And Now She's Gone(29)

But then real estate barons constructed fancier apartments that boasted better views and grocery stores on the ground floors. Beaudry Towers became the neglected big sister left to fend for herself. She hadn’t been downgraded to “dump” yet, but she was a gurgle away from being “down the drain.” And now her tenants left grocery store circulars on the sticky linoleum. Worse, they wedged squares of cardboard between the latch and the strike plate of the security door that separated the mail room from the elevator bank.

Gray was glaring at one of those stupid wads of cardboard now.

“I know how you feel.” That came from Mr. Shrewsbury, the gray-haired widower who also lived on the seventeenth floor. “I’m tired of assholes leaving their shit. And that.”

With a stiff brown finger, he pointed at the door. “Why am I paying for a secured building when they allow horseshit like that? Makes no gah-damned sense.”

“We’re supposed to be getting new keys,” Gray said.

“Again?”

She tossed the cardboard wedge into the trash can. “Third new key since Christmas.”

“Did you hear? Folks broke into this door again this morning. Probably the same ones who tore off the entire mail panel two weeks ago. Stole some checks and gift cards.”

Gray pulled sales papers addressed to “Resident” from her own metal box. For the last three years she’d had her real mail—like the income from renting her parents’ home in Monterey Bay—sent to a UPS Store P.O. box a mile from Rader Consulting. She also kept old important things in that same box: keys, legal papers, cash.

“Maybe it’s time to move,” she said to her neighbor.

Mr. Shrewsbury held the security door open for Gray. “Don’t know about you, but I can’t afford to move. I’ve been here forever, so my rent’s still lower than most people’s.”

Like the old man, Gray paid only $1,800 a month for her one-bedroom unit.

They were trapped.

And so she and the widower chatted about the day’s air quality as they rode up to their luxury-living cages on the seventeenth floor. They chatted about management’s decision to change out carpet for hardwood. They chatted about the new creperie on the ground level, and then about air quality again. Shouting good night, they retreated to different parts of the seventeenth floor.

Mrs. Kim, the ancient Korean woman in apartment 1715, had cooked something that smelled like musk ox. In apartment 1710, Jessica and Conner, a twee hipster couple with suspect income, continued to ignore the pink notices that Towers management had taped to their door.

A five-gallon bottle of water sat at unit 1708, Gray’s apartment at the end of the hall.

As she pulled the bottle across the threshold, her refrigerator coughed and rumbled its Welcome home, honey. Gray yelped, startled at the fridge’s mini explosion. Management had promised two weeks ago to fix the freaking motor, but they hadn’t.

With the lights off, the dark living room glowed with light from the Department of Water and Power across the street and from diffused light that moved like pollen from cars snaking along the freeway.

Purple sky. No moon. Cars, cars, cars jamming the 101 and 110. Always alive. Always fast. The freeways that never slept. It was never, ever completely dark in downtown Los Angeles, even during blackouts. Closing her eyes—that was the only time Gray saw darkness. And quiet? Never quiet. Even with thick, double-paned glass, Gray still heard traffic hum, helicopters roar, and the city rumble, wild and nonstop.

The air conditioner clicked on and the vertical blinds shifted with the new breeze.

Over on the couch, her phone buzzed in her bag. Isabel.

Tea said she saw you



Gray’s hands shook. Yes. She didn’t know what else to say, she wanted to say so many— You don’t know me but I am here for you

Once, we were in his car on the 10. Going to some fancy dinner. Honoring his greatness.

Don’t even remember what I said

And he kept one hand on the wheel

Punched me in the head with the other.

Tears stung Gray’s eyes. I’m sorry.

Can you do me a favor?

Just write a statement and sign it. I’ll ask Tea to pick up the dog.

Can’t

Why do I have to jump through hoops???!!! I haven’t done anything wrong!!



I know I’m sorry

Are you????



Gray typed Yes. And she stared at her phone, waiting for Isabel’s response. For minutes and more minutes, she stared and waited.

Nothing.

Finally, she sank to the couch and pushed out a long breath.

Her phone buzzed. A text message from Hank.

Home yet? I could come there or you could come here



The smile on her lips lasted a second before it waned. She wasn’t ready to leave the view or this quiet yet. Thursday had been a day of unexpected noise and unexpected lies. Thursday had forced her to think way too much about her past. And that thinking made a ribbon of hot pain twist from her navel to her right side.

Pain—the only expected event.

Hank would help her relax, and now she thought of him, of his hands working their way around her body. She thought of his kisses across her back—and his hardness, she thought of that, too. All of it made her feel light as cotton.

But then it would be over, and he would fall asleep, and she would lie awake next to him with her eyes on the ceiling and— No. Don’t. Deal with it when, or if, you get to it.