They had certainly left their imprint on my heart.
♫♫♫
New York was an astounding city. Everything was on such a grand scale compared to my hometown in the USA and to Edinburgh. The volume of traffic and the general cacophony of noise that greeted me when I was out walking around the bustling streets was almost at deafening proportions. In many ways, it resembled the TV shows I’d seen. Yellow cabs and subway vents, food carts, and doormen standing proudly outside the more exclusive hotels. It was a melting pot of faiths and languages, but it made me realise how much I missed the Scottish accents of Edinburgh. I missed them so much that my heart skipped whenever I heard one.
I’d had plenty of opportunities to go around the city with my camera. In fact, it accompanied me everywhere. But I didn’t want to capture the usual tourist sights. While I appreciated the value of the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, and Times Square, I wanted to photograph the real people. Just everyday folks going about their normal lives.
I’d been chatting to an old guy called Carlos, who worked a hot dog stand on the corner of East 8th and University Place. I’d gotten some beautiful shots of his friendly, gap-toothed grin as he served his faithful, regular customers. Instead of me paying him in some way for allowing me to take his picture, he had insisted on giving me free hot dogs the three times I had been to see him, telling me I was too darn skinny. I’d bought him a Yankees baseball cap as a thank you. The old one he wore looked real tired, and his face had lit up when I presented the new one I had bought for him. He had immediately pulled it on and posed for another photograph.
I’d shot some great images of performers in Central Park, who were playing very alternative music considering the crowd that gathered. They were a group of younger guys, maybe in their late teens. A guitarist, a singer, a violinist, and a guy playing a single drum but somehow making it sound like a full kit. I sat on the grass, munching on a dog from Carlos’ stand and listening, head back, eyes closed, facing toward the sun. Suddenly, the opening bars of “Strange and Beautiful” caught my attention and I gasped. I opened my eyes, my gaze darting around the area as my heart thudded at my ribs.
Shit. Is Fin here? Please let Fin be here. What would I say if he was?
As the singer began to deliver the very words that Fin had used to steal my heart, I clambered to my feet and began to walk back toward my plush Upper East Side apartment. It was a good thing I had grown familiar with the city as my vision was blurred with tears. My appetite ebbed away, and I dumped the hot dog in the nearest garbage can as I swiped at the damp trails on my cheeks. Of course he wasn’t there. He would never be there. His letter had made it patently clear how he felt about me. And I could never forgive him for the things he had said. Even if he came and apologised.
Which he wouldn’t.
I had to give up and move on. Jeez, how many times had I had that conversation with myself? I was like a damn broken record.
Zara from the gallery had asked me to go out for drinks after work on several occasions, but I had always avoided it. I wasn’t ready to socialise. But my reaction to hearing that song made me realise I was living in the past.
Next time she asked, I would force myself to go.
Fin
I had always hated flying. Not so much because of the fear—although I admit that did play a wee part—but more because of the hours of time it afforded me in my own head. Thinking was such a dangerous pastime. I should’ve been using the time wisely to plan what I would say to Star once I was face to face with her again, but alas, my brain chose to torture me with conjured mental images of her slamming the door in my face. It was a very real possibility. One I hoped beyond hope wouldn’t come to fruition.
I stuck my ear-buds in and listened to the tracks I had loaded up especially for the flight. The problem was that every single song reminded me of Star. It hadn’t been my intention to load up my iPod in this way, but regardless of that fact, every time I hit forward I was greeted with something that struck a chord inside me.
Eventually, I gave up and tried to sleep instead.
♫♫♫
The plane landed in JFK and I was off there as fast as my feet would carry me, and as fast as the throngs of people with the same idea would allow. It was almost midnight, and I just wanted to crash. My stomach protested its emptiness, but eating was the last thing on my mind. I figured the sooner I got to sleep, the sooner I could go to the gallery and tell Star how I felt.
After going through customs and grabbing my bag from baggage claim, I made my way outside into the chilly New York night air and hailed a yellow cab.
One pulled up right away, and I clambered inside.
“Hi. Plaza Hotel, please.”
“Sure thing, boss,” came the gruff voice with the strong Bronx accent. I smiled to myself about the fact that I had walked into a cliché of my own imagining.
We darted through the brightly lit streets of New York City, and I watched the myriad shops and businesses whizzing by. As we passed the Napier Gallery, my heart jumped into my throat. The thought that I was passing by the place where Star spent much of her time filled me with a variety of emotions. Pride, fear, regret but most of all hope. I had to cling on to that.
It was all I had left.
The cab eventually drew up to the curb outside the stunning, multi-storey Plaza Hotel building, where it glowed like a beacon on Fifth Avenue. A beacon provided to me by a very insistent Alasdair, who assured me it was Colette’s treat, not his. As I glanced up at the structure, I could see the hue of many room lights where the occupants had left their drapes ajar. Knowing I would soon be in one of the plush rooms made me relax a little. I paid the driver and grabbed my bag.
Once I had checked in and been shown to my room, I dropped my bag on the floor at the end of the bed and stripped out of my clothes. I gave myself no time to check out the luxurious suite. I needed to wash the grime of the day from my skin before bed.
Standing underneath the powerful jets of hot water and cocooned in a blanket of steam, I closed my eyes and relaxed. A sense of relief that I was at least in the same city as the woman I loved washed over me, and my anxiety began to leave my body and run down the drain with the water.
♫♫♫
Sleep didn’t come readily, and by the time I decided to get out of bed, I had to make peace with the notion that I wouldn’t look great for my first meeting with Star in months. Although, maybe seeing the evidence of my lack of sleep would make her realise I was seriously missing her.
I hoped so.
I ordered bacon, eggs, and fresh orange juice to be delivered to my room, and when it arrived, I sat at the small table by the window and almost vacuumed the food off the plate. My appetite was back. The sharp, refreshing tang of citrus awoke my taste buds, meaning I thoroughly enjoyed devouring the rest of the food on my plate.
I was refuelled and ready to go. A kaleidoscope of butterflies had taken flight inside me, and my palms were slick with sweat, but I made my way down in the elevator and left my luxurious surroundings, stepping out onto the hectic streets of New York City. The kindly doorman dressed in a long coat and a top hat hailed a cab for me, and I clambered in, almost losing my balance. I had never been so bloody nervous. Walking out on stage to perform was a walk in the park compared to how I felt right then.
The hustle and bustle of New York was greater than that of Edinburgh, hands down. The skyscrapers surrounding the roads afforded a little shelter from the sweltering sun, but I was still sweating.
The cab pulled up outside the Napier Gallery, and I paid the driver before climbing out onto the crowded sidewalk. I glanced up at the stark, modern exterior of the building that housed everything that meant something in my life, and I wiped my palms down my jeans.
This was it.
My heart hammered in my chest, and I suddenly saw stars dancing before my eyes. Panic began to mount, and I swallowed hard before inhaling what I hoped was a calming breath. Nope. I realised n
othing was going to calm me. I just had to bite the bullet.
I pushed through the door and was greeted by a pretty, petite brunette in a sharp skirt suit. “Good morning, sir. Welcome to the Napier Gallery, New York. Is there anything I can help you with?”
Her scripted patter came out in a formulaic rush, and I smiled, trying to gather my thoughts. “Erm…yes. Yes, I was hoping to speak with Star Mendoza, please.”
“Miss Mendoza isn’t in the gallery today. She’s taking a well-earned break.”
Aww, fuck it. “Ah, okay. Is there a way I can find her? Or contact her?”
The woman narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “And who might you be?”
“My name is Fin Hunter. I’m a…erm…a friend.”
Her eyes widened and she opened and closed her mouth several times as her cheeks coloured pink. “Oh. You’re Fin Hunter.”
I frowned and nodded. “That’s what I said.”
“I really don’t know if I should give you her address. She’s a friend, and I don’t… She’s trying to get over you.”
I crumpled my brow. “Trying? What if I don’t want her to get over me? What if I want her to know how I feel, and that I’ve travelled all this way to tell her I love her?”
She visibly melted. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess… Maybe I should call her first and check it’s okay for you to go to her apartment. I really don’t think—”
I held up my hands. “Look, I know it’s probably not company policy and all that, but the way things were left between us is just so unfinished. I need to see her. I have to tell her.”
The woman closed her eyes for a moment, clearly toying with the idea of giving me Star’s address, but her eyes jolted open as someone walked in through the gallery doors.
“Oh, shit.” As the brunette’s eyes widened, I spun around to see why she had reacted in that way, and my breath caught.
“Fin?” The colour drained from Star’s face and she leaned on the wall as if to steady herself.
The brunette interjected. “Star. I was just about to call you.”
Star shook her head and kept her eyes focused on me. “It’s…it’s okay, Zara. I know him. This is Fin.” Her words came out in a breathy whisper and her eyelids fluttered.
“Yeah, he said who he was. I didn’t want to give him your address in case you didn’t want to see him.”
Star moved her focus onto Zara and her eyes filled with panic, but I stood there like a fucking moron whilst they talked about me as if I wasn’t even in the room. Anger and pain began to surface from deep within me as it dawned on me. She wasn’t happy to see me, so perhaps the letter had been intended as a final goodbye after all. Maybe I should have stayed in Edinburgh.
I stepped into her line of sight to interrupt the dialogue between the two women. “Star, can we go somewhere to talk? Please?”
Her attention snapped back to me again and she nodded before turning and walking back out through the door. I didn’t bother to thank Zara. Instead, I followed Star out into the street.
“Star! Slow down!” I called after her as she strode away from me.
She stopped and turned to face me. Her eyes burned with rage. “What the fuck are you doing here, Fin?”
I came to a halt before her. “I had to see you. I had to tell you—”
“I think you told me enough, don’t you?”
Hang on. It’s me who should be pissed off here. That fucking letter had all but finished me off. And she’s angry? “I couldn’t leave things how they were, Star. I had to come here to see if—”
“To see if you’d hurt me enough? Or maybe to see if I can actually survive without you maybe? Yeah, well you have and I can, so you can go home now.” She turned and began to pick up speed once more.
What the fuck? “Star, please. I just want to talk.” I jogged until I was level with her.
“Oh, so now you want to talk? Writing not good enough anymore, huh?”
Confusion clouded my mind. She was the one into letter writing. I’d never favoured it as a way of communication. “Writing’s okay for some things, yes. But not for this.”
She stopped again and spun around to face me. Her eyes were red and tears trailed down her cheeks. “Fin, please leave. It’s over. Okay? We didn’t work. I get it. I wish you and your folks all the best in your newly re-established relationship. I’m glad you worked it out and you got your damn job back in the family firm, okay? I have to admit to being very surprised at that part but…” Huh? She held her hand up and a cab stopped. She quickly opened the door and climbed in. “I wish you all well, Fin. I really do.” And with her parting words, the cab whisked her away.
“Star! What do you mean? Star!”
Star
I closed the door to my apartment, leaned against it, and slid down until I hit the floor with my ass. What the hell was he thinking? Why would he come here? To rub salt in my wounds? Was he some sick kind of dickhead that got pleasure out of hurting his ex-girlfriends?
Bastard.
I’d been doing okay. Well, maybe okay was pushing it a little. Maybe a little too optimistic, but I’d been getting by. And then he had to show up in New York and knock me back to square one. Why? I just didn’t get it.
I leaned my head on my knees and sobbed. My heart ached with a kind of homesickness I had never experienced before. And the awful fact was that I wasn’t homesick for my parents’ home. I was homesick for Edinburgh. I missed Alec. Missed the fun we had at DeBasement. Missed the Scott Monument, the castle. The trams. Princes Street Gardens. I missed every little thing about it.
After everything Fin said in his letter, and after he worked things out with his folks, why would he show up here? Why was he willing to go against their wishes so soon? Was he missing the rebellious streak he discovered in his temporary relationship with me? Was he bored with the money and prestige again already? The question rolled around in my mind. But the fact was, I wasn’t willing to be an exciting distraction for him again. I deserved someone who loved me for me. But then again, what if he’d realised he’d made a mistake in losing me? This whole thing was driving me insane. And tough shit. He had lost me. Nothing could change how small and insignificant he had made me feel simply by telling his father he loved him too. That simple phrase, whilst it should have meant something wonderful, actually meant I had been easily cast aside and it was shitty that Fin had found a conscience after hurting me so much, but that was his problem. And that damn letter, urgh! I couldn’t afford to let hope spring to life inside me. How could I trust him again, even if he had realised it was me he wanted after all?
My head began to throb, and I had the urge to call Alec. It would be seven o’clock in Edinburgh, and Alec would no doubt be in the shower or out for a run. But on the off chance I would catch him, I dragged myself up from the floor and grabbed my cell.
“Twinkle! How are you, babes?” Hearing Alec’s voice was my undoing once again, and I began to sob uncontrollably.
Fin
Home.
Not where I had hoped nor expected to be so soon after my trip to New York.
Sadly, it had turned out that Star had no intention of listening to me, and so I had admitted defeat and returned to Edinburgh the following day, complete with my broken heart. The callous letter she’d sent really had marked the end.
So much time had passed, and I was still walking around in a dumbstruck trance. Another Sunday rolled around, and I decided to get some much-needed fresh November air. After walking absentmindedly for what seemed like hours, I found myself in Calton Old Burial Ground. I glanced around in a bewildered daze, unable to remember how I’d ended up there of all places, and the first flurry of a snow shower began to dance around me. It wasn’t going to last, but I smiled as I imagined Star standing there with me, head back, tongue out, allowing snowflakes to settle and melt on her tongue. She would no doubt have loved Edinburgh in the winter.
For me, everywhere was a little duller. A little less vibrant. Star brigh
tened everything. Brought everything to life. Her colourful character and happy nature had, for a short time, made everything seem wonderful.
She had changed me. I had temporarily become a happier, more colourful, more adventurous person. The newest feature to my skin had been a part of the memory I had of what true happiness felt like.
But the absence of her from my life now had turned a once multi-hued palette into monotonous grey and brown.
♫♫♫
After my trip, I had cut short my so-called vacation, figuring that work was what I needed. But since my return, Alasdair had made regular appearances in my office under the guise that he needed information on some case or other. I knew he was checking up on me and my emotional state. It was great knowing he cared. It was more than my father had bothered to do. And the offer of assistance with the Inveresk cottages had turned out to be a pile of bullshit. Alasdair had informed me on my first day back that he had been considering the case in detail, and it was tightly sealed and free of any supposed loophole. Campbell had blatantly lied to me in the hopes that he could steal me back from McKendrick. No doubt with a view to fire me once again if I returned to the family company. His way of teaching me a valuable lesson.
My mother had made several attempts to contact me, but I refused to give her any response. I had resolved with myself the fact that my parents were toxic. And as awful as it was to admit that about one’s own flesh and blood, it was the truth. I couldn’t understand her tenacity, however. But the calls continued, and I continued to ignore them.
Luckily, Alasdair had thrown me right in at the deep end with another small fish takes on big fish case, and I was chin deep in files and research. I had a cold cup of coffee on my desk and a half-eaten BLT that Fiona had insisted on getting for me.
The intercom on my desk buzzed, and I reached out to hit the button. “Yes, Fiona?”
“I’m so sorry, Fin. I couldn’t stop her. She said it was vital that she saw you and—”
Duplicity Page 25
