Come Undone (7 page)

I nervously checked the smokers, who had stopped talking to gawk
at him. He stepped out onto the concrete and stuck his hands in his pockets before
gaiting over. As he neared, I turned my attention back to the skyline. My mouth
dried and my heart thumped, but I wouldn’t let him know the effect he had on
me. He came close enough that I caught a whiff of something familiar. It wasn’t
natural, but it wasn’t cologne.

“You’re married,” he said to my back.

“Mhm.” I drew a breath. “Happily,” I added airily. I glanced back
again and his face was solemn. Marveling at the believability of his act, I twisted
to face him. Squaring my shoulders, I lifted my hands to the railing behind me
in an attempt to appear casual. “And you’re quite the Don Juan.”

He seemed taken aback by my tone, but then an ever so slight smile
touched his lips. “You look cold, take my jacket.”

“I’m fine,” I said, shaking my head definitively as he moved to
take it off. Never mind that I was wearing a coat of goosebumps. He paused a
moment, silent, before shrugging it back on.

“Actually, I don’t have much time for gallivanting,” he said
finally.

I scoffed to myself.
Yeah,
right. And who says ‘gallivanting’?
In an effort to show my indifference, I
shrugged. “It’s not really my business.”

“I suppose it’s not, but . . .”

From my gut, I yearned for him to finish his sentence, but he
looked as though he thought better of it and shook his head. “I have to run.”

My heart fell a millimeter before I stopped it. I glimpsed over
his shoulder again at the women in the corner. They had resumed their
conversation but Andrew’s secretary – I searched to remember her name -
glanced at us warily.

“I’d like to see you again.”

My eyes whipped back to his and my jaw fell. “What?” I exclaimed.
Lowering my voice to a whisper, I motioned at the others on the balcony. “There
are plenty of women here – single women,” I hissed, although I had no
idea. “If you’re looking for company, I’m sure they would be much obliged.” With
the change of his expression, I regretted my tone.

“I didn’t mean anything romantic,” he said, “just a casual thing.
You’re clearly spoken for. But believe me when I say, if that weren’t the case,
we’d be having a different conversation.” His words burned into me. The
intensity between us had never left, but it grew thicker in that moment. The
truth was that I wanted to see him again. The thought of this being our last
meeting sent a wave of dread through me, and I gripped the railing. “I should
warn you Olivia, I don’t really take rejection well. I can be very persistent.”

I looked him over, inhaling that intoxicating scent. I wasn’t sure
if he meant it as a threat, but his words thrilled me more than anything. “A
conversation,” I repeated blankly, as though it were a new concept.

“No funny business, I promise,” he said, offering his palms.

Without warning, emotions that I’d been purposefully suppressing
for years surfaced, threatening to fight back. Something was tugging at the
locked door behind my ribcage. I’d never encountered an intensity like this,
and my response was foreign to me.

If I could anticipate our meeting, at least I could manage it, I
reasoned. Overcoming him would pose a challenge, a challenge that would earn me
a gold medal in my Olympic games of self-domination. The image had me lift my
chin in anticipated glory, and I quickly swallowed the rising pang of guilt
like a pesky pill.

“Tomorrow night,” I relented, knowing Bill would be leaving for
New York in the morning to prepare for his latest round of depositions.

His broad chest visibly puffed as his lips crooked into a smile.
“Come to Jerome’s on North Halsted at nine o’clock. I look forward to it,
Olivia.” I flushed at the way he drew out my name. He turned away and for the
first time, I could exhale.

“Having fun, David?” The secretary was loud, but I couldn’t hear
David’s mumbled response. “Care for a smoke?” she held out a pack, and I
cringed. He said something else, and I could tell by the way he bowed his head
that he had declined. I was glad when he left and after a few moments, I
followed, making a point not to look over at the smokers.

“So if you put the money in a Roth, it will grow tax free,” Andrew
was saying to Gretchen when I walked up.

“And that’s better?”

“Well, yes, in your case - ”

My heart jumbled with mixed emotions as I looked up to see David
approaching. He stopped and hung behind Lucy, rubbing his jaw and peering at me
as her head moved back and forth between Andrew and Gretchen.

“There’s the bride-to-be.” Ever the hostess, she straightened
immediately and turned to him. He dazzled her with a large smile, one that was
almost too big for his face; one I had not yet seen. “Congratulations again.
And thank you both for having me,” he said.

“Anytime,” Andrew said, putting his arm around Lucy. “We’re glad
you could make it. And I’m going to take you up on that offer.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Lucy said, suppressing a smile.
“We’re in trouble if he falls in love with your sailboat.”

“Why don’t you come too, Lucy? I’ll take you both out.”

“Oh,” she said, covering Andrew’s hand with hers. “I suppose I
could be convinced.”

“Sounds great. I’m off, then.”

“Leaving already? It’s not so late,” Gretchen commented flirtatiously.
I looked away, focusing my eyes on anything but the impossible-to-ignore man in
front of me.

“It isn’t, but I have somewhere to be.”

“Well that’s a shame,” she cooed, holding out her hand. “I’m
Gretchen, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, but I knew his eyes were fixed on me.

CHAPTER
6

THE NEXT MORNING, I AWOKE
to a faint
early light coming through the windows. I closed my eyes and automatically slid
from the edge to the middle of the bed. After a few moments, the light clicking
of metal forced its way into my sleep. I eased myself up, feeling out of sorts.
Once I had wiped the sleep from my eyes, I focused on Bill’s figure moving near
the closet.

“Morning,”
he whispered, leaning over for a kiss.

“New
York,” I breathed. “Right.”

“Yeah
babe, sorry. Stay in bed,” he commanded gently as he hoisted his brown leather bag
over his shoulder. I got out of bed anyway and followed him through the
apartment. “I’ll be back late Thursday,” he told me as we stood in the doorway,
but I already knew that. With a quick kiss, he exited into the hallway and then
unexpectedly turned back and surprised me with a substantial kiss. “You look
sexy right now,” he said, slipping his hand into my silk robe.

“I
doubt that.”

“Agree
to disagree,” he said, pinching my chin. “Bye.”

~

A knot sat
heavy in my stomach that day. In my unease, I couldn’t bring myself to eat a
thing. A sweet text from Bill at the airport had me feeling especially
troubled. I reminded myself that my impending meeting was an end rather than a
beginning. I would tell him what he wanted to know and then reiterate that I
was married. I tried to find comfort in this thought but could not. It was the
ending part that was bothering me.

In
an effort to keep busy, I ran routine errands all afternoon. Even though I was
alone for the week, and the thought of preparing meals wasn’t exactly
appealing, I picked up groceries. Dropped off Bill’s dry cleaning. Took old
linens to the animal shelter. Anything to keep me out of the apartment.

After
what felt like a never-ending day, I surveyed the contents of my closet. What
did one wear to such a thing as this?
To
‘a conversation,’
I recalled. I settled on a harmlessly beige silk blouse
and tucked it into high-waisted black pants. My lipstick slid on darker than I
expected, and I turned it over to check the name:
Vamp
. I yanked a tissue from the counter and held it to my lips but
stopped short. The color was so vivid against my white skin that it almost
looked theatrical. I let the tissue fall into the trashcan, deciding that maybe
I’d be someone else tonight.

After
clasping on a gold necklace and stepping into heels, I gave myself a once-over
in the bathroom mirror. I drew my hair away from my face and instantly released
it, feeling exposed. My wristwatch – a black leather Movado from Bill on
our second anniversary – read eight o’clock. I bundled into my coat,
hiked up the collar, and decided a walk would be a welcome way to soothe my
nerves.

On
the way, my emotions ping-ponged between excitement and fear. I wondered if I
could actually go through with this, if I’d actually go in and sit down and
wait for him. I rarely backed down from a dare, but this was a different type
of risk.
What harm can come from talking
to him? Putting an end to things?

When
I found the bar, I realized why he had chosen it. Stone steps at the entrance
led underground; at night, a place where people could spend the late hours as
someone else; in the day, a place to hide from the unrelenting sun. I looked
down the stairwell that faded into black, and the low swollen notes of a saxophone
drifted up, beckoning me inside.
The jazz looped through my ears and into my
head, creeping into the dark corners of my mind.  Like a devil on my
shoulder, it willed me to take a step
.

My
eyes welled with tears. I couldn’t do it. I’d come too far in life to throw it
down this stairwell. My watch read ten ‘til nine. I’d been standing there for
almost five minutes, entranced by the music. If I went back now it’d be as
though I’d never left.
Yes
,
that’s what I’ll do
, I decided, turning
to leave. And, as though he’d written it himself, he was there to catch me in
his arms, his face so close to mine that I could feel the heat from his mouth
on my forehead.

“You’re
early,” he stated, the words resting against my skin. My insides twisted at his
electric touch. His rough, tanned skin, dark with the shadow of fresh stubble
was close enough to kiss . . . .

I
jerked away suddenly, but he reached out like lightening and caught my wrist. I
went to pull back when I realized why; I was teetering at the edge of the
stairs, the darkness ready to break my fall. When I caught my balance and he
let go, we descended into the shadows together.

~

I watched
him signal toward me from across the room, and the bartender nodded. His stroll
was cool and controlled as he traversed the space between us, as if he did this
type of thing every night. I twisted my lips and ignored the thought.

Now
alone, we were an anonymous couple in the small crowd, cloaked in nothing but
candlelight. I looked down at my hands in my lap as I fingered my winking ring.
“I’m not sure what I’m doing here,” I said to the table.

“You
look beautiful.” When I didn’t respond, he joked, “The bartender said. He
wanted me to tell you.”

I
suppressed a smile and tugged on my right earlobe. “Thank you,” I said quietly.
“To the bartender,” I added and looked imploringly at the waitress, who was
unhurriedly making her way toward us. I caught her double take as she set my
wine glass down and fixated on David. Appraising him slowly, she reached over
his shoulder to place a tall glass of dark beer on the table. Something about
the way she let her long hair graze his shoulder made me squirm. He thanked her,
and she idled just a moment before slinking away. I immediately reached for my
glass for a soothing gulp.

“Shiraz?”
I asked, inhaling. He smiled gently and nodded, appearing to sense my
discomfort.

“So,
Olivia.” There it was again, my name, but not like I’d ever heard it in my
twenty-seven years. It sounded as though it was made for his mouth. “Do you
work?”

“Yes,”
I said, dipping my head in an exaggerated nod. “I work for
Chicago M
.”

“Writer?”
He leaned forward on his elbows.

I
shook my head. “Editorial assistant. Editor-in-training. I do contribute
sometimes, but it’s not ultimately what I want to do.” It was becoming hard to
ignore the fact that he was staring at my mouth as I spoke. “I don’t really
like writing,” I continued nervously. “Editing is very methodical - almost like
a puzzle, which I like. Do I have lipstick on my teeth?” I asked finally.

“Oh
uh, no, sorry. So no to writing. I’ve spoken with Diane at the magazine before.
Do you work for her?”

“Well,”
I hesitated. “I was her assistant actually, but not anymore. She was let go
recently.”

“I
see. So will you take her position?” His abrupt and somewhat intrusive tone
reminded me of something my father would ask.

“I’m
in the running, yes. I am taking over her key features, and if they go well, I
may get promoted.”