Once her bare feet hit the tile floors in the bathroom there was no longer hope of doing only what was necessary and returning to the land beneath the blankets. “Good Christ,” Sarah moaned when she saw herself in the mirror. “I haven’t had nearly enough fun in my life to look this bad.” In reality, with a decent night’s rest and the simplest sweep of rouge, she looked every bit thirty-something in a sophisticated way. Most would have said thirty one or thirty two, only because acquiring a law degree and making partner at a major Chicago law firm were not the accomplishments of a child from the baby boom generation. The mere fact Sarah had accomplished all she had by thirty five was impressive by even the highest standards.
Splashing a bit of water on her face, she sighed. In her youth she’d been very much a morning person. Spry, ready to fly from her bed and embrace the mystery the day had in store for her, but childhood was far behind her now. It seemed with each passing year she’d plea bargain a few more minutes sleep in the morning for a later and later night. Popping open the shower door and stepping out of her nightgown, Sarah placed herself beneath the pulsating shower heads in her master bath. The heating lamp above cast an amber glow on her already creamy skin which the jets blasted, chasing away the stiffness in her aching muscles. No one could say she didn’t have the kind of luxurious master bath anyone in their right mind would have been glad to wake up to, but if one was to drag themselves from the depths of slumber in order to begin their day with rituals that punished the skin and shocked the senses, they may as well do it in as much comfort as possible.
Hot water reddened her skin, but Sarah loved a good hot shower. Several times throughout the course of her routine, she caught herself turning up the hot water as her skin would adjust to its temperature. Normally an efficient sort, Sarah had no problem being completely lackadaisical when it came to bathing. She’d exfoliate all her rough spots, elbows, knees, heels. Scour head to toe in a foaming rich lather, rinse. Work up shaving gel in her hands and careful smooth her legs and the underside of her arms. Then a thorough shampoo followed by a heat activated, three minute conditioning treatment. It was a process she’d actually managed to shorten by lobbing off several feet of hair as part of a cancer benefit the firm was participating in. At first Sarah shuddered at the thought of losing so much length, but when the PR people took the shots of her with the nine year old chemotherapy patient whose tiny head would now wear her raven tresses, it seemed inconsequential to say the least. The smallest silver lining by far being the notion that it cut lather, rinse, repeat down by half.
Regrettably, the knobs were tightened to their right most positions shortly before a puff of steam lead Sarah from the shower stall. Perpendicular to the shower stall, on the edge of the garden tub in which she sometimes loved to lie and read, a moisturizing body spray scented by honey and jasmine was liberally applied to her dewy skin and massaged in by her long fingers, manicured weekly by Philippe at a small salon on the ground floor of her apartment building. A towel dry of her hair preceded a couple dozen short, firm strokes through her damp locks before Sarah slid easily into her waiting robe, switching off the heat lamp as she left the little slice of heaven Moen had designed to her specifications.
Downstairs, she switched on the coffee machine and toasted a slice of whole grain bread. Cutting down to the single serving brewer, saved a good bit of counter space and helped keep the kitchen consistent with the clean, contemporary look Sarah seemed most pleased by. Methodically, she coated the toast in yogurt spread which she kept blended with fresh strawberries in a Philadelphia creamed cheese container hoping it would fool her brain and keep her hips in line. Revisiting the coffee maker, she filled a Cook County Bar Association mug three quarters of the way full, leaving room for a few splashes of french vanilla Coffeemate. With both hands full, she used her foot to push out the stool at the near end of her kitchen island.
From one of the large picture windows on the back side of her two story penthouse loft, Sarah had a beautiful view of the Clarence Buckingham Fountain in Grant Park. For a moment she gazed out appreciating the beauty of her city until the first bite of her toast filled her with disappointment. After a few seconds of chewing her tastebuds resigned to the missing flavor of fat in her morning meal. By the second bite they’d grown contented with the paltry substitute and by the first sip of coffee they were so overjoyed by the non-dairy cream hinted with decadent flavoring they would gladly consume the lifeless spread just to keep the rich, full bodied beverage nearby.
As she continued eating, Sarah switched on the tiny fold down screen hidden beneath her kitchen cabinets to catch the news. They promised the city would break the endless stretch of fifty degree weather March and April had brought with it. “‘Bout time,” she added randomly sipping from her mug. It was already the middle of May. Her eyes shifted to the lower right corner of the screen where she was reminded of a collection of dreadful facts. First it was only thirty eight degrees this morning, making the thirteen block jaunt to Bank One Plaza a brisk one for sure. Second, it was nearly six in the morning and if she was planning to get to work by 7:30 she had best finish her coffee sooner rather than later. Lastly, it was indeed the middle of May, the 16th to be exact. Had it not been for her divorce, she’d have been celebrating her thirteenth anniversary with Tim tonight. She snorted at the irony before polishing off her daily dose of caffeine, depositing the mug in the dishwasher, and taking the stairs back to her bedroom.
Being married was such a distant memory to her now, as distant as her childhood. She had packed up all of those things and forgotten all about being a kid, why couldn’t she do the same with Tim. Banishing thoughts of him would have been easier if she had taken her mother’s advice and moved out of the loft they had invested in together, but good property was hard to find in Chicago, almost as bad as New York City, especially some place worthy of Sidley, Austin, Brown and Wood’s newest partner. No, she had to stay here on Michigan Avenue, it was all she’d known since graduation. Everything else seemed foreign to her. When she agreed to marry him, she knew immediately neither of their apartments would suit them long. In a cleansing process meant to take her physical space and her emotional space hand in hand to the next level, Sarah bid her college girl apartment farewell, leaving behind everything which was not as far along in life as she would like to think she had come. Leaving behind the youthful transgression of one’s teenage years next to a small pile of alcohol inspired misadventures in her early twenties, the young, bound to be somebody, found her new locale at 910 South Michigan Avenue for just a little more than three quarters of a million dollars and promptly furnished it with the most modern pieces she could find from Marshall Fields and the catalog shops. Extravagant, to be sure. Necessary, not at all, but it was a good location, with quality schools, twenty-four hour top notch security, a parking lot and an onsite dry cleaners. Inside it offered three bedrooms, one of which was almost immediately made into a home office/library. This being the only spot in the loft where Sarah broke pattern of her contemporary likings and designed an old English style haven filled with dark woods, dim lighting and rich leathers. The other would have served well as a guest room or more hopefully a nursery, but we are not always rewarded in life with the riches we might believe we deserve.
For some time after the divorce, Sarah slept in the guest room, but it had been long enough now. Reclaimed and remodeled, the master suite was hers once more. Before changing, the former Mrs. McKnight spent a moment or two glancing down from her second story balcony. The bedrooms together with a sitting area/game room formed a huge U shape from which one could look down at all of Sarah’s open first floor. The living room accentuated by a fireplace that made the most of the twenty foot cathedral ceiling, the family room, the dining area, the kitchen, the sliding doors to the outdoor balcony, the foyer with its magnificent chandelier, you could view them all, but the powder room, obstructed for obvious reasons. It was a bit much she admitted, but Sarah could afford it. After all, if she was expected to have the best when she was married, why not now that she was single?
Her walk in closet was a mirror of her true split personality. One side color coded with green, brown, blue, navy, black, grey, and charcoal suits while the other a sea of vibrant and commingling colors. Her image as a partner in the firm required her to be finely dressed on even the least client-centric days, but the more eclectic corners of the closet revealed a hidden side, a passion begun in youth and matured as she had grown. Music transformed her, set her free. The outfits she had her back to now were those she wore to clubs on the weekends with her friends, a guilty pleasure she attempted to engage in at least once a week for sanity purposes. Sadly, her sanity had not been addressed in several months now evidenced by a thin layer of dust on the toes of her favorite boots.
Reluctantly, she chose a neatly pressed charcoal, pinstripe, two piece, silk, Chanel suit. Then edged along to the blouses where she chose a high collared, off white number to wear beneath the jacket. Sitting on the bed chest just beneath the sleigh shaped foot board which had served as her pillow last night, Sarah slid her slender, generously long legs into the stockings she had plucked from her dresser drawer. Standing, she attached the garters before removing her robe and draping it neatly at her side. Slipping her arms through the straps of a white lace bra, which out of anal retentive necessity matched the pattern of her panties and her garter, Sarah stretched her arms around the back to do up the fasteners. Stopping just long enough to tell the woman in the mirror that she was still pretty good looking for a thirty five year old divorcee, she slipped the blouse over her head, fiddling with the neck until it was comfortable. Even though it seemed counterproductive to all the work the dry cleaners had done pressing the poly blend, she tucked it into the waistband of her suit skirt. Over her heals she slipped a slate grey pair of leather pumps credited to Anne Klein.
Before she gathered up her suit jacket, her laptop and her briefcase, Sarah returned her robe to the bathroom, applied a metered dollop of cinnamon flavored toothpaste to the end of her toothbrush. In short circular motions she polished the six external sections of her mouth, then opening wide, she repeated the process on the hard to reach underside. As her pediatric dentist ingrained upon her somewhere between Sesame Street and Scooby Doo, she managed her bad breath by scrubbing at her tongue before finishing off with back to back rinses of water and a corresponding plaque rinse. Something about finishing off with minty freshness after the clean, sharp taste of cinnamon made her think of jalapeno poppers and vinegar shots. Sarah coordinated scents and flavors religiously, never more thrilled then when the dental gods blessed her with the miracle of cinnamon rinse. Everything in the shower shared a common scent, her lotion matched her perfume, consistent cinnamon in her dental hygiene product was no surprise. Lastly she applied only the most basic makeup. A dab of concealor around the eyes until she could get a good night’s rest, a light powder, a ruddy cheek creme, a few strokes of taupe mascara, more to thicken than color her lashes and a pale, nearly nude lipstick. A spritz of something made by Givenchy, the designer bottle more recognizable in Sarah’s hand than the actual scent and she was ready to bravely face the day.
Before leaving the sanctity of her top floor loft, Sarah checked the coffee machine to make certain it was off, same with the television. At the door, she made a last minute decision to pull down a black cashmere wrap from her coat peg. Hoisting the strap of her laptop case over her right shoulder, she quickly covered it with the cashmere which cascaded across her back. Allowing the right side to hang, she plated the other end over her chest as protection against the often strong and bitter lakeshore wind. Her shoulder held the wrap in place leaving her right hand free for her briefcase. Loaded up, she moved out. Double checking the door behind her when she left, she made her way to the elevators. Monday meant Paulo would be there to swing open the door for her. Rocco, whose birth name was really Francis, and Derrick would be sitting at the security desk sipping black coffee.
“Good morning Miss Williams,” Paulo smiled when he saw her shortening the gap between the elevator bank and his post.
It made her contemplate her name. Not wishing to pay the excessive fees associated with having the names on her various degrees changed, her official sir name retained the Williams her father had given her with Timothy’s generously donated McKnight, coupled together with a quick hyphen. It wasn’t that she was cheap, Sarah reasoned, only too practical to waste the equivalent of a pair of comfortable designer pumps on some processing jockey who would type, print and stamp an enlarged sheet of cream colored, bond quality paper. Four years of signing her checks, Sarah J. Williams-McKnight, followed by nine years alternating between the two with no rhyme or reason and suddenly in that instant she hadn’t the slightest idea of how to address herself. It was as if losing Tim had somehow stolen her identity with it. She contemplated not changing it at all, but was deterred by the thought of being mercilessly referred to as Mrs. when she was no longer anyone’s bride. In the very early months following her divorce, she flirted with being Miss Williams-McKnight-Williams. When better sense prevailed, she opted for returning to her maiden name alone in lieu of advertising her full history for the world to see.
“Good morning Paulo,” she replied. “But really, I’ve lived here long enough you’re welcome to call me Sarah.”
“Yes Miss Williams,” he agreed as he closed the door behind her.
Rocco stood when she passed the security desk, “Off to fight the good fight Miss Williams?”
A litigation attorney did her best, she supposed, to do just that, but at the end of the day it was hard to decide if you were really anything more than a glorified criminal defense attorney. “I’ll do my best,” she smiled. “Have a good day Derrick,” she said to Rocco’s silent partner. In return for her continually extended affections, she was rewarded with a wave.
The grey Chicago sky was slowly being shredded by the sun as it came splitting through the overnight cloudy build up. It was going to be a nice day once it heated up some. Though it was against her preference, the route she took to Dearborn varied just a little, day to day. For a single female living in a major city, monotony was a dangerous activity. Sarah had never felt threatened here. There was some getting used to the increase in population and the bustle of a large city, but they were inconveniences she gladly left the boredom of upstate New York for. No sense not being practical though, especially when she pulled the cord of her ear buds loose from an interior pocket of her briefcase. In theory she should have had them just loud enough to hear, but when Butch Walker sang through her MP3 player about Grant Park, resistance was futile. She wasn’t sure if he meant her Grant Park or not, but it was Grant Park all the same. Every third step or so had a bit of a slide in it, making those bitter thirteen blocks seem more like a stage show inside her mind.
‘I wonder what would happen,’ Sarah thought, ‘if I just burst into song and dance right here on the sidewalk between Wabash and State Streets?’ It was an everyday occurrence. Music seemed to be the only thing capable of penetrating her blue Tiffany box of personal space and making her want to dance wildly like a child that didn’t care who was watching. As her heels clicked onto Dearborn Street she heard the opening of English Summer Rain, a lone drum, then the guitar and the synthetic sounds. Casually she fell against one of the columns of Bank One Plaza. Her left foot slid up the stone and tapped unabashedly.
Always stays the same,
Nothing ever changes.
English summer rain,
Seems to last for ages.
I’m in the basement.
You’re in the sky.
I’m in the basement baby,
Drop on by.
Hold your breath and count to ten,
Then fall apart and start again.
Hold your breath and count to ten,
Start again...start again...start again...start again...
For reasons her mind didn’t feel the need to search for, Sarah loved that song. It shared the monotony she felt everyday despite her change in route and shoes that numbered so many she could have easily worn a different pair each day of the month. Forced into maturity was no way to grow up and her inner child beckoned to her, begging to be allowed out. Naturally she’d cave into the urge now and again, but then she’d fight back that girl in the white linen dress and wrap her in something original shipped in from Soho. For whatever reason today the child had succeeded in distracting her to the point that her entire body flinched in time to the rhythm in her ears. This never happened, not in public. Sometimes in her office when she could get in a couple of groove worthy tunes, occasionally on the El when she had to fly, frequently in her apartment and always in her car. When she drove it was as if the wax they put on the Ferrari made her invisible to the rest of the highway patrons. As it were, the deep tinting of her windows helped some.
“Excuse me,” he said when he picked up her wrap. Sarah couldn’t hear a word. He smiled, hooking the cord for one of the buds, gently popping it loose of her ear. “Excuse me,” he repeated as her eyes popped open. Sarah gasped. “I believe this is yours,” he declared.
She blushed when she accepted her wrap, mortified at what he must have thought of her. The more she stuttered the wider his smile grew. Sarah ripped out the other bud, stuffing them in her case, balling up her wrap and sprinting into the building with a quick, “Thanks,” over the shoulder to the good samaritan.
Upstairs she moved quickly to her office, avoiding eye contact with her secretary as she offered an obligatory morning greeting. She shut the door behind her, lay her bags on the ground, tossed the wrap on a leather couch in the corner and settled into her leather high back. At her desk, she let her hands catch her falling head. The heat in her cheeks still evidence of her embarrassment which may not have seemed so detrimental had the gentleman who retrieved her wrap not been so obviously amused by Sarah’s momentary indiscretion. Recalling him vividly, she saw the high ribbed turtle neck of his sweater, rich chocolate. She noticed the way it had been tucked into the waistband of his charcoal Armani pants. His hands were well manicured, his hair blown about by the wind, but cut short. His eyes friendly and his demeanor playful. That was what she resented the most. Notions that anyone could be successful, in appearance anyway, and yet act as carefree as he had, as novel. His reflection in the black glass of her building foyer showed him practically dancing as he sauntered away, as if her music had some how skipped into his head. His clothes had not been cheap and unless he was the heir of a great fortune he had to have a well paying employment of some sort. Random conclusions continued to form in her mind. Would her whole day be wasted on this man?
“No,” she said as she opened her laptop and began plugging in. Karen was right. The time for fantasy in Sarah’s life had come to pass. There were three cases waiting on her desk, two had filings due by the end of the week and the third was going to pre–trial by the end of the month.
Annette brought in a steaming cup of coffee. “Several messages came in for you this morning,” she said as she set down the porcelain mug. Reaching into the pocket of her blazer she handed over a thin stack of pink slips. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No,” Sarah snapped. Even she couldn’t deny how abrasive she sounded. “I’ve got a lot of work to do Nettie, so no calls or visitors unless it’s urgent.”
“Should I call Miss Cass then and cancel your lunch?”
‘Damn!’ she thought. “No, I’ll be able to make lunch if I can work through this morning with no interruptions.”
“Yes Miss Williams,” Annette replied taking her leave. She’d been Sarah’s secretary since her promotion to partner and while that wasn’t necessarily a long time, it had been enough to be surprised by the edge in her boss’s voice.
Waiting for the door to close again, Sarah sighed heavily as she went to her window. At first she only parted the slats of the blinds to peer out at the city below her, but when she saw the sun had finally made it’s debut, she tugged on the cords which rose the blinds to invite it inside. Forty-eight stories down, the city was really only beginning to wake up. The eight o’clock starters filed in from the El and various shuttles. The nine o’clocks would drag in soon and before she had time to finish the exhibits for the Weatherly file, it would be lunch. Laney liked to meet at 11:30 to keep from needing to take two hour lunches, which was fine by Sarah. Her five a.m. breakfast rarely lasted her longer than that anyway.
A few minutes of observing the dots on the sidewalk as they shuffled about, greeting one another, passing each other by without a care, rushing headlong into the slower and less suspecting and she was wondering about that man, the one who smiled sweetly at her this morning. It vexed her that he had managed to take up so much of her morning. He was nothing of her type. Too much like Tim if she were going to be honest. Clean cut, reliable, upstanding. Sarah was all those things. She didn’t need a man to be them for her. But still, the easy way he pulled her ear bud loose and the subtle brush of his fingers over the back of her hand when he returned her property seemed to distract her from everything.
Reaching for her coffee, she confessed to the plants, “I was a bitch to Nettie. I should apologize. It isn’t her fault I made an ass out of myself in front of a total stranger whose very existence seems to have me questioning this rigid and clinical environment which only Friday I seemed to find myself content with.” Before she could even come close to the door, Nettie threw it open.
“It’s line two Miss Williams.”
“Who is it?”
“They said they were family.”
“Is it urgent?” she asked suddenly regretting the idea of apologizing.
“I didn’t ask.”
“Fine, fine,” Sarah groused. Taking a sip of her coffee which lacked any medium of cream she would have added in droves she mumbled, “Why do I even have an assistant if they can’t take basic instruction.” In her drawer she pulled out a cinnamon Altoid to cleanse the bitter taste of black coffee from her tongue. “This is Sarah.”
“Sis! I was afraid I’d get stuck leaving you another message.”
“No Toby, you got me,” and apparently he was wise to the fact she had been attempting to ignore him all week, “but I’m really busy. I’ve got a big hearing coming up and plenty to do to prep for it.”
“I thought you were a partner now. Don’t you have some grunt level associate who you can hand it off to?”
Offended, Sarah practically roared at her little brother. “I am a partner now and I got the promotion based on the quality of my work. I can’t just pass it off on some wet eared second year and then sign my name at the bottom, go to court and have the judge throw me out for bringing a piece of garbage to his bench.”
“Relax would ya? I was just pulling your leg.”
“What do you need Toby?” Her patience had already been tried and convicted this morning.
“I’m coming over tonight. I need to talk to you and since you’ve become the ever elusive Sarah Williams, I figure you’ve earned a visit from your little brother.”
“It’s not a good night Toby. I’ve no idea how long I’ll need to work.”
“I’ll wait,” he said before she could go on with more reasons why his visit would be pointless.
“Toby!”
“Love you sis,” there was a kissing sound and then silence.
“Toby?....Toby?....Great!” Slamming down the receiver she added, “I don’t need this!’
***** ***** *****
When the intercom brought Annette’s voice to her, Sarah jumped. “It’s twenty past eleven Miss Williams. Miss Cass is expecting you shortly or should I phone her to let her know you won’t be able to make it?”
Depressing the button, Sarah let out an exhausted, “No.” She’d managed to finish four of the exhibits for the brief in the Weatherly case. “Only twelve more.” Rubbing her eyes she decided they would wait until after lunch. Briefcase in hand, she left the building walking north on Dearborn, headphone free this time. At Chicago Avenue she turned right, left on Michigan and there in front of the Hancock was Laney. Already pacing because it was just about twenty to twelve.
“I was beginning to think you’d stood me up,” Laney huffed, ducking inside to reserve a table before the lunch rush came.
Sarah took her time getting inside. Sure she was hungry, but there was no need to look like a fourth grader on pizza day at school. Were it her decision they’d have met someplace else. Hell, she’d have been happier to eat at the top of the Hancock where they had excellent food. It wasn’t that the Cheesecake Factory didn’t have good food. They did. Avocado eggrolls and portabello sandwiches and salads to suit any taste, but every time Sarah met Laney here she felt like she’d walked into an adult Chuck E. Cheese sans the games and that was exactly what she thought made it seem so attractive to Laney.
“Five minutes,” she told Sarah triumphantly when she made it to her side. “I bet if you’d have been on time, we’d be seated by now.”
“Sorry.”
Laney shrugged. “So, what did you do this weekend?”
“Laundry.”
“You’re kidding!” She wasn’t. Her eyes told the bouncing brunette as much. “Sarah,” she whined in two distinct syllables making it seem far more traumatic than it actually had been. “Honey you need to re-enter the scene if you get my drift.”
“I’m fine. I didn’t feel like going out. I got some decent Chinese and rented a few movies.”
“What did you rent?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You didn’t do a damn thing this weekend did you?...did you?”
“Cass, party of two?” the hostess called.
“Did you?” Rather than answer, Sarah shoved her friend gently in the direction the hostess had gone in.
“You know, you are too young for this,” Laney picked up where she’d left off when they’d been interrupted. “You can’t just hole up in that apartment of yours, no matter how comfortable you find it, and wait for life to happen to you.”
“What am I missing?” Sarah asked earnestly as the waiter arrived.
“Good afternoon ladies,” his greeting immediately disturbed Sarah, who knew perfectly well it was not yet noon let alone after, but the subtly was wasted on Laney. “My name is Sumner and I’ll be making your lunch as enjoyable an experience as possible. May I get you ladies something to drink? We offer a wide selection of martinis or, if you’d rather, a bottled water, soda, tea?”
Having made two attempts to tell him what she would like only to have him go on without so much as breathing or blinking, Sarah turned away. ‘Go on,’ she thought, ‘read the whole menu to me and when you’re through I’ll tell you that tap water with a slice of lemon will be fine.’
But before she could give life to the concept of karma, Laney squealed, “Oooo the strawberry lemonade, we’ll have those.”
“Very good choice miss. Our specials today are the...”
Sumner went on with a litany of things which had been overstocked in the inventory. He didn’t pause, didn’t confirm that Sarah would want to partake of the beverage which had been ordered in her name without her consent or interest for that matter. Perhaps they’d be happier if she left. It was obvious that Sumner didn’t require her willing participation in this meal.
“Sarah?”
“Huh?” she asked startled.
“Something to start you off miss?”
“Ah, the avocado egg rolls thanks.”
“For you as well? Right away.”
“Sarah! I ordered the eggrolls. Sumner, I apologize. I don’t know what’s wrong with my friend today. Two lemonades, one order of eggrolls and a few minutes to look over the menu. Thank you.”
“Yes miss.”
“Are you alright?” Laney asked.
“I’m fine.”
Appearing disinterested Laney looked at the ceiling, unfolded her napkin and began counting the sweet and low packets on the table, “Okay then.” She began building a house out of the packets the same way she’d been taught with playing cards.
Grabbing them from her hands, Sarah shoved the tiny pink rectangles into their holder. Sumner put a huge glass in front of each of them, the edges rimmed with sugar, waited for a smile from Laney, and left again. “Would you act like an adult,” Sarah barked when he was gone.
Leaning in, Laney spat back, “I’ll act like an adult when you stop treating me like a child.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Before responding to her, the petite brunette took a long sip of lemonade from the sugared rim of the cup. “Something’s obviously bothering you, but you don’t want to tell me about it. We’ve been friends since we were kids.” Sarah didn’t even remember what being a kid felt like. “I went through your divorce with you Sarah and never once did you ever let on you had an emotion about the whole thing. You put on some strong face. You told me you and Tim were just not working together. To this day I still couldn’t say with any certainty that you gave a damn when he left?”
‘Trust me,’ the former Mrs. McKnight thought, ‘I gave a damn.’ Rather than confess it, she tried the lemonade. It wasn’t bad, a bit sweet for her liking but it was fresh squeezed.
Tired of waiting for a response, Laney started in again. “When are you going to let me in Sarah? When are you ever going to trust someone enough to let them in and let them help?”
In all the years she’d counted on Laney’s company, listened to her problems and solved her crises, she never considered her friend would want to do the same for her given the chance. No one else had. In fact, since Toby had been born Sarah felt all too comfortable in the mother role. Perhaps that was what put her and Laney together in the first place. The significant difference in their life experiences made it easy to feel motherly toward her. Twenty one was a long time gone and while Sarah felt so much older than thirty five, Laney was really only about four years younger than her. How much worse could this be than the awkward moment with the stranger this morning? The day had already taken a sharp downward turn into hell, why not drive around a bit?
“You’re right,” she confessed, suddenly holding all of Laney’s attention.
Sumner returned for the third time. “Your appetizer will be out in just a moment. Have you chosen a lunch selection ladies?”
“We need another minute,” Sarah said when Laney didn’t so much as blink.
“Do you have any questions?” he offered.
“What part of we need another minute did she not say in English?” Laney snapped. There was the wild teenager she recalled so fondly. Sumner slunk away and Sarah hid a tiny chuckle in the rim of her lemonade.
“This morning I had the weirdest thing happen with this strange guy I’d never met before.” Once Laney bit at the crux of her problem, Sarah backed up and started with waking up that morning and how much she had been thinking about Tim. Then she made a revelation of her own. “That’s why you wanted to have lunch today.” Laney looked guilty. “You remembered this was my anniversary.”
“I have,” she confessed. “Every year since I was your maid of honor. I know you don’t like to admit Sarah, but it must be a hard day for you. I thought if I could be there without your knowing, I could at least keep your mind occupied for a bit.”
Keeping the brilliant woman across the table from her at arm’s length was an error in judgment she was rapidly beginning to regret. Perhaps she had been hasty in thinking her inexperience and zest for life were foolish immaturity. Their progress seemed to summon the waiter who came with appetizers in hand and made no attempt to take their orders after having been refused so many times. This time they stopped him. “I’ll have the steak salad,” Laney ordered.
A picture on the menu caught Sarah’s eyes and she asked for the Chinese Chicken Salad before going on with the details. How she’d been listening to the radio, distracted by the music, too distracted to notice the man when he approached, when he retrieved her garment.
“It’s dangerous walking around like that, with your music so loud. Lord knows I love a good decibel level, but what if he’d have been a mugger, or a vagrant who got frustrated with you for not answering him. Sarah you could have walked in front of a car.”
“I know, I know, but you’re missing the point. It was humiliating, having someone see me...”
“With your guard down?”
“Yes Laney. It’s not in my nature to be myself with most people.” A tiny smile played across her lips.
The avocado eggrolls were as good as ever and Sarah, feeling particularly brave, decided to try the dipping sauce. It looked harmless enough. There was a shade to it, keeping it from being mistaken for water, but it was a mild tint, less than that of Italian dressing. A few flakes of Pico de Gallo gathered in the bottom. Nibbling off the edge where each eggroll had been cut in half julienne style, Sarah soaked it in the clearish liquid, it reminded her of the salty dip they served with the deep fried spring rolls at the Thai place near her apartment. Merrily she bit in. Laney’s eyes echoed her own as they grew wide. She reached for her lemonade taking in an excessive amount. The sweet didn’t so much get rid of the spicy as it did blend with it, reminding her why she was so obsessive about coordinating flavors.
“This is why I use cinnamon rinse with my cinnamon toothpaste,” she eeked out.
“What?” Laney asked. “Never mind,” she decided flagging down Sumner while he was with another table. “Could we get a water over here, please?”
Moments later, Sumner handed her the water first, before doling out their meals. “Can I get you a refill?” he inquired when he saw the empty lemonade and the nearly empty water. Sarah only nodded.
The instant he left, Laney asked “Come out with us some time? This weekend? It would be good for you to get out a bit.”
“Let’s not take me too far in my first step. I’ll take you up on it some time...soon,” she added when Laney looked disappointed.
A few bites later her good friend asked, “So are you going to see him again?”
“Are you nuts?” Sarah asked. “Laney, he was a total stranger passing me on a sidewalk in a city with a population of over three million! He could have been visiting for all I know. On a long holiday to spend time with his sick aunt or finalize wedding plans with his blonde super model fiancé.”
After flagging down the now leery Sumner and requesting a second souffle cup of ranch dressing, Laney debated, “Interesting you should give a total stranger you have no interest in meeting again an ailing aunt.”
“And a super model fiancé.”
“You’re definitely generous. I’ll give you that.” Sumner brought two fresh lemonades. Sarah already felt as though she had an entire pot of espresso, but she sipped on any way because it was better than listening to Laney. “Sarah, what if this guy is your one...other true love?”
Lemonade nearly burst out of her clenched lips. “My one other true love is not some random stranger who laughs at people as he picks up their sweater. Besides, he’s not my type.”
“Not bad enough for you?” the spunky brunette asked, innocently allowing her eyes to fall back on her salad.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t act innocent with me Sarah Williams. Ever since Tim you’ve only gone after the bad guy type. The kind of guy who’s, well, nothing like you.”
“I can’t help who I’m attracted to.” What was left of the Chinese Chicken Salad was slowly pushed away.
“No,” Laney agreed, “but I have to wonder how you and Tim ever got together in the first place.”
This was a topic she didn’t really care to discuss. “Can we get a check? I’ve got a lot of work to get back to.”
“Sarah, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s fine. Can we just get a check, please?”
“Sarah?”
“Laney, please, Toby’s coming over tonight and I owe it to him to be home by a reasonable hour.”
There was probably some truth to it. Toby often had to trap his sister into spending time with him by visiting. She was obsessed with her career, almost consumed with it since the divorce. “Yeah honey, that’s fine, we can go.” She reached out to take her good friend’s hand. “It’s me Sarah. I’ve been thinking lately about why I’ve never had anyone near permanent in my life and it came out as an attack against you. I know how much you loved Tim. It was wrong. I’m sorry.”
Her carefully lined eyes grew wet and she fought the urge to blink and loosen the tears. “Sumner, the check please.” Their waiter nodded. “Laney, hon, I know it doesn’t seem like it, but there’s someone out there for each of us. If we’re lucky there’s more than one someone for each of us.”
It was the tiny brunette whose tears fell first. “What if I met my someone? What if my someone gave me change at the Whole Foods store and I never thought a thing about it? What if my someone is an executive in Japan and I’m never going to meet him because I despise flying?”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little melodramatic?”
“What if my someone married someone else because he was tired of waiting for me to show up in his life?”
“What if all this paranoid worry over something you’ve got no control over keeps you from leaving the house long enough to find your someone?” At the thought Laney looked more green than what was left of their salads. “Dear, sweet, Laney, you are a beautiful, compassionate, free woman. The idea that no man has placed a solitaire on your finger one, stands to further my suspicions that men don’t want women who appear to not need them and two, amazes me more than the Sponge Bob phenomenon.”
“So I should be more vulnerable?”
“Absolutely not! You should be all that you are naturally and wait for a man worthy of what you have to offer to enter your life. Don’t ever settle for someone. It’s the best advice I have to give you.”
“Sarah,” her voice was hedging, shaky, “Did you settle for Tim?”
“Maybe. A little. I loved him, don’t get me wrong, but I loved him for the wrong reasons, I think. He made me feel safe, secure. Tim was sensible, practical, factual. He was sweet, but not exhilarating.”
“Don’t you want to feel safe and secure?”
“Sure, but I want to feel unnerved too. I can’t explain it.”
“But you were so upset when he left.”
Sarah shoved a Visa card in front of Sumner before he could select their bill from his order pad. Laney made a move to pay, but it was dismissed when Sarah reminded the waiter they were in a bit of a hurry. “I was upset. I was losing my best friend. They always say that. ‘Marry your best friend and you’ll be happy.’ I’m proof that doesn’t always work. There are certain things I want from the man in my life that I don’t want from my best friend. I have you to lunch with, you to make me laugh, you to commiserate with. I’m not making any sense.”
“Yes you are. You are. Enough, of this,” Laney pronounced. “I was supposed to be cheering you up.”
“You have, honestly you have” she reassured her friend as she penned her name across the bottom of the Visa slip. “Hey,” she called as a second thought came to her. Whispering she suggested to Laney, “Maybe Sumner’s your someone.” A playful swat from Laney accompanied the fit of giggles that overcame them both.
***** ***** *****
When Sarah finally looked up from the Weatherly file, it was just past six o’clock. There were three more exhibits to wade through before the brief would be ready for filing, but by now she was sure Toby would be on his way, if not in the lobby. The determination in his voice made her sure of that. Regardless of how much she wanted to wrap up at least this one case, Sarah plunked the file on the left hand corner of her walnut desk. “I guess there’ll be twice as much to do tomorrow.” She gathered her briefcase. But it was when she slung her wrap over her shoulder she stopped. There was that face again, that smiling, relaxed face, prominent and alive. Shaking it off, she snatched a sheet of paper from her blotter. “Here’s my time Nettie.”
Gathering the flung paper and giving it a quick once over, the secretary paused. “Ms. Williams?”
“Yes Nettie,” she replied a little more than perturbed.
“Sorry Miss, but this is, well...”
“The entire day. Bill the entire day to Weatherly!”
“Yes Miss, but would you like your portrait back?”
“What?” she spun, snatching the sheet. Fleeting and familiar eyes etched in the blue ink from a silver Cross pen stared back at her, a crooked smile on his smudged lips. Shoving it in her briefcase, she continued on her way. The ear buds stayed in her bag. She had taken enough chances, thank you.
Brisk air had given way to the humidity as she treaded on. The inside of her elbow grew sticky with perspiration as she cursed the cashmere swatch hanging over it. Her complex in sight, Sarah’s feet seemed to find a second wind. In a city so filled with diverse architecture, she had surely chosen the most perfectly square box in which to live. Perhaps it said more about her than she would have liked to. Shifts had changed, she realized when Jason flung the door open for her. Had the day grown so late so soon?
“Good evening Miss Williams.”
“Good evening. Has anyone been by looking for me?”
“Yes ma’am. I do believe your brother was let in earlier this evening.”
“Let in!” she raged.
Growing nervous, Jason quickly justified, “It was the security guards who let him in. Said they recognized him.”
“Ms. Williams. He was exhausted from waiting for you,” one of the guards told her. “If we hadn’t have known him I assure you we wouldn’t have done it.”
Without comment, Sarah marched passed the lot of them. Inside the elevator, she growled, livid at the lack of courtesy shown for her personal space. Cracking, her fingernail fell to the floor as she attempted to drill the button for her floor. Missing the target any way, the nail became a casualty of her irritation and now there would be an extra stop on her way upstairs. Someone on the twenty-second floor was waiting to go down. With confused, blue, watery eyes which nearly matched her hair, the just over four foot grandmotherly type clicked her dentures in Sarah’s direction as though she’d planned the detour. Nervously, the young girl smiled, but the woman only knitted her snowy brow and turned away.
“Constantly on display for the judgment of others,” her mother had always warned her when she was no bigger than the woman from the twenty-second floor. “Do your best to be perfect dearest. No one wants you when you’re not at your best.”
Falling against the back wall of the elevator Sarah sighed, “I suppose I shall never be wanted again then.”
When the small, metal encased capsule could climb no higher, the doors spread. There was the tacky red carpet which had gone so well with the creamy café latte color which once graced the interior halls. But since management had decided to freshen things up with a coat of colonial blue, or so they called it, there was a bit of a contrast. To Sarah, it was more a faded denim and it made the hallways seem decked in Americana. Deep breaths accompanied the thirty or so steps she took to the right, down the corridor, passed the garbage drop and the emergency exit. Outside her door she hesitated, feeling almost guilty about going in. Knowing her brother was waiting inside suddenly made her feel like an intruder in her own home. Worse still, they both knew she’d been avoiding him, there would be no chance of that now. Instinctively she knocked. No one answered. Her key turned in the door and she broke the threshold less than confidently.
His thick, nearly black hair blended with the leather on her couch as he slept. She watched him, a rough smile playing on her lips. She loved to watch him sleep. Something about Toby’s peaceful demeanor came through in his sleep. He looked like he savored the rest, relaxation radiating from him like a starlight. Sarah wondered how long she’d kept him waiting, regret sweeping through her like a cool wind. Not just for working late today, when it seemed so important for Toby to see her, but for the last year or so and what she’d put him through. Most who knew them were aware Sarah’s husband had left and could sympathize with how difficult it was, but few could fathom what Toby had lost. Through it all he fared quite a bit better than his sister, one would say. He stayed truer to himself, even Sarah would have agreed with that.
Taking a seat on the arm of the couch, Sarah let her fingers troll through his spiky hair. Time had made him handsome. Experience had made him mature. A life free of obligations made him young at heart. He was a publisher by trade, but counterbalanced his deadline oriented career with hobbies like biking, running, mountain climbing, white water rafting. The closer it got him to nature, the more it seemed to chip away at the suits and ties and leather loafers. It was a shame really, for as good looking as he was in his sweater and slacks, hair somewhat disheveled and dreaming on her couch, it was hard to find the man who could out Armani her brother when he decide to dress to the nines. Simple, classic, debonair. If she’d been limited to three words to describe him, physically, that would have been it.
Lost in her own thoughts, Sarah jumped when Toby stirred, both equally startled by his return to the conscious world. “Jesus Sarah!” he exclaimed as he bolted upright. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry Goldilocks, but I wasn’t expecting you in my bed when I came home.”
Pulling her into his arms, the siblings shared a tender hug. “I’ve really missed you,” he told the woman in his arms sincerely. “How are things?”
“Fine, fine,” she lied trying not to cry. “Everything is just fine.”
Skeptically, he cocked his head until their eyes were very nearly perpendicular. “Really?”
“Really,” she lied again this time taking a deep breath and changing the topic, “So you hungry?”
“Sarah,” he sounded just like their father, a mixture of disbelief and disappointment deepening his tone.
“Come on Toby, Giordano’s, my treat.”
Narrowing brows critiqued her. Nothing in her stance indicated she wanted to spew forth her deepest emotions, even if her soul was ready to burst. “With pepperoni?” he bartered.
“And mushroom.”
“No. You know I hate mushrooms.”
“So pick them out.”
Less than five minutes together and they were back to behaving like the adolescents they once were, quibbling over whose turn it was, what they wanted on their pizzas. In a moment they’d argue about what to watch on the television. Toby chuckled, happy to have this with Sarah once more, even if he knew it would be fleeting at best. “I’ll meet you half way. I’ll pick out your mushrooms if you tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I thought you needed to talk to me about something.”
“True, but something tells me you need to talk as much if not more than I need you to listen.”
Years of feeling like his parent culminated in his one sentence. Too proud to expose herself to the child and too stubborn to listen. “I’m going to shower and change,” she said to him with definite authority. From her briefcase, she withdrew a few bills. “Tell the doorman to let the pizza guy in and give him all of this.”
Ruffling the bills, he announced, “Sarah, there’s thirty two dollars here.”
“Yes, and the man delivers to me as quickly as he can, even though I’m three blocks outside his area. Just give him the money,” she snapped.
A six figure salary was wasted on just one person. Sarah did not weep with sorrow or heartbreak when she parted with it. Bills paid, luxuries acquired, family taken care of, and a healthy stash for retirement, why not enjoy what remained. Toby was more like his mother, staunch, thrifty, too proud to take ‘hand-outs’, including any attempt Sarah made to assist him, no matter how meager.
Quickly enough, Sarah was in and out of the shower, donned in more comfortable attire, she reentered the living area on the lower level in a grey track suit, the shirt embroidered with her firm’s logo. “Pizza’s on the table,” Toby called from the kitchen. “Can I get you a drink?”
“There’s a Cabernet Sauvignon in the wine rack,” she ordered, taking a seat before one of the place settings at the table. Unfolding the napkin, Sarah allowed it to fall across her lap.
Joining his sister, Toby set down her wine. “Don’t you think there’s something to the old pairing of pizza and beer?” he scoffed as she wafted in the bouquet before staining her lips burgundy.
“Neither I nor any of my companions,” she chose, “swill beer.” Two generous slices were served.
Innocently, Toby asked, “When did they form good old SABW?”
Confusion rumpled her face, only to be ironed out as he pointed to her shirt. “1866,” Sarah replied.
Chewing his food, he looked coyly from the tops of his eyes, keeping his chin pinned to his chest. “And were you one of the founding partners?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked hotly.
“It’s supposed to mean,” he explained, setting down his silverware, “beer is an acceptable beverage for swilling, as you say. White wine isn’t just for fish anymore. Grey is not the new black and you can comfortably wear white shoes after labor day if the attire so calls for it. Would you stop acting like you’re one of the staunch, heady, republican, steel backs that you work for? At least for a minute, at least around me, for Christ’s sake!”
“I am a republican. You’re a republican. Father was republican.”
“I understand that, but father deviated where sense called for it. Father realized that while you might favor a certain system of belief, you have the freedom to subject them to your own personal beliefs and compromise between the two.”
Sarah stopped eating at his observation. “I’m expected to behave a certain way around my colleagues.”
“I’m not a colleague,” he argued.
“It’s not that easy to just turn it on and off.”
“Why not? You’ll grow old before your time, Sarah I swear. You’re wound so tight, I wonder how it is you keep from bursting.” Toby reached for her hand, only to have it immediately yanked from his grip. “You really ought let loose once in a while.”
Trying to meet him half way she quipped, “Is that how you want your sister to be known throughout the city, loose?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Toby, I have done my best to stop being your mother and work at being your sister. Can we agree that is loose enough for now?”
“In all due respect Sarah, I have outgrown my need for a mother and what it is I desire now, even more than a sister, is a friend. If I can’t search for friendship in the eyes of my only sister, where should I hunt?”
“Right,” she smiled across the narrow glass top of her contemporary dining set. “And for what purpose do you seek this friend?”
“To share good news.” Eyes glistening he took in her frozen expression. “Sarah I bought a house, a small place in Peotone.”
“A house,” the wine seemed to solidify and lodge in her throat reclaiming it’s childhood as a grape. “What do you need a house for?” There was almost a snicker in the vibrations of her query.
Eyes as coy as they had been when Toby accused her only moments earlier of being antiquated he added, “That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about.”