“He never comes, not when I call. I think he’s only interested in the teenage ones,” Sarah said hopelessly. “Passed his prime I’m afraid.”
“Honey, he’s not even real.”
“He sure as hell felt real Laney. Everything about that dream felt real. I’m not even sure what’s real and what’s not anymore, every where I go, everything I see it’s like he’s here, in my head.” Sarah’s open palm crashed repeatedly against her skull.
Helpless, Laney only tried to intercept the blows. “Darlin’ you need something to calm you down. I think we should call your doctor.”
“Why? So he can give me the same pills he gave me when I had my break down after Timmy left? No Laney, no. I’m not fucking crazy and I’m not having another break down. I told you I shouldn’t have had anything to do with this damned wedding and that’s what the problem is. Rowan and her sisters and her wedding and her fairytale, well now she’s got it all and that’s my problem Laney. I’ve given all I am away. I’ve given Tim my love and Rowan my dreams and there’s nothing left.” She began sobbing openly. “I’ve got nothing.”
“You’ve got me kiddo, you’ve still got me.” Laney rocked Sarah in her arms, doing everything she could to console her, but how did you fill up a soul that felt as empty as hers did?
Sarah fell fast asleep in her friends arms, exhausted from all that she’d been through. Laney did the best she could manage to get her comfortably sprawled on the couch. She considered calling Toby, but didn’t want to ruin the day after his wedding. There was no one else to call. Tim would have been concerned, he was still friendly toward his ex-wife, but he wouldn’t have come to her side, not like she needed someone to. Laney really was all Sarah had left and she was completely useless as to how to help her.
Catching her head with her hands, she fell into the seat at the desk. Surveying the page of the book she found herself compelled to read the well penned script. ‘But what no one knew was the king had fallen in love with the girl...’ She felt ridiculous for even thinking it, but nothing made sense now, not Sarah’s behavior, not Rowan’s sisters, nothing. So why not believe in this a little. “Well if you did love her,” she spat at the pages as if it would have some magical effect, “now would be a good time to show it.” Slamming the volume shut she gathered it together with anything else in the drawers she remembered from their younger carefree days. Carefully, she bundled them and set to burying them in the deepest darkest corner of Sarah’s most cluttered closet. Then she put together an outfit for her sleeping friend. When she awoke, they would hit Bloomies, Sax, whatever it took and for however long. Retail therapy used to be just the thing to set her straight, but at this rate, they would have to rack up one hell of a tab.
***** ***** *****
They’d just left Nordstrom’s, Sarah was feeling better with a lovely pair of high black Manolo’s tucked under her arm. They were coming up on Sax now, and Laney couldn’t resist admiring a fur in the window. “Bit early to be advertising winter wear don’t you think?” she asked Sarah, who had likewise taken up an equally strong interest in the fox stole.
What Sarah didn’t mention to her shopping partner, for fear that she would seem just a shade passed crazy was how much that stole with it’s tails on the edge reminded her of Sir Didymus. No she kept that to herself. That along with the notion that she had to keep watching on the off chance that it was the bog guard trying to warn her, trying to give her some message. For more than just a long moment she considered buying the thing, just in case the magic didn’t work when there were witnesses, but after the show she had given Laney this morning, she thought it best to keep her thoughts to herself.
Impatiently, Laney dragged her inside, now bored with the fur stole. No, there were more exciting things inside, but Sarah didn’t share her enthusiasm. What could be more exciting than attempting to decipher some message the universe was sending you via the imaginary friends you thought you’d bury along with your saddle shoes? Despite that feeling, she followed anyway and by the time they’d made their way through belts and handbags, Sarah was already beginning to forget all that craziness from out front. In fact, she’d happened across a nice leather belt with a silver clasp that required Laney’s expertise as an engineer to close, but it was stunning and she simply had to have it. It joined the boots, to maximize carrying efficiency thereby extending their trip and allowing for more stops before they called upon the services of a cabbie to get them back home.
On they pressed to Bloomies. Laney seemed hell bent on dying her hair blonde one more time even after Sarah reminded her of the dye debacle of 1996. Laney had the same auburn tresses she sported now and blonde highlights in brown hair had only just become a popular trend. Just fresh out of school, Laney decided on trying one of those home kits, the kind with the tiny plastic tipped paint brush meant to make streaking on the color so simple a four year old child could assist in the process.. What came of the failed experiment was a lovely top layer of chutney, a solid cap of it over her otherwise nut brown hair. Famous for her up dos, Laney was likened to a twist cone until she admitted her defeat and had a professional turn it all polished gold for her.
By sports coats, she was off again, by Hilfiger it was on again and by casual wear she was as undecided as she had been on the way in. They wound up in the salon, watching for a solid hour as heads went in and came out each looking like a set of before and after make over photos. Long hair grew short and short hair was intricately woven until it was long again. Light hair became dark, dark hair became light, greys disappeared. One in particular caught Sarah’s attention as she had a tight cap fitted over her long blonde hair. The pattern on the cap reminded her of a sheet of graph paper, or perhaps more like that old connect the dots game she had played with Toby so many times she’d gone half blind. A square divided into equally spaced lines of dots running vertically and horizontally, the object to quarter off and take control of as many four pointed squares as possible until they had all been claimed. And now she watched on as someone was fitted with a template of the same.
The instrument the stylist picked up reminded her of one of those orange handled latch hook tool that came with all those cut pieces of yarn and wound up being a pillow with a unicorn on it that sat on your grandmother’s couch until it grew matted and discolored with age. Sadistically, the woman in the black lab coat stabbed that latch hook through that cap, aiming for the marked spots on the cap, pulling through a few strands each time until the woman’s head looked like a fountain of sorts, wild pieces of hair lifted and arching from her skull in all directions, wild...feral. She hadn’t seen a style like that since, well not since she’d met the Goblin King.
‘Grab hold of yourself,’ Sarah thought trying to pull back the look of shock which had taken over her face. “Laney, you don’t want to do this. Look at you, you’re gorgeous. Why would you want to leave it up to anyone else as to what may or may not improve that?”
“Oh Sarah,” she fluffed her mane in a nearby mirror. “Gorgeous? Would you really say gorgeous?”
“Definitely, now let’s get home. I’ve got to be back at work in the morning.”
“I hate Sunday’s,” Laney whined. “Just when you begin to enjoy the weekend, along come Sundays to ruin all that for you.” She fed her arm through Sarah’s and led her to the curb. There they hailed a green cab.
The portly driver leaned closer to the window, a fat cigar causing his lower lip to sag. His face was as gruff as the stubble on his chin, “You ladies care if you’re in a smoking cab?”
Spending the majority of her free time with Ashton these days, smoking was of no consequence to Sarah. Laney seemed put off but willing to endure his bad habit for the few minutes it would take to arrive back at Sarah’s building.
“Where to?” he barked when they got in. Not five minutes into the ride and it had become obvious this was not a man of refined taste in rich Cuban cigars, but rather a thrifty fellow who would smoke just about anything regardless of how foul the odor.
Sarah did her best to breath through her mouth while Laney more overtly cracked her window. Something of her keen attorney senses couldn’t resist taking in just one hearty whiff in some vain effort to place the smell. It was there, just beneath her short term memory, she had smelled that dreadful smell once before, but she couldn’t put her finger on quite where, that is not until she closed her eyes and allowed her head to fall back against the cool leather of the cab seats. She breathed in methodically, the way one focused on a pleasant scent, wanting it to linger. Then finally she placed the obnoxious odor. The steam that rose from the Bog of Eternal Stench, it had the same stinging scent, the same pungent odor that offended more than just the olfactory nerves for certain. Immediately Sarah cracked her window as well, only more to lower the temperature that was suddenly rising on her side of the back seat.
***** ***** *****
Despite the new leggings she’d found that she thought might look perfect with a black leather skirt for her upcoming weekend with Ashton and the Manolos that only a severe depression could convince her to spend $1200 on, Monday arrived right on schedule. Sliding out from between the warm sheets, Sarah reluctantly set her bare feet onto the cool carpet. Everything in her wanted to turn around and crawl back into bed, but she had only another eight days to prepare for the Chelli trial she had promised Trish she would take on. Her own emotions had no time to be considered now.
To the closet to select a suit and matching shoes and then the shower which she hoped would refresh her, but it seemed no matter how much she increased the hot water it never got hot enough. When she emerged, her skin crimson, she felt no more clean than she had before the shower. It was as if the events of the weekend had been sprayed over her like a rich oil, forcing the water to float above it and never actually touch her skin. Still, no time for feeling perfect. After all, her unsettled memories convinced her that she had managed to thoroughly muck up her personal life, at least she stood a chance of saving someone else’s, that was to say if she could keep her wandering mind from obsessing over thoughts of Jareth and Tim.
As she sat on the edge of her squarely made bed jerking silk stockings over her freshly shaven legs Sarah took notice of the rough ash tray Ashton had left behind him. The speckled burnt orange ends of his Marlboro filters snubbed out and forced into tiny fat horseshoes. It was enough to make her question why she was wasting her time consumed by the memory of men who no longer desired her, when he had been only too eager to prove just that when they’d last been together. Sighing, she wished she’d have had the courage to ask him to accompany her to the nuptials, but in retrospect it would have been an even more horrid disaster with him there to observe. Still, it had been several weeks now between his out of town obligations to the engineering firm and her previous commitments since they had been dancing.
Slapping her thighs, she stood straight and began wiggling into a finely pinstriped grey skirt. “Dancing,” she said as if she’d discovered the entire meaning of life while wrestling with rubber latches on her garters. “I need to go dancing.” At lunch she’d call Ashton. He should have been back if she remembered correctly. He was due in the night before the wedding. Come to think of it, why hadn’t he called to find out how things had gone? Surely he knew. It was all she’d been able to talk about for weeks now. Buttoning her blouse, she wrote his lack of communication off, deciding it would have made him entirely too perfect had he remembered to phone.
Now a full fifteen minutes late, Sarah poured her coffee into the silver metallic travel mug and folded her sports coat over her forearm. Briefcase in hand, computer waiting at the office, she headed out. From the lobby of her building she saw torrents of rain giving the city landscape a concrete color, blurring the buildings so much so she had to blink to be sure it wasn’t sleep lingering in her eyes. Groaning, she pressed on. One of the guards came running up to her with an umbrella straight from the lost and found. Nodding her thanks, she exited through the revolving the door.
Normally a morning downpour wouldn’t have affected Sarah, but she was already grey enough inside. She crossed the street and headed for the redline. Might as well stay dry. Signs pointed left and right to aid the novices in choosing their correct destination, but Sarah had walked to most of her inner city destinations for as long as she could remember and having to read the signs made her feel like a foreigner. All about her people hurried sure of their path, confident as they took the stairs and found their platforms. Squinting for no reason, she read the signs. Boarding, Exit Here, To the Loop, Underground, the Park...UNDERGROUND. Perhaps some of those sharp slanting drops had stung her eyes Sarah prayed as she wiped at them, only to find them dry. When she glanced again, there was no mention of the Underground.
“Right,” she said quietly aloud, “because if a certain Goblin King had decided to make his kingdom accessible to the general public, he’d have done so by putting a stop on the redline.”
“Oh no, it’s too late for you now.” Sarah switched her head in the direction of the offending interjection. “If I might.” The gentlemen extending his arm to her looked familiar enough. His name was elusive. Had he been another one of her dreams? Mechanically, she took his arm. He smiled down at her warmly. “Not singing and dancing to work in the rain today?” he asked. Sarah shook her head. “It’s too bad, I was hoping I’d get to retrieve your wrap once more.”
With that it became obvious. This man was the same good Samaritan she’d mortified herself in front of what seemed like a lifetime ago. “You couldn’t possibly remember me,” Sarah stammered.
The gentlemen smiled giving her the opportunity to observe how well his teeth aligned. His mouth was perfect, upper lip half the thickness of his full lower lip and both tandem, curled into a confident smirk. She wanted to slap him, but held back. Other women would have found him sensational. They’d have seduced him with their blatant promiscuity until he was accompanying them home rather than to their job. In fact a more shameless woman interested in a charming man with tightly curled hair that just skimmed the collar of his harlequin imprinted dress shirt would have called into the office exaggerating a saccharin cough so that she could take him back to her apartment and praise the lazy way he left that shirt untucked as they slipped off his striped jacket. They might have even been so dubious as to send him on made up errands in some paltry effort to catch a glimpse of his backside in what seemed to her to be jeans that had been custom tailored.
Charming only got a man so far with Sarah Williams and as he leaned into her vowing, “My lady, I couldn’t possibly forget you,” she was even more certain he was not her type. “Forgive me if I sound like a madman,” he began. Immediately Sarah knew what came next would not please her, but his lulling English accent kept her from ignoring him. “I’ve noticed you everyday since our fateful meeting and each day it grows more difficult for me to deny that in my eyes, you are the most exquisite woman I have ever seen.”
“Forgive me if I sound rude,” Sarah countered, “but I’m currently involved with someone.”
His face contorted with disappointment and rejection. “I see,” he said regally, restoring that GQ smile beneath his well shaped, precisely centered, button nose. “Any man would be lucky to win you. If you please, when next you see this someone of yours, remind him to cherish you, my love, for I’m certain as I’m standing here with you that there are no lack of ready takers willing to fill his shoes.” The train arrived just then and he guided her tenderly aboard. When his lips pressed against the back of her hand she was sure his mouth had been as perfect as she first suspected. “Were it ever that he was to prove himself a scoundrel, I hope you will think of me. And until then,” his eyes met hers fully, deeply, “I shall, as I have always, think of you.”
Inside the train, Sarah couldn’t resist looking back to where he stood, mesmerized at his manner. Her jaw hung as he dipped low, a perfect swing of his arm accentuating his bow just before his long fingers flagged in the window, waving goodbye.
***** ***** ******
“He said what?” Laney asked for the third time since receiving her friend’s call.
“I know. I mean where do they pick that stuff up?” Sarah asked.
Laughing, her date from the day before reminded her that it was the Queen’s English these men she kept finding herself with spoke, “It’s far more proper than our modified American tends to be.”
“Proper has nothing to do with it, it’s creepy.”
“So some handsome man with a, what did you call it, perfect mouth,” Laney paused, “has a thing for you, but you’re too busy shagging the international bad boy. Jesus Sarah, I’d feel bad for you, but you dream up gorgeous men, you were married to a gorgeous man, you raised a gorgeous brother, you’ve got a good looking one in the sack and a bit willing to stand in line for you and I haven’t had so much as a date, with the exception of you in months. This particular problem of yours is one I’d pay to have.”
“No need, I’d gladly give it to you.” When Laney didn’t respond, Sarah added, “Are you saying I wasn’t a good date? I mean, I didn’t cost you a penny, I got myself drunk and you ended up in bed with me that night! What more did you want?”
“Pencil on some chest hair and strap on something gurthy and we’ll talk.”
“You sick bitch.”
Laney laughed heartily, “Takes one to know one.”
“And I gather from your comment that no one has taken you in quite some time.”
“Touche,” Laney admitted, knowing she’d been bested.
Sarah laughed feeling lighthearted for the first time that day. Why hadn’t she just told Laney everything? Told her about the dream she had, the stole, the highlights, the sign on the train. It might have made her feel better the way mention of this mysterious man had, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. That frightened her.
“Listen lovey,” she giggled once more, “you have good security in your building, work and home, I wouldn’t sweat some guy whose worst crime is crushing on you. He seems pretty harmless.”
“I suppose.”
“Not another seconds thought Sarah. Now I’ve got to go. Call me tonight if you need anything.” Before she hung up, she grumbled, “It’s not as if I have anything else to do.”
“Right thanks.”
“No worries. Love you hon.”
“Love you too Lane.”
Without replacing the receiver, Sarah depressed the recall button and established a fresh line for herself. “Ashton Price,” she said sweetly when the receptionist answered.
“Sarah? I’m glad you called. I was beginning to think you were the love ‘em and leave ‘em kind.”
“Normally I am,” she chided, “but in your case I think I’ll make an exception.”
She could hear him drawing on his cigarette, even through the phone, the sound of sucking at the filter causing flashbacks of their evening together to stimulate more than the mind. Air rushed over his lips, carrying smoke in tow as he exhaled, but to Sarah it was foreplay. “Might I assume then that you are indeed free this Saturday and that I may, in fact, take you out then?”
“I’ll check my date book, but I believe I’m free.” She smiled.
“Good then, hey Sarah,” he said anxiously. She could hear other people about volleying for his attention. “Got to run, but I’ll call you on Saturday. Bye.”
“Bye,” she said to what she was certain was nobody. Just like that then, no questions about the wedding, no sweet what nots like lovers exchanged, no nosy questions about the last three weeks and no offering up information about his time out of town. Had it been so long since Sarah had been involved in a committed relationship she’d forgotten that prior to marriage, men especially, were less prone to pouring out every single detail of their time apart from you. Hell in one out of every two cases, they didn’t do it after marriage either.
***** ***** *****
What she saw in the file told Sarah little more than had she sat down with this woman face to face and asked her for her name, rank and serial number. It was all facts and addresses, numbers and statistics. How would she ever come up with a reasonable defense for someone who seemed more like a paper doll than a living breathing human being? There were no standard defenses for family court hearings. Something always ended up coming out that no one could prepare for. Lies get told all the time, justified as misinterpretation, each side considering their best interests while the best interests of innocent children were cast aside as easily as used tissue.
Rona Chelli had worked for the same company for eighteen years. Retail sales representative, merit awards for attendance and employee of the month achievements regularly. She’d had three addresses in her entire life and judging by the dates which she had claimed to live at each, she moved out of her parents house at about nineteen to live on her own for a couple of years before marrying David Feucht, a landscaping architect who was nine years her senior. They had a modest home in a good neighborhood, which, according to her statement, Rona had left with Marina almost six months ago.
But it wasn’t until she received the court transcripts that she started to paint the picture of exactly what happened to Rona once she traded her married name back in for her maiden one and moved herself and her daughter into a small flat in the north side of the city, not so far from Lincoln Park. Mr. Feucht was ordered to pay reasonable child care and spousal support to Ms. Chelli and custody of their 14 month old daughter was awarded to Ms. Chelli, with Mr. Feucht permitted visitation every other weekend, from 5:30 Friday evening until 8:00 Sunday evening. Later pleadings would show that Ms. Chelli, would agree to Mr. Feucht keeping their daughter Sunday evenings provided he a) gave her sufficient notice so that she could provide any additional supplies for the extended stay; and b) the child be dropped off by Mr. Feucht at her established place of day care, an accredited facility four blocks south of the store where Ms. Chelli was employed.
So far everything between the couple seemed more amicable than any divorce Sarah had ever been privy to. Four months later Ms. Chelli received a raise at work. Mr. Feucht took her to court to have spousal support reduced and was granted a $37.00 a month deduction. The entire judgment probably cost him $1500 in legal fees and filing costs, but he obviously wanted to get his ex-wife’s goad some. Two weeks later, Ms. Chelli was back in court protesting Mr. Feucht’s now live-in girlfriend as an unsuitable influence for her daughter. Court ordered several weeks of supervised visitation to ensure that this new woman in Mr. Feucht’s life would not be a detriment to the child. Ms. Chelli’s motion was denied.
It seemed Mr. Feucht later married his girlfriend and not long thereafter the court was notified that Marina Feucht had been taken by her father at 5:17 pm on a night of their regularly scheduled visitation. The following Monday when Ms. Chelli arrived at her daughter’s registered day care center, Marina had not been checked in. The girl assigned to the infant room was panic stricken as she explained that a woman had phoned in claiming to Ms. Chelli and said that she was ill and would be keeping Marina home with her for the day rather than take a chance at infected the other infants in the facility. Ms. Chelli then called her ex-husband, as shown by cellular phone records, and was unable to reach him at home or on his cell. She attempted to call several of his employees who she had numbers for from having done the administrative end of his business activities for so long. None of them had seen him that day. A police report was made and twelve days later, the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Feucht were found in Niagra Falls, Canada where they claimed to be honeymooning with their daughter as part of the two week vacation period allotted him by Ms. Chelli.
In court, Ms. Chelli denied receiving his request for permission to take their infant daughter for the specified period and stated under oath that she believed her baby had been kidnaped. Now it seemed like a more typical divorce hearing. Name calling and character aspersions flying like bullets in the cross hairs, more mud slinging than even the greatest political campaign and no further mention of the child, Marina Feucht, but rather slanderous upon slanderous mention of Ms. Rona Chelli and Mr. David Feucht.
Ms. Chelli is unfit, unkempt and sends Mr. Feucht’s daughter to his home for visitation with an inadequate number of diapers and clothing insufficient for her stay.
Mr. Feucht is continually late to pick up the child and ritually requests additional time with her which he then uses to remove Ms. Chelli’s daughter from the country without her permission.
Ms. Chelli is mentally unstable, a condition made worse by her abuse of alcohol and prescription pain medications, and which causes her to have lapses of memory, including consenting to Mr. Feucht’s removal of his daughter from Ms. Chelli’s residence for a period of two weeks during which Mr. Feucht, his current wife and his daughter were to stay at a resort in Canada in celebration of his nuptials.
Mr. Feucht’s controlling and dominating behavior began during their marriage and continues, often seeping into his relationships with Ms. Chelli’s daughter in such a way that she must now question if he should receive any rights to visitation of the child at all.
Ms. Chelli’s claims are unfounded and rooted in spite and jealousy for the new Mrs. Feucht.
Mr. Feucht has on more than one occasion returned Ms. Chelli’s child with cuts, abrasions and bruises indicative of abuse at the hands of her father and/or step mother.
Perhaps it would be a good idea if she were to pay Ms. Chelli a visit.
***** ***** *****
Sarah looked around more carefully as she left for work the next couple of days. She left her MP3 player on the stand next to the mirror in the hallway that led to her front door when she picked up her briefcase in the morning. From day to day, the path which led her to the main entrance of her building varied by a turn or two and the red line remained off limits in whatever whether condition the Michigan lake front welcomed into the city. Her last encounter with the good Samaritan had reminded her how lax she had grown, how complacent.
What had become of her lately? Drinking more in a week than she had for the entire previous month. Eyes, ears, subconscious, all in line to play tricks on her. Nothing a few days sleep couldn’t cure, but lately she hadn’t been able to get more than a couple of hours. Now this nonsense to plague her. Spending an extra five minutes getting to work every morning for fear some madman was lurking in the shadows watching every step she took. Saturday seemed much longer than three days off.
Even a keen eye could be easily distracted, and Sarah’s emerald orbs were no less prone to distraction than any other. In fact, the thought of donning her newest acquisition, a firm poly cotton business coat duster over a short pinstripe skirt for her date with Ashton was enough to keep her from noticing the way she was being watched from the corner of the Architecture Foundation just outside of Grant Park. On a separate occasion, she was quite easily observed from behind the Chicago Board of Trade whilst a list of needed groceries wandered about in her head. Nearly as easily as it had been for him to spy her as she shuffled passed the Harold Washington Library muttering about the broken heel on her Mephisto chocolate brown pumps. Once, when she was milling about at the Stock Exchange she felt his glance, but try as she might, Sarah didn’t see him behind the stone pillar.
He looked over her, head to toe. Curious for the style of hair, the color of her shoes, the cut of her suit, anything he could observe, and all the with every morning walk which proved he had the skill of a stalker, his heart stayed true. This good Samaritan wished her no harm, thought not once of hurting her, rather he dreamt of her cool skin against his in the night. He wanted to pull her swiftly into his grasp and dance with her to the ballad the angels sung whenever he saw her. She was all that was beauty, all that was grace, Aphrodite in Armani. And she did not even know that he existed.
To Sarah this man had been almost inconsequential, but for his cerulean eyes and his perfectly formed mouth, attributes she had noticed in the face of almost every man she’d ever met. The profound impact she had upon him, Sarah may have never guessed. Wraps fell all the time, men retrieved them, woman sometimes took chivalry into their own hands, small children ran good deeds, other times they were lost forever, left to the wind, dark corners of isolated places, the seats of buses, coatrooms at restaurants, unchecked closets in swanky hotel rooms. She wondered now what it was about that moment, that insignificant exchange that made him quest for her the way he did. Now she was just a fox, a fox in the wood fleeing his hunter, fearing capture or worse.
In truth, a part of her loved it, being in a man’s sights like this was what she wanted. Maybe that’s why her eye’s refused to see what the back of her head felt as she made her way to work each morning. Being watched was nothing new to Sarah, she had been watched before, by a more sophisticated spy. Not since then had she been the pawn in such an exhilarating game of cat and mouse, but she wouldn’t have admitted that, not to anyone, not even to herself.
***** ***** *****
“Tavern on the Rush,” she repeated, “tonight.”
“I’d rather not discuss such things in front of my child.”
“Tomorrow then, after her father picks her up.”
“I’m afraid he’s been denied visitation until the courts rule on the kidnaping charges.”
“How can I make this convenient for you Ms. Chelli?”
“For one, you can find me a sitter, someone I can trust, someone I don’t have to pay. Then send a car for me, otherwise I’d have to take the bus and that’s not safe, not for a woman, alone, late at night. I assume you plan on picking up the tab for this dinner you want to have, because quite frankly Ms. Williams, Tavern on the Rush isn’t an establishment I frequent.”
Rona Chelli was no slouch. She played poor, helpless, single mother well and constantly without wavering. “Naturally, consider it a perk of doing business with Sidley.”
“What time should I expect someone?”
“Sitter at 6:00, car at 6:30, I’ll meet you at the restaurant at 7:00. If anything happens we don’t expect, the reservation will beunder my name.”
“A reliable sitter?” Rona asked once more.
Sarah smiled, “Only the best.”
***** ***** *****
“Normally I wouldn’t ask, but you’re the only person I could think of and...well...I’m screwed if you bail.”
“Screwed huh?”
“Completely!”
“6:00 till when?”
“9:30 at the absolute latest, I swear.”
“You’re so damn lucky to have a friend like me, you know that right?”
“I’m going to have it tattooed backwards on my ass so that every time I walk naked passed a mirror I’m reminded.” Sarah sighed, happy that Laney had agreed to her last minute plan to free up Rona Chelli’s evening by having her best friend sit Marina Feucht. “Thank you.”
“Some day I will ask you for a favor,” Laney said in a deep, hoarse voice.
Chuckling Sarah admitted, “Way I figure it, I’ll be lucky if you only ask for one.”
“Mind if I ask what’s up with this one?”
“Now Laney, you know the attorney client privilege prevents me from telling you anything about cases.”
“Yeah,” she replied and then paused, “Of course Sarah, you realize that the best friend clause which damn near forces me to comply with your request to sit the infant child of some woman I’ve never met is also the same clause which overrides any privilege said stranger has.”
“Valid argument,” Sarah agreed before spilling the basics of the case to Laney. “Basically, I think she’s trying to pin this abuse charge on the ex to keep him from running off with the kid again.”
Laney sighed, “Can’t say as I blame her much.”
“What?” Sarah was somewhat shocked by her friend’s admission.
“Sar, seriously, if it was Tim and he’d run off with Toby.”
“If Toby were Marina’s age, I probably would have welcomed it.”
Silence.
Finally, Sarah pleaded, “Please don’t ask me to imagine how I’d react to something that may have happened to an infant I have never given birth to.”
“I’m sorry Sarah. Are you sure taking this case was a good idea.”
“It’s part of my obligation Laney, I don’t get a choice. When a case comes in, I handle it. Much like life.”
Laney felt horrible. “I didn’t mean to bring up feelings that you had in check, hon.”
“Then drop the topic.”
“Dropped.” For the first time since she had nursed Sarah through her divorce, the perky brunette was speechless. “I’ll be there. Friday at 6:00, just like you asked.” Another silence, “And Sarah,” her voice cracked, “I’m here for you too, whenever you need me.”
“Yeah, thanks. So not to seem rude, but I’ve got to figure out how to make a deposition feel more like dinner out with an old friend.”
“No, no problem. Maybe Saturday we could...”
Sarah interrupted quickly, “I have plans with Ashton Saturday.”
“Ashton, there’s a name I haven’t heard in awhile.”
“Yeah, well he’s been out of town and I’ve been working on the wedding, so this was our first chance to really get together. I’m sure you understand.”
“Yeah, I understand. Well you have a nice time. Maybe we’ll try to meet for lunch next week, if you’re not busy.”
“I’ll have Nettie give you a call.”
“Nettie!” Laney composed herself quickly. “I’ll wait to hear from her.”
“Thanks again for covering me Laney.”
“Sure thing Sar. It’s what friends do right?”
“I knew I was calling the right person.” Sarah said cheerfully. “G’night.”
“G’night,” Laney replied wondering if she was still the right person. Was she still Sarah’s friend? In her heart, she didn’t need to ask the question, but the mind she’d thought she’d learned to read so well, was now beyond her scope of reason. It would have been easy to blame it all on Ashton, or the wedding, or any inverse proportion of them both, but Laney and Sarah hadn’t just met at last month’s meeting of the Jane Austen book club. She had seen Sarah through depression, seen her through obsessions and yet had never seen her like this, which put her at a serious disadvantage for lending a hand. Never had she felt more helpless than she did right now.
***** ***** *****
“I assume you photographed the marks that your ex-husband made on your daughter,” Sarah asked casually tossing back what merlot was left in her glass.
Cheeks already filled, Rona tucked in another bite of salad before glancing at her attorney with suspicion. “Ain’t got a camera.”
Attempting to hide her shock, she refilled her glass, “But for something like this, don’t you think it would be wise to have photos?”
“I can’t say I have much to do with something like this ma’am. I may not be very high brow, but I promise you, I wasn’t beaten as a child and I ain’t never beat my own. I ain’t a drunk,” she declared making a blatant emphasis as Sarah enjoyed her second glass of wine. “I may be poor, but I ain’t trash.”
“I didn’t mean to imply.”
“Sure, listen, I filed all my papers with the court, I said everything I had to say to the woman from legal aid, why’d you bring me here?”
“Ms. Chelli, I want to represent you against your ex-husband and I want the outcome to match that which is in the best interests of your daughter, but in order to do so, I must insist you be honest with me.”
Roughly stabbing at her salad, Rona repeated the tale the records told, precisely at that. It was either the truth or the most finely rehearsed performance Sarah had ever seen. “And since his visitations have been supervised, have there been bruises?”
“Of course not!”
“Do you think your husband a man of extreme self control?”
Rona quickly corrected “Ex-husband.”
“Ex-husband.”
“He ain’t stupid if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Not at all. In situations such as these, the violence is often result of uncontrolled anger. I wonder if he were to lose his temper, would he be able to hold his back even supervised.”
“Like I said, he ain’t stupid.” Steaks were placed before each of them sharing their platters with steaming backed yams, topped in brown sugar, cinnamon and butter. “He wants her. I don’t know why. He wasn’t happy about the news that I was pregnant and he didn’t do a damned thing to help out while I carried her. Shit, the day I had her he was too busy dolling out quotes to clients to come to the hospital.”
“And once she came?”
“Things didn’t change. He took her when he was told.”
Sarah sighed, “But he would keep her longer, keep her until Monday mornings?”
Huffing Rona replied, “He only did that so he wouldn’t have to see me any more than necessary.”
“Has your ex-husband ever hit you Ms. Chelli?”
Staring at her blankly, the woman let her cutlery fall to her plate. “No,” she answered definitively. “Make your point.”
“I’m attempting to establish a pattern of behavior.”
From her lap she folded her napkin, tucking it under her platter. A wave of her finger brought the waiter close by and she requested the colloquial ‘doggie bag’. “It all started when he met the bitch he’s with now. She’s to blame. Now, if you don’t mind. I would like to get home to my daughter.”
“Ms. Chelli,” Sarah leaned across the table, her eyes sincere, “are you still in love with your ex-husband?”
“If I were, Ms. Williams,” and here she rose, refusing to meet Sarah’s eyes, “he wouldn’t be my ex.” That said, Rona Chelli stormed out leaving Sarah with no more a grasp on the case at hand, than her paper files had given her. The only joy in it was that her portion of wine was now doubled.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had dined at the Tavern, but rather spent the majority of her time in the establishment reigned at the bar entertaining clients with gimlet after gimlet and the like. No wait, mayhaps she could. Her last anniversary was spent in the same restaurant. She and Timothy, and Toby. Prime rib that night, no more intimate conversation than she had had with Ms. Chelli. Her joy in being left in peace faded rapidly at the recollection. With a good half glass of merlot fermenting at the bottom of the tinted bottle, Sarah left, bent on walking cross town in the crisp night air. The encounter from the other day left her with a great distaste for the train and cabs were a thing for certain she had never been fond of.
State street was busy with taxis, each filled almost immediately upon being emptied which only strengthened her desire to walk. Turning left when she reached Superior, Sarah felt at ease with the cool air like a compress against her head. In fact it was all a bit too comfortable mostly because it was the first walk she had taken in months when it did not feel as though eyes were upon her. Quite the contrary, she seemed rather unnoticed by everyone she passed.
Rush Street lie before her, one block more and she’d be on Michigan which would, in turn lead her home. On the corner where Superior and Rush met was a tiny, modest building, contemporary, but for an ambiguous stone statue in the front. A sign politely informed her that what captured her eye was an Episcopal Church Center. It was most unchurchly and looked more like a community center if anything, but Sarah overlooked that. Drawn without thought to the statue there, so much so, she walked brazenly on the grass straight up to the four foot elevated carving.
Delicate, yet muscular, the legs folded into perpendicular obtuse angles as though the creature had been turned to stone in the middle of a fine artistic dance. The stalk of the body was lean and uncommonly straight, where as the arms dipped gracefully before the posture - perfect torso. An angel she decided when she dared to make her way to its honest face, twisted with compassion and empathy, a gentleness only another worldly creature could bestow. Though the wings deceived her judgment, narrow, tiered, like a butterfly more than the angels she’d learned about in bible study in her prepubescent days. Where had she seen such a creature before? So man and yet so mythical. Tender and yet merciless when need be.
Ground lights ignited nearly simultaneously with Sarah’s unconscious stretch to touch that pleasant face. Surely it was a trick of the light on her eyes which made that simple grin sneer back and lunge toward her fingertips. Surely, she laughed as her right hand sheltered the left which had been quickly drawn back. With backward stride she went on to Michigan Avenue, rolling her head in all angles in an effort to replay that very trick of lights. It seemed as though she were doomed to regret everything about this evening.
***** ***** *****
Something about the way her hair pulled back so tightly it made the corners of her eyes go smooth made Ashton’s pants mimic with fullness. She’d put together something very professional looking. A business length skirt which when coupled with Sarah’s stretching legs hoisted higher by the new black boots she’d bought diminished to not much more than a very wide belt. Were it not for the fine grey pinstripe he’d have mistaken the pairing of it with a form fitting black camisole to be a one piece dress. Wrapping her up was a long hard cotton duster jacket.
At the back of her head a neatly wound bun held together by a single black stick accented with rhinestones. Shorter hairs hung off her neck, mostly loosened by the way Ashton cupped her head with his hands. Several times while they danced, he’d felt satin gloves brush his neck and were she to have asked him what was on his mind, he would have gladly admitted to wanting that same sensation replicated from where she’d begun it straight to his toes. Shy was not one of his characteristic, not by a long shot.
They’d been enjoying an excellent mix at Neo. Everyone was dancing and all the best regulars were there. Sarah had nicely worn a spot on the dance floor and consumed her fair share of Bacardi and coke in the process. The dress of those in attendance was ornate, more so than usual this night and a particular look had captured her attentions. He sat against the wall, not so much at a table as between them, cooly, sort of thrown there. Long, well defined legs dwarfing the pedestals beneath him. A full head of blond hair made wild by his dancing.
For one brief moment from across the dance floor where Sarah was almost comatose from the rhythm of a Combichrist song, their eyes met. A crooked smirk told her he was carefully watching her and though she did her best to not seem unnerved by his attentions, he had startled her. Not the look itself. She’d grown used to being eyed at the club, especially with Ashton for a partner, but by him. In that one quick instant, the feral blond hair, the sleek sinewy body lounging there as if the building had been built around him. Her mind was playing tricks on her, conspiring with the rum no doubt.
Segueing into one of her favorite songs Sarah backed Ashton towards their table mouthing the words of the throaty singer, “You want me to make you feel like you never felt before baby.” She pressed him down on to the bench style seats and began swiveling her hips while she undid the buttons on her coat. Slipping it off, Sarah dropped it in his lap. Her gloves went up to her elbows and more than just Ashton watched as she reached behind her head and withdrew the stick which held back the raven head of hair which had grown quite a bit since spring.
It may as well have been a shampoo commercial the way she shook the restrained tresses loose. Roughly she slammed the thing against the table and perched one leg at a ninety degree angle next to Ashton’s head letting the song do the begging as she leaned into him. The singer’s voice like liquid sex in her head.
Tell me all your dirty little secrets.
It’s all about power baby,
You know what I’m saying.
It’s all about power.
It’s all about sleepwalking through this endless night.
Theirs was the interaction that everyone stopped to watch, the regularly repeated live sex show sans the nudity and the close ups on the awkward penetrations. But while Ashton sat enjoying the feel of the parts of her which brushed against him as much as he enjoyed the looming anticipation of all the parts of her which hovered only a breath away, for now, Sarah’s eyes were stuck on the man over his right shoulder. The one who until now she had only caught glimpse of from across the room.
Tell me all your dirty little secrets.
Tell me all your dirty little secrets.
I just wanna kiss the boys.
I just wanna kiss the boys.
I just wanna kiss the boys and make them cry.
Stranger’s eyes have a way of feeling especially hard when they fall upon you, but his were heavier than most. Judgmental, curious, provocative. She’d felt eyes on her like that before. She knew what was behind them, the thoughts of purification by the least pure means possible. Though that kind of suggestion had historically come with a cavalier lean and some intimidating inquiry meant to throw her off, meant to make her stammer. No, he sat there smug, letting her do all the work for him. Letting her degrade herself inside her own mind, letting her form all the chastising condemnations that summed up why it was he wanted her and warranted her at the same time. She’d been too young once, but now, she was older, braver. Sarah would take control of this moment, call his bluff, force his hand.
I want you to take me someplace I’ve never been before.
I just can’t control myself.
You don’t want me to control myself do you?
Tell me all your dirty little secrets.
Tell me all your dirty little secrets.
Stepping back one segment, she stood between the stranger and Ashton, her body still gyrating in time with the beat that filled the room around her. Pivoting like a doll in the window of a music box shop, she put her back to Ashton. Feet shoulder width apart, she spun her hips, catching them with her satin gloves and following the line of her thighs, down to the backs of her knees, over the top curve of her calves until she met the tops of her slick leather boots. The whole time intent on the man no one seemed to know. He wasn’t with anyone. She hadn’t seen anyone speaking to him. Her lips, parted, sangria red, mouthed to him, “Tell me all your dirty little secrets.”
As she returned to a more vertical presentation, he stood to greet her. Their bodies almost nose to nose. The stranger captured her small waist in his lanky right arm. Surgical precision brought the cool tip of his index and ring fingers across the hot wet strip of skin bared when the camisole came free of the waistband of her skirt. As though the ice from someone’s drink had burned her skin, Sarah shook.
Effortlessly he had rotated her in his arms. “Come,” he said with a slow draw as his left hand took hers, “let me help you down.” With the manners of a well groomed socialite, he eased her to the floor and left her nonchalantly, as if she had no effect on him at all.
Crushed, she fell back against the table where she and Ashton had placed their things. The man who’d only moments ago seemed smitten with her was now on his way to the bar without so much as a care for what she was doing. Picking up the stick, Sarah considered hoisting her now soaked hair back into a bun, but quickly found it fruitless. Instead she turned it over and over in her fingertips, pressing it against the table and dragging her fingers down the length of it.
Ashton, sat equally disinterested, a lit cigarette between his lips as he watched the other dancers. When he finally asked Sarah if she was ready to leave, they’d hail a cab. In the back seat, his stopped up ears would prevent him from realizing just how loudly he whispered in her ear when he asked for permission to make love to her again. But even his brief moment of tastelessness wouldn’t keep her from denying herself him and vice versa. For now though, she waited, impatiently, drumming that black rod off his cigarette pack, wondering why several of his business cards were slid in the cellophane that surrounded the red and white box and curious about the white italics lettering which she was convinced formed words in some foreign language on the back of an evergreen matchbook.
***** ***** *****
In the elevator, as they inched slowly toward her penthouse apartment, Sarah wondered when it was she’d grown accustomed to these obscene hours of the morning again. A quick glimpse of the back seamed hose covering the mile of exposed leg between her boots and her skirt hem suddenly made her chuckle. She caught her falling head with her gloved hand and let out a quick laugh stolen from the throat of a madwoman.
To her side rushed Ashton. Savoring the salt of her skin, he pressed his lips to her neck. “You okay, Sarah?”
“Something about coming home,” she admitted, being more open with him than her good sense told her to be. “I’m suddenly reminded of what I am Monday through Friday and I feel like a disobedient child whose parents have gone out of town.”
“Sounds like a good role play,” he said softly into her ear, but she didn’t smile. She didn’t coo into him. In fact, she seemed more put off than anything. Cupping her small face in his wide span of piano fingers, he looked into her eyes and asked sincerely, “Is there something so wrong with occasionally feeling like a disobedient child?”
“It’s just not something I do.”
“Ah, but love, you do. And you do it rather well. In fact, I’m a bit surprised you seem to be so bothered by it. You’re magic on that dance floor, absolute magic and if you’re not having a good time, well I’m not trying to guess what’s in your head, but you sure appear to be having a good time.”
The buzz of impatient mechanical doors, broke their contact as Sarah stepped into the hall. She forced her voice lower knowing that her ears had been effected in the club too. “It’s not that I’m not having a good time. It’s just that, oh God,” she set her hand to her temple hiding her eyes. “Without bringing up ever insane detail of my sad and short childhood Ashton, suffice it to say that reverting is not something I wish very much to do.”
“Who said anything about reverting? So you let your inner child out for a few hours every weekend, we’re all guilty of that. What’s to feel bad about?” He held open her apartment door for her and then closed it gently behind him, throwing the deadbolt, “That is to say unless your inner child has been grounded.” The chuckle that followed his off the cuff comment told Sarah he was trying to be engaging, lighten her mood. If only he’d known how accurate he truly was.
Stripping off her jacket for the second time that night, she hung it in the closet. It reeked of that thick fog which often filled concert halls and night clubs. It smelled sweet when you first encountered it, like the powder off crushed candies at the bottom of a trick or treat bag after a long Halloween night, but after a full night submersed in the shit, be it the quantity of smoke or the number of hours spent in it, that sweet, immediately identifiable scent became harsh and repulsive. She’d take it to the dry cleaners on Monday.
At the credenza, she set down her bag, peeled off those gloves and lie them over the bag, catching one on the rhinestone setting of her hair piece. She shrugged at the snag and then bent to undo her boots. In the mirror a stranger peered back at her. Big dark eyes, painted black, stained lips all smeared by sweat. Her hair was torn between matting against her forehead and imitating Don King.
Two glasses of white wine in his hand, Ashton approached her. She felt his touch before she noticed his reflection behind her and jumped. “Easy love, have another drink.” Once she accepted the glass, his lips went to work on her now exposed arms. For personal reasons Sarah didn’t ask about he always seemed more attracted to her when they’d just gotten home from dancing. Still free from any sort of reaction, Ashton stopped abruptly. “You sure you’re alright.”
“Look at me,” she said disenchanted by her ragged appearance. “I’m a mess. How on earth could you possible be attracted to me in this state?”
“You would be hard pressed to find a state in which I didn’t find myself attracted to you. But,” he took back her wine, “I am a patient man and if you wish to have a shower, by all means, I’ll wait.”
Sarah was embarrassed now, embarrassed that she had let her foolish notions attempt to ruin the chemistry which faithfully appeared each time they were together. Kissing him softly on the cheek, she headed for the bathroom. “Ten minutes,” she promised. “Give me just ten minutes.”
“Anything over twelve minutes and I shall be forced to phone the coast guard.”
Purposefully, Sarah let her hand fall to his chest, dragging it across him as she walked away.
***** ***** *****