Wait for Me (4 page)

“Well, not necessarily. With that kind of cash, he's bound to meet some classy women.”

Esther shook her head firmly. “I'm telling you, they're prostitutes. He's methodical: Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays,” she persisted. “And he makes them go home in a cab.”

“So? I go home in cabs!” I joked. “Anyway, how is it that you know all this? Oh and Ester, your husband is coming over soon, right?”

“Um.”

She hesitated.

“I see all sorts in my job. Besides, I also know the caretaker of his building. He told me they're prostitutes too,” she said firmly.

“You should do my exam tomorrow,” I mumbled, amused by her insights.

“Listen, you can find out everything you need to know about a man by the coffee he drinks, the tip he leaves, and his hands – especially by his hands.”

“By his hands?” Ben asked.

“That's right, by his hands.”

“I'm curious now, do go on,” I said, enjoying this. Ester rose before her captivated audience.

“First of all, if the ring finger is longer than the index, it means he has a high level of testosterone. Think manly, aggressive, wants the money. Second, you'll also know whether or not he's married. Well, in theory. Then you can look at the size of his hands, and quality of his handshake. If he has a good firm grip then he probably knows how to use his hands,” she said, winking.

“Use them for what?” Ben asked.

“Oh, come on! What do you think?”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him look down at one of his own and close it into a fist.

“Jesus, Ester,” Ben laughed. “What is this – psych 101?”

I smiled to myself. Ester understood a man through his hands, whereas for me it was all about his tongue. But it probably didn't matter either way, I thought.

“And what are Mr Scott's hands like?” I asked curiously.

“Dangerous,” she said surely. “Whenever he picks up the coffee, I can imagine him strangling somebody.”

“Christ, that's a bit extreme! In any case, I'll try and take a look for myself tomorrow,” he said, throwing me a sideways glance.

“Let me know how that goes.”

“You'll see what I mean, he has
las manos del Diablo,
” Ester said, fervently.

“The bus is here, let's go,” Ben said, wheeling Esther around with her bag.

“Catch you later Sophie.”

From the steps, I watched them get on the bus and then raised my eyes to the front of the apartment building. I watched the lights on the twelfth floor, wondering what Mr Scott was doing. It wasn't such a stretch to imagine.

And the next day, I found him in my brother's office…

“Good morning,” he said firmly, taking me by surprise.

“Good morning,” I replied, embarrassed. I asked him if he was waiting for my brother.

“Yes, he's helping another customer to start their car.”

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I doubt it. I have to renew my subscription. It's usually him who deals with it.”

His austere tone left little space for conversation.

“Yes, you'll need him for that, I won't be much use. See you soon then.”

“Goodbye.”

At this, my brother entered the room.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Fred said to Mr Scott, then he turned to me.

“Sophie, are you going to the café? Would you pick up some donuts?”

“Um,” I mumbled. “I'm a bit in a hurry – I've got my exam today.”

“It's alright, I'll send Gustav later. I'll see you tonight then,” he said, wiping his hands.

He began to tap on his computer keyboard. “So, it's $450 for this month. But for you I'll do it for $400.”

I put on my jacket and scooped my backpack off the floor.

“Please, Fred, I don't want to take advantage—” and that was the last thing I heard.

After ten minutes of waiting for the bus, I began to grow impatient with a blue-haired lady who was grumbling insults about the transport company. I moved a few feet away from her. I hate it when people moaned about trivial things. It was obvious that there was some problem: an accident, or a breakdown, or the end of the world. When…

“Sophie Lether?”

I heard my name through the wind and whirled around. A car with its windows down had stopped a few feet away. Adam Scott was smiling at me.

“Hey,” I said, stepping closer to the vehicle.

“Are you going to NYU?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, taken aback.

“It's just been on the radio – there's an accident on Broadway and the M6 bus route is jammed. Can I offer you a lift?”

I scratched my forehead, irritated by my woolly hat, then checked my watch.

“But… are you headed that way?”

Mr Scott nodded, always with a grin.

“If it's easier, you can drop me at the first subway station.”

“Please, get in.” He flicked the central locking and opened the door.

I noticed the ranting old woman behind me, watching with envy, and possibly even a little spite. I tried to shake off her negative energy by mentally repeating the words:
deflect, deflect,
and hesitantly took a seat in the gleaming Audi.

“I don't want to put you to any trouble Mr Scott.”

“No trouble. Fasten your seat belt.”

I did as I was told and he joined the traffic.

“Are you sure you're headed that way?” I asked.

“Yes, don't worry,” he answered quietly.

In that pristine car, beside a man in a thousand-dollar suit, I was painfully conscious of my tattered, second-hand outfit. I pulled my skirt lower, to cover the worn out knees on my tights.

It was strange to be chauffeured like this, but I knew that it was only because he was acquainted with my brother. When we stopped at a set of traffic lights, Mr Scott reached for the coffee in the cup holder and took a sip. I stared at his hand and my thoughts ran straight to Ester's theory. Looking at them close up, they didn't seem dangerous to me. They were sleek, and the ring finger was longer than the index, apparently meaning ‘masculine'. But they held the cup gently; it didn't appear to be at risk of strangulation.

“What do you study?” he asked.

“Arts and sciences,” I replied.

“Aren't you a little behind?”

I felt like I had failed the question, as usual.

“Yes, my studies were interrupted a couple of years ago,” I said curtly.

He put his coffee back into the holder and punched the PIN code into his cell phone. He glanced briefly at the display and dropped it into the glove compartment.

“Excuse me for asking, but do you live above the workshop?” he asked, with a disconcerting look. This was just getting better.

“Yes, just for the moment,” I answered, a little annoyed.

One thing was certain: there was no competing with this man. I was a lesser species, a sort of curious animal that you observe from afar. I was the polar bear in the Bronx Zoo. I decided to play along anyway.

“So what do you do?” I asked, somewhat nauseated.

“Me?” he said, almost surprised at the question. “I'm a financial director – I deal with mergers and acquisitions.”

I spent a good ten seconds trying to work out what this really meant. A trader perhaps? A broker?

“And do you live opposite the parking lot?” I asked, dispassionately.

The question seemed to please him, marked by a knowing smile. “Yes, just for the moment.”

I got the impression that he was teasing, but part of me was grateful.

Within ten minutes we were completely gridlocked. I was going to be late if I stayed in the car, whereas I could walk to a subway in five minutes and just about make it in time to register for the exam.

“Listen, thank you so much, but if you don't mind I'll get out here. The subway is only a couple of blocks away. I really can't be late today, I have my first exam.”

His expression revealed a mixture of surprise, disappointment, and a hint of something else that I couldn't quite decipher.

“Of course. I think that's a good idea,” he said cryptically.

“Thanks again.” I got out of the car, wished him a good day and closed the door.

Mr Scott smiled, tilting his head and glancing at me with a shade of flirtation. “Goodbye Sophie.”

My name, uttered through that silky tone, gave me shivers. I walked away, a little dazed.

Gasping for breath, I made it to registration in the nick of time. I waited on the stairs to do some last-minute revision but I was agitated. I stared out of the window, watching the students parade around campus.

I had a love-hate relationship with college culture. The students were full of dreams and it was nice to see their optimism; their unshakable confidence that anything is possible if only you believe it. On the one hand, it gave me a glimmer of hope for my own future, but on the other, it made me cynical, knowing that beyond campus was a bleak and hostile landscape.

The doors opened. It was time. I walked in tentatively. I had always hated this part: when your stomach somersaults and your breath sharpens; when you get shivers and realize you've forgotten every word of the books you've been laboring over; when you turn over the test and wonder whether it's too late to leave.

I sat up straight and fixed my eyes on the paper. Here goes nothing. With time now suspended, I started working my way through the answers.

Despite my two year absence, I answered every question. I felt confident that it had gone well and that I would be able to maintain my average. Back at the parking lot, I found my brother holding out a bunch of flowers.

“What's this? Are you getting married already?” I asked.

“No, stupid, these are for you. How was the exam?”

“It went well. I thought you'd forgotten this morning.”

“I knew very well. I didn't want to make you nervous though, so I thought I'd better not mention it.”

He was the best brother on the planet. “Thank you Fred,” I said, hugging him. What more could I say?

He let me have a few hours off that Saturday night. In my month at college I had made some new friends, namely a girl called Susan from Oregon, and her roommate Silvy from Beatty, Nevada. They were young, small-town girls so life in New York was unleashing all kinds of new possibilities, especially the college parties. If we were studying in the library then sometimes we'd go out for lunch and I would introduce them to the hidden gems of the city. To celebrate the exam, we decided to go to a rave in the Upper West Side. After years of drought, I was instantly swept away by the music. I closed my eyes and let it carry me. When I opened them again, I realized I had been approached by a guy. His hair was disheveled. The disheveled, the beautiful and the damned, I thought. He had a kind hearted smile. Sinners posing as saints, I thought. After a few charged looks and a few more close encounters, we shifted outside the club to get some fresh air. We sunk into a dark corner as his tongue slipped into my mouth. Just the touch of his lips on mine unleashed the desire in me; the desire that had been tightly harnessed for months. I wasn't too familiar with encounters like this. In most cases, the guy who was flirting would ask whether he could kiss me. I learned that if somebody cannot sweep you away with a kiss, then the rest is dead in the water. Therefore, if a stranger can turn you on in a crowded club, under the gaze of every other stranger, then they're a safe bet. What really interested me was the tongue test. If it were too soft or too dry, then I would let him go – silenced. If, on the other hand, it was coiling and snake-like, then I would give him a chance to talk. And this tongue was very promising. I was locked within the heat of his kisses and his caressing hands around my waist. I texted Silvy and Susan about my conquest and followed my sexy stranger to his house. His name was Ryan and he was a computer scientist… and I hated every word that came out of his mouth. My mind was fixed on a single goal. The arousal, the medication and the cocktails were a lethal mix. At his house, we hurled ourselves onto the single bed, which was covered in potato-chip crumbs and ambiguous stains. Once we were out of our clothes, however, my excitement perished at the sight of his microscopic penis. ‘Please god no', cried the voice inside me, but I was already here. His tongue was my last hope, and the kisses outside the club had been promising. After playing with each other a little, I asked him to kiss me lower down, and my theory fell to pieces. I tried to move my hips to guide him but he was fumbling aimlessly – he had no idea what he was doing. He was flicking his tongue with determination, but I felt nothing. Turned off and disappointed, I asked him to spoon me and touch me with his hands but it was hopeless. The whole thing was over in the blink of an eye. We drank a cup of tea and I said goodbye, silently thanking my brother for giving me a genuine get-out clause. I returned to the parking lot to take over the night shift. I had been left entirely unsatisfied and couldn't wait for him to leave so that I could be alone. As soon as the door closed behind him, I ran to the shower to rinse off Ryan's saliva and pleasure myself. Just as I was approaching climax, the electricity cut out. Cursing, I groped around the darkness in search of my towel, and went back to my room to find something I could use as a light. I unplugged the laptop and, using the brightness of the screen, ran to my brother's office to find a flashlight. As I was rummaging through the drawers and cabinets, somebody knocked on the glass and scared the living daylight out of me.

“Anybody there?” It was a man's voice.

“Who's there?” I asked, still in shock.

“It's Adam Scott, card number 754 267 221. I'm locked in, can you open the doors?” he asked.

I opened the blinds to a beaming light shining on my face.

“Sophie, is that you?”

“Yeah it's me, could you lower your flashlight a little?” I asked, shielding my eyes with my arm.