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She snatches it and dabs gently, wiping away the slightly smeared mascara until she’s perfected herself again. What was a crumbling wreck is suddenly a mask of poise and grace again, as if she’s flicked a switch and changed herself. I look on as she walks purposefully to the door, intrigued again.
“Thank you,” she says, reaching for the lock and unlatching it. “I have a feeling I needed your intervention.”
“You’re welcome.”
She doesn’t look back or acknowledge my comment. She walks out of the door with her head held higher than it was before, some inbuilt mechanism grounding her into a woman of substance again. I follow, titillated by her attributes, and listen to the footsteps of Jackson now flanking me again as she folds through the crowds in front of us. She doesn’t acknowledge any of the whispers or sense of hushed silence around her as she goes. No interest at all. A glass of champagne gets grabbed as she passes a waitress, her mouth swallowing it on one gulp, and then she takes another off the next tray being held aloft. Two more after that, as she keeps searching the rooms, and then she eventually finds her quarry shivering in a corner with some men – Deborah Collier.
The last glass was clearly being kept for revenge, because she launches the contents of it at the woman’s face, calmly turns around, and then heads back through the rooms towards the exit. I look around the room, watching the smirking faces and nods of agreement to her actions, and laugh. A laugh? I chuckle through it, trying to remember the last time that happened. The thought makes me grab a passing glass of champagne and follow her again, part beguiled into the move for reasons unknown.
I eventually find her waiting on the concourse outside the main doors, her body perfectly still. It’s the first time I get a chance to look her over in her quietly poised stance. Small. Everything about her. Petite. I tilt my head, letting my gaze roam over her from heels to head. Slight ankles, firm, tight calves. Probably works out. Invariably trying to keep herself fit for Richard the adulterer.
I chuckle again and wander up behind her, interested in the distraction she’s providing me with. “Would you like to go for a drink?” I ask, walking around in front of her.
It’s only when I get there that I notice the tears welling up in her eyes again, as she stares blankly into the distance. Her bag’s clutched in her hands, as if she might well rip it in half any minute. I dip slightly to get my face in front of her. “Mrs Tanner?” Still no sign of life other than her physicality standing. “Shall I take you home?”
“Hannah Tanner,” a man calls.
I look up to see Graham Morris, my head of marketing in Canada, walking over to us with his hand already reaching for her. He takes her arm and pulls, trying to turn her towards him. She barely moves other than limply letting him tug her. “Hannah. Come on now. I’ll get you home and then we can talk about Rick.” Her eyes flare to life, body stiffening.
“I’m going for a drink with Mr Rothburg,” she murmurs, aggressively shirking his hold. Her eyes come to mine. “Shall we? I don’t know Manhattan very well. You lead. I’ll follow.”
“Hannah, you are not going anywhere in this state.” His eyes slip towards me, deference in them because of my position over him.
“I am, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me, Graham. My life is nothing to do with you now. You were Rick’s friend. Not mine.” She starts walking towards the road, barely a glance back at anything behind her. “Goodbye.”
“Mr Rothburg?” he says to me. I put my hands in my pockets and raise a brow, waiting for whatever attempt at chivalry he might try for. I don’t care in reality, but he’s right to a degree. Going off with me in her state is probably unreasonable. From his perspective the reclusive man who pays his check each month might be certifiable. “You’ll get her home?”
I swing back to take a glance at her frame, confused as to why I’m interested at all, let alone thinking of taking her for a drink. “I’ll make sure she’s safe, Graham.”
I turn fully towards her, dismissing Graham and nodding to Jackson for the car to be brought around. He phones it through, as she teeters at the edge of the road, her eyes still blankly looking into the distance. A drink? An odd offer from me. I can hardly bear these roads around me anymore, and I’m certainly not interested in them, and yet here I am proposing help in some way. My gaze roams her again. Maybe she’s just a diversion for me for a while, some time out of the inescapability that is my life.
“I could take you home instead,” I propose, as I walk to her.
“No. Drinks sound good. Somewhere dark. Different.”
“Different?” I come to stand by the side of her, looking out into the night around us.
“Than the norm, Mr Rothburg. It’s all been crystal glasses. High end seating. Small plates of food and nothing of substance. I want substance.” Her eyes swing to mine, her small frame seeming as dismal as the cold bite of November weather. “Take me somewhere real rather than the lie I’ve been living,” she murmurs.
“Real?”
“Yes.” She looks me over lazily, taking in my suit and then shoes. “There’s a thousand dollars on your feet.” Her hand reaches for the cuff of my shirt, pulling it out of the way so she can glance at my watch. “And aPatek Phillipeon your wrist.” Her gaze turns away, seemingly bored with the view of my skin. “I doubt you even know anywhere real.”
The car pulls up beside us, and Jackson hurries to open the passenger door for her. I watch as she slides in, her gaze still focused on anything but me, and chortle as I amble around the other side. Real? I don’t understand what she means by that, from her point of view, but I can only assume she means something other than the money she’s been existing under.
The roads are heavy with traffic as we journey through them silently. I don’t know where to tell Tom to head, which is amusing. I usually know exactly where I’m heading on the few occasions I leave the comfort of my own walls, but she’s asked for something unusual. Challenging. There are only two reals to me, though. One that keeps me researching and working, and the other side that provides yearly titillation when I see that as acceptable. It’s obscure there. Full of people who live two separate existences. Different. Similar to what she’s asked for, I suppose, even if she doesn’t know what she’s asking for. But real, here in this city, is just cloistered behaviour and research.
Nothing more than that.
I glance at her, as she tucks that loose tendril of blonde hair behind her ear, and then I watch the road flashing by the side of her face. It distorts speedily, as the car beneath us travels with no direction in mind, and my thoughts wander to anything but sensible reasoning because of that distortion. I frown and pull in a breath, trying to diminish my temptation. She’s unknown to me. Not that the others are known, but they are there, allowed in. Wealthy enough to get through the hidden door and scared enough to sign the disclaimers.
“Fucking something would probably make you feel better,” I mutter. Her face flies to mine, her body reinforcing and her hands gripping her bag. I chuckle at the look of her shocked face and turn back to the front of the car, dismissing her moralistic protest. It’s the first lacklustre thing I’ve noticed about her since we left that room. Unengaging. “How is your sexual appetite, Mrs Tanner?”
Silence continues for a while, probably as she looks me over and wonders if I’m about to try raping her. I look at Manhattan passing us by, indistinct lights and flashes matching my thoughts on the place I’m thinking about. Raping her isn’t even in my considerations.
She eventually blows a breath out of her mouth, her body moving about in the seat next to me. “It’s underfed.”
My brow arches at the answer. Underfed? I suppose sexual appetite would be underfed if your husband fucked everything else but you. Shame. Looks like he missed out as far as I’m concerned, especially with this vigour she expels every now and then. I chuckle and focus on the glass screen between Jackson and Tom and us, attempting to focus on the roads rather than dissect that word any further than I already am doing.
