Meet Me in Barcelona (16 page)

“Because bouncers don't give a shit about ID—”

“Why are you so worked up? It was just a little joke.”

“The way you texted me from Jake's phone the other day?”

“What?”

“He told me he was at your apartment. And we both received texts that we didn't send.”

“I didn't—”

“This is why people don't trust you.”

“People? Or you?” Carrie Ann's eyes were huge and lit with anger. Jake approached carrying two humongous sangrias. “Just in time,” Carrie Ann said, taking the glasses from him and offering one to Grace as if she were the one who had just purchased them.

“Thank you,” Grace said to Jake. Jean Sebastian and Rafael brought up the rear, each carrying two drinks.

“It's a special,” Rafael said at their looks. “Two for price of one.”

“Let's find a table,” Jean Sebastian said. They pushed through the writhing bodies and headed for the second story, where they commandeered a table that looked down onto the dance floor. It was just as crowded upstairs as it was on the dance floor, and there were only two seats available. The men all let Grace and Carrie Ann sit down. Carrie Ann twirled her straw in the drink, then looked at Jake.

“I hear you thought I took your cell phone the other day,” she said.

“Carrie Ann,” Grace said. “This is between you and me.”

“I didn't take your cell phone. I didn't send texts as if they were from you.”

“Let's forget about it,” Grace said.

“Well, somebody did,” Jake said. “And it was while I was with you.”

“The two of you are perfect for each other. Paranoid thing one, and paranoid thing two,” Carrie Ann said. “Did it ever occur to you, Grace, that Jake was lying to you?”

“No,” Grace said. “Of course not.”

“Of course not,” Carrie Ann mimicked. She turned to Jake. “Have you ever lied to Grace?”

“No,” Jake said.

“Give me a break,” Carrie Ann said. “You lied about being in my apartment.”

“And then I told her the truth,” Jake said.

“So it's okay to lie, as long as you follow it up with the truth?”

“Jake lied because you guys were planning to surprise me for my birthday,” Grace said. “That's a different kind of lie.”

“So lying is a matter of degrees,” Carrie Ann said.

“I don't want to have this conversation,” Grace said.

“You should,” Carrie Ann said. “It's important.”

“I can't seem to drink this fast enough,” Grace said.

“We know you've lied, Gracie. Your parents took in
only boys
. Your mother sent those letters back. Have you read them yet?”

Of the two of us, you're the pathological liar
.
Your lies destroy lives
. All Grace had to do was finish the drink, and she'd finally be able to speak her mind. “I haven't had time,” Grace said.

“You should have made time,” Carrie Ann said.

Jake leaned down and whispered in Grace's ear, “I don't want to stay.”

“Me neither,” Grace whispered back. “Let's finish these, dance to a few songs, and slip out.” Jake nodded.

“Why don't you boys find a place to hang. We'll hit the dance floor soon,” Carrie Ann said. She was smiling again, as if she hadn't just started a big fight.

None of the guys needed any convincing, and they went to lean against a wall not far away. Grace was glad Rafael was here to keep Jake company—as strange as she had thought he was at first, he was actually kind of nice and funny. Not to mention they were staying in his parents' apartment for free.

“Speaking of Rafael,” Grace said, as if she'd been thinking out loud, “do you have any idea why we caught him trying to sneak in our window?” Grace also thought of the way he had stared at her when he had seen her at the outdoor café that morning. Grace realized now that couldn't have been a coincidence. Carrie Ann had had her little spies out and about.

“It's all part of his eagle act,” Carrie Ann said. “He wasn't trying to sneak in your window; he just walks along the edge.”

“He also took my picture my first morning here,” Grace said.

“Look,” Carrie Ann said. “You won't have to worry about him much longer.”

“What does that mean?”

Carrie Ann didn't answer; she was surveying the room. Her eyes landed on Jean Sebastian. From the way she was looking at him, she had a little crush on him herself. Grace told herself it didn't bother her in the least. She wanted the two of them to get together.

“Why won't we have to worry about Rafael much longer?” Grace asked again.

“God. Can we stop talking about this? I just want one night of fun.”

Grace held herself back. Carrie Ann was the one who had started it. But the truth was, Grace just wanted to have fun too. And the sangria was finally working. Grace suddenly had a very nice buzz. Carrie Ann was checking out Jean Sebastian again.

“I think Jake is jealous of Jean Sebastian,” Carrie Ann said. “That should spice things up.”

Grace squirmed. “We don't need spicing up. I hope you brought Jean Sebastian here for you and not to cause problems in my relationship.”

“Relax. My God.” Carrie Ann took Grace's hands. She pulled her up and the two hurried down the steps to the dance floor. Grace couldn't believe how good it felt to just let go, move her body to the music. When Rafael came by with two drinks and handed her another one, she didn't even hesitate. She took it and winked at him. He grinned and handed the other drink to Carrie Ann. Grace wasn't going to let a single serious thought enter her head for the rest of the night. They had the ocean, and a DJ playing great music, and sangria. They were in Barcelona, baby! By this time the boys had wandered downstairs too, and Grace found Jake, pulled him out for a dance, and kissed him as passionately as she could. When Jake tried to maneuver her into the hallway for more kissing, she laughed and pushed him away and took Carrie Ann's hand, and pulled her out to the dance floor.

“My God, what is in those sangrias?” she said as she twirled around. She wasn't sure if she was spinning or if it was the room.

An memory instantly assailed her. Twirling in the rain just three days after Carrie Ann had come to live with them. Grace had twirled, while Carrie Ann had stood just a foot away, staring, bangs sticking to her forehead with each drop of water. Carrie Ann had never twirled, had never felt enough of the joy required to make the movement, at least that's how Grace had interpreted it later. At the time she had wondered why her twirling seemed to be making Carrie Ann angry. At least Carrie Ann was twirling now, commanding the dance floor in a little black dress, blond hair whipping behind her, a smile plastered on her face.
See,
Grace thought.
We've made it. We came through. Through the fights, through Lionel's death, through the lies. Right here, right now, we are happy. I am happy. Carrie Ann is happy.

Jean Sebastian and Carrie Ann had been staring at each other all night. Maybe the two would go off together after all.

“Another drink!” Carrie Ann said, pulling Grace toward the bar in the middle of a song she liked.

“No,” Grace said. “Three is enough for me.” Where were Jake, and Rafael, and Jean Sebastian? Grace looked around, but it was too crowded. There were so many people. The lights were pulsing and bright. And then, as if out of nowhere, Jake appeared in front of her. He was smiling. She smiled back. They were both feeling good. She didn't remember him wearing that shirt. She wanted to ask him about it, but her tongue felt a little swollen. He wrapped her arms around his waist, pulled her in to him, and kissed her.

Oh, God, what a kiss. She felt brazen, and a little bit like an exhibitionist. She held him as tight as she could and kissed him with abandon. It felt exciting and new. She didn't stop his hands when they brushed over her breasts and her ass. She was in Spain; she could let her hair down a little.

He pulled away and gazed at her lovingly. “I'll be right back.” Grace could only smile as he disappeared again. She felt so good one second, and so bad the next. She was lost in bodies, strangers' bodies everywhere she turned. Her chest began to constrict a little. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to be in bed with Jake, listening to each other breathe.

“One more,” Rafael said, popping up next to her with a drink. Grace shook her head. He thrust it at her, and she pushed back on his arm. Carrie Ann stepped in and put her hand on the side of Grace's face. “Are you okay?”

“I need to lie down,” Grace said. When did everything start spinning? “Where's Jake?”

“Lean on me. I've got you.”

“I feel funny. Do you feel funny?”

“No, Grace. I feel wonderful.”

Grace's head pulsed. Something was wrong. Somebody had put something in her drink. She knew it. “Jake,” she screamed while she still had the voice to do it. It was too loud in the club.

“I've got you,” Carrie Ann said again. “Shit,” Grace heard her say. That wasn't good, Grace thought. Carrie Ann sounded worried. She was the queen of not worrying. From somewhere she heard a phone ring. She thought she heard Carrie Ann say, “Oh my God. It's Stan.” Or did she say, “Oh my God—this isn't part of the plan”? Or both? Grace wanted to laugh, but she was feeling too sick. Carrie Ann still had one arm around Grace's waist. Grace felt fuzz behind her eyes. Seriously? Did Carrie Ann just say plan—or Stan?

“I don't want to see him,” Grace said. “I don't like Stan. I
never
liked Stan.” Thick, soft fuzz surrounded her. And then she dove into it.

A dark presence hovered in Grace's peripheral vision. The next thing she knew a mass of black ribbons descended on her, completely covering her and obscuring her vision. Was she at a car wash? She hadn't brought her car to Spain, had she? Was she home? Did she dream Spain? No. She was sitting in the middle of La Rambla. “Rafael, quit it.” Instead of going away, the thing danced on its stilts. Grace scooted her chair back, and the thing, for she wasn't sure it was Rafael after all, stepped forward. Long black ribbons brushed against her thighs.

“Please go,” Grace said. “I don't have any change.” It was a lie; she had change, but she was not going to reward this thing for scaring her like this.

“I'm not scared.” But she was—scared silly. Grace stood, sending her chair clanking to the ground behind her. She looked around for a waiter. There was no one. No one but the creature, dancing on stilts.

Grace turned and ran. Clack, clack, clack, the thing behind her could run too, even on stilts.

“Hey,” Grace yelled. Help. Grace could feel it directly behind her, but before she could whirl around and give it a shove, it slammed into her back, sending her hurtling to the pavement. Palms out, Grace landed, her hands scraped and stinging, her breath knocked out of her as the thing lay on her back. Grace began to scream. The thing on her back began to laugh. Grace rolled to her side, struggling to right herself. The thing leaned down; its face was one inch away from her face. Its black-rimmed eyes stared into hers; its large red mouth opened in a grin. Screaming, Grace reached up and ripped off the mask. Blond hair fell over her face. Red lips grinned at her. Carrie Ann. Grace shrieked even more. Carrie Ann laughed, loud and long, her head tilted back, her blond hair glowing in the Spanish sun.

“I hate you!” Grace yelled. “I hate you!” Something jarred; the scene shifted. Grace wasn't lying on La Rambla with Carrie Ann on top of her. It was a dream. But now she was awake, or at least she thought she was, and she was lying down on something cold and hard. The ground. And although she couldn't be sure, it felt as if something was on top of her. But she couldn't move. She'd had this condition before. Where her mind would wake up before her body. She was paralyzed. Panicking would make it worse. She would have to relax, fall back to sleep, and wake naturally. Hard to do when you had this awful feeling you were lying on the cold, hard ground somewhere. Where was everyone? What had happened? Grace remembered dancing. She remembered a club by the ocean. Carrie Ann. Jake. Jean Sebastian. Rafael. Where were they? She wanted to scream. Panic flooded her. Her mind raced, but her body remained cold and very, very still.

Grace lifted her head. Images, rather than thoughts, swam before her eyes. Cold, hard, white, gray. She was on a cold, hard floor. Saw a sink and a mirror, then the toilet. A bathroom floor. Passed out. Lovely. As bathrooms went, it was small and dank, and lit by a single bulb emitting a slight buzzing sound. Graffiti was sprayed on the walls. Musings in Spanish and a few choice drawings. Penis and breasts, the usual public restroom fare. The club. Was she in the club? She slowly lifted herself into a sitting position. Her head thumped something awful. She immediately wanted to cry. Homesickness, deeper than she'd ever felt in her life, hit her in the gut. She wanted to be back in her living room, with Stella at her feet and Jake whistling in the kitchen as he made coffee.

She had a stark feeling of terror as she got to her feet and looked in the mirror. Her dance club outfit. Blue dress. Her hair, previously straightened, was frizzed out. Her mascara ran underneath her eyes, giving her the raccoon look. She felt nauseous, and waited a moment to see if she was going to throw up, but it seemed to pass. She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water over her face. Besides the buzzing, there was silence. Why couldn't she hear the music from the dance floor? How long had she been here? Where was Jake?

She reached for the door. It was locked. Panic joined hands with the thudding in her head. “Hello?” She rattled the door. “Hello?” She pounded on the door. “Hey. I'm locked in. Open!” How did you say
open
in Spanish? She tried to dredge up ancient lessons from
Sesame Street,
but all she could hear was
agua, agua, agua.
Shit. She knew they had taught
open
on one of those episodes. Open sesame.

Jake would never have left her here. The thought slammed into her. If she was here alone, then something was wrong with Jake. Was he also passed out in the club? She had been drugged; she knew that for sure. She remembered the fuzzy feeling in her head. Carrie Ann.
This wasn't part of the plan
. Oh, God. What plan? Did this have something to do with Stan?

Grace had to get out of this freaking bathroom and find out where everyone else was. So much for staying calm. Sometimes you just had to panic. She hurled herself against the door and screamed. “Open. Help! Help! Help!” She yelled until the back of her throat burned. Okay, okay.
The club is obviously closed, Grace.
And nobody had noticed a girl passed out on the floor. Didn't they have security and cleaning personnel? Not a very nice thing to do to an American tourist. She wasn't even in the stall; she had been sprawled out in front of the sink. Unless she'd somehow moved in the middle of the night. Regardless, they should check the stalls too. Rafael had said he was part owner. Maybe they'd all stayed late. The owners probably let their friends stay after-hours all the time. For all Grace knew, maybe people were always passing out in the bathroom and in Europe it was just considered a successful night out. Grace slid back down the wall and crumpled on the floor. She was exhausted.

Jake. Please be okay, Jake. Please, God, let him be okay.
This was all her fault. Well, she'd learned her lesson. As soon as she found Jake, they were out of here. Sans Carrie Ann. And this time Grace didn't care how much it hurt Carrie Ann's feelings.
Way to go, Grace. It only took being drugged and abandoned in a public bathroom to stick up for yourself.

“Grace?” It was a male voice. But it didn't sound like Jake. Grace got up a little too quickly, and her knees buckled.

“Help,” she said.

“Hold on.” She heard a wrenching noise, and the door opened. Grace put her hand on the sink to help herself up.

“I've got you.” Hands gripped her underneath her armpits and helped her up. It was Jean Sebastian. He too was wearing the same clothes from last night and also looked as if he'd been through the wringer. When she was upright, his hands fell to her waist. He kept them there and looked at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

“My head.”

“Mine too.”

“We were drugged?”

“I woke up in the middle of the dance floor. I only had one drink.”

“I was locked in,” Grace said.

Jean Sebastian pointed to a chair lying sideways on the floor. “Somebody propped it under the doorknob.”

Not a chance of its being an accident. “Jake? Where's Jake?” Grace gently pulled away from Jean Sebastian and headed out of the bathroom. Her head swam. She reached out to steady herself. Jean Sebastian was right there, offering his arm.

“Easy, easy. The others aren't here.”

“Jake wouldn't leave me.” The club was dim. Only a little light was streaming in from a skylight. The side that had been open to the ocean last night was now walled and gated. It was impossible to tell what time it was. Grace spotted a familiar black shape on top of the bar. “My purse?” She approached it, almost not believing it. She reached for it. It felt just as heavy as before. She went through it. Her wallet, with Carrie Ann's ID. Carrie Ann's engagement ring. The keys to the apartment. No cell phone. The cash she had left. Someone had left the ring and the cash, but had taken her cell phone? Someone who didn't want her calling anyone.

“Is everything there?”

“My phone is gone.”

Jean Sebastian felt his pockets. “Mine too. And my wallet. Your wallet is there?”

“Even my money.” She had seventy euro in her purse. “We have to search this entire place. Carrie Ann, Jake, Rafael. They have to be here. The men's room?”

“I've been in there. Empty,” Jean Sebastian said.

“You look down here. Yell if you find anyone or a phone. I'll search upstairs.”

“You're not too steady on your feet,” Jean Sebastian said. “Why don't I go up and you look down here?”

Grace nodded. “Please. Find Jake.” Grace looked behind the bar. No phone. The cash register was locked tight. Once again she wondered how in the world the employees had left at least two of them in here unnoticed. And Jean Sebastian had said he woke up in the middle of the dance floor. It didn't seem possible that anyone could miss that. “Jake?” she called. “Carrie Ann? Rafael?” She heard Jean Sebastian call out the names upstairs. In less than ten minutes she had searched every nook and cranny. There was nobody here. Jean Sebastian came downstairs with the same news.

“We have to find an exit,” Grace said. “Maybe somehow they're back at the apartment.” Jake would be out of his mind with worry. And he certainly wouldn't like her being locked in here with Jean Sebastian, but now wasn't the time to worry about that.

“There's a window upstairs. It opens. But we have to walk a pretty tight ledge and jump onto the first floor balcony, and then to the ground.”

“You're joking, right?”

“The rest of the place is locked and chained. Our only other option is to wait until this evening. I don't think they open until after seven p.m.”

“We can't wait that long. I have to find Jake.”

“Come on. I'll show you.” Grace followed Jean Sebastian up the stairs. She couldn't believe she was contemplating skirting a ledge and jumping onto a balcony. That was for the movies, not real life. But there was no way she was going to stay cooped up here until seven p.m. while Jake was God knows where. Maybe the others were passed out on the grounds just outside.

Grace looked out the window that Jean Sebastian had managed to open. She was relieved to see that the building wasn't that high at all. Even if she fell, it meant breaking an ankle, not plunging to her death. Still, she had a feeling she was going to need her ankles intact. “Let's just yell for help,” Grace said.

“Go ahead,” Jean Sebastian said. “Although I doubt anyone will hear you but the seagulls.” Grace stuck her head out and yelled for help. She could hear her voice echo in the morning air.

“Hello?” Jean Sebastian yelled. “Anybody there?” After a few more attempts, Grace resigned herself to what had to be done. She wondered what Marsh Everett would think of her now. Climbing out on ledges in Spain. She'd have to write about this one day. Use it all for her art. What a crock of shit. Whoever came up with that deserved to be beaten. If Jake were here right now, he'd know she was on the verge of composing in her head. It was the thought of finding him that made her climb out the window and stand on the ledge. It was about three inches wide, and she'd have to scoot along the wall about six feet. She was petite, and as long as she didn't look down, or panic, it was within the realm of possibility. Jean Sebastian was right beside her. “Don't stop,” he said. “Don't think.”

“But where are we going?”

“When you get to the edge, you'll see. Right below is a first-floor little balcony. I was out for a smoke on it last night.”

“I didn't know you smoked.”

“Once in a while. When I drink. I hope you are not choosing this moment to lecture me.”

“Definitely not.” Grace's heart was pounding. She was in danger of hyperventilating. Jean Sebastian was right. Nike was right. Just do it. She scooted a little to the left.

“That's it.”

“It's not that high.”

“Two stories.”

“Even if I fell, I'd probably just break my ankle.”

“As long as you protect your head and neck.” Great. She shouldn't have opened her mouth. She felt frozen with panic. “You're right; you're right,” Jean Sebastian said. “You would only sprain an ankle.”

“I can't do it. I can't move.”

“You're a singer, right?”

“Yes. But it's hardly the time for a concert.”

“It's a perfect time. You sing, and you move. You sing, and you move.”

“What do you want me to sing?”

“Whatever song you like. Whatever makes you feel good.”

See, Marsh Everett. See?
Grace glanced out. The sun was low on the ocean. It was a beautiful and peaceful morning. Where were the locals? Why couldn't somebody be out walking his or her dog? They could call the fire department and bring ladders. But the club was out of the way, probably so they could party as loud and as long as they wanted. Grace picked a popular country song; she wasn't going to sing one of her own right now—a critique was the last thing she could take at the moment.

“Take your cat and leave my sweater”—Grace scooted a few more inches than the last time. “We've got nothing left to weather”—scoot, scoot.

“I thought it was take your cap,” Jean Sebastian said.

“That's a common misconception,” Grace said. Scoot, scoot, scoot. “It's definitely cat.”

“Take your cat and leave my sweater,” Jean Sebastian said.

It sounded funny in his accent. Grace laughed. Then she was in danger of getting the giggles. When Grace got the giggles, her whole body shook. It used to happen all the time with Carrie Ann. One of Carrie Ann's favorite pastimes back then had been giving Grace the giggles in all the wrong places, like church. She needed to think of something serious. Lionel Gale.

She saw him dangling from the noose in the barn. His black leather shoes were level with her eyes. Shining from a recent coat of polish. Before he had crawled up to the hayloft, attached the rope from Stan's tire swing to the rafters, and slipped the noose around his neck, he had polished his shoes. Just thinking about it made Grace cry out.

“Easy, easy,” Jean Sebastian said.

She was going to have a breakdown. Calm down.
Calm down. Sing a few bars of the song you wrote for Stan. You won't crack up. Singing does help you calm down. Just do it. Jean Sebastian won't know
. Grace took a deep breath.

“It was a Tuesday night, he was a working man, he had a son named Stan.” It was strange at first to hear her own singing voice. God, she'd kind of missed it. Grace scooted and scooted and scooted. “She was a foster child, she was a girl gone wild, her name was Carrie Ann.” Grace was focused and calm. “We shared my tree house, she was a friend in need, but not a friend in deed.” She stopped.

“Keep going,” Jean Sebastian said. “Keep singing.” He sounded strained. Grace needed to listen to him. She needed to shut out everything else and just sing.

Finally she was at the edge.

“That song,” Jean Sebastian said. “You wrote it?”

“Yes.”

“It's beautiful. Sounds sad.”

You have no idea
. “I've never sung it for anyone.”

“Why not?”

“It's personal.”

“I want to hear the rest sometime.”

“Now what?” Grace said.

“The balcony is just around the corner. You'll have to scoot, then either bend down, or just jump. From there, it's only another short jump to the ground.”

“Oh, God.”

“Don't think, just sing and go.”

“It was a Tuesday night, he was a working man, he had a son named Stan.” Grace stepped out farther and planted her foot. She rounded the corner and lost her balance. Jean Sebastian's arm was on her chest in an instant, and he held her back against the building. She could feel his arm atop her breasts, and she could feel her heart beating against his forearm like a one-woman drum circle.

“Easy,” Jean Sebastian said. “Easy.” He sounded so in control. It dawned on her that his experience in the Congo had probably prepared him for much worse than this. “If you stay still, I think I can make it around you. I'll jump onto the balcony first and then I'm there to catch you. Okay?”

“Okay.” Grace hated that she was so afraid. But she was immobile again, and no amount of singing was going to help this time.