Page 8 of I Need You to Read This
“Oh, come on. Really? No one comes and sits at the bar wanting to be left alone,” he tells her as though it is common knowledge. They do, she thinks.I do.But she has a feeling he is the kind of man who won’t do well being rejected. She fumbles for her purse, wanting to pay and leave.
“Let me get that for you.” His thick hand reaches out onto the bar holding a wallet imprinted with the Gucci logo.
“No, thanks, I’ve got it,” she says, recoiling slightly.
“You sure?” When he looks at her this time his eyes are hard, empty as marbles.
“Yep, I’m good.” Alex cranes her neck, looking for the bartender, but he is out in the bright sunlight talking to the women at the front of the restaurant.
“I’m just trying to be friendly,” he says, though it doesn’t feel that way. His jaw sets angrily. She reaches again for her purse. She can’t stay here, not now. But his hand is suddenly on her wrist, pinning it down against the bar.
“Hey, let go,” she says, a hot wave of panic starting in her belly.
“What’s going on with you? I was just trying to be nice and buy you a drink,” he says through gritted teeth, a sheen of sweat forming on his face. Should she scream? Is there even a reason? Instead, she leaps down from the stool and jerks her arm away from him. But the man’s beefy hand remains clamped around the sleeve of her shirt. It tears as she twists away from him.
He looks down at her exposed skin, his eyes going wide at the sight of her wrist. “Whoa, whoa, what is this? You cut yourself, lady?” Shelooks down in horror at her exposed wrist crisscrossed with white scars. Now this man has not only frightened her, but he has humiliated her. She is no longer afraid of him; she is furious.
“Let me go,” Alex hisses with as much ferocity as she can. He does as she tells him, dropping her arm suddenly as if she is contagious, holding his hands up in surrender. His face goes slack. His mouth drops open.
“Listen, lady, I was just trying to be nice. I didn’t know you had problems.” He leans away from her now, waves his palms in the air as if she were the one attackinghim. Shaking, she takes three twenty-dollar bills from inside her purse and drops them on the bar. She walks quickly away, leaving behind her cold martini and any chance for a meager celebration.
“Miss?” the bartender calls out as she runs to the front door. He is holding a plate in his hand, probably her perfect salad. But she doesn’t stop. She can already feel the pressure building behind her eyes.
“Fuck, did you see that? That girl was crazy,” she hears the man say to the bartender as she ducks out the open door. Out on the sidewalk the sun is hard and unforgiving. The shame of all of it burns a hole in her back as she flees the restaurant.
It was just a random asshole,she tells herself, trying to calm down.No need to let it color everything.But she feels shaky and vulnerable as she skitters her way uptown to her apartment. The whole thing feels like a bad omen. Maybe she is putting herself in danger by accepting the job. By the time she reaches her corner she wonders if she should write Jonathan and rescind her acceptance. Alex climbs the dingy staircase to her apartment, a knot of panic growing in her chest. She closes the door behind her as always, tapping on each of the locks with a finger to be sure that it’s turned—one, two, three. Next she goes to the living room windows, moving the blackout curtains aside to check that they are locked as well. She pulls the curtains tight even though the sun is still blazing.
In the dim quiet of the bathroom window Mildred and Percy shuffle closer together. Alex breathes in and out. She splashes water on her face.
What if this is all a terrible mistake?
Dear Constance,
One day last week this guy Brian just appeared in Wickfield out of nowhere. He came into the store and I couldn’t stop myself from staring. Unlike most of the guys here, he has a certain style about him that I noticed right away. He likes to wear crisp blue shirts with rolled-up sleeves and a heavy-looking silver watch. He is lean and fit with stubble on his chin and a thick leather wallet he takes out when he pays for things.
I try not to act like I’m super impressed by him, but I have to stop myself from staring when he comes into the shop. It’s always for something small, caulking or tape or some envelopes and pens. We sell all sorts of things here. I started getting the feeling like he was looking at me when he checked out. Like he wanted to talk. So finally, today I said, “Hey, you’re new here?” He looked startled and then a big grin came across his face.
“Is it that obvious?” he asked.
“Oh, just a little. I tend to recognize everyone who comes in,” I said, and nodded to the side of the store where a few local guys were picking out paint colors.
“Brian. But you probably already know that.”
“I am quite the detective,” I said, handing him a paper bag with the tape inside and his credit card with his name, Brian Pulman.
“Well, if you know a lot about it here, maybe you can tell me where I can find a decent meal? I’ve been living off of those hot dogs from Benji’s.”
I cringed and laughed. “Oh no! Those are not fit for human consumption. Well, there’s the Red Barn, which is like a diner. Good grits, eggs, sandwiches, nothing fancy. Then there’s the Shoreline farther down Route 12. That’s more your white-tablecloth sit-down-style meals, seafood and steaks, that sort of thing.” He was watching me, smiling in a way where I got sort of self-conscious and trailed off.
“That sounds good. You want to go tonight?” His eyes sparkled at me, which is a thing I don’t think I ever could have said about anyone’s eyes before in my life. But Brian’s did. They sparkled. I sort of choked and burst out laughing.
“Wait, me?” I looked around the store like someone was pulling a prank, but it was empty except for the guys looking at paint.
He grinned. “Who else?”
“Um. Yeah, sure, I’ll go.” I tried to be cool and shrugged like this sort of thing happens to me all the time. Lies! Could he tell?
“Great! I’ll swing by and pick you up. When are you done with your shift?”
