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“She doesn't even work here,” Gerard interrupted, “and you need to leave. In fact, both of you leave, or I’ll call the cops.” His absurd threat warranted a smirk from the man, who slowly reached up to remove his shades.
“The cops? Now this is a party.” He chewed his gum ever so slightly, revealing who he was beneath. Gerard gasped, the noise of his breath more startling than my own realization.
Those eyes.
I knew them.
They were the same from the man in the billboard, dark and familiar, those that judged me as I ran across the street. He was here, more apparent than ever, his knitted brow impossibly calm.
“Alex Rivers…” The tremble in Gerard's voice shook between my ears, but all I heard was the rush of my own blood. I stared, hopelessly lost in the unbreakable gaze of the man who challenged me with an undefined intention.
“Alex Rivers?” I asked out loud. It was a name I knew, but almost forgot, whose face covered more than just a billboard. Yes, I knew his name, I knew his clout. He carried it like a heavy stick, an aura concealed clearly from the public, disguised in the simplest of ways.
“I need you to be quiet now.” Alex instructed Gerard, as he calmly gazed down at the silver ring on his thumb, toying with its rotation. “I have what I came for.”
Have what I came for?Did he mean me? I stared at a panicked Gerard, whose own fear felt somehow contagious. What was I supposed to do? Alex lifted my binders from the counter, placing them into my tote.
“You don't need to do that,” I laughed nervously, but Alex continued.
“I know.” He wrapped the handle of the tote along his tight grip. “You can thank me outside.” He walked off, carrying my life’s work in his hands, leaving me to stare as he reached the door. Gerard shouted, but I ran, chasing to keep up with Alex’s loud clicking boots.
“Where are you going?” I asked, reaching for my tote as he stopped by the curb. I pulled it from his hands, gently coaxing his release. The weight seemed heavier than I remembered, fooled by how easy he held it.
“What’s your name?” He asked, as I set the bag down on the floor, kneeling to ensure its contents were secure. As I stared up, I was met with a firm expression, the creases along his eyes left me in doubt about the tone of his question. Was he angry or eager to know?
“Gemma.” I mumbled, allowing the weight of his presence to settle in. This was a celebrity, one evoking fear from Gerard, but I felt nothing. I didn’t know his work or anything he’d done, except appear in ads. This celebrity aspect didn’t have an effect on me, but the command of his voice did.
“Gemma…” He repeated my name with such slick conviction, almost as if he wanted to test the way it rolled off his tongue.
Even in heels, my nose barely reached his chest. I tilted my head, just as I had when I saw him in the billboard. I couldn’t resist the urge to divert my eyes from his, his stare was as powerful as it was fiercely dark. His broad shoulders and fitted jacket, opened to a pristine white V-neck. Its contrast fit snuggly against his olive skin, teasing a coarse tuft of pebbled chest hair. I felt small in his shadow and how his eyes stared from above.
“What?” I asked, brushing my hair behind my ear. “Why are you staring at me like that?” He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes as his tongue clicked the gum in his mouth.
“Does it make you uncomfortable?”
Uncomfortable? I wasn't sure how it made me feel. Nervous, warm, almost as if I had slipped into a hot bath. Though his face was stern, his presence was anything but. Assertive, yes, but how did it make me feel? I wanted to saysafe, though admitting it felt absurd.
“It doesn't.” I answered.
“And where you from, Gemma?”
“Midtown.”
“No.” He hushed.
“No?” I asked, puzzled by his refute. “I live in Midtown… currently.”
“You’re not from Midtown though, are you?” His eyes finally looked away, slowly scanning the entirety of my body, shamelessly lingering at my lips. The brief pauses between his questions made me feel as though I was being studied. I returned the courtesy, taking a longer glance at the black rose tattoo on his hand. “Tell me, where are you really from?” His eyes motioned towards my purse, as he removed the gum from his mouth. I froze as his hand dropped near my waist, digging into the yellow bag of Marcello’s Galletas.He pulled out a cookie, slipping it between his soft cupid lips. The way he stared between the bag and me, it almost felt like he knew something more. He sensed it, subtly hinting at my quiet truth with the crunch of a sweet vanilla crisp.
“Brooklyn.” I corrected, mortified at his discovery of my poor bodega cookies. He licked his thumb.
“Where in Brooklyn?”
“Bushwick.”
“Is that where you take care of your mother?”
I scrunched my face, a part of me immediately annoyed by his prying questions and how Gerard made that comment so loudly. I shook my head, reluctant to answer any further.
