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She left her number.
Nine
Sem
“Do you mind if I try calling my friend?” Ivy asks. Wearing a long, could-be-Alliance-dress black dress, she could ask anything of me right now, and I’d do it for her. And if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a flicker of recognition when our eyes met inside the bar. I have no doubt the goddesses guided her to wear this dress, to catch my eye, to let me know she is my other half.
“My phone is yours,” I reply. She gives me a funny look, and I wonder if I can say that in English. I think I can. I’ve watched a lot of movies and read quite a few books.
After a second, she puts my phone to her ear. She has a somewhat worried expression and then says, “It won’t go through.” She shows me the phone as if I wouldn’t believe her. It strikes me off-guard a woman would feel she needs to prove something to me, that her word wouldn’t be good enough. Ivy operates in a patriarchy, I remind myself.
“I have a Swedish number. You have to put a +1 or 001 first to dial a US number.”
Ivy changes the number in my phone. Now I can hear it ringing and ringing.
When her friend doesn’t pick up, she begins to write a message, but I stop her. “My friend is still inside. Do you want me to see if he can find your friend so she can call you? He will definitely answer his phone.”
“Why didn’t you say so before?”
How can I explain that she seemed to have everything under control? “I only thought of it now.” She must think I’m a fool.
Ivy makes a sweet little noise of disapproval and hands me my phone back. Our hands touch longer than necessary, and I feel an electricity between us. I think she must feel it too, by the way, she looks up at me. I tear my eyes away from her green ones, like the goddess statues in the shrine, so I don’t do anything unexpected and scare her away.
I force myself to look at my human phone. Not surprisingly, I have a few messages from Ash. I phone him and he answers immediately.
“I’m with a woman dressed in a long black dress. Her friends are in the bar. They are dressed as..” I look to my companion for an answer, although, of course, Ash and I know how they are all dressed.
“My friend is tall with long blonde hair and is dressed as Dorothy from the ‘Wizard of Oz.’”
“Dorothy,” I repeat back in a knowing voice of she’s-the-other-half-to-your-costume. Ash says he sees her. “He sees them and is walking over to them.” Then I ask Ivy, “What’s your name?”
When she doesn’t answer, I explain, “I’m only trying to help.”
“Ivy.”
“Ivy,” I say, letting it roll through my mouth as if I haven’t said her name a thousand times before in prayer. “Such a beautiful,” and I stop myself from saying ‘human,’ name, “and charming name,” I repeat her name to Ash, and then a few seconds later, I hear him introducing himself to her friends.
Suddenly, a woman’s voice is yelling into the other end of the phone, “Ivy! Ivy! Are you okay? We saw that bastard, Scott. He …” I have to hold the phone away from my ear. The voice is so loud.
“Hold, please.” Then I hand the phone to Ivy.
“Scarlett! It’s okay. I’m okay. No, no, I just want to go home. The knight I’m with punched Scott and broke his arm; I think, no, it broke when he fell. No, I don’t think they know each other. He was just there. Anyway, I’m fine, really.” She turns her back to me as she’s talking. I hear her telling her friend she just wants to go home repeatedly. Then she ends the conversation and gives me my phone back.
“I can take you home if you want. I’ve not been drinking, and I have a car nearby.”
“I’ll find a taxi or call an …. Oh wait, I don’t have a phone.”
I can’t help but be insulted. “I know I’m dressed ridiculously for this holiday celebration, but you’d rather trust a stranger with an app than someone who has been kind to you since we met?” I can tell by the look in her eyes that I’ve said something wrong, but I don’t know what it is, so I patiently wait for her reply.
After a few seconds, she says politely, “It’s nothing against you. I’ve been wronged by men who promised me they’d never hurt me before. Again, thank you for what you did in there. I’ll be fine by myself.”
“Men who insult women deserve to be punished,” I tell her plainly. I don’t add that if he’d been an Alliance man, I would’ve challenged him to a duel to the death. “Was it the same man who tried to attack you in the bar that wronged you and made you feel this way?”
“Yes,” she says quietly.
“I’m sorry, Ivy.” Saying her name sounds so right on my tongue I want to repeat it over and over again, but I don’t want her to think I’m a lunatic. “I understand why you would trust a stranger over me. I’ll help you find a taxi.” After fifteen minutes of trying to flag down a free taxi, I suggest, “May I walk you to a safe distance to your home? You tell me when to stop, and I promise I’ll erase the location from my mind after we say ‘goodnight.’”
“Thank you,” she says suddenly, wiping some tears from her face.
