I watched as the wheels of the truck rolled past, squashing the cup and leaving dark brown coffee tracks behind. This queasy sensation started crawling up my gut.
I spun around on my heel and headed straight for my car.
XXX
If it was possible, The Whistling Ox looked 2 times seedier in broad daylight. The neon signage was dusty and the pavement outside the front door was covered in trash, cigarette butts, and broken bottles. A peek into the stained windows revealed a couple of overturned stools, tables, crooked frames, and posters half-peeling off the walls.
I went around back and wormed my way through the boulder-sized hole in the chain-lin
k fence of the parking lot. As I walked towards the dumpsters, a couple of dumb kids hanging around behind a scratched-up Mercedes spotted me. The little jackasses lowered their vape pens, eyeing me through the orange rings floating through the air.
Ignoring them, I paced around the dumpster.
“Hey, Mister! You lookin' for something?”
Truth was, I hadn't the slightest clue. I didn't know what spurred me to drive all the way over here. One of the kids in a blue Knicks hoodie jogged up to me. Crouching, he extracted a familiar Rolex with a black-and-red band he kept strapped to his ankle.
“This yours?”
“Yeah, thanks. Where'd you find that?”
“Oh.” The kid got back up, his spine humping in disappointment. He pointed at the side of the dumpster. “Found this about 2 weeks ago. I was finna pawn it off, but I didn't want to get in no trouble in case you reported it missing –”
“Alright, thanks. Keep it.”
“What?” The kid breathed, his wide eyes unblinking. “You serious, man?”
“Yeah, whatever, just take it.”
“Dang, Mister – thanks!”
As the kid streaked back to his friends, I turned my back to them, shaking my head. And that's when I saw it – the old warehouse front beyond the chain-link fence. The ridged side of the building boasted the company's name in red boldface letters: “Nolan Brothers Paints, Ltd.”. Hanging just a few feet away was a sign that directed cars to Queensboro Bridge.
Nolan Bridges.
“Shit,” I breathed, my head pounding.
What the fuck was going on?
Chapter Six: Victoria
“Oh my, Celeste, darling – this is a lovely picture of you. It looks nothing like you!”
“Why, thank you, Mother.” Ma responded with a tight-lipped smile, kneeing my thigh gently under the table. “How nice of you to say.”
“And that's just a piece from a local paper in Cincinnati,” I jumped in, wrestling with the sashimi slice with my ivory chopsticks. “Magnum is releasing a 5-page feature, and a 40-minute interview with Ma next month!”
