“I’m sorry, but no. There are at least three photographers waiting at your home and several more positioned at places that you are known to frequent. I’m afraid I'll have to ask you to stay at the hotel and keep your contact with people here as brief as possible for your own safety.” His voice lost the smiling sound as he smiled apologetically at me. I sighed and nodded. I should have known this was going to keep haunting me.
Dean carefully parked the car in the parking lot of a small hotel outside of downtown Des Moines. The city was so tiny compared to New York that calling it a city seemed like a sad joke. It seemed grayer than I remembered—less alive. The trees reached up with grasping fingers, scratching at an unforgiving sky for warmth and light. Even though the trees were starting to sprout little buds, I couldn’t see the green. The day would have been warm if the wind wasn’t blowing, but dark clouds were building across the sky as the sun set. Spring snow threatened, but I didn’t care.
Dean walked in front of me, his thin frame easy to follow through the empty hallways to my room. It was a nice room, nicer than anything I could have afforded, but it was still just a hotel room. I went to the closet to hang my jacket and found my things already arranged neatly. Glancing around the room, I could see small touches that could only be the work of Rachel. My mail on the table, fresh flowers in a vase by the door, my toothbrush and a red cup by the sink.
Dean handed me a card with his name and telephone number, reminding me if I needed anything to call him. “I’ll bring by some pizza in an hour or so for you. What would you like?”
“Pineapple and bacon,” I answered automatically. Comfort food sounded good. He grinned and shut the heavy door softly behind him. I stood in the center of the room, suddenly lost. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be in New York. I wanted to be somewhere I belonged. I wanted this hole in my heart to either disappear or fill up with something that didn’t hurt so much.
I slid the blonde wig off my head and onto a wig stand in the bathroom. Rachel had thought of everything. I looked at myself in the mirror. I still looked the same, brown hair, brown eyes, but I knew something must be different about me. I didn’t feel like me anymore. I suddenly wanted out of my expensive clothes, out of everything that had anything to do with New York or the almost-life I had left behind.
I threw the suit on the tile floor, a sick sense of satisfaction at the expensive fabric lying in a pile. I stepped on it as I walked past. All I wanted was a pair of old sweats and a t-shirt. I dug through the drawers, but all I could find was beautiful expensive clothes from New York. I ripped them out of the drawers and off their hangers, tossing them in angry showers to the floor as I searched. I didn’t want this. All I wanted was something simple, comfortable. Finally, in the bottom drawer of the last dresser, I found my ratty scrub pants and a t-shirt.
With a sob of relief I dove into the familiar fabric, feeling it rub against my skin. The hem on the pants was fraying and a hole had developed in the t-shirt, but I didn’t care. Hot tears leaked down my cheeks, leaving red lines of frustration and hurt behind them. I sat down on the bed, a raft in a sea of clothes, and cried until I passed out, exhausted.
Chapter 22
Five days, three hours, and twenty three minutes since I left New York. I had been cooped up in the hotel room for five days, and I was ready to kill. Dean brought me whatever kind of food I wanted, and I had free reign of room service and the coffee cart in the library, provided I wore the blonde wig whenever I opened the door.
I hated it. The weather outside was slowly getting warmer, the sunshine teasing me with happiness. I went out in the hotel courtyard several times, but there was always a businessman on his phone, or a family planning their drive back through Nebraska. I wanted to be alone, not silently sharing strangers’ lives, so I tended to stay in my room and pull the drapes.
I watched more TV in those few days than I had in my whole life. I suddenly understood the allure of reality TV, or at least the mind-numbing time-killing ability of it. It was at least a way to pass time while I waited for my world to settle enough that I could go back into it.
Dean kept his distance, bringing me food and movies at regular intervals. He was friendly and easy going, but he kept our relationship strictly professional. He was my bodyguard, not my friend. He had other things to do than sit in my hotel room and listen to me whine.
Rachel and I texted throughout the day, but she was busy with work. I had a feeling Jack was finding her extra tasks to keep her busy so she wouldn’t remind him about me. She kept telling me that things were going to get better, but, from my lonely hotel room, the world looked desolate and gray.