Chapter 19
S CARLETT
I see Sammy from afar, her hair shiny in the sunlight, her eyes wide with surprise when she casually glances over her shoulder and gets a glimpse of me.
She’s wrapping up her phone conversation as I erase the space between us.
“Hi,” she says, and we hug before she runs her fingers over Mousy’s back.
“Isn’t she the cutest dog?” Sammy says, straightening while I wait to hear the news.
“So…” she starts, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “I got a few more dates from one of my guys.”
“Is this about pole dancing in Long Island?”
“Uh-huh.”
Smiling, she nods in acknowledgment while looking at her phone.
“So, stripping in Long Island…” I murmur.
“That sounds like a great movie title,” she comments.“Yes. Stripping in Long Island. The problem is…” she goes on, moving her finger over her phone screen to open her planner.
She flicks her eyes up.
“I got four dates, and I can only commit to two.”
“When?”
“Mine are today and tomorrow, and yours will be on Wednesday and Thursday. I’m leaving on Tuesday night, so I can’t work the last two days.”
“Is the new owner okay with me?”
“I told him you’re the best. And he knows you've worked there before. I showed him a picture of you in that cute little bunny costume.”
The cute little bunny costume was basically a low-cut bra, short shorts, tons of glitter, bunny ears, and a tail.
“He said you can work there anytime you want if you’re still in great physical shape.”
“Oh, thanks.” I roll my eyes. “Is he creepy or something?”
She carelessly shrugs.
“I don’t give a fuck if they’re creepy as long as they pay me well. And this one does. A good friend of mine works there regularly.”
A questioning look slides over my face, so she answers it before I ask the question.
“My friend can’t work there this week. She’s visiting her parents in Ohio. So, can you do it?”
I pull up my phone.
“Let me check my schedule,” I say.
It’s not about checking my schedule. I don’t work in the evenings. Of course I can do it. I just want to think about it for a moment.
The money is good. The last time I worked there, I made a couple of thousand dollars in a single night.
If I work there twice this month, I’ll have some extra cash for my emergency fund.
It wouldn’t be bad at all. There’s one thing, though.
It’s probably not a good idea to have Ewan escort me there.
I’m just saying.
I know we’ve sworn secrecy about our private lives, and all that. And I know we don’t talk much about who we are and what we’re doing.
But if this story gets to someone’s ears at the school or some parents find out Miss Scarlett dances for strangers for cash, my career will be forever ruined.
There’s a lot at stake, and I wish I could say no to it, but the money is good.
Besides, I did it once, and nothing happened, so I can do it again.
No one will know.
I could use the money to fix the roof in the spring.
Ugh.
I hate this.
“So? Are you taking these dates?”
“Yes, I am. What time do I need to be there?”
“Nine.”
“Cool. Thank you so much.”
I try to move away from her as quickly as possible and ponder this a little more.
My phone buzzes with an alert just as I turn to her to thank her again and give her a hug.
“Shit. This must be Miss Scholz.” I tip my eyes down.“Of course it’s her. She’s on her way.”
I lift my gaze.
“Okay. Thank you again. We’ll keep in touch, yeah?” I say, winding my arm around her neck. “You’re a good friend. Thank you for helping me with this.”
“Anytime,” she says, and I glance at her hair again.
“You look nice. Do you have a date or something?”
Smiling, she nods, her lip rolled under her teeth.
“Uh-huh?”
“Are you on those dating apps again?”
“I’m using and abusing them,” she says, laughing. “And you should do it too.”
Her laughter withers away.
“Speaking of that,” she says, concern erasing her amusement. “Did you climb into a black car last night after you left the restaurant?”
I stiffen, my mouth pulling open.
“Uhh…”
“Scarlett?”
“Yes. Yes, I did. Yeah… Last night?” I mumble, sounding like a dick. “Yes, that was me,” I add with a little more conviction, struggling to figure out where our conversation is going. “Why?”
Her expression becomes unreadable.
“Do you know who that man was?”
My eyebrows flick up as my perception of her instantaneously changes.
Did she know who that was?
If she did… Was she watching me?
How could she know who was in the car?
If she had walked behind me and spotted me climb into Ewan’s car, how could she tell who the driver was?
Did she know who the car belonged to?
“Do you?” I ask.
I always tell my students to never answer a question with a question, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.
I have no choice.
She pulls her head back a little, a smile curling her lips.
“Who do you think that was?” she asks.
I feel like I can’t get out of this, so I shrug.
“It was someone I know from school,” I say, not lying much.
Her smile vanishes.
“How that happened?”
I shrug again.
“He helped with our Christmas party. And he also lives not far from me.”
I don’t actually know that.
She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew him when he walked into the restaurant?”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
“You didn’t want to go to his table initially. Besides, he left early. Did he come back for you? To pick you up?”
Oh, crap.
I suck in a long breath and struggle to come up with a hard-to-believe, convoluted story.
“I didn’t want to talk to him in the beginning because the man annoyed the fuck out of me.”
“How?” she asks, amused again.
“He can be a nag.”
I don’t know if this is going to fly. Ewan, a nag? He can be anything but a nag?
“What was he nagging you about?”
I sigh.
“We were talking about my working out regimen, and he insisted I needed to drink protein shakes, blah, blah, blah. I don’t like protein shakes. So that was one thing we disagreed on. And there were other topics as well.”
“Does he have a kid in school?”
“Not that I know of. No, I don’t think so.
But someone in his family might have a kid in our school.
Frankly, I didn’t want to know. He returned last night because he was convinced I’d get mugged if I walked home alone in the middle of the night.
Me? Mugged? There was no way something like that would happen to me, but he insisted, so I said yes. That’s all.”
Finally, we’ve reached the end of this.
Her eyes don’t move away from my face.
“Okay. I’ll go now. Miss Scholz hates it when I stay with Mousy in front of the building.”
I avoid her eyes when her hand comes to my arm, stopping me from pulling away from her.
“He’s a mobster, Scarlet.”
I'm convinced I'm not hearing right.
“A what?”
I laugh.
Not a muscle moves on her face.
“What are you talking about?”
“Yes, he is,” she says. “We were surprised to see him and his men in the restaurant last night. There’s bad blood between him and the family who owns the restaurant.”
Ewan, a mobster?
No way. He can’t be a mobster. He might look like one and have the money and resources of one, but he is the nicest man when he’s with me.
“Okay, he’s a mobster. He’s still my neighbor, and as much as I want to avoid him, I can’t always do that.
“You do you. I just wanted you to know that and be extra careful with him. I don’t want you to end up in the New York Bay.
A shiver runs through me.
I dismiss her words with a small gesture.
“Don’t worry about me. A teacher and a mobster. That will never happen,” I say with humor. “Thank you for the warning, though. Much appreciated.”
I loop my arm around her neck and hug her again before pulling away quickly.
“I’ll call you if I need more information about the gig.”
With that, I spin around and rush inside, my amused expression replaced by a slab of worry.
SCARLETT
He can’t be a mobster.
He has a lot of time on his hands.
Well, mobsters are self-employed, aren’t they?
He’s also very disciplined.
Which is not a bad skill to have when you have to dispose of dead bodies fast.
Now that I think about it, he’s virtually taken me hostage by giving me rides and tossing my ex into the bushes.
Goosebumps form on my arms.
“Thank you so much,” Miss Scholz says, coming from the other room with a handwritten check in her hand and a small Christmas gift.
“Oh. Thank you. That wasn’t necessary,” I say, talking about the gift.
She dismisses me with a small gesture.
“It’s my pleasure.” Smiling, she takes Mousy from me. “We both like you,” she says, talking about the dog and herself. “I’ll call you if I need you again this week.”
“Sure. Please do so.”
Later, I say goodbye to her, exit her place and the building, and a few moments later, I stall.
The sun makes a quick retreat behind the clouds, and it’s getting windy and grayish again.
I haven’t texted Ewan.
According to our understanding, I should have done that already, but I need more time to think things through.
What do I do?
What if what Sammy had said was true? What if he is a mobster?
I should’ve paid more attention to his story.
So Colley said his cousin could play Santa.
And then, Ewan arrived.
Ewan wasn’t Colley’s cousin, for sure.
Does Colley know him?
If he does, then Elisa does.
Ewan also said the man he had replaced––Colley’s cousin––was in an accident and couldn’t make it.
So, why would he ask Ewan to replace him?
This makes no sense.
I don’t normally have mobsters on speed dial–-although I may have one now. Someone I could call when things are dire and need some help.
Is he friends with Colley’s cousin?
Are they related?
I can’t call Elisa and start asking questions about these two men without giving her an explanation.
If Elisa knows Ewan, does she know he’s a mobster?
A cold gust of wind wraps its icy fingers around my neck. I look up and down the street and think of a place where I could spend a few moments and think about this new development.
I wish Sammy didn’t say that.
It’s not like me to avoid hard truths, but this isn't a good moment for dealing with them.
I don’t want to make decisions based on information my friend just slipped to me.
Even if she’s right… What if she’s right?
It feels like the temperature suddenly drops. I’m shaking so badly.
Another gust of wind makes me divorce my indecisiveness.
I walk down the street and find a small bakery where they serve food and hot drinks, and people can sit at the tables.
I walk in and welcome the aroma of freshly baked goods and hot coffee.
I’m not hungry, but I buy a croissant, a fruit yogurt, and a decaf coffee.
Once I have everything on the table, I slide into my chair. Most people in the store are in line at the counter, and their voices become distant static as I look out the window, take a bite, and ponder what just happened.
What if she’s right?
The question comes to me again, and I try to examine the situation with more clarity.
Can he be that man?
He absolutely can.
Would I still be talking to him if he were a Mafia Boss?
If I didn’t risk my life doing it, I probably would.
Would I still find him attractive?
This is a tricky one…
I’ve always said experiencing danger is the sexual pleasure’s crazy brother, and I was probably right.
It does feel like that sometimes.
It’s not only about sexual pleasure. It’s more of a curiosity. It’s like watching a tall flame quiver in front of you and being tempted to run your fingers through them and see if you hurt.
But that’s only a part of the problem.
Maybe we could deal with it somehow.
But what if the man he’s shown to me is real? What if he is thoughtful, kind, caring, and protective?
What if he’s everything no other man has been to me?
If I had a penny for all the crazy stories my friends and I shared throughout the years about the men in our lives, I’d be a rich woman.
Not to mention the failed marriages.
I finish my croissant and drink my coffee before digging into my yogurt.
What do I do?
Should I text him and wait for him to pick him up?
Or should I just take a cab, hop on the train, and go home alone? It’s not like me to ghost people, and if I did that and he came after me, I might need to offer him an explanation. One that might start with, ‘Are you a mob boss or not?’
What a difficult situation.
The other option would be to let the chips fall where they may and make a decision later. Face life. Maybe that’s my fate. To get banged, or not banged––why was he so particular about not having sex with me, anyway?––by the man who played Santa.
Wouldn’t he just jump my bones and be done with me if he were a mobster?
What if he has a family and a wife?
I’m livid.
Where would they be?
Where could he have all these people in his life?
He’s a textbook loner.
A lone wolf.
Aside from having dinner last night with those people, I can’t imagine him being surrounded by people all day long.
But that might be a 'me' problem.
Me not being able to pick up on clues.
What am I saying? There were no clues. Not those kinds of clues.
Okay.
I’ll let things unfold and pay attention from now on and maybe ask him some questions?
He didn’t even want to tell me his last name.
Hmm… There’s definitely something shady about him. And he’s absolutely suspicious because he doesn’t want us to have casual sex.
And that’s my problem?
Annoyed with myself, I finish my yogurt and collect my backpack when my phone rings.
I fish out my phone and answer Maria’s call.
“Hi. What’s up?”
I lean back in my seat.
“You’re framed photograph arrived.”
I push upright.
“What framed photograph?”
“You sitting on Santa’s lap.”
“You’re kidding me. They sent it so quickly?”
“A courier just delivered it. Would you like me to put it in the corridor? The kids want to see it.”
“No, no. Put it in my office.”
“I don’t have the key, and someone locked the door.”
“You know what? Leave it in the storage. I’ll stop by tomorrow morning and put it on the wall myself. Is it big? How big is it?”
“It’s big enough.”
“Okay. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Don’t worry about that.”
We end the call, and I leave the bakery, tempted to just go home, make up an explanation later, and take it from there.
My phone rings again, and I push bad words under my breath.
“What the fuck?”
I pull it out and tap the screen.
“Oh, Miss Scholz. Is everything okay?” I say, smiling. “Uh-huh… Emily, you say?”
She keeps talking.
“Where?” I ask. “Now?” I add a moment later. “Sure. We can do that. You’re texting me the address. Perfect. Thank you so much.”
We hang up, and Emily's address, who is her niece, arrives in my inbox.
She lives on East 65th Street and has a cat that needs company for a few hours.
Now that’s a lifeline.
I get a cab and text Ewan that I’m busy this afternoon. This way I have a little more time to think about my problem.