Текст книги "Crave"

Автор книги: B.J. Harvey

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Twenty-four hours. That is how long it took for my public breakdown to make the paper. I knew it would happen, but seeing that moment in time when my shattered heart took its final beating at my own hand did affect me. As did the scandalous—but unfortunately not inaccurate—headline. Dirty Drafter’s Despicable Deed. It drew attention to the article reporting on the mysterious bruising on Lucia’s neck, an angry altercation in the hospital corridor between Gino and myself, my subsequent vigil on the floor outside her room, and the heartbreaking scene between the two of us that ended with me walking away. There was speculation, ‘anonymous’ sources, and coverage of the recent museum site accident that might have led to me ‘losing it.’

There was nothing concrete. Everything Carmen Dallas reported—no doubt with great delight—was not slanderous, and was all hearsay. The photos she included in the story were taken from a bystander’s cellphone and no doubt they were the ‘source’ who had clued her in.

That’s not to say that I’m comfortable with the suggestion hinted at in the article that suggests that in a fit of rage, I lost control and took it out on my girlfriend. The suggestion of kinky sex games gone wrong, however, was not something I wanted my parents or family to read.

Today was not the day to sit at home and wallow in despair at the current state of affairs in my life though. Grant had offered to deal with Cal/OHSA—the Department of Occupational Safety and Health—and the museum board in my place, but a partnership is exactly that. It’s not something to be put aside when life is difficult. I explained to my concerned and somewhat stressed partner that burying myself in work and participating fully in the accident investigation would be a good distraction from the personal turmoil I was putting myself through.

There was one change from the last time Grant saw me on my balcony, and that was that my mask was firmly—and more importantly, permanently—in place. In public, in private, alone or with company, I’d decided the moment I left Lucia at the hospital that it was safer for everyone involved to not take any more chances.

Step one of that is focusing on work, on the investigation and our new upcoming projects, and spending as much time as possible away from my home, my bed, and anywhere that reminds me of what I had, what I lost, and what I have done.

Step two was a side note from step one, that being to not give Carmen Dallas—or any member of the press—any more fodder to report on.

Lastly, step three was to push thoughts of Lucia out of my mind, because I saw her face in my dreams every night when I finally managed to find sleep. Thinking about her any other time hurt me, inescapable pain threatening to pull me under.

It’s a plan I have in place to help me cope with the guilt that continues to eat away at me, but it has been unable to keep away the flashbacks of her pale slack face that confronted me after one of the most life-changing climaxes of my life. Even the thought of what I’ve done churns my stomach, and a familiar dark cloud threatens to darken my world further.

Arriving at the office Monday morning, I meet Grant in the reception area, a deep frown marring his normally jovial expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“A lot of things that you don’t need on your plate right now, but the board and the investigators are in the conference room waiting for us . . .”

“What else?”

“Our assistant is running herself ragged dodging calls from the media while also placating clients who are concerned.”

I grit my teeth and walk past him, dumping my laptop bag on my desk and whirling back to see him step into my office and shut the door behind him. “I told you this would happen. You need to step up and take over for me, Grant. I can’t be the face of the company until whatever this is about calms down and the piranhas grab on to their next scandal.”

He shakes his head, his eyes full of concern, but there’s also a flicker of annoyance. “I’m not letting you put that self-deprecating wall of yours back up, Cal. You fucked up; you made a mistake. That was it. I don’t feel any differently about you. Luce sure as fuck doesn’t blame you—”

That stops me in my tracks, my heart seizing at the sound of her name. “You’ve talked to her?”

“I had Gino’s word that he would keep me updated with her progress. She was discharged from the hospital yesterday and is having a few days off work for the . . .” he pauses momentarily, tilting his head and watching me, as if to determine whether to say more. “She’s taking time off work in order for the attention to die down and for the bruises to fade. She doesn’t want to bring any trouble to our business or hers, and feels it’s best to lay low until it has quieted down.”

“How is she?” I ask softly.

“She is battered and bruised, and not physically. She feels she is to blame—”

“What?” I spit out incredulously.

“I’ve told her, and now I’m telling you, the two of you need to talk this through.”

“She’s better off without me. You know what I did. She fucking flinched . . . flinched when I touched her. How can she ever look me in the eye again without remembering that night?” That now familiar lump threatens to make an unwelcome return but I push it back, my armor thankfully holding strong in the face of its most powerful enemy—myself.

“Cal, we don’t have time to go into how everything that just spewed from your mouth is wrong and all the ways that it is, but I will leave you with this. That woman is the best thing to ever happen to you. You need to grasp hold of that and never let her go. Any man worth his weight will recognize that the woman at his side is a true reflection of his character. The two of you together are untouchable; you give her the complexities that come along with being you and in return, she gives you everything.”

Silenced by his words, I can only stand and stare. He’s right, but he’s also very wrong, because a man worth anything would never physically hurt the woman he loves. It is inexcusable and unforgivable.

“Now, let’s get into this meeting and find out exactly what’s going on,” he says, breaking the mood.

“Let me grab my tablet and then I’ll be right in,” I reply.

“I’ll meet you outside. I just need to check something with Annie.” He opens the door and goes around the corner toward reception.

Pulling my tablet out of my bag, I stop when I see a white envelope in front of my computer. Picking it up, I look at the handwriting on the front, cursive but purposeful, the penmanship indiscernible. Easing open the tab, I pull out a cream card and wince when I see the words.

“Cal? We better get moving,” Grant calls out, pulling me out of my frozen form. I put the letter back down on my desk, wondering how it got into my office and who is continuing to send them to me. This is the third note in as many months, each one scathing and with veiled threats.

“There’s another letter on my desk,” I tell Grant as we’re walking toward the meeting.

“Letter?”

“Another note. Similar to the last one,” I say.

His head jerks to look at me. “Cal, you need to take these to the police.”

“They’re not threatening. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“You’re hoping it’s nothing,” he says tersely.

“I definitely don’t need anything else to go wrong right now.”

“Let’s get this meeting over with and then we’ll sort out the rest.”

“Gentlemen, thank you for making the time to meet with us. I’m sure you want to know what happened as much as we do.” The investigator is a tall, slight man who’s balding, with some patchy gray hair, and astute eyes. He introduced himself as Kevin Hale when we first arrived. Along with his assistant, Jerry, the meeting also includes the museum board chair Richard James, and the three other board members.

I didn’t miss the scathing looks I received from a few people when I walked into the conference room, but I immediately moved past them and took a seat at the head of the table beside Grant, my newly placed mask serving me well.

“The collapse seems to have been caused by a disturbance in the basement level of the building. We have brought in a number of geotechnical engineers to inspect the foundations and try and shed some light on exactly what happened. You must understand that because there were two deaths, the site will continue to be shut down for some time.”

I nod in agreement. “Our own engineers will be available to meet with you also, if that is of assistance,” I add, making a note to contact them and ensure they fully cooperate with the investigation.

“That would be very much appreciated, Mr. Alexander.”

“Do we know what the disturbance was?” Grant asks.

Kevin reaches up and awkwardly adjusts his necktie, his face tightening, as if he’s warring with himself. “We . . . ah . . . our early findings show that there was an explosion of some sort next to one of the main foundations, which led to the collapse.”

“An explosion?” I ask, my eyes widening.

“What kind of explosion?” Richard also asks.

“You must understand that this is also a police matter as well as an occupational safety matter so I must be careful with what I say and who I say it to. I will tell you that all indications are that this is an act of sabotage. The detectives in charge of the case will want to speak to all of you as well.”

I shake my head and look at the investigator. “A bomb?” My voice is rough, filled with anger and shock.

“Unfortunately that is looking highly likely.”

“What the fuck?” Grant curses, causing the whole room to go quiet. “Sorry, but you must admit these are extraordinary circumstances. You’ve just told us that a bomb might have been set at a building site for the city’s most anticipated landmark and it was an act of sabotage, for reasons unknown. Have I got that right?”

Kevin looks between Grant and myself, then continues to look around the table before nodding.

“Jesus,” Richard mutters.

“Is there anything else you need from us?”

“A copy of the original plans would be great, if they are available,” Kevin explains.

“Not a problem. They will be in my office so we can go there on the way out and I can get them for you,” I offer.

“Appreciated, Mr. Alexander. That is all I wanted to share with you today. As you can imagine, there is a lot of interest in this investigation and what we find out. If you could please keep everything discussed here today confidential it would be very much appreciated. The press is having a field day as it is, without this new development being leaked.”

“I agree. Thank you, Mr. Hale.” I stand up and shake the man’s hand before stepping aside for Grant to follow suit.

“Callum and Grant, a moment of your time if possible?” Richard asks as the investigator steps outside and waits for me.

“Of course,” I reply.

Richard looks toward the door and nods to Helen McDonald as she gets up to leave. “Gentlemen, given the media scrutiny this project is now under, and in light of recent . . . attention . . . in the press about you, Callum, the board and I think it is best if Grant steps forward as the key contact for the project.”

Grant starts to protest but I interrupt him. “I agree. Grant will be the point of contact for Alexander Richardson for the remainder of the project.”

Richard nods at me, his eyes tight with something I cannot interpret, but his pursed lips give me the impression that he is judging me by whatever he has read in the newspaper.

I stay in business mode, reaching out to shake his hand, a gesture he hesitantly returns. “I must go with Mr. Hale to get the plans, but I wish you the best with this project, Richard. You’re in excellent hands with my business partner here.” I clap Grant’s shoulder and ignore the frustrated glare on Grant’s face.

“Cal,” Grant calls out as I walk toward the door.

“We’ll meet later today, Grant,” I reply before stepping into the corridor to the patiently waiting investigator.

Unfortunately, bad things don’t come in threes. They come in fours and fives and sixes.

When Kevin and I reach my office, the plans are missing. After I explain to him that it is not uncommon for plans to be referred to by other departments and promising to send them to the Cal/OHSA offices as soon as we locate them, Mr. Hale leaves me to my fruitless search. I ask Annie to arrange for the interns to search the other offices, and also send a company-wide email requesting the plans’ return, stressing the importance of finding them.

By the end of the day, with no plans being located and Grant keeping his distance, no doubt annoyed at me for blindsiding him in the meeting with Richard, I pick up my phone and instinctively bring up Lucia’s number.

Then I freeze in place, realizing what I was about to do.

Slamming my phone back down onto my desk, I put my head in my hands and try to breathe through the crippling pain that lances through me.

Grant’s words from this morning echo through my mind.

Any man worth his weight will recognize that the woman at his side is a true reflection of his character.

It’s the same advice my father would likely give me. But the shame I’ve brought on myself, Lucia, our families, our firm, our employees, our clients—all of it weighs heavy on my mind. With the story only coming out this morning, and my level of intoxication over the past two days being what it was, I have not called my parents to tell them what happened.

How do you explain something as dark and despicable as wrapping your hands around a woman’s throat and getting off on it so much you lose awareness of the situation unfolding beneath you?

Lucia may have shown me that desires and fantasies are healthy and normal, but what I did goes beyond all of that. My selfish needs took precedence over her safety when Lucia deserved all of my focus and attention.

The craving is no longer there. The fantasy is now marred with the image of Lucia’s lifeless and limp body lying beside me in my bed—a bed I have not been able to sleep in since.

I pick up my phone again and dial my parents’ number. If there ever was a time when I needed my parents and family, it is now.

I’ve barely had time to finish my Thai takeout with Dad when he leans back in his chair and spears me with his well-known look, the one that warns me it’s time to get down to business.

“Should we move to the living room?” I ask, biding my time. Even at thirty-four years old, my father still has the same effect on me as if I were an errant teenager—something I thankfully never was.

“No, Son. You’re wound so tight I can see you’re barely holding yourself together. You called me down here—how about you tell me what happened in your own words because I know it can’t be anything like what’s been reported.”

The burn of abhorrence that’s been smoldering deep inside of me since that night sparks alight. How can you tell your own father—someone you hold in the highest regard—that you’ve done something so horrific and devastating that you fear the look of disappointment in their eyes when they find out?

“You’ve been quiet for weeks, Cal. Your mother and I have been worried. Jeremy told us you didn’t seem yourself at the dinner party. If it’s the pressure that’s getting to you, maybe you need to take a step back for a while. Design the buildings, do the things that you love, and let Grant handle the press and the public.”

“I did that today. The museum chair asked me to step down. I did so willingly.”

He watches me intently, looking for a sign that I’m holding back. Nodding slightly, he takes a drink of his beer. “That’s good, Cal. I think you need to give yourself a break. You’re so dedicated to your work, your firm and everyone around you, that you often forget about yourself.”

“You’re probably right,” I admit. “But it’s more than that. It’s worse than that.”

“Tell me what happened,” he says quietly.

I look at my hand wrapped tightly around my beer bottle, my fingers straining under the pressure as I subconsciously squeeze the glass. Releasing my hold, I look across into my father’s eyes, take a slow, deep breath, and tell him everything. From the media attention, to the notes, to the museum project, to the collapse, to the exposés in the paper, and finally, to what happened to Lucia.

“Cal, before Lucia can forgive you, you need to forgive yourself.”

“What I did was horrific. I hurt her, Dad. I’ll never forget what she looked like. There was no light, no spark in her eyes. She was there but she was barely holding on. All because of me and my deplorable needs. Who does that? What kind of person wants those kind of things?”

“Just like any other red-blooded male with fantasies,” Dad replies without hesitation.

My head that had been dropped to the ground in shame now snaps back up to look at my father, who has just shocked the hell out of me.

“What?” I ask hoarsely.

“Stop beating yourself up about this, Cal. You made a mistake in extreme circumstances. Yes, you hurt her, but there was no intention to. You lost your head.” He watches me, his eyes full of concern. “Do you love her?”

“More than anything I have ever had in my life.”

“Then why are you here talking to your dad instead of fighting for your girl?”

“Because I’m a mess thinking I’ve already lost her. If she sends me away now, it will—”

“If she sends you away, you come home, regroup, and try again. And again, until she sees what everyone around you sees.”

“She knows more of me than anybody else.”

“About goddamn time.” He grins at me, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes my mouth at him using God’s name in vain. Mom would’ve been all over him for that if she’d heard it.

He stands and I follow suit, watching him put his mug down on the kitchen counter before returning to me. “Son, it’s not lost on your mother and I that you have a lot of weight on your shoulders, from yourself and others. You’ve always been guarded.”

I shake my head, my jaw tensing as he continues. He levels me with his best father-like glare. “That’s just been your way. You’re intense, extremely focused, and passionate about your designs, the firm, and everything connected to it. In saying that, you need to be able to offload some of that weight to a partner, a woman you come home to and can be yourself around without pretense.” He reaches across the table and grips my forearm. “One look and we could tell Lucia is the woman we always hoped you’d meet. The woman any father would want for their son. She’s strong, dedicated, and focused on you and what’s going on with you. She took everything in her stride with the press, the dinner; everything that comes with being you didn’t faze her.”

“She’s the strongest woman I know.”

“And you need that, Callum. A man like you, in the position you are, with the profile you’ve got, needs a strong woman at his side.”

“You sound like Grant.”

“He’s a smart man,” Dad replies with a wry smile.

“As are you.”

“And you.” His words are strong, unwavering, and leave me in no doubt that he means them.

I lean my elbows on the table and grip my hands together. “How can I look myself in the eye knowing what I’ve done? I’m repulsed that I even contemplated doing that.”

“Everyone has fantasies, Cal. Desires that are their own, for their own reasons.”

“Dad, I—”

“Callum,” he says loudly, definitively. “You need to think about what you want from your life and who you want in it. You love her, you want her, but you’re pushing her away at a time when she needs you most and when you need her more than ever before.”

I release the breath I’ve been holding and my shoulders drop in defeat. “I shouldn’t be this weak. I should’ve been able to stop myself.”

“You’re not weak. You’re a man who made a mistake and who needs to face that and move on from it.”

“You need to stop chastising yourself and make amends. Only then will you start down the road to forgiving yourself.”

“I don’t know if I can, Dad.”

He gets up and rounds the table, placing his hand on my shoulder. “I believe in you, your mother believes in you, and you’ve got a lot of people in your life who love you and want to be there for you—you’ve just got to open yourself up and let them in. No masks, no holding back—you let them in and you will never be in a position where you feel weak and alone again.”

A few hours later, alone in my bedroom, having pushed myself to sleep in the bed where I did my worst, I rerun everything my father said to me. Every single word.

Then I pick up my cell phone from the bedside table, and type in a message. The same two words that have continued to scroll through my mind every hour since I last saw her.

C: I’m Sorry.

“Gregory, how are you?” I say, stepping into the elevator on Monday morning. There had been no reply from Lucia. I didn’t expect one. The betrayal she must feel from not only what happened but also me not being there for her when she needed me—both at the hospital and afterward—would affect even the strongest of feelings.

Graves blinks twice before looking up at me with wide eyes. “I’m good, Mr. Alexander. And you?”

“The week is just starting. Ask me in a few days,” I reply, the mask slipping in place as much as I try to fight it.

“I wanted to . . . I wanted to apologize again for Jodi making a scene in the lobby—”

“How did you meet?” I say, interrupting him.

“At a bar a few months ago. I didn’t think I’d have a chance with a woman like her, but when we got talking and I explained that I was an architectural grad student, she changed. I know you used to be . . . involved . . . with her. I read it in the papers. I now know she was using me to get to you.” His voice is bitter with veiled anger lying underneath.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Gregory,” I reply. The turn in conversation makes me feel uncomfortable. His assumption that Jodi is a topic appropriate for the workplace, let alone a subject to discuss with me. He’s an employee, a subordinate, and somehow we’ve now got a woman in common.

“You live and you learn, right?”

I offer him a polite smile, nodding in agreement. “Indeed.” Needing to move the conversation along, I change the subject to something more work related, hoping to move him along. “Did you still have those plans you wanted to show me? I know it’s been awhile but we could have a look at them later today if you’d like?”

His head jerks back and I watch as something works behind his eyes before he quickly covers it up. “That would be fantastic. I know you are a very busy man.”

“I have a clear schedule this afternoon. Pop by after lunch and I’ll go over them with you.”

A wide smile covers his face. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”

“We can’t call ourselves mentors unless we actually help our interns, can we?” I joke.

He nods in understanding. “I really appreciate you doing this, Mr. Alexander.”

The elevator dings and the doors open out onto our floor at the top of the building.

Grant is talking to Annie and raises an eyebrow when he sees Graves offer a small wave before walking down the corridor to where the intern cubicles are.

“What was that about?” he asks when I reach him.

“Just following up on looking over his designs, that’s all.”

“Stoking the hero worship a little bit more?” he jokes.

“Hero worship?” I ask in confusion.

We start walking toward my office. “He’s a fully-fledged member of the Callum Alexander fan club.”

“You’re full of shit, Richardson,” I reply.

“Believe what you want. I just know he’s never asked me to look at his plans,” he says jokingly.

“Feel free to look at his plans whenever you like.”

“I might just do that.”

Shaking my head in mock disgust, I move on. “Did we locate the waterfront plans?”

“Oh yeah, they were in the archives for some reason. We pulled them out and sent them off to Cal/OHSA.” He looks at his watch and frowns before looking back up. “Want to go grab a coffee down the road?”

“What’s wrong?” I say, gesturing to his watch.

“Nothing. I just have some free time and I checked with Annie—you’re free for an hour or two. I just figured I can update you on the status of some of the other projects.”

Still perplexed at his sudden urge to leave the office to talk, I nod in agreement. “Okay. We can go over the new specs for that Iowa job.”

He smiles and he seems to relax. I turn to the reception desk. “Annie, take messages. We’ll be back in a little bit.”

“Will do, Mr. Alexander.” She flashes me a knowing smile, fully expecting what comes next.

“Callum, Annie.”

“Yes, Mr. Alexander,” she replies saccharine sweet.

“What about me, Annie?” Grant pipes up beside me.

“Yes, Mr. Richardson.” And with that, she loses her composure and gives a soft laugh as Grant and I turn toward the elevator. “Before you go, Mr. Alexander, Ms. Malestrom called this morning. She said she needed to speak with you urgently.”

“This is getting to be beyond a joke.” I growl. I nod to Annie as Grant and I make our way into the elevator back down to ground level.

We make our way out the door and ignore the photographers parked outside—waiting for a prized shot of me, no doubt—and make our way toward the cafe on the corner of the block.

“You sure know how to pick ’em, Cal.”

“There’s nothing I want to say to the woman, but I’m starting to think I need to tell her that directly. She has no concept of discretion or decorum. She sold her soul to the devil in red lipstick and published details of my private life.” Grant makes a guttural sound in his throat, like he’s choking, causing me to look at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

He shakes his head vigorously. “Nothing. Just . . . nothing.”

“Carmen doesn’t need anyone else helping her taint my name and reputation. I seem to be doing a grand enough job of that myself.”

“Did your dad not talk any sense into you about that?” he asks.

“He might have. Doesn’t erase what I did.”

“Seriously, Cal. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up about this. And if you talked to Luce, you’d know she doesn’t blame you either.”

My body grows tense so I decide a change of subject is in order.

“Any leads on the collapse?”

“Yeah. Kevin rang me first thing this morning. He’s handed over information to the police. They say it wasn’t a professional job. The device used was likely homemade, very amateur apparently. But thankfully there wasn’t more damage done. Unfortunately there were no fingerprints left on anything. Well, that’s not true. There were too many people coming and going on site to eliminate prints.”

“So no leads then? That’s a concern.”

“You’re telling me. Since you threw me under the bus, I’m fielding calls from journalists, clients—you name it. If they’re not asking about the future of the waterfront museum, they’re asking about you. Clients want guarantees that we’re going to honor our contracts. They’re concerned that the recent press might have a detrimental effect on productivity.”

“Richard asked me to step down, remember? I asked you to take over and you refused. I did what had to be done.”

“At least I don’t have the ‘dirty drafter’ title. That headline is so ridiculous it’s funny.”

“I’m failing to see the humor.”

“That’s because you’re in the middle of it. Once the dust settles and the shit storm clears, you’ll be back to being the darling bachelor of the Bay.”

“You’re welcome to take over that title, too.”

“If it’ll help me find candidates for the next Mrs. Richardson, I’m not gonna say no.”

I can’t stop myself from laughing now. A true, genuine laugh, something that I haven’t done in what feels like forever. “Heaven help the single women in San Fran.”

“God’s will be done, and all that,” he remarks.

“You’re terrible, you know that?”

He just smirks at me. “You love it. The firm is going to be fine, you’re gonna be fine, everybody’s gonna. Be. Fine.” he reiterates. “We’re not going to lose face because of a few news reports about your apparent deviant and abusive tendencies. Now about that Iowa tender . . .”

We step through the doors of the cafe and walk up to the counter, ordering two Americanos and stepping aside to wait for our drinks.

Grant’s phone dings from his pocket. Pulling it out, he looks at the screen and smiles before looking up at me and grabbing his takeaway cup just as the barista places it on the counter.

“Look, I’ve just remembered I’ve got an appointment I can’t change. But stay here; enjoy your coffee.” He looks over my shoulder then back to me. “And it might pay to turn around while you’re at it.” He cups my shoulder and squeezes before moving past me and walking toward the door.

Still processing his words, I grab my cup and slowly turn around before coming to a dead halt. Because sitting at a table at the far wall of the cafe and looking straight at me is Lucia.