Tragic Beauty

by Iris Ann Hunter

  I shrink back when I hear the tinge of a beast. I’m already moving backwards when he slams the door, his car still idling, and storms towards me.

  “I asked what the hell are you doing out here?”

  He’s in front of me now, the fear so strong I can’t move, because through the glare of lights I can see he’s a big man, tall, with wide shoulders. Not a man I can likely get away from. I blink when I see what he’s wearing—a tuxedo. I’ve never seen a man in a tuxedo before.

  Then I see a whisper of something else. Something that not even the shadows can hide. I see it in the hard line of his jaw, in the glint of his angry eyes. He’s handsome. The kind of handsome that has me staring, like I’m under some kind of spell.

  He narrows his gaze, running it up and down my body, like he can’t figure out who or what I am. “What’s the matter, you fucking deaf?”

  The spell is broken and I take a step back, but glare at him. “My car broke down.”

  “Fuck,” he swears, running a hand through is soaked hair. “You’re supposed to stay in the car. Call a tow truck. Not fucking walk on the side of the freeway, at night, dressed like a—”

  He waves his hand at my clothes and I hug myself tighter. My dress is so short, you can barely even see it. Yeah. I know what I look like. That had been the whole point.

  “Don’t you have a cell phone?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “You don’t have a—?” His mouth hangs open and he mutters something about his own cell being dead. “Jesus. Tonight of all fucking nights.”

  He spins and marches to his car. “Get in!” he snaps over his shoulder.

  I do nothing but stand there.

  He turns around. “I said get in! I don’t have time for this shit.”

  I ball my hands into fists and storm past his stupid fancy car. Through the heavy pounding of rain I hear a loud string of cursing behind me, but I keep moving, more determined than ever. Still, I can’t help the fresh tears that begin to fall.

  Then he’s there, striding past me, blocking me.

  “Go away!” I choke, my body shaking so hard I think I might fall.

  The stranger stands there for a moment, our faces merely shadows in the dark. “Look, I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, but I’m not about to add leaving a woman stranded in the rain on the side of the freeway, to the list. Now please, I’m asking nicely. Get in the goddamn car.”

  Something in the way his voice has softened calms me down. I stare past him at the darkness that waits, then turn back to him, doing my best to size him up when all I can see is his outline. He isn’t happy at having to stop for me, so probably doesn’t have abduction or something worse on his mind. And there’s something in his voice…something I want to trust.

  So I turn back. When I get to his car, he’s already opening the door for me. The dome light comes on and I notice the finely stitched, black leather seats. I look down at my wet clothes and hesitate.

  “In,” he snaps.

  I sink into the leather and he closes the door. Seconds later, he’s sliding into the driver’s seat. It feels intimate, nothing but the lights of the dash illuminating the interior. It smells of new car and expensive cologne. I hear him breathing, as though he’s trying to control it, slow it down. I force back the tears and sit quietly, shaking. He must notice, because he reaches over and turns on the heater.

  “Where to?” he asks.

  I look down at my hands. “I’m…not sure. I’m not from around here.” My voice is so small I wonder if he heard it, but I know he did, because his hand shoots to his forehead and rubs at his temple.

  “The nearest gas station,” I say quickly, the only thing I can think of.

  Without a word, he checks the side mirror and pulls on to the road. Moments later we breeze past the Lexus.

  “That it?” he asks.

  I nod.

  We drive in silence while I stare out the window, catching glimpses of a stormy ocean as it blurs by. “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “For what?”

  I look over at his tux—his drenched tux.

  He looks down at his clothes and shrugs.

  “And now you’re late,” I say, knowing he probably had somewhere to go, all dressed up like that and as mad as he was at having to stop for me.

  “Worse things have happened.”

  I turn back to the window, watching the rain streak across the glass.

  More silence.

  “Where are you from?” he asks.

  “A little ways north.”

  I catch his gaze drift to my legs, almost obscene beneath the jacket. “Where were you headed?”

  The implications of what he asks aren’t hard to miss. Dressed like that, is what he meant to add.

  “Doesn’t matter now.”

  Thankfully, he doesn’t press. The rest of the drive is quiet. Eventually, lights come into view and he takes an exit, where a rickety looking gas station sits at the end of the off-ramp. There’s nothing else in sight. It’s the very outskirts of Goleta, a northern suburb of Santa Barbara, and still mostly surrounded by open space.

  He pulls in, the smooth low rumble of the engine purring as he brings the car to a stop beneath the overhang and out of the rain.

  I’m surprised the place is closed, but when I glance to the clock on the dash, I see it’s a little after nine. He glances that way too, and I can tell by the pressing of his lips that he’s indeed late after all.

  “There’s a pay phone on the side,” he says.

  I nod and reach for my purse, then turn to him. The lights of the station illuminate the car and I can see his face more clearly now. I see a man maybe in his thirties, with sharp green eyes that linger on me quietly. Stubble darkens his jaw—a jaw that clenches tighter and tighter, the longer I look at him. But I keep looking, because I can’t stop. My eyes graze over soft lips and a scar along his left cheekbone and another over his right eyebrow. His hair is black, wet and slicked back, with a few strands hanging over his temple. That’s when I realize, he’s not just handsome, he’s beautiful. And for some reason, he seems familiar, like I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place it.

  I watch him study me in return, his eyes lingering on my face, then darkening as they drift down my legs, then back up again. I can only imagine what I look like, with long wet hair plastered to my head and mascara trailing down my face. Even so, there’s a shift in his gaze, a subtle flaring of the nostril. The silence in the car becomes deafening.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, unable to bear the quiet.

  “You going to be alright?” he asks, his voice deeper than before. “You have someone to call?”

  I nod and open the door, the cold wrapping its grip around me once more. After I shut the door and step back, the car lingers for a moment, then slowly pulls away until the tail lights disappear from view with a rev of the engine and a squeal of the tires. I hug my jacket tight and walk into the rain and over to the pay phone. I’m just about to reach for the handle when I see the little, white, slip of paper.

  Out of order.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It was raining the day my mom left, and cold, just like it is now. I was nine years old and even to this day I can remember, with aching clarity, how the drops stung my face when I went running after my mom down the driveway, begging for her to stay. Behind me, back in the house, my father was destroying everything he could get his hands on. I remember the way my throat burned from screaming out in desperation that I would be perfect, be the best daughter, but the shiny blue Mustang just kept on going, my mom’s head fixed resolutely straight ahead. That’s when I’d learned that words didn’t matter. They never mattered. When the car disappeared from view I was standing at the end of the driveway, sobbing. I’d never been so terrified in my life—not even when I made the deal with Shayne…until now.

  It’s all I can do to collapse gently, the wet pavement hard and unforgiving against my knees, the rain a cold, cruel blanket around my
shoulders. I fall forward and clutch the metal base of the pay phone, clinging to it as though it’s a life preserver. My body heaves and shakes as giant sobs begin to roll through me, feeling like I’m out in the middle of that dark ocean with the storm tossing me all around.

  Through the despair, I hear a voice. A small voice—my voice—inside my head, trying to get through to me, trying to tell me everything will be okay. But there’s a stronger voice shouting that it won’t. That things will never be okay. My cries drown them both out. I’m too tired to argue with myself. Too tired to do anything but sit there and fall apart. And so I let myself drift, my body numb from the rain and the cold, my mind too far gone to do much of anything. I’ve been here before—that day all those years ago, when I was a crumpled heap of a child on a wet gravel driveway, wondering how I’d ever get through life.

  Somewhere in the distance, I become vaguely aware of the purr of an engine, of a door being opened, of crinkling paper above me. I hear whispered cursing, then a moment later, strong arms slide under my body, lifting me. My head falls against wet fabric while I tremble uncontrollably. It isn’t until I’m being carefully placed onto a warm leather seat that I slowly start to come back around. A belt encases me with a click, then something dark and warm is being placed over my legs—a tuxedo jacket.

  He’s next to me now, back in the driver’s seat. Around me, heat seeps into the air and a finger gently pushes wet hair away from my face.

  “How can I help?” a deep voice asks. Only this time it isn’t angry, it’s tender.

  I shake my head, trying to catch my breath. When I speak, my voice is choked, the words disjointed. “You—you can’t. Not unless you’re a mechanic and can fi—fix my car, which isn’t mine, but m—my neighbors. I—I have to be home tomorrow morning, early. If I’m not—” I bury my head down, the words too painful to get out.

  “It’s taken care of.”

  I look over at him as the car starts moving. “Wh—what do you mean?”

  “You’ll see.”

  We’re on the freeway again, headed south. I have questions, but don’t have the strength to ask them. A few minutes later, he’s pulling in front of a two-story building with some cars parked out front. Above the garage door is a large sign that says Burt’s Shop in big block letters, with ‘If you need to ask how much, then find someone else to fix it,’ written underneath.

  He parks the car, letting it idle, and opens his hand. “Keys.”

  I blink, then reach into my purse and place them in his palm. Without a word, he gets out of the car, climbs the steps on the side, to a landing on the second level, and knocks on a door. I can’t see who answers, but I can see him talking and handing over my keys. Then he’s walking down the steps and back to the car, and I can’t help but notice how the rain is making his white dress shirt stick to his skin, revealing hints of rolling, hard muscle. Something shifts between my legs. A sort of warming, tingly sensation that creeps throughout my body until my heart beats a little faster.

  When he settles back into the car, my breath shortens.

  “Alright,” he says. “Car’s going to be picked up. He’ll fix it and have it back to my house before morning.”

  I stare at him. “I—I can’t pay for…”.

  “On the house.” He cocks his head, eyeing me with an odd mix of arrogance and something like concern. “Anything else?”

  I don’t know what to say. Then my stomach rumbles, loudly.

  “Hungry, eh? Well, I can fix that too.”

  “Why are you doing this? You don’t even know me.”

  He sighs and looks down. “I should’ve made sure you were okay. I shouldn’t have left you.”

  “But—your plans tonight. I thought…”

  “I hate those things anyway.”

  He reaches up, undoes his bowtie, letting it hang around his neck, then lets loose the top two buttons of his shirt. Then he puts the car in gear, and for the first time, offers a smile. It’s crooked, mischievous and downright stunning.

  Seconds later we’re on the freeway again, headed south once more. He looks my way and his voice rumbles through the car. “You said you aren’t from around here, so figure I’ll take you to my house. You can take a warm shower and get into some dry clothes.” He shoots me a look. “That alright?”

  I nod and turn to gaze out the window, feeling strange. I’m not used to people doing such nice things for me. The Hanley’s have been the only ones.

  “So, what’s your name?” he asks.

  “Ava.” I look to him.

  “Gavin.”

  Our eyes connect for a moment, and it seems like he’s waiting for something, then with a slightly puzzled look on his face he turns back to the road. He grows quiet, seemingly in his thoughts, but that’s alright. I’m not one for conversation.

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re pulling into a long driveway at the top of a hill, the twinkling lights of Santa Barbara surrounding us below. Around a bend, a modern, split level house appears, that has me staring. It’s made of tinted glass with shiny metal and black wood, all put together at weird angles, and surrounded by pretty landscaping and outdoor lights that cast crazy sorts of shadows.

  I’m still staring when a click sounds, and one of two large garage doors opens. Gavin pulls in slowly, the car rumbling low and beefy, next to three others that sit quietly. They’re all shiny and look expensive, especially the exotic one that sits low to the ground.

  When he shuts the car off, I get out and stand. I’m so weak my body wobbles on the heels, but I manage to keep my balance. Off to the side, he opens a door and waits. I walk past him, avoiding his eyes, and hand him his tuxedo jacket as I step into a hallway. Now I’m staring again, only this time at copper walls and some sort of black flooring. It looks almost like concrete, but it’s shiny. And it’s all glowing from a soft light that drifts from somewhere above and below the walls. The effect is striking.

  When I feel his presence behind me, I walk forward, my heels clicking loudly over the floor.

  Gavin steps alongside and reaches out his hand. “Your jacket.”

  I suddenly remember what I’m wearing underneath and shake my head.

  He frowns. “Come on, hand it over. You’re soaked.”

  I swallow and look down. Water runs off my coat and onto his polished floor. Slowly, I take it off. I avoid his eyes when I hand it over and wrap my arms around myself to cover up.

  I look down, not sure what else to do, then notice drops are still hitting the floor. When I look up, Gavin’s just standing there, jacket in hand, staring at me.

  His eyes are dark and moving over me, down the plunging neckline of my dress to my waist that’s cinched up tight, and on to my legs. My skin feels hot, like a fever is grabbing hold. I watch him blink, watch the color in his face deepen, then he closes his eyes and turns with a shake of his head.

  “Fuck,” he mutters.

  It isn’t until he’s hung my coat and is walking down the hallway that I realize I kind of liked his eyes on me.

  I hurry to catch up and follow him through the house. There’s not much to it in terms of furniture, and what’s there, is clean and minimal. There’s not even so much as a picture frame, or a piece of art on the wall. But as we pass by a living room, with walls that meet at odd angles, then up a curving metal staircase that hangs from cables attached to the ceiling, I realize, the house is the art.

  We go down another copper hallway when Gavin stops at a door. He opens it and switches on the light, revealing a room with dark silver walls and a large bed flanked by a couple metal nightstands, and a black writing desk along the opposite wall.

  “Shower’s through there,” he motions with a point of his finger. “I’ll lay out some dry clothes for you on the bed.”

  He leaves without a glance and disappears through double doors at the end of the hall that must lead to the master.

  I turn back to the room and walk inside. My shoes come off first and the soft grey carpet feels like
heaven under my feet. I slide my fingers across the smooth finish of the desk, and over the shiny charcoal bedspread.

  Slowly, I make my way into the bathroom and freeze, staring at the reflection in the mirror. I know around me is striking black marble, and silvery stone, and a glass shower off to the side, but all I see is a girl with wet hair in a slutty dress, staring back at me through puffy blue eyes. I was right about the mascara.

  I turn around and peek into the bedroom, and see he still hasn’t returned, so I shut the door and start the shower. My dress is soaked through and I have to peel it off like a second skin. When I step into the warm water, coming at me through three different shower heads, the numbness turns to a tingle and the cold begins to melt away. I close my eyes and can’t help but think of Gavin. The way he carried me like I weighed nothing. The way his deep voice rumbled in the car. The way the shirt stuck to him in the rain. I grab the soap and run my hands over my body, wishing they were his hands. I’ve never thought this way about a man before. Maybe because I’ve never met anyone like Gavin. I dip my head under the water, wondering if maybe things might turn out okay after all.

  A little while later, I feel like myself again, my face clean and my hair hanging straight and dry around my shoulders, thanks to a hair dryer I found under the sink. I peek through the door, and see a grey Metallica t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants on the bed. The main door to the room is closed, so I walk out in my towel and when I reach the bed, I notice the pants look freshly cut at the bottom, to fit me. It’s a simple gesture, but somehow feels like so much more. I take the t-shirt and press it against my face. It’s soft and smells like fabric softener. I breathe in deep, trying to guess the scent. Fresh linen maybe.

  After I’m dressed, I open the door and peer into the hallway. It’s quiet, until I hear some clanking from downstairs. I follow the noise, down the metal staircase, and past the living room, until I stop and turn back. I stand there, staring at a low, glass fireplace that extends the entire length of the wall. I know there’s a sleek grey sectional in front of it, and a coffee table made of shattered glass, and even a view beyond the wall of sliders, but all I can do is stare at the fire—the whole length of the wall. I’m still staring when another clank sounds from down the hall, reminding me of where I was headed.