“One year there were two,” came her nasty cackle. “Mary and Marie, it was tough to keep the names straight.”
Oh god, oh god. There were other women, weren’t there? He was seeing other women right now, I was no one special. The blue bedroom was the one he used when I was around, but what about when I wasn’t? There was the red bedroom, another one done up in pale green, and still a third with a gray interior. Holy shit, there were other women. Those sheets had to be smeared with other women’s fluids, rumpled with traces of another female’s messy ecstasy. I gasped leaning over, lungs tight. No! God no! The revelation was like a tidal wave crashing down on my head, almost knocking me out. How could he?
But the voice in my head took over again. That’s just your imagination, it tried to calm me down. That’s just your imagination running away with you. Thorn is a rich guy, and you don’t know how billionaires roll. Maybe he wants five bedrooms because that’s just how he is. You don’t know.
But I could find out. So scrambling back into my jacket, I flew out the door, hailing a cab.
“Central Park West,” was my gasped command, fingers trembling, face flushed. “Central Park West at Sixty-First Street.”
“Right away, miss,” grunted the old cabbie as the car rocketed from the sidewalk. And we plowed uptown before screeching to a stop in front of the imposing stone building.
I stepped out, looking up. The spires seemed to extend to the sky, lighting up the night like stars. But I was here on a mission, one that was crucial, and taking a deep breath, I braced my shoulders.
“Hi Henry,” I said with a fake smile at the doorman. He was used to seeing me now. “Here to see Mr. Channing.”
“Oh hi,” smiled the elderly man, dapper in a blue and green bellhop uniform. “Just give me one minute,” he said, holding a finger up while nodding into the phone.
But I wasn’t gonna wait. When the elevator dinged, I slipped inside.
“Miss, Miss!” called Henry, still stuck to his phone. “I should call up, I should let Mr. Channing know you’re here!”
“No need,” I said. “I’m on my way!”
And with that, the doors closed. My body felt weak, the air in my lungs coming fast. Because for the first time, I was gonna surprise Mr. Channing. I was going to burst into that apartment and confront him, seeing with my own eyes.
But when the elevator dinged at the penthouse, my courage ebbed. Knees weak, I reconsidered. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to act the ferocious lioness, to attack like a madwoman. Maybe I should be nice, and give him the benefit of the doubt? Or at least try to be calm and solve our problems in a thoughtful way?
So straightening my shoulders once more, I mentally collected myself, staring at the imposing door before me. There would be only one chance, and I needed to do it right. Marshalling my courage, I stepped forward and slipped the key into the door.
It opened soundlessly, the hinges perfectly greased. Of course, this was a luxury high rise and everything always works perfectly. I poked my head inside.
“Thorn?” came my quiet call. “Thorn?”
But there were no sounds. Breathing deeply, I willed my heart to stop racing, and stepped into the apartment, shutting the big door silently behind me. Everything was the way I remembered with the beautifully upholstered low-slung couches, two giant flat screen TVs and priceless artwork strewn about. Even the coffee book on famous ballerinas was still open to the same page, the images glossy and perfect.
“Thorn?” I called out again, slowly walking towards the kitchen. “Mr. Channing are you here?”
It was pretty late, and as usual, the kitchen was immaculate, copper pots strung up over the island, the big sub-zero humming soundlessly. I took another deep breath. What if he wasn’t here? What if he was still at work, looking over numbers or doing whatever it was that CEOs do?
Fine. I’d wait. There was still the big book on ballerinas to read, I could keep myself busy. But suddenly, a dull thump rang out.
I started. What was that? Had something broken, like the washing machine or dryer? Standing silently, I got up to investigate before sitting back down again. This wasn’t my place. Even if I’d almost lived here for the last month, still, my name wasn’t on the lease and I was really nothing but a guest. So I dropped to the couch again, fingers reaching once more for the big coffee book.
But then it came again, louder this time, a loud bump. What in the world? It was like there were movers struggling with a giant couch up the stairs, dropping the furniture, maybe banging into the walls. I got up again this time, determined to find an answer. Heck, there could be something really wrong. Maybe this beautiful building was having problems and a wall had caved, or a sprinkler had malfunctioned. It was my duty to find out.