LaClaire Touch: An After Hours Novel

by Dori Lavelle

  I kill the time before the meeting at Bryant and Grace’s; talking to Bryant about all of us having our yearly family get-together in Cabo sooner rather than later. That way, we can get a chance to check up on Lance face-to-face. We’ll give him three weeks to be alone before showing up. The get-together is a tradition Lance can’t say no to.

  Getting away is always a good thing for me, and this time more so. It will be another chance for me to distance myself from The Mirage. From her.

  After my meeting with Rodger, the hours stretch ahead of me and I do everything to fill them. After the sun sets, I drive myself around town until, without planning to, I slow down in front of The Mirage, where I park the car on the other side of the road. Since I’m not here for sex, I remain inside my car, waiting for God knows what.

  After staring at the door of The Mirage for a long time, watching people—most of them men—exit or disappear inside, I glance at my watch. Ten minutes after midnight. I’ve been watching the place for over an hour. I have to get out of here. What I’m doing is ridiculous. This isn’t me.

  I’m about to pull away from the parking spot when The Mirage door opens again. My eyes zoom in on Ruby. She looks like the girl next door in jeans and a white t-shirt, her long, black hair like polished glass as it tumbles down her back.

  My gaze follows her to a Volkswagen Beetle parked in front of a closed bookstore. She gets in and drives off. Without thinking, I follow her. Twenty minutes later, she comes to a halt in front of a three-story apartment building and exits the car. I watch her enter the building, the light in the lobby being flicked on, then off again. Fifteen minutes later, I drive away. I’m not a damn stalker.

  11

  Brooke

  My feet hit the ground as I run along meandering paths lined by lush green trees, past dog walkers and early risers sitting on benches. The sound of my footfalls vibrates through my entire body.

  The colors of the summer flowers and leaves decorating Melrose Park are vibrant. I get to see a lot of ugly in my life, disgust often fills my lungs instead of fresh air. But here, surrounded by lush foliage and innocent dahlias and fuchsias, beauty shows me its face. It offers me the chance to pretend my life is untainted. Running has always been great at flushing out the ugly from my mind and body, at least for a while.

  Three years ago, I started jogging in nature as a way to beat the depression which had pushed me into my darkest corner.

  Unfortunately, I haven’t done much jogging in the past six months. I come home so late every night that I’d rather catch up on my morning sleep than work out. The only exercise I manage to fit into every single day is a ten-minute aerobics workout I discovered online. But I’ve missed this. The heat produced by my body melts away the negative emotions scrambling for space inside me, the disgust, the humiliation.

  This run makes me feel as though my body is actually mine, before I rent it out at nightfall. I come to a screeching halt in front of a drinking water fountain, catching my breath while listening to birds chirping in the trees. Cool mist escapes the fountain and cools my boiling skin. Despite being breathless and in pain, my body vibrates with life.

  I run for another thirty minutes until my lungs can’t take it anymore. Only then do I end the run.

  Sweaty and exhausted, I stop at the Coffee & Cream café. For the first time in a long time, I open my eyes to the life around me. I notice the blush covers on the round tables, breathe in the aromas of warm coffee, melting sugar, and cinnamon muffins. I watch the guests enjoying their breakfast while talking on the phone or reading their morning papers. Since no one is at the sticky cash register, I fold my arms next to a tower of plastic cups and lids and the stack of white napkins, listening to the sound of my breathing and the proof of life around me, while gazing into the glass case that contains a variety of snacks—sandwiches, cookies, muffins and other sweet treats.

  “Good morning. Can I get you anything?” A young barista asks over the sound of coffee beans being ground, the chime of the door opening, and drinks being slurped at the red bistro tables behind me.

  I glance at the chalkboard with specials scrawled across it, then smile at the teenage girl standing in front of me, hair in ponytails, skin fresh and clean, eyes bright with hope, untainted by life. Hopefully fate will be kind to her. May she never get to know the excruciating pain of having your heart ripped out, the struggle to piece it back together.

  “I’d like the peachy green protein smoothie, please. To go.” The last time I came to Cup & Cream, they had no smoothies on the menu. I’d walked in with coffee on my mind, but the thought of the icy relief of a smoothie on my tongue makes my mouth water.

  “Sure, anything else?”

  “No, that’s it. Thank you.” I push my hand into the pockets of my shorts for the money I brought along for my treat. I hand it to her, accept my smoothie, and drop a coin into the snowflake tip jar.

  I enjoy my drink on the way home, the sweet and tangy flavors of peaches, pineapple, almond milk, and kale bursting on my tongue. Not even the stench rising from a dented trashcan puts me off.

  A block from my apartment, the hairs at the back of my neck bristle, the way they do when someone is watching me.

  My gaze sweeps the street behind me. Nothing suspicious calls for my attention. There’s no one on the street except for a woman walking a white poodle and a teenager riding a blue bike with chipped paint. Still glancing over my shoulder, I move to the front door of my apartment building and dig out the keys from my pocket. They hang from a Boston University keyring Allison had given me. Every day I see it, it reminds me of my dream.

  Once the doors open, I glance behind me again, holding my breath. As I’m about to look away and disappear into the building, I spy a car parked on the other side of the street, the only one that’s occupied. I raise my hand to my face, to shield my eyes from the bright morning sunlight so I can see clearer. I can feel with every fiber of my being that the person inside the car is watching me, but I can’t make out their face. Or maybe I’m being paranoid.

  Placing a hand on my chest, I take in a breath, forcing myself to remain calm, to think rationally. I push open the door and enter the lobby.

  Just because someone is sitting in a car, looking out, doesn’t mean it’s me they are watching. They could be waiting for a person who lives in my apartment building to come out and get into the car. That has to be it. Why would anyone be watching me?

  Giving it no further thought, I climb the stairs to the third floor, where my apartment is located.

  After finishing my smoothie, I take a quick shower and settle at my computer, preparing to pay my bills. I always pay the bills Saturday mornings, a habit I inherited from my mother who, in her moments of lucidity, always sat down to pay the bills as soon as she had prepared Saturday breakfast.

  I sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of my heart beating. I consider praying, as Mom used to do, but instead decide to switch on the computer. I gave up on prayer six years ago, when I stopped believing in God. Even if God really exists, I don’t think he approves of what I do to earn money. The money that pays my bills is tainted, impure.

  Twenty minutes later, I’ve paid off the most urgent bills but the burden of my credit card debt still presses heavy on my shoulders. It will be a while before it lifts, if it ever does. I get to my feet and sway to my single, metal bed, which stands only three steps from my desk. I throw myself onto the bed, feeling as though I’m falling into a wide sea, my own personal ocean. I may not be able to see the shore yet, but I’ll get to it, somehow, someday.

  Fresh determination coursing through my veins, I slide off the bed and pull back the curtains, which stay closed most of the time. Gazing up at the bright blue sky, I make myself a promise. I’ll get myself out of this hellhole that’s my life. I will get back the version of me I used to like. One day I’ll walk away from The Mirage, peel off the shame, and face my future with confidence. I’ll build a life and a career I can be proud of.
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  Hopefully Derrick will stay the hell away from me. All he brings with him are memories of the pain I’ve been trying to outrun for six years.

  12

  Derrick

  Mitch is already at the Bridges Grill when I arrive, wearing one of his signature denim shirts over black jeans. While most people’s styles evolve with the years, Mitch’s has remained the same since school.

  My friend looks relaxed and in his element. Watching him, one would never guess that the man is one hell of a workaholic. The stress never shows on his face.

  He rises when I get to the table at the back, next to a jukebox. “LaClaire, great to see you. I’ve missed you. I can’t even remember the last time we met up in person.”

  “That’s because it was too long ago.” We give each other a quick hug and take our seats. I lean back. “Looks like you’ve been doing well.”

  “I can’t complain.” Mitch threads a hand through his curly auburn hair. “Business is booming and life is good.”

  “I’m happy to hear that.” A waitress with hair slicked back with what must have been an entire container of gel approaches our table. “What can I get you gentlemen?”

  “Just a coffee for me, please,” I say even though the aroma of fried onions and grilling steak on one of the open grills entices my taste buds.

  “Really?” Mitch interjects. “I thought we were meeting for lunch.”

  “That’s what I thought too, but I just left an emergency meeting with a future business partner. He insisted we talk over food.”

  “And for you, sir?” The waitress glances at Mitch only long enough to ask the question before returning her smoky eyes to me.

  “Since my friend won’t eat with me, I’ll have a Budweiser. Thanks.” Mitch hands the waitress both menus, touching her arm to get her attention.

  “Of course.” Color floods her cheeks. “I’ll be back soon with your order.” She leaves our table and I sigh with relief.

  “Did you see how she was staring at you?” Mitch leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Looks like you still have the LaClaire touch. I’m pretty sure she would have allowed you to have her right here on this table if you offered.”

  I roar with laughter. “Unfortunately for her, she’s too skinny for my taste.”

  “Her loss, I guess.” Mitch clasps his hands behind his head. “How are the other LaClaires? I still can’t believe Bryant is a married man.”

  I roll up my sleeves. “Don’t forget the fact that he’s also a dad.”

  “Who would’ve thought?” A smile spreads on Mitch’s face. “I never thought any of you LaClaires were even capable of settling for one girl.” He cracks his knuckle. “Except for Neal, of course, the one-woman man. The way fate screwed him over is messed up.”

  Since Mitch and I had spent a lot of time together in school, he hung out with me and my brothers. It almost seemed as though he was our sixth brother. He’s well-informed about all the tragedies our family has had to endure. If only money could guarantee a pain-free life.

  “Yeah,” I say as the waitress returns with our orders and places them in front of us, almost rubbing her small breasts in my face. I wait for her to leave before continuing. “Fate is fucked up sometimes.” I raise my coffee to my lips. “How about you? When are you going to find someone to get serious with?”

  “Hopefully soon.” He puffs out his chest. “I’ll be thirty in five years. I want to settle down with a good woman by then.”

  “Are you serious?” I glance at a customer arguing with a waitress over a bill. “You’re also not a forever kind of guy.”

  “People change. I’m tired of playing the field. If I find the one, I’m diving right in, like your brother did.” He cocks his head to the side. “In fact, since we last met, I was involved with a girl who made me change my mind about the whole bachelor for life thing. It didn’t work out though.”

  “Well, in that case,” I raise my cup of coffee, “here’s to you crossing the road to the other side. I hope you find the one, the right one.”

  “Thanks.” He tips his beer glass against my cup. “Any chance of you joining me on the other side or will you continue walking alone?”

  I drink a mouthful of coffee. “Define alone. Just because I’m not interested in a serious relationship doesn’t mean I’ll be alone. That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  “Still bed hopping?”

  We both laugh out loud. “You’re still full of shit, Mitch Biron.”

  “I guess some things never change.” He takes a swig of beer, glancing at me over the rim. He wipes the foam from his upper lip. “But what I have to show you today, could change your afternoon or the rest of your life.”

  I drink from my coffee, enjoying the heat on my tongue. It was so much fun catching up that I forgot why we’ve agreed to meet up in the first place. “What have you got?”

  “Something that will blow your mind.”

  “Cut the crap and spit it out.” I put my cup down and glare at him, ignoring the tightness inside my chest.

  He pushes his glass of beer aside and reaches into his tan leather messenger bag, pulling out a white envelope. He places it on the table and rests his hands on it, watching me. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  I narrow my eyes at the envelope. “Wasn’t I the one who wanted you to look into this in the first place?”

  “Fine.” Mitch starts to open the envelope, driving me nuts as he takes his time.

  As I wait, tempted to snatch it from him and open it myself, my blood is pounding in my ears. What am I afraid of exactly?

  “Here you go.” He pulls out two sheets of paper, slides them across the table in my direction. I grab the papers and run my gaze down the first. My head jerks back.

  “Holy shit. What the fuck?”

  “That’s what I thought when I found out.”

  “Brooke Rayner?” I move on to the second page, my fingers clutching it so hard it’s in danger of ripping. “Are you sure this isn’t some mistake?”

  Mitch drinks his beer. “I pride myself in being one of the best bloody investigators in Boston. So yes, I’m pretty sure. It wasn’t hard to get her real name. One of the girls she works with helped out.”

  “No.” I shake my head as my mind tries to look for familiarity in the face I saw twice at The Mirage and from a distance when I trailed her a few hours ago. “But Brooke is a redhead.”

  “Was. Or she could be wearing a wig. It’s not uncommon with prostitutes.”

  “True. It’s just that she’s the last person I’d think—”

  “As I said before, people change. And you don’t know what happened to her after she left school seven years ago.”

  I nod and allow thoughts of the girl I used to know to flood my mind. Even though she doesn’t know it, she was the first girl who made me aware of the heart lying inside my chest. The moment I saw her, I knew I had to have her. Unlike most girls, she was a hard catch. She was a good girl, who stayed away from the crowd, was never seen at parties, and spent her free time helping out in the library.

  Even though reading was not my passion, I wanted to get into her pants so badly, I faked it. For several days, I showed up at the library to see her face, to inhale the scent of vanilla in her hair when she walked by. I told myself I’d get over her as soon as I slept with her, because that was what I did. Even back then, I was the fuck them and leave them kind of guy.

  One night, after watching her for three weeks, I decided to go for the goal. During a fundraising event at school, I went on the search for her. I found her crying behind a bookshelf in the deserted library. It was closed for the day, but she had forgotten to lock herself inside. When she saw me standing there, her eyes and mouth rounded in surprise as she brushed away the tears trickling down her face. I remember thinking she looked beautiful with her bronze hair sticking to her flushed cheeks. I still remember the way her body had looked in her skinny jeans and a white T-shirt.

  Without wait
ing for her permission, I sat down beside her. “Are you okay?” I’d asked. I surprised myself with my concern.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” She sniffed and scooted a few inches away from me, wrapping her arms around her body.

  “That’s fine. You don’t have to talk about it.” I leaned my back against the cool, white wall.

  “What do you want?” she asked. “The library is closed.”

  “Yep, I know. I saw the sign on the door.” I allowed myself a small smile. “I was looking for you. I thought you might be here.”

  Her body tensed beside me.

  “Why would you be looking for me?”

  I turned to her then. “I saw you during Keller’s boring speech. You looked upset. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” It had been a lie. I hadn’t seen her at all that day.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered. “You can go now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you make me believe you.”

  I rose from the floor and went to the door, locking it while she watched me through a gap in the bookshelf.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked when I returned to her.

  “Do you want anyone else to see you crying?”

  “No.” She gave a small, broken laugh that lifted my heart. “But I’m fine, really. I’m having a bad day, that’s all.”

  “Then let’s create a better day together.”

  “Why do you care anyway?” She twisted her body to look at me, questions in her eyes. “You don’t even know me, not really.”

  She was right. We didn’t take the same classes, didn’t hang out in the same circles, and hardly ever exchanged a word, except when I asked her where to find a particular book. And, yet, I felt as though I’d known her all my life.

  “We share a common love for books.”