Revealed to Him(10)
“Why don’t you give me a flyer?” I invite and close the ledger. He doesn’t notice because he’s too busy digging under the desk for a piece of promotional material.
“Here you go. We’re doing a reinvention of Waiting for Godot, only the characters have been transformed into animals. So it’s like a cross between J. K. Rowling’s Fantastic Beasts and Death of a Salesman.”
I nod like I would ever want to see something like that. “Sounds good, man.”
“So you a friend of Mr. Graham’s?” From his skeptical expression, I must not look like Graham visitor material. He takes in my boots, jeans, and T-shirt. I have a nylon jacket despite the early spring heat because I’m carrying. I’m always carrying.
“Business.” Graham’s visitors are probably leggier, shorter, and sporting much longer hair. Mine is still military-short. Some parts of the army can’t ever be carved out of me. I can grow a beard and leave my bed a rumpled mess, but the minute my hair touches my collar, I start to get itchy.
Business must make sense to the doorman because he nods twice and jerks his head toward the elevators. I wave the flyer at him in thanks. The elevator doors slide open when I reach them and the top floor—the seventh floor—is already lit up. Over at the desk I can see him on the phone, likely calling Graham, who I know for certain is not home right now.
I watched him leave two hours ago and he hasn’t returned, something the doorman missed when he darted out to get a coffee. I wonder if Graham knows how shoddy the security is here.
When the elevator stops on the top floor, I take one quick look around and then jog down to the third floor—the one Natalie lives on. There were two doors on the top floor, but six on this one. Sounds come from only two of them. I pause to make a calculated guess as to which one is hers. I asked Graham not to tell me because I wanted to see how easy it was to find her.
The middle units had the fewest number of windows whereas the front and back units had at least six windows each. Natalie’s fear of the outside world could mean she’d want as little access to it as possible or she may enjoy what little access she had through greater exposure. I take a chance and knock on 3A, a corner unit with eight windows.
Behind the door there’s a slight scuffling noise, which stops and then starts and then stops again. Someone is walking toward the door, but can’t get close enough to open it. Bingo.
Because I’m not here to scare the shit out of her, I announce myself. “Natalie. It’s Jake Tanner.”
“How do I know you’re who you say you are?” a distant female voice calls back. “Your website didn’t have any pictures, remember?”
The low, husky tone sends a chill up my spine. Graham failed to mention that Natalie’s voice is the sultry kind that hits a man in the solar plexus. Silently I cough into my hand to chase the vague tingle of interest away. Completely unprofessional. That said, nothing about our contact so far has been professional. I try to regret that, but I can’t seem to summon up any outrage. I spent the night thinking about her.
“I’m sliding a card under the door.”
“Anyone can print up a card.”
Her voice is closer, unfortunately for me. I slide the cream card with the bold black print under the door and give it a shove. Graham said she wrote the damn game, but I’m wondering if she did voiceovers for it. A game with that voice crooning into a headset would sell millions of copies. She could convince half the male population to open their wallets and buy dirt with that voice.
“Think you’re up for opening the door?” I lean against the wall to the right of the door and watch the doorknob, but it doesn’t move.
“I don’t know.” She sounds nervous and I don’t want that, but . . . I also want to meet her. Shake her hand. Or, if I’m completely honest, I want to put a face to the ill-advised fantasies I’m starting to have.
“You don’t sound like you’re hyperventilating. Besides, I thought I’d give it a try.”
“I’m big on trying,” she says. She’s close enough to the door that I can hear her sigh, an extended exhale full of longing. This is a woman who doesn’t want to be locked in her apartment. I respect that. “But not so much on doing.”
“All you need to do is open the door. Let me take a look around.”
“Jake, I’d love to be able to open the door,” she responds with a touch of asperity and I can’t help smiling. Housebound she may be, but she’s got bite. “I might not be gasping for breath, but right now it’s taking everything I have to just stand in the entryway talking to you.”