Authors: C.E. Hansen
Wednesday
I had lunch with my mother, which as usual, sapped all my energy. She went on and on about me living alone, wanting me to move home until the killer was caught. When I boldly refused, she insisted at the very least, her driver, Sam, take me everywhere; truth is I was amazed she didn’t force him to watch over me as I slept. Six of one…at least with Sam there, Michelle got a break. He was outside my building waiting for me each morning to take me to work, and curbside each night to take me home. I acquiesced because she was so stressed she violently shook with fear, and it hurt me to see her that way. She was terrified by the recent murders and would not take no for an answer. So, not having a choice, I’d made up my mind.
The weeks slowly dragged, each day longer than the last.
I called Cole, just to say hi but he had yet to return my call. When we last spoke, three days ago, it was businesslike and cursory. I know he was busy making deals and whatnot, but I was hoping to get a gauge on when he thought he might be coming back to New York. I was beginning to think it might be best if I just broke it off with him. I missed him so much, but refused to be phased out.
I m
issed him lying next to me. Missed his hands on my body. Missed touching him. I was becoming extremely unhappy and disillusioned, with no end in sight. It was two months since we said goodbye. I told him I’d wait, but it was increasingly difficult to continue living this way.
All I wanted now was
a hot shower to wash away the tension. I sat in the shower for what seemed like an eternity. I dried off and I opened my lingerie drawer to dress when I spotted the note from Cole lying under my blue and beige bra set. The same set I wore that first night he came back to New York. My eyes blurred with unshed tears, my chest tightened.
I picked up
the note, bringing it to my lips, breathing in the scent that clung to the paper. It smelled of Cole. My physical response caught me off guard and the tears slowly slid down my cheeks as my heart broke open a little more.
Pu
ll yourself together; you are stronger than this.
I pulled the note out and opened it.
Grace,
Watching you walk away was inordinately difficult. I never intended to hurt you. My inability to maintain a casual affair has caused us both pain, and is unfair to you. I am truly sorry.
Was he seriously giving me that line of bullshit? I felt my building anger push my torn heart aside. Who the fuck did he think he was? I crumbled the note and tossed it into the garbage on the way to my closet. I slipped my robe on and walked out of my bedroom, swiping violently at my tears.
Who was I kidding?
I had to finish reading the note. I walked back in and retrieved it from the garbage can. My hands shook as I pried the crumbled paper open. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my hands.
When I told you I needed time to work things out before I am able to commit to a relationship that was true. What I neglected to tell you was that I was troubled by what I was beginning to feel for you and how unprepared I am to deal with those feelings.
What a load of shit...I read on, my anger building, I was losing control.
No one can say what the future holds.
Oh my God, how fucking cliché.
I could never be selfish enough to ask you to wait. I hope you can forgive me.
Seriously and NO.
I will look back on our times together with great affection. You are, without question, the most beautiful, sexy and exciting woman I have ever known.
Obviously, just not the right woman.
When I’m in a place where I can leave the past where it belongs, in the past, I will find you. You have given me hope of a future for the first time in my life. For this I thank you.
Always,
Cole
P.S. I will find you, I promise.
And he never breaks a promise…yeah, right. I was more confused after reading this then the last night we spent together. I didn’t know what to make of what he said then...or now.
I dressed quickly
and grabbing my pocketbook, I pulled out my cell, dialing Michelle. When she didn’t answer, I left a message.
“I know you are still at work, but you
need to meet me at Luke’s for a drink.
Please,
” I pleaded. “I need to talk this out before I lose my mind. Text me if you can’t.”
I
walked through the door Tony held open.
“Cab
, Miss Preston?”
“No, Tony, I’m going to walk
. Need to jumpstart my brain.”
He
laughed low behind me.
Sam jumped out of
Mother’s car, holding the door open for me. He was agile for an older man.
“Miss Preston.”
He smiled.
“Sam, not tonight.
Please not tonight
.” I held up my hand, thwarting any attempts to get me into the car, and walked the six blocks to Luke’s, with my mothers’ driver following me each step of the way. I felt like I was ten again.
He watched
the
one he wanted walk ahead of him. Her golden blonde hair swayed with every step she took; her long strides carried her quickly. He had no problem keeping up. She was the
one
he waited for, practiced for, killed for. He savored what he was about to do. He wanted to take his time, bring her immeasurable pain. In the end, it would all be worth it. Then after watching the life slowly drain from her, he would take a small token with him when he went to make
their
mother pay her dues.
He
remembered his first
one
. Everything was perfect except for one detail, one stupid little detail. The eyes were wrong. They were not blue, like
hers
.
Still s
he was his first, and he would always remember her lovingly. This next
one,
this
one
would be his best. It was going to be time soon, real soon. He momentarily lost track of her then looked to the left and noticed her walking into a bar.
Fucking Luke’s. I hate that place.
His thoughts drifted back to his first. He felt himself getting excited.
Jonathan walked into
Prospective,
an upscale Manhattan salon, to get a style trim, stopping at the counter.
“Welcome to Per
spective.” the pretty redhead sitting behind the counter said.
Jonathan smiled.
“Jonathan Kaplan.”
She looked at her screen as she typed.
“Mr. Kaplan, I don’t see an appointment for you.”
“Talk to Sage
, the owner, he knows me.”
“Please
wait one moment.”
Jonathan stood
straight, his arms crossed confidently across his chest.
She got up and walked toward
the back of the salon and disappeared through the black curtain. She came out a few minutes later and crossed the room back to her chair.
“Mr. Kaplan, your styli
st will be Alison. Please take a seat and she will be with you momentarily.” She walked over the row of cubicles, and spoke to someone inside, he assumed Alison. Jonathan continued posing.
The woman and a pretty blonde walked back to where he sat.
“Hi, I’m Alison,” the pretty blonde said extending her hand. “I’ll be your stylist today.”
He took her hand in his
. Alison looked into his eyes; she notice Jonathan had an odd smile on his face, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I’m Jonathan.
Pretty name, Alison, I like it.” He was smooth, charming.
“Thank you
, Jonathan. Me mum likes it too.”
“I’m counting on you
, so make sure you do a great job,
Alison
.”
She pulled her hand away and waived her arm
, directing him to her cubicle. He was a very good-looking man. He was a tall bloke, broad with penetrating blue eyes and thick, wavy blonde hair. He looked like an actor. When he walked toward her chair, she immediately lowered her eyes to his ass.
“
Well, if you’ll have a seat, you can tell me what you would fancy done and we’ll get started.”
Cor, he's well fit.
“What part of England are you from
?”
“Gravesend in Kent.
It’s the South East of England. You’ve been there…? England, I mean. I’m sure you haven’t been to Gravesend.”
“Gravesend no, England, Yes.
Several times, actually. For work.”
“Oh, lovely.
Did you like it?”
“When I wasn’t shooting I liked it a lot.
Always loved the accent, sexy as hell. I’m sure you hear that a lot.” Her eyes met his in the mirror, his stare so intense she felt herself blush, but she quickly regained composure.
Bloody hell, he is
an actor.
She nodded. “That people love the accent, all the time.” She rolled her eyes. “But thank you.”
He grinned. I
t was a childish grin. She smiled her warmest smile back. He sat in her chair. She wrapped a styling cape around him and fastened it around his neck.
Bloody hell, his skin is soft.
She towel dried his hair
then threw the wet terrycloth in the hamper next to her and opened her drawer, taking out her styling tools.
He started fidgeting;
she was worried he was uncomfortable. She noticed he also fisted his hands.
“What is that?”
His odd smile, the one that didn’t reach is eyes, replaced the nervous look.
“It’s a cutthroat.”
“A what?” His eyes opened wide, the expression on his face excited, but reserved.
Strange bloke, this one.
“Oh, sorry, back home we call it a cutthroat. You Yanks call it a hair razor. It’s used to texturize hair. You know...make it fuller.” Pausing, Alison looked his head over, turning the seat to view each side.
“What do you fancy today?”
Jonathan unexpectedly shuddered. Alison stepped back immediately raising her eyes to her mirror. She watched him quickly composed himself.
“I’d like it a little shorter, just make sure you keep the style. My job is contingent upon my look,” he said as if recited.
“Of course.”
She combed out his hair, looking at his reflection in her mirror. “You look familiar to me. Do I know you?” Pausing, she blushed again, but quickly recovered. “Strange to say, right? I’m sure you hear that all the time. I would definitely remember you.”
Fuckin' hell
, Al, talk about “make yourself look desperate.” Pull yourself together!
Jonathan
presented her with his brightest smile.
Nice smile. Perfect teeth
. He must be an actor.
Alison
locked eyes with him; she blushed as if he could read her thoughts.
“I model.”
“
Oh…really, wow...That’s probably where I’ve seen you.”
“Not to sound conceited,
I’m on the cover of magazines almost every month. Four billboards in Manhattan alone are sporting this face.” He pointed to his face, holding that smile.
Cocky fucker too, s
till, fucking hot, yeah.
“Well, I guess I
had better do my very best then.” She internalized her excitement.
Must be professional, Al, come on now.