From behind the balled fist she held tightly to her lips Sarah grumbled, “I didn’t assault him.” Staring out the window, she watched the flow of the river to their left. She couldn’t help but imagine Irmscher’s body being sucked down into the slate waters as he continued his line of alternating chastisements and rhetoric.
“Fine. You didn’t assault him, but you still know better. At least I would hope you know better. I mean,” here he looked at her briefly before focusing on the road again, “you do know better, don’t you?” Sarah glared at him being sure to paste the image of the river she’d cut from the passenger window around his crimson, rumpled face as she did so. “I don’t get it. You went to a good school. You’ve been in courtrooms for us before. Is something at home preventing you from doing your job? Because I can’t have that! I won’t have that!” Spit littered the console of his Mercedes as he raged, “When you’re representing this firm you’re on my time and whatever domestic disturbances are going on must come second…no last,” he corrected himself. “Last, do you understand? Now this woman, this..this..this Fonzarelli woman…”
“Chelli,” Sarah corrected focusing on the river again.
“Whatever, she’s going to sue if we can’t win this case and let me tell you, insurance or no insurance, it’s just not a good thing to have on the books. Now I got someone good to take your place, but I wonder if the damage hasn’t already been done. This judge is going to be sniffing our case like a K-9 team. Not to mention this lady’s husband, if his attorney is smart, will use this little break down of yours to his advantage. Not just as evidence of the instability of the case, but everywhere he can think of. He’ll claim incompetence, say that she’s perjured herself, want disclosure. And then we’re fucked.”
If she’d have cared more, she might have questioned what he meant by saying he’d gotten someone good to take her place. Rather she watched as they passed the sky scrapers in town and Sarah did a little window shopping, that is until his expletive caught Sarah’s wandering attention. “I think I need to take a leave.”
“What!? Well just hold it until I get you home. It’s only a few blocks.”
“Not a leak, a leave. I think I need a leave. You said it yourself.”
“I said nothing of the kind,” Irmscher was obviously fluxed at her interpretation of his literally spit forth criticism.
“You did, you said I had a break down.” Until now she’d slouched in the seat, her shoulders hunched, her body passive, nearly fetal. As her idea dripped down out of her head and rolled coherently off her tongue, it strengthened her like liquid steel. “A break down is a very serious thing. Given the utter magnitude of what I’ve done,” hey, he wanted to make her sound like she was crazy, like she was incompetent, she’d work with that, “there’s not a doctor in the city who wouldn’t agree with me when I said I needed a leave.”
“How long?” he growled.
“Don’t know. I’ll have to let the doctor tell me. Six weeks, six months, somewhere in between.”
Any indication of rhetoric left him as his knuckles went white from clutching the steering wheel the way he had probably wanted to clutch Sarah’s throat. “Six months! Are you out of your mind? Do you honestly expect to be gone for six months time and still have your job?”
“Absolutely,” she told him almost cheerfully. “Under FMLA, you have to have my job made available when I get back. You wouldn’t want another insurance claim, would you? Doesn’t look good on the books.” He’d pulled close to the curb of her building before she opened the door as widely as his mouth gaped, “I’m taking tomorrow off.”
“So you’ll be back…”
Sarah gathered her things from the backseat of his car, “I told you, I’m going to let the doctor tell me when to come back.” After slamming the Mercedes’ doors closed, Sarah walked with a triumphant smile to her building as Irmscher repeatedly yelled her name inside the car. She looked back briefly once she was inside, amused to see a purple hue coming to his cheeks.
***** ***** *****
“What’s so unbelievable?” Sarah asked Laney when the woman kept muttering the word. “I mean we’re talking about a man who spent three years listening to me speak articulately about goblins and beasts and tiny foxes who ride on shaggy dogs over rickety bridges in bogs of filth.”
“Stench,” Laney corrected. “Even so Sarah, that was back when we were graduating, when you were getting ready to get married and you were having a panic attack every other day that you were throwing your life away too early.”
“Yeah, well the way Doctor Fry sees it, I’m under a lot of stress, what with my brother getting married, he figures I’m feeling like I’m letting him down and that it’s causing these illusions of abandonment to resurface.”
“And...”
“And,” Sarah giggled, “Two weeks off. A vacation he thinks I need very badly. He wants to see me when I get back, to reevaluate me.”
“All because you wigged on this guy?”
“Well, I was in jail for contempt of court.”
“You’re shitting me!?”
“Hmpf!” Sarah stared at the phone in disbelief, “Yeah Laney, I’m making up going to jail, being frisked, finger printed and shoved into a holding cell, not to mention a permanent criminal record, all to what exactly, impress you?”
“Well you didn’t say they actually took you to jail, you just said you were held in contempt.”
“Yeah, and where do you think they held me? I sure as shit wasn’t curled up in the judge’s arms. Anyway, I gotta go. I need to tell Nettie and Irmscher I’m taking vacation.”
“What are you going to do with all that time?”
Smiling, Sarah shared her plans. “I’m going to spend more time with Ashton. I’m going to get my nails done. I’m going to check out the pool in my building. I’m going to go dancing every night of the week and I’m going to...” she paused to think about the one thing she hadn’t done in as long as she could remember, “I’m going to do nothing, maybe for an entire day! Gotta go, doll. Love you.”
Laney tried to hide the concern in her voice, “I love you too Sar. Honest I do. So if you need anything...”
Leaning against one of the pillars in front of her office building Sarah complied with the request she knew was about to be made of her, “I’ll call. I promise.” After she snapped her cell closed, she spread her arms wide and spun in a circle, laughing brazenly in the noon day sun. All about her people hustled to lunch and not one of them bothered to stop and stare. Surely a handful or more of them were curious, but no one asked, no one dared ask. Perhaps she’d overreacted all those years she’d wasted locking up the wild, free woman inside her. This was far too fun. Dizziness besieged her head making her stop. Reaching back for the pillar, she’d found that she had migrated further into the walk than she’d realized and was very appreciative of the sudden stability of a pair of arms around her waist.
“You alright?”
If only this swirling sensation would leave her head maybe she could focus in on whoever was speaking to her. Perhaps this was a little less fun than she may have originally claimed. Sarah tried shaking her head, but up and down had become more of a swishing circular bob.
“Just close your eyes love, give it a minute,” the man holding her cautioned as he drew her closer. She was letting him too, that’s what amazed her. It had to be the vertigo. “There, there,” he told her almost paternally as he stroked her back soothingly. That voice, why did she know that voice. Where did she know that voice from? Closing her eyes actually did help and she felt the planet’s rotation begin to slow. Her hands clasped two forearms, pushing back firmly, her eyes fluttered open.
‘Jesus,’ she thought as his face began to solidify from the haze her unsteady eyes had left behind. “Excuse me,” Sarah protested as she began to support her own weight some. “I mean I appreciate your help, but...”
“You’re late today,” he told her.
Who the hell did he think he was? It was one thing to pick up her wrap, one thing to give her some cheesy pick up sequence while they were trapped on public transportation together, but this was bordering on stalking, if not having crossed smack dab into stalking and taken a rest at the gift shop.
“I am,” Sarah said, thinking it was best not to rouse him. “So if you’ll excuse me, I really need to get to work.”
“Sarah,” he drew out her name in a way that froze her in her steps, “why won’t you even give me a chance? What do I have to do to impress you?”
She stood there, dumb, not knowing how he managed to acquire her name, but somehow mesmerized by the way it had kissed his lips goodbye just then as it headed for her ears.
The Good Samaritan rose a finger to her, “I know, just one second. Don’t move!” As if she could. Her jaw was gapping, she was sure of it, as she watched him jaunt over to a street vendor and purchase a half dozen plastic wrapped roses. “If I’m to win the heart of a queen, I must treat her as royalty.” Falling to his knees he held up the token. Sarah accepted the flowers, still in awe. A small crowd had gathered, whispering in a uniform buzz that was completely indecipherable to her. “Fair lady, give me but one chance to tell you how I feel.”
There was no time to forbid him, no moment to deny his plea, even if her lips were capable of moving. No. She watched on helplessly as he stood, put one hand in his pants pocket and began a smooth shuffle step as he encircled her.
You see this guy,
This guy’s in love with you.
Yes I’m in love.
Who looks at you the way I do?
This didn’t happen to people. This happened on ridiculous video shows where thousands of people sat home and laughed at other people’s misfortune at being set up for a fall like this. Still, she had to admit he looked handsome enough. His suit was the color of café au lait, the shirt beneath the jacket, blue, to match his eyes, almost perfectly. It was obvious the way he continued to glide before her, behind her, that his skill at dance had been long studied.
When you smile,
I can tell,
We know each other very well.
How can I show you,
I’m glad I’ve got to know you?
Coz, I’ve heard some talk,
They say you think I’m fine.
His hands smoothed over the lapel of his jacket as he rocked back on his heels, raising his eyebrows with his ego and closing in on her more than she might have liked under the circumstances. The gathered few had drawn the attention of others still. A few of the women around her were sniffling. Sarah would have gladly changed places with them to see if they still felt as strongly.
Yes, I’m in love,
And what I’d do to make you mine!
Tell me now is it so.
Don’t let me be the last to know.
My hands are shakin’.
Don’t let my heart keep breakin’.
Her shoulders felt his hands, his head lowered close to her own as he sang of his devotion to her, the mere notion of her. Rocking her slowly with his step, the Samaritan took her swaying gently side to side. Sarah breathed in his scent, something of a cross between the popular 90's fragrance Drakkar Noir and a more timeless classic from the Calvin Klein label, mixed with the musk of the roses. No! She wasn’t about to fall for this!
Coz I need your love!
I want your love!
Say your in love,
In love with this guy.
If not I’ll just die.
At the last line, he fell against the pillar, his body showing all the desperation his words had, his tone had. God dammit, she had fallen for it. He looked so harmless, helpless, hopeless and Sarah had to rescue him. As the crowd looked on pitching in their advices, she approached this man who’d done nothing more than profess his love for her. Was that such a bad thing? The feet between them seemed like miles. The toes of her charcoal Anne Klein pumps stepped between his shoulder width stance. Casting the roses aside, she fell against him, her whole length matched to his. He only smiled down at her, not pressing for her next move, not demanding. Why was he getting to her? It wasn’t until she felt his arms fold lightly across her back that she arched up, on tippy toes, to kiss that perfect mouth she’d advertised to her friend days earlier.
As perfect as it had looked, it felt. He was greedy with the kiss, he let Sarah set its pace, its depth, its length. For a first kiss, with someone who was practically a stranger, it was perhaps a bit deeper and longer than was appropriate, but the crowd behind them seemed satisfied as they cheered. It was that which brought Sarah out of this man’s music induced hold on her, gave her visions of the pied piper. She looked at him, her face saying that she had no idea why she’d done that. Then, without a word, she ran inside her building, boarding the first available express elevator which was graciously empty. She fell against the walls of the small box. “That does it,” she sighed, her fingers wrenching in her hair, “I really am crazy.”
Outside the Samaritan picked up the discarded roses, placing them in the lap of an elderly woman in a wheelchair whose daughter had stopped for the show. With a gleeful skip in his step he shuffled off, whistling a chorus of the song he’d just sung.
***** ***** *****
Finding her composure was going to take more than a brief elevator ride. For now she combed through her locks, sure that his hand print was still showing just above the nape of her neck and pulled her rumpled jacket back into place. “Nettie” she said as she crossed in front her secretary’s desk and ducked into her office where she stuck her head between her knees an began breathing deeply as if she’d been having some sort of motion sickness this whole time. Sarah contemplated phoning Laney, but having to rehash the whole encounter wouldn’t have done much to lessen the blush in her cheeks. This break would do her a world of good she tried to convince herself, not only would she be away from Irmscher, away from this man who had become so enamored, but she would be stress-free, what with Toby still on his honeymoon.
Sitting upright she looked out the window. It would be good not to have to look out over an entire city of carefree people wishing she could join them. No, instead she would walk among them, let the mass of drones observe her for a bit. Panic shook her as she wondered if she’d ever be able to return to life as she once knew it having had this taste of freedom. It was a chance she was willing to take as she opened her drawer to remove a handful of personal items from her desk. She hadn’t thought to grab her briefcase on her way out this morning. Paging Nettie, she requested a box.
The woman came through the door, a file box in tow, nothing monstrous, with handles. Handles were good. “Sarah, what’s going on?” she asked as her boss began tossing eye drops and toothpaste into the cardboard container.
A few distinctly feminine products came sailing up from the bottom drawer before Sarah popped up her head to reply. “I’m taking a leave Nettie.”
“Does this have anything to do with what happened in court yesterday?”
“So you know then?”
“Everyone knows. Irmscher was hell bent on making sure everyone knew.”
Sarah bit her tongue, “Well in that case, yes, my leaving has everything to do with what happened in court yesterday.” She wrangled a few more things out of the credenza behind her before attacking the bookcase. “Few things in life have ever brought me true satisfaction Nettie, but walking into that pompous jackass and telling him that he’ll have the pleasure of paying me to put my feet up and relax for the next two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” Nettie repeated.
“To start. My doctor wants to see what taking some time off does for my stress level. If two weeks doesn’t do it, I may take another six months!” Irmscher could choke on it. Plucking a few personal numbers from her Rolodex, she triumphantly closed her box. “I know you’re worried about your job, but you’re very well liked around here now that the whole fiasco with Irmscher has blown over. HR will assign you to someone while I’m gone. I’ll put in a call to see you get someone decent. Don’t worry about a thing Nettie, I’m sure as hell not going to.”
She strutted passed the stunned woman, box tucked under her arm balanced on her hip. One last stop. Before she could round the corner, Nettie was at her heels. “Your laptop, don’t you want your laptop.”
Shaking her head, Sarah confirmed that she’d have no need for the blasted thing as she didn’t intend to take so much as a business related phone call while she was off. Then she turned with an almost methodical joy and swung open the door to her boss’ office. “I’m going on leave!” she announced.
“I’ll have to call you back,” Irmscher growled into the receiver, slamming it down, staring daggers at Sarah. “How long?”
“Two weeks, and if the doc says I need more I’ll let you know.” That was it. Short, concise, to the point. No lengthy expenditure of the facts, no room for discussion. She turned to leave.
“Where’s your paperwork?”
She let the box fall to the floor as she swung back around on him, her long legs making steady strides until she reached his desk. Sarah bent across the glass top mahogany forcing him back in his chair. “You mean to tell me that after everything you witnessed yesterday, you need a doctor’s excuse?”
“We want to have a complete file, don’t we?” he asked leaning forward to claim a bit of his personal space back.
Sarah stood straight so she could unclip her phone from her waistband. “I need to speak with Dr. Fry’s office,” she declared when her call was answered. “Yes, this is Sarah Williams. I need a copy of my doctor’s orders faxed to (312) 555-8419.” There was a pause as the assistant asked to whom she should direct the fax, “Irmscher,” she declared. “I.R.M.S.C.H.E.R.” After another small pause, she confirmed, “It’s a direct line. He’ll get it. Thank you.”
“Your still on the clock until I get that fax,” he muttered focusing on some papers on his desk. Sarah turned to gather her box and leave. “Didn’t you hear me? I just told you that you were on the clock until I get that fax!”
“It’s 12:17,” Sarah reminded him. “I’m going to lunch!” Confidently she headed for the elevators, waving to Nettie as she passed, ignoring the repetitive calls of ‘Williams!’ bellowing from her boss’s office.
***** ***** *****
Fumbling with her key, Sarah unlocked her apartment door already beginning to feel more relaxed. She set down the box and kicked off her shoes. With a mighty sigh, she fell onto the couch and turned on the TV, settling in on some reality court show. “What am I doing?” she asked herself aloud. “Soap operas, I should be watching soap operas. I’ve always meant to see what that hype was about.” Soon enough she was dozing. More like she was in that euphoric state between consciousness and the brink of sleep, when opening your eyes seems impossible but you can still see the burnt orange hue of daylight at the edges of your lashes. It was almost better than sleep. Especially since she’d been having a recurring dream the last few nights.
It was at Toby’s wedding reception, she’d gone off to use the ladies room. Oddly enough, she nodded off on the commode. At first her subconscious convinced her that dreaming of sleeping would refresh her doubly so, but before long Sarah realized there was nothing restful about this dream. Outside someone was calling her name, repeatedly, slowly, like in a horror flick just before she was meant to have an ice pick shoved between her ribs. There was a woman screaming, Laney maybe, and a baby crying. She tried to undo the stall lock, but it wouldn’t turn and sand was pouring in around her feet as if the whole scene were taking place inside an hourglass someone had turned over. She tried to scuttle up the sand, climbing it until she could get over the top of the stall, but even if she had been successful, the door to the washroom opened in. Surely the sand was blocking it. Each time, she gave up just as her hands cupped the edge of the stall door. Each time she awoke seconds later, sweaty and her mouth dry as stone.
‘Stop thinking about it,’ she told her subconscious. That’s what her dad always told her when she had bad dreams. You dream about whatever you go to bed thinking about. So that meant what exactly. Had she gone to bed with a full bladder thinking about going to see a movie titled Beach Blanket Bloodbath? Surely she hadn’t but something wanted her to keep having this dream…for six nights now. ‘Clear your mind,’ she told herself. ‘Think about bunnies and kittens and half off shoe sales.’
Too late. Sarah felt herself slipping from her favorite stage of sleep, passing that threshold into full blown REM. No longer aware of the sun coming in through the picture window. No longer interested in who was really the father of Lizzie Spaulding’s baby. No longer concerned with the fact that she might wake up with the crocheted pattern of her throw pillow embedded on her cheek. Falling, no more like being sucked into a vortex, a black background with shooting stars of white light. She felt herself trying to hold on to that more grey area, but it was being pulled opposite her with equal velocity.
“Damn it,” she cried into the void. Her body jolted in her sleep. There was the sunlight, the silvery white gown, Toby in a tuxedo, that blue dress. This was it. Everyone was busily chatting about. In a few minutes she’d excuse herself, make a bee line for the arcade where she could hide away from people she didn’t want to see much less talk to.
Sarah could feel the cool air blowing in the ladies room. Making the loose hairs at the back of her neck tickle her skin. She sat down on the porcelain lid of the commode and put her head into her hands. Heart was heavy with sadness and regret, thoughts of Toby, thoughts of Tim and before she could stop herself she was nodding off. Had she not had the foresight to support her skull it would have bobbed like a dashboard toy. There was that pleasant thought that double the sleep meant double the rest and quickly as it had come it was gone.
Her harmonious second slumber shattered by that eerie repetition of her name, “Saaaraaah…Saaaraaah…Saaaraaah…”
‘Shake it off,’ she told herself. ‘It’s just a dream. You can wake up whenever you want.’ It wasn’t true. She wanted to wake up just then, not even go through with what she knew was coming next, but despite being aware of that, she remained asleep.
The woman’s scream was just as it had been the six nights previous. Full bodied, desperate, filled with fear and anguish. Not just like someone being hurt, but like someone being tortured. It wasn’t her mother’s shrill theatrics, not Laney’s classic scream queen wail. It was something deep, low, guttural and it last nearly 30 seconds. Then it was drown out, carried away and replaced by the inconsolable cries of a child. Not a toddler, old enough to heave great labored fragments between his bouts of tears, but an infant, like Toby had been once, only not Toby’s crying. Toby’s crying she had remembered.
Sarah tossed on the couch. ‘The sand is bound to start soon,’ she thought. She anticipated its barely moist gritty texture on the tops of her feet. She would kick off her shoes as she had all the other times making it easier to climb the accumulating mound. Twisting the lock, shaking the door she’d try it all. None of it would work. Why not just accept that now and give up. Wake up. ‘Damn it, wake up!’ she shouted to herself.
Not having done much to wake her up physical, Sarah was surprised that the inner outburst thoroughly alerted her unconscious senses. Suddenly her dream self was more aware, more alert, more expectant and most importantly unwilling to accept her repeated fate. Sarah kicked off her shoes and ripped the seam of her gown another five inches or so, until it split just below her panty line. The sand started to cover the floor. She was up on the toilet seat before she saw the last tile disappear, her hands grabbed for the top of the stall and she was hoisting up her left knee like a third hand, pulling her closer to the door. Perched atop the stall, she was beginning to think her bright idea wasn’t so bright after all. It was, for better or for worse, a long way down and an inch of sand wasn’t going to provide much of a cushion.
‘What would you rather face?’ she asked herself, ‘being buried alive by sand or taking a hard fall onto it?’ Didn’t seem like much of a choice really. Over she went. As she expected, she hit hard landing on her knees, managing to get her hands up in time to protect her face, but not well enough that she could avoid taking in a mouthful of sand. Sarah sat there a second, trying to be sure nothing had been broken, twisted or contorted in the fall. She spat the grains out of her mouth, then looked around to find the source of substance meant to bury her alive. It was no where. It seemed to materialize from the sealed edges of the ladies rest room, running down the walls like a fountain with a hidden source.
The door seemed like a logical escape, but after having secured her stall door so tightly, she doubted very much if she’d find that this door to her freedom was a more fruitful means of escape. Regardless, she gave it a go. Nothing. There was a tiny window, one she probably could have managed through with only minor tearing of her skin and a full shredding of her dress, but it was dream skin and a dream dress and a challenge she couldn’t refuse. She tried the window which to no real surprise was locked. From the wall she ripped down a metal cup dispenser, then tucking her hand inside she swung at the window hoping to shatter the glass. No good. Her arm bounced back like a little rubber ball.
‘Well you’re screwed,’ she heard herself answer back as she pressed her subconscious on and it wasn’t so far from true. Sarah was livid. Angry with a dream. Furious with figments of her imagination determined to control her. She wouldn’t allow it, she couldn’t. She dragged the pink floral wingback chair from the corner of the restroom. This was after all a dream, nothing going on here was practical or logical or plausible for that matter. With strength she’d have never had in waking hours, Sarah hefted the chair and pitched it against the wall mirror which spanned the entire back splash of the five basin sink. Tinkling, shards of mirror fell to the ground around her. She shielded her eyes as soon as her hands let go of the chair.
There was that pulling sensation again. Perhaps she was waking up, but no, waking up was something entirely different, something more sudden and abrupt. This was like drifting into dream all over again. Black, seemingly endless void, that feeling of vertigo that made her shut her eyes, just as the good Samaritan had told her to do. Wait for it to pass.
Everything around her felt dry, more to the point, everything around her felt like it was drying her out, like it was sucking the water from her body. Her throat felt raw, her eyes gluey, her skin taut, like any movement she attempted would cause it to crack and bleed. The air smelled of spice and nothing so pleasing as cinnamon or clove, but something harsh, like an onion or a hot pepper. Sand! Sand was all around her, she felt it in her hands, in her toes, along the length of her exposed leg and pressed against her bosom. Forcing her eyelids open, she stared in disbelief at the acreage of orange sand, the fields of dead, black bark trees and the maze of stone walls.
“No,” they cried out, her physical self and her subconscious uniting for the first time. “I won’t go back there.”
Sarah turned to run, behind her a huge hill, made entirely of sand. Her legs pumped like she was taking a flight of stairs. She’d make some progress only to find herself sliding down the unsteady slope and headed back to her starting point. After a few tries, she was too exhausted to keep trying. She let the sand toss her back to the ground then sat there and cried. “I don’t want to go back there.”
***** ***** *****
“Coffee,” Sarah announced aloud as sleep relinquished its hold on her, “and lots of it.” Stumbling to the kitchen, she did her best to shake the images left behind by the figures in her mind. “Just a dream,” she muttered. “Just a stupid dream left over from childhood brought on by stress.” The coffee pot gurgled as she set it to brewing. Not eating all day was catching up to her. Even the thought of three day old Chinese seemed welcoming. As she set the black plastic container into the microwave she took note of the time. 9:30. “Ugh! Is that really the time.” Punching in two minutes, she fell against the counter. It should have been at least midnight.
“Saaaraaah!”
Fast as a flash, she shot her eyes open. “What the hell is happening to me?” Picking up the phone, she considered calling Laney, then thought maybe her therapist, or maybe Ashton. Maybe that was the best way out of this. A nice romp in the sack always seemed to relax her. Ashton was certainly no slouch in that department. Her hands shook as she punched in the digits.
“Hey, it’s Ash. Your dime, your time. Catch up with you when I can?” Quickly she hung up the phone. He did say something about being out of town after all. “That’s fine. I don’t need a man, any man,” she emphasized as the little song and dance done in her honor returned to encore in her head, “to take me out. I make my own money. I’ll spend it!”
Practically inhaling the leftovers along with four cups of coffee, she went upstairs to ready herself. By the time she came back down, her work attire had been crudely discarded in a heap and in it’s place, a flashy gold skirt hung from her waist, leaving off just under halfway down her thigh where the fringes began. A halter style white vest, pinstriped gold, covered her chest, leaving her back exposed but for a low strip which held the garment to her and connected at the bottom of her ribs. To accentuate her waist a gold belly chain, medium links that circled her exposed, narrow mid-section before joining just above her left hip and hanging down. By the time she slipped on the white leather knee boots, the ones with the gold spike heels, it would have been impossible not to notice her unless you were blind, and even then it would still be tough. Of course, just to make certain, she painted on a thin line of brown around the top and lower lid of each eye, a stroke of mascara across her lashes, the tiniest hint of rose on her cheeks and across her lips a honey colored gloss that made her lips look kissed by the summer dew.
The next call she made was for a cab. To hell with Ashton, to hell with Irmscher, to hell with her damned dreams while she was at it. She didn’t need any of them. The clubs weren’t about to move around without Ashton to guide her to them. No one she encountered was going to expect her to flip open a laptop and defend them. No one was going to make her go somewhere she didn’t want to go. A light white sweater over her shoulders, a gold purse on a long chain, no bigger than was necessary to hold ID, cash, a key and a lipstick and Sarah Williams was on her way, on her own and feeling very good about it, even if she had no real reason to.
***** ***** *****
The music filled her as she sat at the bar sipping a Cuervo Black and cola. The idea of dancing without a partner making Sarah a little more uneasy than she would have liked to admit. No matter, she was feeling better just being out of the apartment. When she was ready, she’d dance. Eventually the DJ would play some song her feet were incapable of resisting, until then she was content to sit there, listening, watching as the place began to fill up. The regulars were all clustered in their spot, around their regular tables. She was out of place. It wasn’t even her night. She dropped a ten dollar bill down on the bar and started out.
In her mind she had planned a quick escape, passed the bar, out the door. No such luck. The brick wall Sarah ran headlong into wore a black cotton shirt meshing perfectly with his black leather jacket and smelled like turpentine. “Hey there, I know you’re not leaving. You can’t be I just got here.” Muscling her back onto the dance floor, he writhed against her in time to the music. “Names Buck.” His voice was like gravel chips over tar. Sharp, unanticipated and thrown at her when she least expected it. “What’s your name?” he demanded, spraying her face with stale beer.
“My boyfriend was just bringing the car around. He’ll be expecting me.” Trying to be polite she ducked to the right and attempted passing him.
“No woman with a boyfriend gets to go out looking like this.” His hands grabbed at the fringy ends of her skirt. Sarah pulled back, but it only incited him more. She felt him pawing her rear end with his hand, hot, damp, fat fingers digging into her flesh. What had she gotten herself into. Her small hands shoved with all their might against his broad chest. The spindly heels of her boots caused her topple backwards against one of the tables. Sarah sat down as if she belonged there amongst the clutter left behind while they were off dancing. Half drunk mixed beverages, coats, sweaters, keys, cigarette packs. Fortunately for her it was discouragement enough for the Neanderthal to go stomping back to the bar in search of another female he could club and drag out to the dance floor.
Still in shock, Sarah took a few deep breaths as she drummed her nails off the Formica table top. A postage stamp of green caught her eye. It seemed as if her fingers moved in slow motion as they wrapped around the cellophane coating of the pack of Marlboro cigarettes. White lettering, something Italian on a green match book. Familiar, too familiar. But he was out of town all this week. That’s why she’d had to rely on Irmscher when she was in that holding cell. That was why she had to find the courage to come out here on her own. There was a business card in behind the matches. Sarah slipped them up and out of the cellophane wrap. They were Ashton’s all right. What was this all about?
Her eyes surveyed the crowd, anxious to find him and have her suspicions confirmed. On the far side of the club were a couple of pillars. Against the far one, Sarah could see a petite blonde, shoulders pinned back, a lecherous grin parting her lips enough to allow her tongue to peak through as it traveled east to west across her lip. Her hips rose and fell, her hands above her head keeping her in balance. Working his way up from her ankles, admiring her body the way he had paid homage to Sarah’s in the past, was the owner of the abandoned smokes. “That sonofabitch!” Sarah said as she crushed the pack of cigarettes in her hand before slamming them down.
Anger enhanced the minimal blush she’d chosen to apply to her cheeks. Chastising herself silently, Sarah admitted what she’d known from the first time she’d seen this man, that being he was too good to be true. Most men as confidently handsome as he was were. Top that off with a good job, the Mr. Manners routine, oh hell, anybody who made you breakfast the next morning was trying to make up early for something he knew he was going to do later on. She was pissed at him, but more than that she was pissed at herself for not knowing better.
Two could play this game, she wagered as she strutted out to the center of the dance floor. Her arms went over her head, hands slipping up and down her forearms as her hips began to roll in time to the more top 40 type of music they played on Thursday night’s. Before long the relevance of the Pussycat’s rhetoric became apparent as couples stopped moving and looked at Sarah, the men with longing and the women with hatred. A couple left the sides of their partners and pressed against the white and gold goddess. She paid them a few seconds of attention and moved on to the next.
Over the last couple of months, this place had brought something out in Sarah. She could work a dance floor with all the savvy and elegance that she had once been able to work a courtroom with. Despite the differences in the settings, there were similarities. For one she was being evaluated and along those lines, she was pleasing everyone looking on, all but her opposition. During one turn she managed to catch Ashton’s eye. He’d turned to see what the fuss was about, a mixture of shock and intrigue on his face. His accompaniment for the evening pouted as she leaned against the column.
Ashton stepped forward in an attempt to share this dance with her. “Sarah, don’t you have work in the morning?”
“Ashton? You can’t be Ashton. He’s out of town this week.” She smiled at him triumphantly as she dropped low before him winding her way back up his body like a snake. “Excuse me,” she said turning to the her next waiting partner. Over her shoulder she added, “I wouldn’t want anyone to get the idea that I was involved with someone. No good for my reputation.”
Anger and passion were such close bedfellows that the gentlemen who’d waited patiently on the sidelines benefited most obviously from Ashton’s daring to speak to her. Ashton clutched her arm forcibly. Her eyes squinted. Her head cocked to the side. If he didn’t know better before he grabbed her in that manner, he knew now. “Sarah, we need to talk.”
“No we don’t. I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Maybe I have something to say.”
“Maybe I don’t want to hear it.”
“Hey pal,” that same jerk who only ten minutes earlier had two handfuls of Sarah’s ass under lock and key managed to see in Ashton something ungentlemanly. Go figure. “The lady said buzz off.”
Ashton was less than pleased with the interruption, “This is really none of your business.”
“I make it my business to make these things my business,” he declared right before he pulled back his right fist and connected it swiftly with the ridge just above Ashton’s left eye. Sarah stayed long enough to see him hit the floor, then she took off, shuffling quickly out the door before her knight could expect any sort of reward.
***** ***** *****
It wasn’t until she was back at the magnificent mile that she felt her eyes start to burn and the only thing that would calm them was to let the water flow. “Uh, could you just pull over here, please?” she whined.
“Ninth Street?” the cabbie asked in broken English.
Sarah was launched into full fledged sob by this point. “I know, I know. I said Michigan to Ninth, but I forgot, there’s someone I have to meet at the Hancock.” She handed him a $50 bill for a $10 fare. Before he could make change she’d run into the lobby of the building. She fell against one of the interior walls and wiped at her eyes. “Oh Sarah,” she said to herself, “what the hell have you done now? Look at you! Look at what a fool you’ve made of yourself! Karen would have plenty to say about this.” She pulled her sweater tighter around herself.
A few dozen deep breaths and the notion of a comfort cocktail awaiting her 96 floors above brought her tears under control. She was sure her face was a mess. As her ears began popping in the elevator, she made the decision to head straight to the ladies room before she went into the bar in hopes of making herself more presentable.
The view from the window panels in the restroom were as magnificent at night as they were during the day. Lights from five states glimmering in the darkness, seeming to offer something positive in an otherwise endless black sea. The cool water felt like it was extinguishing her face as she pressed a dampened paper towel against her stinging cheeks. Sarah had begun to regret the fashionably small purse she’d brought along. No room for concealer or powder, the things she need most. Even so, a little face wash and a new smear of lipstick made her reasonably comfortable. Thank goodness she’d inherited her mother’s fair skin. When it was clean, free of tear stains, it didn’t need make up to be flawless and with make up it was perfection.
“Cloud 96,” she ordered as she took a seat at the bar.
For $10.75, the pretentious bitch behind the counter mixed Vodka, Cointreaut and a splash of cranberry juice, then slid it across the counter on a napkin with a wedge of lime. Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dropped a ten and a five on the counter and not thought twice about it, but given what she’d just come from in combination with her extreme distaste she had for the woman in the stiff white blouse and the crisp black vest. A distaste that grew exponentially as she watched the bartender flicking her eyes from edge of Sarah’s skirt, to the neckline of her top, to the toes of her boots.
It was unlike Sarah to initiate a confrontation, but such a situation as this called for it. “All more expensive than you could afford,” she confirmed when the glances went on far too long to be considered polite. She flung a $20 at the observant bartender and waited for her change. When the $9.25 was set before her with a curled lip, Sarah scooped up the bills and slid the two bits back towards the inner rim of the bar top with a half smile and a quick raise of the eyebrows.
From over her right shoulder stretched a hand. Through the thin knit of her sweater she could feel the heat of body as Sarah watched two crisp bills fall over the quarters she’d offered up. A rich, smooth voice requested, “Remy, neat.” The reaction of the woman who had been content to judge her only a few seconds earlier, gladly handed over the cognac with a wide grin. “Keep the change,” he insisted making the bartender’s look soften as she tucked her chin and admired him from the corner of her eyes. “Long time no see,” the increasingly familiar face offered as he stepped around to sit next to her.
‘This is just perfect,’ Sarah thought as the good Samaritan who seemed to haunt her waking hours leaned against the bar casually. “How do you manage to wind up everywhere I am?” she asked.
“Lucky, I suppose.”
“Seriously, there are laws to protect women like me from men like you.”
He sipped his Remy, “Really? That grey shadow just above your cheekbone tells me I’m not the one you need protecting from.”
How dare he be so perceptive? How dare he invade her emotional space that way? Sarah sat there stunned, her only cover to sip at the martini which remained in her hand by miracle alone. “Why me?” she asked him. “Of all the women in Chicago, why me?”
“Why not you?” he countered making the whole thing seem far more simple than it truly was. “You’re a successful woman, a beautiful woman, a hypnotizing woman, why shouldn’t a man, any man, this man, be attracted to you?” He set his perfect mouth to the rim of the crystal tumbler and drank deeply. His face turned thoughtful as he asked, “What is it you believe makes you so unworthy of being worshiped Sarah?”
The remainder of her cocktail went down in one gulp. He motioned to the bartender to bring her another round, but Sarah protested. “I really need to go,” she stammered. When he continued trying to persuade her, she insisted, although not firmly, “I really need to go.” He grabbed her shoulders as she stood to go. His mouth fell open to speak, but Sarah interrupted him, “What do you want from me?”
“A date. One date.” It sounded like so little. Harmless frivolity. But one date left her feeling things for Ashton he had not the capability to return. He too seemed innocent enough at first, trustworthy, safe. She couldn’t decide which was worse, never really saying you care, but alluding to it in all your actions, or to come outright and claim you care while acting like a full fledged maniac? Either way, the picture looked pretty grim. His eyes looked honest enough, his lips hung desperate, dripping with sincerity, his hands against her skin were tender and loving, but a heart twice turned to stone was less than apt to crumble under even the most perfect conditions.
“I can’t. I...I just can’t,” she said a little regrettably. “Please.”
His hands fell from her shoulders immediately. His intentions had never been to harm her, to frighten her. Forcing her to love him was never part of his plan, rather he expected if he could some how seem as magical to Sarah Williams as she had seemed to him, then in turn, she would be without choice but to as effortless adore him as he adored her. He was a man left with little more than an endless supply of Remy and a pocketful of good intentions. When he reached for his glass intent on emptying it to make room for another, he found the ice warmer than the air which filled his hands as she left him.
***** ***** *****
When she jabbed at the button for the ground floor in the elevator, the lights flickered briefly before going black. Ninety-six floors is a long way down. Sarah fell to the floor, her knees held tight to her chest. “What’s happening?” she cried. Now a little sit down in the dark was normally no big deal, but in a box smaller than her closet Sarah grew increasingly uncomfortable quickly. “Help me!” she shouted. “Help me!”
A few seconds passed before Sarah heard the first voice. “How can we help?”
“I’d like to get out of here.”
“Which way would you like to go?”
There were what, one, maybe two floors above her, what kind of ridiculous question was that to ask. A second voice made itself known when time enough had passed without having heard from the woman trapped inside the elevator. “Well which way?”
“Down,” she called out. “Slowly and gently, down.” The slowly and gently part was to reassure herself, especially when the elevator jolted and began to descend the shaft. Despite having entered an empty car, Sarah would have wagered there were fingers poking at her back, fluttering passed her legs.
“She chose down!” voices sang.
“Down,” Others confirmed.
Still more chimed in, “Too late now.”
On her feet in a flash, Sarah’s tiny hands beat against the walls of the elevator. “Stop! Stop it!” Nothing changed, if anything the chanting grew louder. Now flinging herself from wall to wall, she shouted with all her might. “Stop, please!” Almost immediately the car jolted to a stop and the lights flickered to life. Four men in grey ‘OTIS’ jump suits greeted her.
“You alright miss?” the first asked.
The next offered, “Electrical malfunction.”
“I’m...I’m f...fine.” Sarah looked them over, convinced they were phony, waiting for them to transform before her.
“Good. Glad to here it,” the one among them with a yellow hard hat added cheerfully. “We and the building management apologize for any inconvenience caused to you by this unfortunate incident.”
Sarah’s heels echoed down the long hall as she ran toward the front door, bursting through it like a hurricane and out into the street before thinking about the kind of attention running through the city streets feral and fevered would draw. Once the cool night air brought her to her senses, she slowed to a fast walk. “God,” she addressed the sky, “make this stop and I’ll never drink again.” Chalking this all up to an over consumption of alcoholic beverage, she wagered for a return to normalcy, if anything about the last few weeks of her life could be categorized as normal.
The night air carried with it just the slightest chill, enough to make the sweater feel appreciated anyway, but it was just the welcomed refreshment Sarah needed to chase away the heat in her cheeks. Everything in her senses told her the notion brewing in her head wasn’t wise, not alone, not the way she was dressed, not at this hour of the morning. She decided to walk home anyway. It was only five miles. Step after step, she attempted to convince herself she hadn’t heard those voices in the elevator shaft. Each time she about had it narrowed down to a strange coincidence, the memory of some other moment would come to mind and she’d get distracted trying to justify something new, and the tidal wave that washed it all away, that dream, more like that nightmare, that recurring bit of evidence which plagued Sarah to no end.
She stopped in front of Tribune Tower. The building had always held a special interest for her. In it’s lower levels were stored pieces of buildings from all over the world. When she roamed around it, trailing her fingers over fragments of rock from the Alamo, a brick out of the Great Wall of China, she felt transferred. As if by touching a block from the pyramids of Egypt she left Illinois and landed immediately in Africa, she almost believed she’d been to the Forbidden City or the Colosseum. Her favorite was the moon rock. Not only did it take her far, far away from the city, but she could leave for another world.
Stretching high above her head, she reached to caress it’s porous surface. In the sky, the real thing shone like a crystal ball. What made her draw that analogy? Like a perfect circle, it almost looked larger than Earth, brighter for sure, more brilliant. She fell back against the wall, mesmerized by the glowing orb light years above her. Something struck her in the back as she slouched to avoid craning her neck so much.
“What the...” her words cut off as if a knife had been slid just passed the edge of her lips. Stooping, she took in the brick. “A doorknocker?” A tiny little face, gruff and stern looking, staring at her with irrational precision. From it’s ears a hoop hung. Sarah traced it warily with her fingers, lifting the ring a half inch only to find that it slid about easily, much more easily than she had expected any piece of the wall to move. She let it fall.
“Here now. A little respect missy. I don’t go about tugging on your face do I?”
Staring in disbelief, her mouth hung open. She couldn’t have been seeing or hearing any of this. Beneath the knocker in beautiful script she saw two words “Labyrinth” and “Underground”.
“That’s not possible, not possible.”
“Did you want to knock or not?”
Peeling her boot toe from the sidewalk, Sarah brought her foot crashing against the wall. “I don’t want anything. I don’t believe in you. You’re not real.” Had it been rush hour, had it been daylight, the passers by, the tourists and locals they might have thought her mad, but fortunately the only one there to find her mad, was her.
Staggering down the street, she attempted to ward it off, the memory that left her with little more than a racing heart and a couple of throbbing toes. She blamed a night of excess, although, if she were being honest, she’d have said there had been nights during which she had indulged much more. She blamed a lack of sleep, but she had slept hours and she had dreamt hours. Restless sleep then. A nameless man, an unforgettable face, a public display which had caught her off guard. Leaving her job, seeing a therapist for the first time in years, catching her, would you call Ashton a boyfriend, out on the town rather than out of town. The culmination of it all. She was beginning to feel like Scrooge explaining away Marley as a dollop of mustard.
Her hands clenched at the rail of the bridge she found herself crossing. The metal was like ice aiding in her attempt to sober up. The river danced beneath her which didn’t do much to make her feel more steady, but it lulled her like a mother’s arms, rocked her, making her feel more like a child. All around that area were bright white decorator lights. On the river they sparkled like the reflection of a million small stars. “Star light, star bright,” she began to repeat. Tears made the tiny twilights blur before her until the water was more like liquid light. Her head grew heavy. How late was it?
Sarah turned to look up at the clock on the Wrigley Building just as it began to chime. Two she thought, three maybe. Balling up her hands, she wiped the tears out of her eyes desperate to focus on the ornate hands of the landmark. “Thirteen,” she whispered. Sarah pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her palms, now in complete disregard for what the combination of white cotton and burnt mascara would mean, and ground at her eyes until they were so dry they stung. The chimes were still coming. The hands were separated by what appeared at her vantage to be two and half inches. She counted the numbers around the clock, sure she was missing something. “Thirteen.”
Rain began to fall as if the sky had decided to weep in order to save Sarah the trouble. Switching her head back and forth as if she no longer recognized the city she could walk blindfolded through on her better night, she took off running. Not the sort of quick, point A to point B trot that someone late for a date made time up with. No, this was strong, knees high in the air, legs pumping like they were part horse, the sort of run meant to save your life. If anyone with interest in the matter could have caught the girl in white who streaked through the rain like lightning she’d have confirmed she was indeed running for her life or at least running from it.