The Refrain (The Bridge Series) (20 page)

C
HRISTOPHER
B
ROOKS

January 17, 2004

I
T’S FUCKING COLD.
If I were a native New Yorker, I would curse and whine and say something crass like:
Jesus
,
it’s so goddamn cold, Jack Frost’s nippin’ at my balls
. But I’m not – I’m a guy from Austin, and we say things like:
Woo wee, it’s colder’n a witch’s tit ’n a brass bra . . . let’s wrangle us up a bowl of Mama’s chili and a case of Shiner
.

I
do
have an image to present.

My brother Grant and I have been standing at the entrance of my new apartment for all of ten minutes – head to toe, in ski gear. During this short time, we’ve watched a guy shovel his car from the snow with a mop bucket, a dog walker chase after five Boston Terriers, a UPS delivery guy in shorts, and a mom push a stroller while drinking iced coffee . . . all of them impervious to the freezing weather.

Grant shoves his hands in his pocket and asks, “What time is the truck gettin’ here?”

“They said noon. Chill, bro,” I answer.

“It’s like thirty degrees.”

Grant is two years younger than I am and the athlete of the family. Elizabeth’s the oldest and smartest, then fuckup Matthew, debutante Charlotte, me, then Grant. My entire family lives in Austin with the same, shared conclusion – I’m a moron for moving to Manhattan, and the Giants can suck the Cowboys’ balls. Texas is the good life . . . why would I ever want to trade that for New York City?

Grant puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles. “Well, look who’s coming . . . Little Red Riding Hood.”

“Christopher!” Sarah glides down the sidewalk with a red coat swinging against her petite frame. Her toned legs are defined by black tights, and very sexy, yet very classy, purple pumps. She has no problem maneuvering through the piles of sludge and tackling those creepy steam grates, the same ones I avoid like the cheesy tots from
Sonic
.

Sarah stops in front of me and smirks. “Boots? Chris, we talked about this

Laughing, I lean down to kiss her cheek. “Hey, Sarah.” Cheek smooching is something I learned last month while visiting –
everyone
kisses on the cheek. Maybe it’s a European thing that’s been passed down, but wherever it came from, it can be politely casual, or extremely awkward. And it’s not something shared with only the opposite sex – Sarah’s male family members greeted me like a mobster in
The Godfather
.

“Hey, Sarah.” Grant chuckles. “I’m not wearing boots.”

“I can see that Grant, but you’re wearing a ski jacket with a dozen lift passes pinned on the wrist. Who, over the age of fifteen, does that?”

Grant puffs his chest and pops his collar. “Well, seeing as it’s my only coat that can handle the frigid
stuff
, you will have to embrace my cool neon stripes for at least another day.”

Sarah frowns and pulls me toward the lobby entrance. “Chris, I need to take you shopping. When is Grant leaving?”

“Tomorrow. Let’s see the apartment,” I suggest.

Sarah and I met last summer in Austin during a contractual bid with her father’s residential development company. I was a senior associate at a large firm handling real estate and capital development and I was assigned to draft and negotiate the contracts for a new development in Canyon Lake. Luckily, Sarah was sent to handle the project, and lucky me, she’s gorgeous. Sarah is classy and intelligent, strong and independent, and extremely kinky in the bedroom – the perfect non-girlfriend.

After six months of habitual fucking and casual dating, she suggested I bring my talents to New York with her. I mean, most women do . . . they all want my talents to follow them. I decided to take the plunge and set up a few interviews with some major law firms, but ultimately accepted an offer with a large firm in Midtown. The salary is three times what I would make in Austin and they even offered to pay for my moving expenses. Sarah found me a deluxe apartment in the sky –
on the East Side
– and now it’s time to give this city a shot.

I’m not chasing a girl.

I’m not escaping a small town.

I’m not looking for a fresh start.

I’m here to make some fucking bank.

“Mailbox. Mailbox key.” Sarah passes me a small envelope and nods to a doorman in a three-piece suit. Shit, that’s fancy.

“Elevator,” I tease, pressing the button.

Grant hunkers over and holds his stomach. “Can we get lunch? I’m starving.”

Sarah rolls her eyes and says, “Why don’t you get lunch while we handle the necessary paperwork? There’s sushi on the corner and a Jewish deli across the street.”

Grant makes a repulsed face and walks backwards toward the door. “Bro, I’m grabbing some pizza. Call me when the
paperwork
is over.”

I flash him a smile as Sarah and I step inside the elevator. “Come here, gorgeous.” I pull Sarah close to me and rub her back.

“I made reservations for dinner tomorrow night – please tell me you have other clothes.”

“Cute.” I smile.

“What?” she asks.

“You’re flushed.” In my best Pauly Shore impression, I say, “You wa-nt me.”

Laughing, Sarah runs her hand up my chest and fiddles with the zipper to my ski jacket. “It’s the inconsistent heating system of old buildings – get used to it.”

My finger traces the outline of her rosy cheeks as she closes her eyes. “I’m sure I can get used to it,” I say, before licking her lips.

Her head rolls back and she moans. “Mmm.”

We’ve never had sex in an elevator, but the way she’s backing up against the wall and allowing me to pin her beneath me, I know she’s thinking the same thing. I glance over at the elevator control panel, wondering if that shit really works . . . like if I press the alarm button, will it set off a terror alert – or simply stall the elevator long enough to get in a quick screw?

Time to find out –
ring, ding, ring, ding.

Panicked, she asks, “Why’d you do that?”

“The alarming rate of my expanding cock justified my action. This is an emergency!”

“This isn’t the movies, Chris. The procedures for elevator safety have vastly improved – someone will be here in two seconds.”

I smile devilishly as I pull her legs apart. I press my leg between her thighs and breathe into her ear. “You’re so sexy when you talk smart.” I unbutton her coat and squeeze her breasts. Her nipples are hard against her thin sweater and her breathing is rapid and shallow.

“One more second,” she pants.

I tilt my head and evaluate her seriousness. Getting caught could be fun, but I’m betting I have a good ten minutes before someone shows up.

I press my mouth against her hot cheek and gently squeeze her neck. “You need to be fucked in an elevator. Ravaged, actually.” I bite her ear and lick her neck. “You’ll be conditioned, so much so, that the mere sight of an alarm button will drive you crazy. The sounds, the smell, the small space . . . they’ll have you begging for my cock.” I pull up her skirt and rub between her thighs.

The speaker crackles. “It’s Declan from the lobby. Everything okay?” The alarm stops buzzing and then the elevator starts to ascend. Damn.

“Yes, we’re fine, thank you.” Sarah laughs.

I hit my head against the wall a few times and sigh. “Two seconds.”

Sarah lowers her skirt and winks. “Don’t worry, the conditioning exercise worked.”

The elevator stops abruptly on the eighteenth floor and the doors open. A man wearing a hardhat and holding a clipboard stands amused. This isn’t what I had in mind for elevator sex . . .

“Good afternoon,” the man says.

“Hey,” I say, exiting the elevator. “Sorry ’bout that – I heard a churning noise.”

Sarah rolls her eyes as she walks past us and continues down the main hall.

“Oh yeah? I’ll take a listen.” The man props open the door and shines a flashlight around the interior.

“Not really a churning noise, more like a ripping sound. Like Velcro.
Riiiiipppp
.” I cross my arms and nod my head convincingly – damn my Texan tendency to over-talk. I should just shut up and move on. “From the floorboard. Or maybe the walls.” Jesus, shut up.

“Uh huh, okay. Thanks for letting me know.” He steps in and closes the door. He’ll probably just write it off and ignore my complaint . . . holy shit, my complaint? I just complained that
Gremlins
were destroying the elevator.

“Christopher? Are you coming?” Sarah stands seductively in the open doorway to my new apartment. Her hand moves slowly between her thighs, lifting her skirt and revealing her tights.

Hot damn, it’s kinky sex time.

I join her at the door, and this time, I put my hand inside her tights. She removes her coat and drops it to the floor. I glance behind her to access the best spot to have – “Holy shit.” I shout.

“Mmm, I know,” Sarah purrs.

“No, I mean the apartment. It’s fucking pink.”

Sarah leans into the apartment and laughs. “Mrs. Spiegel loved floral and pink – wait until you see the bathroom.”

I remove my hand from her tights and pick up her coat. “Nah uh. I don’t do pastels.”

Having no furniture yet, I place our coats on the kitchen counter and turn clockwise to evaluate the space. The wood floors are awesome, but every fucking wall is a shade of pink. Cotton candy-pink, Amoxicillin-pink, old lady lipstick-pink – and on the wall that’s to be the future home of my flat screen TV, a nice shade of douchey-pink.

“Calm down, Chris. Paint can easily be changed – all you have to do is submit a request to Phung Thi Thanh Phuong on the Co-op board. Come look at the view!” Sara takes my hand and leads me to a large window flanked by pink bookcases.

“What’s a Co-op board?” I ask. “And you’re telling me there’s a person named Fung Ti Ti Fong that grants me permission to paint the apartment I pay for? That seems very archaic.”

Sarah pushes me against the window and sighs. “Look out the window – do you see what you’re paying for? This is not an apartment with pink walls, this is Manhattan.”

The expression on Sarah’s face is unusually wistful. The entire time she was in Texas, I never once saw her look at the wildflowers of Hill Country with any sort of romantic opinion, but she obviously loves the bare limbs of trees set against the backdrop of cement. All I can see is brown – brown buildings, brown streets and brown snow.

“Let’s fuck against this window – I want to experience this fantastic view,” I announce randomly. Sarah continues staring hopelessly out the window, so I move behind her and grab her hair. I pull her head back and breathe into her ear. “Now.”

“Some other time . . . we need to finish the lease agreement and the checklist.” She squirms beneath me and sets herself free. Sarah doesn’t even look at me when she rambles on about business and shit. “Do you know how hard it was for me to close this quickly?” Sarah walks to the kitchen and I follow behind her, waiting for her instructions – I’m the client now.

I lean against the island and watch her take the paperwork from a drawer. “Sarah, you’ve told me a dozen times and I’m grateful.”

She fans the documents on the counter and places a pen on top. “You know how contracts work . . . sign the green arrows and initial the yellow. I negotiated a deal for an extra 15% to be collected and escrowed into a Co-op account for a buy option, so sign and initial the purple.”

I sign all the necessary flagged boxes and cringe at the monthly fees. Why the heck do I need to pay for landscaping – there’s no fucking grass. It’ll take a few months to get used to the exorbitant cost of living in such a palatial pink apartment.

“Done. Let’s screw before the moving truck gets here.” I remove my sweatshirt and push her against the counter. Sarah trails her manicured nails over my chest as I squeeze her hips. I lift Sarah onto the counter and bury my face in her chest. Sex on the countertop will have to do.

Sarah runs her hands through my hair and sighs. “You need a haircut. I’ll call Marcus at my salon.”

I remove my face from her chest and sternly say, “Sarah, my hair is fine. My boots kick ass and my suits are from Brooks Brothers. Please don’t treat me like your pet project.”

She smiles politely as she pushes off the counter. “You’re right. I’m sorry – it’s just that I’m responsible for your move.”