He puffed up like a blowfish whenever she was around.“You look beautiful, Sybil.”
“Thank you. Dance with me?” she asked, holding out a dainty hand with nails painted black.
There’s my gothic Sybil.
He blushed.“It’d be my absolute pleasure.”
I could tell he’d been waiting for an invitation to dance, but was letting Sybil take the lead. It was a classic move for him, making sure the confidence was all in her court. He welcomed her like a daughter, and I was glad to see it brought extra light to his life and soothed something my mother’s loss had taken from him.
I stood alone and watched them for a short while. Bill came and sat beside me for a bit, licking my hand in solidarity and wagging his tail. He had this whole emotional support dog thing down to a science. But what did that say about me? Was I the most pathetic person at the party? That was saying a lot considering the bee crowd. The stench of self-loathing and despair was probably rolling off me in waves at this point.
The sky was getting dark, and I started edging toward the patio door, plotting my getaway. Every step I took in that direction elicited a scoot from Bill to follow. He was persistent, I’d give him that.
I glanced at my empty wineglass and pretended I was going inside for a refill.“Sorry, Bill. Time to find someone else to comfort.” Once everyone’s focus was elsewhere, I slipped inside and Bill was forced to move on.
I placed my glass on Sybil’s pristine marble counter and headed for the door. My stilettos clicked on the polished hardwood floor, drumming a beat toward the entryway where I grabbed my coat. Though I was thrilled for Nash and Sybil, the moment was churning my stomach. He deserved this, and I was glad for him, but I’d seen my fill.
Ever since Gray left, this need to run from anything resembling a happy ever after lingered like a smelly sock. It was pure avoidance, and I had my theories as to why. Theory number one being my fear of replacing him, but how long could I hold out before my other dreams, particularly those dreams of a house full of kids, would start taking precedence?
I ducked out onto the sidewalk and hailed a cab.It was a quick ride, made shorter by the wine buzzing in my veins.
The cabbie dropped me off around the back of the Beaumont building, near the loading dock. I fumbled only momentarily with the code for the secure elevator, but finally made it inside. It was getting dark, and it always gave me the heebie-jeebies hanging out in the back alley too long.
My heels echoed down the tight, sterile hallways, past coded doors, around corners, and through empty, dim offices. Security was really tight now. Ever since Gray’s stunt—stealing Sybil’s million-dollar art right from the auction floor—we’d had to make some changes. Gray made it look too easy and turned us into a target for others like him. Fortunately, Nash and I were pretty good at keeping the bad guys at bay, and despite a few suspicious types, there hadn’t been any problems since.
The last door clicked shut behind me. It was a satisfying, sterile sound of finality. I let out a long, cleansing breath and slumped over, releasing my perfect posture to the gods of disarray. This was my happy place, and one of the few places and times I could be myself.
I set my purse and coat down on an empty Formica workstation, sagging onto the stool and closing my eyes. I rubbed my temples. A wave of sadness fell over me like a silk curtain, despite my failed efforts to blow it away.
“Don’t think of him, Betty. Don’t do it,” I chided myself.“He doesn’t deserve this much thought, just like Nash said.”
Fuming silently, I planted my feet and stood tall once more, smoothing the skirt of my dress. Head held high with resolve, I walked toward the small fridge tucked under a desk and retrieved a mini bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. More was better in this situation, and I always had a few hidden here for stressful moments and long nights such as this. Cold and glistening in my hand, the cap twisted off easily, and I took a long, satisfying gulp.
Blowing my long bangs away from my face, I plopped onto my stool once more and focused on the ruby necklace. The stool let out a squeak and a groan as I twisted it back and forth, a nervous tic of mine. For a moment I admired the facets before picking up a cotton swab and brushing gently at a bit of grime around one setting. After a few more minutes, my shoulders relaxed. Within hours, I found myself at ease. The air smelled of cleaner—an ammonia smell that filled the workroom with an odd sense of tidy comfort.
When I finally looked up, I stifled a yawn and checked my watch. Eleven PM.
My eyes felt heavy and strained, and I had to blink a few times to right the world in my vision. I removed an earbud, tossed my empty mini bottles of wine in the trash, and stood, my back cracking. Though my mind was at ease, my spine and ass ached from hours of being still on a hard stool, scraping away at microscopic grime. The old, fragile metalwork made it a delicate process, a fine line between bending the metal and dislodging centuries of built-up, possibly literal, shit.
Having cleared the rest of my workstation, I was ready to call it a night. I collected my few belongings and placed the earbuds back in their case. I slid them into my pocket and locked up.
I left the building and enjoyed the warm night air and city sounds as I went to the corner store to buy a cherry Tootsie Pop. I picked one up from the clear plastic tub on the counter and paid the cashier a dollar. He expressed his gratitude with a nod before I departed. Fingers unwrapping the iconic wax wrapper, I let myself admire the deep ruby red candy with a smirk before popping it into my mouth.
The sidewalk outside was quiet. It was a pleasant night for a stroll before grabbing a taxi. I pivoted and started walking toward the West Village. As I walked, my shoes clacking against the pavement and reverberating off the buildings, I heard the threatening scrape of a lighter across the street. My gaze shifted, and I saw a spark ignite on the opposite sidewalk, shrouded in shadows.
Well, that’s not ominous or anything.
As I approached the street corner, I chanced another look back and saw the glowing ember still trailing after me. I stopped and let a few cars pass before crossing. As I proceeded, the ember did too.
We both walked beneath a streetlight, and I noticed the man was wearing clothes that were too warm for the mild evening. There was a scarf bundled around most of his head, hiding his features as though on purpose. Something about it wasn’t right, and it set me on edge, my teeth shattering the hard candy in my mouth as I nervously chewed.
I tried to catalogue as many details of his features as I could, in case I had to report him to the police later. What a lovely thought, said no woman ever. His hair was sparse on top, but he had dark sideburns that flowed into what looked like a substantial beard. He was short and bulky, wearing a black leather jacket, faded jeans, and black shoes—the athletic kind I associated with grocery store workers.
I could feel his eyes on me, no question about it. The empty streets amplified my anxiety, and I frantically searched for another soul. It was a rarity to find so few people in this area of town.
We continued walking down the street, the silence thick with tension. He matched my stride, even though I was taller and in better shape. I could outpace him with ease if I didn’t care how that looked. The important thing was to appear unbothered. Worst case, I knew I could ditch my shoes and outrun him if I had to.
Right when I was about to do just that, I was relieved to see a couple round the block in the distance. The kind-looking pair approached, a teacup-sized dog on a leash ahead of them. I took the Tootsie Roll, now only a shredded stick, out of my mouth and gave them a nervous smile.
