I speed up. I want to get out of here, get back to college, sit through a lecture and think about anything other than the world inhabited by the Murrays. I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if my feelings for them can outweigh my insecurities about this world that they live in.
I’m almost at the exit when I hear Bastien’s name mentioned. A woman is talking to the concierge. I glimpse her profile, oliveskin, diamonds glinting in her ears, that air of belonging in the Rinse that all the visitors to the casino wear so comfortably.
The concierge is smiling, an expression that he forgot when I came to speak to Bash without an appointment. I hear him ask, “Is Mr. Murray expecting you?”
And the response delivered so effortlessly: “No, but perhaps you could give him my card.”
These people carry business cards in slim silver cases. They don’t count the cash in their wallets before they leave home. They don’t check price tags before they purchase a wardrobe for the new season.
I forget that Bash’s car is waiting for me in the private lot.
I forget that they were having me followed when they thought that I was trying to scam them on my ex-boyfriend’s behalf.
I forget that I left my café uniform in Bash’s laundry hamper for his housekeeper to pick up when she comes in, and I have a shift this evening.
I walk back to college. One foot in front of the other. Pounding the streets until I erase the images in my head of spacious apartments on the Upper East Side, rooftop pools that resemble Irish coves, and celebrity-recommended doulas.
16
REMY
I haveto borrow someone else’s uniform for my shift in the café.
Bash’s car is waiting outside for me when I finish. I don’t get in. I start walking back towards the residence halls, head down, trying to ignore the car crawling along the curb beside me. I’m not ready to go back.
The driver winds down the window. “Ms. Jones? Mr. Murray asked me to take you to the Rinse.” He has a round face, eyes that see everything which I guess comes from driving around a busy city for a living.
“Can you please tell Mr. Murray that I’m going home tonight?”
I almost tell him that I have an assignment to complete, but I don’t need to add ‘college student’ to the list of reasons why I don’t belong in their world.
“Sure.” He inclines his head; he isn’t paid to persuade me to get in the car. “Can I give you a ride home?” It’s a genuine offer.
I smile. “No. Thank you. I need to walk.” I don’t even know why I tell him this. Ariel always accuses me of oversharing; it’s a tough habit to crack.
I watch the tinted window wind back up, watch the car pull away, and swallow the lump in my throat. I tell myself that it was the right thing to do. I need time to replay the last twenty-four hours in my head and figure out what I want. I feel like I’ve been on a rollercoaster that hit the top of the first hill when I kissed Cash and arrived back at the starting point when I saw the concierge accept that woman’s business card in the Rinse’s foyer.
I’m not emotionally equipped to deal with this right now.
I need some Ariel time.
Only, I don’t realize until I let myself into our dorm room that she’s spending the evening with Tristan.
I power down the cell phone, empty a tin of baked beans into a microwaveable bowl to heat up, and eat them sitting up in bed with the pillows propped behind me.
I sleep fitfully. In my broken dreams, I’m hunting for a shoe that I lost somewhere in a tall tower. I run up and down a spiral staircase, peering over the ornate banisters, unable to see the top or bottom. The harder I run, the taller the tower becomes. My legs get slower. My clothes get heavier. Until my alarm finally goes off and I wake up, heavy-eyed, feeling my body to reassure myself that I’m not wearing a saturated wedding dress that smells of chlorine.
I realize that Ariel’s eyes are open, and she’s watching me.
“You either drank too much caffeinated soda last night, or the wrong twin proposed to you.” She hugs her pillow, unwilling to get out of bed until I spill the beans.
I sit up and slide my legs over the side of my bed. My heart is racing from the vividness of the dream. My belly is gurgling with hunger, and as if that isn’t enough to deal with, I feel nauseous. I inhale deeply, trying to steady everything that’s rolling around inside me.
“Rem?” Ariel pushes her covers back and joins me. “What happened? I didn’t want to wake you when I came home, but even I could see there was some crazy-assed shit going on inside that beautiful head.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls my head onto her chest.
“They want to buy an apartment for me and pay for private healthcare.”
Ariel sniffs above my head, and I don’t need to look at her to know that her face is scrunched up in confusion. “That’s it? That’s what got you so rattled that you were thrashing about like an alligator in a tiny pond?”
