Page 56 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

Wednesday afternoon, when she receives a text alert, reminding her of the contemporary dance class she’d signed up for the week prior, she jumps at the chance to go. She’d forgotten about it, and the reminder alone fills her with such a great measure of reprieve, she can’t cancel. Just like it always does, dancing buoys her heart—so much so, it carries her through the next two days at the hospital. It’s early Friday afternoon, after she and Beth finish lunch, when she gets another message that beckons her out of the hospital.

The apartment is finished. Michelle has left the keys with the doorman. When Jessica reads the text, her stomach drops in an eerie sense of anticipation. While she has no intention of moving into the space, she plans on packing her collection of lingerie and stowing it there. On Wednesday, after she left the dance studio glossy with sweat, the apartment hardly more than a block away, she also had the idea to purchase a few bathroom staples to keep there. It’s impossible to ignore the convenience of having someplace to shower after dance before hopping on the subway to return to the hospital.

She hasn’t heard from Khalohn at all since their meeting on Monday. With him out of town, and their arrangement hardly more than a promise sealed with a kiss, she doesn’t know what to expect. He’ll be back in town that day, but she has no idea how often he’ll want to see her. Thinking back on their conversation, she wonders if he’ll still want to see her that night. The possibility alone makes her skin break out in goosebumps.

“Hey, you okay?” asks Beth, reaching out to fidget with the ends of Jessica’s wavy hair.

Jessica blacks out her phone, placing it face down on the side of the bed as she directs her attention onto her mother’s pale brown eyes. Forcing a smile, she murmurs, “That’s my question.”

Beth only raises her eyebrows in response. Jessica is familiar that look. Her lips curl a little more, her expression more genuine as she reaches for her mom’s hand. She laces their fingers together as she admits, “It was work.”

“Don’t you start tonight?” Beth is interrupted by a cough. She tries to suppress it, as her chest and back are sore, but it only makes it harder for her to breathe. Her face turns a shade of red in agitation. Jessica flexes her fingers, holding Beth’s hand tighter, until she sucks in as deep a breath as she can manage. “I’ll be fine, you know,” she wheezes.

“My new boss—he might not need me long tonight. If he doesn’t, I’ll just come back.”

“Jess, baby, I’m not alone here. There’s an entire staff of people checking on me. And Jackie’s coming for a little while after work. Sleep in your bed tonight. Please. It’ll make me feel better.”

“Mom—”

“Look, I might be the vulnerable one here, hooked up to these tubes and shit, but I’m still your mother. Stand down, baby. Spend the night stretched out in bed alone. For me.”

It doesn’t take long for Jessica to relent. There’s not much she can do for Beth’s ailing body. If sleeping in a bed will give her mother some peace of mind, she’ll do it. After she agrees, she lingers at Beth’s bedside for another few minutes. Knowing she’s got a short to-do list she needs to see to, she takes her leave, promising to check in by phone after a while.

An hour later, a bag full of sexy underwear, silky nighties, and her floor-length lace robe over one shoulder, and her purse over the other, Jessica decides to hail a cab into the city. In spite of the heavy, Friday afternoon traffic, she steps out on the corner of Broadway and Warren a half hour later. Before she enters the lobby of the apartment building, she goes into Wally’s Market, where she purchases a few necessities. Shampoo and conditioner. Face wash and moisturizer. Eyeliner and mascara. Toothbrush and toothpaste. Body wash and a loofa. It takes her no longer than ten minutes, and then she’s at the check-out counter, trying not to think too hard about the strange, clandestine nature of her purchases.

She thanks the clerk behind the counter after she pays, then hurries next door. The man behind the front desk is the same guy she’s seen the last two times she visited unit 601. Like every instance she sees him, his eyes do a body scan down her length. She tries not to roll her own. With no intention of impressing anyone, her outfit was chosen for comfort. Jessica’s feet are tucked into a pair of non-descript, gray tennis shoes, her toned, slender legs on display beneath her black, spandex shorts. The white tank top she has on is loose, draping over her gray sports bra and hanging around her hips. Her hair is down, the heat of the day, the burden of her bags, and the weight of her wavy locks against her neck making her hot.

“A set of keys were left for me. I’m Jes—I mean, my name is Bryn,” she mutters with a shake of her head. “Bryn van Doren. Unit 601.”

“Yeah,” he grunts, turning in his chair for a lock box. He extracts her keys and hands them over without another word.

Jessica thanks him, in spite of his rudeness, then heads toward her final destination. All the while, she can’t help but think of Stefano. A doorman and a gatekeeper aren’t exactly the same thing, but it makes her miss him and his presence as he escorted her intoGodrik’ssuite. As she rides the elevator to the sixth floor, she wonders what’ll happen to the room—if he’ll use it when he’s not with her, or if it’ll collect dust in his absence.

The elevator doors open with a chime, and she shoves the thought of Khalohn sleeping with other women out of her mind.

He bought this apartment so we could be together exclusively. Because he’s not done with me. Besides, I’m his call girl. Even if he is sleeping around, can I be surprised? He’s not mine.

Pausing in front of the door, she exhales with a huff and rakes her fingers through her hair, gripping the strands at the back of her head.

Fuck, she thinks, willing her mind, body, and soul to stay firmly rooted inreality.

When she feels like she’s in control of her thoughts, she slides the key into the lock and twists it free. The door opens and, immediately, she can feel the place has changed. There’s a coat rack just beyond the door, a small, round, wooden table with distressed metal legs nearby. On the wall to the left of the door, there’s a large, framed photograph—the piece printed in sepia tone, the image that of a row of brownstones. Slowly, Jessica walks past the art and into the space, easing the door closed behind her. She stops, her eyes wide in awe when she reaches the end of the entryway, where the loft comes into full view.

Thinking back on her meeting with Michelle, Jessica recalls how uncertain she felt. Khalohn told her to fill the place however she wanted. Resigned to the truth it isn’therspace, she couldn’t figure out how to even begin. With a little nudge from the interior designer, who’d worked with Khalohn in the past, Jessica opted for cozy, yet masculine; upscale, but not pretentious. She picked items not seeing them as part of a whole, but aspieceschosen to simply fill the emptiness. Now that she’s seeing the finished project, there’s a warmth in her belly she can’t ignore, no matter how hard she tries.

The French Victorian room beneath Clandestine’s Closet—rich, elegant, and old fashioned—is a fantasy in which anyone who enters can get lost. Butthis—thisistheirspace. Unit 601 is private. Cozy, yet masculine. Upscale, but far from pretentious.

And she likes it.

On the brick wall in the kitchen, the open shelves are filled with beige, porcelain plates, bowls, and mugs. There are tall, thick glasses, stemless wine glasses, and martini glasses—copper shot glasses and a matching shaker set included, as well. In the center of the kitchen, on the shelves beneath the butcher block island, are a collection of copper pots and pans. Just beyond the shelving, on the opposite side of the flat-top stove, there are four bar stools—two on either side of the counter—for casual seating.

To the right of the kitchen, on a printed, red rug, there’s a dining room table, complete with eight black wire chairs. Draped over the backs of each are white faux lambskin throws for cushion and comfort. Above the table hangs an intricate, black iron, circular chandelier. Jessica knows they’ll never have use for that many chairs. There are no dinner parties in their future, but it breaks up the space nicely, just like Michelle said it would.

Further into the room, in the large open space in front of the bedroom platform, is thecozyshe was aiming for. The espresso-leather, L-shaped sectional faces the windows and is made into a U with the addition of two chestnut leather armchairs. The side table between them completes the semi-circle of furniture that frames the square trunk serving as the coffee table. All of it is situated on a furry, white rug she can tell is heaven to the touch.

After taking this all in, Jessica inches her way further into the loft. When she reaches the step leading up to the raised platform where the bed is, she lets her bags slide from her shoulders and onto the floor. The king-sized bed is situated against the wall on a simple, raised frame, atop a dark, teal printed rug. The duvet cover is white, as are the four large pillows piled at the head. There’s one accent pillow, its cover a shade of mustard yellow with teal accents printed diagonally across the bottom. There are two, basic, retro designed wooden nightstands on either side of the bed—a golden lamp on the right side and a pot of succulents on the left. By the window, beside the nightstand with the plant, is a full-length mirror propped on the floor—the triangle cut of the class allowing it to fit perfectly in the corner.

Jessica notices little knickknacks everywhere. These are Michelle’s doing, just like the large framed photographs she’s hung. Each piece is a little touch that completes the space without making it cluttered in any way. It’s perfect. It’s more than Jessica imagined. Even with all the furniture in place, there’s still a lot of empty space, but she likes it that way. Living in a tiny apartment with her mother, every corner stuffed full of belongings to accommodate two people in a residence meant for one, she feels like she canbreathehere. There’s so much extra room, she could dance in it if she wants.

---