11. Lennie
Lennie
M onday’s are normally dreary affairs, but this morning I’m a livewire of stressed-out energy.
Sunday passed in a blur of messages from Elijah. I find it helps to think of him as a pen pal rather than a fake boyfriend. So much so that I changed his name in my phone. I might’ve been partially motivated by Adeline trying to steal it to see who kept texting me.
She barged into my room first thing Sunday morning, bouncing on the bed. I told her the date went well but she kept pressing for details. Mom asked once how it went, but she lingered in the kitchen when Adeline hounded me again.
They don't realize I keep checking my phone because Elijah’s pretending to be my knight in shining armor and not because it’s Leopold texting.
I cuddled in bed, feigning the desire to read. It didn’t put out any alarm bells considering it’s how I spend most of my time. They never saw me nervously checking out the window as if Leopold would stupidly try to break in.
I thought about asking Ferdinand to drive me to work this morning. But that’s stupid. If I want my freedom back like Isolde said, then I’ve got to take it back. So I crammed myself onto a train, one of thousands of miserable Monday morning commuters.
Ferdinand is beside me. Most look at his suit and take him for a finance guy instead of a bodyguard.
I’m glad he’s here but my eyes dart side to side, eyeing my surroundings.
I don’t take Leopold for the kidnapping type, but how did he imagine this going down? Is he planning on going through the proper channels and striking up a marriage proposal?
I keep reminding myself this is what he wanted—to get under my skin.
Shoving my AirPods into my ears I blast my favorite early 2000s pop playlist and deal with payroll deadlines. Work is tedious, but if I can’t read then I need to distract myself another way.
Christina Aguilera is interrupted by a text notification.
Pen Pal: Morning Leonora. How are you today?
Lennie: I’m working. Leave me alone.
Pen Pal: You send me the sweetest texts.
I roll my stiff shoulders, swiveling around to look out the window in my office.
I never knew what I wanted to do with my life but I always knew I wanted to work. It’s an important value to the Akatovs and while I can’t see myself picking up the family trade, I want to make my own way.
HR is boring, but I like the company I work for, and receiving a paycheck I earn myself.
Still, I find myself turning to look out my window throughout the day. The sky’s a hazy blue today, matching my feelings.
A story appears on Elijah’s Instagram feed. He’s posted a photo of our text exchange. There’s no indication who sent it, just text bubbles but it takes me a second to mull over how I feel. It’s kinda cute, but the natural wallflower in me wants to skitter back.
Lennie: Did you really put a guard on me?
I kept discreetly trying to check for any lurking Russians this morning but didn’t notice anyone.
Pen Pal: Tell me of a time I lied to you.
Elijah’s the king of twisted truths so nothing comes to mind.
A photo appears. Elijah holds up his phone, capturing him and another skinny guy. Both wear baseball caps and they’re on the patio of my favorite coffee shop across the street.
Lennie: Are you seriously on a stakeout in front of my office?
Pen Pal: Not anymore. I have a meeting. I’ll text you when I’m out.
I don’t doubt he will. Turns out he’s a chatty Cathy.
I scroll back up to the photo. I’ve never seen the guard next to him.
They know each other well and the clue isn’t in their willingness to sit so close to one another. It’s Elijah’s goofy grin—his real smile.
It’s difficult to catch his real smile because if he knows someone’s watching he’ll never let it appear. Most of the time it’s the Cheshire Cat smile or the annoyingly handsome smirk.
I made it into a game as a kid. Sneaking looks, I tried to see if I could find his real smile. By the time of my accident, I thought he’d gotten rid of it for good.
Lennie: What’s his name? I should get his number just in case.
I bite down on my lip waiting for his response. But it’s not his name that flashes up with an incoming call.
I almost fumble my phone. “Hello?”
“I’m looking at my schedule,” Ren says. “Lunch, twelve o’clock, okay?”
“Is something wrong?” She’s never called before.
“Yes, Abe keeps pressuring me to eat vegetables. But seriously, I’m putting you down as my lunch date. See you soon.”
I tell my boss I’m taking a long lunch due to an appointment. Considering I’m one of the only people without shitty time and attendance she doesn’t bat an eye.
“Hello,” I breathlessly greet Abe’s mom. A pretty grin splits her face. She’s got a peppering of gray in her shoulder-length hair. I don’t know if it’s due to her husband or son.
A huge crash from the kitchen tells me probably both.
Ren’s not at her favorite table.
She lifts a hand. “Here.”
“Why are you over here?” She chose a red booth on the other side of the restaurant.
“I’m on my lunchbreak,” she explains. “Abe, hurry up with the fried rice.”
Pots bang together and his head pops up through the cutout, scowling. His face brightens when he spots me. “As I live and breathe. Lennie Akatov in my restaurant during the daytime.”
When he’s not pretending to be upset, he’s lighthearted.
“Fried rice?” he asks.
“Yes, please. Awe, thank you.” His mom drops off a Coke, knowing it’s my favorite.
Ren frowns. “Why isn’t she getting lectured about drinking more water?”
Abe’s mother walks away.
“What’s going on?” I shrug out of my giant winter coat.
“You look so cute!”
“I look like I work in HR.”
I’m wearing black slacks with a pair of white sneakers. Ren screams executive with her stilettos and a tailored blazer. Not to mention she never has a bad hair day. Caramel highlights run through the dark brown locks and thick lashes line her green eyes.
“What’s going on?” I ask again.
Ren folds her arms on the table, leaning forward. “You texted me asking for Elijah’s address. Why don’t you tell me.”
“Didn’t you hear, he’s my boyfriend now.”
I relish Ren’s wide eyes and surprised burst of laughter. But her listening skills are what I really appreciate.
I’m used to internalizing everything I do and think because my friends are few and far between. Without the option of going to Adeline or Nat, I don’t have many people to talk to.
But I trust Ren. She sees shit every day, but even better, she never judges me.
“And did that happen sometime between ten and eleven o’clock on Saturday night?” she asks wryly.
Abe sidles up to the table, placing our dishes down. “What’s this?”
“Lennie’s got a new boyfriend.”
“Oh, shit,” he teases, but his mom barks at him to get back to work.
“Where’s Bennie?” He’s Ren’s right-hand man.
“Court. Don’t try and deflect. You’re using Elijah as your shield.”
“Exactly.”
“And you’re not worried about getting involved with him?”
“No.” If it surprises her she doesn’t show it.
“Is there ever a time you hated him?” Ren doesn’t mention my scar, but I understand her question.
“In high school, yeah,” I admit. No one made fun of me, at least not to my face, because of my parents.
But while others learned makeup tutorials about blending concealer over their teenage acne, I dodged conversations with my mom about new dermatologists.
I refused to wear blush in case it made my scar more noticeable.
I hated Elijah then. For making life horrible. Ten years on from those awkward teenage days, the anger has dulled. I regret the shyness that came from trying to blend into my surroundings. If I’d forced myself to do more then maybe I’d be less shy today.
But it’s useless to blame Elijah for my introverted ways or to hang onto simmering rage because the skin on my cheek is marred.
“It was an accident,” I say, picking at my food. “Society thinks my scar is ugly, but hating on Elijah because my face isn’t pretty seems petty.”
Ren wrinkles her nose. “You can be petty as fuck if you want. And have you seen your self? You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.” I smile, stupidly pleased by her compliment.
“Don’t do that.” Ren points a chopstick at me.
“You are hot as fuck, Lennie. And not just because of your ass. It’s your soul.
You’re beautiful. I see it in the ramblings about books and the way you blast Britney Spears on repeat.
It’s the way you wear your cute little sneakers and how you respond to Isolde’s twenty million texts.
You are fucking beautiful and it’s time you own that shit. ”
I’m not quite sure what to say, except for, “I really wish I’d recorded all of that.”
She pops a piece of chicken in her mouth. This is the hint of Ren she keeps hidden beneath her tailored suits.
“You could try responding to the group chat.”
She grins as she chews. “I sent a funny meme I found the other day.”
For some reason the thought of Ren on the internet is strange. Normally, Isolde and I keep her informed of the latest online trends.
“You know,” she says, “I don’t actually dislike Elijah.”
Everyone knows she had a dust-up with the Zimins. The details are fuzzy, but the rumors are rampant. Out of caution, I’ve never brought them up.
“That makes you one of the few.”
“Yeah, well, he was always nice to me.” The words sound simple, her face remaining blank. She swallows a bite of food, wiping her mouth. “He came and checked up on me.”
Elijah sent me photos of all the times he hung out with Russet. Maybe he makes it a habit to check in on the people around him.
“You’re not going to warn me to be careful?” I ask after a minute.
“Oh, sure.” She takes a drink of water, making a face at the boring liquid. “I’m assuming he’s with you?”
She points a chopstick at a booth. The blonde guy from the photo Elijah sent me earlier looks up, mid-bite. A second ago, I thought the man out of my peripheral was a business guy at lunch.
“Holy shit,” I say under my breath and turn back to Ren. “How’d you know?”
“Hi, Ivan.” She waves a hand, somehow knowing the man.
He chews his food, but there’s a mask of amusement and there’s no sign he’s leaving until I do.
“Do you think Leopold will believe it?” I ask quietly.
She sets her glass down. “Do you?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’d like him to get the hint and move on.”
“Except you’re worried he’ll go on and fuck some other girl up.” She tilts her head to the side. “May as well go ahead and ask Elijah to kill him.”
“Are you sure I can’t hire the Ghost?”
She smiles.
“Has Isolde really seen his face?” I lean forward. “Did you figure out who he is?”
I’ve not heard a whisper about him since he took out Marissa.
“We’re not talking business.”
“I’m asking about a friend’s crush,” I counter.
Amusement lines her face, but she shakes her head. “Be careful, Len.”
She started shortening my name a while ago and I like it.
“You’ll help me put a hit out on Elijah if anything happens right?” She advised me against plotting Leopold’s murder, but surely she’d help with a Zimin.
“Unfortunately, I think that bastard has nine lives.”
“All Isolde needs is nine bullets.”
She laughs and then whispers, “Ask Abe about dessert. If I ask he’ll blow me off.”