Reckless Abandon

by Jeannine Colette

  According to Lisa, “It’s all publicity bullshit, if you ask me.”

  Crystal’s cab pulls up to my apartment just behind mine and she helps me escort the girls into my small apartment. The sleeping arrangements aren’t ideal but they’re free for the girls so no one is complaining.

  I half carry Leah to my room, her weight hanging from my shoulder like a thousand pounds, as she whispers words to me about how much she loves me, how she had the best bachelorette party ever, and, of course, reminding me that she’s getting “marrriieeedddd.”

  With Leah snug under the covers, I turn her to the side and place a trash bin next to the bed in case she gets sick. I close the bedroom door and make sure the other girls are comfortable. Suzanne is passed out on the chesterfield, while Kimberly and Jessica are raiding my cabinet for late-night munchies. A blow-up mattress is next to the couch for them to pass out when they’ve finished loading up on empty calories.

  Slowly, blowing the air out of my lungs, I assess the damage. Not to my apartment. To my reputation.

  When the air is completely out of my lips, I brave a look at Crystal, who is standing by the door with her hand on the doorknob. She is waiting for my full attention before she speaks.

  “Listen, I don’t want to tell you how you should feel but from meeting your sister, I know with all my heart she was only trying to help you.”

  I give her a look of understanding. As pissed as I am—and this is going to take a long time to get over—I know Leah wouldn’t have done anything to hurt me.

  “And Asher? I don’t know what happened between the two of you but you were obviously hurt bad by it.” Her green eyes are downcast. “I’ve been hurt before too. But I still believe in a happily ever after. Don’t give up hope, okay?”

  I nod my head. I don’t necessarily agree with her yet I understand where she’s coming from.

  Crystal opens the door and is about to step out when she turns around. “You don’t like to talk about your private life and I get it. But from the looks of things, you need a friend in New York. A real friend. I won’t tell anyone what I heard. Neither will Lisa. She told you that. Let us be here for you.”

  I always had friends. I never shied away from that. I have simply not wanted to talk to any of the ones I had because they reminded me of what I lost. And since I’ve come to New York I haven’t given myself an opportunity to really open up for fear of what might come out.

  I give her a hug in appreciation for being a great person. “Thank you, Crystal. Maybe we’ll go out for a coffee this week.”

  She smiles as she lets go of our hold. “I’d like that.”

  I’d like that too. I close the door and head off to bed. I already know tomorrow is going to be a bad day.

  The familiar sound of my bedroom door creaking alerts me that Leah is up. It’s almost two in the afternoon and, while I am still pissed at her, I did check on her twice to make sure she was breathing.

  When I was satisfied she was alive, I retreated back to my spot at my kitchen island and continued to stew.

  Leah’s footsteps are heavy, dragging what I assume is a weighted hangover. I listen as she walks slowly down the short hallway. When she rounds the wall and comes into my line of sight from the kitchen, I take in her unsightly appearance. She’s wearing a pair of pajama pants and a matching sleep shirt. I figure she put them on after waking up, as I stripped her down to her skivvies last night before putting her to bed.

  Her hair is a mess of tangles and fly-a-ways, and her eyes are smudged with black liner. Pale skin and chapped lips. Leah looks, in a word, awful.

  “Here,” I say, holding out a brown bag to her.

  Leah takes the bag from my hand and peers inside. “You got me a bagel?” Her words are a mixture of grateful yet surprised. She should be. I’m still really upset about last night.

  “Emma, I—”

  “Sit down, eat, then we’ll talk.” I motion for her to take a seat on the lone stool I have at the island. I’m bossing her around like I should. I take the coffee I bought her a few hours ago and put it in the microwave. While the coffee warms up, I watch Leah eat her bagel.

  “Where are the girls?” she asks in between small bites.

  “Sightseeing. They tried to wake you a few times but you wouldn’t budge.”

  Her eyes fold over as she rubs the temples of her forehead. “I drank way too much last night.”

  I give her a curt nod and slide the coffee to her.

  “I feel like this is my last meal before the electric chair.”

  “It is.” I cross my arms across my body, standing over her while she’s perched on the stool.

  Leah puts her bagel down on the plate and pushes it away. “Okay, let’s have it. I can’t eat with you standing over me all righteous. What do you want me to say?”

  “Just to be clear, you are well aware of why I am so rightfully pissed at you, correct?”

  Leah nods her head. Her words are of mild exasperation. “Yes, Emma. I was drunk and stupid, not comatose. I know why you’re upset.”

  My arms fly up, out and around my body. “What the hell were you thinking, Leah?”

  Placing her hands on top of her head, Leah looks down and shakes her head. “I’m not going to sit here and have you yell at me like a child.”

  I march around the island, my finger pointing at her like a weapon. “A child would have more common sense.”

  Leah’s head shoots up, her eyes ablaze with a look I’ve never seen on her before. My usually sweet and bubbly sister who goes out of her way to make people feel like they’re part of the party is looking at me like I’m the enemy. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that. After everything I’ve done for you. Don’t you dare!”

  I stare back at her dumbfounded. “Excuse me?”

  Leah stands up and walks past me, making a lap around the room and finally coming to a stand behind the chesterfield, using it as a shield.

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m in the wrong here, Emma. Don’t accuse me of doing something to hurt you when I was only trying to help.”

  “Help me? Leah, do you realize how much you hurt me?”

  Leah’s mouth falls open, her face heaving as the breaths come pouring out. “Do you hear yourself? Do you honestly think I set out to hurt you?” Her eyes well up with tears ready to fall any second. She takes a second to breathe in order to regain composure. “You selfish bitch.”

  Her words stab me in the chest and I bleed out. It’s not just the words that hurt, it’s the way she says them. My sister has never spoken to me like this before.

  Leah takes a look behind her and sees the picture of Luke on the bookcase. As she stares at it, her tears start to fall, big and heavy and true.

  When she turns back to me, her hand goes to her chest as she points dramatically at herself. Her pale blue eyes surrounded by red.

  “I lost him too. Luke was my brother too. I cried. I mourned. But I got up. I didn’t do it because I had Adam. I had to be strong for you, Emma. Because no matter how much I lost, how much any of us lost, it wasn’t more than what you were going through. Everyone put their lives on pause for you.”

  Leah wipes her face with her hands and down her neck, looking up at the ceiling. “I called off my wedding. I brought you on my honeymoon. I have been trying to help you.” She looks back at me, her face red and splotchy. “You were dead too. Don’t you get it? We didn’t just lose Luke. We lost you too.”

  I catch my breath. My spine is so stiff I’m afraid to move. She’s not telling me anything I don’t know. She’s just saying it in a way that has finally gotten my attention.

  Leah lets out a loud sigh and places her hand on her hip. “And the Asher thing . . . God, I don’t know. I guess I saw him on that boat and I just thought, I don’t know, Emma. Honest to God, I really don’t know what I thought would happen. When we went to Capri you were doing better but you weren’t the same. Asher put the light back into your eyes. I was so grateful. I had my sister back. Fo
r two days you were the old Emma. I mean—yeah, I hate Alexander Asher and what he did to you but if I’m being completely honest, he helped you. Look at you! You’re living in New York, you’re running a school, you’re around music again. I don’t know exactly what happened between the two of you but I’m glad it happened.”

  Leah takes a step toward me, wiping her tears with her shirtsleeve. “You’re always looking for someone to blame. It’s Parker’s fault you hurt your hand. It’s my fault you got screwed over by Asher and you think it’s your fault Luke is dead. Emma, it was no one’s fault. Sometime things happen in life and no one is to blame. If you keep on looking for a finger to point at the sadness in the past you’ll forget to enjoy the happy times in the now.”

  I open my mouth to say something but I don’t know what to say. I still want to be mad at her. I am mad. But how can I be?

  Leah is right. I have been the selfish one. This whole time I’ve been preoccupied by feeling sorry for myself and annoyed at the thought of others worrying about me, yet I never stopped and really focused on what they were going through.

  We all lost Luke.

  It’s at this moment, the front door opens as Kimberly, Jessica, and Suzanne come in carrying shopping bags. Their loud laughter echoes through my tiny apartment. The three don’t notice the tension between Leah and I in our living room standoff. When they see Leah’s face they assume she looks like hell from being hung over.

  I leave the girls to pack their belongings. They have a flight back to Ohio in a few hours. While they chat about their day, I retreat back to my room and think about everything Leah said. My only interruption is when Leah knocks on my door to ask if I want to go with the girls for something to eat. I decline.

  When they return, it’s to grab their bags and hail a cab to the airport. I walk them to the curb and wait until a taxi approaches. The girls thank me for an awesome weekend and hop into the car.

  Leah has to go around the car to get into the passenger side. Before she does, she idles on the sidewalk, standing next to me.

  “So, we still good?” she asks, uncertainty in her voice. “You’re still coming to the wedding, right?”

  Still coming to the wedding? “Oh, my God, Leah, of course,” I say, pulling her into a hug. “Nothing would keep me away.”

  She lets out a sigh of relief and smiles. “Good. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

  I nod my head and help her into the front. We still have a lot to talk about. Things aren’t completely right between us but she’s my sister. No matter how bitter or bad things may seem, I’d rather be mad at her than not have her at all.

  I played hooky from work today. In fact, I’ve stayed home for the last three days. It is out of character but I just couldn’t bring myself to go.

  Leah has given me a lot to think about. On Monday, I woke up feeling sorry for myself. Mad at what I have done to my family. I stayed in bed all day and didn’t get up.

  That afternoon, Crystal texted to see if I was okay. She mentioned Asher was looking for me. I told her I was ill and would be out for a few days.

  That night, I heard the roar of an engine and the ring of my doorbell. I didn’t answer it. When I opened my apartment door the next morning I noticed a purple rose taped to my front door. Purple: Enchantment. I wonder what my song would have been.

  On Tuesday, I sat on the chesterfield and thought about the last ten months of my life. Leah is right. A lot did change after I met Asher. As much as I hate what he did, he helped me overcome some of my fears. My fear of speed, my fear of playing music and most importantly, he made me feel. Even if that feeling became anger in the end, it was pure emotion running through me.

  That night, I ignored the knock on the door and cursed Mattie for being the one who is probably letting Asher into the building. When I heard the engine roar off in the distance, I open the door to see another rose taped to it. Fuchsia: Appreciation.

  Yesterday, I spent my third and final day locked in the house looking through every photo album I own. I looked at pictures of Leah, Luke, and I through the years. I opened scrapbooks my mom created for me of every recital program, newspaper clipping, and accomplishment I every enjoyed. I surprised myself at how nice it felt to look at everything I accomplished. Instead of looking through my memories for contempt of what I lost, I looked on with feelings of joy and a renewed vow to be great again. Maybe not in music, but in something else. I accomplished so much and I’m only twenty-five. Imagine what I can do in twenty-five more years?

  Last night’s rose was red.

  Today is Thanksgiving. I didn’t go home for the holiday. The banquet for the Juliette Academy is this weekend and the quick turnaround for holiday travel is too much. Plus, Leah and Adam’s wedding is in two weeks. I’ll be home for that.

  Instead of eating my mom’s turkey and dad’s famous stuffing, I am spending the day doing something I have been wanting to do since arriving in New York. I am going to explore the city.

  All by myself, dressed up and ready for my date of one, I hop on the subway and trek uptown to Lincoln Center to see Yo-Yo Ma perform with the New York Philharmonic. Since I only needed one, I was easily able to get a ticket to the almost sold-out show online.

  Walking through Lincoln Center, I feel the old giddiness I used to get as a kid going to see a performance. I walk through the elegant buildings, taking in the sights. I’ve been here before with my parents and once for a competition, but tonight it feels different.

  It is just as amazing as I dreamed. I have listened to Yo-Yo Ma’s music and seen him play on YouTube, but never live.

  When the performance is over I walk across the street and grab dinner at Café Fiorello. While eating, I scroll through my phone and order more tickets for this weekend. Tomorrow, I am going to the opera. Saturday, I am going to see a Broadway matinee and then the ballet. And on Sunday I am going to watch Allyce play my violin in the park. I call my parents for the holiday and spend an exorbitant amount of time telling my mom about the concert and the school and the city . . .

  By the time the waiter comes with my check, I have a weekend of the arts fully booked and my mom and I are laughing and talking, she is completely neglecting her holiday company.

  And when I get home I have a beautiful bouquet of mixed wild flowers waiting for me outside my door. Once I am securely inside my apartment I hear the familiar sound of a motorcycle rumble down the street. I may have a new sense of purpose but my feelings for Alexander Asher have not changed.

  What they are, exactly, is up for debate.

  My stiletto heel sinks in the lush carpeting of the Starlight Roof at the Waldorf-Astoria. This is my first New York City event and so far it is as visually stunning as anything I could have dreamed up.

  The landmark hotel banquet room has a gilded ceiling of art deco design, illuminated by Austrian crystal chandeliers. In front of a wall of windows is a thirteen-piece band on a stage, surrounded by banquet tables. In the middle is a dance floor of black and white design.

  Six hundred guests came out for tonight’s occasion, all dressed in elegance.

  I look over at Crystal in her black, one-shoulder gown with beading along the bodice. Her curls are pinned up, her beautiful porcelain skin glows. Lisa is here with her husband. She is wearing a navy cocktail dress with a matching wrap. Her husband looks handsome in a tuxedo, even if he doesn’t appear to be happy to be wearing one

  I am wearing a strapless, dark purple chiffon dress I borrowed from Crystal. I was very happy to see it fit, though not as well as it would Crystal’s hourglass figure. I paired the dress with metallic gold shoes and a necklace that used to be my grandmother’s.

  Crystal and I spent the afternoon getting our hair done. I opted to keep my blonde tresses down but I did let the stylist at the Louis Licari salon talk me into getting highlights. After two hours of foils and glaze, I was nervous to see the transformation. I had never done anything to my hair, aside from dipping it in Kool-Aid when I was thirteen, streaking a f
ew strands red.

  Noting my hesitation, Crystal insisted I not look until everything was done. I felt like one of those women on the Today Show who get makeovers that make them look like a completely different person. One look in the mirror and I was impressed with the transformation. My hair is still the same length, with slight shaping and a few angles. The strands, however, are much lighter and brighter. I look sunnier, somehow. I even let them do my makeup. They didn’t overdo it. They made me look just right.

  Lisa’s husband hands me a glass of champagne and I take it, giving a cheers to the girls.

  Frank appears from behind and asks if I can be taken away as he has people he’d like to introduce me to. I walk around the room with Frank, greeting the guests who are here to, hopefully, donate money to our little school. Some faces I recognize and many more I am meeting for the first time.

  The band plays on and I look over to see Lisa and her husband twirling around the dance floor having a good time. Crystal is at the bar talking with a gentleman I have never seen before and I hope they are hitting it off. She deserves to meet a nice guy.

  I continue to look around the room when my eyes stop at the entrance and a man who is so beautiful it takes my breath away.

  Alexander Asher walks into the room looking fierce and determined. All six feet of him are standing tall, and he’s positively gorgeous in a black-on-black tuxedo fitted at the waist, showcasing the incredible body underneath. A white shirt and black bow tie outline his masculine neck and square jaw, while his golden highlights twinkle in the mood lighting of the room and his bronzed skin looks like silk. Strong thighs, broad shoulders and a chest that was created by God to model a double-breasted suit . . . oh, my.