Nothing More Beautiful (42 page)

The fire had spread to the upper level, and
parts of the ceiling split apart, crashing to the floor. My first
thought was to save the computers in the office, but Bridgett had
the sense to drag me out of the exit, the flames licking at our
heels. The heat threatened to stop us from reaching the door, but
we darted around the burning counter. It spread insanely fast, as
if it had started in multiple locations.

Tabitha sprinted up to us as we bolted out
the door. “The fire department is on its way,” she said, panting,
wiping her eyes.

I nodded, coughing. “Good—good job.”

Luckily, the nearest fire station was only
six blocks away on 39
^th
. I scanned the area for the jean
jacket I’d seen, but it was lost in the chaos, if it had ever been
there at all. By the time the fire department arrived, half the
building was on fire, the flames reaching for the clouds.

A few firefighters pushed back the crowd
while others battled the inferno. The hoses sprayed jets of water,
but the building continued to burn, my dreams dying before my eyes.
What the firefighters were able to save amounted to a black shell:
half of the building gone, and the center of the second story
collapsed. All of our equipment was damaged beyond repair or
recognition.

The terrible awe the sight instilled didn’t
compare to the utter heartbreak tearing my insides apart. Bridgett
gave me a tight hug. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay,” she cried. “The
insurance—they’ll pay—it’ll be all right.”

We cried in each other’s arms, the
overwhelming shock racking our nerves.

“WHAT DO YOU
MEAN
,
the insurance company won’t
pay?” Vince asked, his voice harsh like a growl. Bridgett, Ashley,
Danielle, and I were sitting in the living room. He paced the small
room. “I thought it was arson?”

I was too shaken to respond. Friday morning
had been as dismal as the night before, and now the afternoon was
shaping up to be more of the same, with bad news on top of bad
news.

Bridgett spoke up with her clear, powerful
voice, “The Fire Inspector didn’t find any evidence that it was
arson.”

“But Maci saw Luke there.”

“She saw a jean jacket,” Bridgett said, “and
she was the only one who saw a guy in a jean jacket. If someone did
start the fire, they made it look like we did it.”

“Still, why won’t the insurance company
pay?” Vince was the only one of us not in shock. Even Ashley seemed
out of it and not her usual collected self.

“They’re saying the wiring wasn’t up to
code,” Bridgett answered after glancing at me. “I guess the
Inspection Engineer who cleared us before was busted for not doing
his job right, had his license taken away, and had to pay a heavy
fine . . . but still, the insurance company
says it was our fault . . . the old wiring
should’ve been updated for all of the old kitchen outlets. I guess
the stove was plugged into one of those and not one of the new
ones.”

“So we get nothing,” I chimed in, trying to
hold in all the anger and tears.

Vince stared at us, his face red, his eyes
dark and dangerous. He looked like he was about to set out on a
warpath. “Can’t you sue the inspector who cleared you?”

“We’ve talked about that with the owners at
The Herb Shoppe, and they’re in,” I told him, “and they think a few
others who were screwed over would more than likely join in, but
that won’t help us right now.”

“It might take years to get any money,”
Bridgett added.

Vince started rubbing his knuckles, which
I’d never seen him do. “This is ridiculous, just fucking
ridiculous.”

“I’ll say,” Danielle jumped in. “Can you
have them evaluate the place again, to make sure they didn’t miss
anything?”

“They were pretty clear that the verdict was
final,” Bridgett sighed. “We’re just fucked.”

A few minutes later, the group broke up, and
Vince and I went out for a walk to get some warm, fresh air in the
beautiful May weather. We hadn’t made it two blocks before Vince
brought up his money. “What if I were to invest the startup costs
for a new place?”

“Your money isn’t a cure-all, Vince,” I
said, a tad more harshly than I had intended.

“You let me invest before. Why not now?”

“Because it’s a lot more this time.”

He sighed in exasperation, his mouth
twitching. “What’s the point of having all this money if I can’t
share it?”

“It’s not my money, Vince. And the things
you’re talking about are too big, too grand. We’re not talking
about a pair of shoes here. We’re talking about hundreds of
thousands.”

“No, we’re not talking about shoes. We’re
talking about a business,” he said pointedly. “I have the
money . . . let me do this, Maci, for you.”

“And what if things don’t work between us?
What then?”

A twinge of surprise threw him back. “What
does that mean?”

“It means I can’t take your money just
because we’re dating,” I replied, stopping on the sidewalk.

“What if I loaned it to you? You could pay
me back—”

“Loans are worse than gifts,” I cut in. “Or
‘investments’ as you call them.” I shook my head. “I’m not going to
take your handouts, Vince.”

The mood grew dreary as silence swept in for
the remainder of the walk. “I have
some
money,” I said,
standing outside the apartment door. “I’ll be okay until I find
another job.”

“But what about your dream?” He folded his
arms, leaning against the frame.

“I succeeded for a while.” I shrugged with
indifference. “I guess that will have to do for now.”

Unsatisfied by my answer, he stared at me,
wanting more—more than what I had to say. My dreams crushed,
without answers and without a plan, I was lost, endlessly swimming,
trying to find something to stay afloat on. Vince thought it was
his money, but all I really wanted was him. He didn’t get that.

“I think I’m going to go for a long run, you
know, to clear my head a little.” I kissed him softly, quickly.
“I’ll call you later.”

He stood there, motionless, speechless, his
contorted face split between certainty and doubt.

I left him there with his ambivalence.

I HAD DECIDED TO
spend the
night alone, collecting my thoughts after a phone call from the
company that backed up our files. The one positive note throughout
the tragedy was that all of our information stored on the network
was backed up on a cloud system. It was a small win, but at that
point, we took it with big smiles.

Vince wanted to make me breakfast—a sweet
gesture. He was finally figuring out that I needed him and not his
bankrolls. As I turned onto Osage below the Envoy, Eddie started to
sputter like never before, smoke climbing into the air from under
the hood. “No, no, no!” I shouted, banging the steering wheel. I
maneuvered him in front of someone’s garage, where he suddenly
died, and I jumped out, half expecting him to erupt in an
inferno.

I stared at the smoking hood for a long
while before I called Vince. As I waited, I paced in front of
Eddie, hoping his problem was fixable. Vince arrived a minute
later, panting, as if he had sprinted here. He popped the hood.
Smoke rushed his face and he coughed in a fit. “You have no oil,”
he said, taking out the oil dipstick.

I threw my head back and gazed at the
clouds. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Standing at a safe distance,
now somewhat paranoid of fire, I walked up beside him and he lifted
the dipstick for me to see. “I just had it changed two weeks
ago . . .”

“Must’ve gotten a leak, I guess.” He
replaced the dipstick and sighed. “The engine’s probably
seized.”

“What’s that mean?” I asked, clenching my
fists.

“It means Eddie’s a goner.” Vince tapped the
edge of the hood.

I could feel my nails digging into my skin,
and I released the explosion of anger at the car door in one big
swing. “FUCK!” I screamed. “God-fucking-dammit. How? In two
days . . . everything . . .” On
the verge of breaking down, I collapsed to my knees, tears flooding
my face.

Vince knelt beside me, his arms hugging my
shoulders. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “I can buy you a new car,
any car—how about a Ferrari?”

I pushed his hand away. “I don’t want you to
buy me a new car, Vince. Stop trying to throw money at me.”

His face soured, realizing the mistake.
“Well, why don’t you take the EverGo? I didn’t pay for it. There’s
no money involved and I never use it. It’s just sitting in the
garage.”

I shook my head, not considering the offer.
I was too pissed off for his charity.

“Just for the weekend,” he added, “or until
you can find a new one.”

I hung my head. There was no reason to
refuse his offer, besides maybe too much pride, but I couldn’t let
that stand in the way. Despite not liking handouts, I had to face
the fact that I was drowning and needed a life preserver. He lifted
me off of my knees as I yielded, accepting his offer.

After calling Junk My Car, they came and
towed Eddie away. It was hard to say goodbye after so many years of
reliability. Vince whipped up a huge breakfast, but without much of
an appetite, I nibbled on a few bites and that was it.

With such a terrible week, it was hard to
get excited for the night and Danielle’s bachelorette party, which
I’d been looking forward to for so long, planning how it would all
go. Now I didn’t care so much, and that was depressing in
itself.

“Come on, you need this,” Danielle said when
I got home. “Tonight is a night to let go, to have fun, and forget
about all that real shit, you know?” She grabbed my hands. “Let’s
get you something to wear.” She dragged me to my room, and before I
could protest, I was sucked into the glorious world of Danielle’s
outfit compositional skills.

Before long, we were ready to hit the
town.

M
eeting up at Becky’s, I
had forgotten about all the gear we’d bought months ago, storing it
all at her place so Danielle wouldn’t find it with her snooping
eyes. It turned out our outfits weren’t that important because of
the pink tank-top dresses that read, “Help Us Tank Her Before She
Sets Anchor.” We were all decked out with white “Bride’s Crew” pins
and tiaras. Danielle of course had the complete package with a
white tank-top dress that read “Tank Me I’m The Bride To Be,” a
fancier tiara, a “Bride” pin, a fancy black sash that read “The
Bachelorette” in hot pink, and a shot glass necklace that said,
“Last Shot of Freedom.”

By the time everyone had arrived, there were
nine women in total. Danielle pulled me aside to warn me about one
of the girls I didn’t know, an old coworker of hers. “Nikki’s a
seductress,” she said.

“And that means. . .?”

“It means she likes to get women to do
things—
sexual
things.”

I sighed. “I’m not gay.”

“Gay or straight, she doesn’t care. Just
watch out for her, all right?”

“For you?” I asked, a bit confused.

“For yourself,” she answered. “She’s got a
weird ability to lure girls in without them having a clue what’s
going on—that is, until the next morning, when they wake up next to
her. I’ve seen it happen before—more than once, in fact.”

“Right,” I said sarcastically, nodding.

Danielle pinched my arm. “I’m serious.”

“All right, I’ll watch out.” I batted away
her claws. “Your job isn’t to worry about me tonight; it’s to get
as many free drinks as you can.”

“Please, with these girls”—she held up her
breasts—“I can get drunk in ten minutes.”

“I didn’t say your job was to drink all the
free drinks,” I laughed. We left a few minutes later, parking at
the Park & Ride on 92
^nd
by SE Powell, where we took
the MAX downtown.

When we arrived at 5
^th
and
Burnside, we were about fifteen minutes early for our reservation.
Portland City Grill was on the 30
^th
floor, but the
elevator ride only took a couple of seconds. Even though we were
early, our tables were ready, situated in a corner by the windows.
Half of our table was a booth and the other half were chairs,
prepared for eight since Nikki was a last-minute addition.

I sat in the booth by the right aisle,
Danielle beside me. Bridgett went to sit across from me, but Nikki
snagged the seat. Bridgett shrugged and sat at the opposite end by
Becky.

“I’m so glad to finally get to meet you,”
Nikki said, flipping her bangs out of her eyes. She looked like a
stereotypical blond bimbo, with too much makeup and big pink
lips—this struck me as odd because Danielle said she was really
smart. Apparently, this was her night to cut loose too. If she had
dialed back the makeup, men probably would have referred to her as
a blond bombshell rather than a bimbo. Danielle and Ashley often
did just that, likening her to Carrie Underwood—only with
Danielle’s bust.

“You too,” I replied. “I’ve heard a lot
about you from Danielle.”

“I hope it was all good.” She unfolded her
napkin and laid it across her lap. “Sometimes I have wild streaks
that people like to talk about.” The waiter came by with water
before I could reply, and we all ordered drinks, killing the
conversation.

“So, I here you’re dating a billionaire,”
Nikki continued.

I nodded and smiled weakly.

“Don’t like to talk about it?”

“They enjoy their privacy,” Danielle said,
winking at me.

Nikki shuffled in her seat. “Oh, so that
means you won’t share how big his junk is?”

“And why would you care?” Danielle
asked.

“I enjoy a real one from time to time,” she
laughed. The topic turned to her stories of sexual
conquest—something I didn’t mind, as long as the conversation
didn’t return to Vince. I wasn’t comfortable talking about our
relationship with people I didn’t know.