And Now She's Gone(10)

Avery didn’t answer. Neither did Jay or Zoe. So Natalie left a message and then sent a group text. I’m safe. With Sean at Caesars. See u in the morning!

That night, Natalie stopped holding her breath.

That night, Natalie shimmered like silver dust and golden sunbeams.

The next morning, she called Avery again.

This time, Avery answered. “Oh, so you decided to let us know you’re not dead.”

Avery’s words slithered from the receiver and coiled around Natalie’s neck. But she ignored that tightening and the anger rolling around her gut. “I’ll see you guys soon.”

After a fifteen-minute cab ride, Natalie slipped into the smoky casino of Circus Circus. Up in the hotel room, her friends said nothing to her, and so she retreated to the bathroom to change into shorts, a tank top, and a pair of Vans. She twisted her long hair into a ponytail while talking herself into confronting her friends.

Just go. Just … get it over with.

She stomped out of the bathroom and into the room. Arms crossed, she stood in front of the television. “Are y’all gonna say something?”

Avery, on the carpet, kept flipping through Cosmopolitan.

Zoe, on the couch, kept painting her toenails.

Jay, in one of the queen-size beds, pretended to sleep.

Not feeling her feet or her face, Natalie said, “Fine. What-the-fuck-ever. I’ll check in with you guys later.”

After she and Sean ate breakfast, they played slots and then walked along the Strip. Later, they held hands as they caught a magic show over at Excalibur. He bought her a Gucci handbag, kissed her again, and then, with a pat on her ass, he sent her back to her friends.

At dinnertime, she returned to Circus Circus.

Thick eyebrow cocked, Avery said, “You just met the man and he bought you a Gucci?”

Zoe’s fuchsia lips twisted into a grin. “In exchange for ridin’ that dick all night.”

“Ouch, Zee.” Jay’s eyes burned into their wayward friend, who was now standing before them with tears in her eyes.

Being called a whore by her best friends? Damn, that hurt. “Can’t you be happy that I finally met someone?”

He’s an asshole.

He’s possessive.

Can’t you tell that he’s crazy as fuck?

None of this was true. They hated that Sean had taken her away from them for one night. One. Night. That he hadn’t included them in her magical evening. Jealousy. Like onions and sweat, jealousy stunk up a room.

On Monday’s flight back to Oakland, Jay, Avery, and Zoe didn’t speak to Natalie.

The quartet reached their apartment across the street from Lake Merritt. A crystal vase of lavender roses for Natalie sat on the porch. On the card, Sean had written, “Let me show you the world,” and had promised to buy her a return ticket to Las Vegas.

Couldn’t the girls see? Wasn’t it obvious?

Natalie and Sean were meant to be together.





6


The cardiologist was performing some sort of magic trick, and Gray gave Farrah, Beth, and Nan her phone number in case they had more clues to offer on how to uncover that trick.

Ultimately, though, her job was simple: obtain proof that Isabel and Kenny G. were alive.

But now she stood before the Alumni Center’s full-length bathroom mirror, disgusted with her reflection. Chocolate-stained. Wrinkled. Swollen feet. Numb legs. Dead phone. Lost pen. No drugs. Distracting pain. What the fuck?

“And I probably have hepatitis from licking my freakin’ fingers.” She washed her hands and watched as brown grime—hepatitis?—swirled into the drain.

It was minutes before four o’clock as Gray tromped back through the tiled lobby and back out into the sticky air. She reached into her bag for car keys and heard the purse’s inside lining rip.

She hated this purse and longed for the bags she’d carried back in the good old days. Buttery Givenchy satchels big enough to carry a book, a pair of shoes and a set of keys, plane tickets to somewhere else. Bags like that, though, caught people’s attention, and she didn’t need women remembering, Oh yeah, she was carrying that limited-edition Fendi and I remember cuz I had a salad that day with cranberries and I was wearing my red jeans, the ones with the tear in the left knee. And so, cheap, forgettable purses. The one with her now was a Liz Claiborne shoulder bag, camel-colored, with a black strap, faux leather outside, and (ripped) polyester lining inside. A five-star bag on the Macy’s website, now at two stars because it couldn’t handle Gray’s life just after two years of hard labor.

Back in the car, she connected her phone to the charger—power again!—then she texted Ian O’Donnell: What were the dates she left for no reason?

Immediate ellipses. Shouldn’t he have been staring at chest X-rays? Providing comfort and care to another Mary Ann, this one with a bad ticker instead of a broken ankle? Didn’t he have a body hidden beneath a windmill to relocate?

Waiting for his response, Gray found a ballpoint pen in the glove compartment. She consulted Isabel Lincoln’s intake form again.

LAST SEEN: May 27



Ian O’Donnell responded.

Gone mid-March and end of May



Gray updated her blank notepad.

Isabel had been gone for four days before Ian had … realized it? Or had he realized it but just hadn’t called the cops? According to Farrah Tarrino, Isabel had requested three days off in December—but Ian, just now, hadn’t mentioned her leaving then. And they’d been together in December. Maybe those were just times spent at home?