Page 23 of Total Exposure

“I think so too. I’ve been thinking about my dress, ya know? The one I’ll wear for my comeback performance. And I’ve never done that before.”

“Well, if you need to go shopping for that dress after treatment, I would love to be your second opinion.”

I smile, picturing Lucinda and I as friends. She’s older than me by almost twenty years. But I like her. And she’s honest. That comment about my stupid phobia just proves it. “Deal,” I say.

“OK, so you know the rules.”

“One week’s worth of clothes. If I have to stay longer and I run out I can do laundry or go shopping.”

“In person,” Lucinda stresses. “Not online.”

I swallow hard, but I’m not going shopping. In one week I’ll be cured. I’m so sure of it, I force myself not to think about needing to stay longer. “Got it.”

“And you have groceries stocked in the fridge for a few days. But if you need anything else—”

“No deliveries,” I finish.

“Right.” She pauses, then says, “Take chances, Evangeline. That’s my best advice. When you think about leaving, pause and tell yourself, ‘Just one more night.’”

“OK,” I say. But this time it’s low, and soft, and barely audible.

“You’re going to do this,” Lucinda says. “You’re going to beat it.”

I nod my head, then say, “I will. I must.”

I imagine her smiling on the other end of the phone. She thinks I’m brave. She believes in me. Not just my talent—that’s easy to believe in once you see me play. But my spirit. “Call the number for the car service when you’re ready to go and I’ll see you soon.”

She hangs up.

I put my phone down and look at my suitcase. It’s packed with normal things. Things I wear around the house. Jeans. Yoga pants. Sweatshirts. T-shirts. I have my toiletries and my hair dryer.

It feels a little bit like the old me. Back when I was a kid and we’d travel all over the world. My passport was so full by the time I turned sixteen and needed a new one, it was nothing but a mess of indecipherable ink.

I don’t have a current passport these days. The last one expired a few months ago. And that makes me sad for a few moments. That I was so worldly and sophisticated once upon a time. And now I’m small and lonely.

“That’s why you’re doing this, Evangeline.” I give myself a pep talk. “And if you do it right and stick it out, in two weeks you’ll be that girl again. Only better. Because you won’t have your parents backstage waiting for their next opportunity.”

When the driver pulls up outside my building I roll my two suitcases outside, doing my best to blend in with the people. Trying not to stand out or be conspicuous in any way. Covered up in head to toe with outerwear. Gloves, long winter coat, scarf over my face, large, round sunglasses covering my eyes. It’s very cold and snow is falling like glittering dust. But it’s not enough to cover me and my heart starts beating wildly in my chest.

The driver must’ve been told not to make eye contact, because he’s wearing sunglasses too, and bows his head as he wordlessly takes my luggage and puts it in the trunk of the long, black town car.

I get in the backseat without waiting for him to open my door, and quickly shut myself up inside.

There’s a blackout screen between the front and back, and that, at least, is comforting. There’s almost nothing worse than a nosey driver glancing into his rearview trying to get a glimpse of me.

Twenty minutes later, after fighting afternoon traffic in downtown, we pass through a small restaurant and shopping district and arrive at a stately manor in what would probably be a very nice tree-lined street in the summer time.

There’s a tall, wrought-iron and brick wall surrounding the entire property. It’s got something akin to a small guardhouse off to the left, where a driver might interact with security if he were going to pull into the driveway, but my driver stops on the street and doesn’t attempt to pull in.

There’s no one in there anyway. Not anyone to help because it’s only me and my watcher until I decide to leave.

I wonder if he or she is spying on the car?

The driver gets out, but I wait until he’s got my luggage lined up on the sidewalk and he’s back in the front seat before I let myself out and close the door behind me.

He drives off, leaving me there alone. Standing in front of the gate, looking up at the imposing mansion, tiny silver snowflakes falling on my cheeks like slippery wet kisses.

I gather myself, eager to get inside before any of the neighbors see me, and pull my luggage through the thin layer of snow that’s collecting on the ground.