Someone's Watching (12 page)

The music pulsed around her, a deep bass rhythm that made her feel like she was experiencing a heart attack. Cigarette and cigar smoke clogged her lungs. Everywhere people were moving, a continuous merry-go-round. To the bar, to the tables, to the stairs, to the bar, to the stage. Her drink felt heavy and wet in her hand. Her too-high heels hurt her feet. She’d never find her sister here. She wanted to go home.

A jowly man in his mid-fifties with short black hair and deep
wrinkles above his bushy eyebrows staggered by, held up by two women. He looked familiar to Robbie, as though he could be someone famous or important, but now was so drunk, he probably wouldn’t have been able to say his own name. The tall woman was laughing, shaking her large gold hoop earrings, as though having the time of her life. She was painfully skinny with caramel-colored skin. The man’s head rested against one of her large breasts like it was a pillow. The other woman was younger and moved like an automaton, seemingly indifferent to the man’s hand squeezing her shoulder. She had platinum shoulder-length hair with bangs that partially covered her vacant gray eyes. There was something about her that made Robbie pause. But no—this girl clearly wasn’t Kate. The three stumbled up the stairs.

Robbie glanced over at the balcony. Brett was talking to Mike’s friends and laughed at something. He must have sensed her looking up at him. He smiled and waved, then went back to his conversation.

She needed to sit down. The sofas were crammed with strangers. No stools at the bar. She started toward the stairs, passing people clustered around tables set up with bottles and mixers.

And then she saw him. They were separated by dozens of people, but it felt like thousands. Jeremy, in a brown T-shirt and dark jeans, stood out like a sapling in a flower garden. He was at a table between the stage and the bar. Robbie recognized the forced smile on his face, the one that didn’t reach his eyes. Girls were sitting on each other’s laps on the sofas surrounding the table. Guys hovered nearby, smoking, drinking, laughing. She saw Ben and a few of Jeremy’s other friends, but they either didn’t see or didn’t recognize her.

Robbie worked her way through the crowd until she was beside Jeremy. He glanced at her, then looked away. An instant later, he turned back. “Shit Robbie. What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for—” She couldn’t hear her own voice above the din.

“One second.” Jeremy put his drink on the table, then took Robbie’s hand and led her away from the crowd to a secluded corner between the bar and one of the staircases. A side door opened and a janitor came out carrying a mop.

“It’s a little quieter here,” Jeremy said in an almost normal voice.

“Much better.” She took a sip of her drink. It tasted like bitter ice water.

Jeremy was holding back a smile. “I honestly didn’t recognize you. Is that makeup you’re wearing?”

“Yes, it’s makeup. I do wear makeup sometimes.”

“Really? Because in the more than a year I’ve known you, I can’t remember one time—”

“It’s not that big a deal.”

“And the cleavage—where’d that come from?”

“This is a club, Jeremy. I wasn’t going to show up looking like some kind of freak in a T-shirt and flip-flops.”

He held up his hands. “Hey. I’m not complaining. I’m just surprised. You look great, by the way.”

“Thanks.” She stirred her drink with her finger. It occurred to her that Jeremy thought she’d come to see him tonight and she got a sinking feeling about disappointing him. “I’m actually here on a mission.”

“Oh yeah?” That half smile.

She was making it worse. “I’m looking for my sister.”

He sobered. “She’s here?”

“I don’t know. I thought she might be.”

He gestured toward the room. “Talk about searching for a needle in a haystack.”

“I know. It was a stupid idea.”

He took a step closer to her. She could smell his perspiration
beneath cologne. He never used to wear cologne when it was just the two of them. “Did you get some new information about her?” he asked. “Does Lieber think she might be coming here?”

“Not exactly.”

“I heard about her friend,” he said. “I was going to call you.” Flashes of purple and pink from the light show reflected in his dark brown eyes. “Should I have called you?”

She didn’t know how to answer him, so she changed the subject. “My father thinks she’s been kidnapped and held against her will.”

“But you don’t?”

She shook her head. Why was she having such a hard time talking to him?

“Is there something I can do?”

“I, I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” he said.

They were so close she could feel the heat from his body. What was happening to her? Why was she drifting toward him?

He lowered his head. So close to her now.

She raised her chin. Their eyes locked.

“There you are.” Brett’s voice was behind her. Then she felt his fingers tighten on her shoulder.

Jeremy’s face hardened.

“Mike was wondering where you went,” Brett said to Robbie. She could smell liquor on his breath. “He was going to introduce you to someone.”

Robbie wanted to toss his hand off her. She wasn’t his territory. She wasn’t anyone’s territory.

Brett extended his free hand toward Jeremy. “Stroeb, my man. Been a while.”

Jeremy shook the hand. He was a couple of inches shorter than Brett, but slightly broader.

“I keep hearing about the new you.” Brett tugged on his ear.
“Big change from high school. Word is you’re always hanging with the hottest girls.”

“Man, I’m flattered.” Jeremy looked Brett directly in the eye. And Robbie knew Jeremy was anything but flattered.

“I was just coming upstairs to find you, Brett,” Robbie said. “I’m ready to go home.”

“Are you kidding? Things are just starting to get good.”

“I’ll take a taxi. You don’t need to drive me.”

“Of course I’ll drive you.”

“Really, Brett. I’m fine.”

“I don’t know what you’re used to.” Brett looked Jeremy up and down. “But when I bring MY girl somewhere, I take her home.”

Jeremy took a step toward him. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Take it easy, man,” Brett said. “If you’ve got a problem—”

“Okay,” Robbie said, fuming. “That’s enough. It’s late. I’m out of here. And I’m going by myself.”

A couple of bouncers materialized on either side of Brett and Jeremy. How could they possibly have noticed a fight brewing?

“Listen,” Brett said to Jeremy. “There’s no reason—”

But Jeremy had pushed past the bouncers and was heading back into the crowd.

Robbie took a deep breath of smoky air to calm herself. Why did guys have to be that way? They all thought they owned you.

Brett got in step with her as she went up the stairs. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess I had a little too much to drink.”

Robbie didn’t answer.

Brett glanced up at the table on the balcony. Mike was watching them.

She opened her eyes and saw only white. Then things came into focus. White pillows. White comforter. A white light brightening the room, hurting her eyes. She remembered, now. Her name was Angel, so she must be in heaven, right?

Not right. She was the Angel of Death, they’d told her. She had killed her friend. They said they’d protect her and not tell anyone. But she had to be good and do what they said.

And so she had. She took the pills they gave her or sniffed up the white powder. And she really didn’t mind that part. It filled her head and kept the bad stuff out. The bad stuff that kept trying to push its way in. Joanne clutching her bag. Begging Kate to leave.

Why hadn’t she listened?

Joanne face down in the pool, her hair floating all around her head.

The truth made her sick. So sick she could hardly stand it. She’d killed her friend. Her best friend. It was all her fault. She couldn’t remember how, but it didn’t matter. She knew she was guilty and now this was her life.

She’d never, ever be able to go home again.

Tyra came into the room. Angel could smell her—some spicy perfume that made Angel’s throat contract. Tyra pushed the sheer curtains aside, letting in the rest of the light. Angel squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, Tyra was sitting on the edge of the
bed with a glass of lemon-colored liquid and a pill. Breakfast. Oprah should start telling people about this incredible diet on her show.
Lose as much as ten pounds a week, effortlessly
. Angel couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten food. She couldn’t even remember how long she’d been here.

“Here you go, my little Angel,” Tyra said. “Drink up.”

Tyra’s wild bronze hair was loose on her shoulders and she wore a waffled white spa towel that only barely covered her private parts. Her long arms and legs were so skinny, Angel could see the outline of bone and cords of muscle. “Sit up, Angel.” Tyra’s voice lost its slippery sweetness as she pressed the cold glass against Angel’s face.

Angel raised herself up on one elbow and took the glass and pill from Tyra. She should swallow her pill so she wouldn’t have to think about things.

Joanne floating. The disgusting men who hurt her and made her do dirty things. But she was in hell and this was her penance.

Tyra smiled. Her teeth were stained. “That’s a good girl.” In the bright light, she wasn’t pretty at all. Her skin was splotched and her shocking green eyes were full of anger. But Tyra was Angel’s new best friend. “Practically joined at the hip,” Tyra had said when Angel had moved into her apartment.

Angel sipped the sweet drink, pretty sure there was more vodka in it than usual. Her mother used to drink. Sometimes, Kate would come home from school and her mother would be passed out on the sofa or with her head on her arms at the kitchen table. Kate would help her into bed. It made Kate’s father very angry that her mother would drink, but he didn’t stop her. And then one day she took the car and killed herself.

Angel put the pill in her mouth. Her mother was an alcoholic, her father had explained. She couldn’t control herself. She needed help.
So why didn’t you help her
? Kate had wanted to scream at him,
but never did. What was the point of saying anything to him? Nothing would change. Her mother wasn’t coming back. And her father hated Kate more than ever.

Angel pushed the pill under her tongue. If she swallowed it, she’d forget everything.

A bitter taste seeped into her mouth.

She had killed Joanne. Or had she? She couldn’t remember because her brain was always fuzzy. And she was getting tired of being fuzzy.

Her mother was always fuzzy.

The pill hurt the soft area under her tongue.

But she wasn’t like her mom. She didn’t need her dad. She could help herself. First she’d get out of here, and then figure out what to do next.

Angel sipped the drink. She was careful not to swallow the pill, but made sure it looked to Tyra as though she had.

“I have to pee,”Angel said, pushing the comforter away and getting out of bed. She glanced down at her nakedness and remembered last night. The ugly man with the jowls and dark bushy eyebrows. Tyra had called him “Tricky Dick.” He’d laughed. “You haven’t seen any of my tricks yet, honey,” he’d said. They made Angel dress up like a little girl. Kneesocks and heels. Short skirt. White blouse, no underwear. “Lick my lollipop,” he’d said and Angel had puked all over his disgusting black-haired legs.

The white marble was cold beneath her bare feet. She walked quickly before Tyra stopped her, and sat down on the toilet, holding her drink. Tyra couldn’t see her for the moment. Angel poured the drink into the toilet and spit out the pill, flushing the whole mess out of sight.

“You were a bad girl last night,” Tyra said, stepping into the bathroom.

Had she seen Angel flush the pill?

“Good thing the asshole was too drunk to know what the hell was going on.”

Angel stood up, went to the sink and turned on the water. Tyra was close behind her, waffled spa towel on the floor, her giant boobs touching Angel’s back. “Pretty girl,” Tyra said.

Angel looked at her new face. The strange gray eyes, puffy lips, high cheekbones that she’d always wished for. One day she was Kate Brooks, cute, dark-haired, blue-eyed high school senior who thought her biggest problem was being a virgin. The next day, she was a murderess, half alive under a secret identity. The transformation had been easy. Contact lenses and collagen. And Tyra had cut and dyed her hair a white blonde. “Now you really look like an Angel,” she’d said.

Tyra wrapped her arms around Angel’s waist—cold tentacles.

Angel put toothpaste on her brush and began brushing her teeth. She jabbed Tyra in the ribs with her elbow.

“Bitch,” Tyra said, releasing her. “What the fuck’s going on with you?”

Angel could see Tyra watching her in the mirror. “Did you take your pill?” Tyra asked.

Angel’s insides turned to slush.

“You didn’t, did you?”

“What are you talking about?” Angel said. She tried to act confused, foggy. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, honey. I don’t know why you wouldn’t love it in la-la-land.”

Angel forced a smile.

“But maybe you’re getting used to it. Maybe you need more.”

Angel felt panic. Run. Run. But where?

Tyra took Angel by the wrist and pulled her into the living room. Sofa cushions and pillows on the floor, glittery sandals, last
night’s skirt, kneesocks, white blouse. A wet spot on the rug where Angel had thrown up. Tyra pushed Angel down on the sofa and opened a drawer, just below the large-screen TV that they never let her watch except for DVDs.

“What’s up?” Luis asked Tyra, coming into the room from the kitchen. He was in jeans and shirtless. Tattoos covered most of his chest, as well as his upper arms.

Angel was relieved to see him. There was something about Tyra that scared her.

Tyra stepped closer to him and said something Angel couldn’t hear.

Luis rubbed his shiny bald head and narrowed his eyes as though considering something. Then he crossed the room and sat down beside Angel. “You doing okay?” he said, slipping his arm around her. He didn’t seem to notice that both Angel and Tyra were naked.