Page 31 of Dangerous Refuge

Tonight I left Rico with the maid. I stand holding two dresses in hand, pretending to agonize over them. Dominic’s goon, Tucker, hovers around me. His very conspicuous sunglasses indoors give him away as a bodyguard instantly, which is very cinematic, but I ignore the lame aesthetics of his look and focus on my plan to ditch him. I am not fond of either of the dresses, but I carry them both to the dressing room where men are not allowed and smile at the attendant.

She eyes me, then Tucker, then me again. “What can I do for you?” Her curt tone tells me she may not be the most helpful woman in the world, but I already have a plan in place for that too.

I glance over my shoulder, offering my most frightened expression when I turn back to her. Tucker stands wearing his dumb suit with his hands folded in front of himself and his back to me. I don’t know why Sven makes them follow me around. I blame myself. If I had just kept my mouth shut about work, I’d be sneaking out to do whatever I want and he wouldn’t be the wiser.

“I’d like a room please.” I feign fear in my voice, talking timidly and keeping my voice quiet. Tucker doesn’t turn around to see me, so that much is going right. She glances at my bodyguard again and her brow furrows. Then she picks up a key from the wall behind her where keys hang on hooks with numbers labeling them. “Follow me,” she says, and this time her voice is quiet too. I follow her down a long row of doors all the way to the back. Another door along the wall—one that’s different than the slotted wooden doors of the dressing rooms—looms in front of me. I know it’s just the door to the warehouse that remains locked at all times because I worked here for about six months while hiding from Paul.

“Honey, is everything okay?” she asks, whispering over her shoulder.

“I could just use help getting away from him.” I don’t accuse him of anything or lie about him abusing me. I’m not stupid. I don’t need the police sniffing around and making a mess for me now. That may draw Paul’s attention. And all I want is to have a normal life. So if sneaking around and not telling Sven where I am gets me that then I will do it. Besides, my shift is only three hours again tonight. I can have Sarah give me a ride home and by the time Bozo Bodyguard figures out I’m gone, he’ll have to search the entire department store for me before returning to tell Sven he’s lost me.

“Is everything okay?” she hisses, pushing the key into the warehouse door. I knew it the moment she picked it up off the wall that she had gotten the warehouse door key. Door five. I used it a few times myself when a nursing mother needed a place to change her child’s diaper, and once when a woman had to use the toilets. We weren’t supposed to help, but people are still good. So I did. And this woman—Gretchen based on her nametag—must have a good heart too.

“It will be if I can just get away from him.” I smile politely and hand her the dresses as I walk into the warehouse. She looks around anxiously and points at the back door. There are walls of shelves across the large room, stacked with boxes of all sorts of inventory. A tiny path marked by striped yellow tape shows the way down the walkway to the back door, which has a light above it indicating it is an exit.

“There, honey, you need me to call a cab?” Gretchen has kind eyes, and a motherly approach. I didn’t peg her for this when I walked up to her, but I kinda like her.

“Thank you so much. I can call an Uber.” I keep up my nervous act as I walk down the path I’d walked a hundred times toward the back door. When the warmth of the fading evening sun hits my face and the door slams shut behind me, I am home free. Just a four-block walk to the diner and I’ll be at work.

I head down the alley to the street that runs perpendicular to the one the store is on. I have to stay a block south to avoid Tucker finding me when he walks out the front of the store to search. I’m warm, my clothing doubled up so I can wear my work uniform under a white blouse and black frilly skirt. I left my shoes at work two days ago, so when I get there at least I’ll have something more comfortable than heels, but for now my feet ache.

My cigarettes are buried in my handbag beneath my wallet and cell phone. I pry my bag open with one hand—handles draped over my shoulder—and dig into the contents with the other until I find the cigarettes and lighter. I’m not a fiend, but I do enjoy a good smoke every now and then. I don't feel comfortable smoking at Sven’s house. I have never thought it polite to smoke while in other people’s homes or cars, so for the past few weeks I’ve been craving my smoke breaks. Getting back to work a few days a week has helped calm my nerves for sure.

Traffic is light, only a few cars zipping past me, but foot traffic is normal for a New York city street. I keep my head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone as I slide one cigarette from the box and pinch it between my lips. The first drag after the flame catches is heaven. I suck in the thick smoke and fill my lungs, feeling the nicotine take the edge off my stress level instantly. It’s a habit I should probably kick but some simple pleasures in life are essential, and this is mine.

Dana is standing out back waiting for me when I walk down the alley, finishing my cigarette. She squeals with delight and jumps up and down a few times. We’ve only worked three shifts together since I returned, so she’s probably got some juicy gossip.

“O-m-g, you’ll never believe who got promoted!” Her hand thrusts my shoes toward me and I drop my cigarette butt to the ground and stamp out the ember.

“Who?” I ask, blowing the smoke out. The wind carries it away as I take the shoes. Her fingernails are manicured, her lips slathered in thick, red lipstick. She’s gorgeous and I’m jealous. I try to hide my own badly damaged manicure as I shed my heels and jam my sockless feet into the sneakers.

“Me!” Dana claps her hands and bends to snatch my heels into her hands as I bounce on one foot attempting to balance while tying my shoes. “Just yesterday. I’m assistant manager now, and the boss isn’t here, so we are going to par-tay.” Her exaggeration of the word party makes me chuckle. I can’t tell she is happy about it.

I straighten and hand her my handbag so I can strip off the extra layer of clothing. “Congratulations. I’m really happy for you.” It could have been me being promoted. I worked twice as hard and was never late, until Sven convinced me to just jet off with him. Now, I’m paying my dues. I can’t be upset though. Dana deserves the promotion. “You get a raise too?” I peel the shirt off and hand it to her and she shoves it in my bag, juggling the heels in one hand.

“Two dollars an hour.”

For two dollars an hour more I could be saving up so much faster, so I am upset with myself for not putting my foot down sooner. I missed those days and never even called in. “That’s so good,” I tell her, happy for her and jealous at the same time. I fiddle with the zipper on my skirt but it is snagged on the material underneath. My hands can’t untangle it, so I turn. “Help,” I tell her, and she shoves my bag and shoes back into my hands so she can manage the snagged zipper.

“This is a pain. I wish you didn’t have to do this.” After a few seconds of wrestling Dana frees me from the polyester trap and I slide it over my hips and carefully step out of it without letting it drag the ground in the alley.

“Can’t leave this….” I pick up my cigarette butt, wishing for a little more time to have another, but it’s time to start my shift. After shoving my skirt into the bag and tossing the butt into the bin, I follow Dana back inside where hungry customers are waiting on waitresses to fill their orders.

The shift goes about how a busy diner at supper time normally goes. The tips are crappy; I have bossy rude customers, and I am exhausted when it’s over and I see Sarah’s car pull up out front and park. As I’m leaving I snag my bag and shoes, kick off my sneakers in the manager’s office, and start toward the front door, but Dana grabs my arm.

“I was so excited to tell you about the promotion that I forgot to tell you that that man came back looking for you again.” Her eyes are serious and dark. She’s concerned, so naturally my heart goes into fight or flight mode.

“What man?” Did Sven come asking about me? I was home though. Why would he ask about me when he knew I was home?

“Yeah, the creepy one you said was your ex. He hung around the back door all night. I had to call uniforms to chase him away.”

I swallow hard. She’s talking about Paul. He was here looking for me again, which means maybe I’m not as safe as I thought I was. “Thanks, Dana. I’ll be safe.”

My heart pounds in my chest as I walk out to Sarah’s car and climb in. She is distracted by talking about some new person at her workplace who she loathes, so I change back into my street clothes and put my aching feet back into the heels. I feign calmness as she drives, though I could really use a cigarette or two—or ten. My hands shake as I button the blouse and by the time she drops me back at Sven’s house, I’m in full-blown panic. Only then does she ask me what’s wrong, but I tell her I have to go.

I can’t let Sven be right. I can’t show weakness, so why are my knees knocking and my stomach churning?

Inside, Sven is waiting for me. He stands with shoulders squared at the entrance to the bedroom, jaw set. “Hi,” I mumble, hoping he doesn’t look into my handbag where I stashed my dirty uniform that smells like greasy food. I stumble to the dresser and drop my bag, then kick off my heels. I’m exhausted and terrified. I don’t have the mental energy to deal with a lecture.

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