Page 229 of Lovers' Dance

I couldn’t stop crying. The cab driver had stopped the meter at a 7-11, gotten out his cab, went inside the store, and come back with a box of tissues. Getting to Central Park West was murder. It was Thanksgiving, after all. Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade had started at nine am from 77th Street and Central Park West. The route was usually closed until three pm, then reopened after clean up.

It was almost five and the streets leading towards the building where Matt was had just been opened. Clean up had taken longer than usual and, of course, there was a backup of traffic with people trying to get home for dinner. We hadn’t eaten. Matt would be hungry. I should cook something for him.

Dabbing at my leaking eyes, I had a moment of fright. What if he’d left? What if he was on his way to his private jet? What if he hated me for not leaving with him? So many damned what ifs.

“Here we are, Miss,” the cabbie said. “This sure is a nice building. Let me get your cases.”

I tried to say thank you, but could only blubber incoherently. Mr Nice got my cases out of the trunk while I pulled cash out to pay my fare. It took me longer than expected. I kept pulling pounds out instead of dollars. I was finally able to pay my fees and the cabbie got behind the wheel. He looked out his window and said, “Put a smile on that face. Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be crying.”

He drove away. The doorman recognized me, thank God. He got one of the building’s bellhops to put my cases on a trolley and take them to the elevators. I held my wooden box in my arms. It was large enough to put a strain on my arms, but I couldn’t let it go.

The bellhop looked at me. “Miss, you need to use your key to activate the elevator.”

Key? Oh, yes. On Tuesday I had seen Matt use a key when we got in the elevator. It was added security measures for the wealthy people who resided here, and I didn’t have a key. My tears came harder.

“If you hand that box over, you can get your key out,” he advised, trying to act as if he didn’t have a bawling black woman in front of him.

“I—key—” Nonsense came out my mouth and he was looking at me suspiciously.

“Which floor are you heading to, miss?” he asked.

“Top—” I wiped my cheek on my shoulder.

His eyes narrowed further. “The penthouse?” There was an undertone of disbelief in his voice as he let his gaze travel over me.

“Yes—please.”

“You need your key,” he repeated. “I’m going to need you to step out of the elevator, miss,” he warned, pulling my cases out. “Without a key, I can’t allow you upstairs. Our residents are particular about their privacy—”

“Boyfriend,” I sobbed out, hoping it was true. Matt’s face when he said he was ashamed of me… “Matthew—Bradley—is—my—boyfriend,” I said between gulps of air.

The man narrowed his eyes, then, “Oh, yes, I remember you. You were here on Tuesday with Mr Bradley.” His cheeks got flushed, probably remembering the sight of us making out like teenagers before the elevator doors had slid shut.

I nodded and he brought my cases back in the elevator and the doors slid shut as he used a master key. “I shouldn’t be doing this, but you look upset.”

I nodded. Upset? I was past upset. I was a mess. A snivelling mess of a person who had just…oh God. I couldn’t go back home. Even though the tears rolled down my face, indicative of my inner pain, a numbness was stealing over me. It was like being in that hospital bed, being told my parents were dead, it was like that all over again. My family was gone, and I was alone.

“Miss? Do you need assistance?” The man asked, obviously getting concerned over my wracking sobs. “Do you need the police?”

I shook my head slowly. I needed to stop crying, but my eyes were broken it seemed. My arms ached from clutching the wooden box. It was dusty, the flower stickers Auntie Cleo and I had plastered over the top all those years ago were faded, the plastic lock and key I had bought from the ninety-nine cent store on the latch keeping my memories safe was brittle.

I couldn’t go home and the tears continued to fall.

The elevator doors finally slid apart, revealing two suit-clad Rambos, like Cerberus guarding the entrance to Hades. They were the Escalade Rambos. Ryan the Hulk was further down the private hallway, outside the doors that opened into the luxurious condo. He saw me and started walking towards the elevator. The Escalade Rambos were not letting me get out.

“Ms DuMont,” His face was set in a professional mask. “We were not told to expect you. Mr Bradley left strict orders that he’s not to be disturbed.”

I cried harder at those words. Hulk exchanged a look with the Escalade Rambos, then rubbed his forehead. He jerked his head in the direction of my cases and they each took one, while Hulk held his hand out, gesturing down the hallway. I stepped out of the elevator and started towards the doors. Two minutes later, my cases had been deposited inside the condo. Hulk had extricated my box from my arms and placed it on the Onice Verde marble floor.

My heels echoed loudly as I walked further into the condo. Matt wasn’t in the living space or the kitchen so I headed for the next likely place, the master bedroom. The sounds of the shower coming from the opened door of the ensuite confirmed his whereabouts. I deliberated over going in there, but decided against it. I would be annoyed if someone unexpectedly walked in on my shower. Maybe I should order food. I was certain there were old take-out menus in one of the drawers in the kitchen.

Fifteen minutes later an empty, “Why are you here, Madison?” came from behind me. I hadn’t heard Matt’s approach, too immersed in my despair.

I spun around, wiping away the tears. The expression on his face was a bland one. There was no anger, no pleasant surprise; there was no emotion on his achingly handsome face and my eyes leaked more.

“Because you are,” I managed to get past the lump in my throat, running a trembling hand over my curls. He watched me as if I was a stranger. Why was he looking at me like that?

---