Chapter 40
Through the muffling fog came a repetitive piercing tweeting sound. Daniel opened his eyes a little, viewing the world through narrow slits. The small room was in shadows, unfamiliar striped pink and blue wallpaper on the wall close to his face. He opened his eyes wider, his eyes scanning the room. Where was he?
The phone, it was his cell phone, rang again and then went silent, gone to voicemail. Rain was pattering lightly and steadily against a nearby window which was covered by a roman shade with a huge garish rose pattern on it. The room smelled of perfume and stale beer. He was lying in a bed, half-covered with a sheet. Oh, no!
He sat up and then reflexively grabbed his head with one hand. Ow.
He was wearing only boxers, the jeans and button-down shirt he’d worn the night before lying crumpled next to the bed on top of his shoes and socks. He and Brian had gone out to that new club, and then that other one, and then they went to Dooley’s to shoot pool. He had vague memories of a bartender there, the sexy redhead, the one with all the sharp and witty wisecracks. He had always noticed her, but last night he had outright flirted with her. And then-
Oh, God.
He swung his feet out from under the sheets and sat up. Maybe he’d…
There was a clattering sound from the other side of the door to the small bedroom. Pots and pans, someone in the kitchen. Was this her apartment? Had he gone home with her? He couldn’t remember. Nothing came, just that third shot of tequila in a row, the redhead’s raised eyebrows as she poured it, smiling at him wickedly. Then it was dark. And his head felt as if nails were being pounded through it.
“Oh, God,” he said in a low rough voice, and pushed his fingers through his hair, scraping at his scalp.
After the debacle with Hannah, the drive back to Manhattan had seemed endless. Glassy pain in his throat pulsed every time he swallowed and the bright sunny day mocked him. He’d returned the rental car, glad the clerk didn’t say anything about the early return; just took the keys and had him pay for the day. By the time he got back to his apartment, the threat of tears he had held back all the way home had departed, leaving a hollow ache in his chest.
For the first time he wished he hadn’t gained enough seniority to hold a line and was still flying on reserve. Then a call might’ve come, taken him away for a day or two: long busy days he could dive into and forget. Instead, he had the next three days off. Days that were supposed to be spent with Hannah, out on that island, making things right again. It had all seemed so simple when he’d been driving out there, cool ocean air whipping through the rental car’s windows. How wrong he’d been.
Knowing that sitting around at all would lead to thinking and thinking would lead to depression, he got busy. He cleaned the apartment, which was dirtier than he’d realized. Then he bought the bookshelf he’d been meaning to buy for the living room and assembled it. Then he’d cleaned out every closet and took bulging garbage bags filled with old clothes to Goodwill. He refreshed all the songs on his Ipod, organized his financial files, and finally got a safe deposit box for his important documents at a bank around the corner from his apartment. By last night, he’d run out of things to do, and found himself wandering his apartment, hoping to see something that would set him off on another project. That was when there was a knock on the door. He checked the peephole and then opened the door for Brian.
“Man, what is up?” Brian walked past him and into the apartment. “Damn, this place is clean. You can smell the bleach. What’ve you been doing?”
Daniel shrugged and shut the door. “Cleaning.”
“Seems like it. I’ve been trying to call you for the last few days. Thought you were flying, but then I saw you last night ahead of me, walking into the building. Tried to catch up but I missed you. Why haven’t you had your phone on? Avoiding the ball and chain?”
Daniel shrugged again. He didn’t want to tell Brian about Hannah. He’d jump all over it. “Ah, I don’t know. Has it been off?”
Brian turned around, smiled at him, and smacked him on the arm. “Look at you. You’re all wild-eyed. What you need is a drink, my man. Wine and women. Or whiskey. Whatever. Have you been to Magnolia yet? Models everywhere, I’m serious.”
Daniel smiled back. “Yeah? Let’s go.”
And for the first time since he met Hannah, he felt like his old self, the cruiser, the man on the move. Brian didn’t mention Hannah after that, and for the first time Daniel appreciated it, was glad. He wasn’t going to think about her tonight. She wasn’t wearing his ring, right? She was the one running away, shutting him out. What was he supposed to do? Curl up in a corner and die?
The city welcomed him back with open arms: every club was hopping and every woman was beautiful. Old friends came up to him and slapped him on the back, bought him drinks, told him hilarious and disgusting stories. The night flew. Then Dooley’s. And the redheaded bartender. What was her name?
There was a loud ding in what was presumably the kitchen. A low glug-glug-glug of a coffeemaker could be heard, too, the confirming smell of coffee wafting under the door to the bedroom. Daniel dressed quickly, preparing for his walk of shame, a dark dread settling in his chest. No matter how much fun last night had been, he really hadn’t wanted any more than a little flirtation, a few laughs. And now he’d screwed it all up, destroyed what remained of the two of them. You couldn’t un-break trust.
He opened the door slowly. The living room was similarly hyper-feminine, a fat purple couch stuffed with throw pillows dominated the narrow room, sheer flowered curtains covered the windows, and a large glass display case in the corner was cluttered with porcelain figurines of things like puppies in baskets and ducks wearing hats. Nothing like Hannah and her simple earthy taste.
“Uh, oh! Someone’s awake.”
He turned and saw the redhead, now dressed in pale blue sweatpants and a yellow hoodie with a pink flower on the chest, standing barefoot in the kitchen holding a mug in both hands. In daylight, without the benefit of flattering lighting and tequila-goggles, she looked different, pig-faced.
“Uh, hi,” he said, still unable to remember her name. This was horrible.
She smirked at him, looking him up and down. “Oh, stop. Don’t look so guilty. We didn’t do anything.”
“What?”
She shook her head, tilting it sideways and looking at him. “No, you have a big thing for someone named Hannah. Couldn’t stop talking about her. Hannah, Hannah, Hannah. Here I thought you were interested in me, flirting your head off, following me home.”
“We didn’t do anything?”
“Nope. We went right to the bedroom, but you just wanted to talk about that girl and some island. I went to the bathroom and when I came out, you were snoozin’. I figured I’d just leave you there and sleep on the pull-out.”
“But, uh. I was only wearing boxers when I woke up.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Well, I had nothing to do with that. You must have gotten undressed on your own. Though, I wish I’d stuck around to see the show.” She gave him the same flirty glace she always did, but it didn’t have the same effect anymore. Instead, it seemed like an act, Betty Boop and Mae West rolled up into one. Come up and see me sometime, boop-oop-a-doop.
The relief was enormous. He took a deep breath. A pain shot through his right eye, and he put his hand to his temple.
“Yeah? I thought the fourth shot was a bad idea.”
He laughed a little.
“Do you want some coffee?” She tilted her head at the coffeepot which had stopped dripping and gurgling.
The coffee smelled wonderful, but the heavily perfumed air of her apartment was oppressive. He spotted a huge bowl of potpourri sitting on the coffee table and wondered if that was where that cloying smell came from. “Thanks, but I better go.”
Her eyebrows dropped back down and her face became flat, walled-off. “Sure. Let me get the door.”
“Thanks again, sorry about last night.”
“Oh, no, don’t worry about it. See ya,” she nodded at him with a tight-lipped smile and then shut the door behind him.
He ran down the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator, desperate for fresh air, and burst out onto the street. He stood in the light rain and took deep breaths of the cold moist air, trying to clear away the faux-rose smell that seemed to have lodged in his nostrils.
Then his phone rang in his jeans’ pocket. It wasn’t Hannah’s ring, it was his default ring again: a loud tweeting sound. He took it out and looked at it. The number was a local 212. Some other horror from last night? Well, he had to face the music sometime.
“Hello?”
“Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Keeley Cohen. Hannah’s mom?”
“Oh, hi!”
Hannah’s mother?
“Listen, I hope you don’t have any plans today, but if you do, I really need you to cancel them. I need your help. It’s Hannah.”
“Hannah? Is she okay?” He was shocked at the fear that zipped through him. He still cared. Even now.
He stood in the misting rain and listened as Keeley explained, interrupting occasionally with a question, the hope he had presumed dead rising up again within him, its wings spreading.