Caged (10 page)

I saw no point in challenging him and surrendered to his plan, falling asleep on the car ride home. Before I reached the point of dreaming, I awoke with a shooting pain in my head, courtesy of the wall it was banged against in my stairwell.

“OUCH!” I groused.

He grinned impishly.

“Sorry, I didn’t gauge that corner very well,” he said.

I closed my eyes and rubbed the growing knot on the top of my head. He gently put me down in front of the apartment door and unlocked it. I dragged myself across the threshold and headed down the hall. I stopped at the linen closet and got out extra blankets and a pillow for Sean’s rendezvous with my sofa. I walked back into the living room and placed them on the coffee table before immediately heading back down the hallway to my room. I didn’t stop to use the bathroom or brush my teeth. My clothes remained where they were when I collapsed on my bed, too exhausted to stand any longer. I didn’t care about anything but sleep.

I heard his footsteps coming down the hall to my room, and knew without looking that he was paused in my doorway.

“I just came to say goodnight,” he said softly. I managed to grunt in response as I laid across the bed on top of the covers. He moved closer, making his way into my room uninvited. My pulse started to quicken. My body went rigid.

“Shhhhhhhhhhh,” he said, seeing the anxiety he was causing me. “I just wanted to make it better,” he said, leaning over to place a whisper of a kiss on my head where he’d bumped it against the wall. “Sleep well, Ruby,” he said softly as he walked out of my room, closing the door behind him.

14

I awoke the next morning feeling much more like myself. The effects of the drugs had worn off completely. I did a quick scan of my body, making sure that all the appropriate bits were functional and accounted for. Sitting up cautiously, I paused when I reached a full, upright position, unsure if there would be a bass drum playing in my temples from the previous night’s shenanigans. Luckily for me there wasn’t, so I proceeded to get up and go see what I could wrangle up for breakfast.

I sauntered down the hallway, passing the bathroom and kitchen on the way to the living room to see if Sean was awake and ready for some food. When I arrived I saw an empty couch with a neatly folded stack of blankets on top of it, but no Sean. There was, however, a note atop the pile.

Ruby,

I looked in this morning to see that you were okay. I had to leave to go grade some awfully written term papers - didn’t want to wake you to say goodbye. Will stop by the shop later today to make sure you’re doing well.

Sean

No longer needing to cook for two, I opted for a banana and a water to go. I’d been neglecting the business part of my business for too long, so I had a hot and heavy date with QuickBooks to rectify that situation. I grabbed the stack of blankets and took them to the linen closet, neatly placing them on a shelf before continuing down the hall to my room. I needed to grab a jacket but couldn’t find one in the mass chaos of my bedroom, so I settled for a black Nike hoodie that I found buried in the back of my closet. I also grabbed a bandanna to pull my hair back with so it wouldn’t drive me certifiably insane while working on the books. As I turned to leave, a small piece of black paper lying innocently on my bed caught my attention. It was slightly hidden by a fold in the covers so I didn’t recognize it immediately. I knelt down on the bed and reached across to retrieve it from my wadded-up comforter. The second I touched it, a rush of heat went through me and I knew exactly what it was.
Eric
. It was his card, which was really just his name and phone number - no business, profession, address, or last name.

I felt compelled to call him that second, and it took more restraint than I thought I possessed not to do it.
Don’t want him to think I’m fatal attraction material
. I sighed and stuck it in my back pocket. Maybe out of sight out of mind would prove true.

After hours of filing through bank statements and invoices, and reconciling the accounts, I came to two very distinct conclusions: that accountants were certifiably insane, and that I was the world’s worst business woman. The biggest challenge for any self-employed craftsman was that being great at your skill did not equal business success. I needed to get my bookkeeping shit together before I failed, as that possibility was becoming all too real to me. I really needed help.

Torn between my desire to face the situation and run away from it altogether, I decided I would organize the back studio and put my frustration into that task for a bit. On my way around the counter I reached my hands to the small of my back to force a low back stretch; computer time was proving terrible for my body. As I slid my hands down, they eventually landed in the back pockets of my jeans. My right hand flared like it was on fire when it touched the little piece of black paper I had tucked away so strategically. I pulled it out just as I crossed paths with my office phone. The compulsion to pick it up and call him was all consuming and undeniable. I was clearly no match for it.

The receiver was ringing before I even realized I’d dialed him.

“Hello?”

15

When I hung up three hours later, I realized that I had no idea what had just happened. I knew we talked, flirted and made plans for the night, but I would have sworn that the person talking just wasn’t me. It was as though I’d been in some sort of weird fugue that I snapped out of as soon as the receiver clicked off, leaving me with the gist of what had been said and done, but no sense of ownership of the words or actions - a real out-of-body experience. I’d never sounded so self-assured and confident talking to a guy before, but with Eric everything seemed so natural, so effortless, so right. I didn’t have to try, I just was, and it was a feeling I really started to like.

He had asked me to go to a party that his friend was hosting - nothing too formal, but not exactly a college kegger either. It was at a downtown apartment building in Boston, in the penthouse. Apparently his friend had recently acquired the place and wanted to christen it. Normally I was intimidated by events like that and would have found a way to weasel out of it, or suggest something else, but I didn’t. Somehow knowing that I was going to be with him made everything okay.

We agreed to meet at
Vain
since I actually knew where that was. Boston wasn’t known as an easy city to navigate when you weren’t from there, and I didn’t want to be late because I was driving aimlessly through downtown streets. That being said, I was a cautious woman and I knew enough to pick a neutral place to meet. The world wasn’t safe for a single girl and I’d watched enough
Dateline NBC
to know that to be true. I may have picked up amazing vibes from Eric, but I didn’t know him and I didn’t want to end up dead in a gutter somewhere because I surrendered common sense because of the warm fuzzies he gave me.

Once all the details were ironed out, he let me go to get myself ready for the party. He seemed to sense that I was about to have a meltdown of epic proportions, though I was certain he was unaware that it was regarding my wardrobe decision. Regardless, his polite dismissal allotted enough time for that to occur. I couldn’t for the life of me think of something fabulous to wear. I needed my fashion consultant, aka Ronnie, to hook me up but her store was closed, so I was on my own.

I flew upstairs and tore into the apartment, barely remembering to close the door behind me. I continued straight into the bedroom, directly to my walk-in closet. I stared blankly up into the u-shaped racks that lined the walls, the two tiers of clothing spanning from floor to ceiling. Building that closet had been the best money I’d ever spent. I may have lost square footage in the guest bedroom, but I didn’t care. My clothes needed a good home.

Surrounded by the all those garments, I knew that logically speaking there had to be something appropriate to wear, but I felt strangely at odds with everything I grabbed. Even old favorites didn’t do it for me, and they were my fail-safe, go-to ringers.

I tore through that closet like a wardrobe-challenged tornado, tearing everything piece of clothing off of its hanger until every last article lay strewn across the floor. I stood amidst the aftermath, ankle deep in the sea of fabric I had created, wearing only black bikini underwear and a matching demi-bra. Wading through the mess to grab a pair of jeans, I caught a glimpse of myself in the antique mirror I propped along the wall. For the briefest of moments I had the most bizarre and disturbing thought.

This could work…maybe with a slip over it?

I struggled to make sense of the thought, shaking my head while rummaging through my shelf of shoes. If I couldn’t be inspired to build an outfit off of my clothing, I hoped that maybe I could with a great shoe choice. I wanted to make a great impression on all of Eric’s friends and be comfortable at the same time, and that was a tall order for any shoe. It was hard to look sexy with bloody feet from rubbed-off blisters, walking like you just got off the horse you’d been riding for a week straight. I eyed the perfect pair to fit the bill.

I’d spent a small fortune on them after seeing them in a W magazine that Ronnie had laying around her shop a month or two earlier. They were impossible to resist, and frankly, I didn’t want to. Everything about them was perfect: royal purple satin stilettos with a faux platform and jeweled toe embellishment. Christian Louboutin really knew a thing or two about designing shoes.

I screeched in an all-too-girlie way when I found them and slipped them on to wade back through the mess I’d made. I was literally hoping to stumble across the perfect accompanying pieces when I saw myself in the mirror again.

He’ll love it.

Immediately after thinking it a flush of heat went through my body like nothing I’d ever experienced before, and God help me, I reached for a coat as I walked out of the room.

What’s wrong with me?

I was rapidly turning into a therapist’s dream. My chart would have read: “patient suffers from delusions and distinct breaks with reality, along with a complete lack of social understanding and assimilation…and she’s a ho.”

Frustrated and horrified with myself, I looked back into the room and saw something sparkle from under the pile. I snatched it and held it up.
This will work.
I tossed on the pewter, sequined racerback tank and slipped my bra off; bra straps should never be a visible part of an outfit. I found the appropriate pair of dark-wash super-skinny jeans to complement the looseness of the top. A few bangles and hoop earrings later, and I was ready to go. I grabbed my cropped leather jacket as I headed out the door and slipped it on as I ran down the stairs.

I locked up the building behind me and headed for my car. Once in, I made sure the iPod was cued up and ready to go with my best party music playlist, checked the gas, fired her up, and headed off to 95S. It promised to be a great night, pending my ability to keep my libido in check and my clothes on.

I pulled up outside Vain just shortly after 10pm. I called him when I was twenty minutes out of town, so he could drive down to meet me there. He was perched in a very masculine way against the brick wall of the club, looking like a god. He had so many amazing features, but his skin blew me away. Such a contrast to my own, the milky brown looked like something I wanted to eat. Maybe I did.

He smiled at me when I pulled up next to him.

“Hey sugar, you lookin for a date?” he asked as he approached the car.

I smiled in response. Nobody could out-quote me when it came to
Pretty Woman
.

We bantered through the lines of the pick-up scene for a minute or two until he leaned his butt against my passenger door, waiting for me to cave.

“Get in!” I demanded, laughing hysterically at the scenario. “I bet you’re the only straight man that can quote
Pretty Woman
with that kind of accuracy. You are straight, right?” I asked jokingly, wiping the tears from my eyes.

He leaned across the console towards me, stopping only inches from my face. His face was serious and sexual. Thank God my seat belt was on or I’d have jumped him right there in the car surrounded by club-goers.

“Do I throw you the gay vibe?”

I gulped.

“Nnnnnnno…uh no. Not a bit. I was just kidding…I…”

He pressed an index finger gently across my lips.

“Do you always ramble when you’re nervous?” he asked.

Apparently.

I chose not to respond and turned eight-thousand shades of red instead. I was glad that he wasn’t aware of the effect he had on me, and even more so that the car’s interior was dark enough to hide it. I drove while he dictated directions, keeping my eyes firmly affixed to the road ahead of me. I didn’t think “raging hormones” would be an adequate excuse for any accidents I caused, though I’m sure the employees at traffic court would have enjoyed the story.

Vain
was only a few blocks away from the party destination, which thankfully didn’t give us too much time alone in the confines of my car. I couldn’t be trusted with him alone. I needed a buffer in the worst way.