by Ivy Smoak
Realty Meeting
Tuesday, April 11, 8:30 p.m.
Frankie Underwood Realty
One57, Suite 212
New York, NY 10019
One57? I almost squealed. That’s where my stalker lived. I think. I didn’t know for sure because he was really hard to stalk.
Below were two options. Accept or Decline. I prepared myself to swat Chastity's hand away when she inevitably tried to click "Accept" without my permission. But she didn't.
"What are you gonna do?" she asked.
"You mean you aren't going to force me to go?"
"No. I'm kind of hoping that you don’t."
"Why?" I eyed her suspiciously. What was her end game here? I tried to think of what Single Girl Rule would make me deny an invitation to go on a date at an illicit sex club. But my mind was coming up empty. Really denying it would go against the general principle of the rules.
"Because if you don't go, then I'm going in your place."
Ah. That makes sense. I looked back at the address. It was tempting to just give her my phone and call it a day. I was really out of my element here. But…One57. I’d been spying on that building for months. And now I had an opportunity to get in and explore/stalk. How could I pass that up? If slipping on the envelope had been a sign that I shouldn't go, this felt like a sign that I should. More importantly, what if Frankie Underwood was my stalker. I'd never forgive myself for letting Chastity go in my place. Before I could change my mind, I clicked "Accept." My stomach immediately started twisting in knots.
"Was that for me or for you?" asked Chastity. She sounded hopeful.
"I'm not sure yet." Images of some creepy dude named Frankie trying to bang me in a cheap apartment made my skin crawl. And it got even worse when I thought about the expected behaviors listed in the contract. He wouldn't just bang me. He'd bang me without protection. While other people watched. Maybe some would even join in. And thanks to my preferences, Frankie would probably have a humungous double-soda-can dong. God, what had I been thinking? "How about we both get ready, and then if I chicken out, you can go in my place?"
"Good enough for me," agreed Chastity.
We spent the next half hour going through all my clothes. The first outfit was too formal. And the next was something Chastity thought her grandma would wear. I tried to up the sexiness factor by putting on my best heels. They were white with a little bow on top. I had worn them for my wedding. And my college graduation. And prom. Actually, they were my only heels.
Chastity laughed in my face when she saw them. "Those are like two inches tall. Where are your other shoes?"
I pointed to a shoe rack in the corner of my room.
"No, I meant your heels."
"This is it."
"Come on, stop messing with me."
"I'm being serious. Have you ever seen me wear any other heels?"
"No, but what about when we go shoe shopping? You always love the craziest heels. I just assumed you came back later and bought them so I wouldn't know that you wore them to seduce Joe."
"Nope. Looking at shoes is my guilty pleasure, but I know I could never pull them off like you do."
"Says who?"
Good question. The first thing that came to mind was my fear that I'd break my ankle if I wore shoes that tall. My mom had planted that idea in my head. Or maybe it was because she called them hooker heels whenever my little sister wore them. Actually, no. I knew the real answer. "Joe. He always said they were a waste of money. And that they looked bad on me."
Chastity shook her head. "You know he just didn't want you to be taller than him, right?"
Oh my God. She was right. "That little asshole!" How had I not seen it sooner? I couldn’t believe I had been missing out on fun shoes just because of Joe's stupid insecurities.
"Good thing you wished for revenge on Joe and free shoes. Speaking of which, how do you think those wishes fit into the whole real estate thing?"
"Maybe I'll break a heel walking between apartments and my muscular realtor will come to my rescue."
Well, you're certainly not going to break one of those two-inch heels. Here, try these on." Chastity unbuckled her strappy, floral print heels and tossed them to me.
I dodged to the side and the six-inch stiletto stuck in the wall behind me. "Jesus. Be careful with those things. You could have punctured my liver." My greatest fear. Sometimes it felt like public speaking, germs, or being late was at the top of my list of greatest fears. But that was just in the moment. When I was calm and not about to jump in a dumpster it was easy to think clearly. My greatest fear was definitely the punctured liver thing. God, that was truly terrifying. "Anyway, I think those are a few sizes too big."
"Sorry." She pried it loose from the wall. "Do we have time to swing by Fifth Avenue before 8:30? I feel like Raven Black is going to be the kind of girl who rocks heels."
Yasss! "She definitely is. But no, we don't." Then I remembered something. Hadn’t there been a clause about getting a role description before each wish?
I grabbed my phone and went to the app. Sure enough, a Wish Details button had appeared in place of RSVP. It had the same address and time as before, but there was a new paragraph at the bottom. I read it aloud. "Raven Black. You recently got divorced and are seeking a fresh start in a new apartment." Damn. I had been hoping they were going to make me something cool. Like a secret agent looking for an apartment that shared a wall with an international drug lord. The truth wasn't nearly as fun.
"So basically you're just you," said Chastity.
"I guess so. At least the role-playing won't take much effort."
“What’s in here?” asked Chastity as she pulled a bag out of the back of my closet.
“Don’t…” I started, but it was too late. She’d already untied it and pulled out one of my little sister’s dresses.
“Damn, this is hot. Is this what you and Joe were into?”
“No." I bit the inside of my lip so I wouldn’t burst into tears. "Those were Rosalie’s clothes.”
“Oh.” Chastity looked away.
Rosalie was my little sister. She’d been my very best friend in the whole wide world. Three years ago, she’d vanished. And a little piece of my heart had vanished with her.
Chastity folded the dress up and shoved it back in the bag. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said, holding back the tears. It was pathetic, but even after three years it was still hard to be reminded of her. I still hoped she would come back. And then it hit me. Of course. I don't know how I didn't realize it sooner. “Chastity. What if she’s the one behind these envelopes?”
Chastity put her hand on mine. “Don’t do this again.”
“Do what?”
“You know what.”
I pressed my lips together. I knew what. After Rosalie had disappeared, I kept seeing signs from her everywhere. But none of them turned out to be real. As my therapist helped me realize, it was all just wishful thinking. Just like this was now. She’s gone. She’s not coming back. I took a deep breath, but tears still threatened to spill from my eyes. “Can you give me a few minutes?”
Chastity nodded and left me alone in my room.
I knew I shouldn’t have done it, but I grabbed the bag and looked through Rosalie’s clothes. They still smelled like her oil paints. I hadn't touched anything in this bag since I’d packed up Rosalie's life. I remembered shoving her belongings in the back of my closet, hating the fact that everything she owned fit into a few bags.
It wasn't right. Rosalie's presence had been greater than life. She’d filled up every room with her laughter. Honestly, she was the opposite of me. I sat down next to the bag that Chastity had opened. Rosalie had been fearless. I lifted another dress from the bag. It was even more inappropriate than the first. Part of me wanted to put it on. Maybe being a little like Rosalie while I pretended to be Raven Black was exactly what I needed. But just holding the fabric in my hands made me cry. I wasn't ready. And despite what Chastity a
nd my therapist thought...I didn't think I'd ever be able to admit that she was really gone. Everyone else had given up on her. I couldn't do that. And I’d keep her things here with me until she came back and needed them.
I placed the dress back in the bag and shoved it back in the corner of my closet. I took a deep breath to clear my head. Rosalie would have wanted me to put myself out there. She'd want me to keep living my life. I opened one of my drawers and picked out something that was more me. I wasn't going to pretend to be a different person just because I had a fake Society name. If I'd learned anything from Rosalie, it was that our time to live was limited. I wasn't going to waste any more of mine.
A few outfit changes later I settled on a fitted T-shirt with a panda graphic, my favorite jeans, and some neon green flats with a pattern that looked like bamboo. When I came back out of my closet, Chastity smiled. A fake one.
She clearly hated my outfit, but to her credit, she held her tongue. Instead she focused all her energy on covering my face in way too much makeup and figuring out how to get my black wig to stay.
When she finally let me look in the mirror, I hardly recognized myself. From the neck up, I looked more like the spin class trophy wives than I ever had before. Well, kind of. I was wearing as much makeup as they did. And my hair was dark and shiny and voluminous. For a few weeks there after the divorce, I’d been pretty down on myself. I would have seen a plain girl that no makeup could fix. But now? I smiled. I was me with an awesome wig. I was already comfortable in my skin when I wasn’t setting men on fire. But being Raven Black gave me an extra boost.
"So what black jewelry do you have to wear on your wrist?" asked Chastity.
"Eek, I forgot about that. I don't think I have any."
"No bangles or anything?"
"Nope." I wouldn't be caught dead in loud, annoying bangles. My red hair was loud enough by itself. "I do, however, have a sharpie, white paper, and a glue stick."
"Classy. What about watches? Didn’t you say you used to love wearing watches?"
She was right. When I was a kid, I thought watches were the ultimate accessory. Sexy and functional? Yes please. Thanks to my watches, I had never been late for a single class.
I opened my jewelry box and rummaged through my watch collection. My first instinct was to go for the one where the face looked like a panda, but it was green instead of black. Damn. It would have gone so perfectly with my outfit. Instead, I grabbed a sporty black one...SHIT! The time read 7:45. How had I lost track of time so badly?
Yes, it was plenty of time to get there before the 8:30 appointment. But I wanted to get there at 8 so I could see my stalker. Him staring at me would be just the confidence booster that I needed before my date. God, I really loved the way he stared at me. I crossed my fingers and made a silent wish that he’d be Frankie.
“That’s perfect,” Chastity said. “There’s just one more thing.”
I strapped the watch on. “I have to get going, or I’ll be late.” There was a good chance that I’d lost my mind, because for some reason I was actually thinking about going through with this. And I knew that I’d chicken out if I stopped for even a second. I tried to step around her, but she blocked my path.
“We need to talk about this.” She held up my list of new things to try. “Tasting 32 random smoothies with gross names was not what I meant by living.”
I knew I should have hidden that. Telling her about the list was one thing. But her actually seeing the lame things on it? I snatched the list out of her hands. She’d added, “Participate in my three wishes to gain silver membership and then nominate Chastity to the Society.” It seemed like more of a bullet point that would benefit her more than me.
“Real talk,” she said. “I know you keep saying you’re fine about the divorce. And I get it. We both know you’re better off without Joe. But…it’s scary to start over.”
It was scary to start over.
“I know you don’t think you know who you are without him. But this is your chance to find out.”
I knew she was right. And despite how nervous I was, I was pretty sure this was the feeling I was chasing by guzzling gross smoothies. For the first time in years I was actually excited about something. I swallowed hard. “I’m going to get you that invite to the Society,” I said. Actually, Raven Black probably said it. Because Ashley Cooper was nervous AF.
“Atta girl. Now go bang Frankie and come back and tell me all about his nine-inch penis. And don’t forget Single Girl Rule #7: Pics or it didn’t happen.”
Yeah, I’d definitely lost my mind.
Chapter 14 - Blueberry Pie
Tuesday
For the third time ever, I hoped I wouldn't encounter my stalker. At least, not at the entrance to One57. Because I wanted him to be Frankie Underwood, waiting patiently for me in Suite 212. I could so easily picture our first real meeting. Definitely a love at first sight scenario. We’d smile at each other as I got on the elevator. We’d act all nonchalant about it, but then we’d get off at the same floor and laugh. And then when we walked to the same suite…we’d realize we were always meant to finally meet like this. We’d laugh about how he caught me with binoculars. But he’d confess that he was the one stalking me the whole time. And then he’d make love to me against a wall in his real estate office. Because we both couldn’t wait to make it to a bed. Too much pent-up sexual tension after all our eye fucking for the past few months.
I smiled. Yep, that was how it was going to go down. And his black Rolls Royce limo wasn't parked out front, so that gave me some small hope that this could all actually happen.
I pulled out my phone to check my appearance. I almost screamed when I looked into the mirror app and saw the dark-haired woman staring back at me. Oh, right. That's me. Raven Black, the seductress of the night. Or something like that. I had hoped that the wig would give me newfound confidence since I could leave the incidents behind me. But it didn't. If anything, it just made me feel like people were staring at me. And wearing it gave me a brand-new fear: my wig flying off. I still hadn't decided where it ranked on my list, but my preliminary assessment was that it would be similar to having a centipede crawl up my leg, but not quite as bad as being late for an appointment.
Speaking of being late...it was 8:01, and my stalker still hadn't made an appearance. I knew I said I hoped he wouldn't appear, but I didn't actually believe it would happen. I interacted with my stalker in fantasies. In dreams. But not in real life. If my stalker was Frankie Underwood, I couldn't even imagine how weird I would act. I'd probably jump up on a sofa Tom-Cruise-style and yell that I was in love. Or get my wig caught in the door. If that happened, I would literally flood his office with the gallons of sweat that would pour out of my armpits.
Coming here was a mistake. I should have let Chastity take my place. She belonged in the Society. Not me. Whoever nominated me had messed up. They’d probably meant for her to open that envelope at my divorce party. After all, we had been at her apartment.
I waited for twenty minutes, but there was still no sign of my stalker. And then I couldn’t wait any longer. I was already flirting with lateness. I ended my stakeout and entered One57. The lobby was just as sleek as the glass exterior. Every surface was polished to a mirror-like finish, including the hair of the man at the front desk. He was the human equivalent of a marble floor. The only thing amiss was the cluster of fancy old people crowding around the elevators. I had never seen so much fur in a single place.
If I had been a chinchilla, I would have run away screaming. But luckily I was a human woman. So I didn't have to scream until later when Frankie Underwood would inevitably lure me to a sex dungeon and make a coat out of my skin. The ancient Aztecs used to do that. They would sacrifice virgins and then male priests would turn them into skin cocoons and wear them all over town. I shuddered.
I had worse problems than Aztec skin cocoons, though. The chinchilla killers were hardly moving. After sitting there for a few minutes, I realized that only one e
levator was working. Which meant there was no way I'd be able to get to suite 212 in time for my meeting. Unless I took the stairs.
I checked my watch. 8:28. No! Where were the damned stairs? It took me a second to find them, and as soon as I did, I took off in a dead sprint. I didn’t even slow down for the door. I just burst right into the stairwell.
Or at least, I tried to. I only got the door half open before it hit something, or rather, someone. All at once, papers flew into the air and I heard a thud, a grunt, and a sickening squish. Oh God. Did I just puncture someone's liver with the doorknob? I looked up to see my victim.
He must have been carrying a pie when I hit him, because an aluminum pie dish was stuck to his face. Blueberry filling dripped down onto his shiny black suit slashed with neon blue zigzags. There was only one man who would have been wearing such a wild suit. My stalker.
Oh no. No, no, no! For just a second I was frozen in fear. I could have reacted in a million different ways. A normal person would have helped him clean up his papers. Or found him a towel to wipe the pie off his face. Or at least apologized. But this was my stalker. And I couldn’t have this be our first real encounter ever. So I just did the first thing I could think of - I laughed. Right in his pie-covered face. And then I ran upstairs as fast as I could.
Why the hell did I laugh at him?! This had incident #3 written all over it. God, what was wrong with me? But wait…had he seen me? I didn't think so. The pie would have blocked his vision. At least the squishing noise was a pie to his face rather than his liver being flattened. It was possible that I was in the clear. Raven Black didn’t experience incidents. Hopefully.
The whole thing could have been so easily avoided if he had just been paying more attention. And what was he doing in the stairwell anyway? Oh, right. The elevators were down. That would also explain why he had been so late. I pictured him painstakingly carrying that pie down sixty stories only to have me throw it in his face. God, I was such a monster. I guess it could have been worse, though. At least I didn’t kick him in the nuts and tell him to watch where he was going. That would have added insult to injury. Or I guess injury to insult.
