CHAPTER 4
Sybil
The man moved to the middle of the quiet street, walking around me in a wide circle. Bill was at my side, jumping after him like he was his new best friend.
Bill was not making this any better. He, in contrast, loved people. That might explain why Dr. Cat assigned him to me. Another sneaky move on her part to encourage me to leave home, and literally, run into people.
My gaze followed the man under the safety of my hood. He possessed considerable bulk, not just in his height, but in muscle as well—the kind of muscle I thought only existed on the pages of a book or movie screen.
With his arms held in the air, there was no unseeing his toned physique and the tattoos that wove across his exposed arms. They seemed beautiful, though it proved difficult to identify them from this distance.
I wondered if they were black and white or colored.
I would never know, but they looked good on him.
Bill barked, a sharp pitch that made me wince.
“Bill!” I reprimanded, giving him a gentle tug.
The man looked as though he’d been at the gym.
His skin seemed dewy with recent sweat, black hat slung over his black hair, and a large gym bag suspended over his broad shoulder.
He had a firm jaw that was accentuated by a goatee, and prominent eyebrows that framed his shadowed eyes below the bill of the cap.
“Nice meeting you, Bill,” the man followed up, winking at my dog, then at me.
Bill barked again.
I couldn’t help the tilt that reached my lip. This man was bold and flirtatious. I’d never been on the receiving end of something like this. It almost didn’t seem real.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, noticing my favorable reaction. “Perhaps when I see you next—” he paused before continuing, speaking to my dog, “—you can introduce me to your person.”
Bill let out a series of chattering yips.
For the love of—Bill was ‘bro-mancing’ him.
My face flushed further, a feeling of warmth building in my gut. Panic washed over me like ice cubes poured down my back.
I had to turn away. I had to run.
“My name is Nash. I live just down here,” he yelled behind me.
I gave one more glance back, seeing him gesture with his hand at a townhouse across from mine.
Hell, the fuck, no.
Bill let out one more bark as though in affirmation before giving in to my tugging and turning away.
We hustled down the street, drowning in embarrassment. My face burned now, the heat prickling at my cheeks and ears. My stomach churned, a knot tightening with each step.
I wished I could disappear, melt into the pavement, and be swallowed by the earth. Every fiber of my being screamed for escape, for the chance to rewind time and erase the moment.
“Oh shit, oh shit,” I whispered to myself, picking up my pace, fearing I’d pass out and embarrass myself.
We would never see him again. I didn’t care that he lived right across the street. I’d never met my neighbors, and I never would. From time to time, I stared out the window, but the people there were just… things, artificial moving objects without feelings.
I wasn’t required to know them.
Escaping around the corner, I stopped and bent over my knees, taking a few box breaths to slow my heart rate. I let the nausea and dizziness run their course. Fighting it only made things worse.
Bill, trained to do so, nudged my arm with his wet nose to check on me.
“It’s okay, Bill. I know you were excited.”
Bill whined, ending with a few fast licks to my arm.
The queasiness receded, and a thrilling surge of adrenaline took its place. The relief wrapped its arms around me, and though the tingle of fear lingered, a satisfying aftertaste of survival was palpable.
After gathering my resolve, I stood straight. My focus needed to remain on my task. I needed to make a point: recover, and move on.
On wobbly legs, I headed toward Greenwich, and to our next pop-up location. I knew that in a few blocks, the residual shakiness would fade. I just needed to work it out of my system.
I focused on the fact that Greenwich was a dream spot. In the beginning, I’d aimed for more obscure places, in areas that were less ‘big label’. As I grew bolder, though, Cat encouraged me to explore more stylish places.
It felt like forever ago now that I’d chosen that first place. It used to be impossible for me to leave home, let alone walk a block away. I’d chosen a spot nearby so that if I had to run, at least it wouldn’t be far.
Thinking about it was like seeing into a past I didn’t recognize.
Even though I still felt trapped, I had to acknowledge I wasn’t the same.
I could walk farther from home without fear, an alternate world of possibilities opening around every corner.
All I needed was the resolve to make the next turn, one more city block, and a new life could be mine.
I let myself imagine a world where I hadn’t run away from Nash. A world where I stayed and talked to the man. Maybe I let him get me ice for my aching cheek. We would chat for hours, and he would learn my name and where I live.
I imagined the braver version of myself in front of my townhouse, planting flower pots in the sunlight, Nash walking by. I’d wave, and he’d wave back, maybe stop to talk.
Seasons would pass, and our acquaintance would grow into friendship.
We’d get to know each other like normal people do.
Maybe he’d ask me out one day, and we’d go to a nice dinner.
I’d dress up, and he’d treat me to ice cream after—maybe even kiss me goodnight.
I would tell him everything about myself without hesitation, and he’d be in awe of me, adore my creativity, and cherish me.
A car alarm went off.
Reality crashed back in.
How could I share my anxious world with another person? How could I share the secret side of me? What if he ruined PERL? What if it didn’t work out and shattered my already fragile resolve? I don’t think I was strong enough for that.
I couldn’t trust anyone but Cat, and even that scared me. What would become of me when she died one day? Cold sweat broke out across my skin at the thought of being that alone with absolutely no one to call if I needed help.
My arms squeezed around me, offering false comfort.
Thinking that way was harmful. I knew that.
Kicking at the pavement, I wondered if I’d ever be free of this fear that held me hostage. After twenty-eight years, I was convinced this feeling would never vanish. Besides anger, it was the only emotion I’d known.
Bill stopped to relieve himself on a tree, and I waited, picking at the frayed end of one of my sleeves. I felt self-loathing creeping in, its tendrils weaving over my skin. Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t I be better?
After Bill finished his business, we walked on and soon arrived at the storefront I’d picked for the show.
Paper covered the front windows and doors that sat back from the sidewalk.
Leaves, sticks, and garbage that someone had discarded without thought covered the large front patio over the waist-high gate surrounding it.
The paint was peeling around the trim, and the brick facade had seen better days.
It had been a deli, which was fun. I wanted to maintain the deli feel. My plan for the inside was to keep the counter and the kitchen, clean it up, black it out, and adapt to what it offered.
The bar would be the old deli counter, allowing free circulation for patrons. Out front on the patio, I’d bring in black tables, paint the sidewalk, and let the dark bleed out into the street like a stain of night.
Black to me was beautiful. It offered solace and certainty. Black was black to me and everyone else. I could fit in with black. Black is the complete absence of color, just like me.
The logistics circled through my thoughts. I’d only need a few counter staff, maybe three bartenders and two assistants. To stay near the art, I’d take one of those jobs.
I enjoyed listening to the comments from patrons. Those remarks were, above all, a highlight. Some patrons over-exaggerated the meaning behind my art, and to be honest, it was beautiful.
Through them, I could almost see the colors I’d painted. They’d point and comment on a streak of paint here, or there, and their descriptions helped me understand my creation.
“Look at this bit of red fire here, and electric neon there,” and so on.
Descriptive words like that, with a tactical feel, helped. I knew fire was hot. I knew electricity was shocking. Those sensations let me view the world.
Judging from the sidewalk space, I estimated about twenty tall tables would be suitable.
Some candles, some overhead garden lights.
It’d be dreamy. I’d also add light to the wrought-iron waist-high gate around the entire patio.
I’d make it something minimal and hidden, but enough to draw in the street crowd.
Out here, I’d hire several bouncers to make sure we didn’t become overcrowded. It was never fun getting shut down by the New York Fire Department. They took overcrowding seriously.
My temporary alcohol license allowed me to have a few walking servers here as well, with champagne, and small tumblers with bourbon to help minimize returning guests to the bar, causing a bottleneck. I found champagne and bourbon just about covered most tastes.
Bill was sniffing around the perimeter of the patio, his leash in his mouth as though leading himself. He was likely cataloging the rich tapestry of smells as I was: damp cement, blooming honeysuckle, and something savory from a nearby grill.
Moonlight dappled through dry overhead leaves, their branches a constant whisper. Distant laughter and the rhythmic thud of a basketball punctuated the quiet.
Bill returned to my side, a low rumble of anticipation in his chest. I could tell he was ready to go home.
“Ready for a late-night pizza and the couch, boy?” I gave him a scratch between his ears, and his whole body began swinging with his tail. “Okay, let’s go.”
He deposited the end of his leash at my feet for me to pick up, and we stepped away from the storefront and back toward home and pizza.
I opened DoorDash, reordered our favorite sausage and cheese pizza, and set it to arrive before we got home to avoid running into the delivery person. I’d had enough awkward encounters for the night. As it was, I was going to enter the house from the back from now on just to avoid the neighbor.
We could deal with that, though. It was fine. We didn’t leave the house much anyway, and it was more private that way. We’d adjust, wait a few years, and then we could use the front door again. By then, the Nash guy would be married, kid on the way.
I’d be a nobody to him.
Solid plan.