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“I know what I saw Sunday night. That hot guy you were with has the hots for you.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Then why hasn’t he called like he said he would?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s sick, or he’s in jail. I have no idea, but I know what I saw last week. When you were on the dance floor, getting your Madonna on, he couldn’t take his eyes off you, Suzanne. His eyes followed every move you made. And the look on his face...like he wanted to eat you up, if you know what I mean. Then, when he practically dragged you off the dancefloor...”
My cheeks heated up. “You saw that?”
“Are you kidding? There were hardly any people in the club yet. I couldn’tnotsee it. So, no. I have no idea why he hasn’t reached out to you, but if the lust on his face was any clue, he’s got a good excuse why he hasn’t called you yet.”
I sucked down the last of my pink drink. “Maybe that’s true. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, but right now, I just want to have some fun. It’s 8:00. The night is still young, and I don’t want to talk about him anymore!”
What I didn’t tell Ginger was that I had already checked my phone three times since we’d arrived. If Gabriel wanted to see me, he would have called. If he had a reason why he couldn’t see me, he could have sent a text. Instead, he ghosted me.
Frustrated with myself, I pulled out my phone and turned it off. It was too late. If Gabriel called at this point, I already had plans. He could leave a message and I’d get back to him tomorrow. I wouldn’t be the sad woman sitting around waiting for a man to call. Gabriel deserved a bit of his own medicine.
––––––––
ILAID OFF THE PINKdrinks around midnight. By 1:00 am, Ginger and I were on the subway home. We used the same station, but when we tiredly climbed the stairs, we hugged good night and went in opposite directions. I rarely used the subway that late at night – or that early in the morning – but after dinner and drinks, my cash was low. A taxi wasn’t in the budget. It was only a few blocks to my apartment. If I walked fast and kept my head up, I’d be fine.
I lived in a good area, full of students and artsy types, but one thing my father never let up on was that you could never be too careful. “Never take anything at face value,” he used to tell us. “Keep your eyes open and your head high.”
I was never sure how those three things went together. It was Sebastian who gave me some safety pointers when I told the family I was moving to New York City. I learned to walk down the street with my eyes ahead of me, not looking at my phone or at the ground.
“Don’t make eye contact,” Sebastian told me, “but lookatpeople when they pass you. If they think you can describe them later or that you’re aware of what they’re doing, they’ll think twice before choosing you as their victim.”
Five years later, I was doing alright. I had never been the victim of a crime, but I also didn’t push my luck.
“Be smart,” Sebastian had advised me all those years ago. “Carry mace or pepper spray. Don’t be afraid to use it.” He showed me how to use my housekey as a weapon to gouge at someone’s eyes and how to land a good kick in the balls if I had to disable an attacker.
The possibility of being attacked was a depressing thought, but the cold night air helped to clear my head so I could focus on getting home safely. Fortunately, I passed very few people during the two-block walk to my apartment.
I breathed even easier when I approached the intersection where The Coffee Spot lighting kept the sidewalk well lit. It wasn’t until I crossed the street that I realized the light above the entrance to my building was burned out. Being tucked into an alcove on the side of the building, it didn’t benefit from the neon red of the coffee shop’s sign. The super locked the outer doors at nine each night so anyone arriving home after that had to use their keys to get in. He was a nice gu, but fairly lazy. He often forgot to unlock the door. You could leave, but getting back in wouldn’t happen unless you had someone come down and open the door for you.
I wasn’t scared, but the darkness made me fumble through my keys to find the right one. Year after year, I hoped the landlord would install a modern touch pad lock, but the tenants of 37 Crescent Street, apartments A1 through D4, were still in the last century with intercoms and keyed locks. I stepped out of the recess where the door to my building was and used The Coffee Spot’s residual lighting to see my keys.
The shuffle of footsteps behind me said someone was approaching. I only had four keys on my keyring: the building, my apartment, my mailbox, and the key to my mother’s house. Once I could see them, it took no time at all to pick the right one. I stepped out of the light and slid my key into the lock, aware that the person walking down the sidewalk was almost next to me now. I turned the key, trying not to look like I was nervous as I glanced over my shoulder at whoever was approaching.
I couldn’t see them around the corner, so I pulled the door open and stepped inside. I kept my hand on the door to make sure it closed behind me. The entryway was a simple hallway with our metal mailboxes along one wall and an eyesore of a corkboard for messages and flyers on the other. An old kitchen chair sat next to a rickety table that had a fake plant on it. The 37 Crescent Steet apartments weren’t spectacular or luxurious, but they were clean, charming and had all the characteristics you’d want from an aging building in the Big Apple. Most of the time, I felt completely safe living there.
But my nerves were getting to me tonight. I tugged on the door to get it to close faster and nearly screamed when I met with resistance. I turned to face the person whose hand grabbed the door just before it could close. He pulled hard, and I lost my grip on the handle.
I started to back away as he pushed the door open and followed me into the hallway.
“Suzanne.”
My heart beat so loudly in my throat, it took me a second before I recognized him in the shadows. Even without seeing his face, I knew that voice.
“Gabriel?”
It had to be. I recognized his scent as he approached me.
“You scared me. I thought...what are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for you.”
“Looking for me? I was out with Ginger. You said you’d call and...why didn’t you call?”
“I did,” he replied harshly. “I’ve been calling you since eight. It’s almost two am.”
