Come Undone (The Cityscape 1)

“How long have you been married?” He looked genuinely curious. The way he focused his attention on me when he spoke was unnerving.

“Ah,” I took a moment to calculate. “It’ll be three years this summer,” I said decidedly.

“How did you meet your husband?”

“I worked in his building as a personal assistant until I was hired at my current job.”

“And he asked you out?”

“Not right away . . . After a while we became friends.” I fingered a button on my blouse, feeling suddenly warm. He sure asks a lot of questions. I was beginning to feel like I was in trouble.

“How long?”

“How long what?”

“Before he asked you out.”

“Um.” Weird question. “Not right away. Maybe six months?” He looked at me funny, and I looked back for what felt like minutes. “And you, are you, ah, single?”

His expression remained peculiar but he cocked his head. The waitress, it seemed on purpose, chose that moment to arrive with fresh drinks. She made a note on her pad while glancing up at him repeatedly, waiting, it seemed, for his answer.

“I am available, yes.” Of course – he was a bachelor in the utmost sense. Stupid question. What am I even doing here? Bolstered by a newfound strength, I decided to cut to the chase.

“Mr. ah, David.” It occurred to me then that I hadn’t gotten his last name. “Why did you want to see me tonight? What can I do for you?” I reached for my wine and took a sip, waiting for him to continue. Placing down the glass, my fingers fidgeted with the base of the stem as I tried to focus on anything but his unsettling gaze. He reached over and steadied my hand with his, so gently that I gasped. It was as if my nerves were exposed, his touch was that powerful.

“I think you know why I wanted to see you,” he said, his eyes boring into mine. I licked wine from the inside of my lips and had the sudden urge to see what he would taste like, to put my mouth on his. Removing my hand from underneath his, I dashed the thought away.

“Why do you do that?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?” I looked at him questioningly. He motioned toward my earlobe.

“Oh,” I acknowledged. “I don’t know, just a habit,” I said, placing my hands back in my lap. I didn’t want him to know that tugging on my earlobe was in fact a nervous habit. How many times had I done it in his presence? I never recalled Bill mentioning it.

He shifted forward in his chair and opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and pinched his bottom lip. Finally, he spoke. “I am very,” he paused to clear his throat, “attracted to you.”

I stammered for a response to his bluntness. It made me wildly uneasy, but it also intensified my growing desire to taste him. “Listen,” I started. “I’m married. I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

“I understand.”

I waited for him to continue, but when he didn’t, I said, “And I love Bill.” He sat back at the mention of Bill’s name.

“Of course you do. You’ve never had an extramarital affair?” he asked.

My jaw dropped. “No,” I said incredulously. “Not extramarital or otherwise,” I added with a slight hiss. “I’ve never so much as fantasized about another man since we met or even thought - I mean, I love my husband, and of course I never considered . . . Until,” I paused, realizing that I was rambling. “Until nothing,” I concluded, looking away. “And certainly not for a roll in the hay at some bachelor pad.”

“Where do you get that? Never in my life have I referred to my place as a ‘bachelor pad.’” He looked disgusted as he shifted into the back of his chair. An obvious change befell his demeanor. His eyes darkened as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest, flashing a glint of his silver watch. From the look on his face, I wondered if anyone had ever turned him down at all.

“I feel this . . . I don’t know how to describe it. Don’t you . . . I think this is worth exploring. No,” he shook his head. “That came out wrong.”

But I’d already latched onto the word. “Exploring? And what exactly does ‘exploring’ entail? Don’t answer that - I can only imagine. And after you’ve finished your ‘exploration,’ I’m supposed to go home to my husband and pretend nothing happened?”

“What I meant - ”

“I’m not some notch in the bedpost, David. Marriage does not mean a challenge; it means I’m completely and totally unavailable.” I waited. “Sorry if that spoils your plans for the evening,” I continued when he didn’t respond. He glared at me from across the table, shook his head and looked away. My hands balled into fists in my lap and my temper began to flare, strengthened by the fact that he appeared to be losing interest in our conversation. He recognizes that this is a losing battle, I thought smugly. Time to move on – maybe to the waitress? He simply sat there unresponsive and his indifference provoked me.

“Also, I don’t appreciate what you’re suggesting. And if Bill knew, well,” I snorted softly. He’d do nothing, I thought before I could stop myself. A look of anger flickered across his face, and I wondered again if he’d ever been rejected. The thought propelled me and I continued, waving my hand emphatically. “This city is littered with available women – single and married – who’d happily go home with you tonight. You shouldn’t have any problem finding someone - ”

He slammed is fist on the table, causing me to jump. “I don’t want someone!” he bellowed, causing the other patrons in the bar to look over at us. Lowering his voice, he hissed, “I’m not what you think!”

My heart raced from his unexpected reaction, and I was overcome with alien emotions. What is he saying? Is this part of the act? I grasped for my purse, clumsily unlatching it with unsteady hands.

“Olivia, wait,” he pleaded, but I threw down a bill and was on my feet in an instant. I headed for the door, picking up my pace when his chair screeched against the floor. In my heels, or otherwise, I suspected, I was no match for his long gait, and he was upon me in seconds. As I reached the base of the stairs, he, not gently, grasped my upper arm and whirled me toward him. “Please,” he said under his breath. “Don’t go.”

I could have melted then and there at the intensity of his glare. I could see the emotions battling on his face; anger, lust, fear, longing. I recognized them as my own. I knew if I didn’t escape immediately, I never would, and so, with everything I had, I yanked my arm from his grasp and ran up the stairs, leaving him there to watch me flee.

CHAPTER 7

AS I EXITED THE STAIRWELL, it was everything I could do not to burst into tears. Over the years I had studied composure as though I were being graded on it, and I reproached myself for losing control. His reaction was unexpected, and it had rattled me. I held my purse to my side and hurried along, desperate to climb into my bed, thankful that it would be alone.

I walked as I attempted to hail a cab, but it was quiet in the way that Sunday nights can be. The night replayed in my mind as I tried to figure David out. Questions filled my mind; questions for him, questions for myself. Questions, I realized, that might never get answered.

He compelled me with his every word and movement, otherwise why would I have agreed to see him? Since our moment in the theater, whatever it was that drew me to him grew more tangible. And nothing positive could come from that.

I was surprised to look up and see my apartment building ahead. I’d walked all the way back without even realizing. Just then, the sound of glass breaking against the concrete made me jump. I kept my eyes forward and focused on the final destination. I had enjoyed the dusky walk to the bar, but now I realized how dark it was and how late it had become. My ears pricked when I thought I heard footsteps behind me.

“Hey.”

Bill had always told me, nonchalantly, not to pay the bums any mind, and they’d leave me alone. I’d never seen any on our block, but then again I was rarely out this late by myself. I hastened my pace, feeling less brave than usual in my vulnerable state.

“Hey!” a male voice called aggressively.

r />   I ignored the plea, but the phantom footsteps quickened behind me. Cursing my choice of footwear, I vowed to wear tennis shoes everywhere going forward. My thoughts blurred surreally when I realized that there was, in fact, someone right behind me. Fishy fingers grasped at my elbow – fleetingly at first and then, as he missed, more forcefully. He pulled me in the same spot that David had, but his grip was harsh and unrelenting, causing me to wince. He jerked me back to him, and the stench of alcohol and stale cigarettes filled my nostrils. Looking him over, I realized that he was not a bum at all, but a young man in an oversized hoodie and sagging jeans. The revelation did nothing to calm me. He was short and stocky with disheveled glossy hair and an alarmingly sinister expression.

“Does the name Lou Alvarez mean anything to you?” he slurred, tightening his grip over my twitching muscles. Misty and distant eyes betrayed his state of mind.

“Let go,” I commanded with feigned confidence and pulled my arm.

“Mmm,” he moaned and, against my neck, said, “you smell like flowers.” He leaned in and closed his eyes, taking a deep whiff.

Seeing nowhere to turn, I lifted the purse I’d been clutching with my free hand and smacked him in the temple with all my strength.

He cursed loudly, and I wrenched my arm away. I took a step before he caught me again and squeezed my arm so powerfully that I fell to my knees.

“Olivia,” he snarled and my breath caught in my throat. Fear surged through me hearing my name from his mouth. His distant eyes became clear and menacing as he bared his teeth at me. “It is Olivia, right?”

“Who are you?”

He leaned in close to my ear and said, “I’m here about my brother Lou.”

“What?” I asked, genuinely confused.