I nod. I want to believe him. I want to apologize.
And I want to slit his throat. I want to feel safe, but the answer isn’t Klonapin tonight. There are things that a woman does to keep safe, things that maybe aren’t right, but they still need to be done.
I let go of the pill bottle and pull a twenty out of my wallet. I hand it to Lucas. “Go. Get of here.”
It’s enough money for both of them to get drunker--or it’s enough to take a bus. I’m guessing that Lucas will use it to buy beer, but he could run if he wanted.
“It’s not your fault, Tessie,” Lucas says.
They walk away, and I have to tell myself that no one listens to the mad and drunk. No one would listen to Lucas. Plus, he shared his stoop with we. I shouldn’t hurt a man who shared his stoop.
He knows things though. Knowing means talking, and talking means he’s choosing whether or not I’m not safe. It gives him power over me.
I hope he takes the money and buys a bus ticket. I want to be okay. I want to be Tess now.
I’m still standing in the street when Michael joins me.
“What was that?”
I shake my head.
“Tess?”
“He spilled his beer,” I manage to say. It’s all I can say. There are too many other words twisting in my throat. I feel like I’m choking on them.
“Okay . . .”
“Sometimes I need to do things,” I offer. It’s truth. It’s been a truth for a long time. It is now and always true. “I want to be safe, Michael. Sometimes that’s everything.”
And I see the flicker of something far from monstrous in his expression. He might want my story. He might want my body. Right now, though, in this instant, Michael cares.
If he knew the things that Lucas knew, would he still look at me like I was a lost girl in need of a hero? If he knew that I wanted to find Lucas' stoop tonight to make sure he didn’t spill my secrets, would he still pull me into his arms as he just did?
The questions are unanswered, and I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.
“Come on.” He leads me to music, puts a drink in my hand, and wraps his arms around me.
I dance in the frame of Michael’s arms. His idea of dancing is the occasional sway of the perpetually awkward upper-class man. He can’t let go of his boundaries, even here, even in a city with sin in her very bones and beams.
“Are you okay?” he asks between sets. “Earlier in the street . . .”
“Lucas let me share his stoop.”
“The bum?”
“I was having a bad time. He watched me so I could sleep.”
“At your house?”
“No, on his porch, Michael. I don’t let people into my house.”
Letting strangers into the space where you bed down is asking for trouble. Letting people carry your secrets is asking for exposure.
My gaze darts to the door. I can’t help thinking of Lucas. He knows enough of my secrets that he is a risk. No one listens to the ravings of the drunk or mad, but Lucas listened to me more than I realized he had.
Now I need to fix it.
I need to get Michael out of here and handle Lucas.
7
Michael
After we drink, after Tess dances, after we return to my rented flat and fuck, I watch her dress by the light that slips through the drapes. The windows here are as tall as doors, with exterior shutters that span the height of them. The shutters, drapes, and windows are all flung open now. It seems peculiar to me, but Tess likes them open. Even when she’s naked, she prefers that the shutters and curtains are open.
My agent would have fits if she knew.
My family would threaten me.
It’s my livelihood though, my reputation, my money. My grandmother could go to her lawyers and deny me my trust fund, but I think she’s also the only one who would be amused by my indiscretions. She knows more than my mother realizes, and she takes pleasure in my inappropriate choices. I think she may have been far less modest in her youth than my family pretends.
“I can’t stay.” Tess announces it abruptly, as if I couldn’t figure that out. She’s dressed almost as soon as she stands.
Unlike most women who seem to believe that a cuddle is more important than the sex itself, Tess has no patience for affectionate touches.