“You tired, Nadine?” Stephen asked. “You can close your eyes if you are. We’ve still got a ways to go.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m a little tired.” Her voice slipped out dreamily. Her words sounded far away, as if they had bubbled up from a deep well. She put her phone in her backpack, shut her eyelids, and that was that.
When her eyes opened, she felt woozy and disoriented. They were in some city neighborhood with brick stores, plenty of neon, lots of people. White skin was the minority—nothing like Potomac, that was for sure. Nadine’s mouth felt dry. Her stomach roiled, but she wasn’t going to puke or anything.
They had stopped in front of a three-story brick building, an apartment building perhaps.
Stephen saw she was awake and gave her some water. “We’re here”
Nadine’s legs felt heavy on her way up the front stairs. Ricardo unlocked the outside door and she followed him into a dark foyer with Stephen close behind. The floor was covered in tile with inlaid geometric patterns. Nearby a wood staircase snaked up into the darkness.
Ricardo unlocked a door at the end of a narrow first floor hallway. Nadine didn’t notice a sign for a photography studio, but that didn’t mean anything. Studios could be anywhere, even in apartment buildings like this one.
She still wasn’t feeling herself when she followed Ricardo into the apartment at the end of the hall. It was a relief to see a camera set up and some kind of a lighting rig. But it was also just an apartment with a leather couch, some IKEA-style furniture, and a kitchenette. A short hallway led to a bathroom, with a bedroom off to the side.
“You okay?” Stephen asked. “You look a little funny.”
“I think I drank too much vodka,” Nadine said.
Stephen Macan did not look surprised. “Look, I have some work to do nearby. Ricardo can do the shoot after you take a nap. There’s a bedroom, nice and comfy. You need to feel fresh and perky for the camera.”
Nadine’s head was buzzing. She needed to feel better than this, that was for sure. “Is this a studio?” Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, swollen, and she could hardly understand her own question.
“Yeah, it’s one of them.”
Ricardo escorted Nadine to the bedroom. Shades were drawn. It was dark at first, but Ricardo turned on a light.
To her relief it was a nice-looking bedroom. It had a small TV, an area rug, and a couple well-cared-for houseplants. Hanging on the walls were framed posters of pretty girls with the words Macan Entertainment at the bottom—publicity shots, she assumed, like they were going to do for her.
Ricardo lowered the futon and got a blanket and pillows out from the closet. Nadine was so tired she wanted to vanish beneath that blanket and sleep for days. She slipped off her backpack and went right to the bed.
Ricardo covered her with the blanket. “Sleep it off,” he said as he closed the door behind him.
Nadine was going to do just that, but after she checked those Facebook messages once more. She wanted to see if any more people missed her, not that it would change anything. She wasn’t going home until she had a reason, until she was somebody. But it still felt so good to know she was missed.
She unzipped her backpack and rummaged through the contents, looking for her phone. Her hand felt around the main compartment. Her journal and pen were there, some clothes, but not what she was looking for. Then she checked all the zippered pouches. Panic welled up. She emptied the contents on the floor. Nothing.
Her phone and her wallet were gone.
CHAPTER 5
Angie had spoken with Greg Jessup by phone, which completed a piece of the puzzle. She had asked all the questions of him she had planned to, except for the one that troubled her the most. Why didn’t you take the time to drive down from Philadelphia to Virginia and meet with me in person?
He’d said he would do it, of course he would, but something came up at work and, well, he just couldn’t seem to get away. He’d made it sound as if Nadine needed a wake-up call. He said it would build character for her to learn how hard life on the streets could be. She was always coming down on him for never being around, but that was because she didn’t understand what it meant to have a work ethic. She’d come home, he believed, a changed person.
Angie didn’t deny that, but she doubted it would be changed for the better. It took restraint not to call Greg Jessup an asshole, but speaking the truth would do nothing to help Nadine. Over the years, Angie had been exposed to all sorts of dysfunction. It never got easier to understand or accept.