20. Blue
20
Blue
D r. Shore pretty much ignores me and talks to Zeke as I follow behind them. This must be his home office. There’s a waiting area, which is empty, and beyond it is his large, very cold looking office.
A nurse is unfolding the stirrups from an examination table, and the soft hum that precedes the ringing in my ears begins. I stop, turn, walk straight into Zeke’s chest. He catches me when I bounce off, holding onto my arms either because he knows I’m about to bolt or to steady me. Probably the former.
I close my eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath in and telling myself to calm down. The conscious breathing sometimes helps and I’m grateful now is one of those times. I look up at him, feeling flushed. When I realize my hands are pressed to his chest, I pull them away, get myself out of his grasp and step backward.
The nurse clears her throat and I glance at her. “Ms. Masterson, you can get undressed behind the curtain.”
I turn back to Zeke. Look past him to the door.
“Don’t be stupid,” he warns.
“What about you?” I ask in a hissed whisper.
“What about me?”
“Do I get a confirmation that you’re not carrying any STDs?”
He grins. “You get my word.”
“And that has to be good enough?”
He nods. It’s infuriating. “Go get undressed. You’re wasting the doctor’s time.”
“Fine.” I get up on tiptoe so only he can hear me. “You’re an asshole,” I tell him then turn and walk behind the divider. I hear them talk on the other side and take off my clothes, suddenly unsure what I’m supposed to do with that stupid chain. I can’t hide it, not if I’m freaking naked. I slip on the robe that’s hanging on a hook, confirm the flash drive and roll of money are secure in the pocket of my dress and step around to find the nurse waiting.
Zeke is having a conversation with the doctor. When he glances my way, I give him a hateful look.
“I’ll hold onto your robe,” the nurse says. I slip it off and hand it to her, not meeting her eyes. “Climb on up.”
I do. I’ve never had an exam like this before. I just keep my eyes on the ceiling as the nurse moves my feet onto the stirrups and try not to think about the fact that I’m spread wide open. Wholly exposed. At least no one comments on the chain.
The doctor turns toward me, rolling a low stool ahead of himself. I don’t want to look at Zeke but when I turn my head, I see how stiffly he’s standing, his hands fists at his sides.
“We’ll just get started with an exam,” the doctor starts as my gaze moves to Zeke’s face. His eyes meet mine just as a tear slips out of the inside corner of one eye. It slides over the bridge of my nose before it drops off.
I hate him. I hate Ezekiel St. James. I just hope he knows that.
“Let the nurse take the sample,” he says suddenly.
The doctor, who is just about to take a seat on the stool between my legs, stops. “Excuse me?” he asks, turning to Zeke.
Curious, I watch Zeke who is no longer looking at me.
“Let the nurse take the sample. I have a few questions for you,” he says.
“I can take all your questions once I’ve performed the exam?—”
“I said let her do it.”
Dr. Shore is clearly surprised, but he bites back whatever comment he was about to make and nods.
I’m as surprised. This lesson in humiliation, has he abandoned it?
Zeke crosses the room and opens the door. “Let’s talk outside.”
“Of course,” the doctor says and a moment later they’re both gone.
“Well, that is unusual,” the nurse says before taking the doctor’s place.
“What do you mean?”
“The Society men, well, they’re a different breed. Often there are witnesses… well, I shouldn’t gossip. I’m sure Dr. Shore won’t like that. Now, let’s get this done and you can relax.”
“I have my period. It’s light, but…” I trail off.
“That’s no problem.”
I turn to the door and although the exam is uncomfortable, it’s not terrible and it’s over quickly. Once she’s finished with the exam, she administers a birth control shot which I don’t argue against. I don’t want to get pregnant any more than Zeke wants. After that, it’s over and I move behind the screen to get dressed emerging just as the office door opens. I meet Zeke’s gaze. His brow is furrowed, and I wonder if he’s as confused as I am about what he just did.
“Let’s go,” he says once the nurse explains that they’ll call him with the results.
I don’t thank anyone. I slip past Zeke and hurry through the house and outside. I don’t need to look over my shoulder to know he’s right there. Using the key fob, he unlocks the door just as I reach it and I quickly step into the passenger side. His phone rings and he pauses before entering the driver’s side. I watch him and wish I could hear what he was saying because the way he’s looking at me, I know it’s about me.
He finally nods and ends the call, tucking the phone into his pocket before climbing into the SUV. He starts the engine and sets it into Drive.
“Why did you do that?” I finally ask once we’re on the road.
“Do what?”
“Have the nurse examine me.”
He doesn’t even glance at me. “I had questions for the doctor.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He snorts, this time he looks at me. “What’s your theory then?”
“You saw I was uncomfortable.”
“And I took pity on you?”
I shrug a shoulder, suddenly feeling stupid for having brought it up.
He chuckles. I notice his gaze keeps moving to the rear-view mirror. It makes me anxious but when I look back, nothing stands out.
“Where are we going?” I ask when I notice that instead of going back to the house, he drives toward the French Quarter.
“Dinner,” he says, checking his rear-view mirror yet again before turning off the main road.
“You’re taking me out to dinner?”
He glances at me. “It’s not a date, don’t worry.” He takes another turn.
I shrug a shoulder and sit back. That’s fine. If he wants to feed me, he can go ahead. I can always eat.
I’ve gotten to know New Orleans pretty well and I notice he’s taking a strange route that keeps us parallel along smaller streets rather than taking the straight shot into town. It’ll take twice as long this way and I’m curious why he’s doing it. I watch him, see his eyes move to the rear-view mirror again.
“Are you looking for something?” I ask.
“A parking spot. Ah.” He parallel parks with ease in front of an exclusive restaurant in a boutique hotel. I’ve seen it mentioned for their exceptional steak in various magazines I’ve perused while on my breaks at The Cat House. A line of cabs stands waiting across the street.
He puts the SUV into Park and glances once more in his rear-view mirror, then at the car that passes us. It’s a black Audi and something about it startles me. My heart pounds because I swear, I recognize it. But it can’t be. There’s no way.
“Blue?” The car slows at the crosswalk as a mother crosses the street alongside her young child on a bike. I turn to find Zeke watching me.
“Yeah?”
“Ready?”
“For what?” No. I’m mistaken. There are probably thousands of black Audis in New Orleans. I don’t even know the model. Do they all have rosary beads hanging from the rear-view mirror though?
“Dinner.” His gaze follows mine to the car which is pulling away from the crosswalk. “See someone you know?” he asks, too perceptive.
I shake my head maybe too quickly because his eyes narrow infinitesimally.
“Let’s go in,” he finally says once it disappears from view.
“Yeah, okay.” I look up at the restaurant. This is good. Dinner is good. Because whether or not I recognize the car, it just goes to show I’m not safe. Wren isn’t safe. My father knows where we are, and he’s not the only person looking for me. There’s the man who hired him, for starters, who came looking for the laptop after his arrest. If my father could find me from behind bars, then that man with more means could easily do so, too. The longer Wren and I are in New Orleans, the more dangerous this becomes.
Once we’re back in the house, I’m trapped. There’s no way I can get away. Here, maybe I can pretend to use the bathroom, slip out. I eye all those waiting taxis. There’s a chance at least.
But am I safer with him? Can he truly protect me? He doesn’t know the whole story. He only knows about my father. And what about Wren? She can’t protect herself at all.
No. I need to get away from Ezekiel St. James, get Wren and get out of town. And this may be my only chance.
“I’m starving, actually. Thanks.”
He gets out of the car and comes to my side to open my door. I climb out, clear my throat and tug my sweater closer. I take my tote with me.
He gestures to the entrance and when we reach it, a uniformed attendant opens the door. Soft piano music plays inside, the lighting a gentle, golden glow and tables set with sweeping white tablecloths and more silverware than I know what to do with.
The hostess glances at me, her resting bitch face firmly in place. When she looks up at Zeke, she rearranges her features, smiling wide, blinking what must be ten pounds of fake eyelashes at him. I want to roll my eyes.
“Table for two. Something private.”
“Do you have a reservation, Mr…” she trails off.
He gives her a smile. “No, but I’m sure you can find room for us.” He peers at her nametag. “Carly.”
“Of course, sir.” She gathers two menus along with a wine card. Zeke puts his hand at my lower back to nudge me to follow Carly as she exaggeratedly wiggles her curvy little ass—another eyeroll—all the way across the restaurant to the farthest table in the corner. I take in the layout, noting the restrooms are down a corridor which might lead to an exit. “Will this do, sir?” Carly asks.
“Perfectly.”
He pulls my chair out and I sit. Carly doesn’t spare me a glance as she leans deeply and holds the menus out to Zeke, her perky boobs almost popping out of her dress.
“We won’t need those. We’ll take two steaks, rare, and a bottle of?—”
“Are you ordering for me?” I ask, interrupting.
He looks at me, eyebrows raised, and nods.
“Maybe I can have a look at the menu. Since it’s 2024 and all.” The last part I mutter as I pluck one of the menus out of Carly’s hands and open it. Good thing they can’t see my face over the top because the prices are insane. Everything is expensive. Even the chicken. Who pays that much for chicken? And I don’t even know what some of the things are, so I close it and clear my throat.
“Yes. Steak for me too. Make mine well done, Carly,” I say, holding the menu out to her. I smile wide as her lips curve downward in the corners. I’ll eat dinner, then go to the bathroom while he pays the check. Slip out then.
She looks at the menu, then at Zeke, who nods. I didn’t think I needed permission to order my dinner but okay.
“And a big plate of fries with extra ketchup.” I turn to Zeke. “I’m not sharing. You’d better get your own.”
He gives me a look but seems amused. “No fries for me. Bring her a vegetable too, will you? Steamed broccoli, I think.”
I curl my lip although I don’t mind broccoli. Carly takes the menus and Zeke orders a bottle of red.
“That’s a lot of food,” he says once Carly’s gone.
“You’re the one who ordered the broccoli.”
“You need something green.”
“Thanks for looking out for me. And, well, if you’re paying, I may as well eat. Do you know how much a steak here costs?” I ask, looking around, taking in all the diners in their fancy clothes.
I tug the sleeves of my sweater down. I don’t belong here.
“Does it intimidate you?”
“Hm? What?” I ask, turning to him.
“Does this place intimidate you?”
“No, I just think it’s a waste. You can buy groceries for three weeks on the cost of one dinner and you don’t have to deal with women like Carly. Although maybe you like women like Carly.”
“Actually, I find them boring.”
“Also that whole ordering for me? Seriously, do you get dates? Ever? Acting like that?”
“You’d be surprised.” He takes a sip of water. “And you need red meat. Your iron’s low.”
“Pardon?”
“Bloodwork is back. It’s probably why you have your dizzy spells.”
That has me turning all my attention to him. “What?”
“Dizzy spells. Doctor thought it might be related.”
“Is that what you were talking about when you left the room? My dizzy spells?”
He nods like it’s normal but maybe for a man like him, a Society man, it is. A waiter arrives with rolls and butter, and another comes carrying a bottle of wine and two giant glasses. He pops the cork and pours for Zeke, talking some pretentious bullshit about the wine’s origins as Zeke tastes it and gives his nod of approval. He pours for both of us and then leaves the bottle.
I pick up a roll and butter it. “It’s not an iron deficiency.”
“You are iron deficient.”
“I can’t normally afford steak.” I pop bread into my mouth.
“I didn’t realize you were medically trained.”
“True, but that’s not it.”
“What is it then?”
I eat another bite of bread, not sure why I said anything. I pick up the glass of wine and sip and OMG it’s good. Really good. I don’t know much about wine, apart from cheap and this is not that.
“Don’t chug it.”
I give him a look and take another deliberately big sip, but I won’t waste it. I set the glass down.
“You’re classy, Blue.”
“I don’t want to cramp your style so I can leave if you prefer,” I push my chair back and make to stand.
He sets his hand on my thigh, skin to skin contact sending a bolt of electricity through me again. Does he feel it too? He has too, right? It can’t just be me.
But I shouldn’t forget even though he’s the first man who’s ever touched me or been interested in me in that way, he’s probably had hundreds of women.
“Stay,” he commands in that quiet, low way of his that leaves no room for anything but obedience.
I clear my throat and stay.
“The dizziness,” he reminds me.
I shake my head to clear it and watch Carly lead another couple to their table. She glances at Zeke, and I look at him and I can see what she sees honestly. He’s handsome, no doubt. Very handsome. Sexy in that rich asshole kind of way some women like. Hell, maybe I like it a little too, stupid as it is. He doesn’t even glance her way, and I can admit she’s a lot better looking than I am.
Zeke’s gaze moves to my hand, and I realize I’m touching the scar on my face. I pull it away.
“My dad. The night he hurt Wren. I told you that he hit me, too. I didn’t only break the mirror with my face.” I point to the scar. “Bride of Frankenstein, remember? He smashed my head into the side of the tub. I don’t know how many times. I passed out and ever since then, it just happens. It happens more when I’m stressed. And weirdly a lot when I’m around you,” I tack on.
I have never told anyone this. Why am I telling him of all people? The bread I swallow sticks in my throat, and I gulp wine to wash it down.
“How did you take care of yourself and your sister? How did you afford it these last years?”
“How do you think? I worked. It’s what normal people do, Zeke. You’re rich. You’ve never had to think about food or a roof over your head or a sick sister.” His lips tighten and a shadow crosses his eyes. It takes him more than a minute before he blinks and the Zeke I am getting to know is back.
“What about school?”
I pick up another roll but just pick at it. I shake my head. I don’t know why I feel embarrassed about this. I had zero options. It’s not like I’m a drop out by choice.
“You never graduated high school?” he asks, sounding surprised.
“When would I have?” I snap, forcing myself to hold his gaze. Mom would tell me I have nothing to be ashamed of. I did what I had to do to take care of my family. But it’s hard to keep my eyes on his. It’s like he sees inside me, and I don’t know how I feel about that. “Anyway, School of Hard Knocks, right?” I joke, look away. “Carly starting to look better to you?” I take off my sweater and drape it over the back of my chair, sweaty under his scrutinizing gaze not to mention anxious at what I have to do.
“You did it for your sister.” It’s not a question and I don’t answer it. Instead, I lather butter on the roll.
“Aren’t you hungry?” I ask him because he hasn’t touched the bread.
“I don’t usually eat this early.”
“Then why are we?”
“I wanted to see something.”
“What?”
Before he has a chance to answer, two waiters arrive at our table carrying our dinner, two gorgeous steaks, a huge plate of fries, salads, a side of bright green broccoli and more bread. It smells amazing and my stomach growls so loudly I’m sure everyone hears it.
As soon as the waiters are gone, I pick up my knife and fork and cut into my steak. Well, I attempt to, but the knife digs into the cut on my palm, and I put it down with a hiss of pain.
A small drop of blood appears along the cut. Zeke takes his napkin and puts it in my palm.
“Hold that,” he says and, using his knife and fork, slices my steak while I watch, confused. Surprised. No, shocked. “There,” he says when he’s done. He pushes the plate back in front of me and I feel the warmth of tears in my eyes. I don’t understand why. I look down at the steak cut into small bite-size pieces and remind myself my hand is cut because I made a shiv to protect myself against him. I can’t feel tenderness or read into anything he does. He needs me to eat so I don’t pass out. That’s all this is. That is all.
I stab a piece of steak and put it into my mouth. The meat is tender, seasoned to perfection and grilled exactly like I like it and my appetite returns. I eat a second bite.
“There wasn’t much food at your apartment,” Zeke comments as he watches me before slicing into his steak.
“I ate at The Cat House. Best part of the job was the food.”
“Was?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m fired. I was supposed to go in last night. Not that I planned on going back anyway.”
“Why did you take a job there?”
“Money but also curiosity maybe. You were supposed to be in Amsterdam. I didn’t think I’d ever run into you. They paid great, so much better than any other job I could get, and…” I trail off and shrug my shoulders. I drink more of the wine and he refreshes my glass. “Once you paid, I was going to leave New Orleans. I like the place Wren’s at now, so it made sense to work there. It’s how I could afford her care. Anyhow, I don’t know. This is good. Thanks.”
He nods and we eat, conversation minimal. I’ve already said too much. And I realize I’m also drinking too much when he pours the last of the wine into my glass. I think he’s barely had one refill.
His phone buzzes with a message as dessert comes, crème br?lée, a cappuccino for me and espresso for him. I break the glassy layer of burnt sugar and take a bite and wow. This is another level of delicious.
“Good?” he asks.
I guess I’d closed my eyes as the custard melted on my tongue. I nod. “You want to try it?”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t eat dessert.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe you should start. A little sweetness in your life might make you a happier person. Maybe—and I’m going to go out on a limb here, but maybe it’ll even make you nice.”
“Says the woman who tried to blackmail me.” He shifts his gaze to his phone. “You’re clean.”
“Excuse me?”
“No STDs. Nothing wrong with your blood apart from the iron deficiency.”
I’m glad my mouth isn’t full or I’m sure I’d have spit out crème br?lée and that would be a waste.
“I could have told you that.” I drink the last of my wine, wipe my mouth and sit back. “I tried to in fact.”
“Finished?”
I nod.
He raises a hand and Carly, ever accommodating, comes rushing over. “Check please,” he says, taking his wallet out of his jacket pocket.
“I’m going to run to the lady’s room,” I say, and slip away before he can stop me.
“Of course, sir,” I hear her say as I hurry off, tote on my arm. I weave through the tables without looking back and make my way down the corridor bypassing the lady’s room because I see the EXIT sign above the door at the end. It’s a fire exit but someone has it propped open, and I can smell cigarette smoke. Probably the wait staff.
My ears ring with anxiety. I’m going so fast that when the men’s room door opens, I almost collide with the man coming out, catching myself just in time as the waiter who delivered our dinner opens the exit door from outside and flips his cigarette onto the ground. A woman slips in under his arm, and I catch the door before it can close. I don’t look back. Instead, as soon as I’m outside, I run. I run around the building, having to go farther than I hoped to get to where the taxis are lined up. The light turns red, but I bolt across the street, and someone honks their horn at me. I don’t care, though. I reach a taxi and the driver disconnects his call as I open the back door.
“Go! Please go!” I set one leg inside, the strap of the tote catching on the door handle.
“Where to?”
“Just go!” I tug at the bag, get it loose. I’m about to shut the door when a hand closes over the top of it, stopping me, and Ezekiel St. James leans down, eyes narrowed, jaw set. He takes hold of my arm.
“Going somewhere, Little Convict?”