“Pet...al, you came. How kind.”
Every word out of his mouth comes in a distinct slur.
“Are you all right?”
“I hate today. Do you hate today, love?”
The man who is always in utter control is anything but. I debate my options, none of them are good. “You said you wanted to see me.”
“I always see you, Petal. Even in my dreams.”
“Where are your keys? Did you drive today?”
“I did. Fuck me.”
“Okay, well I can’t let you drive home. Should I call someone? A roommate, perhaps?”
“No one can save me but you, Petal. No one.”
From anyone else, that would feel like a line. When he looks right through me when he says it with a tear rolling down his cheek, I know it’s anything but. “Where is your wallet? I want to put your address in my GPS. Is your car near the park again?”
“Always. I’m a creature of habit, Nora. Haven’t you guessed?”
He pulls his wallet out of his suit jacket pocket and slams it on his desk. The movement startles me, but the lilt of his body forward frightens me more. I have to catch him in my arms. “I’m going to need you to walk with me. We can go as slow as you need to. I don’t want others to see you like this. It wouldn’t be good for you.”
“Look at you. Petal, my protector.”
“I need you to listen to me. I can help you, but only if you can hold your weight. Try just standing up first.”
“Right-o.” He presses his hands on the desk yet doesn’t move other than that. “Well, am I standing?”
I look to the sky and pray to the gods of the helpers. “Give him a boost so he doesn’t humiliate himself or me. Please?”
“Did you just pray for me, Petal?”
“I prayed you could get up and come with me unseen, for your sake and mine, to your car, which might as well be two miles even though it’s two blocks.”
“I would never embarrass you, Petal. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.” The professor inhales deep and rises to his feet. I can see a subtle sway and a mostly vain attempt to focus on the image in the middle to stay straight. “Okay, love. I’m ready.”
“I’ll believe that if you can put one foot in front of the other.”
***
Why am I doing this?
I think I’ve asked myself that question with every step of the two blocks to his car. I should have just called him a cab and sent him on his way.
I know exactly why I didn’t. Dammit.
Part of it is morbid curiosity. Part of it is the danger involved. I’m waving my hand over the flame and seeing how close I can get before I am burned, as I inevitably will be. He’s been teasing and taunting me with his intellect. That is my weakness. Beautiful as he is, listening to him quote a million facts about art and the depth he sees in it, makes me shiver in the best way. Many things about him make me shiver inside and out.
It’s a feat in and of itself to get him into his car and into the passenger seat. It takes about two minutes of trial and error before I have to take over and buckle his seat belt for him. Once the door is closed, his head audibly thumps against the window. I slide behind the wheel and select the “home” button on his very fancy, overpriced, built-in GPS. Thank God for modern technology, because he is certainly in no shape to give me directions to his apartment and his GPS even has an accent.
I should have guessed his car would be as sexy as he is. The leather interior is as soft as butter against my skin. His settings cool the car to the perfect temperature and the tint of the windows hide his drunken slumber.
His eyes are closed the entire drive. There was a time when I thought I even heard the faintest snore. While we’re stopped at a red light, I look over at his face. I’d expect it to be peaceful, but it’s all screwed up into what looks like a nightmare. My hand makes it halfway over to touch his cheek. The green light prevents it from reaching its intended target. When I finally pull into his underground parking garage, I slide into the first parking space that I can find. Once I shut the car off, I feel like I can breathe again.
I look over at a sleeping Tristan and wish I didn’t have to wake him. When I touch his arm, he tugs out of my reach almost violently. “You’re all right. We’re here. Let’s get you upstairs.”
He doesn’t answer me, he doesn’t say anything. Once I open the door, it’s evident to me he’s much different now than he was when I found him in his office. Gone is the slightly playful drunk and now he’s stoic and quiet. It’s somewhat frightening.
I feel like I’m on my way to the top of a castle tower with a dark prince in a very twisted fairy tale. My heart is beating with the timing of my steps until the elevator doors open and we step on for that final ride to the sky. The subtle lighting inside with the doors closed amplifies the shadows. The space is filled with the delicate pull of a bow across the strings of a violin. His eyes stare straight ahead, but his fingers move over the chair rail that rings the elevator car.
The lilt of each set of notes pulls at my churning emotions. My nerves are taking over. That means one of two things. I either really shouldn’t be here or deep down, this is exactly where I need to be. That will be answered in three…two…one.
With the doors open, the music changes. I can still hear the violin I’ve enjoyed for the minute I’ve been cocooned in these four walls. We step out into a lavish, sprawling penthouse and for a moment, once again, I can’t breathe. I’ve seen beautiful places in my life, stayed in beautiful hotels and homes, but this is special. It’s stunning.
He doesn’t say anything to me. He simply disappears from my side and down the long hall toward the back part of the apartment, leaving me alone with my nerves and my thoughts. I’m back in my head again. I want to help him. He has clearly had a lot of alcohol and needs food. “Stop being a coward. Just… stop,” I say to myself and drop my bag onto a small table on my left, then head deeper into the penthouse to find the kitchen.
The space I enter is quite dark with the exception of a few recessed lights that illuminate a couple pieces of art hanging on the wall. They’re just like he likes. Dark. Glimpses of the female form. The five stairs off the foyer bring me down into the longest hall I’ve ever seen in an apartment. Every room is grander than the next. What does surprise me is how sterile it all seems. What isn’t black, is white. The only color comes from the art on the wall and in the gardens that seem to be around every corner.
There is English ivy trailing in the far nook of his kitchen, on the mantle of his fireplace and over the concrete bench in the middle of a full garden, which sits between the triple height living room and his bedroom. The ceiling is so high I had the thought of why bother having one at all. With that and the garden, it was like an opening to heaven.
That’s when it hits me. The smell of gardenias. I look to my left and there are three vases full of them perfectly spaced on the twenty-person dining table. The center vase is draped so full I can’t imagine there being any room for water. The two smaller ones flanking each end are short and simple, three buds each simply floating in water.
The dining table reminds me that I was looking for the kitchen. Everything is oversized. I thought my bedroom was big. I could fit two of them in this kitchen. With a soft touch to a tiny panel on the wall, the lights over the wall-to-wall island illuminate the granite. The island is as wide as any queen size bed and three of them could lay end to end. Tristan’s refrigerator would put any chef’s kitchen to shame.