Have You Met Nora?

by Nicole Blades

  Nora nodded at herself in the mirror. The rising heat coloring her face subsided as quick as it came and her shoulders eased back down from her ears. She smiled. “Is that a Texas thing, shooting out lights for a good time?”

  “You know it! Now, bright and too fucking early this morning, my phone starts pinging and dinging. I was, like, what fresh hell is this? Turns out there are notifications set on my phone to remind Bride Nearly-Beaumont to write her vows. It’s what you need to be doing one week out, it says.”

  “Ah . . . right.” Nora clapped her hand over her forehead. “I think I set those reminders on your phone months ago.”

  “But fourteen different alarms and chimes, though? Did I really need that level of irritation? I didn’t sign up for this shit,” Jenna said, taking on a higher register with her laugh. “Watch, this maid of honor’s fixin’ to turn into Bitch of Honor in a minute.”

  “As long as the honor part is there, I’m good.”

  “Did you even start your vows?”

  Nora sighed. “I can’t put my brain there. Not yet.” It was a lie. The vows had already been written years ago, and she knew her friend would think it weird and possibly desperate had she found out that Nora wrote them the night after Fisher proposed. What started as a doodle stretched across the full page of her notebook turned into something bigger and deeper than even she could process. She folded the paper into the smallest square her fingers could manage and it has lived, tucked it in a corner of her lingerie drawer, ever since.

  “Ma’am, you have a week.”

  “I’ll get it done. Maybe next time you and Fisher have your little coffee klatch you should ask him if he’s written his yet.”

  “Here you go with this again . . . Nora, the man simply wants to make sure you’re all right. That’s it. He plans on seeing you walk down that aisle in one piece.”

  “Sans ratty bird’s nest, though, right?”

  “Ugh. You and that fresh mouth—quit it!”

  Nora laughed. It was real and hearty and felt good. “Listen, I do need to take a shower. Have a few things to attack on my list.”

  “Wait. Before you go,” Jenna said, her words sounding measured, her chuckling fading fast. “Seriously, hon. You okay?”

  “I will be,” Nora said. And for the first time in weeks, she believed this was true. “It’s been a little rough, but I’m turning the corner on all of it.”

  “So I can stop worrying about you?”

  “Yeah,” Nora said. “You can stop worrying. You know, last night or this morning, really, after we fell asleep on the floor, I woke up in our bed alone. And I don’t know, there was something changed when I woke up, something wholly different the minute my eyes flicked open. It was totally okay that Fisher wasn’t there; I wasn’t scared or confused. I felt . . . good, like the sleep was this hard reset for me. Still feel it now. It makes me know that I’m going to be fine—for real this time.”

  “Good, because—well, I don’t want to be the fluffer on set here—but you’re my best girl, Nora. You’re one of the real ones, and you know I only root for the real ones.”

  In the bathroom mirror, Nora could see her emotions pooling at the edge of her eyes. But she couldn’t afford tears. Not now. What she needed was conviction, a steel rod run down the center of her back to help her carry out the next step. Dawn had poured hot lava over her life for more than two weeks, and Nora was done, she was tired of feeling desperate and ruined. All she needed to do was hold steady, hold her nerve, and see this thing through. Patient, determined, sure: that’s where her focus needed to be. Somewhere between collapsing into sleep on the floor and waking up in their bed feeling rebuilt, Nora had come to her most critical, final decision: Whatever it takes, she was going to disarm Ghetto Dawn—for good.

  “I totally sound like the fluffer, don’t I?” Jenna said, giggling again.

  “Yeah, lady. You’re definitely the fluffer in this movie. Also? Gross. Never thought the day would ever come that I would say fluffer this much and not be talking about a sandwich.” Nora made sure to smile through her words. “Anyway, enough with the marshmallow cream stuff, Callaway. I’ve got to go take a shower, but . . . I love you, too.”

  “All right. Same page. Let me know if you need anything—wait, no. My phone and your eight hundred alarms will probably do that for you.”

  “Bye, Thelma,” Nora said, grinning.

  “Later, Louise.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Nora spotted Fisher first. He was sitting on the edge of a square black leather seat in the Institute lobby talking and laughing with the guard. She peered at him from around the corner, watching as he unleashed that laugh with his usual raised-chin-rolled-into-a-mellow-nod. He was wearing light gray suit pants, a slim-cut dark denim shirt with the sleeves rolled, and military-style desert boots, no socks. Nora loved how, even on a Saturday morning, he always looked pulled together. And that he was so dapper—the essence of dashing and good looks—long before she ever came along made his brand of cool all the more that.

  She walked out into the open and Fisher shot up from his seat, beaming. Nora smiled back, a true openmouthed kind of grin. Her heart picked up its beat as she walked the long, echoing path to him. She wanted to stop, just for a moment, and wait for this new pounding rhythm to calm down and level off. But she didn’t want to delay the feeling of his arms sliding around the low part of her back and his warm, soft mouth connected with her primed lips any more than she had already. She kept marching toward him, her high heels clacking along like the kick drum to the high-hat meter of her pulse. She needed to get there, standing in the middle of his breath, staring up at him, Fisher Beaumont, this man who made her heart leap out of her chest.

  He waved a hand at the guard and started his classic long-legged stride to meet Nora. He reached out for her two or three steps before they actually connected and as Fisher brought his face into hers, he said her name—Mack. It sounded like melted butter. The kiss was sweet and hungry and Nora felt it through the backs of her knees.

  “This is a nice surprise,” he said, and squeezed her waist softly. “You look good.”

  Nora had put a grand effort into every aspect of her appearance for the day. Her hair—washed and shiny and tousled—smelled fresh of vanilla and flowers. The rest of her brought in hints of ylang-ylang and lavender. She wore her Jason Wu floral fields jacquard day dress. She knew how much Fisher liked her in it. The way it hit her high on her upper thigh, “setting those legs free,” was the best part, he said. That, and the hidden back zipper; he had the most fun discovering it the first time she wore the puckered dress. Her makeup was detailed and flawless, leaving her face revived and radiant. This glow seemed to emanate from inside, right in the middle of her gut; it started just as Nora stepped out of her long shower. She could feel it, an energy fanning out, down her arms and legs out to her toes and fingertips as she rubbed in her lotion, brushed color over her cheekbones, lined her eyes, and slipped into her clothes. Even as she stood now, basking in Fisher’s doting gaze, it was there, smoldering inside.

  “I feel good,” she said.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” He broke the embrace and took her hand, lacing his fingers in hers as they walked back toward the guard. “I told Rowan I’d clear you through security. You’re good for entrance and exit.”

  Nora waved at the guard from the distance and tried to act like this wasn’t the very linchpin to everything that would happen next. Bypassing security would mean Nora could sidestep the unimaginable indignities she had already sketched out for herself and she’d walk right out of the Institute relatively unscathed. “How is Rowan anyway?” she asked, keeping her elation muffled and her wide eyes trained on her fiancé. Nora smiled and nodded as Fisher spoke, but she heard nothing beyond a few stray words about the guard’s nephew or his vacation or his commute from Queens or all of it jumbled together. She was only thinking about her next move and how to maintain an easy, golden smile throughout.

  Arm
in arm, the two sauntered down the long hall of doors, some open and others locked by keyless card entry. Nora dropped mental crumbs behind every tread. “Am I pulling you away from anything, babe?” she said, as they rounded the bend by the research storage lab. She slowed their walk to a pause just outside its door and turned to face Fisher, cupping her hand around his jaw and smoothing her thumb along the fine edge of it. She looked up at him and slid both arms over his shoulders, a loose wrap of her hands clasped at the back of his neck, and gently pulled him down into her. “I don’t want to get in the way,” she purred, dropping a hand and slipping it deep into his front pocket. Then she locked in on Fisher’s eyes and pressed her body into his, lightly running the tips of her fingers against the firmness beginning to throb in his pants.

  “Mmm, never,” Fisher said, husky and low, and buried his face in Nora’s neck.

  She used her other hand to guide his up the high hem of her dress, barely lifting it, and parted her legs slightly—enough for Fisher to feel that she wasn’t wearing any panties. Nora rocked her hip forward against his leg, back and forth, easy like an old, worn groove. She giggled and moaned and encouraged him to go on kissing her neck all while tilting her head, stealing glances at the lab door behind him. “I think we either need to stop right now,” Nora whispered, “or find a cold, slab table in one of these rooms.” She drew her face back to look at him, her brow raised.

  “You’re right. We should stop,” Fisher said. He stepped back from Nora, but stayed linked, holding her hand. “You really do look good, Mack. You look like you.”

  “Thanks, babe. I feel really good,” she said, and shoved the card key she had swiped from his pant pocket into a side slot on her purse.

  “Agree,” he said. The sly bite to his bottom lip faded into a sultry grin.

  “Now, now. Don’t start,” she said, swinging their hand bridge. “Seriously, I don’t want to keep you. I know you’re prepping for the board meeting Tuesday.”

  “Actually, it shouldn’t take me long to wrap up here. Did you want to stick around, grab some lunch?”

  “No, no. Like I said, I was just close by and wanted to stop in and hug you and kiss you and tell you that I cannot wait for Saturday.” They smiled at each other, giddy like middle schoolers at their first dance. “Plus, I’m on my way to wrap up some other client biz downtown and then it’s all wedding everything. Gotta do those vows. Right?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.”

  “Don’t worry, I believe you.”

  “Smart move,” he said with a nod. “I’m an honest guy. So, you sure you don’t want to just hang back and then we can go out or . . . find that cold slab table.”

  Nora laughed. “Like I’ve always said, it’s a little too clean in here for that kind of smut, sir.”

  “Fair.” He leaned in and rested his still-heated mouth on her forehead. “All right. Thanks for this treat, then. I’ll see you tonight?”

  “You know it.”

  “Do you need me to walk you out?”

  “Oh, God, no. I’m good.” Stay cool. “I’ll just make my own way. I know where to go,” she said with a wink.

  He kissed the tips of his fingers and wiggled them at her as he slowly backed away. She returned the tickle-wave. “Okay, you leave first,” Nora said. “My turn to watch you walk away.”

  And she did exactly that, staring at his back, silently apologizing over and over for what she was about to do.

  Once Fisher cleared the corner at the end of the long hallway, Nora waited another beat to be sure he was gone. Rummaging through her large purse came next. As she rolled the contents of the bag, searching for nothing, Nora took measured steps to the side. She even emptied her cosmetics case into the bottom of the bag to give her more time to casually root around and shuffle over to the left. With each toss of her Chanel lipsticks, her NARS compact, her Tracie Martyn cream, her La Mer mist, and her notebook and her pens and wallet and mints and sunglass case, Nora took a step closer to the lab’s locked door. She reached into her bag and pulled out her compact to check her undisturbed hair, as well as the view behind her through the tiny circle’s reflection.

  She was still alone.

  Nora reached into her bag again and took out Fisher’s lifted card. His key was one of just ten in the whole organization that was all-access. Over the years she had seen him press the steel gray card up to nearly every door in the Institute. She had even borrowed it a handful of times to move through the building—mainly in and out of his office—while waiting for him to finally go to dinner.

  She ruffled her hair, fluffing it out from the roots, and gave the quiet hallway another scan as she flipped her blond length from one side to the next.

  All quiet.

  She pushed out a hot, short breath that came from her tummy. Just do it. Do it. Nora swished the card over the small black panel with a swift flick of her wrist.

  Bong-bong. Click.

  It was open.

  Inside, the door shut behind her with a loud slam. The room was freezing, with dim lights that got brighter the farther Nora stepped into the space. She didn’t know how much time she had before someone who actually worked in the lab buzzed by on official business or whether Fisher would soon realize his key card is lost and start scrolling back through the digital security log on his computer to see where he last used it and maybe “misplaced it.”

  Nora sprang into action, first dragging the hair tie off her wrist and using it to gather her hair back and out of the way. Next, she pulled out a pair of latex gloves from the front pocket of her bag and slipped them on, then reached for the small, sealable medical waste pouch that she had stashed in the hidden compartment of her purse. In it was a pre-sterilized, amber glass vial with glass dropper. Both the container and the vial were pinched from the other first-aid box, the forgotten one at the bottom of Fisher’s wardrobe, near his old rugby cleats, half-full of leave-behinds from craving medical supply reps eager to land the Beaumont account.

  She had read before, back when Fisher first mentioned polonium, that it can leave a residue on anything with which it comes in contact. She couldn’t be sure if the lab’s less radioactive substitute would also leave a trail, so she took precautions and packed them in her purse.

  Everything in the lab, from the white cabinets to the chrome sink and fixtures, was spotless. Even the epoxy resin countertops had an impeccable shine. Nora didn’t know which of the three extra-wide aisles to turn down. She took a half-minute to do a visual sweep of each corner of the room and spotted a row of tall, narrow, stainless-steel refrigerators to the far right; she went there first. The two fridges closest to her opened as one would at home. But the third one in the lineup had a key card panel affixed to the front of it.

  “Of course,” Nora sneered. “This is probably the one. Fuck.” She shook her head, angry at her own carelessness, her stupidity. She had not planned for additional locks.

  Nora reached around to the side pocket of her bag for Fisher’s keycard. What if there’s a silent alarm? What if there’s a different key to get in? She wanted to drive a heel into the face of this fridge. Instead she pounded her latex-covered fist into her leg. The vein by her temple started throbbing, and the top of her back was damp under her pretty dress. She could hear her breath getting ragged. She looked down the lab’s aisle at the door. There was no going back, she knew this, but the urge to run was filling up her lungs. To bolt out of this cold room and keep going until her legs stopped working felt like the only logical thing to do. But she also knew that there was no time or place for logic. Desperation had made sure of that. All she had left was this, and seeing it through was the only way.

  She glanced at the key in her hand and back at the door in the distance.

  And then, swipe.

  Buzz.

  Clunk.

  It worked. The fridge door popped open. But she couldn’t afford even a wafer of relief and kept moving forward. Locating the compound was easy; everything was alp
habetical. A change instituted by Rock Beaumont when he took over all R&D operations thirteen months back. Nora overheard most of the conference call about this decision while lying in the bed as Fisher sat on the very edge of it, talking to both of his brothers and the soon-to-be former head of R&D. She and Fisher were supposed to be vacationing, taking in Kalymnos and maybe one or two of the other Greek Islands, but ended up cutting the trip short because of an emergency board meeting that sent them jetting over to Geneva. Fisher tried to tell Nora that the alphabetization of the lab was the most minor of points on the list of topics to be addressed in the meeting, but she didn’t buy it. And she would often make jokes with Fisher behind Rock’s back about nearly causing a coup over the alphabet. “Today’s revolt is brought to you by the letter R.”

  As careful-quick as possible, Nora added twenty drops—then a few more on top—of the lethal mixture to her vial and sealed it up in the pouch before gently sliding it back into the hidden compartment of her roomy handbag. The next steps spun out in a blur. Fridge closed. Gloves off. Door open. Hair down. Hasty steps down the hall.

  The main exit was in her view, like the finish line of a grueling marathon. The sweat pooled at the base of her bra. Her knees trembled and she feared her legs would soon start wobbling. Nora was panting, but tried to keep her gait natural, smooth, unremarkable.

  And like a gunshot, she heard it ring out behind her: “Mack?”

  She spun on her heels and almost toppled over. “Oh, hey, hi,” she said, sounding breathy and startled. Nora put a hand up against the nearest wall to catch her balance.

  Fisher rushed over to her. “You all right there?” he said, still on his way to her.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Nora gripped her handbag strap. “I just . . . I was . . . my head was in the clouds. You caught me by surprise.”