Escape

by Francine Pascal

  With that, she leaned over and gave Sam an awkward peck on the cheek. She backed out of the room, wearing a tragically uncomfortable smile, and then she closed the door behind her.

  It took Sam ten minutes to find the will to move. He managed to drag himself over to the chair, where he plopped himself down and then once again lost his will to move.

  Freaking Whale Flippers

  MISTAKE. THIS IS ALL A MISTAKE. What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?

  Gaia threw yet another one of Tatiana’s lipsticks on the bathroom floor and washed her entire face again until it was practically raw. She looked back up at her chalky face in the mirror and seriously considered spitting at it. She pictured Sam’s face again and the pain floating just behind that forced smile of his. Was this what he had come back from the dead for? To hide in the closet while Gaia went out with her new boyfriend? A date? A goddamn date? Was that really what she needed to be doing right now? A date while her father was out there somewhere with no one to protect him? A date to rub right in Sam’s smiling face? A date that had compelled her to put on a freaking dress?

  The dress. Jesus H. Christ, the dress. She’d found the black dress that her father had given her in Paris, but somehow it had ended up crumpled into a ball inside a shopping bag inside another crumpled-up ball of clothes inside a shopping bag. She’d tried to unwrinkle the dress by throwing it in the bathroom with the shower running scalding hot, but all that had left her with was a scalding hot, wet, wrinkled dress. Not to mention the need to stretch the top of the dress higher and the bottom lower every fifteen seconds. Not to mention the two pork loins she had for hips that the dress was apparently designed to enlarge.

  She’d tried to pull her hair back in one of Tatiana’s hair things, but navigating a hair thing was like trying to operate a goddamn space shuttle. And shoes? Please. She couldn’t possibly have fit her freaking whale flippers into any of Tatiana’s Sex and the City shoes, which left her with only the wrinkled-up clunky shoes her father had bought her to go with her wrinkled-up dress.

  She shut her eyes and pulled a lipstick back out of the pile she’d created and slapped it on. She shoved her hair under the running water for two seconds, swung her head back up, and rubbed a towel through her hair.

  Yes, as she looked at herself in the mirror, she could think of only one word. Ugly. The whole evening was all so very ugly. And tomorrow was only going to get uglier. She flipped off the light and slammed the bathroom door shut.

  She felt painfully nauseous as she passed Sam’s door in the hallway on her way out. She nearly tripped on her own shoes stepping into the elevator. Why are you doing this to me, Ed? Why?

  She clomped slowly out of her lobby, ignoring the ghoulish stare of her doorman, and then leaned back against the stone wall of her building. She wondered whether or not she looked like a French hooker. She’d have given a thousand dollars to be in jeans and a sweatshirt right now. There was only one explanation for the invention of the dress: public humiliation. That made sense, she supposed. This whole fiasco was just a massive punishment for agreeing to the date.

  It was five minutes after eight and still no sign of Ed.

  A date. What on earth did Gaia know about a date? What was supposed to be so romantic about putting on clothes and spending a bunch of money on all sorts of elaborate nonsense? Gaia’s idea of romance was. . . well, Gaia really had no idea of romance. Love, she knew something about. But what did love have to do with all this dating crap? No, this was ridiculous. This was an unfathomable waste of time that she desperately needed for planning. Whenever Ed showed up, not only would she have to call it off, but she would have to tell him a thing or two about her opinions on dating. She would have to tell him that this kind of crap was for mindless idiots with nothing better to—

  “Gaia!” Ed called from the end of the block.

  Gaia turned angrily to follow Ed’s voice. And then she saw him. She saw him stand up out of an old-fashioned carriage, which was being pulled slowly down Seventy-second Street by a majestic white horse.

  He was wearing a suit. A slim black suit, a white shirt, and a gray silk tie. He had a huge bouquet of red roses in one hand, a huge heart-shaped box of chocolates in the other, and between both hands. . . a huge wheel of cheese. And he was grinning from ear to ear.

  For reasons beyond her understanding, Gaia was immediately compelled to cover her face in shame. Because a smile had spread across her lips in spite of everything she believed about dating. In spite of everything she’d just been through in the last hour. . . her heart was suddenly melting.

  Her boyfriend was a genius. His portrait of cheap clichéd romance had instantly dismantled her defenses. And whatever she might have been feeling exactly one and a half seconds ago, she had already forgotten it.

  Gaia quickly adjusted her embarrassingly gleeful smile and greeted Ed with a straight face. “Making an entrance, I see,” she mumbled.

  Never in her life had she seen Ed in a suit. She wondered if he’d ever even worn a suit before. But the contrast of his wild, crunched-up black hair and the slim, tailored suit made him look awfully charming. . . . All right, he looked beautiful. Gaia’s boyfriend was beautiful.

  Ed still hadn’t said a word as he stood there, staring at her.

  “What?” she snapped defensively.

  Ed stepped back from Gaia and stared at her, wide-eyed. “You look absolutely—”

  “Let’s not even go there,” Gaia interrupted.

  “You’re right,” Ed said. “I’d never shut up. Well, in case you haven’t noticed, tonight is a night for romance.” Ed raised his right eyebrow and rolled his r.

  Gaia’s hand jumped to her mouth to try and cover her chuckle. She was still trying to hide how helplessly enchanted she was by this whole ludicrous production.

  “Yes,” Ed continued, “as I’m sure you can see, there are red roses, a huge box of chocolates, and a hansom cab driven by a crusty yet benign old salt named Jeeves. We shall dine in the hip, romantic, catacomb-like confines of Chez Es Saada, to be followed by a trip to the Screening Room, where we will see what I consider to be the most romantic movie of all time: Harold and Maude. Yes, it shall be the most romantic and cheesiest night of your life, and so I present to you this ceremonial Wheel of Cheese.”

  Gaia accepted the surprisingly heavy wheel of cheddar cheese and bowed her head slightly in thanks. “No one has ever given me cheese,” she noted.

  “Oh, there’s so much more where that came from,” Ed assured her. His eyes suddenly turned just a tad insecure. “You do. . . like cheese. . . don’t you?”

  Gaia looked down at all her gifts and then back up at Ed’s inquisitive face. “Apparently I do,” she said.

  Ed’s shoulders slumped forward with relief. “Thank God.” He sighed. He turned back to the driver. “Jeeves. She likes cheese.”

  “Right,” the driver replied, shrugging confusedly.

  Ed turned back to Gaia. “Well. . . shall we go?” He tossed the roses into the hand with the chocolates and offered his elbow to her.

  And they rode off. Clip clopping in the cool air down Seventy-second Street, headed for the brightly lit skyline of the West Side. Gaia had forgotten about absolutely everything but Ed. And she hoped she’d never remember.

  five-foot nose ring

  The entire restaurant seemed to roll its eyes in unison.

  From: ruskiegirl@alloymail.com

  To: megan21@alloymail.com

  cc: tammiejammie@alloymail.com

  Time: 9:22 P.M.

  Re: the party

  Hello, ladies. Had some ideas for the party. Let me know what you think:

  I saw a beautiful huge parchment book at Kate’s Paperie tonight. I thought it might be nice to set up a table where everyone could write encouraging messages to Heather. We could send the book to Heather at her special school. I can pick it up tomorrow if you like the idea.

  Also, I know this may sound a bit cheesy, but big bunches of black and whi
te balloons could look very elegant and help assure people that this is a festive event and that they shouldn’t feel sorry for anyone.

  I’m around tonight if you have any ideas. (Don’t worry, Gaia’s not home, so you won’t have to deal with any more awkward confrontations.)

  I’m working on a few sketches for possible decorations. And what do you think about white roses? I’m a huge fan. I can get a great deal down on Fulton Street.

  Quick Hello

  DON’T DO IT AGAIN. YOU’VE ALREADY checked the clock a thousand times. If you check it again, you will have entered the Pantheon of Losers.

  It was nine-thirty and Gaia had been gone an hour and a half. That really wasn’t a very long time to be on a date, Sam supposed, but from where he was sitting, it felt like it had been about three days.

  And hadn’t Gaia said they were going to keep it short? As far as Sam could recall, once a date hit two hours, that was no longer “keeping it short.” That was pretty much a standard date length. Unless they were going to a movie, too. But going to a movie wouldn’t be “keeping it short,” either. Or what if instead of a movie, they’d just decided to go back to Ed’s place? Was that Gaia’s idea of “keeping it short”? No. No matter how you sliced it, they’d officially passed the “keeping it short” time limit. Or at least. . . they would be past it at the two-hour mark.

  But by the time Sam had finished thinking this through, the clock already said 9:34. They were already past the “half hour until two hours” mark. She obviously wasn’t going to keep it short. She’d probably made some faint attempt to call it a night and Ed had probably talked her out of it. He’d probably charmed her into some kind of “perfect date” hypnotic trance, and she’d completely lost track of time. She’d probably remember what time it was when she woke up in his bed tomorrow morning. . . .

  Okay, now you’re overdoing it. Just give her time. She’s still got twenty minutes. She’ll probably be back before then.

  Unless something was wrong.

  Maybe she had already cut the date short? Maybe she had cut it short after an hour and 457 had already gotten his hands on her again? Maybe he had more men with him this time? Maybe she’d finally lost a fight?

  Maybe he needed to call her.

  Just a quick call. This was exactly what the cell phones were for. Just to check in. For safety purposes. It wasn’t like he’d be calling to check up on Ed and Gaia or interrupt their date. He was just being. . . responsible.

  Sam dropped his book to the floor and ripped the cell phone from his pocket. He had already programmed Gaia’s number into his phone and his number into hers. He held his thumb over the send button, and then he hesitated.

  But any internal arguments he was having became moot, anyway. His thumb had made up its mind before he had. It had already pressed down on the send button, and he had done nothing to stop it.

  Just a quick hello. Just a two-second check-in to be sure she was all right. . .

  Painfully Shrill

  CHEZ ES SAADA WAS ALIVE AND kicking with New York’s urban elite—couples at the tables, huge parties at the bar, candlelit stone arches, and elegant iron lanterns and even bits of stained glass adorning the walls. The underground atmosphere couldn’t have been more perfect. Festive and romantic. Filled with life, yet still private. And Gaia was taking it all in. Enjoying herself, in fact. Immersing herself in the moment. Sipping wine, enjoying her food, even letting Ed feed her grapes every now and again when she was sure no one was watching. It was the quintessential, picture-perfect, ideal New York night on the town.

  Until the phone rang.

  The ear-piercing electronic shriek of a cell phone seemed to rattle the entire restaurant. But since Gaia had always defined herself as a non-cell-phone person, the entire restaurant was forced to suffer through three painfully shrill rings before Ed finally noticed that they seemed to be coming from Gaia’s bag.

  “Is that yours?” Ed asked.

  “I guess it is,” Gaia muttered, shoving her hands down into the little handbag she’d borrowed from Tatiana and fumbling with every single unidentifiable button as it continued to scream at her. The entire restaurant seemed to roll its eyes in unison. Gaia was ready to pound the thing against the table like a hammer just to shut it up. “Just let me. . . Jesus, how do you turn this goddamn thing—”

  “Why don’t you answer it?” Ed asked, wondering if she knew how.

  She glimpsed the flashing green readout. Flashing in bold black letters over and over was one small word:

  SAM. . . SAM. . . SAM . . .

  He’d programmed his name in with his number. Oh, crap. Was that really necessary? I’ve got a photographic memory, for God’s sake. I don’t need any help remembering numbers. Gaia cursed the day that some hopeless paranoid bastard had invented caller ID. Now Sam’s name was flashing over and over for anyone with decent eyesight to see. She hadn’t thought for a second about the phone. She hadn’t thought to turn the ringer off before dinner or just to turn the whole phone off. Sam, on the other hand, seemed to have thought of everything.

  “Here,” Ed said, reaching for the phone. “Let me help—”

  “No,” Gaia snapped, pulling the phone out of Ed’s reach He looked positively bewildered, if not suspicious. Gaia felt her entire chest cave in with guilt. “I can do it,” she insisted, trying in vain to gloss over the horribly awkward moment with anger. She took one long hard look at the phone and finally realized that there was a small button on the left that read reject. She slammed her thumb down on the button to reject the call and finally breathed in the glorious silence.

  The diners slowly returned to their meals, all of them shaking their heads in condescending disapproval. But Ed was now frozen in place. He wasn’t even breathing. He just stared at Gaia, his mouth slightly agape, and his eyes scrunched into a mild squint “When did you get a cell phone?” he asked, as if she had just pierced her nose with a five-foot nose ring. “I thought you hated cell phones. . . ?”

  “It was a gift,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “From. . .?”

  Gaia had never lied to Ed for any other reason than to protect him. And that was the only reason she was going to lie to him now. At least. . . she was pretty sure that was the only reason. . . . No, of course, that was the only reason. Keeping Sam a secret was protecting everyone—Ed, Sam, even Gaia. Until Gaia could understand exactly who the threat was and exactly how much danger everyone was in, she wasn’t going to take any chances. Keeping Sam a secret was a basic rule they had set from the beginning, and if she broke it even once, she knew she would end up regretting it.

  That did not mean, however, that lying to Ed didn’t make her feel violently ill and even guiltier than she already was, if that was possible. “It was a gift. . . from Natasha,” she said, forcing her eyes to stay glued to Ed’s even though she was dying to crawl under the table. But Ed knew her too well. He would have picked up on the slightest hitch in her speech, the slightest pause or aversion of the eyes. She had to stare him down on this one. It was her only hope. “Yeah,” she went on, “Natasha kind of freaked out after everything that’s gone down in the past few weeks. . . and so she gave me this cell phone in order to check in with me. It’s kind of a pain in the ass, but you know how it is—sometimes it’s kind of hard to track me down. . . .”

  “Oh, I know how it is,” Ed assured her with increasing sarcasm.

  Go ahead, Ed. Just hate me. You might as well.

  “Yeah, well. . . that was her calling,” Gaia muttered. In spite of all her guilt, she knew she needed to call Sam back. What if 457 had already broken down the door to her house? What if Sam was backed up against a wall, looking for a way out? She needed to call him back right now. “I should probably call Natasha back,” she went on. “You know. . . just to . . .” At this point Gaia felt so guilty about the date, she was practically looking to Ed for permission to make a phone call.

  “Go ahead,” Ed encouraged her. “It might be entertain
ing to watch you play the role of the dutiful surrogate daughter.”

  “But. . . I also need to use the bathroom,” Gaia added. This had to be her record for lying.

  “Well, Gaia . . .” Ed stared blankly into her eyes. “You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”

  Gaia had no idea what that was supposed to mean. And she had a feeling that Ed didn’t quite know, either. But she knew that his words were cold. And deliberate. And as harmless as it was, Ed’s little comment somehow felt like the coldest thing he had ever said to her. Because it was the first time in their entire relationship that Ed had been cold to Gaia without Gaia being cold first. And that was a bad sign. That was a really, really bad sign.

  “I’ll be right back,” she promised.

  One quick phone call to Sam and then she was going to come back and fix this entire relationship.

  Runaway Psyche

  HE MUST HAVE SAT THROUGH AT least eight rings before he got transferred to some generic voicemail message.

  Eight rings. Eight rings. What was she doing? What the hell were she and Ed doing that she couldn’t stop for one second and just pick up the phone?

  Sam instantly regretted his own question. He’d only invited in a series of images that he’d been working arduously to avoid.

  The cell phone was probably nowhere near Gaia’s person. It was probably lying on the floor of a hallway in Ed’s apartment. Inside a purse or maybe in the pocket of Gaia’s pants. Which were probably crumpled up next to Ed’s pants. Next to their shoes. And their socks. And their underwear. And whatever else they’d left in a long, haphazard trail as they crashed along the walls, kissing passionately on the way to Ed’s bedroom. . .

  Jesus, Sam, will you give it a rest!

  Sam hurled the phone against the cushy chair and plopped down onto the bed. He had to get ahold of his completely inappropriate, totally immature, runaway psyche. The facts were the facts, life goes on, and whatever other clichés he wanted to throw in there. Gaia had every right to be on a date, and to love Ed, and to ignore a ringing cell phone. They weren’t leaving until morning, and she could spend this evening however she needed to or wanted to. It was time for Sam to stop clock-watching and shove a stopper in all his nostalgic fantasies.