In Pursuit (2 page)

Once we arrive on the tenth floor, we cruise through the hallway to the apartment. Claire pulls out keys from her leather purse and opens the door with a flourish.

“Welcome home, roomie!”

I’m floored, probably partially because of the lovely, walnut wood floors before me. Large, maybe ten feet, floor to ceiling windows show off the Chicago skyline past the entryway. The view looks like it came straight from a postcard that I saw in the airport.

After we make it through the foyer, there is a good-sized galley kitchen that opens to the rest of the living space. To the right of the spotless kitchen is a closed doorway.

“Technically, an office,” Claire says, pointing. “But it’s never been used other than as a storage closet for winter boots and parkas.”

Multiple parkas? I’m going to need another coat.

With a grimace, she adds, “I’m sorry to say that this place doesn’t have a balcony. Only two units on each floor have one, and the ones with them are just too small to be livable. So I picked indoor square footage over a small outdoor space. When I need the sun I just go on the roof deck, or my brother’s pad down the street. He’s got an enormous private deck. It’s unreal, and he doesn’t care when I come to use it. You’re invited too, of course.”

I try to keep up with her commentary, but I am too infatuated with my new living space to concentrate on her words. The living room has a tweed gray couch and two brown leather chairs. Colorful modern art adorns the walls.

Claire pauses before a hallway that likely leads toward our bedrooms. “We have satellite TV with all the channels, oh, and I almost forgot, a security system.”

She steers me back to the front and gives a quick tutorial of the tool. Once she’s satisfied that I learned to use it, we continue. “We rarely even use this thing, but my brother is big on safety. He’ll probably drop by every now and then, so don’t be alarmed if you see a tall blond guy in the kitchen drinking coffee. I don’t cook, by the way, do you?”

My head is spinning with her river of words, but I manage to catch her asking about the kitchen. Now this is something I definitely excel at. “My dad is a hopeless chef, so I’ve always been the cook. I love it.”

“Perfect! Then you can cook for us. Only if you’re not busy, of course.” Claire gives me another grin – I’m starting to think her smile must be trademarked, it’s that perfect – and we continue on the tour. “My room is down there.” She points to a closed doorway at the end of the hallway, stopping us in front of a gallery wall of framed pictures.

One image in particular grabs my attention; it’s Claire and two guys who look so similar in coloring that they must be related to her. One is a young man: he’s tall above the others, has longish blonde hair and a wicked, teasing smile.
Woah, he’s hot.
The other member of the trio looks about Claire’s age, and his appearance is so similar to hers that they could almost be twins. Glee radiates from them, their arms are around each other’s shoulders, and they are all beaming the same grin. The photo must be at least ten years old, because Claire looks like she’s in high school.

I want to study it longer, drawn in by the handsome, smiling guy, but an impatient hand taps my shoulder, demanding my attention.

“Welcome to your new life.” Claire nudges me toward a closed door.

She’s right on so many more levels than she knows – I came here for a dramatic shift in my personal and professional life.

With a deep breath, I move forward.

Here goes nothing.

“
V
oila!” She thrusts open the door to my bedroom I follow behind my roommate with the mile long legs.

“Wow,” I whisper in awe. It’s like whoever designed this bedroom knew my exact design esthetic. As an interior designer, while I am happy to create colorful homes with bright patterns, funky carpets and furniture, I prefer the cool and classic look. The queen size bed has soft, gray fabric upholstery highlighted with tufting. Crisp white lines with pale orange stripes brighten up the space.

“This is too much,” I say softly.

“Bathroom, closet.” Claire points at the doors and either ignores me or doesn’t hear what I’ve said. She plops my bag down, and I do the same with the items I’m carrying. I venture forward to scope out an organized walk in closet and a spacious bathroom.

“Want some company while you unpack?” Before I can say yes, she takes it upon herself to flop down across the bed with a dramatic sigh. “I am too wrecked to do anything but relax. I was up all night.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at me, and I can’t contain the giggle that trickles out.

“Doing what?” If she can be familiar, so can I. While we chat, I begin the lengthy process of releasing my material possessions from their zippered cage.

“Whom, not what, Eddie. Just this guy, a fun time fuck.” I hear vibration, and look up from my task to see Claire’s thumbs flying across the screen of her smartphone as she texts. The room is silent for a few minutes as I put away my clothes, makeup and other pieces from my life before Chicago. I think that Claire must have fallen asleep until she asks, “Do you have a portfolio?”

“Yes, of course.”

I pull the black, leather bound book out of my tote bag. I toss it to her gently and she rolls on her stomach, feet kicked up in the air.

“So you decorate homes, mostly?”

“Those are the best jobs for me to get,” I tell her. “But I also have a blog, and through that I pick up a lot of virtual clients. I help them design from afar.”

 “You’re good.” She puts an emphasis the word good, and I feel happiness spread through me. I could get used to this sort of positive reinforcement. “What’s the name of your blog?” She drops the book and picks up her phone again.

“Oh, um, I call it
Your Perfect Place.”

Her fingers fly across the screen, then she flashes me a grin. “I’m going to follow you by email now.”

“Cool. Thanks.” I’m a little uncomfortable with her reading through my posts while I stand before her. I keep my blog as anonymous as possible, and my private life mostly off limits.

“So, that means you’ll need some new clients, I bet,” Claire says thoughtfully.

“Probably, if I want to kept my basic needs met,” I say lightly even though it’s pretty much true. My expensive university loans won’t pay themselves.  “Honestly, though, that’s one of the main reasons I’m here. I was sick of working for junior politicos and yuppies that wanted colonial chic. Looking for new professional challenges.”

“Hm,” Claire mumbles to herself. “I’ve got it! My best friend Amanda needs someone to redo her guestrooms. I’m sending her your information right now. She basically does whatever I tell her, so you’ll get a new client by the beginning of the week.”

I laugh and look over toward Claire. She gives me a wink over her shoulder.

“I would love that. Thank you, Claire. You have already been so kind to me, I don’t know I can ever repay you.”

“Don’t even go there! Any friend of Sarah’s is a friend of mine. You know we went to camp together, right?”

I nod my acknowledgment.

“So then you know we go way back, and I trust her.”

“Yeah.”

She bounces on the bed, jumping up into a sitting position. “Anyway, Amanda is super social and will tell all of her über wealthy friends about you, and make herself look good. See? This benefits everyone.” With that she closes the topic and moves on to another one that has her eyes gleaming excitedly. “Tell me more about you.”

“There’s not too much tell,” I murmur, feeling a rush of gratitude toward Claire. This type of connection is the boost my career needs.

“Start with your family and go from there.”

“It’s just me and my dad. My mom died when I was a baby.”

I’d rather not go into the details of her death, because I barely knew them myself. Lauren Neff, my mom, died during my birth, although my dad has never shared extensive information with me. I had to steal tidbits from my grandparents, and they didn’t know much themselves. Seven months into the pregnancy, she went into an early labor. At the time, my grandparents were out of the state on a rare vacation. The tragedy occurred so quickly that they weren’t able to make it back in time. It’s easier to tell new friends this up front rather than wait for the uncomfortable question later down the road.

Claire gasps and rushes off the bed, racing over to envelop me in her arms.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

I relish in the attention, but then pull back. Even though talking about my mom this way makes me sad, I can’t help but feel a grin tug at my lips. Claire has that impact on me.

“You weren’t to know, don’t worry about it. Anyway,” I turn from her and walk into the deep closet to hang dresses. “I grew up in Virginia, and went to GW Arts Academy, where I met Sarah. This is my first time living on my own, although at times it felt that way growing up because my dad worked nights as a cop.”

That’s putting it lightly. As a lieutenant for the Arlington County Police, Dad was more absent than present in our relationship.

“Long story short, I’m really excited to be living here with you.” I finish the speech without mentioning my strained relationship with dad.

“Ooh, little girl in the big city, huh?” Her eyes flash with delight. “I’m going to try my hardest to corrupt you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No.” I let out a soft burst of laughter. “That’s what I’m here for partially. And to succeed professionally, of course.” I sound slightly sarcastic in my response, but I truly do mean it. If I can expand my client base to a decent size, I would like nothing more than to feel at home in this large, so far friendly, city. Other than Sarah and maybe my dad, there isn’t much calling me back to my old home. “Tell
me
more about
you
. Sarah mentioned that you’re a lawyer?”

“Ugh,” she groans. “I am, and it’s the biggest bore. It’s all mergers and acquisitions at Franklin & Smith. The only perk is working with my brother at a firm that my dad practically built. As you can probably imagine, it’s a snooze. The best part is the commute; it's only a ten minute walk when it’s nice out. Otherwise, my brother sends a car.”

“Why do you do it, then?” I blurt out. She looks at me sharply and I’m immediately confused. I thought we were sharing back and forth, but Claire’s features take on a furious glare.

“I just mean, why not go after something you love? But it’s none of my business, so I’ll just shut up now.”

Just as quickly as it came, the angry expression melts away, and once again she gives me a lighthearted smile.

 “No worries. It’s just a tradition thing, and my family is big on that.”

I nod. “To be honest, I wish my family had more traditions. Or at least ones I knew about.”

We both fall silent, so I busy myself with refolding t-shirts and sports bras that became displaced in my journey.

“This conversation is getting too depressing,” Claire says. “Let’s move on to a new topic.” She ponders what else we can discuss, and then she finds it: herself. “I’m from a town called Kenilworth, north of the city.”

Claire’s words tumble together as she continues her soliloquy. “I’m looking for love in all the wrong places, and I’m amazing in bed, according to all the guys I sleep with. How do you feel about going out tonight? Some of the guys got a table at a club. It’s going to be epic.”

I look up from stacking a pile of sweaters. She talks so fast, I can barely keep up, but I think I’ve caught the gist. Is she joking about being good in bed? Based on her impish smile, probably not. While I feel ready to turn over a new leaf, and open myself up to new friendships and experiences, tonight is definitely not the night. I need to organize my life. Tomorrow, I’ll be ready to venture out.

“Claire, I really, really want to go out with you, but -”

“Don’t say no!” she interrupts, bopping over to me and pulling a sweater from my hands. “I want everyone to meet you. And don’t you think it would be a good way to make friends in a new city, where you know absolutely no one?”

Ouch.
I nearly wince at the words. She probably doesn’t mean to cause me a sting, but it still hurts.

Oblivious to my discomfort, she rambles on. In her hands, she crumples my sweater and tosses it on the floor carelessly, much to my dismay, “Amanda and her hot husband will probably be there, and you will love them. Please? Please?”

She looks almost desperate, her eyes wide and pleading. From her perfect pout, I presume this isn’t the first time she’s attempted this sort of begging. One soulful look from her gentle gray eyes probably brought her daddy to his knees when she was a girl. Not this time, though. I’m pretty good with keeping boundaries. The only person I could never say no to is my dad. Sure, he’s never asked for much, but I’d drop anything to help him.

“Can I get a rain check? I would feel so much better about starting over in a new city if I could just get settled tonight. After I unpack and check in on my blog, I’ll be ready. I promise.”

“Oh, alright.” She lets out a huff of frustration. “I guess I understand.” She turns away from me and walks out of the room. When she gets to the door she turns around, her eyes bright and friendly again, “I’m really glad you’re here, Eddie. This is going to work out really well.”