Chapter 10
Club Annex, Location Unknown
“I… Hello again, I guess.” I tighten the knot on my blindfold, making sure it won’t come loose.
“Sorry. Um… I’ve had nightmares about this thing accidentally slipping off.
Maggie has been very clear that that can’t ever happen.
Now, of course, I’m always paranoid. It feels like the knot has a mind of its own and is constantly coming undone.
” I take a deep breath and make myself settle my hands on my lap.
God, this is uncomfortable. It feels so odd to just start talking without making some kind of connection. No eye contact. No auditory cue. Nothing but a void.
“Uh… Did you get the coat back from Maggie?”
I wait for a moment for a response, hoping my silent guest will answer.
Nothing.
Just like last time, only silence greets me in the room.
“Please don’t take it the wrong way. It was a wonderful gesture.
And the coat is absolutely beautiful. But I can’t accept it.
” I sigh. “I wouldn’t be able to wear it anywhere.
It’s probably super expensive, and I’d be stressed about getting it dirty on the bus.
Or about someone mugging me for it. Plus, it just feels…
wrong. To keep it, I mean. I don’t feel like I’ve earned it.
All I did was talk. Not even about anything important.
I just rambled about…things.” My hands drift to the edge of the sofa, where my fingers curl over the cushion seam.
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, worrying over sounding like a basket case. “Please don’t be offended,” I whisper.
Not even the faintest sound in return. Is he mad? Or maybe he doesn’t even care? Damn, I wish he’d give me something! This anxiety is killing me.
I take a steadying breath and return my hands to my lap. Time to find something to talk about. To break this heavy silence.
“So…Evelyn—she’s my neighbor and best friend—is celebrating her birthday tomorrow. She’s taking a few of us girls for a night out at a club. Her boyfriend works there as a bartender on the weekends. He can get us in without a cover charge. Do you like nightclubs?”
Still nothing.
This room might as well be outer space. A near-perfect vacuum. Yet, as before, I can sense him here. That is so weird. Almost as weird as anyone choosing to pay to simply listen to me talk. To have me ramble on for the entire evening. Isn’t there a more exciting way for this man to spend his time?
“You’re not, are you? Not a nightclub type, huh?
Me either. All that noise and people pushing each other.
I’d rather have a quiet evening at home.
Just hang out on the couch, watch a movie, or read.
When I’m not working, that is.” I lean back, finally relaxing as I settle in for the night of one-sided chitchat.
“There’s this true crime drama on a free streaming service I use.
I’ve got it saved in ‘My List’ and watch it whenever I have spare time.
I love anticipating the plot and trying to guess who the killer is.
It relaxes me. Strange, I know. But that kind of stuff—the violence and gore on TV—doesn’t really bother me.
I’m more likely to get freaked out by my own imagination.
Once in a while, I think someone is following me.
There isn’t, but my mind won’t listen. So, I start imagining being chased, then choked.
And…yeah, I wouldn’t call that relaxing.
” I shift again, once more feeling a bit anxious for stupidly letting this man know about my crazy tendencies.
“What about you? Any guilty pleasures? Hobbies? Do you play… I don’t know…
golf?” I try to think of other things that rich people like to do.
“Or…uh…polo? Do you ride horses?” I pause for a breath, and an answer I know won’t come.
“I could never do that. I’m terribly scared of horses.
I saw a movie where a guy got tied to a horse, and then the animal dragged him around. So yeah, no horse riding for me.”
I adjust the blindfold again. The silence in the room is deafening. It’s surreal. I can’t detect even a breath from my guest. But, somehow, it’s not as uncomfortable as it was before.
What should I talk about next?
“Sorry, I’m… Uh… I’m not that interesting. I mostly work, and don’t really do much else. Nothing exciting, at least. So, um…it’s hard to think of something to talk about without knowing what you’d like to hear.”
No suggestions? Sigh. I rack my brain for inspiration.
“Okay. Um… Oh! So, this older lady came into the hardware store where I work on Tuesday evenings. She asks me for—and I quote—the thing that stops the water. Then, she starts making these strange hand gestures to show me what she means. Honestly, it looked a bit lewd.” I laugh.
“I was kinda mortified for her, and I still had no idea what it was she wanted. So, first, I take her over to the aisle that has bathtub plugs. But nope. That’s not what she was looking for.
She then motions like she’s watering the plants, and she starts making these odd whooshing sounds, too.
Oh my God. I was trying so hard not to laugh.
Anyway… It took us twenty minutes to understand each other.
In the end, she needed a replacement faucet handle. Can you imagine that?”
I pause, waiting.
Not even a chuckle from across the way.
I sigh again.
Just as I’m about to launch into my next not-so-riveting story, a rustle of clothes. Followed by a definite pouring of liquid into a glass. Then, steps.
One. Two. Three… Five.
Silence.
He’s standing right next to me. That subtle ocean breeze envelops me.
His close presence is heady.
As once before, I feel the light touch of cold glass on the back of my hand. I bite my lip, turning up my palm. Accepting the beverage.
Steps retreat.
I hear my silent guest retake his seat.
Sweet, creamy flavor hits my taste buds as I take a tiny sip. A rich blend of chocolate liqueur fills my mouth. I sip it again, then cough. “Sorry. Alcoholic drinks aren’t really my thing.”
Carefully, I reach out to feel for the coffee table and set the glass down.
“That reminds me of another funny story, though. It’s not mine, but I think you might like it.
Doug, my coworker from the flower shop, had this run-in with a customer who he thought must be totally drunk at first. This was at his old job, a few years ago.
Apparently, this big, scary guy walks in…
in the middle of the night. And he’s looking for parsley.
Parsley! Poor Doug managed to send him away.
But the guy comes back, months later, and holds Doug at gunpoint!
” I lean forward. “You’d think he wants money, right?
Nope. He demands that Doug cut the stamens off dozens of tulips.
Then, he pays for the flowers and takes off. Can you believe that?”
There’s no reply, of course.
“I’m not sure if the story is true or if Doug made it up. But I so want it to be real. Supposedly, the guy wanted the flowers for his girlfriend, but she was allergic to pollen. So rather than chance it, he had Doug remove the risk.”
I change my position, getting more comfortable on the couch.
Another sigh involuntarily slips from my lips.
“It’s kind of romantic, if you think about it.
This guy didn’t go the easy route. He did everything in his power to do something special for her, for the woman he loved.
I was with my ex, Kyle, for over three years, and he never gave me flowers.
Not once. Sure, he got me gift cards for my birthday and chocolates for our anniversary, which was nice, but no flowers.
It might be cliché, but every girl dreams of receiving flowers, at least once. ”
The relaxed atmosphere between us prevails while I regale my silent guest with one somewhat funny story after another.
Stuff that happens at my various jobs. Anecdotes from my neighborhood.
I even tell him about my argument with our super about the elevator he keeps promising to fix.
As hours pass, I find it easier and easier to think of things I don’t mind sharing with this man.
It’s so strange, because I’ve never been much of a talker.
Never had anything to talk about. Usually, I’m the one who sits back and listens to people. About their lives.
Why would this man choose to listen to me?
Why would he ask to see me repeatedly? My prattling is not so interesting that it warrants the kind of money he’s spending.
Who is he? Maggie’s tone was respectful, her voice even wavered slightly as if she were scared when she spoke about him.
He must be someone very important. Someone with a lot of influence.
Who is he? What does he look like? Is he young or old?
My imagination is running wild. Thoughts about this man are burrowing into my mind. He is still a somewhat incorporeal being in my head, but something tells me he’s not that old.
Throughout the night, I sense his eyes on me.
His undivided attention. Even though I’m fully dressed, in a gown that’s hardly provocative, I feel naked under this man’s gaze.
It’s somewhat unsettling, but also titillating.
It stirs up a bit of excitement. A dose of mystifying thrill, born of all the questions buzzing through my mind.
I feel like I’m somewhere else. Someone else.
Suspended somewhere between time and space.
Outside reality. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever known.
Who is he? I wonder for what must be the millionth time tonight as I launch into a story about doing some charity work a few months back for a sweet, old lady in our neighborhood.