Ditching The Dream (Dream Series) (8 page)

I
sat in my recliner in the family room, still in my pajamas. I called in sick for the past four days. I was sure my clients were ready to put a bullet in my head. Hell, I’d like to as well. Four days of no shaving, no showering, and minimal contact with the outside world.

I looked around the living room: a Styrofoam box of eggplant parmesan, half eaten, and a bottle of wine, nearly empty. Eggplant parmesan was her favorite. The cleaning ladies would know something was up, even if they overlooked my appearance. My housekeeping skills were the pits. When do they come anyway? How much do we pay them? Was it cash or check the day of or did they bill us? Elizabeth would know.

I read Elizabeth’s letter for the umpteen millionth time. Elizabeth had only been gone for four days, but it felt like four years. I picked up the phone and pressed re-dial.

“You’ve reached Elizabeth. Please leave a message.” BEEP.

“Elizabeth… Bets… Please. Call me. We need to talk.” I pressed the “End” button, and once again, read through her letter. There was actually no point in reading it. I had it memorized.

Draining the last of the wine into my glass, picked it up and walked over to Elizabeth’s chair, where her unfinished crochet project sat in the basket to the side. I settled in her chair. It was small for me, but it felt like her. It smelled like her.

I absentmindedly turned on CNN and waited for other problems in the world to make my problem seem small. It didn’t work. Wars, hostage situations, financial crises seem pale in comparison to the ache in my heart. My eyes blurred with tears, but I didn’t even bother to brush them away anymore. There’s no reason. Another tear would replace it shortly.

What did I do? What can I do? Why was this happening?

This would be the fourth night in a row that I’d fallen asleep in her chair.

F
riday morning I met up with Sarah at my new address, as arranged. I got my keys to my place, for the next couple of months anyway, and reintroduced myself to Dominic. He told me about the rooftop patio and that he was sorry it was still being painted, but that it should be available tomorrow. He reminded me of all the services that he and the other doorman, Gilbert, a part-timer, were there to help me with. He gave me a resident folder with building phone numbers, several takeout menus from local restaurants, and things to do in the area, as well as a couple of maps. I went up to get settled in my home on the sixth floor, even if I had just forty-five minutes before I had to leave for work. I unpacked my clothes and hung my new towels. It felt like when I moved into the dorms in college. A fresh new start. Like I could conquer the world.

When it was time to leave, I locked the door, double checking it, then made my way to the elevator bay. As I passed the apartment next door to mine, the door swung open, and out emerged a sweet older lady.

“Oh, hello pet! Are you our new neighbor?” she chirped with an adorable Irish brogue.

“Yes I am. Elizabeth Fairchild,” I said, extending her my hand to complete the introduction. “It’s nice to meet you.

“It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m Doloras Hanlon,” she said, shaking my hand. She turned, and closed the door. “Just headin’ out for the day. No rest for the weary. Ya must keep movin’ if you want to keep groovin’, or however the sayin’ goes.” I loved her accent. “So, would you be stayin’ here for work or pleasure?” she asked as she locked her door and we made our way to the elevator.

“Oh, work. Definitely,” I replied.

“Well, be sure to get out there and have a bit of fun, too. New York is a great city, she is.”

“I’m finding that out, thank you.” I said as we stepped into the elevator. I pressed the button to go to the lobby.

“So, where would you be comin’ from?”

“California. How about you?”

“Beautiful country out that way. Me? I spent my youth in the outskirts of Dublin, and been livin’ here for the past fifty-three years.”

“And what brought you to New York?”

“Ah, that’d be my Joseph. He was an American business man. Advertisin’. He sold me quite a bill of goods for me to leave my homeland, but I do love it here, and goin’ back – well, there’s not much there for me anymore. How long will you be stayin’ in New York, honey?”

Good question, Mrs. Hanlon.
“A couple months,” I shrugged.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to the lobby. I let Mrs. Hanlon out first and followed.

“It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Hanlon. I’d love to talk more, but I have to get to work. Hope I’ll be seeing you later.” I waved as Mrs. Hanlon stopped at the front desk.

“Just a quick moment, Mrs. Hanlon,” Dominic smiled as he rushed to the front door to hold it open for me. “Ms. Fairchild. Have a pleasant day,” he said with a nod, still smiling. I could get used to this.

I made my seven block walk to work, enjoying the frenetic pace of the streets of New York, along Lexington Avenue to Seventy-Third Street. I adored the fact that I was living in a city that was a true melting pot, listening to several languages all around me. I slipped right into the bustling action of the shops, the cabs, and people, with their cellphones and iPods. I wondered if I looked like a tourist or a New Yorker. I hoped at least a little New Yorker.

The next-thirty six hours passed in a blur. As promised, Friday’s lunch and dinner shifts were CRAZY. Saturday – well, I don’t remember much, they were as fast-paced as they came, I hoped. Or maybe it was due to my inexperience, which was rapidly disappearing. I was getting plenty of experience.

Sunday surprised me with its pace hopping from noon until six, then slowed to nearly nothing. It was nice that Sunday started later, and even though it was more of a family crowd, as opposed to the dating crowd, it was still non-stop. The only drawback was watching the happy families sit in the restaurant area. I missed family dinners, even if Greg wasn’t usually engaged. I wondered if the kids had stayed local, living at home for school, if I would have stayed.

The quieter Sunday also allowed for more time for Shelby and me to talk. I liked her. She wasn’t just a great mentor, but she was one of those people you were simply comfortable around. I guess that’s what made her such a great bartender.

Jack hadn’t returned to the bar all weekend. I should have been happy about that, but I was bothered that I wasn’t. I found myself continually scanning the bar looking for him.

When we were cleaning down the bar that night, again, Shelby took notice of my rings, and asked about Mr. Fairchild. I shrugged and reply, “He’s fine.”

She stopped wiping down the bottles and looked at me squarely. “I know we’ve only known each other for a few days, but if you ever want to talk, I’m a really good listener.” I had a feeling it was only a matter of time before I caved and told her everything. I was glad to have the Monday lunch shift off.

Around ten that night, I ambled, dead on my feet, into the lobby of my ‘new’ apartment building, with Gilbert holding the door. Gilbert wasn’t as cheery as Dominic, but professional and kind. I noticed that the elevator doors were just about to close and that someone was in there.

“Hold the door!” I shouted, and make a mad dash into the car. Inside, as the doors were closing, I took notice of who the other passenger was.

I recognized the man from crossing paths in the lobby a few times, but we hadn’t officially met. He was tall, very tall. This guy nearly towered over me. He had to be six-foot-four or more. Why are there so many tall guys here? Or have there always been this many? And where were they when I was dating in college? I couldn’t help but notice he was also rather young. Dressed in a plaid shirt, jeans, and boots, I wondered if he’d been at some country themed night at a local bar.

He roused me out of my line dancing reverie by asking, “What floor?”

“Um. I, ah…” Why was my brain stuttering? I didn’t know, but I was standing there like an idiot! I took a deep breath and gathered my mind. “I’m sorry. I’m on sex.” I gasped when I heard my slip. “I mean
six
. I’m on floor to
six.”
Oh good god, I inwardly groaned, now he thinks I’m some perverted nut job.

“That’s mighty convenient,” he drawled, concealing a smirk. “I’m also on
six,”
he said with a wink pointing to the button panel with the six button already lit. But his accent was definitely from below the Mason-Dixon Line. Maybe his ‘get up’ wasn’t just for show?

There was an awkward pause as the elevator lurched on its upward climb. He inhaled deeply. “Someone must be cooking steak. Do you smell that?”

I, too, sniffed the air.
All I smell is elevator…and man. Sweet, delicious man
. As I turned to look at him, I caught a whiff of my shirt — mortified, I realized the steak smell was me.

“Oh, I’m afraid that might be me,” I apologized.

“Interesting perfume choice,” he shot back with a cocky little grin.

“Oh, no – I work at a steak house just a couple of blocks from here. I come home every night smelling like this. Eau du steak, I guess.”

“That’s something I could get used to.” His smile, which was at least a country mile wide, made me melt. I felt a blush infuse my cheeks.

I took note of his shaggy-styled hair, his stubble, and his sparkling green eyes. He was the kind of guy you would see on screen. Perhaps he was an actor, or a model. I mean, we were in New York.

“I’m Kevin,” he said with an outstretched hand.

“Hi, Kevin. I’m Mrs. Fairch – I’m Elizabeth.” I smiled quietly and shook hands with him. I started to swoon a bit when our hands met.
I must be tired
, I convinced myself. And why did I choose to call myself Mrs. Fairchild, like Kevin was one of Bradley’s friends? My head was a frightful mess.

“Nice to meet you, Lizzie.”

The nickname stunned me a bit. I’d not been called Lizzie in almost thirty years. My sister Susan,
Suzie
, was the only one who still called me that.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called you that. It’s awfully familiar… Please accept my apology. I work with middle schoolers and sometimes nicknames get the better of me.”

The elevator stopped on the sixth floor, and the doors opened.

“Ladies first,” he drawled. He placed his hand on my lower back to escort me out sending an electric tingle up my spine. His touch actually gave me goose bumps. What in the hell was that?

I gasped, hastily stepping out of the elevator and out of his reach.

“Oh, I beg your pardon. I don’t know what I was thinking. Please accept my apology.”

“Apology accepted,” I whispered. My mouth was bone dry and my thoughts were all over the place. I could still feel his hand on my lower back, and now that he was standing closer to me, I could smell him better. A rustic man scent under his spicy cologne.

We started down the hallway together, in an awkward silence, but my mind was shouting at me so loudly that I couldn’t properly hear, but it was along the lines of:
“He’s gorgeous!” “He smells great!” “Don’t you want him to touch you again… in other places?”

He stopped at his door, 6C, and I continue to my apartment, 6G. I heard him unlock and open his door, but it hadn’t closed. Curious, as I unlocked my door, I chanced a glance his way. He was watching me. He jumped slightly as he’d been caught, then he gave a small wave and slid into his apartment.

Safely in my own apartment, with the door double locked, I let out the breath that I’d held since the elevator. Why was my blood racing? This was absurd. He was just being nice. A southern gentleman. A drop-dead, gorgeous, amazing smelling, southern gentleman.

I decided to take a shower to try and calm my nerves, and rid myself of the Eau-du-Steak.

In the shower, shaking thoughts of other men out of my head, I planned my call to Greg. I’d been gone nearly a full week, I was feeling stronger. A call was the grown up, mature thing to do.