Phoenix Heart

by Carolyn Nash

  I shrugged her arm off. “We already talked about this.” I saw the look on her face. “Come on. Don’t do that.”

  “What do you expect?”

  “I expect you to understand.”

  “Well, I don’t! You were going to take Cheryl.”

  “That’s completely different and you know it.”

  “Why? Because I’m an old married lady?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “Because.”

  “Because what?”

  “Because you’re always looking at me like I’m going to break into a million pieces, that’s why!”

  “I am not!”

  “Yes, Maggie, you are and you do. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. I don’t need my big sister slash mother to ride herd on me.”

  “I don’t ride herd on you.”

  “Yes you do! You have ever since…” I started gathering my make-up off the dresser.

  “Ever since you were eight.” Maggie looked a question at my reflection in the mirror. I turned, dropped the make-up into the suitcase, went to the closet, and picked up a couple of pairs of shoes.

  “Mel, I’m your sister.”

  I slipped the shoes into a plastic bag and stuffed them down in the corner of my carry-on bag. “Don’t worry; I’m learning to live with that.”

  “Why won’t you talk to me?”

  I grabbed a bunch of underwear and jammed them down in the corner of the suitcase. “About what? The upcoming presidential election? Fall hemlines?”

  “Why won’t you tell me what happened that night?”

  I poked at the clothing in the bag, smoothed it. “You know what happened.”

  “I know what I saw at the hospital.”

  “Then you know.”

  Maggie grabbed my elbow and pulled me around. “There was something else. You changed after that night.”

  “Getting the crap beat out of you can do that.”

  She blushed. “I know. I had the same parents, remember? But I still say there was something different. I wish you’d talk to me.”

  “Ten minutes before I leave on vacation?” I asked. “I don’t think so.” I pulled my arm from her grasp.

  “Oh, god,” she cried, “you can be such an obstinate jerk!”

  “Well, my older sister helped raise me.” I brought the lid of the suitcase down, snapped the locks, then turned to Mags and batted my eyes. “And I want to be just like her.”

  “Melanie.”

  “Maggie.”

  “Hey!” came Cheryl’s cry from the living room. “The limo’s here.”

  “Oh no! Blast!” I grabbed some tissues, stuffed them in my purse, snagged my coat, and reached for the suitcase. Maggie got there ahead of me. Our eyes met, and just for a second, a split second, with her looking at me with so much love and compassion, the words almost came out.

  But then the eight-year-old girl within screamed No! so loudly that I just smiled instead.

  “Thanks for helping me pack, Mags.”

  “Ah, Melanie.” She pulled the bag off the bed and looked so sad for a second that I threw one arm around her and hugged her fiercely.

  “It’s all right,” I whispered.

  “No, it’s not,” she whispered back.

  I felt tears burn, but blinked them back, then turned quickly and headed out toward the living room. Cheryl stood at the door. I stopped, looking at the two of them, my friend and my sister, Cheryl grinning, Maggie beginning to smile, and I felt a little of the happiness and fun that I’d felt in the early morning hours finally coming back.

  “You look beautiful,” Maggie said and Cheryl nodded.

  “Oh, what do you know,” I said and grinned.

  “You be careful,” Maggie said.

  Not too careful, Cheryl mouthed behind her back, and I laughed.

  A knock at the door made me jump. “I can’t believe this is really happening,” I said.

  “Believe it,” Cheryl said and swung the door wide.

  Adonis in a chauffeur’s cap stood on the other side. All three of our jaws dropped.

  “Ms. Brenner?” he asked.

  “Uh, yes.”

  He smiled at me, white teeth flashing, brilliant against his darkly tanned skin. “Is this all your luggage?”

  I nodded dumbly and his smile intensified as he scooped up the bags and then stood to one side, waiting for me to pass.

  “You go ahead,” I said. “I’ll be right down.”

  He bowed his head, then headed for the stairs.

  “Oh my god,” Cheryl whispered, coming over next to me, looking out the door at the broad shoulders disappearing down the stairs. “If that isn’t a good omen for a great trip, I don’t know what is.”

  “Why don’t you find a way to mention to him the extra ticket you’ve got,” Maggie said with a wicked grin. “Just casually bring it up.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “right after I ask him what he’d like to name our first born.”

  “Subtle,” Cheryl said.

  “Well, you guys stay up here and wipe the drool from your chins. I’d better get going.”

  They both gave me a hug, and wished me well, and when I reached the street and looked back, they were both standing at the front window, waving. I hadn’t wanted a big good-bye scene on the sidewalk. I just wanted to walk elegantly and casually out the front door and climb into the limo as if I owned it. Adonis stood at the door, holding it for me, and I smiled casually for the benefit of my downstairs neighbor, Barb Greenly, who, bless her, had chosen that moment to come outside with her baby and her mother-in-law. They stopped dead, staring at the long white limousine, at the handsome, black-haired young man holding the door, and at me stepping in and sitting down on the plush leather seats. A better exit I couldn’t have planned.

  As Adonis shut the door, I waved one last time up at Maggie and Cheryl, though I don’t think they could see me through the tinted window glass. I settled back in the seat and stretched my fingers wide and ran them over the expanse of soft leather. The inside of the car was enormous. Seats faced me from across an expanse of thick plush carpet; between the seats were a small inset television, a DVD player, and below them, a small bar.

  The driver slid behind the wheel. His voice crackled through the speaker mounted below the Plexiglas partition. “Are you ready, Ms. Brenner?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Very good. If you need anything, please key the button on the armrest. That activates the speaker. My name is John Tomlinson.” He keyed off the speaker, smiled into the rearview mirror and pulled the massive car gently out into the traffic.

  I smiled and stretched, then leaned back against the seat and kicked off my pink pumps and dug my toes into the carpet.

  No work, no school, no lab.

  I had a flash of Lance’s face and of Andrew Richards’ seen through the burning tears caused by the smoke, but I pushed the vision away.

  Nothing’s going to stop me now.

  We’d barely made it halfway down the block when a movement ahead and to the right caught my eye. A tall, lean man in dark sunglasses, sports coat and jeans, carefully looking to the left and right, walked out of the doorway of the photocopy store on the corner, and began waving at the limo.

  “Oh my god,” I whispered.

  The man waved more frantically and I leaned over, keyed the button on the armrest. “Mr. Tomlinson, stop, please.”

  “Ms. Brenner?”

  “Yes, please, pull over.”

  I moved my hand over, keyed the button on the armrest and the window slid down.

  The man ran up to the window and leaned down.

  “Oh, good, it is you, Melanie.”

  I nodded.

  He looked up the street toward the University, then back towards my apartment. “Look, I hope it isn’t too much of an imposition, but I remembered that you were heading out to the airport and I was wondering if you could give me a lift.” He smiled. He was sweating a little
and that lock of hair had fallen forward and was sticking to his skin.

  “Of… of course, Dr. Richards.” I looked toward the driver. “It’s okay, isn’t it?”

  The driver had twisted around in his seat. “Of course, Ms. Brenner.”

  I turned back to Dr. Richards. He was still looking down the street, the same smile on his face. “Dr. Richards?”

  He jumped a little then turned the smile on me.

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “Great.” He grabbed the door handle and I slid across the seat and buckled myself in on the far side. He dropped on the seat, slammed the door behind him, and rolled the window back up. “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate this.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He looked back out the darkened glass as the chauffeur pulled into traffic, then turned back to me and flashed a smile. “You look like you’ve recovered completely. No ill effects?”

  “None. Have you heard anything about Lance?”

  A small muscle along his jaw bunched, then relaxed. “He’s going to be okay,” he said. “He’s got some broken ribs, a pierced lung, a bruised liver, and a moderate concussion. By the way,” he said as he took off his sunglasses, and I saw his eyes for the first time. “They said that whoever bandaged him and got him out saved his life. He would have bled to death. I told him I didn’t know who you were, just a student I’d seen around the halls.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Last thing I wanted was to get caught up in something just before my trip.”

  “They may still be looking for you,” he said. “And if you saw anything…”

  “I didn’t.”

  He sighed. “Good.”

  The limo moved into a left turn lane and stopped at a light. A black and white police cruiser pulled up along the right side and stopped. The officer behind the wheel glanced over at the black tinted windows. Dr. Richards’ head jerked away from the window, then he casually put his sunglasses on before turning to me. “I’m glad I remembered that you were heading for the airport this afternoon,” he said.

  I could see my reflection in his sunglasses. “Oh?” I said.

  “Yes. It turns out I have to get there in rather a hurry, and, uh, my car’s in the shop.” The sweat on his forehead was drying, but he still looked a little flushed.

  “I see.”

  “Started to call a cab and realized I came away without my credit cards or enough cash. Or, my phone,” he said. “Would you mind if I used yours?”

  “No, not at all.” I slipped my phone out of my purse and handed it to him.

  “Any problem with texting?”

  “No. I have unlimited.”

  While he typed, I had a chance to study him up close as I’d never been able to in the lab. Impossibly good looking: skin, facial structure, hair. I’d been at a Macy’s once when they’d had men from their print ads in the store doing some sort of promotion. They looked as if someone in marketing had sculpted them precisely to appeal to the female psyche. Well, maybe not psyche. A bit more visceral than that. Yet, in Macy’s that day, I saw no woman approach them to speak, to flirt, to even ask directions. It felt like if you were foolish enough to try, the men might just stare through you, uncomprehending and unseeing, so totally on another plane of existence that the light and sound coming from you vibrated at frequencies impossible for them to register. It never had occurred to me to wonder what they thought or felt.

  At the university, if I’d been passing the men’s room as Dr. Richards happened to come out, I might have stopped for a moment, puzzled, thinking what’s wrong with this picture?

  For the first time, I thought, maybe being good looking is not all it’s cracked up to be.

  I turned and looked out the window and watched a parade of fast food restaurants and gas stations go by. As if superimposed on the scenery, I could see Lance’s pale face, his closed eyes pooled with water, black smoke pouring out the door and along the ceiling.

  My eyes slid back to Dr. Richards and I studied that face, wondering what those eyes behind the dark lenses would tell me if I could see them. He rubbed a hand up and down his denim-clad thigh. Large and strong-looking, I could almost feel it coming up my arm, stroking my neck, cupping my face as he leaned forward to...

  Whoa, girl. That is enough! Start acting like you’ve got something between your ears besides a giant, prepubescent gland.

  I took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. I folded my hands in a ladylike way in my lap.

  “Damn it,” he whispered, and then I heard him punching in a phone number.

  I reached down and pulled a novel from my purse and opened it at random and stared at the words.

  “It’s Andrew. Read your texts sometime, will you?”

  …

  “I’m okay. A friend’s giving me a ride to the airport.”

  His voice: He had a perfect voice to go with the perfect body and face: deep, just a little gravelly, educated yet not pompous; the voice you’d want to hear coming from the other pillow saying, Call in sick. We’re spending the day in bed.

  “Because it’s the only way,” he said into the phone.

  …

  “Look, now’s not the time to argue. I only have my ID. Send something through Uncle Marley, will you?”

  I reached up and slowly turned a page, tilting my head ever so slightly to look at it.

  “I think…”

  I kept my eyes on my book, pretending to be so utterly absorbed that I couldn’t possibly hear a word of his conversation. Yet, the silence lengthened, and then I had the uncanny feeling that his eyes were on me. I looked up, and he smiled brilliantly. And it was strange: for the first time since I’d seen him when I walked into the graduate admissions interview, those flashing teeth had not the slightest effect on my heart rate.

  He looked out the window, and I back to my book. “I think I know a way,” he said.

  I tried to read the words on the page, to concentrate on them to shut out that voice, but the letters blurred and danced.

  “I’ll get this straightened out.”

  …

  “Because I can’t do it if I’m... I can’t do it that way. Listen, watch out for him.”

  …

  “I don’t want anyone else… involved.”

  …

  “I’ll be all right.”

  …

  “I will be all right!”

  …

  “I’d better get off now. I’ll call when I can.”

  I continued to stare at the book, turning a page periodically.

  He handed the phone back to me. “Thanks.”

  His fingertips brushed against mine.

  “Not at all,” I said, and blushed as I heard the hitch in my voice.

  I turned to look out my window, now utterly bored with the book and utterly fascinated with the scenery. The sun was lowering behind the buildings of west LA, turning the smog from brown to orange. We were stuck in the beginnings of the rush hour traffic, inching our way along the freeway, still miles from the airport. I watched it all carefully until I was absolutely certain my face was its normal color once again.

  We rode on in silence as the driver tried to maneuver the limo from lane to lane, trying to find a faster way through traffic that was crawling at no more than twenty-five.

  “So,” Dr. Richards said, “you should have a great time in San Francisco. It’s a beautiful time of year to go.”

  Speak Melanie! Speak!

  “I’ve heard that,” I said cleverly.

  “Have you spent much time there?”

  “No, not really.”

  Big smile followed by long silence. He cleared his throat and shifted around. “I came up during the summer for the Black and White Ball. Spectacular. Have you ever been?”

  Oh, right, I fly up every year.

  “No,” I said.

  “No, of course not,” he said. “I mean, not of course not that you couldn’t go, just of course not that it’s so expen
sive. I forgot for a minute you’re a student.”

  I just smiled.

  “So, what are your plans?” he asked.

  “The tour company has everything set. Sightseeing, restaurants, a play or two.”

  He smiled. “Well, that sounds great. Too bad they didn’t let you bring someone with you. It would have been that much more fun.”

  “Actually, they did. I mean, the contest was for... It’s just that with such short notice... Yeah, I guess it would have been more fun.”

  “Oh,” he said.

  Oh. Oh, I see. It should have been obvious. Of course you couldn’t find anyone to come with you. I should have known that just looking at you.

  “Good,” he said. “See, from the airport I’m heading to San Francisco myself, and as long as you’re not seeing anyone, perhaps you could squeeze me in the itinerary. I need to clear up a few things about what happened this morning, and then maybe I could take you to dinner to thank you for this ride.”

  I’m sorry, what? Andrew Richards just asked me out? Andrew Richards?

  “That… that’s not necessary,” I said. “It was no problem to give you a ride.”

  “Of course it’s not necessary. I’d enjoy it.”

  I smiled. “Really, I do appreciate the offer, but the tour company has practically every minute booked. Thanks, though.”

  Shut-up Melanie. Keep your mouth shut and just nod your head!

  (but what if he did have something to do with the bomb)

  “Now, there must be some evening free. Or, maybe a lunch?” He was directing what must have been microwave radiation at me: the container was staying cool, put the contents were melting down into a puddle.

  “Dr. Richards, really...”

  “Melanie, all my friends call me Andrew.”

  “Andrew, then. I really don’t think I’ll be able...”

  “You know, Melanie, in class and in the lab I got the impression you didn’t much care for me. Is that what this is about?”

  And I got the impression you didn’t even know my name.

  I could feel my skin warming up to a blush. “No! No, not at all! What made you think that?”

  “Every time I was around, I never heard you say more than two words.”

  “Well, I...”

  “I’d hear you talking to Chuck and the other students, and then I’d come in and you’d clam up. Was it something I said?”