by Steve Frech
“Please, don’t,” she said.
I couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or playful. Being the jerk that I was, I went ahead and lifted the lid.
A delicate ballerina in a green dress on a spindle rose and began to slowly spin over a glittering glass-beaded surface. There was a mirror mounted to the underside of the lid that was surrounded by a mosaic of blue glass. The mirror and blue glass caught the light that bounced from the beads and scattered soft spots of light over the ballerina. The notes of a haunting waltz filled the room. It was something out of a dream. I was hypnotized by the tiny figure with arms outstretched, slowly twisting to the melody.
“I told you not to open it.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“My dad gave it to me. Mom said it was the only thing that could get me to sleep as a baby.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off the ballerina. The slow rotation, and the way the figure caught the light, gave the illusion that she was actually moving to the tune.
“Hey,” Laura said, snapping me out of it.
I turned.
She was lying back on the bed with a seductive smile. “I’m right here.”
Everything came back into focus.
I closed the box and moved to the bed. She laughed, and we were right back to where we were on the stairs—breathlessly kissing, our tongues darting over one another. Our hands wouldn’t stop. She pulled her shirt over her head, revealing an emerald bra.
I shook my head. “Okay, I have to ask—do you coordinate your bra with your hair? Because that is too perfect.”
“Shut up,” she said and bit my lower lip.
More kissing. More fumbling. My shirt flew above my shoulders and landed on the floor. It was a race to see who could unbutton the other’s jeans first. I won by virtue of the fact that I had a belt and she didn’t. I flicked the tab of her zipper down in an exaggerated fashion, which created a cartoonish sound effect. She laughed and pulled my belt through the loops of my jeans in her own ridiculous gesture. We slowed. The kissing became more passionate. More purposeful.
My phone buzzed.
I pulled back a fraction.
“Let it go,” she whispered, trying to catch up in the “zipper race”.
It buzzed, again.
I sighed and lowered my head to avoid another kiss. “I can’t. It’s my work phone.”
She took my face in her hands. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and pulled away.
She let out an exasperated sigh.
I took the phone from my pocket and checked my messages.
Need to pay a visit to Dara. Account past due.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
It was code from Reggie. Our messages were always coded. There was no Dara, but I knew what the message meant.
“I’m really sorry, but I have to go. It’s urgent,” I said.
I stood up and found my shirt and belt. After hastily putting myself back together, I went for the door.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
I turned back to look at her.
Her sparkling eyes. Her hair draping over the pillow. Her smooth pale skin. She was one of—no. She was the sexiest thing I had ever seen.
I went over to kiss her.
“I’m really sorry,” I said.
We kissed, and she playfully bit my lip again.
“One day, you’re going to have to tell me what it is you do,” she said.
“I told you. I do IT consulting. They call at all hours of the day and night.”
Her face clouded. “No. What you really do.”
I kissed her one last time. “Gotta go.”
I finished latching my belt, and went for the door. Before stepping through, I glanced back. She was still lying on the bed in her bra and unfastened jeans.
She waved her fingers as if to say, “toodle-oo”.
“Dammit,” I whispered, and left.
*
The hour-long drive to Lyndon, home of Lyndon University, was excruciating. All I could think about was the image of Laura, lying on that bed.
I was finally able to put it out of my mind as I arrived at the squat, brick house a few blocks from the small campus. I got out, walked up onto the porch, and knocked on the door.
It took way too long, but the door was finally answered by Mattie Donovan.
Mattie appeared to have aged ten years from when we used to hang out just last year. He was still a perpetual slacker, and I told him that he needed to get his act together if he wanted to keep doing business. He was still a good guy, just sloppy.
His eyes were bloodshot, and the smell of weed emanated from the open door.
“Hey, Mattie,” I said.
“… shit,” he replied.
“Good to see you, too.”
I stepped past him into the living room, and things were already wrong.
Two guys I had never seen before were sitting on the couch, completely baked, and staring at the television. The coffee table in front of them was littered with spent cigarettes, bags of chips, a bong, and a glass vial next to a pipe. The only sources of illumination in the room were the television and some Christmas lights strung around the borders of the ceiling. Bedsheets covered the windows.
Mattie closed the door behind me.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “We’ve got weed, but if you want something harder, I think we have some—”
“No.”
“You want a soda or something?”
“Mattie, you know why I’m here.”
“Um … no, man. I don’t, uh, I don’t know.”
“You’re behind on your payment.”
He scratched the back of his neck, trying hard to feign confusion. This wasn’t like Mattie. He could be a fuck-up from time to time, but he had never lied to me.
“Really? You sure about that? I thought I paid.”
“Come on, Mattie.”
“No, yeah. I paid Reggie. Like, last week, I paid him.”
“Mattie, Reggie sent me.”
I noticed that the two guys on the couch, while still high, were intensely watching our conversation.
“Oh … Really?” Mattie asked, stalling for time.
“Who are your friends?” I asked with a nod towards the couch.
“They’re just friends, you know? From out of town.”
The guy with blotchy skin and the bad haircut, sitting on the far end of the couch, flicked his eyes towards the darkened hallway off of the kitchen that led to the bedrooms.
“Is that some of your inventory?” I asked, pointing to the table. “Because if it is, and you’re behind on payments, I sure hope your friends have paid for it. Also, if you’re keeping your stuff here with the money, you know how bad that is.” I was going for bravado, but I worried that I had overplayed it.
Mattie nervously snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Of course, they paid for it.”
“Great. Then you can give me the cash, I’ll get out of here, and you can continue to entertain your guests from out of town.”
No one moved.
Mattie started chuckling. “Yeah, sure.” He gestured with his thumb. “It’s in the bedroom. I’ll go get it.”
I nodded, keeping his “friends” in my line of sight.
Mattie disappeared into the darkened doorway of one of the rooms in the hall, but didn’t turn on the light. I used his departure to shift my weight and get myself closer to the door.
“This is all wrong,” I kept telling myself.
I glanced at the two guys on the couch, who had put down their joints and were staring at me. They locked eyes with one another and right then, I knew what was coming, but there was no time to react.
A guy burst from the darkened room where Mattie had disappeared. He was tall and lean. His tank top revealed a latticework of tattoos that covered his chest and ran down his arm, all the way to the gun in his hand—the gun that was pointed at my face. Mattie followed close behind with a
wild, terrified expression. The two guys on the couch jumped up, trying to fight off their high and act alert. The guy holding the gun wasn’t high on weed. He was on something else, like coke or meth. His face twitched and his hand shook.
I remained as still as I could, trying to pretend that I was the calmest person in the room. I had only dealt with college kids. This was the first time a gun had been put in my face. Things had gone way above my pay scale.
“All right, listen up,” the tattooed guy barked in a frenzied tone. “You tell Reggie that this place is ours. If he wants to do business here, he has to do business with us. You got that?”
I took a moment to try to steady my voice. “Yeah. I’ll tell him that. You can lower that gun now.”
He shoved the gun closer to my face. “You tell him that! You got that? He has to do business with us from now on!”
I was still trying to exude a calmness that I did not possess. “I got it. I got it … but I don’t know who you are, so …”
It was an honest statement, but he did not take it as such.
“You getting smart with me, asshole?” He pressed the gun to my forehead. “I could kill you, right now.”
“Then who would give the message to Reggie?” I asked.
“Maybe I should kill you right now to send a message that we mean business.”
“You don’t want to do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because then, you’d have to talk to Reggie yourself, and I don’t think he would sit down for a polite chat. I’ll give him the message, okay?”
I let it sink in, but was desperate to get out of there.
He considered, and lessened the pressure on the gun.
“Yeah,” the tattooed guy said. “Yeah, you do that. You tell him.”
“I will.”
I glanced over his shoulder at Mattie.
“Mattie, tell me you’re not a part of this.”
Mattie looked down at the floor.
“Don’t talk to him,” the tattooed guy growled. “You talk to me.”
“Fine. I’ll deliver your message. Don’t tell me your names. It’s better that way.” I glanced at the two guys by the couch and back at the ringleader. “And can I give you some advice?”
He blinked. “Advice?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me like I was crazy. “Sure. Yeah. You can give us some advice.”
“As soon as I leave, get underground, fast.”
“Why’s that?”
“Reggie’s not a guy who takes a long time to come up with a plan.”
The two guys next to the couch exchanged glances. The ringleader kept his eyes on me, but I could see it. Doubt and fear started to creep out from behind those frenzied eyes.
“Fine. Thanks for the advice,” he sneered. “Now, give us all the money you’ve got.”
“I don’t have any.”
They stopped.
“Bullshit,” the tattooed guy said.
“I don’t carry any.”
“You’re Reggie’s bagman. You don’t have any money?” the guy with blotchy skin and bad haircut asked.
“No. I only do one pickup at a time.”
“Why?”
I glanced around. “In case something like this happens.”
The ringleader’s shock melted into amusement. “You were right, Mattie. This guy’s smart. All right, bagman. You go right now, and tell Reggie. Got it?”
“Okay,” I said, slowly turning towards the door. I couldn’t help stopping and looking back at Mattie.
“This was really stupid, Mattie,” I said, and left.
*
Reggie leaned against his car and calmly smoked a cigarette while I told him everything that had happened in Lyndon. Since there was no money to count, the headlights were off. The silent trees stood on either side of the road. Occasionally, a wind would cause them to lean in, as though they wanted to hear. I gave him everything, down to the last detail.
When I was finished, he took a slow drag on his cigarette. I had seen Reggie blow his top before and it wasn’t pretty, but this was when he was at his most terrifying—when he was contemplative.
“You didn’t get their names?” he asked through a plume of smoke, expelled from the shadow of his face.
“No
“And Mattie is in on it?”
I quickly looked down at the road, hoping he hadn’t seen my face. Of course, Mattie was in on it, but if I said it, I’d be signing his death warrant.
“… I don’t know,” I answered, hoping my inadvertent pause hadn’t given it away, but when I looked up at Reggie, it obviously had.
Reggie looked at me and shook his head. “You should really carry a piece.”
“Why? So I could have shot my way out of there? I’d end up dead.”
He shrugged. “Still …”
“I pick up payments. That’s it. And from now on, it’s only at fraternity houses. No more private addresses. That’s to protect me and to protect you.”
He thought it over. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeated.
He took one last drag, and flicked the butt of the cigarette onto the gravel. He went around to the driver side of the Challenger and opened the door. “You have a good night.”
He got in, closed the door, and turned the key. The Challenger roared to life. He hit the gas, and the back tires spewed the gravel in every direction.
I watched the car peel away and disappear as the road twisted into the trees.
A wave of nausea hit me and I knelt on the roadside. Once it passed, I took out my phone and tried to call Mattie, warning him that Reggie knew, but I didn’t receive an answer. I tried texting him, but after a few minutes, I heard nothing in return.
I couldn’t believe the staggering difference of where my night had begun, to where it had ended. I thought about calling Laura to see if she was still up, but I wouldn’t be able to convincingly lie to her.
I had to get out. I still had about twenty thousand dollars to go on my student debt but I would get that elsewhere.
I had bought myself a little time by demanding that I would only do fraternity house pickups but after that night, I knew it was over. I would start planning my exit in the morning, but at that moment, all I wanted was a—
“—beer?”
I blink at the guy waiting in line on the other side of the counter. He’s wearing Coke-bottle glasses, a scarf, and sporting a full beard.
“What?”
“Do you guys sell beer?” he asks, again. “Like a cider or anything that’s gluten-free?”
“No. This is a coffee shop.”
“I know, but some coffee places sell beer now. Like, even some Starbucks are doing it, now. I thought that maybe—”
“All we got is what’s on the board. If you want beer, there are bars all over the place, outside. Go there.”
I’m still at Groundworks, churning out drinks on autopilot. The anxiety of my little daydream has carried over, and my tone is incredibly rude.
He’s offended, as he should be. “Okay, then. Sure … Great service you got here.”
He slithers past the rest of the line and heads out the door. More than a few people who have overheard our exchange watch him leave.
At the register, Sandy nods to Sheila. “Can you take over for a few minutes?”
“Sure,” Sheila says.
Sandy forces a smile at me. “Talk to you in the back for a sec?”
I follow her through the swinging doors and into the office. She closes the door behind us.
“What the hell is going on with you?”
“Is that any way to talk to your boss?” I ask, lamely trying to defuse the situation.
“I’m serious, Jacob.”
“I know. I’m sorry. A pipe burst in the cottage. I had to cancel some reservations. I’m going to take a hit, and it’s messing with my mind.”
“What about the franchise? As long as we keep this up, the cottage is going to be
small potatoes, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Well, let’s not get any bad Yelp reviews before that happens.”
“You’re right. I’m just out of it, I guess.”
“No kidding.” She takes a breath and relaxes. “Look, you weren’t supposed to be here, today, so why don’t you take off?”
“No. I can close. I’ve been leaning on you too much lately.”
“It’s fine. Me, Tom, and Shelia can take it from here for the night. It’s obvious that you’re distracted. Go clear your head.”
I surrender way too easily. “You’re right. I’m really sorry, but, please call me if you need help.”
“Get out of here.”
“Thank you, Sandy.”
“You can thank me by making me a junior partner in the franchise.”
“Done.”
“Jacob, I was kidding.”
“I wasn’t.”
She shakes her head. “You’re are really out of it. Fly, be free, and I promise that I won’t hold you to that junior partner thing when you come to your senses.”
I go back out into the restaurant and collect Murphy, who is basking in the attention of two young girls. I snap on his leash, and lead him to the door, trying not to make eye contact with any of the guests who may have seen my little outburst.
*
The night air feels fantastic. Sandy was right. I needed to get out of there, but I wasn’t joking about giving her a junior partnership. She deserves it. I may have built this ship, but she has been an equal captain.
The decorations on Main Street are beginning to overwhelm the windows of the shops. People are setting up the booths on the green. In three days, this place will look like a movie set. The street is bustling with people. Some of them are locals; a lot of them are tourists. I glance around to see if I can find the guy I snapped at, but I doubt I’ll be able to find him in this crowd. He was right, though—a beer sounds really good right about now.
I walk up the street to the Iron & Ivy, The Hollows’ upscale gastropub. Since I’ve got Murphy with me, I grab a small table on the patio. The place is trying to look like a Colonial-era public house, and it’s largely succeeding. The patio is filled with long tables and benches made of “distressed” wood. Lanterns hang overhead. An attractive server comes to my table and asks if I’d like something to drink. I scan down the draft selection and choose an imperial stout.
