by kj lewis
While I am frustrated with Graham for trying to take control, what Colleen says doesn’t totally match up with my experience. My first interaction with Graham was intense, yes, but it was also kind and unselfish. When I was scared, he took care of it. He held my hand. He accepted and returned my embrace. Granted, the encounter in the elevator just now was pure, unabated sexual attraction, but his kiss the other night was giving. Caring.
“Where are we?” I ask with furrowed brows getting out of the car. We’re in front of a brownstone with a red door that has no markings or signage.
Climbing the stairs in front of me, Colleen answers, “This is a private club.”
“Ms. Cameron. Ms. James.” A man in a crisp butler’s tux greets us and shows us through the door. “You’re in the Huntington Room. Right this way.” He leads us in.
The Club is rich in design. We walk past a smoking room with deep red leather chairs and Old English hunting pictures above the fireplace. Entering what they call the Huntington room, we are greeted by three men. The most imposing one I recognize as Commissioner Ralston.
“Teddy,” Colleen greets the Commissioner with a kiss to each cheek. He’s an older man with a large presence, friendly eyes and a bushy mustache, that I imagine tickles his granddaughter’s face. “I didn’t expect you to be here. Thank you for taking time out of your day.”
“My pleasure, Colleen” He holds her hand is his. “I wish it was under better circumstances. You must be Ms. James.” He releases Colleen’s hand and takes mine. “Colleen has filled me in. Thank you for coming forward and making a complaint. You would be surprised how many young women never do.” He nods towards the two men standing behind him. “These detectives are part of my personal detail. They will be taking your statement today. I understand you would like to keep this out of the papers?”
“Please. I realize there is not a lot you will be able to do in regards to what happened with me, but I want to make sure there is a paper trail, in case he tries it again with someone else. They’ll have the ability to make a stronger case.”
“I’d like to focus on your case, actually.” His voice is deep and scratchy. “We can have him picked up and charged. The DA will likely drop the charges because of lack of evidence, but anyone willing to do a search will find the charge on file. Your name will be protected and cannot be released to the papers. We can also put a protective order in place.”
“Thank you. This is very kind of you.” I relax for the first time since yesterday. Colleen is just what I needed to put this into perspective and take charge of what I want the next steps to be.
“Just doing our jobs.” His demeanor is commanding and comforting all at once, characteristics I suppose you need if you’re in charge of policing the city. “This is Detective Lang and Vincent. They’ll take your statement and we’ll go from there.”
The detectives direct me to the four club chairs that sit facing each other in front of a grand mahogany mantel. We take our seats and I recount my story, while they ask questions throughout. I notice Colleen and the Commissioner talking off to the side. I ruminate on what a striking couple they would make. I notice the Commissioner doesn’t wear a wedding band.
Detective Lang makes his way to a beautiful silver tray and pours water into a glass. He places one of the stark white napkins in the glass and squeezes the excess water from the cloth. “Would you mind removing the makeup on your lip so I can take a picture, please?”
“Is that necessary?”
“I’m afraid so, ma’am. It will give us the evidence to substantiate your claim.”
Nodding, I wipe the wet napkin across my mouth removing the cover up I applied this morning. The cut and slight bruising more evident. I turn my head to the right based on his directions, and he snaps a few photos.
“Now if you wouldn’t mind showing us your arms.” Lifting my sleeves to my shoulders, he takes a round of each arm from a few different angles, then thanks me for my cooperation. The detectives finalize their report, and we are joined again by Colleen and the Commissioner. I thank them all for their kindness. I know they have made this experience as painless as possible, and I have only experienced a sliver of what girls who are attacked must endure.
“If you have any problems, you let us know. I can put a protective detail on you if you feel you need one.”
“Taylor has his security team on her already,” Colleen apprises the Commissioner.
“Graham Taylor?”
Colleen nods her answer.
“Well, then. Smith will make sure you’re taken care of. You have nothing to fret about,” he offers reassuringly, misreading my look of confusion for worry.
They see us to the door, and Colleen and I exit to her waiting car.
“Thank you so much, Colleen. Without you I know this would have gone so differently. You took all the pain out of the process.”
“You’re welcome, dear. Teddy is a good man.”
I ask what I really want to know, “What did you mean when you said Graham had his security team on it already?”
“He has security following you. I noticed his men when he dragged you out of King Cole today. I assumed you knew.”
“Why? Did you tell him about this?”
“Of course not. My guess is you have made quite an impression on him, and Graham is protective of those around him. His family has constant security.”
Really? I never noticed Adam having any security around him. Actually, I wouldn’t have known that Adam is affiliated with the wealth Colleen described. I mean I knew the Taylor’s parents were rich; his mother is a highly acclaimed OB-GYN and his dad is an attorney by trade. I do recall Adam saying he and his dad worked for his brother. I just had no idea. They never mentioned it. Jules has never mentioned it.
“The Commissioner mentioned Smith. Who is that?”
“Smith Allen. He’s Graham’s driver and head of security. He oversees the security of the Taylor family.” I think back to the man in the car today and wonder what he has seen and heard while working for Graham.
“Am I being watched now?” The thought is unsettling.
“I’m sure you are. That’s why I scheduled the meeting at the club. I got the impression you haven’t told anyone else about what happened with John Michaels, and I wanted to protect your privacy.” She looks out the window as we ride in a comfortable silence. My mind is still reeling from today.
Her driver pulls up to my building. I give Colleen a hug that she accepts uncomfortably. I know people have certain views on how she makes her living, but I have nothing but admiration for the strong woman in front of me.
The meeting with the detectives took a little over an hour. I have a just enough time to change before I have to be at the bar for my last shift. On Fridays I try to be there at five when the Wall Street guys show up. Once they get a few drinks in them, they really start to show off with the tips.
I redo my sleek ponytail into a high ponytail that looks a little wild like it has been windblown. Applying extra concealer and my usual lip gloss, my face is ready to go. I put large gold hoops in my ears and grab three gold thin bands, placing them one on the index, middle, and ring fingers of my left hand.
Grabbing a hot dog on the corner before catching the subway downtown, I look at the people around me to see if I recognize any of them. Is Graham really having me watched? Why would he? If you thought someone had sex for money, why would you care what they do? If he’s trying to frustrate me, he’s succeeding.
Maybe I should stay with Jackson next week? As I consider it, I know I don’t want to. I want to be with Jules, Adam, and his family. I have been looking forward to spending time with them since we planned this weeks ago. Plus, I promised Jules we would work on her designs. Graham is just going to have to deal. The house is more than big enough for us not to have to be in the same room as each other. I can pretend, if he can.
The bar is busy and the night flies by, and I’m thankful for the distraction. Heading down the stair
s to the subway, I realize that I haven’t thought about anything other than serving drinks all night. The banter with the brokers kept me occupied, and I had a successful night in tips. My legs in shorts with the heels always helps. I won’t miss the time commitment, but I will miss the people. I’ve always enjoyed listening to the stories customers tell and in truth I will miss serving. It’s been a steady job that helped me when I needed it most.
Back up to the street level, I run into Drew and Kyle. We head a couple of blocks over for a slice of pizza before making our way up to the apartment, so it’s two-thirty in the morning when I finally change into the large t-shirt I wore to bed last night. I grab my pillow and blanket and crash on the couch, grateful I don’t have to work tomorrow. With plans to sleep as late as possible, I grab my phone to change it to vibrate. I have one missed call and a text.
“917-555-1093: What the hell Emelia! Do not take the subway alone again after 10pm. I mean it!”
I know it’s Graham. I save his number to my contacts and go to sleep without responding.
Waking to the sun on my face and the smell of bacon, I lay there for a while, hoping I might be able to go back to sleep but it’s a lost cause. My eyes open to see Becca sitting at the counter, holding a cup of coffee. Matt and Drew are in the kitchen cooking. One of them closes the oven door with more force than necessary, garnering a sharp comment from Becca that they are going to wake me.
“Are you serious? Nothing wakes James,” Drew educates her. “She can sleep through anything.”
Matt turns facing Becca, putting pancakes on a waiting plate. “Except her nightmares. Ouch!” He puts his finger into his mouth, having gotten it a little too close to the hot pan he’s holding.
“Nightmares? How often does she have nightmares?”
“Depends,” Drew says putting the syrup on the table. “I have noticed they’re more frequent after she’s been to Memphis.”
“You talk about me while I’m the room?” I sit up and stretch.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Would you rather us talk about you behind your back?” Drew adds butter to the table.
“Snow White,” I correct him.
“Breakfast is ready,” Matt announces. Russ and Kyle join us, and we all sit around the table and begin passing plates of food.
“Your work here,” Becca looks at me taking a bite of bacon, “has been nothing short of miraculous. Matt and Drew have cooked breakfast and actually cleaned the kitchen as they went. Without being told.” She bugs her eyes in disbelief and tips her mug to me.
Laughing, I tip my Diet Coke to her. “The foundation was always there, it just needed a little tweaking.”
“You talk about us while we’re in the room?” Drew mimics my earlier comment.
It’s rare that we all sit down to a breakfast on a Saturday, and I take a minute to enjoy my roommates. Each one is special to me.
“By the way, Bec, Adam invited us to his family’s house in the Hamptons next weekend if you want to go,” Matt informs her.
“Are you going to be there?” she asks me.
“Yep, so is Jules. I’m going up tomorrow to get some work done before everyone gets there. Jules, Adam, and his family are getting there Tuesday. You should come. It would be great for us girls to have some time together.”
She looks to Matt for his thoughts. “It’s a week in the Hamptons at the Taylor house. Doesn’t get much better than that,” he points out.
“Cool, we’re in. I need to do some shopping.” Her excitement starting to bubble.
“I have to go to the office to get some clothes for the trip. Why don’t you go with me and I’ll pick out a few things for you? Save you from having to buy anything.”
Becca claps her hands. “Designer clothes and a week in the Hamptons. God I miss New York.”
“I’ll go with you,” Matt invites himself and kisses Becca. I know he misses her.
At the office, I take Matt and Becca to the workroom to go through the closet. I grab the items I need and several for Becca. Becca is a sample size, so it’s no problem fitting her. She loves and approves my choices for her. I lock the doors behind me as Matt pushes the elevator call button, carrying the garment bag for us. Jackson steps off as we move to step on.
“Matt. Becca,” he nods in their direction. “Hello, Beautiful.” He hugs me.
“Hello Beautiful.”
“Did you get my message?” He twirls his keys.
“No…” I start to pull my phone out of my purse.
“I cancelled your Jitney reservation,” he says, referring to the shuttle from the city to the Hamptons. “Patrick and I are going up tomorrow so you can just ride with us. We’ll be by around noon.”
“Oh, thanks! I would much rather ride with you two. I’ll make sure I’m ready.”
Matt and Becca talk while Jackson and I tick through a few items. Wrapping up, we step into the elevator and I halt the elevator doors as they’re closing.
“I’ve decided it’s time for us to drop John Michaels all together.”
Jackson’s hand freezes as he’s about to enter his key into the door. He turns to me.
“We’ll talk later,” I wink at him and let the doors close.
Back in the apartment, I give Becca some accessories I think she can use. This day of nothing has been just what I needed. I change out another load of laundry and grab a Diet Coke. Pulling the curtain to my alcove closed, I start to read some of the book I started last week. I’m only a page in when my cell rings. It’s Jules.
“Hey, babe,” I answer.
“I’m out running some errands. Want to meet me for ice cream in the village? Say, thirty minutes?”
I glance at my watch. It’s one-thirty. I’ll run now and read later. “Sure. Big Gay, right?”
“You know it. See you then.” She hangs up.
I change into my running gear, throw on a ball cap, and make my way to the Big Gay Ice Cream in the West Village. The shop sits on the corner across from me as I wait for the light on Seventh to change. Their windows are painted with a large rainbow-colored soft serve ice cream cone on one side and a large glittery unicorn licking an ice cream cone on the other. There’s usually a line that moves quickly.
I cross the street just as Jules is getting out of a cab. Perfect timing. A picture of Bea Arthur greets us as we enter. There are so many great choices, but I always get the same thing. The Salty Pimp. They start with soft-serve vanilla ice cream on a cone, dip it in chocolate, shake sea salt on it before the chocolate hardens, and use a syringe to inject dulce de leche into several places around the cone. It is hands down my favorite flavor.
Jules always tries something new, but inevitably ends up stealing a bite of my Pimp, much to my chagrin. I try not to share, but Jules knows I would give her all of it if she really wanted it. We talk effortlessly about nothing. It’s not long before we finish our ice cream, and I buy a bottle of water for my run before we step outside for Jules to catch another cab.
“How many miles are you running today?” she asks waiting for a cab with its light on.
“I should be doing twelve, but I’m saving my long runs for the beach. I’m only doing eight today.” I stick my arm up, catching a taxi for her. I open the back door giving her a kiss goodbye as she slides in.
“So that’s it? You’re not going to tell me about the flowers or about Graham?”
I realize that we spent this whole time chatting, and she never once asked me two things she must be dying to know—a true testament to her respect for my need to reveal it all to her at my own pace. “This week. We’ll have plenty of time to talk. I’m still in…I don’t know…” I gesture like I can’t think of the words I’m looking for. I finally settle on, “thinking mode.”
“You’ve never been one to overthink things, Mags. It’s another reason I love you. You’re decisive. What you’re in is denial mode.”
I ignore her look, close the door to the cab, and watch as she disappears around the corner.
I grab my water and start up Broadway. I used to feel accomplished when I walk to the corner and back. But I was asked to participate in a group that runs the NYC Marathon for charity, and I could hardly turn that down. That and I was to the point that if my ass and hips got any bigger, I’d have to buy new clothes, which I can’t afford.
Running used to make me feel selfish, like I should be doing something for someone else instead of taking time for myself. As I trained and started running longer distances, I’ve landed on a place where I don’t apologize for running. Admittedly, some days are harder than others, but for the most part, it’s a breakthrough for me, making myself a priority. After Mama died and I lost Addie, I was no one’s priority. Even with the family units I have built here in the city, I’m still not any one person’s exclusive priority. So, I am making me my own.
What I have found is that running gives me whatever I need that day. If I need time to think, then I do that. If I need time to just listen to music and forget about things, then I do that. If I need time to do prep work, then I do that. I have styled whole closets in a run. It’s become more than just training for a marathon, it’s become therapeutic.
My phone buzzes as I am running past Grand Central Station.
Blaine: I’m near Madison Sq Park. Shake Shack has opened back up. Care to join me?
Me: Sure. meet ya there in 20? I’m sweaty and stink from running - grab a table downwind :)
Blaine: It’s a date.
Me: It’s food.
Blaine: You’re coming aren’t you? Alright then.
I make it to the park entrance and stop to stretch for a minute. I always think of my mom here. She loved the Flatiron building. Always said it was her favorite place when she lived here. She used to talk about reading in the park and watching people bring their dogs to the dog run. Now there are food and outdoor shopping kiosks, and Eataly is across the street. This area has expanded into a great place to eat. As great as all the food options are, Shake Shack still rules for me.
