CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
I was going to Gabriel's apartment. He'd offered so casually that I wondered if I'd been mistaken about his reluctance to have guests. Still, I played it cool, making general conversation, with no comments on the neighborhood or even the building. I certainly could have commented on both.
When Gabriel first took me to his office, I'd expected a modern skyscraper suite in a high-rent neighborhood. Wrong for his office; dead-on for his residence. He lived in the near-north district of Chicago, just over the Loop. It was an impressive building, and I craned to look up at the top floors as I imagined the amazing view. I was so engrossed in my surroundings that I didn't notice Gabriel had gone quiet. He parked without a word, got out of the Jag, and led me to the elevator in continued silence.
He'd spent most of the trip here talking, that slightly animated chatter that came after his standard half glass of wine. And I could say that had worn off and he'd retreated into a more typical thoughtful silence. But it didn't feel that way.
As we waited for the elevator, I could feel anxiety strumming off him as his fingers drummed his leg. My gut dropped, any lingering buzz from the wine evaporating.
Gabriel didn't want to bring me here. He'd had an impulse, and now it had passed, and he desperately wanted to rescind the invitation.
"Is this all right?" I asked.
He glanced over. "Hmm?"
"We can grab a drink someplace else." I forced a smile. "You look like you're wondering if the cleaning lady came by today. I know what that's like. You get busy, and I swear the clutter starts reproducing itself. We can go someplace else . . ."
I was giving him an escape route. Yes, actually, the place is a mess. Let's go down the street instead. But he stared as if I was speaking Swahili. Finally, he seemed to process enough to understand.
"No, of course not," he said, ushering me into the elevator. "The apartment's fine."
He pressed a button. As the doors closed, I leaned over to see which floor he'd selected.
"Fifty-five? Damn. That's got to have an amazing view. North or south?"
"South."
"So it overlooks the river, then? Sweet."
"Yes, it's . . ."
He seemed to lose his train of thought, as if the effort of making mundane conversation was too much.
"Fifty-five is a lucky number," I said. "Multiples of eleven are always good."
Not exactly scintillating conversation, but he didn't even acknowledge that I'd spoken. My gut was churning now, the queasiness laced with growing anger. He'd invited me here. I hadn't asked. I hadn't hinted. I'd never hinted.
"You're right," he blurted finally, hitting the garage button. "It's a mess. I'd forgotten that. Let's go somewhere else."
I hit the next-floor button. He looked over as the elevator stopped abruptly.
I stepped off and turned, holding the door. "Go on up, Gabriel. I can find my way out."
"Of course not. We'll--"
"Cut the crap. You don't want me here. Maybe it's just me; maybe it's everyone. It doesn't matter. I was fine with that. What I'm not fine with? Being invited over and then made to feel as welcome as Typhoid Mary."
"That's not--"
"It is. Good night, Gabriel."
I released the elevator door. He stood there. Just stood there and let the doors start to close. Only then did he make a move to grab them. Too late. Intentionally too late. They shut, and I went in search of the stairwell.
--
Gabriel made no attempt to find me. He could have. It would have been a simple matter of taking the elevator back down and cutting me off at the stairwell. I had eighteen flights to descend. It took a while.
When I reached the bottom and saw no sign of him, I started to text Ricky. Telling him I couldn't stop by as we'd planned. I stopped before I sent the message. That wasn't fair or honest. So I called. He answered on the second ring.