“Ow, shit,” said Chelsea, loudly.
In the living room everyone looked up. They saw Chelsea and Emma (in a white towel) doing a strange dance, as Emma made one last attempt to disappear. And then Charlie Busch was on his feet, coming toward her, his arms wide.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said. “Surprise.”
Cornered, Emma turned. The coke had turned on her, making the world jittery and uneven.
“Charlie, Charlie,” she said, trying to sound upbeat.
He gave her a kiss on both cheeks, his hands holding her by the shoulders.
“Put on a few, huh?” he said. “Too many desserts.”
Her stomach lurched. He grinned.
“Just kidding,” he said. “You look fantastic. Doesn’t she look great?”
“She’s in a towel,” said Carver, sensing Emma’s discomfort. “Of course she looks great.”
“What do you say, babe?” said Charlie. “Wanna run on in and put on something sexy? I hear we got big plans tonight. Big plans.”
Emma forced a smile and stumbled to her room. The vodka made her legs feel like they were made out of paper. She closed the door and put her back to it, standing for a long moment with her heart pounding in her chest.
Fuck, she thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
It was six months since she had last seen Charlie. Six months of phone calls and texts. He was like a bloodhound after a scent. Emma had changed her phone number, had blocked his emails and unfriended him on Facebook. She ignored the texts, ignored the gossip from co-workers, how he was talking trash about her behind her back, how he called other girls by her name in bed. Her friends had told her to file a complaint with the company, but Emma was afraid. Charlie was somebody’s nephew, she seemed to remember. Besides, she knew it was the squeaky wheel that got let go.
She had done so well, she thought. She had made rules and stuck by them. She was the girl with her head on straight. Charlie was her one mistake. It wasn’t his fault really. He couldn’t help who found him attractive. He was tall and handsome with a rogue’s scruff. A charmer with green eyes that had reminded Emma of her father. Which, of course, was what it was. Charlie was a man who occupied the same space as her father, embodied the same archetype, the strong, silent loner, the Good Man, but it was a mirage. The truth was, Charlie was nothing like her father. With him, the good-guy thing was just an act. Where her father was confident, Charlie was arrogant. Where her father was chivalrous, Charlie was patronizing and smug. He had wooed her, seduced her with empathy and warmth, and then, out of nowhere, he turned into Mr. Hyde, berating her in public, telling her she was stupid, she was fat, she was a slut.
At first she treated this change as if it were her fault. Clearly, he was reacting to something. Maybe she had put on a few pounds. Maybe she had been flirting with that Saudi prince. But then, as his behavior intensified—culminating in a terrifying bedroom choking—she realized that Charlie was crazy. All of his jealousy and viciousness was the bad side of his bipolar heart. He wasn’t a good man. He was a natural disaster, and so Emma did what any sane person does in the face of a natural disaster. She ran.
Now she dresses quickly, pulling on her least flattering outfit. She wipes the makeup from her cheeks with a towel, takes out her contact lenses, putting on the cat’s-eye glasses she bought in Brooklyn. Her first instinct is to say she feels sick and stay home, but she knows what Charlie will do. He’ll offer to stay and take care of her, and the last thing Emma can handle is being alone with him.
Someone bangs on the bedroom door, making Emma jump.
“Come on, whore,” yells Chelsea. “Farhad’s waiting.”
Emma grabs her coat. She will stay close to the others, sticking to Chelsea and Carver, latching on to the pretty Spaniard. She will stick to them like glue, and then, when the time is right, she will slip away. She will come back to the apartment, grab her things, and check into a hotel under an assumed name, and if he tries anything, she will call the company tomorrow and file a formal complaint.
“Coming,” she yells, hurriedly packing. She will put her suitcase by the door and be gone before anyone’s the wiser. Ten seconds, in and out. She can do this. She wanted to change her life anyway. This is her chance. And as she opens the door, she finds that her pulse has almost returned to normal. And then she sees Charlie standing by the front door, smiling with his X-ray eyes.
“Okay,” says Emma. “I’m ready.”
Chapter 38
Hurt