“Damn it, Duncan!” she breathes as we walk away. “Tell me before you do shit like that.”
At the main entrance to the mall, I unlock the door inset into the steel shutters that have been pulled down, and we weave our way through dark hallways.
“Here,” she says, leading me down a set of steps until we come to a wide double-door. I test the door, find it unlocked, and we walk in, and instantly feel the cold of the indoor ice rink.
Dee guides me to the seats that surround the rink, and sits down, puts her feet up on the chair in front, and holds herself, shivering.
I sit down next to her, wrap my arm around her, and ask her, “Why did we come here?”
“Frank used to take me. I spent more time with him growing up than with Dad. He… well, he kind of raised me. I mean, he wasn’t a surrogate father or anything,” she says, scoffing at the thought. “In fact, I’m not sure he should ever be a father. But… he was there for me more than Dad was.”
“Do you like him?”
“I used to… a lot. We got along, you know? I found him funny, and he seemed soft and less threatening than Dad. Frank’s like a teddy bear, and compared to Dad who is more like a… I don’t know, a cannon ball or something, it was just easier.”
“Frank may look soft, but I’d guess he isn’t at all.”
“No,” she says. “He can handle himself. Anyway, then I found out what he did regularly… like what he did to that poor man tonight.”
“And you stopped liking him.”
“Not really… I don’t know how to explain it. I just like him less, but I still like him. He’s always kind to me. He’s pretty thoughtful, actually, for a man so utterly devoted to my father.”
“Huh. I haven’t really had a chance to speak with him.”
“He’s alright, but he’s a slave to Dad. He’s super loyal, that’s why Dad keeps him around. You need loyal people.”
“Especially if he’s your driver and bodyguard.”
“Exactly.”
After a moment, I turn to Dee. “Let’s go ice skating.”
“How? The ice is covered.”
“Come on, I’m sure we can get it off.”
I stand up, take her hand, and together we amble toward the office and booking area. I see the control panel, find the corresponding key on the guard’s chain, and unlock it.
There’s a bright green button with a stenciled label beneath which reads ‘Cover’. I press it, and there’s a loud humming, a grinding of gears, and then the cover is pulled back across the ice, and into a recess on the long, closest side of the rink.
The ice glows in the darkness. I know it’s just a reflection of the moonlight streaming through the windows, but it looks unreal. From here, it’s too dark to see all the seats surrounding the rink. We might as well be standing alone together on an ice berg.
With Dee, I go to the shelves where they stack the skates, pick out my size, then help her find hers. We put them on, waddle onto the ice, and skate for what feels like hours.
We chat, hold hands, and she shows off some kind of ballerina-style spin which I could never hope to mimic. I try, of course. I’m never above trying.
But I fail hard, and land on my ass.
We race, go as fast as we can, laugh, and then eventually just start skating around in circles, hand in hand, again and again as if we were rehearsing for NASCAR On Ice.
I never want this night to end.
But a bright beam of light washes over us, and I jerk my head toward the entrance, see the door open. A guard is descending the steps, flashlight aimed at us.
“Fuck,” Dee whispers.
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “Nothing will happen.”
“You two!” the guard shouts. I can’t see what he’s doing; the light is blinding. “Off the God damn ice!”
We exit the rink, and then the guard draws up close to us. I hear the click of his radio, and know he’s thumbed the transmit button. He’s going to call it in.
“Wait,” I say. “We were just messing around.”
His flashlight beams at my face, then moves to Dee’s, then lingers there for a moment.
“You,” he murmurs at Dee, who just frowns in response while shielding her eyes. “I know you.”
He lowers the flashlight, and I have to blink rapidly to adjust to the darkness. I see the same guard I took the keys from. He must be in his sixties, and he’s got a white mustache and looks frail and weak.
“Here,” I say, handing him his keys.
He chews on his mustache for a moment, but doesn’t say anything to me. That catches me off-guard. Something feels off.