Best of Luck Elsewhere Read online

  “Good, then Saturday it is. I’ll call you tomorrow night after work. I’ve gotta go.”

  “All right. Sorry again for interrupting.”

  “No problem. Talk to you tomorrow, Eliza.”

  By the time the cleaning woman was ready to clean my office, I was still sitting at my desk, wondering what I should do about my situation tonight.

  “Good night,” I told her, turning off my computer and tossing my workbag over my shoulder. I headed to the stairwell, planning to stop by the lunch room and recycle my two Diet Pepsi cans.

  As I went down the stairs, I thought, I don’t actually feel like recycling these cans. I think I’m just doing this to waste time before going home to an empty house.

  I certainly didn’t want to go home. If someone was looking for me, I was “in the book” because I had thought it a waste of money to keep my name unlisted. If Liam was home and the house was full of light, that would be one thing. Who’d break into a house like that? But an empty driveway in front of a dark house just waiting to be entered? It was the perfect place for a murderer to wait for his victim.

  By the time I entered the lunchroom I had thoroughly scared myself. I dropped my cans in the recycle bin and looked around the room. The couch was inviting, and I wondered how long I could hang out here before someone found me. But I figured that the cleaning crew would be in soon after finishing up on my floor, so I made my way to the door. I need to just go somewhere where no one expects me to be. I just need to kill some time.

  My eye caught a small stack of coupons push-pinned to the employee corkboard right next to the “I lost 30 pounds in 30 days! Ask me how!” flyer. Shamu arched across the top of the coupon, advertising $15 off admission to Sea World. I stuffed a coupon in my pocket and made my way to the elevators. My next stop was the bus stop.

  And then Sea World. No one would try any funny business there. And no one would expect me to be there. I mean, I hadn’t been to Sea World in at least a year, but for $15 off, and simply for the comfort of knowing I was safe, I was willing to spend a couple hours there before it closed.

  * * *

  Within an hour, I was sitting on the floor of the enclosed manatee exhibit, lazily leaning against the sea-foam green wall, enjoying the tranquility of the dimmed room and the listless new age music playing around me. One of the enormous sea cows turned and caught my eye before pushing off to float to the surface. Her nose flaps opened for air and she swallowed a mouthful of the iceberg lettuce that had been floating on the surface. I felt relaxed, so much so that even the creepy-looking alligator gar that shared the tank with the manatees did not bother me like they usually did.

  It crossed my mind just once that it was sort of pathetic to have no one to count on, no safe spot to go to. As if by sisterly ESP, Cleo called my cell phone, the sudden ringtone startling me out of my daze. I hopped up and pulled the phone out, joy spreading over me to see Cleo’s number appear.

  I’d scarcely pulled open the phone and answered, “Cleo!” when other people in the manatee exhibit were turning and giving me dirty looks. I couldn’t blame them. I was being, quite literally, a disturber of the peace.

  I cupped my hand over the mouthpiece and muttered, “Hold on a sec.” Mouthing “sorry” to the folks trying to enjoy the exhibit, I hurried out the door and into the night air.

  “Sorry about that, Cleo.”

  “What was that about?”

  “What? Are you insulted?”

  “No. But what’s up?”

  “Guess where I am.”

  She was silent for a moment, perhaps waiting for me to answer my own question. Finally she asked, “Was that a set-up for the answer, or did you really want me to guess?”

  “Forget it,” I sighed. “I’m at Sea World. Do you want to get together?”

  “At Sea World?”

  “No, the park’s closing soon. But maybe for coffee?”

  Again, Cleo didn’t answer right away.

  “No pressure,” I said sarcastically. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”

  “It’s just—just that you said on your message that Liam had your car tonight. Does he or doesn’t he?”

  “He does. And I know it is a long way to come down here. Maybe I can take the Coaster train up to Oceanside and we could meet there. Anything further north and I’d have to take the Amtrak.”

  “I can’t, Liz. I have a work meeting tonight.”

  And there’s the reason for the awkward pauses. I’m interrupting her work like I interrupted Adam’s! “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt!”

  “It’s okay. I’m just on my way now. I’ve got to go. But you’re okay there, Liz? We can always talk about your date tomorrow or later this week.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I answered without even thinking to confide my worry in Cleo. Had the manatees and my evening at Sea World been that effective at taking my mind off my concerns? Or was I lying to her as I had lied to Adam, unable to get over the guilt of taking them away from work?

  “Okay, good. I’ll talk to you later, then. Oh, but before I go, what was that ‘hold on’ command when you first picked up anyway?” She laughed. It was slightly more relaxed this time.

  “I was in the manatee exhibit, and when I answered the phone everyone gave me the stink-eye. I rushed out so I wouldn’t bug them.”

  “You didn’t turn off your phone in there? Geez, Liz, rude!”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. I’d just forgot to turn it off, and I was also waiting for you to call.”

  “Well, here’s your call. And I can’t keep Homeland Security waiting! So get back to your manatees, and for goodness’ sake, Liz, turn off your phone when you’re in there so you don’t get on everyone’s bad side!”

  * * *

  By the time the announcement came that the park would be closing soon, I was again in the manatee exhibit, back sitting on the floor against the wall. I was safe here and now calm enough to make decent choices about getting home and back to real life.

  When the park closed, I was one of the last people to head to the gates. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone staring at me. He was tall and lanky, in a tank top and baggy shorts and I could see the knotted muscles on his arms and his calves. His sandy hair flopped in front of his sunglasses which, paired with his clothes, made him the stereotypical picture of a California guy.

  California Guy stood by the shrubs, just watching me. My first thought was, I’m being checked out! My ego had only half a moment to soar before another thought popped into my head. I’m being stalked. The small smile that had begun to play across my lips disappeared and I turned away. Now I was at the gate, with few people around. As soon as I went out to the parking lot and began my walk to the bus stop, I wouldn’t have park security close at hand. My peace and relaxation were quickly fading. I had to keep my wits about me.

  I turned back to California Guy. I’d heard somewhere that you should look a possible predator right in the eye to acknowledge he’s there and to let him know you wouldn’t be taken by surprise. He had turned and was leaning toward someone behind the shrubbery. Talking. Plotting.

  But then he stepped away and out came Sue Talley, the intern. Sue! My mind raced. She was smiling nervously, trying to act natural. Was she his accomplice? Or was he holding her captive? Was she his next target? Was she bait?

  Surprisingly, however, she walked right past California Guy and approached me, smiling. “Hi, Eliza.”

  I searched her face for some recognition that she was in trouble, and I noticed that her lip was cut. “Hi, Sue. Are you okay?”

  “Oh this?” She touched her lip and a drop of blood oozed out. “I’m fine. I fell, is all. I’m kind of a klutz, but my boyfriend was there to help me. Please don’t worry about those rejection letters. I’m going in early tomorrow to finish them up. I only have one Friday class—it’s at eleven, but I’ll get them all done, I promise.” She was rambling, and had the deer-in-the-headlights look, caught on her date after she had
told me she would cancel it. Not that I cared. I felt bad that she was so worried. And I felt silly for thinking her date was checking me out. Or plotting to kill me.

  The main thing was that she was okay, and she wasn’t a hostage. I sighed, considering how paranoid it was to have thought so in the first place. “The letters can wait until Monday if need be. I trust you to take care of them,” I replied sympathetically.

  Her hand shot back up to her mouth. She laughed nervously, but smiled her thanks. California Guy approached her from behind. Automatically my muscles tensed, based on my previous assessment of him, but when Sue grabbed his hand and pulled him closer, I was assured he was not a threat. “This is Donovan—”

  “Donnie,” he corrected her, reaching out to shake my hand. “Only my parents call me Donovan. And then only when I’m in trouble.”

  “Are you in trouble often?” I asked playfully.

  “Well…,” he began to reply, when Sue cut in.

  “Donnie’s my boyfriend. And Donnie, this is Eliza—she works with me.”

  “I know,” Donnie replied. “You just told me back there.”

  He turned to me. “She saw you a few minutes ago and was a little intimidated to approach you, now that you’re her boss. She’s shy sometimes, but a nice girl. And she’s talented, too.”

  Sue caught him by the arm. “Donnie, don’t. Leave it.”

  Donnie smiled, his straight white teeth glowing under the theme park lights. “I mean, she’s a talented writer. She’s seriously gonna be rich and famous someday. Have you read her book?”

  I turned to Sue. “You write? You’ve published a book?” She was in college, for goodness sake. Again I felt behind in my literary ventures. I’ll never finish my novel, my mind accused. And if I do, it won’t be any good. And if it is, it won’t be good enough to publish. And who cares if I’m Sue’s boss, if she’s already surpassed me in what really matters in my life—my writing.

  “No, no. I mean, I have written a book, but I haven’t been published yet. I’m kinda shopping it around.”

  “It’s so hard to get published,” I sympathized, feeling instantly better about myself. “I used to write, too, and always thought it was as easy as having a good idea and then writing a manuscript. But receiving all these manuscripts every day at work and seeing how many we can’t let through to a second step just really discouraged me. There’s real talent out there. And of course, there are a lot of people who just don’t have it.”

  “Are you saying that Sue doesn’t have it?” Donnie demanded.

  I looked him up and down. Who did he think he was? I was about to ask him just that when I realized that he was just standing up for his woman. Who was I to look down on that? So I waved him off, with a “No, no. I’m talking about me. I didn’t even know Sue wrote. You should let me read something, Sue.”

  “Maybe. I’ll think about it. I know you’re busy. By the way, how are you doing on that stack I gave you before? You know, the ones you said you look at closer?”

  We started moving through the gates. Donnie was already scanning for his car in the parking lot, muttering something about how you’d think his car would stand out amongst these “heaps.” He was one of those guys.

  “Actually, I started on them this morning. I’m still working through them. It takes a little longer, though, with the extra notes for your future reference.”

  “Ah,” she muttered. “Sounds like you’re sending them back. And if you’re sending them back, you’re rejecting them.”

  “Yeah, Sue, I’m afraid so. I can kinda see what you saw in them, but there was just a handful of things that really made them—”

  “—not right for J Press?”

  “We really need to get you away from those rejection letters, don’t we?”

  “No, it will be good for a career in publishing,” she replied.

  Sue didn’t look amused, and I wished I had not made the joke.

  “I think Donnie found his car. Do you need a ride to yours?”

  I saw Donnie urging her along and figured I probably shouldn’t ask for a thirty-minute ride to North County, especially after I’d just offended her. “No, it’s all right. Thanks, though. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “See you then, Eliza,” she said in a tone that was missing its usual spark.

  “Hey, don’t worry about those manuscripts. We’ll talk about them soon when I have a little more time. I think it will help you distinguish which manuscripts just can’t be published. Don’t give up.” I looked at Donnie. “It was good meeting you!”

  “You, too,” he said and disappeared with Sue down a row in the parking lot.

  I didn’t want to take the bus home. Hell, no. I would splurge. I found the taxi pool, and slid into the car with the fewest dings and dents.

  Once we got moving, the driver asked if I minded him putting on some music for the long drive. I replied that I didn’t mind. Sitting in the back of the cab, listening to the driver’s CD, I could distinguish a word every few minutes and realized this was an album in Arabic. I leaned forward. “Where are you from, sir?”

  “Chula Vista. Why do you ask? I have a good knowledge of streets all over the county, though, so don’t worry.”

  “I wasn’t worried about that. I just noticed your music. It’s Arabic, isn’t it?” I wondered why I was even asking this. Am I that lonely? What will I say if he tries to start a conversation in Arabic? That I only know a few words? Why am I starting this conversation?

  “Yes, it is.” His voice was cautious.

  “Are you originally from the Middle East?”

  He scanned my face in the rearview mirror. Looking for signs of hostility? Trying to figure out whether I had any Arabic in my background?

  “I’m originally from Lebanon,” he replied. “A friend who is still there sends me copies of popular albums. Where are you from?”

  “I’m from Southern California, but my dad was from Syria.”

  “Ah, yes,” he replied. “He was from Damascus? Very close to Lebanon.”

  “He was raised in Aleppo.”

  “Good, good,” the driver said. Sure enough, he began speaking in Arabic and I was lost except for a word here and there. When I didn’t answer, he looked again in the mirror and saw my discomfort. “Your father did not teach you his language.”

  “I know what to say when someone cuts me off in traffic,” I admitted with a laugh. But our conversation was now ending.

  I noticed that we were heading over the lagoon where Rain had been killed, and I shuddered. It was as if her ghost were seeping into the taxi through the vents and warning me that I was next. And warning me that I had better finish reading the stack of manuscripts on my desk before I followed her. For my own sanity, I tried to turn my thoughts to poor Sue.

  She tried hard, I thought. She wrote up those reports and everything, but she was just way off base. Those manuscripts had been truly horrible. I really needed to go over them with her. I had to appreciate her willingness to try.

  And what was up with Donnie? He was strikingly good-looking in a surfer kind of way. But something felt wrong. I really didn’t trust him, and maybe the chill I’d felt was actually a bad vibe. I grew less uneasy and more angry as I wondered if he might have been the cause of Sue’s split lip. He’d better not be. Had I been so self-absorbed that I hadn’t noticed that one of our interns was being abused? When did I become so damn blind to other people’s problems? First thing tomorrow morning I would question her and somehow get an answer as to whether Donnie was abusing her.

  * * *

  When the cab pulled into the driveway, I noticed with some irritation that Liam was not home yet. My car was not back.

  Once inside, I turned on all the downstairs lights and glanced at the answering machine. No blinking light.

  “My car had better be back in the driveway when I leave for work tomorrow. I’m not listening to a sob story about wanting to spend the night with your friend.”

  It was a threat
announced to the empty room, and then in a fit I began pulling off my clothes on my way upstairs to my room, throwing on all the light switches on the way up.

  Within moments I was in a sloppy T-shirt and boxers and sliding between my sheets. At that moment, safe at home and comfortable in bed, my only fear was that these angry thoughts would lead to bad dreams about Liam, replaying the times he hurt me in his sweet ways. So I turned my thoughts to Adam, preparing clever things to say when he called this weekend, imagining our next date and making it out to be as sultry as I hoped it would be.

  I drifted off to a very lusty sleep filled with sexy dreams.

  CHAPTER 11

  In the morning, I could see through the crack under my door that the hall light was still on. My stomach dropped. Liam still wasn’t home and I had no way to work. Another taxi ride—especially all the way downtown—would cost a fortune, and waiting for a taxi to take me to the transit center seven miles away and then waiting for a bus would make me incredibly late for the second day in a row. I threw open the door and flew down the hall past Liam’s empty bedroom. Pounding down the stairs in my T-shirt, I went directly to the answering machine. Still no blinking red light.

  “He didn’t even call?” I asked aloud, but even as the words left my mouth I knew it wasn’t like Liam.

  Of course, my cell phone! I found my workbag where I’d left it by the door, and fished out my phone. My thumb found the button with the green phone icon and pressed. As I waited for the phone to turn on and find a signal, I shook my head. “He must be coming back this morning to pick me up. He wouldn’t just leave me without a ride to work. Even if he’d left me a message, he’d know I had no other way to work.”

  Finally! I thought as the phone picked up a signal and chimed to alert me to new messages. I dialed and waited, throwing a glance at the clock. I still had some time left before I needed to leave.

  The computerized voice on my voicemail announced the time of the first message, 9:55 P.M., and the message began. The voice, however, was not Liam’s, but Adam’s. At some point after my conversation with Cleo, he had called. I hadn’t expected him to. Wasn’t he supposed to busy with work?