Prologue
URSULA
Iwake up entwined in sweaty cotton sheets that smell faintly of ocean breeze scented detergent, sweat, and fear. It’s the third time this month that I’ve had the dream. Each one more vivid than the last. Each dream attempting to give me access to my vault of forgotten memories. Each attempt getting me only millimeters closer inside of my subconscious. To the pain. To the truth.
I was in the backseat by myself, strapped in tightly, and humming along to a radio block of seventies hits that my mother loved to listen to during long car rides. I remember kicking the back of her seat to the beat of the song, excited by how the lights on my sneakers lit up with every small punt.
I’ve never seen in my dreams exactly where we were coming from, but I know that we were on our way home from somewhere familiar. It was a route I’d been on countless times before. That I know for sure.
I knew we were getting closer to home as I began to see gargantuan steel buildings, hordes of people on foot, and beautiful green and silver confetti all over the streets. Remnants of a recent city parade. The light from each passing car would bounce off of the silver flecks of confetti spread across the black tar. This was a good memory. But in every iteration of the dream is the thunder.
Deafening, ear-splitting, soul-scarring thunder that was so frighteningly loud that it may have been the moment that I first believed in God. There was no other explanation for the source of such a sound. God was real, and he must have been very angry.
I felt terribly exposed sitting in a ninety-degree position directly behind my mother’s seat. As if the thunder could reach out and touch us both and toss us into the Hudson River. I was afraid. So frightened that I unbuckled my seatbelt and folded myself in the space on the floor of the car between my seat and my mother’s.
I remember feeling how odd it was that my mother wasn’t frightened like me. She was still singing at the top of her lungs.
Billy Joel.
“Philadelphia Freedom.”
And then we were spinning.
And then there was darkness.
Chapter One
URSULA
It’s a picture perfect summer evening in Midtown, New York City. Warm enough to go strapless, but cool enough to still wear your hair down without it getting frizzy. Times Square is packed with tourists, the bars are packed with the locals, the bustling traffic is being policed by New York’s finest, and you can just feel the energy crackling in the air.
It’s palpable.
It’s perfect.
In fact, this is the kind of night that makes working for the most narcissistic man I’ve ever met all worth it. We’ve got two important events on deck for tonight, and I’ve made sure to dot everyiand cross everytin preparation for them, except I have uncharacteristically forgotten one important thing.
Shoes.
When I finally remembered that I didn’t have a single decent pair to go with my scarlet red evening dress, I realized I only had three hours left to get ready. Yet thanks to my boss’s trusty American Express black card, I was able to zip into Neiman Marcus and quickly buy a pair that works. Well … they sort of work.
I am now the proud owner of a pair of brand new, seven hundred dollar, nude stilettos that miraculously elongate my stubby legs but hurt like all hell. I’ve come to the conclusion that whoever invented high heels was a man who hated women. I’d rather wear a pair of chucks any day.
“Hey, Courtney.”
My phone is ringing off the hook today. Seems like every assistant in town is trying to secure a spot on our guest list.
“No, you should be fine for tonight. I’ve got you down for four in the VIP section. Just give the guy at the door your name. You’re welcome.”
Another call comes in as I wait for the car to pick me up.
“Hi, Millicent.”
“Ursula, I had to make a few adjustments to the seating at the last minute. Mr. Barnes is still in the first row of course, but I’ve shifted him and his parents, specifically, about five seats over and had to put the rest of you in the seats directly right behind him.”
“He wanted the entire first row.”
“I know but that doesn’t work for the camera angles and all of that jazz. They wanted the seats all centered.”
