Chapter Seventy-Three
Jules pushes open the bar’s restroom door.
It’s a grimy affair that brings back memories of the filthy lav in the Hotel Go-See in Milan.
She’s glad she changed out of the gown into jeans and a blouse to spare the garment touching the sticky floor.
In the stall, she hovers over the seat, pees, then twists around to grab the toilet paper that sits on top of the tank.
She’s starting to think she should’ve called it a night.
She’s exhausted from the event and Quinn’s ex showing up wasn’t something she’d anticipated.
At the sink, she washes her hands, examines herself in the tarnished mirror that is spattered with overspray.
In her head, she gives herself a pep talk, the way she used to when emerging from backstage to the mouth of the runway: Be strong, be confident, be fierce. Cheesy, yes, but it helps.
She heads back into the bar. It’s just past eleven and the place is packed.
Jules sees that the group from the fundraiser have commandeered two tables now.
Across the room, Lucy is playing pool with one of the investigators from Quinn’s firm; Carrie is watching, nursing a glass of what Jules guesses is water.
Quinn is at the table near the bar, but Holly is nowhere to be seen.
Quinn doesn’t notice Jules, so she plans to make a casual entrance.
If he brings up what she wanted to tell him, she’ll make something up.
She wanders over, watching as Quinn heads to the bar carrying empty pitchers. A college kid steps in front of her, says, “How you doin’”—a line from some sitcom—and she politely blows him off.
She heads closer to Quinn’s table when she hears the laugh.
She has the wave of a memory, him chuckling as he wrapped his hands around her throat.
Then another sound startles her, a coin hitting a table, twirling.
She stares at him. At first she thinks it’s the anxiety playing tricks on her.
But as she watches, hears his voice, she knows it’s him.
And he sees her from across the room.
She’s suddenly short of breath. Thinks her legs might give. She needs to get out of here. She turns, rushes back to the bathroom worried she may throw up.
Her heartbeat vibrates through her entire body. She’s too terrified to think clearly. The memory paralyzing her. In the bathroom now, she leans against the sink, dry heaving. Then another burst of panic. She needs to warn Lucy and Carrie. She needs to find Jack.
Someone comes in the restroom. He points a gun at her, offers a sickening smile. “I guess you’re not one of the Lucky Ones, after all.”