by Sharon Potts
“Thanks.” She stirred her drink with her finger. It occurred to her that Jeremy thought she’d come to see him tonight and she got a sinking feeling about disappointing him. “I’m actually here on a mission.”
“Oh yeah?” That half smile.
She was making it worse. “I’m looking for my sister.”
He sobered. “She’s here?”
“I don’t know. I thought she might be.”
He gestured toward the room. “Talk about searching for a needle in a haystack.”
“I know. It was a stupid idea.”
He took a step closer to her. She could smell his perspiration beneath cologne. He never used to wear cologne when it was just the two of them. “Did you get some new information about her?” he asked. “Does Lieber think she might be coming here?”
“Not exactly.”
“I heard about her friend,” he said. “I was going to call you.” Flashes of purple and pink from the light show reflected in his dark brown eyes. “Should I have called you?”
She didn’t know how to answer him, so she changed the subject. “My father thinks she’s been kidnapped and held against her will.”
“But you don’t?”
She shook her head. Why was she having such a hard time talking to him?
“Is there something I can do?”
“I, I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to go through this alone,” he said.
They were so close she could feel the heat from his body. What was happening to her? Why was she drifting toward him?
He lowered his head. So close to her now.
She raised her chin. Their eyes locked.
“There you are.” Brett’s voice was behind her. Then she felt his fingers tighten on her shoulder.
Jeremy’s face hardened.
“Mike was wondering where you went,” Brett said to Robbie. She could smell liquor on his breath. “He was going to introduce you to someone.”
Robbie wanted to toss his hand off her. She wasn’t his territory. She wasn’t anyone’s territory.
Brett extended his free hand toward Jeremy. “Stroeb, my man. Been a while.”
Jeremy shook the hand. He was a couple of inches shorter than Brett, but slightly broader.
“I keep hearing about the new you.” Brett tugged on his ear. “Big change from high school. Word is you’re always hanging with the hottest girls.”
“Man, I’m flattered.” Jeremy looked Brett directly in the eye. And Robbie knew Jeremy was anything but flattered.
“I was just coming upstairs to find you, Brett,” Robbie said. “I’m ready to go home.”
“Are you kidding? Things are just starting to get good.”
“I’ll take a taxi. You don’t need to drive me.”
“Of course I’ll drive you.”
“Really, Brett. I’m fine.”
“I don’t know what you’re used to.” Brett looked Jeremy up and down. “But when I bring MY girl somewhere, I take her home.”
Jeremy took a step toward him. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Take it easy, man,” Brett said. “If you’ve got a problem—”
“Okay,” Robbie said, fuming. “That’s enough. It’s late. I’m out of here. And I’m going by myself.”
A couple of bouncers materialized on either side of Brett and Jeremy. How could they possibly have noticed a fight brewing?
“Listen,” Brett said to Jeremy. “There’s no reason—”
But Jeremy had pushed past the bouncers and was heading back into the crowd.
Robbie took a deep breath of smoky air to calm herself. Why did guys have to be that way? They all thought they owned you.
Brett got in step with her as she went up the stairs. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess I had a little too much to drink.”
Robbie didn’t answer.
Brett glanced up at the table on the balcony. Mike was watching them.
Chapter 16
She opened her eyes and saw only white. Then things came into focus. White pillows. White comforter. A white light brightening the room, hurting her eyes. She remembered, now. Her name was Angel, so she must be in heaven, right?
Not right. She was the Angel of Death, they’d told her. She had killed her friend. They said they’d protect her and not tell anyone. But she had to be good and do what they said.
And so she had. She took the pills they gave her or sniffed up the white powder. And she really didn’t mind that part. It filled her head and kept the bad stuff out. The bad stuff that kept trying to push its way in. Joanne clutching her bag. Begging Kate to leave.
Why hadn’t she listened?
Joanne face down in the pool, her hair floating all around her head.
The truth made her sick. So sick she could hardly stand it. She’d killed her friend. Her best friend. It was all her fault. She couldn’t remember how, but it didn’t matter. She knew she was guilty and now this was her life.
She’d never, ever be able to go home again.
Tyra came into the room. Angel could smell her—some spicy perfume that made Angel’s throat contract. Tyra pushed the sheer curtains aside, letting in the rest of the light. Angel squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, Tyra was sitting on the edge of the bed with a glass of lemon-colored liquid and a pill. Breakfast. Oprah should start telling people about this incredible diet on her show. Lose as much as ten pounds a week, effortlessly. Angel couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten food. She couldn’t even remember how long she’d been here.
“Here you go, my little Angel,” Tyra said. “Drink up.”
Tyra’s wild bronze hair was loose on her shoulders and she wore a waffled white spa towel that only barely covered her private parts. Her long arms and legs were so skinny, Angel could see the outline of bone and cords of muscle. “Sit up, Angel.” Tyra’s voice lost its slippery sweetness as she pressed the cold glass against Angel’s face.
Angel raised herself up on one elbow and took the glass and pill from Tyra. She should swallow her pill so she wouldn’t have to think about things.
Joanne floating. The disgusting men who hurt her and made her do dirty things. But she was in hell and this was her penance.
Tyra smiled. Her teeth were stained. “That’s a good girl.” In the bright light, she wasn’t pretty at all. Her skin was splotched and her shocking green eyes were full of anger. But Tyra was Angel’s new best friend. “Practically joined at the hip,” Tyra had said when Angel had moved into her apartment.
Angel sipped the sweet drink, pretty sure there was more vodka in it than usual. Her mother used to drink. Sometimes, Kate would come home from school and her mother would be passed out on the sofa or with her head on her arms at the kitchen table. Kate would help her into bed. It made Kate’s father very angry that her mother would drink, but he didn’t stop her. And then one day she took the car and killed herself.
Angel put the pill in her mouth. Her mother was an alcoholic, her father had explained. She couldn’t control herself. She needed help. So why didn’t you help her? Kate had wanted to scream at him, but never did. What was the point of saying anything to him? Nothing would change. Her mother wasn’t coming back. And her father hated Kate more than ever.
Angel pushed the pill under her tongue. If she swallowed it, she’d forget everything.
A bitter taste seeped into her mouth.
She had killed Joanne. Or had she? She couldn’t remember because her brain was always fuzzy. And she was getting tired of being fuzzy.
Her mother was always fuzzy.
The pill hurt the soft area under her tongue.
But she wasn’t like her mom. She didn’t need her dad. She could help herself. First she’d get out of here, and then figure out what to do next.
Angel sipped the drink. She was careful not to swallow the pill, but made sure it looked to Tyra as though she had.
“I have to pee,”Angel said, pushing the comforter away and getti
ng out of bed. She glanced down at her nakedness and remembered last night. The ugly man with the jowls and dark bushy eyebrows. Tyra had called him “Tricky Dick.” He’d laughed. “You haven’t seen any of my tricks yet, honey,” he’d said. They made Angel dress up like a little girl. Kneesocks and heels. Short skirt. White blouse, no underwear. “Lick my lollipop,” he’d said and Angel had puked all over his disgusting black-haired legs.
The white marble was cold beneath her bare feet. She walked quickly before Tyra stopped her, and sat down on the toilet, holding her drink. Tyra couldn’t see her for the moment. Angel poured the drink into the toilet and spit out the pill, flushing the whole mess out of sight.
“You were a bad girl last night,” Tyra said, stepping into the bathroom.
Had she seen Angel flush the pill?
“Good thing the asshole was too drunk to know what the hell was going on.”
Angel stood up, went to the sink and turned on the water. Tyra was close behind her, waffled spa towel on the floor, her giant boobs touching Angel’s back. “Pretty girl,” Tyra said.
Angel looked at her new face. The strange gray eyes, puffy lips, high cheekbones that she’d always wished for. One day she was Kate Brooks, cute, dark-haired, blue-eyed high school senior who thought her biggest problem was being a virgin. The next day, she was a murderess, half alive under a secret identity. The transformation had been easy. Contact lenses and collagen. And Tyra had cut and dyed her hair a white blonde. “Now you really look like an Angel,” she’d said.
Tyra wrapped her arms around Angel’s waist—cold tentacles.
Angel put toothpaste on her brush and began brushing her teeth. She jabbed Tyra in the ribs with her elbow.
“Bitch,” Tyra said, releasing her. “What the fuck’s going on with you?”
Angel could see Tyra watching her in the mirror. “Did you take your pill?” Tyra asked.
Angel’s insides turned to slush.
“You didn’t, did you?”
“What are you talking about?” Angel said. She tried to act confused, foggy. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know, honey. I don’t know why you wouldn’t love it in la-la-land.”
Angel forced a smile.
“But maybe you’re getting used to it. Maybe you need more.”
Angel felt panic. Run. Run. But where?
Tyra took Angel by the wrist and pulled her into the living room. Sofa cushions and pillows on the floor, glittery sandals, last night’s skirt, kneesocks, white blouse. A wet spot on the rug where Angel had thrown up. Tyra pushed Angel down on the sofa and opened a drawer, just below the large-screen TV that they never let her watch except for DVDs.
“What’s up?” Luis asked Tyra, coming into the room from the kitchen. He was in jeans and shirtless. Tattoos covered most of his chest, as well as his upper arms.
Angel was relieved to see him. There was something about Tyra that scared her.
Tyra stepped closer to him and said something Angel couldn’t hear.
Luis rubbed his shiny bald head and narrowed his eyes as though considering something. Then he crossed the room and sat down beside Angel. “You doing okay?” he said, slipping his arm around her. He didn’t seem to notice that both Angel and Tyra were naked.
Angel nodded.
“Everyone treating you good?”
She nodded again.
“Because you don’t have to stay here, you know.”
Angel felt bugs crawling around her insides.
“You can go anytime.” He took a deep breath through clogged nostrils. “Of course, once you leave here, we can’t promise any protection. You understand, don’t you?”
Angel nodded.
“The cops are everywhere. Your picture is everywhere. Not you, Angel—the other you, with the blue eyes and black hair.” He ran his finger over the arrowhead tattoo she’d gotten at the base of her spine where her dad would never see it. “So if you want to leave, just say the word. We’ll fix your hair and face and put you back just the way you were when we found you—”
Angel was breathing in and out, too fast, like a train heading for a wreck.
“Just like you were when we found you after you killed your little friend.”
White blurs flashed in front of her eyes. She was breathing too fast.
“Is that what you want?” Luis asked.
Angel shook her head.
“I didn’t think so.”
Tyra was kneeling in front of her holding out a white pill. “Here you go, Angel,” she said. “Let me help you with this.” She put the pill on the back of Angel’s tongue and shoved it in farther.
Angel choked and coughed. She gulped down the drink Tyra handed her.
“That’s a good girl,” Tyra said.
Luis took Angel’s face into his hands. He smiled at her, even white teeth against a dark tan. “But anytime you want to leave, just say the word.”
Whiteness filled her head. Leave? Why would she want to leave?
Chapter 17
The ringing of her cell phone woke Robbie. Her father? Jeremy? Someone calling about Kate?
“UNKNOWN” flashed on the display.
Robbie picked up. “Hello?”
“Robbie?” The woman’s melodious voice was uncertain.
“Yes.”
“This is Gina Fieldstone. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
Gina Fieldstone? Robbie glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 11:42 a.m. It seemed like only a couple of hours since she’d gotten home from BURN. “No, not at all. How are you?” Robbie sat up in bed. What in the world did Gina Fieldstone want? And how did she have Robbie’s phone number? Then she remembered. The “Missing” flyer. Her phone number was on the flyer. But that still didn’t explain why Gina was calling.
“I was wondering about your sister,” Gina said. “Hoping that you’ve found her?”
The way her intonation went up at the end made Gina sound very young.
“No,” Robbie said. “No news on her, yet.”
“I’m sorry.” Gina paused. Robbie could hear her breathing through the phone. “I know how frustrating that must be for you. I’d like to help, if I can. Even if it’s just to be a sounding board.”
“That’s so nice of you,” Robbie said, touched once again by the kindness of another human being.
“Would you like to meet this afternoon? Perhaps for coffee?”
This afternoon? Robbie still wasn’t thinking clearly. Didn’t she have something to do? Her sister? Her father? Brett? Jeremy? But how nice it would be to have someone to sort through everything with.
Gina was still talking, suggesting a time and place. Robbie said she’d be there and disconnected from the call.
Robbie brought her feet over the side of the bed. The blinds were closed against the morning light, muting the tangerine-colored walls that Robbie had painted herself, the scratched oak dresser, chest of drawers, and rocking chair purchased at a secondhand store. Matilda was lying on the white comforter—a mound of vanilla ice cream in the snow. She picked up the cat and hugged her.
Gina Fieldstone wanted to meet for a cup of coffee.
How deeply Robbie missed her mother.
Robbie got to the Café at Books & Books a few minutes early, just before two. She found a table in the arcade near the entrance to the bookstore and sat down facing the strolling crowd on Lincoln Road so she could spot Gina Fieldstone.
She’d taken a couple of Motrin, but she couldn’t get past the heaviness in her chest. Last night sucked. It really did. But she’d had it with Brett. Especially after his face-off with Jeremy. Brett used to be fun and easy. But that had changed recently and it just wasn’t worth it to her to put up with his increasingly volatile moods.
It was time to tell Brett that things just weren’t going to work out between them. And no—this wasn’t about fear of commitment. It was about being her own person.
Umbrellas shaded the café tables, which overflowed from the arcade into the
outdoor mall area. Most were taken. Robbie double-checked to make sure Gina wasn’t at one of them waiting for her. She noticed a guy in sunglasses and a floppy hat sitting alone. He brought a magazine up in front of his face as though he’d been watching her and was embarrassed at being caught. He was probably just checking her out like guys often did. Robbie turned back to the crowd to watch for Gina.
The street mall was mobbed as usual—a mix of tourists and locals in shorts and sandals. A teenage girl with long black hair walked by. Robbie strained to see her. She caught a glimpse of her face as the girl turned to look in a shop window. Large nose, dark eyes. Not Kate.
Robbie thrummed her fingers against the tabletop. It was two o’clock. Where was Gina Fieldstone? She scanned the crowd again. No slender, elegant woman approaching the café.
Robbie leaned back on her chair. She was close enough to the magazine rack to see the headlines and photos on the magazines and newspapers.
The name Fieldstone caught her attention. Robbie leaned back further to see better. Fieldstone Promises to—
She took the paper off the rack and opened it on the table in front of her.
Stanford Fieldstone was balding with a shiny scalp, clean-shaven face, and dark, intelligent eyes. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite place him.
“Hello, Robbie.” The woman’s voice coming from over Robbie’s shoulder startled her. Robbie turned.
Gina Fieldstone was standing near the entrance to the bookstore. She stepped around to the front of the table. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to ambush you.”
“That’s okay. I wasn’t expecting you to come from back there.” Robbie extended her hand to shake Gina’s, but Gina was adjusting the clasp on her cardigan and didn’t seem to notice.
“I was just in the bookstore talking to the manager,” Gina said. “She asked me to sign a few of my books that she had in stock. I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
“Just a few minutes.”
Gina set her handbag and a Books & Books shopping bag on an extra chair, then dabbed at her forehead with a white handkerchief as she sat down. A trace of peach-colored makeup remained on the handkerchief.
