by R. R. Banks
“You okay?”
I glance up, and Haley is looking closely at me, her eyes locked to mine. There’s a curious expression on her face and I can see her trying to get into my head.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I laugh.
“Who were you thinking about?” she prompts.
“What? Nobody.”
“Yeah, that’s bullshit,” she replies. “That little smile on your face is saying otherwise.”
“Stop deflecting,” I try to steer the conversation back on topic. “We’re talking about you and Darla and –”
“You’re right. I’m going to have to open up that conversation with her. And I will,” she cuts me off. “Now, onto that enigmatic smile on your face. What – or more accurately, who – is that all about?”
“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She narrows her eyes, a predatory grin on her face. “Tell me. What’s her name?”
“There is no her.”
Haley purses her lips and looks up at the ceiling for a moment, as if she’s thinking hard and trying to remember.
“You haven’t seen anybody new in a while,” she mutters to herself. “You work, you come home and read – you don’t do anything.”
“There you have it,” I quip. “There isn’t anybody –”
A leonine smile spreads across her lips. “Oh my God. It’s the girl from the video. The writer you were protecting. It’s her, am I right?”
“You are reaching here. Really reaching.”
“No, not at all,” she crows. “It makes perfect sense. It explains why you’ve been so moody the last few days.”
“I’ve been moody because she’s irritating.”
“You like little miss Pulitzer,” Haley chirps in a sing song voice.
I stand up and step into my walk-in closet, grabbing my shoes. She’s still laughing and singing childish songs as I sit down on the small bench outside the closet to put them on. I just chuckle and shake my head.
“You have been walking around with this look on your face the last few days,” she says. “I haven’t been able to figure it out until now.”
“That look is because that woman is annoying as hell,” I explain. “She’s naïve, stubborn, and has a penchant for making really stupid decisions.”
“And has apparently caught your interest.”
“She has not,” I protest.
Haley laughs. “In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen anybody get under your skin like this.”
“Like what?” I object. “I haven’t even mentioned her until you brought her up.”
“And what you haven’t said speaks volumes.”
I flash her a grin. “It’s not even like that.”
“No? Then what’s it like?”
Knowing I won’t get her off my back until I give her something, I lay out the whole story for her – from Peter asking me to shadow her to our breakfast meeting a few days later. I spare no detail and am bluntly honest in my assessment of the situation, and of Felicity herself. I don’t paint a very flattering picture, simply because it’s not a flattering picture.
And through it all, Haley just sits there with an amused but beatific smile on her face. It’s like she’s holding on to some secret piece of knowledge and is just silently lording it over me. It’s almost as annoying as Felicity herself.
I finish my tale and give her a grin. “What? Out with it.”
“I can tell you’re into this girl just by the way you talk about her,” Haley beams.
“Wow, that’s what you took away from that story? Talk about only hearing what you want to hear.”
“It’s not what you said. It’s how you said it,” she corrects me. “Not to mention what you didn’t say. Like I said, it speaks volumes.”
“You are delusional, my dear. Simply delusional,” I crack. “Or you’re on drugs. One of the two.”
“I’ve known you for a long time, Knox,” she presses. “And I’ve never seen you get so worked up about a woman before. I don’t think you even got this worked up about us.”
I laugh. “There was nothing to get worked up about. You weren’t an annoyingly stubborn idiot hellbent on getting yourself hurt.”
“That, right there,” Haley laughs. “You calling her names is pretty much the equivalent of pulling a girl’s hair on the playground. You do have the emotional maturity of a kindergartener, after all. You’re into her. Admit it.”
I roll my eyes. “There’s nothing to admit.”
“It’s okay Knox, you can admit it,” she teases. “In fact, it’s a good thing. It’s about time you get interested in somebody. I want to see you happy.”
“If I tell you I’m into her, will it get you off my back?”
“At least you’ll finally be honest about it.”
“Okay,” I groan as I stand up. “I’m going for a run.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“Funny, I thought I was exercising.”
“You can run,” Haley intones ominously. “But you can’t outrun your feelings.”
I turn and head for the door, the sound of Haley’s laughter following me the whole way.
“We’re not done talking about this,” she calls after me.
“Yes, we are,” I call back. “Lock up when you leave.”
As I head out, plug in my earbuds, and hit the trail, my mind is spinning. I push myself harder, sprinting until my lungs and legs are burning with the effort. I grit my teeth and put my head down, demanding even more energy from my body.
Haley knows just how to irritate me. She annoys me like few other women I’ve ever known. I appreciate her independence, but she’s being stupid. She’s digging in when she shouldn’t be. That stubborn streak is going to be the death of her. The mere thought of that woman fills me with an irrational anger.
But then again – every word of that thought also applies directly to Felicity.
As I run, the thought reverberating through my head chases me every bit as loudly as Haley’s laughter had earlier – am I actually interested in Felicity? Does she irritate me so much because I’m into her?
Felicity
“Movie rights?” my best friend Dani squeals. “Are you freaking kidding me?”
I shake my head. “It’s far from a sure thing at this point, but Maura says they’re opening the conversation.”
“Oh my God! That is incredible. I am so happy for you, hon!”
I try but can’t control my smile. “Like I said, it’s far from certain, so I need to temper my expectations.”
“Still, that is amazing, Felicity,” she cheers. “It’s happening. It’s really happening!”
“Thanks, Dani. But tonight is all about you. It’s your night,” I laugh. “Happy Birthday!”
We raise our glasses, as I toast my best friend’s birthday. Her smile is bright as she raises her own glass, and we down our shots together. Dani is my oldest and dearest friend. She’s been with me through the thick and thin of everything. Aside from Maura, Dani is the only person I genuinely trust with everything in my life.
I signal for the waiter and point to our martini glasses, telling him to bring another round of drinks. Dani shakes her head and waves me off, laughing.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“I’m just celebrating your special day with you,” I tell her.
After a nice dinner, we ended up at the bar where we normally get together – which, sadly, isn’t as often as I’d like. She’s seriously involved with somebody, and is a teacher, so that keeps her busy most of the time. That combined with my own increasingly hectic schedule prevents us from getting together all that often. But she’s one of those friends who will always be there at the drop of a hat. And I will for her. We just have each other’s backs like that.
“So, I saw that you had quite an eventful book signing,” she states.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, don’t remind me.”
“Were you going to tell me,
you had a stalker?”
I take a sip of my drink and shake my head. “Because I’m not even sure I have a stalker,” I tell her. “I think that meathead may have jumped the gun and caused a scene for nothing.”
I don’t like lying to my best friend, but I don’t want her to worry. She’s got enough on her plate already without having to add worrying about me to the pile. After I threw away the flowers, I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t tell anybody – not Dani, not Maura, nobody. I keep hoping that if I ignore it, this guy will lose interest and just go away.
Until then, I’m living in fear. I hate it. I really hate it. But I’m going to suck it up and get through it. On my own two feet. I’m going to prove to Maura that I don’t need a bodyguard – and that I don’t need to use something as creepy as this guy following me around to boost my career.
And I’m going to prove to that meathead bodyguard that I can get by just fine without him. To that end, I bought a can of mace and a stun gun, just to be sure. If he shows up again, I’ll be ready for him.
“That guy – the bodyguard, not the freak – he’s cute,” she observes. “More than cute, actually. He’s pretty sexy.”
“Hardly,” I groan. “He’s a friend of my brother’s, and he’s an insufferable jerk.”
“Come on,” she urges me. “That is a gorgeous man. All those muscles, that hair, those rugged good looks –”
I hold up my hand and laugh. “Stop. He’s arrogant and a narcissist,” I advise her. “Let’s not talk about him. This is your birthday.”
I smile, trying to steer the conversation away from Knox Vaughn and everything to do with him. The sooner I can forget about that man, the better.
“You’re right, this is my birthday,” she announces. “And because it’s my birthday, I want to talk about you and your bodyguard.”
“Knox,” I mumble. “His name is Knox.”
“Fine, since it’s my birthday, I want to talk about you and Knox.”
“Seriously, there’s nothing to talk about,” I tell her. “There is no me and Knox, and there never will be. He did a job for my brother – rather poorly, I might add – and that’s it. Period. End of story.”
“But is it?” she arches her eyebrow, an amused smile curling the corners of her mouth upward. “Is it really?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“How long have we known each other?”
“A long time,” I answer.
“And it’s fair to say that I know you better than most anybody on the planet, yes?”
I take a sip of my drink and nod. “Yeah, that’s probably fair.”
“And you’d agree that not only am I observant, but that I’m not an idiot, right?”
I laugh. “Is there a point to all of this?”
“Of course there is. Given that I know you better than anybody in this world, and that I’m not an idiot, I can see that you’re into this man,” she croons.
I toss a napkin at her and laugh. “I am most definitely not.”
“Your face lights up whenever you talk about him.”
It’s my turn to squeal now. “It does not!”
“Oh yes it does, sister.”
We giggle like a couple of schoolgirls together. She continues to insist I have feelings for the cretin, and I continue to deny it. While I wouldn’t say I’m into the guy, I can’t deny – not even to myself – that he’s an attractive man. With those muscles, rugged good looks, and those eyes, he’s gorgeous – by superficial standards anyway.
But I demand more than that from men I’m interested in. I demand more depth and more substance. I want a man who can discuss books, or art, or current events with me. I want a guy who can enjoy a day at a museum, or take in a play, or any of a dozen other things I find intellectually stimulating.
And I can say – pretty much without a doubt – that Knox Vaughn doesn’t have any of those things I’m looking for. Of course, I’m not sure any man out there can tick all of those boxes I have on my mental checklist of what I want – no, what I demand – in a partner.
Which could explain why I’m single and have been for some time.
Dani and I spend the next hour and a half or so talking and catching up on each other’s lives. Even though it’s been a few weeks since I last saw her, it feels like no time has passed since our last get-together. That’s just the way it is with good friends.
It’s almost eleven when I pour her into the back of an Uber. Even though I stopped drinking about an hour ago, I ordered her a few more rounds. I may have fed her a few too many martinis after all. It was my attempt to distract her from continuing on with the conversation about Knox. The results were mixed.
I’d offered to drive her home, but I live in the opposite direction, and she didn’t want to inconvenience me. She said she’d rather just take a car home rather than worry about me driving all the way back to my condo that late at night. It wouldn’t have been a problem for me, but all the same, I was glad to not have to go that far out of my way. I’m pretty tired and just want to go home and crawl into bed.
“Text me when you get home, so I know you’re safe,” she slurs, flopping down into the back seat.
“I will.”
I feel a bit bad knowing she’s going to have a rough morning at school tomorrow. The Uber driver looks from me to her, a look of mild concern on his face. I’m sure he’s worried about her throwing up in his car. I give him a sympathetic smile and tell him she’ll probably be fine, but I’ll pay for it if she does throw up in the back seat. He looks only slightly mollified.
I watch the car drive off before I turn and head for the public lot a couple of blocks down, where I’d parked. At this time of night on a weekday, there aren’t many people out and about. The only businesses open are the bars. Most people have to work in the morning and seem to have been a bit more responsible than Dani and I were.
As I walk, the heels of my boots click hollowly on the sidewalk. The night is oppressively dark – not even the streetlights dispel the inky blackness. I cut a glance behind me, then scan the street all around me. As much as I hate to admit it – and I really, really hate it – Knox’s scare tactic in the underground lot left me rattled. It also showed me that he’s right about how quick things can happen – I was alone one minute, and he was in my face the next. If he’d been a guy with bad intentions, I would have been screwed.
Digging the canister of mace out of my bag, I grip it tight and hold it at the ready. I will not be caught unaware again – not like Knox had caught me in that parking structure. He’d scared the hell out of me but at the same time, taught me a valuable lesson.
Damn that man. Damn him to hell for that.
I enter the parking lot, still searching my surroundings. I’m staring at the darker-than-deep-space pockets of shadows closely, looking for the slightest bit of movement. Thankfully, I see nothing. The flowers at my doorstep left me more rattled than I care to admit. Maybe even more rattled than I even realized. But it’s keeping me sharp.
I hit the button on my keychain remote, unlocking my Jetta before I get to the door. I pull it open and the interior light comes on, the illumination revealing a small, gift-wrapped box sitting on the driver’s seat. My heart stops dead in my chest, and even though the air around me is pleasant, I shudder as hard as if I was standing naked in the middle of the Arctic.
Somebody had gotten into my car while I was away. Somebody – like I don’t already know who left the box. I lick my suddenly dry lips and feel like I’m having trouble drawing a breath. Trying to look everywhere at once, I clutch my can of mace tightly, lean in, and take hold of the box in a hand that’s shaking hard enough to rattle the bones in my body.
Climbing in the car as quick as I can, I slam my door before locking the doors and turning my attention back to the gift in my hand. I fumble with the bow that’s wrapped around the box. I’m trembling so hard it takes me a few minutes to finally get it unwrapped. I toss all of the wrappings onto the passenger
seat and carefully lift the lid off the box. When I see what’s inside, a wave of nausea washes over me, a powerful current that threatens to pull me under.
“What the hell?” I whisper to myself.
Inside the box, nestled on a small red velvet pad, rests the decapitated head of a doll. Most of the blonde hair has been hacked off. Its wide plastic eyes stare up at me as if trying to convey some message to me. Maybe accusing me of being responsible for its current condition.
I’m trembling so hard; I almost drop the box entirely. Fear-fueled tears well in my eyes, and I look around wildly, fully expecting to see Elliot Graham standing there watching me, a malevolent smile on his face. The lot is empty, though. I’m alone.
I throw the box onto the passenger seat with the wrapping and quickly pull my cellphone out of my bag. The shaking in my hand is so bad, it takes me several attempts to hit the button that speed dials Peter’s number. I press the phone hard to my ear and keep scanning the parking lot, searching and expecting to see Elliott materialize out of thin air.
When he answers, his voice is thick with sleep already.
“Peter…”
“Felicity? What’s up? Are you okay?”
Perhaps hearing the terror in my voice, he suddenly snaps to attention, his voice sharp and alert. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to relax enough to do what it is I have to do.
“No Peter,” I groan. “I’m really not okay. I’m coming over. I need to talk to you.”
“I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
Knox
“Well knock me over with a feather,” I say. “You’re about the last person I ever expected to hear from.”
Felicity rolls her eyes, then glares at me. She’s sitting in the booth, her body stiff and tense, her expression one of pure annoyance and disdain. I chuckle as I slide into the booth and sit across the table from her. The waitress is there the moment my ass hits the cushion, a broad smile on her face and her order pad in hand.
