After Her (4 page)

“Ooh, you’re awake,” she says. “Sit down. Breakfast is being provided by me.”

I fear what that means. Sasha is a prodigy with music, but cooking has never been her strong suit. I wonder if whatever is in that skillet is even edible. I’ve seen her past creations, most of which didn’t even resemble food.

To solidify our roles as equal-partner roommates, she decided that each of us should take turns doling out the meals. Though I’d much rather opt for pizza or Chinese, she’s insists on cooking. Bless her heart for trying.

I saunter into the kitchen, stretching my arms over my head with a yawn. With a heavy sigh, I'm anew like a fresh coat of paint on a chipped wall. It felt good to sleep through the night without the recurring dreams that kept me up before. Talking to Mom surprisingly took my mind off things.

After swiping the orange juice carton from inside the refrigerator and stealing a sip, I glance into the skillet, surprised to see four golden brown pancakes simmering lightly in a puddle of canola oil.

“Wow,” I say. “Those pancakes look…normal.”

Sasha scowls. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I just…well…you’ve never cooked anything without pissing off the smoke detector.”

“I'm getting better, aren’t I?” she says with the smile of a doting mother on her face. “It’s time I get more domesticated. I figured I’d try some recipes I saw on
Food Network.
Will you join me for breakfast?”

“Sure, I have nowhere else to be, but what about your Tai Chi classes?”

“Kaye called to tell me they rescheduled for ten since we’re getting a new instructor today. Poor Greta was pushing sixty. It’s no wonder why she finally broke down and accepted retirement.”

I pour myself a glass of orange juice and sit at the table as she places two pancakes onto a plate for me. While handing me the syrup, Sasha fixes herself a plate and I pour her a glass of orange juice.

“So,” she says after plopping into her chair at the dining table. “How is Diane?”

With a mouthful of pancake, I stop chewing to glare at her.

“How did you know I talked to my mother?”

“I heard you on the phone last night and she had hissy fit on our answering machine about you not returning her calls.”

I sigh and swallow my first bite.

“My mother is a drama queen,” I say. “It’d had only been a few weeks since we last spoke. She’s acting like I’ve had her name expunged from my birth certificate and moved to Italy under an assumed name.”

“Why are you getting so defensive?” she teases, but I ignore her accusatory tone and sip more orange juice.

“Shouldn’t you be heading to your Tai Chi class soon?” I ask. Sasha dips a piece of pancake into some syrup and eats like a pigeon pecking at breadcrumbs on the sidewalk. Her dainty manner of eating makes me feel like a pig for stuffing my face.

“You should come with me,” she says and I nearly choke on my next bite.

“What?” I say with a cheek full of food.

“It’ll be fun,” she says. “And you’re always in this apartment. You only ever leave to go to work or school.”

“Yes and I like that routine,” I say. “I don’t have to worry as long as everything stays on schedule.”

“Cassie, you’re nineteen and you live like a recluse cat lady.”

“I’ll never be a cat lady,” I retort. “I’m allergic to cats.”

I gulp my orange juice as she glares reproachfully at me in between bites of food.

“And I don’t have time to have fun,” I say. “Tuition, rent and bills need our attention more. I was thinking of spending today studying anyway. Or maybe I’ll go to work later on.

I doubt Frank would mind the extra help.”

“It’s your off day,” she reminds me. “Who the hell volunteers to work on the day their manager orders them to stay home?”

“He didn’t
order
me,” I say. “And it’s not like I don’t need the money.”

“You don’t…technically,” she replies after another bite. I stop to look at her, expecting an explanation.

“What do you mean? Of course I need the money.”

“Not with this around.” She places a familiar envelope atop the table. I recognize it immediately when I see my name written across the front.

“You kept that woman’s dirty money?” I ask. “Sasha, I wasn’t serious when I told you to spend it.”

“Money is money regardless of who offered it,” she says.

I guzzle the rest of my orange juice and devour a bigger bite of pancake.

“I don’t want that money,” I say. “I don’t want to feel like I owe that woman. We are not spending her money. Get rid of it or I’ll toss it all down the garbage disposal.”

Sasha frowns and proceeds to eat in silence. It’s an awkward kind of quiet that I'm not used to from her.

“Sas, don’t make me feel shitty for rejecting that money,” I say. “A couple days ago you outright accused the woman of being a stalker. Now you want to spend her money? Where did this mood swing come from?”

“My mom cut off my allowance,” she says. “She and Dad are foreclosing on the house back home. They filed for bankruptcy to pay for my tuition. We got into a big fight over it on the phone and she’s cutting me off.”

I frown as she recalls the argument she’d had with her mother. It’s like watching Annie Warbucks fall from grace all over again. Sasha Hawthorne having to get a
real
job means that things must be bad for her. Her manic reaction to Vivian’s money suddenly makes sense.

“How long has this been going on?” I ask.

“Since the start of freshman year,” she replies. “Daddy made some stupid business decisions and had to sell every company stock he had. I'm the one expense he had to cut loose to spare what’s left of the family savings. He’s been giving me allowance from his 401k for the past few months. He can't afford it anymore.”

I’ve lost my appetite. Poor Sasha. This girl has never had to lift a finger to fund her own lifestyle and now she’s working-class begging for minimal wage. I fear what will happen to her now. I take her hand in an attempt to show some genuine sincerity.

“It’ll be okay,” I say. “You know that. I’ll take of us.”

She smiles and squeezes my hand back, but quickly scowls after catching a glimpse of my arm. 

“What’s that bruise on your forearm?”

I slide my sleeve over the handprint bruise.

“I must have bumped into something. You know how easily I bruise. I swear I'm a borderline hemophiliac.”

I try to laugh it off. Sasha doesn’t laugh with me. 

“It looks like it hurts,” she says. “Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?”

“I'm fine.”

She grabs my arm and yanks back my sleeve for more thorough inspection. When I try to pull away, she refuses to release me.

“It’s no big deal,” I insist. “Let go of my arm.”

“Are you kidding me? This looks like someone grabbed you. Cassie, did something happen at Frank’s last night?”

I'm hesitant to reply, cringing as Vivian’s face encumbers my thoughts. All I see are her eyes, those dispassionate eyes. My arm prickles at the memory. I want to bathe in the denial, but I know Sasha won’t give up without a
real
explanation.

“Cameron Blake and his followers came into the restaurant last night,” I say. “Things got a little heated.”

“Cameron attacked you and you didn’t report him?”

“Report him for what? Frank kicked him out before things could escalate. It’s no big deal.” I grab my plate and head into the kitchen to dump my leftovers into the garbage disposal. Sasha remains at my side like an extra shadow, crowding around me.

“I think you should report him,” she says beneath her breath. “Dean Whitman would totally kick him off the team for it.”

I listen as she blabs on and on about Cameron Blake, but I don’t hear the words. It’s like I'm hearing everything through a blender. The thoughts in my head have drowned her out as I gaze at the bruise on my arm.

“Cassie?” Sasha says and when she grabs my shoulder, I flinch out of my trance and stare listlessly at her.

“Huh?”

“You should come to Tai Chi with me.”

Before I can refuse, she replies, “Please? It’ll do us both some good.”

I can't say no when she begs me like this. The only thing she isn’t doing is groveling.

“Okay,” I say. “I don’t know a damn thing about Tai Chi. I'm bound to embarrass us both, but I’ll go.”

Sasha tightens her arms around me in an embrace so sudden that I have to catch my breath when she knocks it out of me.

“Wear loose-fitting pants and your cutest tank top,” she says. “The new instructor could be a man.”

“Sasha,” I mutter in a weak, reproachful voice. Minutes later, we’re in her car, a fire red Corvette that I'm sure she’ll have to trade in for something more economical once her parents’ bankruptcy goes through. I’ll miss driving with the top down in this car.

Sasha must feel the same way because she instantly lets the top down and turns the radio up to better hear the sorrowful whines of a violin through the speakers. I can tell it’s her favorite piece because it’s one she’s practiced several times in rehearsal anytime I dropped by to eavesdrop on one of her sessions.

“This one is Giuseppe Torelli,” she tells me. “It took me months to perfect this piece.”

I nod, but she knows that I know nothing about classical violinists. I nod so I don’t feel like an idiot for not being cultured enough to know who the fuck Giuseppe Torelli is. Sasha giggles at the oblivious look on my face as we pull into a strip mall parking lot and find the first available spot in front of a storefront with the words,
Wushu Tai Chi
in bold blue lettering across the top.

From outside, we can see through the giant storefront windows that there is a group of women already in the middle of a class. I watch how the women move their arms, grasping with their hands at empty air.

“We’re not seriously going to do this, are we?” I ask Sasha as she checks her hair in the rearview mirror and applies an extra coat of lip-gloss.

“I know it looks stupid, but it’s fun,” she says. “You have been working and studying nonstop. This will be good for you.”

I glance at my frumpy clothes. I'm not in a pair of spandex yoga pants or a form-fitting tank top like the other women. I picked what I had in my closet. I probably won’t fit in wearing an oversized T-shirt and leggings.

“Sasha, I’ll stay in the car until you’re done.”

“You’re backing out on me? You promised.”

“I promised I’d come,” I clarify. “I didn’t say I’d join the class.”

“Cassie, come on, please?” she says. “It’s only a forty-five minute class.”

She exits the car. I remain in the passenger seat applying a coat of cherry lip balm and reassuring myself in the mirror. Eventually, I exit the car and notice that Sasha is several feet ahead of me.

As I start to saunter across the parking lot to catch up to her, I stop midstride to adjust my eyes to the sunlight. I’m certain of what I see in my peripheral, approaching from my left. For anyone else, this would be a coincidence. I call bullshit on that theory. No way could this be a random occurrence. The woman exiting the baby blue Porsche in the parking space behind Sasha’s Corvette, is Vivian.

5

Vivian hasn’t seen me yet.

My arm burns the moment I notice her. This woman is her own aura and the toxicity of it makes it impossible for me to breathe. I kneel against Sasha’s Corvette, hiding myself behind it like a skittish kitten. I want to make myself smaller, to curl up and simply disappear.

Vivian saunters by, stopping midstep then turning in my direction as if she can somehow
sense
me. I hold my breath, convinced that she can taste the scent of me in the atmosphere, as if my pheromones reek of sour milk. She knows I'm here.

I watch her enter the Tai Chi building and I stare incredulously through the storefront window as she greets Sasha in the lobby. Sasha is oblivious, but I don’t know whether to cause a scene. It probably wouldn’t do either us any good.

I’d like to storm into the studio and order her to leave with me. She’d likely ask for a damn good reason to and I won’t have one to explain myself. I’d sound manic. Insane. Without solid proof to justify my suspicions, I can’t start slinging accusations at Vivian. My only option is to endure the class. Sasha needs this. Moral support is what I promised.

I can ignore Vivian.
I have to.
Perhaps she won’t even notice me. She won’t if any of this is
truly
a coincidence. That, in itself, is an implausible theory. Chances of encountering the same stranger by “accident” on three separate occasions are probably astronomical. This is strategic. That woman is here on purpose.

Sasha’s initial theories taken tangible form, forcing me to consider them as a possible reality. Vivian could be stalking me. I march into the Tai Chi studio with my head high, refusing to look anywhere else, but at Sasha.

The lobby is a claustrophobic half-space with barely enough room to house three people at once. The five women already here stand elbow-to-elbow in front of a podium carrying the sign-in sheet. Plain black walls hold various posters of beautiful people with beautiful bodies. I refuse to believe that Tai Chi is responsible for sculpting bodies like
those
.

A teenage receptionist pays us no mind while texting on her phone and making popping sounds with her mouth, blowing bubbles through gum. She lounges in a swivel chair behind a tall, plywood counter and glances up to eye me as if for one second, she recognizes me. As she realizes she doesn’t—I assume—she continues texting.

“What took you so long?” Sasha asks. My focus wanders elsewhere. I have to know where Vivian is to avoid her. I surreptitiously move my eyes in search of her then spot her near the back of the room, performing the routine warm-up stretches with everyone else. She doesn’t look up and doesn’t even notice me.

In her current state, she’s a human island smack-dab in a roomful of frumpy soccer moms wearing sweatbands and spandex. She’s a bloodstain in the snow, trying to blend in with the masses. She just looks so out of place amongst the other women.

“Cassie?” Sasha asks. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I'm fine.”

Sasha offers a reassuring smile.

“I signed us up for the next class. You ready?”

After another furtive glance at Vivian, I manage to nod convincingly. Sasha loops her arm around mine and escorts me into the workout room. The place resembles something that was once a ballet studio with metal bars hitched to the back wall and a procession of mirrors lining the side walls, reflecting every angle of me.

I stop to catch myself in the glass, fixed beneath the glow of the fluorescent lights overhead. The only thing that draws my eye is the reflection of Vivian, leering at me from across the room. Warmth drains from my cheeks, replaced by a cool chill. My breath seizes in my throat and my body tenses.

“Cassie?” Sasha’s face emerges into view, distracting me from the surrealism of the second before. I blink and look again. Vivian isn’t even facing me. Stress has me seeing things, imagining what I’ve only seen in my nightmares. I'm a paranoid mess.

I laugh at myself to ease the festering tension. Sasha laughs too, but politely, in the sort of way one might do if they heard a horrible joke and laughed anyway to keep from hurting the comedian’s feelings.

“Let’s just get this over with,” I say. Several middle-aged women stretch and warm-up. Some stand in huddles chatting as if they know each other. Others keep quietly to themselves, meditating or talking on their cellphones. Sasha steers me toward two unoccupied floor mats near the back of the room.

“These should be good enough,” she tells me while kneeling onto the mat. I turn once more, in search of
her
, somewhat peeved that she won’t look at me. Seven floor mats away, Vivian sits like an Indian, eyes closed, attention diverted away from me. I make up for my jitters by doing a few warm-ups to emulate the other women.

“You’re already stretching?” Sasha asks me. “I knew you’d latch onto this with some enthusiasm.” 

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess I am getting into the mood.”

After a few pretend stretches, I plop onto my mat, folding my legs beneath me. Vivian moves into lung-stretches then Pilates. She seems so…nimble, so natural. Maybe it
is
coincidental that she’s here.

“Sas, have you ever seen that woman in this class before?” I whisper while referring to Vivian with my eyes. Sasha gives Vivian a brief onceover then shrugs halfheartedly.

“No, she must be new here,” she says. “Why? Do you know her?”

I answer with a noncommittal shake of my head to disarm her curiosity.

“No, I just figured she looked pretty out of place here.”

“No shit. Do you see that purse she’s carrying?” Sasha remarks. “It’s a genuine Marchesa Valentino.”

I shrug. “Should I know what that means?”

“Those babies don’t come cheap,” she says, scoffing at my ignorance. “There is no way she dropped any less than a cool thirty-five grand for anything Valentino.”

So my initial assessment was right. Vivian is filthy rich. But that’s a total no-brainer. The woman is a walking trophy. She looks like she should be stuffed into a curio cabinet like some prized collectors doll.

After a few more warm-up exercises, the instructor arrives. She is a perky blonde wearing spandex yoga pants and a camisole. She is much younger than most of the woman in class aside from Sasha and me. The women here are probably bored homemakers with a day away from kids and marriage.

This class is probably the only time any of them have to themselves. I wonder if the same is true for Vivian. She doesn’t seem like anyone’s mother and she’s in much better shape than most women her age.

She lifts her gaze to meet mine. I turn away before she notices me staring. I don’t know what’s come over me, acting this way. I reproach my behavior, ordering myself to ignore her. This is for Sasha. Any uneasy feelings I have toward Vivian need to vanish. I face the instructor and listen as she introduces herself to the class.  

“Hello class, my name is Kelsey and I will be your instructor,” she says. “Sadly, your last instructor had to leave abruptly and I'm proud to be stepping in her place. I hope to pick up where she left off. First, let’s get to know each other better. I’ve announced my name and I’d like every one of you to do the same. Starting with the front row, announce your name to the class, ladies.”

I listen as the first two rows of woman announce themselves and I nearly clam up when she points to me.

“My name…is Cassandra,” I say, suddenly aware of every person in the room. Each of their heads turn in unison as if on strings. I clear my throat to expunge the nerves, to carry my voice above a rasp whisper. “This is my first Tai Chi class. I'm here as a favor to my friend.”

I gesture at Sasha who waves at the women that acknowledge her. Then I risk a glance over my shoulder at Vivian, observing her eyes as they watch me. I can't tell if her subsequent smile is phony or if it’s a gesture of sincerity. I imagine a pumpkin with a monstrous grin craved into its face. 

After the next few introductions, I hear a familiar voice announce, “And I'm Vivian.”

Her voice alone is enough to make everyone take notice, but Vivian doesn’t buckle under the pressure. She effortlessly commands the room. Kelsey beams as if she’s just heard the voice of God. 

“Are
you
…Vivian Lynch?” Kelsey asks and Vivian nods.

“Oh my god,” gasps Kelsey while applauding. “Ladies, we’re honored to be joined by Vivian Lynch!”

The room is abuzz with conversation amongst the other women. It’s a collective murmur of mixed emotions. Some share the instructor’s enthusiasm. Others look around, clueless about all the commotion. I am in that group and so is Sasha.

“Excuse my ignorance,” says Sasha. “But what’s the excitement about?”

Kelsey glares at Sasha then promptly decides to ignore her question.

“Ms. Lynch, what brings you into the city and how long will you be staying?” Kelsey asks.

Vivian, without hesitation, replies, “A charity event has me busy lately. I’m currently organizing a fundraiser gala in honor of the new scholarship program I’ve put together for a local university in town.”

“Oh? Which university?”

“Northham,” Vivian replies. My eyes widen. Sasha and I exchange glances, seeking some mutual affirmation.

“Wow, that’s weird,” Sasha blurts. “Me and my friend are students there.”

Vivian is expressionless; only her eyes emote what she doesn’t say aloud. I force myself to stare into those eyes, but there is no light in them. Gone. Zapped. Like the final flicker of a dimmed bulb.

“That certainly
is
an outstanding coincidence,” she says in an indifferent tone, but I think otherwise. In a matter of days, this woman has injected herself into every aspect of my life. First work. Now school. Where will she show up next? Ignoring her is becoming more of a hassle than I’d like it to be.

After everyone finishes fawning over Vivian Lynch, we begin class. Tai Chi isn’t my hobby of choice, but I agree it’s everything Sasha said it was. The half-hour session is more serene when Kelsey turns on music and all of us move along with the ambient sounds.

Afterwards, we wrap up with warm-down stretches and end with a water break before dismissal. Sasha stretches her arms overhead with an orgasmic sigh. She looks at me, beaming from ear-to-ear.

“God, I feel spectacular!” she says. “Don’t you?”

I smile and this time it’s not a forced one.

“This
did
do me some good,” I say. “I feel like jogging a few laps around the park. You want to come with me?”

“Sorry,” Sasha says. “I have Chemistry in an hour. Then it’s off to music rehearsal for the rest of the afternoon. I have to kill that Paganini piece for the summer concerti and I am
not
letting Kerri Miles upstage me for the lead. Are you ready to head back to the apartment? I can drop you off before heading over to the campus.”

“I can give you a ride home if you’d like,” replies a voice.

We both turn and notice Vivian nearby, leaning against the wall as if she’s been here the entire time, eavesdropping. She doesn’t appear to have broken a sweat, not even a touch of makeup smudged.

“Um…no thanks,” I reply as politely as possible. “I don’t want to impose and—”

“I'm happy to do it,” Vivian interjects. “I'm free for the day. All business dealings have been cancelled for the rest of the week.”

I look to Sasha, hoping she’ll provide me with a lie to get me out of it, but she doesn’t. Vivian transfixes her in a way I’ve never seen. The two stare each other down. Sasha gives Vivian a quick sweep with her eyes. Vivian does the same to Sasha with more intent. There must be some secret non-verbal language between rich people that the rest of us can’t translate.

“Vivian, I don’t think it’d be a good idea,” I say. “My apartment is probably completely out of your way.”

“Trust me,” she replies in an insisting tone. “I don’t mind.”

Still, Sasha says nothing. In her eyes, I spot suspicion. Something is stirring in her brain.

“Go with her, Cass,” Sasha says. “You shouldn’t sit in that damn apartment alone. I'm sure that Ms. Lynch will take good care of you.”

Vivian nods affirmably. With them both ganging up on me at once, I can’t outright reject Vivian’s offer without feeling rude.

“I’ll meet you back at the apartment later,” Sasha replies. When leaning in to hug me, she whispers in my ear, “Check her out. She could be harmless.” She leaves before I can object, obliviously subjecting me to Vivian Lynch. My body feels cold, empty, as if something important was stolen from inside.

“Don’t worry, I promise to deliver you home in one piece,” says Vivian while standing too close to me. Our shoulders graze, elbows mere inches apart. I flinch away to widen the space between us.

“You’re a very skittish girl,” she teases. “I hope you aren’t afraid of me.”

“The last time we saw each other, you almost broke my arm,” I retort.

Her smile fades. “I’m sorry for that, but you didn’t leave me any other choice.”

“Excuse me?” I fashion a glare, wishing I could set her aflame with my eyes. “What the hell does that even mean?”