Suffocate
Ashe forgot all about Sammi that night, remembering the drug dealer only when the note fell out of his jeans pocket the following morning as he prepared to leave for the theater. Riley was still asleep, her long hair splayed out on the pillow next to his, breathing softly. On top of the covers at her feet, Miss Bailey was curled into a ball, watching him.
Riley had fallen asleep with her head on his chest and Ashe remembered how he’d held her, feeling her warmth fill him. He hadn’t even thought about Sammi or anyone else, especially not his encounter with Paige and her warning about the possibility of Riley relapsing into drug addiction. Those were the last things he’d wanted to think about.
The only thoughts filling his mind were of Riley and the way she felt against his skin, the smell of her hair and the taste of her skin, her mouth, her sex. They’d stopped to prepare and eat a light meal before attempting to watch something on TV and making love again, falling asleep on the rug till Ashe awoke at three in the morning with a sore back and they finally headed to bed.
Now here she was, asleep on his bed, her cat staking a claim to her part of the bed by Riley’s feet. Ashe thought of his appointment that afternoon with his jeweler, the same man who’d made the pieces Ashe had given her for Valentine’s day.
“Gran’ morning, luv,” he murmured, kissing her on the forehead as he sat on her side of the bed. He felt her eyelashes flutter against his chin. “I forgot to give this to you last night.”
Riley yawned and stared at the note in his hand for a few seconds, getting her bearings. She was naked beneath the covers, the marks of his love bites hidden by them as they would be hidden by whatever she wore out in public. Last night she’d shown him her manicured nails, excited to be seeing him on opening night, although she’d traded her seat for another one that wasn’t too close to the front.
“That way, when Coriolanus is murdered, I won’t be bawling my eyes out in the front row,” she had laughed.
“But that’s the point of the play, petal,” he had chuckled, “to evoke emotion.”
“And have my mascara run down my face while you make your bows? No, thank you,” she’d said. “I don’t want you seeing me while you’re performing; I just want to watch you do your thing. It’s your night, Ashe, not mine.”
“Are you leaving already?” she asked groggily, glancing at the clock by the bedside table. “I don’t know how you do it, Ashe. It’s not even eight in the morning.”
“We have to do the final run-through, including front of house, because tomorrow there’ll be no second chances,” he said as she took the note from his hand, rubbing her eyes to read it. She frowned and looked up at him.
“Where did you get this?”
“Terence asked me to give it to you,” Ashe replied. “Someone left it downstairs for you.”
“Have you read it?” she asked, still frowning.
“No. Should I have?”
She paused, then shook her head. Ashe could see her relax, though she offered no information about the note; she just held it in her hand, folded.
“Who is it from?” asked Ashe, his eyes studying her face. He shouldn’t be giving her the third degree, but he could feel the seeds of doubt filling his bones, enveloping him like a poison. He knew who the note was from; he’d even seen the sender. Ashe found himself wondering if she’d lie to him and realized that if she did, it would change everything between them.
“Sammi Parks,” she replied softly, avoiding his eyes. “He used to be my dealer.”
“Dealer?” Of course Ashe knew who Sammi was, but the question emerged from his lips regardless. The seeds of doubt Paige had planted had taken root after all.
“I used to buy my drugs from him,” she said, her voice cracking as she cleared her throat and handed him the note. Ashe unfolded it and read the fine handwriting on the crumpled paper.
It’s been a while. Got some good stuff for you. Call me. Sammi.
“I don’t see how he knows that I stay over here.”
“You’re not just staying here, Riley. This is where you live,” Ashe corrected her. Miss Bailey got up, stretched and hopped off the bed, disappearing outside the door. “As of today, you officially live here.”
“But how did he know where to come?” Riley stammered. “I haven’t told anyone I’ve moved in.”
“Does he know where you work?” asked Ashe, remembering Terence’s observation that Sammi had arrived shortly after Riley’s return from the Library Café. Had he followed her?
“Everyone knows where I work,” replied Riley, sitting up and hugging her knees to her chest. She stared at the space in front of her, thinking. “He must have followed me then. I stopped by the Library to pick up some coffee for myself and Terry.”
“Riley, are you using again?”
She looked up at him accusingly. “Why ask me that, Ashe? Don’t you trust me?”
“You know I do.”
“Then why did you ask that question?”
“Because I had to,” Ashe replied. Sooner or later he’d have asked the question and he could think of no better time than now, the day after Sammi Parks had left a note asking her to call him. He wondered if she still knew his number after all those years.
“Would you believe me if I said I haven’t touched heroin or any other drug since I overdosed?” Riley asked.
“I trust you well enough to know that you wouldn’t lie about it.”
“Then why did you ask me if I was using?” she asked again, her voice rising.
“Because a drug dealer just followed you home and left a note asking you to call him,” said Ashe in a clipped tone. “So just answer me, Riley, yes or no: are you using?”
Riley glared at him and clenched her fists. “No, I’m not using.”
When Ashe brought his hand to her cheek, Riley turned away. “That was Paige talking just now, not you,” she said, sliding away to his side of the bed and swinging her legs off the side. “That means you must have talked to her about my picture book. I’m sure she tried to slip in her fear that I could use again. She always does that, as if I don’t remember exactly what happened three years ago or why I did it.”
“I don’t care what Paige thinks and so I told her, but when a drug dealer shows up at our building looking for you, you can’t blame me for wondering,” he said. Riley got up from the bed and made for the bathroom. “What could Sammi want to talk to you about?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, turning around to face him. “The weather, maybe? The price of coffee beans in Ethiopia? What do you think, Ashe? I don’t know why you’re asking me anyway, when it looks like you’re not going to believe whatever I say. As far as you’re concerned, the fact that Sammi showed up downstairs is proof that I’m using.”
“I never said that,” Ashe protested.
“Then why ask me?” Ashe’s phone beeped. “That will be Lance asking why you’re not downstairs yet, so why don’t you just do your thing and let me do mine? I’ll make sure to clean the place after I finish shooting up.”
Riley shut the bathroom door before Ashe could reply, and he heard the water running. There was no point in waiting for Riley to come back out and talk to him, not when the car was idling outside and the rest of the cast and crew were waiting to get started on the final run-through. Ashe raked his fingers through his hair and walked out of the bedroom, relieved to see that Miss Bailey was already perched on the top shelf of the cat tree, intently watching the birds outside the window.
By the time he stepped inside the car, Ashe was determined to push away all thoughts of Riley and focus his mind on the day ahead. The day before opening night was the busiest and most stressful day apart from the big night, and Ashe knew that he wouldn’t be in the right headspace to address any of Riley’s concerns even if she wanted to address them. He’d picked the wrong time to give her that note and he was annoyed at himself for not giving it to her sooner, when they would have had all night to go through what they’d just said in three minutes.
He’d been focused on being with her last night, wanting nothing from the outside world to intrude into their time alone, even if it meant delaying the inevitable question: was she using heroin again? It wasn’t a question he needed to ask. As he’d made love to her last night he’d explored her body, and the absence of needle marks told him what he needed to know—she was clean. Yet, against his own judgment, he had asked the question.
Why?
Because I don’t trust her as much as I thought I did, and because Paige got to me, he answered himself as the car made its way through the busy streets of Manhattan. Lance sat next to him, telling him all about the latest developments with their company, Rowan Productions. A big-name Hollywood star had expressed interest in Ashe’s latest screenplay; he’d need to fly to L.A. next week to go through the typical round of meetings with three studio executives, as the screenplay was to be auctioned to the highest bidder.
Lance was ecstatic, and Ashe feigned excitement with a fist bump and a wide grin, but the image of Sammi leaving the lobby after having dropped off the note bothered him. This was more than just coincidence. Between the reporters paying Sid for any information they could find about Riley and now Sammi hinting that he had drugs to sell her long after she’d quit taking them, it almost reeked of malice and forethought. Someone was setting her up. But why?
“You haven’t heard a word I’m saying, Ashe,” said Lance. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Ashe replied. “Just thinking about the play.”
“Well, it’s time to think ahead—far ahead.” Lance grinned. “You’ve got two—no, three movies to film this year and then there’s this screenplay. You’ve got Sunday and Monday off next week.”
“Then book the flights,” Ashe said. “We’ll meet with them first thing Monday morning, and I’m sure we’ll discuss things over dinner on Sunday.”
Lance was on his phone already, typing furiously with his thumbs. “Done and done.”
As the car stopped at the front of the theater, Ashe got out and found himself flanked by four fans, preview programs thrust toward him as they politely requested autographs and pictures. Lance told them that Ashe was in a hurry, though he took the time to sign all four programs and pose for some pictures, his game face back on.