Letters From The Ledge (6 page)

Brendan let the breath out of his lungs and leaned back against the coolness of the bricks, trying to wrap his brain around all that he’d just read. These were things he’d known in the deep places of his heart somehow, but hearing their truth ring out from the pages of her letter somehow wrapped around the aching void and held it firm.

“I love you too, Tess” he whispered out into the approaching dusk. “I always did.”

He thought about what she said. What kind of a guy made it to eighteen and had never kissed a girl? Maybe the kind that knew the truth deep down: that anything worth keeping was worth waiting for.

"People should know when they are conquered."

"Would you, Quintus? Would I?"

Gladiator

"I had lunch with Frank Evans today."

"Really?" Paige was cutting up vegetables, getting ready to make a stir-fry.

The twisting knots returned to Nate’s stomach with each mention of the man. "He couldn’t stop talking about you."

"About me?"

"Yeah. Apparently you’ve really wowed him. He said if he hadn’t made a promise to Kevin, he’d be offering you an incredible jump ship opportunity."

"I don’t see what a promise should have to do with it. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man that worries much about making promises–or keeping them, for that matter."

"He really got under your skin, didn’t he?"

She stopped cutting and looked over at Nate. "Look who’s talking."

His hands went up and he shook his head. "No argument there."

"He’s not just under my skin, Nate. It’s like it’s crawling with maggots." She started cutting again, but her hand gripped the knife so tightly that it shook with the effort.

Nate moved in behind her and held on. She let go of the knife and held onto his arms instead. "Maybe you should ask Kevin to put someone else on this job."

She shook her head. "No can do. He hand picked me for this and took all my other clients away on purpose. According to him, the future success of our company is very much at stake. He made that ultra clear."

She turned to face him and put her arms around his neck. "I’m supposed to make him happy and do whatever he asks, even if it’s above and beyond the call of duty."

Nate’s eyes intensified.

"Apparently that’s the way the world works. He gives us his business and then he tells two friends, and then they tell two friends, and on it goes until Kevin’s firm is on the top of the dog pile."

"Yeah, I know that’s how the world works Paige, but did Kevin really tell you to do whatever it takes? Whatever that slime ball
wants
?" The monster inside him was fully awake now–fully alert. He could feel blind rage rising up from some deep place, threatening to take control. He fought it back as best he could, but let go of Paige in the process and started pacing around the apartment. "I don’t like where this is going. It sounds too much to me like politics and dirty pool. He doesn’t expect–I mean, not that you would ever–but…"

"Nate, calm down. I don’t think he wants me to sleep with him, if that’s what you’re worried about." His head shot up. "I was kidding! Listen, that’s ridiculous. Kevin would never in a million years expect that. Besides, the man may be a letch but I can take care of myself Nate! Or have you forgotten?"

"No. I haven’t forgotten. You think I could forget? It haunts me every day–every second that I’m not with you. And I hate to break it to you Paige, but that wasn’t taking care of yourself. That was luck, pure and simple. You kicked and you screamed and they ran and you lived." His voice was spraying sparks like a downed power line and she ignited. He knew better. He watched her mind turn away.

"How do you know what I did? You weren’t there!" Paige dropped down to the floor and sat with her back against the cabinets, wrapping her arms around her knees. She started to rock. She started to cry.

"Paige, I’m sorry." He held out his hand toward her. "Please, don’t– "

Her voice went monotone, her eyes lost in some faraway memory. "Go away Nate. I don’t want to talk to you right now."

"Please don’t pull away from me Paige. Don’t go to that place. I don’t know how to get you back from there."

She looked at him through pools of deep green tears behind which he faced a solid brick wall. "I said go!"

Nate put on his coat and waited, willing her to look at him. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up."

She was already gone.

__________

The memories always seemed to hit like a flash flood. They came out of nowhere and buried all her senses under muddy water until she couldn’t see and could barely breathe. In that thick, murky place she had to try to find something to grab hold of, because when the water subsided it formed a whirlpool that threatened to suck her back down into its depths, lost forever to the light.

Paige sat back against the cabinets holding her knees and rocking, trying desperately to ride out the storm, but the smell of them, the taste of them, and the searing pain of their intrusions filled her senses instead. She continued to retreat, deeper into the darkness until she no longer felt their fingers running roughshod over her body, one set clamped over her mouth and chest, the other ripping back her skirt.

Huddled in one dank corner of her mind Paige wept. She wept and she shook and she held herself tight until the water was gone and she was left covered in mud. Slowly her legs found their feeling, and she stretched them out against the stiffness of perpetual tension. She took a deep breath in and started reciting the words and strategies she’d learned from her therapist. She tried to picture her safe place. Her visions of a sunny childhood room with windows on two walls always ended up being replaced by Nate’s face.

She loved him. She knew it deep down. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him. Somewhere the line was just too thin between lover and rescuer, and he took both roles a little too seriously. It was a painful oxymoron that the arms she felt the most protected in all too quickly became stifling. Still, he was gentle and kind and beautiful. It would take some time yet before they’d be ready for more.

__________

Nate rounded the corner and slipped into the Carlton, hoping a Sapphire and tonic would give her some time to find her way back. He hated leaving her when she was like that, but it was something she’d insisted on every time she got triggered. The therapist said it was a trust thing, and when she was ready to trust him she’d let him stay. Until then, he was supposed to respect her need to process in private. It about killed him, but so far he’d kept his end of the bargain.

The first drink went down way too easily as he too went over the events of that night in his mind. He’d been twenty minutes late, and in that twenty minutes she’d been dragged into an alley, beaten and raped by two different men, one after the other. He slammed the rest of his drink and ordered another, the guilt overwhelming his ability to make sense of the last year and a half.

"Rough night, sir?" The young bartender slid the glass toward him and Nate nodded. He took a long drink before answering.

"You could say that."

"Girl trouble?"

"Is there another kind?"

"Not too many others that drive a guy to drink, no. Especially with a face like yours."

Nate laughed in spite of himself. "Is it that obvious?"

"I may be young sir, but it doesn’t take long to learn the signs."

This was going to be interesting. "Really? So what’s my tell?"

The young bartender looked down, slightly embarrassed. "Well, a good looking, well-dressed man like yourself walks into the bar of a nice hotel and it’s usually one of three possibilities."

"Go on."

"They could be meeting someone–business or otherwise, in which case they look somewhat excited, or at least have a sense of purpose. You can almost see the wheels turning in their heads as they go over what they’re going to say or how they’re going to act."

"Ok, what’s the second possibility?"

"The usual bad day at work. In that case though, the look on their face is more–well, more pissed off sir."

"And third?"

The young man smiled. "That would be you."

"Which is?"

"Somewhat confused, forlorn and dejected looking. Sir." Nate chuckled and took another long drink, nearly draining the glass. The bartender picked it up to refill it. "And they drink ‘em hard and fast."

Nate clasped his hands together on top of the bar. "What’s your name, man?"

"Jimmy."

Jimmy didn’t look old enough to be behind a bar, much less giving advice. "Jimmy, you seem very insightful. What is it you do when you’re not bartending?"

"I’m in school at NYU. Computers."

"Really? I work with computers myself."

Jimmy handed him another. "That’s great. Will you excuse me?"

Halfway through the third drink the guilt and anger fused into a hard lump in the center of his chest and with every sip it sank lower and lower, until it roiled once again in his bowels, a distant acid with a slow, meandering burn.

He was beginning to regret ordering that third round when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and he just about flew out of his chair. Nate swallowed one last time. It was talk about Frank that had started this whole episode. How ironic that it should end with him in the flesh.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Before Nate could say anything, Frank was already on the stool next to him and Jimmy had made himself scarce. Smart kid.

"So, is this your office away from the office?"

Frank smiled. "Well, it’s close to home and it’s a lot more informal than the boardroom, if you know what I mean."

"Besides, if you lubricate the gears, the engine runs a lot smoother, doesn’t it?"

"Fringe benefits can sometimes be found tucked into the most imaginative places.” Frank smiled again. “Speaking of which, how’s Paige?"

"Great. Out with some friends tonight. I’m on my way home from a late meeting. Just stopped in to whet my whistle."

Frank eyed the empty glasses in front of him. “You must have been pretty thirsty.”

Nate was silent.

“I talked to some of my senior management staff this afternoon. We discussed your ideas and they’d like to move on launching a new marketing campaign right away. They feel that given the timing of some other, unfortunate incidents, it’s imperative that we come down strong and show our competition that we’re not only alive and well, but we’ve also ‘moved into the twenty first century’ as you call it.”

"Great. I’ll give you a call next week."

Frank shook his head. "I’m leaving in the morning. I have to be in London tomorrow night. I had a couple of my staffers put together some information for you to start working on. I have it on a disk at home. Would you mind coming by real quick? It’s just a short walk from here."

Nate couldn’t think of anything better to do while he was killing time. Business might as well occupy his thoughts. It was, at least, safer that way. Besides, he definitely needed to walk off the gin. He’d been stupid to down three drinks in the space of a half-hour.

“Sure Frank. No problem.” He started to reach for his wallet but Frank waved him off and nodded to the young bartender, who nodded in return.

“Goodnight Jimmy.”

Nate took a deep breath. “Thanks Frank.”

“My pleasure.” The young man waved as he and Nate slid off their chairs and started for the door. “Do you like Scotch?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On the scotch, of course.” Nate smiled and followed cautiously as Frank led the way. His father was a scotch drinker and had taught him to be discerning. Nate didn’t actually enjoy scotch, but it was all part of the game, and he’d been groomed for it since his infancy.

They walked the opposite direction on the block and came to a building directly on Madison that was literally just around the corner from theirs, although city blocks did tend to be larger than most.

The red carpet and matching awning were a dead giveaway. It was just the kind of place he’d imagined Frank Evans would own; and almost an exact replica of the apartment his parents still owned. The doorman that materialized looked like a cross between a marine and a guard at Buckingham Palace. He looked sideways at Nate and waited for Frank’s nod before leading them into the massive marbled lobby, then disappeared like a good waiter with a water pitcher.

"He flying back to London with you?"

Frank laughed. "He’d probably take that as a compliment."

When they got into the elevator the operator also nodded to Frank. "Good evening Mr. Evans." He pushed the button for Frank’s floor and they rode up in silence.

The bell sounded at the fifty-fifth floor, just one floor shy of the fifty-six listed on the wall of the elevator. There were only two doors on the entire floor.

Frank pushed his key into the one on the right and then slipped what looked like a credit card into an electronic reader at the side of the door. A green light came on, enabling him to turn the key in the lock.

The door opened to reveal an expansive foyer with at least ten-foot ceilings. This was no apartment. It was an entire house. It even had what looked like an upstairs.

"Technically, there is no fifty-sixth floor, so this actually
is
the penthouse." Frank seemed to answer Nate’s question before he could even ask it.

"You have an upstairs too?"

"Yes. It’s really quite ingenious how they’ve arranged the space. Over to the right there–that wing basically belongs to my son. Oh, and the housekeeper’s room is over there too. And laundry and what not." He waved his hand in circles in order to ball up all the inconsequential things at once.

"In the middle here we have the formal areas for entertaining, the kitchen is just beyond that doorway and several rooms wrap around the side of the building over there, which is where the master suite is. My home office is just upstairs."

"Would you mind if I used the uh–"

"Certainly! There’s one just past the archway on your right. I’ll let Ginny know you’re here."

"Thanks."

He followed Frank’s directions into a hallway with several doors. He tried one and found himself face-to-face with a handsome young man who was sitting in front of his computer, smoking a joint. Nate couldn’t help smiling. It was just too good to be true.

"Who are you?"

"I’m Nate." He took a few steps and extended his hand to the young man, who took it cautiously, but had a firm grip and looked him in the eye while holding the joint in his other hand. The kid had balls. He liked him already.

"Brendan. You here to see my dad?"