Hailee
Alana and Sophia couldn’t have come quicker after I texted them what happened. They’re waiting for me at the end of the block before my brother and I are even done giving our police statements.
Lucas has to go into the office. The CEO is flying in from the Hamptons for an emergency meeting about security.
We hug for about as long as we’re able, and I hold back a tear or two as I watch him get into the Uber with Rob and Marty. He made me swear I’ll go right back to the apartment and stay there until he’s free again.
I realize now this whole situation is going to make him paranoid about my safety, even though I wasn’t the target. I’ll listen to him for his own sake. The last thing I want is for him to be more stressed.
Now, somehow, it’s just a normal day again. I think that’s the strangest part of an experience like this—life continues as soon as it’s over.
I finish telling my tale to my friends as we walk east and realize I feel much better about it. I’ve always loved telling a good story, and damn if this isn’t one of my best.
I like to emphasize the sound of the machine gun echoing off the buildings. My heroic brother shielding me from harm.
And Alana and Sophia are enthralled. Eyes wide. Mouths slightly open. Am I cool now? I feel like I’m cool.
Sometimes all it takes is one good story. An experience ninety percent of people can’t hold a candle to. Anyway, it’s a good distraction from the existential dread of almost dying that has liquified the poo in my guts.
“Are you sure you’re good?” Alana asks skeptically. “My sister was in a bad car accident, and it haunted her for a long time. She still doesn’t drive.”
Alana moves some of her long black hair out of her face. I can tell she’s frightened. Her button-nose and round cheeks are stark white.
The problem is, I’m not sure if I am. This all happened only an hour ago, and then as if to emphasize Alana’s question, a garbage truck slams a dumpster, and the boom makes me freeze.
Sophia puts her hand on my shoulder.
“I’m good,” I say and take a deep breath. “Really. I’m going to look on the bright side of this. Lucas being my human shield will be a good memory. I look forward to having the trump card when bragging about brothers.”
Alana and Sophia smile, but not convincingly, as if I might just be talking to make myself feel better. Which, if I think about it, I am.
“So, what do you two want to do?” I ask a little quickly. I’m desperate to change the subject now. And the dumpster made me realize I need to address my liquid bowel situation sooner rather than later. “Do you guys mind if we go back to my apartment?”
“Mind?” Alana says. “, the day is yours. I mind that you asked. Your wish.” She extends her arms and then holds them crossed against her chest. “Our command.”
I smile. “Okay. You could stop at the liquor store on 5 th .”
“Aye-aye.”
In another twenty minutes, I’m stepping out from a quick shower and relishing the idea of clean clothes and a glass of midday wine.
I deserve it. Melissa already knows what happened. She texted, saying I can take more than just this Saturday off if I like. I stare at my outline in the fogged mirror.
I know it isn’t my job that got me shot at—it’s my brother’s.
Damn bankers. I’d have said I don’t blame the motorcycle assassins if my brother wasn’t such a good man. I’m joking, but I wouldn’t say plundering less fortunate countries for their resources is good karma.
The shooting has taken my existential dread about our professions to new heights. We’re better than this, aren’t we?
Mining. Banking. International scandal. I don’t think this is what our yearbooks predicted of the Barnes kids.
I dry off and wrap my towel around myself. I walk out to my bedroom to see my phone’s screen is lit up with an incoming call.
It’s a number I don’t recognize. Answering an unknown call is not something I usually do, but it’s the kind of day where I should.
I pick up. “Hello?”
“I need you to come see me.”
My mouth hangs open for a moment. I’d know that gravely baritone anywhere, and he seems to know it, because Alex doesn’t even bother to introduce himself.
“Where?”
“My place on Park Ave. I’ll have the address sent over. Your brother is going to be there, too. I want to hear everything. Are you okay, by the way? I heard you’re unscathed, but…how are you feeling?”
His question is so out of character that now the only thing I’m feeling is surprised. “People have been asking that, but I really do think I’m fine. My brother being there helped.”
“I bet. I heard he jumped on top of you.”
I grin. “Without a second’s hesitation.”
“I think you owe him one.”
“Oh, you know Lucas. I don’t think he’s ever held his head higher. He’s proud to have protected me.”
“Yeah. A good man.” Alex sighs, as if he’s upset that he’s not one himself. “But come as soon as you’re able.”
“I will.”
“Thanks, ,” he says.
I toss my phone on the bed. Happy for a fresh distraction from the shooting, I’m now faced with a new problem. Not quite life and death but close.
It’s a tale as old as time… What the hell do I wear? I’m done trying to impress this guy. His line of work is one I want no part of. It’s just one of those situations that feels tricky. I just got shot at. Should I show up looking like I just got shot at? Probably not. I need to find a happy medium between “I look good” and “today sucked ass.”’
Luckily, I’ve got a team here.
I open the door to the living room. Alana and Sophia are on opposite ends of the couch, waiting for me to return to the middle.
“Alex Blackwell just called me. He wants me to come over.”
They look at each other for a moment before turning back to me. It’s a little conspiratorial, and I squint. Have these two been betting that I’ve got a crush on my boss? We’ve never talked about it, but they’ve made plenty of comments about how hot he is.
I’ve been thinking about telling them about the elevator incident, but now I don’t want to add fuel to their speculative fire.
“You two are idiots,” I call them out with a smile. “My brother’s going, too.”
“Whatever you say.” Alana shrugs. “He’s going this time.”
“So what do I wear?”
“Nothing,” Sophia offers.
“You guys…”
“Okay. Sit,” Alana says as she stands and points at the couch. “You’re not lifting a finger. We’re on it. Permission to enter your closet? I promise not to touch your vibrators.”
“I keep mine in the nightstand, genius.”
“Because you use it more than I do. Oh!” Alana puts a hand over her mouth. “Roasted. I only kid. I’m just jealous I’m not the one about to screw Alex Blackwell.”
I shake my head ruefully. “Not even true.”
“Okay, okay.” Sophia stands. “We’re being a little hard on someone who’s had a rough day.”
I’m not going to lie. I like that the girls aren’t giving me the wounded doe treatment. It helps me feel normal.
We’ve only just gotten to the point in our friendships where we can give each other shit.
I’m not sure what kind of day I would be having if I’d spent the whole thing alone in this apartment, and I don’t intend to find out. I drink wine as they try to assemble an outfit we think is perfect.
I decided I don’t really care how I look. It’s a little silly of a concern after what happened this morning.
I’m almost leaning towards jeans and a T-shirt. Something that says, “I don’t care about your hoity-toity mansion. I just got shot at.” But this meeting is obviously about business.
So despite my near-death experience, I don’t have the luxury to be flippant. Corporatism allows T-shirts during team building activities only. And then only so they have some matching cringe-worthy slogan that makes me want to gouge my eyes out.
Teamwork makes the dreamwork.
I know what I’m going to wear—a simple white silk dress shirt with black slacks—but I don’t want our little fashion activity to end. We’re having fun with the wine, and the girls are putting ridiculous outfits together. Before I know it, we’ve all had a few belly laughs and this morning feels further behind me.
Alex has sent me not just the address, but a car to call and pick me up when I’m ready.
“Damn,” Sophia says. “I wanted to walk you there. What’s the address?”
I look back at my phone. “1018 Park Ave.”
“Oh, of course.” Alana rolls her eyes. “That’s the Lewis Mansion. He owns it?”
Alana is a New York native. She knows about places like the Lewis Mansion, while I don’t.
I widen my eyes to emphasize my ignorance. “I hardly know more about the man than you two do.”
“Take pictures of the place. The art specifically,” Sophia says.
“Ah yes. Case the joint.” Alana wags a finger in the air. “Let’s see if we can make out with a Monet.”
“Alright.” I down the last little splash of wine. “When Lucas is done with his meeting, we’re heading over.”
The three of us go quiet. “I’m glad I got to see you guys,” I say, and we’re all quiet again. “I feel a metric fuck ton better.”
We all laugh. We’re not the oldest friends, but we’re all each other’s newest friends. We all know what it’s like to have people part from us. To have texts answered later and later until a friendship dies, its time of death passing at some indiscernible point in iMessage.
I met these girls at an art gallery opening I went to with Lucas just last year. Everyone else there was uncomfortably formal, and we found each other by the bar and bounded over the fact that one of the artists drew trees that looked exactly like penises. An opinion none of us felt comfortable expressing to the artistic elite around us.
We all group hug for the first time, and I take it as another silver lining of getting shot at.
“Go get him, tiger,” Sophia whispers to break the silence.
We all laugh, and ten minutes later, I’m climbing into the back of a Cadillac.