Layers

by Sigal Ehrlich

  In the comfort of my room, in front of god, myself, and my immaculate collection of shoes, I declare tonight the swan song of my sordid lifestyle. No more. I am not marching on that path, ever again.

  It takes me quite a while to fall asleep, and then I am haunted by flashbacks of our recent “date” in my dreams.

  Chapter 8: Mixed Messages

  I am awakened by an escalating knocking sound that has merged into my dream for the last few seconds, or was it minutes? Forcing my eyes open, I’m completely disoriented. What’s the time? Those knocks are loud and persistent now. I finally manage to comprehend that there’s someone at the door. “Hold on, one moment, coming,” I call out as I put on my pullover, the one from last night; it has a faint Daniel smell on it, which irritates me in a self-deprecating way.

  I am surprised to find a uniformed DHL delivery guy standing at our doorstep.

  “Delivery for Miss Hayley Grace,” he utters in an official voice.

  “That would be me.” I try to smile over a yawn, though I find it hard having just jumped out of bed after a terrible night’s sleep.

  “Sign here, please.” He hands me his PDA.

  “Here you go,” he says, handing me a relatively large, black, rectangular gift box. “Have a nice day.”

  Taking the package from him I can see that there is an imprint on top. I study the gold engraved letters closely. “Donna Karan,” it reads. I stare at the case, utterly bewildered. What the hell? With curiosity, cautiously, as though it were made out of some exquisite crystal, I place the matte black box on the kitchen counter. As I lift the cover of the box my eyes rest upon a soft black satin cocktail dress nestled in delicate ivory paper. On top of the dress rests a small golden envelope. I open the envelope and my eyes reflexively jump to the signature: DS. Absolutely rattled, thinking about how we parted just a few hours ago, far from having an idea of what to make of it, I read the note.

  Sweet Hayley,

  Would you be my plus one at a Stark Software fundraising event on Friday? It’s for a good cause …

  DS

  P.S. The red sneakers will have to stay at home.

  I sink onto one of the barstools trying to make sense of the dress, of the invitation, of the man I had sex with last night, or was it today? I haven’t got the slightest idea what to think of it all. No idea what he wants from me or why, but one thing is certain—he’s a mystery of mixed messages and multiple personalities. Way too much for now. I need coffee first, a double …

  With a need to put the thought of Daniel aside, and the sooner the better, I hide the gift box under my bed and turn to start my morning. I fix myself that much needed quadruple-shot espresso and lock myself in my room to work on my sketching. The Killers playing in the background do great job helping me focus.

  A few hours later I get distracted by a text message.

  Tasha: Got the job, on my way back, Heart ya.

  Oh, now my best friend is going to work for him. This cannot get any better.

  With Tasha’s text in mind I realize I haven’t confirmed the second meeting at YOU and quickly send a thank-you email confirming the date. It’s the same day as the fundraising gala, I think idly.

  My phone vibrates again. This time it’s a call. I pick it up, annoyed by the continued disturbance. What’s now?

  “Hello” I answer.

  “Are we still on for tonight?” My forehead creases.

  “Who is it?” I ask, not sure who I supposedly have plans with tonight.

  “Are you double-booking dates on me, H? That’s cruel.” H? It’s Daniel. An involuntary smile spreads on my lips as the info sinks in. “Do we have plans for tonight?” I honestly don’t recall any plans that we set for this evening. And frankly, after yesterday …

  “Oh, that’s really cruel, I clearly remember that you agreed to watch a movie with me tonight. Didn’t you?”

  “Daniel, you mixed up day and night, yesterday and today. I can’t follow it anymore.”

  He laughs and repeats, “Are we on for tonight?”

  Completely disregarding the bright red warning signs flashing in my head, too quickly ignoring how he made me feel just a few hours ago, knowing he’s nothing but bad news, I still agree. Inwardly cursing this damn attraction.

  “Would you like me to pick you up?” he asks in a softer, coaxing tone, every bit the wooer.

  “It’ll have to be a late show. I’m kind of busy until later tonight.”

  “It’ll be at my house, so we can watch it whenever we want.”

  Oh, your house. “Then you don’t have to bother, I can get there by myself.”

  “It’s no trouble, Hayley,” he tries again.

  “That’s okay. Really, there’s no need.” I insist and apparently manage to convince him. I’d much rather have an option to run away …

  “I’ll text you the address later.”

  “One thing, Daniel,” I say. “How did you know my dress size?”

  “I did feel you up last night, didn’t I?” The jibe stings.

  Thank you, higher power, that we’re on the phone right now, and he can’t see my reaction. I feel my face burn up in flames.

  “Miss Grace, you seemed so much more talkative a few minutes ago. Have you lost your words now, or do you need a moment?”

  Jerk. I snicker. “No, Daniel, I don’t. And thank you for the dress.”

  “Does that mean you’ll accompany me to the fundraiser?”

  “Let’s talk about it tonight, shall we?” With you, I prefer to gauge which way the wind blows first, before committing further.

  “I will do my best to include talking,” he replies and chuckles. Cocky assumptions, D.

  “Mr. Stark, I apologize for my interruption, but you’re already ten minutes late, and everyone’s waiting for you in the oval room,” I hear a hesitant female voice urging him. “Why are you bothering me when I’m on an important call? For god’s sake, Anne.” There’s a short pause. “I’ll be there shortly,” he grunts.

  She’s just doing her job! I frown from afar.

  “So, Hayley, see you tonight?” his voice soft and calm again.

  “See you tonight, Daniel.” I hang up. Try not to decapitate anyone at work, psycho! I turn the music up to try to stop myself from thinking about him, again, and return to my sketching.

  “Honey, I’m home, hide the milkman.” Tasha’s cheerful voice comes from the entry hall. I look up at the window, and it’s dark already. How long was I disconnected in here?

  “What time is it?” I ask Tasha as I join her in the living room.

  “Seven. What have you been up to, Missy?”

  If you only knew …

  “I got it,” she hugs me, her smile broad.

  “I am so happy for you,” I mirror her contagious smile, admiring the way her gray suit compliments her. “What position is it? When do you start?”

  “Wine?” she asks heading toward the kitchen, I follow her bouncy, silky ponytail.

  “No, I’m driving later,” I mutter casually.

  “Oh really? Where to, exactly?” She turns to face me, wearing an inquisitive/teasing expression.

  “Watch a movie … with Daniel,” I say, trying to sound casual, knowing this will have to be much elaborated shortly.

  Her lips pull up into an I-knew-it smug smile. “It’ll be in their R&D department as a project manager.” Her smile becomes so sincere it makes me sigh in contentment, utterly happy for her.

  “It’s the position you wanted. That’s so great. And when do you start?”

  “Tomorrow.” She grins wider and raises her wine glass as she does.

  “To you, dear.” I salute back.

  “I need you to promise me one thing, Hales,” she says in a coaxing tone.

  “Anything for you, as long as I can and it’s legal.” I nod assurance. “Or as long as we can hide the evidence.”

  She smiles.

  “There’s a fundraising event this Friday, and since I don’t know anyone
at the company yet, and I’d much rather not bring a date … to keep my options open, you know.” She winks at me and continues, “Can you be my plus one?”

  Two invitations to the same event in less than a few hours. Boy, do I feel popular. “What about Ian?” I try.

  “Already tried. He has a family thing he can’t get out of.”

  I bite my lip, considering what to tell her.

  “What is it, Hales? Spill it.” Her eyes search mine.

  “I think I’m going to be Daniel’s plus one at that event,” I answer in a low, tentative voice. And now is the time to start elaborating.

  “You think?” Her eyes zoom in on mine, assessing. I bob my head.

  “Holy fuck, seriously?”

  Wait till you see the dress. “What happened to holy heavens, Miss Taylor?”

  “Come on Hales, this totally requires a holy fuck. After all, he isn’t exactly the dating type, at least according to gossips-R-us.” We both laugh.

  As our laughs subside I take a deep breath and say, “Follow me. There’s something I need to show you.”

  “What’s that? You secretive little thing.”

  I grin at her with a cryptic look and lead her to my bedroom.

  “Holy mother of fuck!” she exclaims when I show her the dress, making me giggle louder. “Oh no, Miss Taylor, that language again. Do you want me to make you wash that filthy little mouth out with soap?”

  Disregarding me, she starts a third-degree interrogation. I fill her in, though I leave out the parts that make me feel bad about myself, about Daniel. I really don’t feel like getting into that just before meeting him again.

  “So you slept with him, you s …”

  “Hey.” I cut her off before she continues, feigning a threatening stare that she dismisses with an impish smile.

  “I was going to say super lucky …” She blinks twice, utterly amused. I snort out a short giggle, rolling my eyes.

  “Super lucky slut,” she murmurs and we both break into laughter.

  As our elated gasps finally lessen, Tasha probes, “And?”

  I cock my head questioningly.

  “How was it?” she asks, the joy in her eyes still intact.

  I smirk.

  “That good?” Her lips stretch to mirror mine.

  “Oh, so much better …”

  Chapter 9: Repetitive Emotional Stress Injury

  Bathed, relaxed and perfumed I get dressed, wearing my worn blue jeans and a baby pink top. I pick up my leather riding jacket and check out the address Daniel sent me earlier today. He forgot to mention the house number so I call him. Sounding busy, he just gives me the number and is gone. My navigator shows that the ride shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes. Twenty minutes? It took Daniel much less than ten minutes to reach my house yesterday. Well, guess that makes sense given his car and the way he drives.

  “I’m leaving.” I poke my head into Tasha’s room; she steps over to hug me.

  Resting her palm above my heart, she says in a serious, caring and overly dramatic voice, “Keep this whole, Hales. Please do, for me.”

  She knows me too well. I hug her tight.

  “I’ll do my best.” I nod reassuringly, blow her an airy kiss and turn toward the door. “He might be the divine being of Stark Software or not, I really don’t care, but I will still kick his butt if he hurts you,” she calls after me. I laugh and lock the door as I go.

  The traffic is light. I navigate through the city streets with one of my earphones playing The Pixies in my helmet. The music and the night’s calm ambiance set me in a relaxed mood, surprisingly far more relaxed than I anticipated I would be just before meeting Daniel again. I slow the scooter down before the first speed bump at the entryway of the scenic path leading to “Seacliff,” Daniel’s neighborhood. I’ve passed by this area before but never took the time to actually admire the view of these peaceful streets located just above sea level. The streets are an impressive blend of landscaped flora and Spanish-style luxury estates. The address Daniel provided me is for one of the estates on the streets with a view of the Pacific Ocean. I halt beside a wide, high fence that surrounds what seems to be endless land. Two security cameras slowly adjust to focus on me as I buzz the intercom.

  “Hey, Haley. Follow the main road till you come to the house.” Daniel’s husky voice guides me behind the monitor.

  The electronic gates open, allowing me entrance to the estate. Wow, this property is enormous. The scooter rolls for a few short minutes on the split-brick drive till I reach a one-story Spanish style house with beige stucco exteriors and curved terracotta roof tiles, quite modest when compared with its neighboring mansions. Given the car and the vast land Daniel owns I idly think how the interior must be decorated with nothing but high-class furniture and fixtures.

  Daniel waits for me by the open door in jeans and a dark gray tee, his damp hair in a crazy mess, as if he’s just gotten out of the shower. Daniel in the shower … He looks almost illegally dazzling.

  “Cool scooter. Didn’t know you were a biker.” He chuckles in a fond manner.

  I fake a frown and reply, “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Mr. Stark.”

  Nearing me, he hugs me and I am bathed in a fresh, seductive Daniel smell. He stretches his hand out to hold my chin, tilting my head up to face him. Finally, I think.

  “Drop it with the Mr. Stark. You lost your right to call me that when you rejected my job offer,” he says in a semi hard voice, and caresses my chin with his thumb. I beam.

  “Point taken, Mr. Daniel.”

  He chuckles, sliding one of my curls between his finger and thumb, studying it for a prolonged moment. “Let’s get inside.”

  I’m surprised by the interior of the house; it’s very different than what I expected. It’s so homey and simple, decorated in natural colors, nothing too stylish or too modern. Plainly, I love it.

  “This is my humble casa.” He smiles, using the same words I used to describe my apartment yesterday.

  Yesterday? It seems like ages ago.

  “Would you like the grand tour?” Daniel suggests. Soft hazel eyes stare at me expectantly.

  “Of course I would.” After all, it’s not every day I’m invited to Daniel Stark’s home.

  “The living room,” he says, referring to the room we’re currently in. His hand on my lower back makes it hard for me to concentrate on anything. Soft light coming from a few standing lamps sets gives the room a calm feel. In the middle of the ample space lies an oversized L-shaped cream sofa with two wide brown leather recliners by its side. A low dark auburn coffee table occupies the area beside the sofa, positioned firmly over a thick orange shag rug. A large flat screen TV is on the front wall; on the adjacent one is a contemporary tile fireplace. I take in the room and can’t help but admire what I see. It oozes coziness.

  “Kitchen.” Daniel tilts his chin, directing my attention to a vast but minimal, stainless steel and dark mahogany kitchen with a long eat-in island and eight red barstools. The kitchen looks impeccably clean—I would even say clinically clean. Taking my hand in his, Daniel leads me to a wide corridor that ends in doors to three different rooms. I enjoy the touch of his skin on mine, especially as his thumb lightly grazes the palm of my hand. The first door opens to a fully-equipped gym, with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The second is a state-of-the-art game room that wouldn’t disgrace any commercial arcade hall. Daniel squeezes my hand softly, directing me back to the hall. The last door we stop at leads to a home cinema room with two rows of four black leather theater loungers positioned on a dark gray, almost black, wall-to-wall carpet, facing a screen that covers the entire front wall.

  He runs his other hand through his damp hair making it messier than it already is. Contemplating something for a moment, he looks somewhat lost, as though having an internal debate. I observe him from the side. What would that debate be about? He shakes his head and, linking my hand in his, leads me to the opposite side of the house. We return thro
ugh the hall in comfortable silence. When we pass the living room, there’s another corridor, shorter than the one we’ve just walked through. This one leads to two huge rooms: one is Daniel’s office, decorated in warm brown furniture that contrasts with the sheer white, bare walls. There are more than four active monitors on a massive computer table, making me think I’ve stepped inside a war room. The room next to the office is his master bedroom; I contemplate whether it’s the size of our entire apartment. There’s a natural wood king-sized bed in the middle of the room, one of the largest beds I’ve ever seen. I think how it would feel to lie here next to him on the same bed, feeling sweet warmth swim through me.

  And then another thought crosses my mind, bothering me: who’s been sleeping with him in this bed? I’m not sure what disturbs me more, the fact that he’s had someone here or the fact that it bothers me more than I care to admit. Back to the present, I admire how the room seems to exude a sense of ease and serenity with its cream-colored walls and the spectacular panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean through the floor to ceiling windows.

  “It’s amazing, Daniel. I love it.” I can’t hide the thrill entwined with my appreciation. “Though I must say, it seems gigantic for only one person.”

  Daniel mutters quietly, “Bet it does.” He takes a deep breath. “There’s one last part I want to show you. Come with me.” He holds my hand more firmly, lacing his long fingers with mine, making me shiver ever so slightly at the currents his touch causes in me as he leads us outside. From the illumination of scattered garden lights in the evening darkness I can see the patio with a swimming pool, and a hot tub on a wooden deck. In the near distance, opposite the swimming pool, there are two guesthouses. But the most impressive part is the ocean view. It’s unlike any other place in the city, and is utterly breathtaking.

  “Overwhelming,” I compliment him, taken aback by everything I’ve seen.

  “Thanks.” He runs his fingers through my hair, caressing my cheek, and smiles.