But it didn’t feel good.
“Chere,” I yelled.
I turned my head, listening for any sound that she was still in the apartment. Nothing. I walked out into my room, then down the hall to the guest room. Empty. She was gone, along with a couple of her suitcases.
Fuck me. She’d done exactly what I told her to do.
* * * * *
“Can you…? Do you have…?” I tried to pull myself together. “I need a room for a while. Is the tenth floor corner room overlooking the park available?”
The woman at the Gramercy Park Hotel desk blinked at me, then looked down and tapped some keys on her computer.
“It appears to be available. How long will you be checking in?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked dubious. I didn’t blame her. I was so freaked out and messed up in the head right now that I couldn’t even bring myself to go to Andrew’s. I’d thrown on mismatched clothes and packed everything so quickly that my luggage was bursting at the seams. I’d cried off my makeup, and my hair was so messed up I could feel it. A silent porter in a pristine uniform stood beside me anyway, ready to help me upstairs.
“I’m not sure how long I’m staying. Can we take it day by day?” I fished in my wallet for a credit card. I had the money to stay here. I’d already received payments from some celebrity clients, and I got gargantuan monthly checks from Vinod, now that my jewelry was for sale in his vast network of boutiques. I made a monthly income from renting my apartment, and Price never let me pay for anything.
Price.
Shit. Don’t think about him now.
“We can put your card on file,” said the woman. “If you would be kind enough to give us twenty-four hours notice before you plan to check out?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure. I can do that.”
I just needed to go upstairs. I needed to wash my face and take a bath. I needed food. I needed to figure out what I was going to do next in my fucked up life.
A few moments later, I was headed toward the elevator, with the porter trailing a luggage cart behind me. Tenth floor, corner room.
The Gramercy Park Hotel was the first place I thought of when I realized I couldn’t go to Andrew’s. It wasn’t just my emotional state that kept me from running there. It was that Price would look there first, and I didn’t want to be found yet. I also didn’t want Andrew and Craig to be drawn into all our drama.
No, this was my problem to fix, my life to reboot. I didn’t know how yet, or when, or why. Hell, I could barely string two thoughts together. At least I had my phone back, swiped from Price’s nightstand. I had my autonomy back, even if it was too late to make Simon’s funeral.
Oh God, I needed to go somewhere and collapse. I needed to calm down. I needed to think.
Once the porter was gone, I stared at my stack of luggage and considered what I’d done. Well, I’d had to do it. He was crazy. He was pathologically unstable, or at least pathologically jealous and stubborn. But why had I come here?
I remembered the room like it was yesterday, remembered pushing open the door which he’d left slightly ajar. I remembered the lush velvet curtains and dark, heavy furniture. I remembered the sinking feeling when I’d seen his note lying on the bed.
I turned on more lights and perched on the edge of the sumptuous comforter. I’d come to our appointment at this exact time of day, but it had been summer. Lingering sun had fallen across this bed, shining on the replacement dress he’d left for me. He used to regularly destroy my clothes. That was back when I still wore clothes around him.
Fuck. What had I done? What had happened between us to make everything go so wrong?
I turned on my side and ran my fingers over the place he’d left the note. I remembered picking it up and walking to the window to read it in the evening light.
Good luck, starshine. That was all he’d written. I felt like I might die when I realized he’d left me with no name, no forwarding address. I remembered the crushing feeling of panic and betrayal.
It was important to come to this room and remember that moment when he’d abandoned me. It was important to recall that our relationship lacked trust from the very beginning. It doesn’t matter now, I told myself. It’s over. I picked up my phone and texted Andrew.
Are you there?
I’m here, he texted back. Who’s this?
I was confused for a moment, but then I remembered that Price had had my phone all this time.
It’s me, Chere, I wrote. I have my phone back.