Stories From The 6 Train 2(17)

"I'm really too busy for that these days," I say. She gives me a puzzled look. I've never been one to stay out of shoots completely. But she shrugs her own confusion away, gives me one more quick hug goodbye, and walks off.

I begin to walk off as well, and then hear another voice.

"Ethan, there you are!"

Great. Can't I get any time to think around this place without women fawning all over me?

"Look, I need everyone to leave me al—" I say, but I'm cut off. It's Cheryl.

"It's important," she says.

"Sorry, I didn't realize it was you," I reply. "I've been bombarded ever since I walked in the door."

"Where's the prototype?" she asks me. "You left here with it yesterday, but I don't see it anywhere."

"I left it at home."

"You what?" Cheryl asks. She looks genuinely shocked.

"It's fine. I'll bring it back in tomorrow."

"Ethan, do you realize what you've done? You've left our only prototype—the one piece of technology that we're banking on and pouring all of our resources into—exposed and unguarded. Would you leave a million dollars on the sidewalk and expect it to be there the next day?"

"It's not like I left it on the street corner," I say. "That's not a good analogy. This is my apartment we're talking about. It's safe there. No one is going to touch it."

"Are you sure about that?" Cheryl asks, her eyes narrowing. "I don't think that was the wisest thing to do because you weren't alone … You had Brittney over."

"How did you know that?" I ask.

"I dropped her off near One57 yesterday and just as I thought, she ended up at your place.”

For a moment I wonder if Cheryl has resorted to stalking me at my own apartment now.

"Look, I know you worry, but I trust her," I say.

"Since when have you become so trusting of strangers?" she asks.

"It's not like that … I've gotten to really know Brittney. She's not a stranger. I can trust her. She's opened up to me. You can trust her too."

Are you listening to yourself?" Cheryl asks, shaking her head. "Prove to me that she can be trusted."

"Why are you being so difficult? What's come over you?" I ask.

"Do you even know what Brittney used to do before we hired her on?"

"Yes, I already know all about that," I say. "She told me. She was in porn, and then started her own business, Man Chasers LLC."

"And did she tell you what she did with that company?"

"Yes, she told me all about that too," I shrug. "Look, it doesn't bother me. She helped women get back at their cheating husbands. She helped them find closure… and justice."

"Did she forget to mention how she managed to pull that off?" Cheryl asks.

"Well, we didn't go into depth on that."

"She used deceit, Ethan. That's what she did. She lied. And she was good at it. She could convince even the most powerful men to drop their pants for her, and she was cunning enough to gain access to them," she says. "Think about that for a moment."

I never really thought about it like that. I guess Cheryl has a fucking point. But what Brittney and I have together is fucking different. I'm not some cheating husband that she's been hired to uncover.

"Look, I'll prove to you that the prototype is fine," I say. "I brought my tablet. It's connected to the cameras in my apartment. I'll power it on, and I'll show you that the prototype is still sitting in my briefcase, on the table."

I hold down the home button and toggle my tablet on. The screen glows to life, and I click on the application that'll show Cheryl everything's fine. Maybe then she'll get off my back. I know she means well, but I wish she'd just fucking trust me.

The app launches and I immediately see a live view of my apartment. Everything is still. I don't see Brittney anywhere. She must've already left.

I pan around to the living room, and I zoom in. I see the couch … I see the table … but I don't see the briefcase.

What the fuck? My heart sinks, and my pulse races. I know I left that briefcase in plain view. I should be seeing it. I'm trying to fight the dizzy feeling that's beginning to flood my head.

I'm trying to keep my cool in front of Cheryl. What if she's right? Fuck.

"I know the briefcase is around here somewhere," I say, panning around the apartment.

"I thought you said it was on your living room table?" Cheryl asks.

"It was… or I thought it was, but I could've misremembered," I say.

"It's gone, Ethan," she says. "I told you. Brittney couldn't be trusted. Now what are we going to do?"

My heart now sinks even further as I realize Cheryl's right. I'm not sure if this is what a broken heart feels like, but it must be pretty fucking close.