Before
Frankie
I was right about Joyface being a place Richard would like. He doesn’t even bat an eye when the bartender says: “Dude, we’ve got one shelf, and it’s low—Jack Daniel’s, that’s it.”
So here we are. The lights are low, and the air seems hazy even though there is no smoking allowed.
It charges the air. But all I can seem to think about are Richard’s eyes and the way the color keeps shifting in the shadows.
The intense way he looked at me on the sidewalk outside my studio.
As if he already knew this was the way the night was going to play out. But there are things I need to say.
“Okay.” I take a big swallow of my whiskey.
“Why didn’t you call the police?” he asks. “Breaking and entering and destroying property is definitely a crime.”
“I went to the police. They told me to have a lawyer write a strongly worded letter.” This is, strictly speaking, the truth, even if I’m messing with some pretty important chronology.
Richard shakes his head. “That was their response to a break-in?”
He’s obviously not buying it, but I’m just grateful he’s paying enough attention to notice the huge holes in my story. I don’t have very high standards in this regard. The men I usually date only really listen if we are talking about sex or if they hear me say their names.
But I’m not going to lie outright. “Technically, that was before the thing with my studio, but they made it pretty clear that this kind of thing would be low priority.”
“I think you should try again now.”
“Okay,” I say too quickly.
Richard’s brow furrows. “But you’re not going to.”
I shrug. “Not right this second, no.”
“You’re leaving something out, Frankie,” Richard says, his eyes searching mine.
“The thing with this guy isn’t simple. It’s not just him not being able to take a hint,” I say. “I did some things I really regret.”
“Okay, but speaking as someone who’s made his fair share of mistakes, that doesn’t give someone a right to terrorize you.”
“I know and I appreciate the reminder.” And I do, too much. “But I did call Scotty and ask him to help write the letter. I am taking some steps.”
“Scotty?” Richard visibly stiffens. “I just talked to him. He didn’t even tell me you’d spoken.”
“He was probably trying to keep it confidential.”
“Right.” Now Richard stares down into his drink. “Did you tell Scotty that you and I have been in touch?”
I consider lying, but I am going to have to tell him about the photo, and I already feel bad enough about that. “I said that we’d had coffee because you wanted some advice about small gallery shows.”
Richard rattles the ice in his glass. “Okay.”
“Should I not have said that?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” he says, notably also not mentioning that there was no need to lie. Then he smacks the bar playfully and looks around. “Listen, I’m starving. Doesn’t look like they serve food here…”
This is my chance to say that I need to leave. To stop things right here and now. But I still need to tell him about the picture and the Senator’s threat.
“I know a great place,” I say instead. And it feels more inevitable than wrong. “It’s not far.”
* * *
Morning five. I woke up in agony in my tent again at the Moir Camp.
It was my calves, mostly—and my thighs and my feet.
And my ass. Even my eyeballs hurt. We’d gone uphill for hours on day three, in blistering heat, and the resulting muscle pain had just stuck.
There were also many, many downhills that day, which made no sense.
I mean, weren’t we supposed to be climbing up?
When we’d arrived at the Shira Plateau camp at the end of that long day, though, it had all been worth it: Kilimanjaro had finally come into view.
But then, another thought: Oh my God, we’re not even on the fucking mountain yet.
Staring at the snowcapped mountain rising impossibly from the grasslands, I’d still felt more elated than discouraged. It was breathtaking.
And I’d since learned that we were, technically, on the mountain even then. That’s how massive—wide as well as tall—Kilimanjaro was.
Now, more than a day of climbing later, I unzipped my tent to snow sparkling in the golden glow of the newly risen sun, dusting the ground and the tops of the bright-red tents, like sugar sprinkled over gumdrops.
My breath was a white cloud as the cold rushed at me, burning my face, and yet I’d been sweating in a tank top when we’d arrived at the previous camp.
They’d even cautioned us not to take a nap in our tents in the late afternoon there because we could get heatstroke.
In the shadow of Kilimanjaro, even the temperature was a living, breathing thing.
I climbed out of my tent, relieved that I’d managed to stay so warm overnight, thanks largely to the mattress pad that kept me a few inches from the hard, frozen earth. In the end, Kito had suggested that perhaps the valve was closed, making it hard to inflate. He was correct.
I felt the sharp tightness in my chest as I yawned in the early-morning light.
It was getting harder to breathe, but sneakily.
I hadn’t noticed the day before until I tried to exert myself, jogging ahead to pee behind a large boulder as I had done the day before.
I hadn’t gone more than a half dozen quickened steps before my heart felt like it was going to explode.
I’d needed to bend at the waist for a full minute until the feeling passed.
But aside from that and a persistent, mild nausea, I was holding up pretty well with the altitude.
More than 13,500 feet now. Still more than 5,000 left to go.
And with the increasing altitude, every foot now felt like three.
Emotionally, I didn’t feel different yet.
But there was still a ways to go. Still time.
And maybe it was not so much a transformation I needed anyway.
Maybe I just needed to become the woman who could forgive the girl who hadn’t made different choices.
I heard the clank of silverware and low, muffled voices as I approached the kitchen tent. I froze when Van barked:
“Yes, I’m fucking serious!” And then a bang, like a fist on a tabletop, followed by a rattling of dishes and glassware. “You all are my initial investors. You’re part of the IPO. Period.”
“We don’t need the money, Van,” Richard said. “It’s yours. You built this.”
“You think you’re the only one who likes to do things the ‘right’ way, Richard?” Van’s voice was choked with rage. “The only one who’s an upstanding citizen?”
I was afraid to move for fear that they would realize I was listening. But I was also unable to tear myself away.
“That’s not what I meant,” Richard said calmly. “And you know it.”
Then Scotty responded, and very sharply—I caught only the end: “I just want to say again I disagree.”
Richard laughed angrily. “You just disagree because you’re worried about Hilary’s Bergdorf bills! You’re not thinking about what’s best for Van.”
“Fuck you, Richard,” Scotty said icily. “Seriously, fuck you and your smug bullshit.”
Then a whisper near my ear. “What are you doing?”
I startled, clamping a hand over my mouth so as not to scream. When I turned, Brooks was literally in my face.
“Sorry,” I said. “They were all just, um, having a disagreement and I…I didn’t want to—and then I kind of got stuck here listening. It sounds pretty heated.”
He glanced toward the tent. “Ah, Van’s restaurants in Atlanta. He’s selling the chain, and they’re taking them public. Fortunately—for my sake and the rest of the early investors’. I don’t know what they’re even arguing about. It’s done.”
“Yeah.” I nodded as I backed a step away from him.
Brooks noticed, staring down at my feet, then meeting my eyes intently, too intently. Like he could see the shameful truth of me.
“Don’t worry—I won’t tell anyone you were eavesdropping,” he said. “But now you owe me.” And with that, he disappeared into the tent.
A joke—it was a joke, and Brooks was awkward, I told myself. But there was no denying the uneasy feeling in my gut as I followed him inside, where we found Richard, Van, and Scotty eating in tense silence.
Brooks slapped Van playfully on the back. “Why’s everyone so grumpy?”
“No one’s grumpy,” Van said grumpily.
Richard and Van glanced away from each other. “Hey, Encyclopedia, why don’t you go run a couple laps around the block?” Richard said. “Calm yourself down, son.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself, Richard,” Brooks said, but his tone was light.
Bakari and Kito entered the tent then, cheerful as usual. “How did everyone sleep?” Bakari asked.
None of us had been sleeping. It was a reality of the high altitude.
“Great,” I lied.
Scotty’s eyes were puffy. “I slept like shit again.”
“Are you okay, Van?” I asked as I sat down across from him. I could see now that he looked gray. It was alarming.
He seemed grateful for my concern. “Don’t feel great, to be honest.”
“You should all drink and eat,” Bakari said confidently. “Some days your body will adjust right away, and sometimes it needs time to catch up. We will check your numbers and see.”
“Today is when things will become more challenging,” Kito said with the bright smile that somehow softened the blow whenever he delivered bad news. “The wind will be stronger, the climb more steep.”
Richard laughed stiffly. “That’s a relief. Up until now, it’s been way too easy.”
Bakari smiled. “Yesterday is always the most challenging day before today.”