Toxic (9 page)

The Brooklyn Bridge

December 2009

Whatever.

That was pretty much my newfound attitude about life.

The best-laid plans are those made by someone else became my philosophy. I went back to the city with nothing but a hole in my heart and a tainted memory of what Jeremy and I had once shared.

My parents were oblivious to my despair. They were dealing with their own set of issues. Not only had my mother been cheating on my father, but my father was cheating on my mother as well. That’s why we couldn’t reach him the night of Poppy’s arrest—he was with another woman.

It wasn’t like my mother to drink so much, and it certainly wasn’t like her to drive. She rarely ever did. But she wouldn’t tell me what caused her misguided behavior and I wasn’t strong enough to push.

The less I knew the better.

I didn’t even know what I wanted anymore.

All I knew was that I was alone and I didn’t want to be—I wanted him back.

As the months passed, I got into a routine. I went to school at Stern because leaving New York now seemed unfathomable. I was always a good student and that hadn’t changed, but my behavior had.

I drank.

A lot.

I was lost again.

I was acting reckless.

Plagued by self-doubt. Ripped open by endless questions. My mind wouldn’t rest.

Had Jeremy been seeing Kat the entire time he had been seeing me? Had I somehow pushed them together and they ran away? Had he deceived me throughout our entire relationship like I had him? If so, why?

But that was one question I couldn’t answer.

So instead, I tried to answer another. Were the feelings ever real? I needed to know. I became obsessed with studying people—their interactions. I wanted to see if their feelings for each other were genuine. Gauge them against what we shared. How we acted.

I was a loner at grad school. I felt so burned by Jeremy that I didn’t bother to make friends. I was too broken. Jamie was back at Harvard pursuing his advanced education degree in Real Estate. Logan went to law school in Boston. Emmy had gone back to California to try her hand at acting. And Danny had taken off to see the world. If it wasn’t for Lily, I would have been truly alone. But her life had also changed. She had a different agenda than me. She wanted to get married. And her social scene was no longer mine, so we rarely went out.

Time passed and it was Christmas break before I knew it. I was staying at my parents’ town house on East Seventy-sixth Street. It had been six months and Jeremy was still on my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

It was unhealthy and I knew it.

I didn’t care.

There was a knock on my bedroom door.

“Come in,” I called.

The door opened. “Merry Christmas, honey,” my mother said. “We’ll be leaving for brunch in an hour and I thought you might want to open your presents before we go.”

I rolled over. “Mom, I’m a little old for Christmas morning.”

She surprised me when she sat beside me on my bed and combed the hair from my eyes. “What’s wrong, Phoebe?”

I smiled at her. She looked happy today and I didn’t want to ruin it. I knew she was struggling through life just like me. “Nothing, I’m just tired. I’ll get up now and be down soon.”

She kissed me on the forehead. “Your father and I will be waiting.”

After she left, I sat up on my bed and put my head in my hands. I had to try to do something. Out of reflex more than thought, I grabbed my laptop and opened it up. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I was scared. I had yet to find the courage to type his name, but today I did. I knew he lived in Brooklyn but I had never asked anything more. I wished I had. Google gave me his address and I wrote it down, tucking it away for a day when another bout of courage struck.

Feeling slightly better, I hopped out of bed and got ready to celebrate Christmas.

A week passed after Christmas before I felt like I could do it. The strength came out of nowhere, but I harnessed it and picked up the phone.

“Hello?” An English accent came over the line.

“Hugh, I was hoping you could do me a favor?”

“You know I will help you if I can, Phoebe.”

“I need a ride to Brooklyn, but I don’t want you to tell my parents.”

“I can do that,” he said. “When?”

“Now?” I asked.

“I just dropped your father off, so I’ll be there shortly. And by the way, Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” I said, realizing it was New Year’s Eve.

I hung up and searched my closet for something to wear. I wanted to look nice, but not too nice. I settled on a pair of jeans and a creamy cashmere sweater with a pair of tan boots. I blew my hair straight and then pulled it back. That was how I always wore it in the summer. I wanted to look the same.

Hugh picked me up within thirty minutes of my call and drove me with no questions asked. I knew he would.

As we drove over the bridge, I started to panic. I looked down between the cables into the East River and my panic deepened. What if Jeremy wasn’t there? What if he was? What if he answered the door only to slam it in my face?

I struggled to take a deep breath.

Calm.

I had to stay calm.

I stared at the hundreds and hundreds of love locks on the wire fence where the pedestrian lovers walked and proclaimed their love and wondered how many of those couples who had thrown away the keys to their locks were still together.

I shook the grim thought away.

Soon enough, the Gothic-style architecture was behind me and at last I could breathe again. I stared out the window and watched the snow fall. It didn’t melt as soon as it hit the ground. It was building inch upon inch. By the day’s end, we’d have snowdrifts. I closed my eyes and dreamed about playing in the snow. I’d always wanted to when I was younger but was rarely ever allowed.

“This is the address you gave me,” Hugh said from the front of the Mercedes.

My eyes flew open. I hadn’t realized we’d stopped. I looked out the window at the slight mounds of snow that had already accumulated and the trees that lined the street whose leaves had long ago fallen. The brick building in front of me bore the gold numbers 728. It was his address. I’d stared at it all week, so I knew it was without a doubt.

Hugh opened my door and I stepped onto the neat sidewalk that someone had shoveled.

Maybe Jeremy had done that for his mother.

The five stairs to the door seemed like a huge obstacle. Nervousness overtook me as I rang the bell. I had no idea what I was going to say. I just needed to see him. To tell him the truth. To find out the truth about Kat. I wasn’t looking for a happy ending. I just needed an ending.

A woman opened the door. She looked at me. “Yes, can I help you?”

“Mrs. McQueen?” I asked. My voice breaking.

“No, I’m sorry. She moved out months ago.”

My heart cracked open a little more. “Do you know where she moved to?”

“When I came to look at the place before renting it, the woman mentioned Florida.”

My heart sank—he’d moved to Miami to pursue his dream. And left me behind.

The finality rocked me.

“Thank you. Sorry to bother you,” I managed.

I walked slowly to the car, the hurt feeling fresh all over again.

I knew then, I had to move on.

It was New Year’s Eve. Tomorrow was a new year.

A clean slate. Time to forget him.

But even as I thought the words, I suspected I never would.

Into the Night

Holding back my sobs, I rushed to the corner and hailed a cab, not even caring that I didn’t have a jacket or that I looked like I was doing the walk of shame.

Maybe I was.

“Where to?” the cab driver mumbled.

“Upper East Side. Eleven hundred Park Avenue.”

I sank into the seat and tried not to be sick during the ride to my apartment building. I couldn’t understand why my friends would have let me leave with him, especially considering the state I was in. But the bigger question was what did Jeremy want with me?

Sex?

I found that hard to believe.

Payback?

Maybe.

What about what he did though? Sure, what I did was wrong, but what he did was unforgivable.

He disappeared. He left me. Gave up on us. Just like that!

Yet, I was able to look past that as I lay beside him earlier that morning. Thinking of it now made me feel even sicker. I hung my head between my legs. I tipped it back against the seat. Nothing worked. I was going to throw up—in the cab.

“Pull over,” I yelled to the driver.

He did. Just in time.

When he pulled up to the limestone building where my apartment was located, I apologized profusely and quickly paid him. Then, I hopped out, a little too fast. My head was spinning and I took a moment to stand still on the sidewalk. When I felt a little more stable, I made my way to the lobby doors.

“Good morning, Miss St. Claire,” Jack, the doorman, greeted me.

“Good morning,” I returned.

He opened the door and followed me into the lobby. “Miss St. Claire, I’m sorry to bother you but Mr. Vanderbilt left this for you earlier this morning.” He handed me a folded piece of paper.

“Thank you. When was he here?”

“When I first started my shift. It was around five a.m. He went up to your apartment and then came back down and wrote the note. I hope you don’t mind I let him up?”

“No, of course not.”

I turned around to open the note and read it.

Phoebe,

I’m worried about you. Do you know what you’re doing? Why aren’t you answering your phone? Don’t shut me out. Call me as soon as you get this.

I will always love you,

Dawson

What was he talking about?

Oh God, I couldn’t talk to him until I knew what I had done last night.

Had he seen me with Jeremy? If so, what had he seen?

Did it really matter?

That was one question I knew the answer to—yes, it did. No matter what, I respected Dawson and I would never hurt him on purpose.

With a sudden sense of urgency, I knew I had to talk to Jamie. He’d be able to help me. As soon as I pressed the elevator button I pulled my phone out of my purse. It was turned off. Of course it was. I remembered Lily doing it before we got to the club last night.

I turned it on and multiple missed calls and texts flashed across my screen just as the elevator opened to my floor. I ignored them all and tapped Jamie’s number. I unlocked the door at the same time I waited for the call to connect. Jamie had to be able to fill in the missing pieces of last night.

Yet, I was worried. I couldn’t believe he would ever let me go home with Jeremy in the condition I was in. Jamie was protective. It was beyond odd. Jamie’s phone went directly to voice mail. I tried again. Same thing.

In a flurry, I kicked my shoes off and stripped out of my wet clothes. I hadn’t even realized it was still raining when I ran out of Jeremy’s loft. Throwing on a pair of jeans, a sweater, and some boots, I then brushed my teeth and pulled my hair back. I didn’t stop to look in the mirror. What I looked like wasn’t important. What I had done and why was what I needed to figure out.

I grabbed an umbrella on my way out the door and hurriedly hit the elevator button. When it opened, I walked directly in and practically mowed down Mrs. Bardot on her way out.

My apartment was one of two on this floor and my neighbor was an amazing seventy-year-old woman who spent a great deal of time in her native country, France.

Bette Bardot was a French-born former actress and fashion model, who now spent her time as an animal rights activist. She was one of the best-known sex symbols of the 1960s and 1970s, and in her day was referred to simply by her initials—BB.

Her once famous blond locks were now gray but still long, and her bombshell body had widened slightly but she was still very attractive.

“Mrs. Bardot, I’m so sorry,” I apologized as I stepped back.

Her coffee and bag of bagels were intact, at least. “Bonjour Phoebe, my dear. I’m so very glad to see you made it home safely.”

My cheeks flamed in embarrassment. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Oh darling, I returned home on the red-eye late last night and while I was waiting for my luggage to be brought in, I saw you and a very handsome gentleman in a deep conversation in the lobby and a few minutes later, I saw you getting into a white Porsche with him. It only caught my attention because at first I thought he was dropping you off at that late hour, but obviously he was not since you got back in the car with him. Then early this morning, I couldn’t sleep, jet lag, you know how that is.”

I nodded anxiously.

“So I decided a walk on the treadmill would suit me. On my way down to the gym, I saw that JFK look-alike of yours in the lobby talking to Jack. I overheard him asking if you’d come home. But don’t worry I didn’t mention a thing. Us girls have to stick together.”

“Oh, it’s not what you think.”

She winked at me. “Of course not, my dear. It never is.”

The elevator doors started to close and I stepped inside.

Mrs. Bardot was already walking toward her door waving her hand at me.
“Au revoir.”

“Have a good day,” I called, and then collapsed against the elevator wall.

If Jeremy had brought me back here, how did I not only end up going back to his place, but sleeping beside him in his bed? And what were we in deep conversation about?

Hopefully, the person I was headed to see could shed some light on the situation.

Jamie’s place was no more than five blocks away and I practically sprinted the entire way to Fifth Avenue. The green awning flapped in the breeze but the rain had stopped as I entered the lobby.

“He’s expecting me,” I lied to Harold, the doorman.

Harold smiled at me. “Go on up then.”

I figured if Jamie wasn’t answering the phone, he wouldn’t answer the buzzer either, but me pounding on his door was something he couldn’t ignore.

The elevator ride seemed so slow but then I was outside his door knocking before I knew it. There was no answer. I kept knocking, louder and louder with every passing second.

“Shhh . . .” a voice whispered as the door cracked open and Emmy peeked out at me.

“Hi,” I said, wondering why she wasn’t letting me in.

“Hi,” she whispered.

Emmy was always so dramatic. At one time, we had been the closest of friends, but as all things do, our friendship had changed. We still talked, but not as often nor about anything personal. Lily and Emmy, though, they had broken communication off long ago. Yet the three of us still did things together. Our mothers were all friends and the need to keep up appearances for their sakes ran deep in all of us. I’m not really sure why.

I peered at her through the opening. “Can I come in? I really need to talk to Jamie.”

She continued to stare at me.

But instead of waiting for a response I pushed the door open.

“Phoebe, James is still asleep,” she scolded.

I started for his bedroom in spite of her protest.

She grabbed my arm. “You need to let him sleep. We were in the ER until around five this morning. He took some mild painkillers as soon as we got back and he’s out cold.”

“ER! What happened?”

She tugged on the hem of his button down. “He’s fine. When he fell last night, he hit something sharp and it sliced the back of his scalp open. There was no skull damage but they had to shave his head to make sure all the glass was out and he opted for stitches over staples.”

I cringed and flopped into the chair nearest to me. “I had no idea.”

“You were pretty out of it and James didn’t want to upset you any more than you already were.”

I pursed my lips together. “What do you mean?”

“You know, with that guy getting into it with Dawson. James also knew you’d had too much to drink, so Danny and I took him to the hospital and Logan and Lily were supposed to bring you home. But Dawson called me last night looking for you. He said you weren’t in your apartment. What happened to you?”

I just looked at her blankly.

“Tell me. I never had a chance to tell him Dawson called. James will be pissed. He doesn’t know you didn’t make it home. I want to be able to explain. And you look terrible. Are you okay? What happened?”

I sighed and stood up. Too many questions. “Yes, I’m fine. Just confused. Can you ask Jamie to call me when he wakes up?”

The tension in the air seemed palpable, but then she smiled. “Sure, I will. We can all talk then.”

I wanted to ask her if she was okay, since she didn’t look that great either. But like me, I’m sure she was just exhausted.

She hugged me. “I’ll see you tonight, right?”

I looked at her questioningly.

She pulled away. “The Glitter Gala.”

“Right.” The New York City Ballet. We never missed it—Lily, Emmy, and myself. We had been in dance together until we were ten years old and it was one of those things we did with our mothers when we were young and just kept doing year after year. However, this year it wasn’t just us. The six of us were going together as one final goodbye to Danny.

My phone started ringing and when I glanced at it, I saw it was Dawson. I ignored the call and gave Emmy another small hug and kiss on the cheek. “I have to run.”

Lily was next on my list of calls to make. Dawson would have to wait, but it was for his own good. I couldn’t talk to him; he’d know right away that I was clueless about last night and then he’d be concerned.

After I talked to Lily, I’d call him back.

As I exited the elevator, my phone rang again. This time it was Lily.

Perfect.

“I was just about to call you,” I answered.

“Well, hello to you too. I’m glad to see you finally decided to answer my call.”

I sighed. “Lily, we need to talk.”

“Yes. We. Do.”

“I can’t remember most of last night.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You seemed fine.”

“I need you to tell me just how fine I was.”

She laughed. “Mimosas at Sarabeth’s and then dress shopping for tonight at Bergdorf’s.”

“Can I just come to your place?”

“No. This conversation calls for alcohol and muffins.”

I groaned. “I’ll meet you for brunch but I’m not shopping today.”

She tsked. “Are you kidding me? What are you going to wear tonight?”

“I’m sure I have something in my closet.”

“Okay then, your loss.”

“When do you want to meet?”

“See you in twenty,” she said and hung up.

The three short blocks to Sarabeth’s passed in a blur. My mind was scattered. I hoped Jamie was okay. I felt guilty. I felt sick. I felt so confused.

Lily had called ahead and shortly after I arrived, I was escorted to a table.

I slumped in the chair and decided it was time to listen to my voice mails and read my text messages. There were three from Dawson all asking me to call him, three hang-ups from Lily, a text from her telling me to call her, two hang-ups from James, and a voice message from a number I didn’t recognize. I hit listen and my jaw dropped when I heard my own voice, “Hey, it’s just me using Jeremy’s phone so I have his number. See you. ’Bye.”

If I could have denied making the call, I would have, but I couldn’t refute my own voice. Why would he have given me his phone? Why would he have driven me home, only to bring me back to his place? Why did I sound happy when he obviously hated me?

“You look like shit.”

My gaze flicked up at Lily in her perfect orange shift dress.

She sat down and crossed her legs. “What is it?”

“Listen to this.” I handed her my phone.

Ten seconds passed before her eyes cut to mine. “Okay, so you wanted his number.”

“Hi, ladies. What can I get you this morning?” the waitress asked.

“Two mimosas, two coffees, and a basket of muffins,” Lily answered, then she looked at me. “Anything else?”

I shook my head no.

“I’ll bring your coffees right away,” the waitress said and then disappeared.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Jamie?” I asked Lily.

Lily sat sideways at our small round table and the tip of her leopard ankle bootie peeked out from under the white linen. “I didn’t want to upset you. And besides, Danny said he was fine.”

“I know that now.”

She raised a questioning brow.

“I went by to see Jamie just before you called and Emmy was there. She told me everything. Did you know he had to have his head shaved?”

She laughed.

“It’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing about James. It’s Emmy. How is it she always manages to make sure she has a reason to stay close to James? Are they finally officially an item?”

Then it was my turn to laugh. “Not that I’m aware of, but you know Jamie and I don’t discuss her.”

“She’s been hanging out with him a lot lately.”

“I know. She’s in between boyfriends again.”

“Why does he allow himself to get sucked back into her web?”

“For some reason he feels responsible for her. But I know he’s been seeing other people this time. He told me last week about some model that wanted to sniff a line off his—” I stopped there.

She raised a palm. “Please tell me his stomach, his arm, his thigh even. . . .”

I shook my head.

She groaned. “That’s just disgusting. Where does he find these girls?”

The question was rhetorical but I answered anyway. “They find him.”

“He’s not using again, is he?” she asked.

“No, of course not. You know he stopped the summer after graduation.”