“Yeah.”
She frowns in that way older people do when they don’t approve of something that you’re doing, but know that they can’t tell you to stop. “Why did you do that? You seemed like you were having a good time.”
Even though she can’t tell me directly what to do, I know Sandra well enough to know that she’s not going to stop with her questions until I’ve answered. I sigh and push away from the desk, trying to figure out a way to organize all the thoughts that are swirling in my head about Hudson and me and our relationship. “Because,” I say slowly, “the way he knows me, how we spent our time, it was exciting. Adventurous. I wasn’t really me when I was with him—I was a girl who bought lingerie and went to parties like that one and was some daring mysterious woman. That’s not really me. I’m…this. I work here and then I go home and watch TV. I’m not who he thinks I am. I’m…boring.”
Sandra gives me a look like she doesn’t understand. “And?”
“I mean,” I feel a little awkward talking about this with my boss, “I guess you know we were at a sex club.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, dear.”
I fight down the blush rising in my cheeks. “Anyway, he wanted to do more outside the club. He wanted to see my photos. He wanted to…I don’t know…date me. And I’m not ready for it to end.”
“Sounds to me like he wasn’t ending it,” Sandra chuckles.
“But don’t you see? I’m not the person he thought I was. And when he sees that I’m not that girl he knows from the club everything’s going to be ruined.”
She blows out a breath and leans back. “Girl, you’re being a little over dramatic.”
I grit my teeth. “No, I’m not.”
“What has you so convinced that he won’t like you when you’re not having sex?”
“I’m boring,” I shrug. “I always have been. I’m not special. I’m average. The most daring thing I’ve ever done was moving here. Which isn’t exactly a stretch considering it’s only an hour and a half and away from my hometown. I’m just…in the middle.”
Sandra is quiet for a second, just looking at me. The way she’s looking at me—as if she’s really looking through me—is unnerving. Finally, she stands. “We’ve got a quiet few days ahead of us, and I know the weather is going to be nice. Why don’t you take a couple of creative days? I don’t think you’ve had much time lately to take any photos of your own.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you shorthanded.”
She smiles, and it’s a little sad. “I have your phone number. I can call if I need you. I’ll see you back here on Monday, okay?”
“Okay.
She heads back to the office, stopping before she reaches the door. “I don’t think those words about you being average actually come from you. Do me a favor, and give some thought to why you’re so convinced that you’re not worth this guy’s time. Especially since you seem to make each other happy.” She doesn’t give me a chance to respond, closing the office door behind her.
I have that sinking sensation in my gut like I’ve disappointed her. Even though I’m not sure why. I’ve known Sandra for a few years now, and I know she cares about me, but why does this really matter? I’ve made the decision. Might as well get a head start on picking my locations tonight if I’m going to shoot tomorrow. Pushing Sandra’s words out of my head, I grab my things and head for home.
Even though I tried to push Sandra’s words aside, over the next few days they come back to haunt me. They echo around my head as I photograph parking lots and alleys, and a sequence of fountains at an abandoned complex that are still running for some reason. They boil down to a mantra in my head. Not mine. Not mine. Not mine.
My whole life I’ve been average though. Average talent, average looks, average grades. That’s all anyone’s ever expected me to be. Who they still expect me to be. I can feel the realization on the edge of my mind, but I don’t let it in. I have a feeling, like dread, that fully understanding Sandra’s words is going to devastate me, and I’m honestly not sure that I’m ready for it.
I’m going through my photos from my second day of shooting when my phone rings. I cringe, hoping that it’s not Hudson. He’s called a couple of times and left messages. I haven’t answered. Don’t know if I’m going to answer. But it’s not Hudson. It’s my sister. I haven’t actually talked to her since we argued on the phone last time. She’s probably pissed at me. It’s been three weeks and I haven’t talked to anyone back home. I wonder what it says about me that I didn’t even notice.
I pick up the phone, and before I even have a chance to greet her, she’s speaking. As usual. “What are you doing this weekend?”
“Hello to you to, Catherine.”
“Hi.” Her tone is clipped and short. “What are you doing this weekend?”
Nothing. Freaking, miserable nothing. “No solid plans. Maybe some work, nothing too special.”
“Perfect. Mom and I will be there tomorrow morning.”
My entire body freezes. “I’m sorry…what?”
“There’s a piece of equipment that Dad needs for the store. They won’t deliver and Dad can’t make the drive so Mom and I thought we’d come and pick it up and stay with you for the weekend.”
I’m trying to pick my jaw up off the floor. “What were you going to do if I said I had plans this weekend?”
“Tell you to cancel the plans, of course.” There’s absolute certainty in her voice, as if this was expected. Perfect, boring, Christine. Of course she’d be willing to go along with this. Why wouldn’t she?
I clear my throat. “It’s a little short notice, Catherine.”
“Yeah, but you just said you weren’t doing anything.”
“I said I had no plans, not that I was doing nothing.” I feel a familiar frustrated pressure in my chest, the way I usually do when I talk to my older sister. Sometimes it feels like she’s not even hearing what I’m saying. It’s the same way when I talk to my mom.
Her voice is scathing, “You’re going to make us stay in a hotel because we have to pick up a giant fridge and we sprung it on you?”
“No,” I say carefully. “But I would like it if you told me more than twelve hours in advance.”
Catherine snorts, “The city is turning you into a princess. No wonder you think you’re special. We’re family. You should be ready and happy for us to show up whenever.”
I have to physically bite my lip to keep from screaming at her, and I’m quiet for so long that she asks if we’re still connected. “I’m here,” I say. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“By—” I press the end button before she can say anything else. Anger is burning in my chest and I feel like I’m going to explode. It’s always been this way, whenever I say something that makes sense, they tear it down like I’m crazy. Why would I need more than twelve hours’ notice for visitors—are you some sort of royalty? Why would I need to move away from the city—you too good for us now? Why would I need to go to college?—you think you’re smart enough to get in?
That sickening realization that I’ve been holding back comes hurtling into my brain and I can’t breathe. Sandra is right. None of that has ever come from me. Every time I’ve wanted something more or tried something new I was shot down, bullied into being what everyone else thought was normal. So why would I think it would be any different with Hudson? Of course I wouldn’t think that he would want me whe
n I’ve been practically trained to think that he wouldn’t.
I have to get out of here. It’s too much. I don’t want to think about how many times I may have missed out on something because someone else convinced me I wasn’t good enough or it just ‘wasn’t the way we do things.’ The only thing I can possibly think of that will make me forget about this is Club Deep. I have to go. I have to be there. I have to lose myself. I can only hope that Hudson isn’t so pissed that I left and ignored him that he won’t see me.
For this, I need an outfit I’ve been saving for something special.
10
The outfit I’ve chosen is nothing but straps. It barely covers the essentials and is super hot. And given the fun that we’ve had with straps over the past month, I think that Hudson will like it.
John looks surprised when he sees me, talking into his radio before I’ve even made it all the way to the door. “Upstairs,” he says. “In the private room.”
I nod. It’s the room that I last saw him in. I have a feeling that Hudson and I will have some things to say to each other, and it’s probably better if we don’t say them in the club. He has every right to be angry. I basically disappeared. I hadn’t planned on coming back. I think he knows that.
The room is quiet and empty when I get there. I kept my coat with me this time. I think a dramatic reveal might be appropriate for this outfit. The door opens and Hudson comes in. He doesn’t come to me. He’s angry. I can see it in his face and the way he’s holding himself, entirely tense.
“Hi,” I say.
“Why are you here?”
That’s not the question that I expected. “I’m not sure.”
“You disappeared. Not a word. You didn’t answer my calls. After a month of seeing each other—having sex with each other—almost every single day, I can only think that you were trying to break it off.”
“I was.”
The look on his face, the devastation, it hurts. “Why?”