Cut Too Deep (3 page)

Mac strolled in a few minutes later and took the chair next to her.

Hadley glanced up with curiosity and asked, “What did Dickhead need you for?”

Mac smiled, his eyebrows drawing together before he spoke. “He wanted some advice on a campaign. The man is seriously off today. He never asks for my input. I finally asked him what was going on. He told me it was personal.”

“The wife?”

“I don’t think so. She called and was pleasant as always. It’s something else.”

“Do you think he’s having an affair?”

“You trouble maker.” Mac pointed a finger at Hadley and she giggled. “No. He loves his wife. I don’t think that’s it. Besides, no one else would put up with his shit. Whatever’s going on, I hope it’s over soon.  He seems flustered and weak. Believe it or not, I prefer when he’s a dickhead.”

Hadley smiled, though she didn’t agree with Mac’s preference. When the boss acted like a ‘dickhead’
,
she usually had to clock more time with Dr. LeClair.

“What are you doing tonight?” Mac asked with hesitation in his voice.

“Not much,” Hadley responded. “Why?”

“Do you want to hang out with me?” His voice fluctuated, highlighting his nerves.

The two had never spent time together outside of work. Mac asked frequently when Hadley started at Jensen. After a few months of her declining, he finally gave up. She tapped her fingernail on her teeth and considered his offer. Dr. LeClair had been encouraging her to make friends and have a ‘normal’ social life.

Her extensive list of psychological disorders offered a crutch for her to lean on. They were a means to justify why Hadley isolated herself. Still, she wanted friends—wanted normal. If she didn’t learn to open up soon and take chances, friendship would always be sidelined by pathetic excuses. She would always be alone. The episodes social environments triggered were what worried her. Insignificant occurrences, which most people missed, prompted an emotional response from deep within her. Knowing what caused them didn’t help, because they were completely unpredictable. As skeptical as Hadley felt about spending a night out with Mac, she believed she would like to give it a try. She didn’t want her life to be held hostage by her past any longer.

“Sure, I’d love to go out.” Taking the jump felt amazing and scary at the same time. “Where to?”

Mac sawed nervously on his bottom lip before answering, as if he knew this might be the point at which she declined. “If I don’t tell you, will you still come?”

Hadley silently wondered if he had an ill intended angle he was working. Despite agreeing to go out with him being tremendous progress, her natural instinct to offer an excuse and bow out quickly rose to the surface. After a brief mental debate, she refused to believe his intentions were malicious.  Mac had come to be the only person in the world who Hadley thought actually cared about her.

“What are you up to?”

“Nothing bad.” He grinned. “I promise, but it’s time you had a little fun.”

She tried to look offended but laughed. “I have fun all the time.”

Mac rolled his eyes at his homebody of a friend. In three years, Hadley never arrived to work on Monday with an exciting tale from her weekend.

“Girl, you can’t lie to me. Your life is B.O.R.I.N.G.”

Her life had been a crazy, out of control mess, made up of everything but boring before she sought her independence. She needed boring.

“It’s not that bad.” Her insistent attempt was not only weak, but unsuccessful.

Mac looked directly at her, stifling a serious bout of laughter. He knew there were reasons behind Hadley’s solitude that she wasn’t ready to share, but he wanted to see his friend live a little.

“Please, my ninety-year-old neighbors have a more exciting life than you do.”

“Probably because they own shares in Viagra.” Hadley smiled and stuck her tongue out.

Mac laughed. He then realized she was using humor to distract him and frowned.

“Come on. You’re young. You should be out having fun.”

She groaned. “Fine! You can be my personal ‘fun’ guide then.”

“Deal!” He smiled, feeling ecstatic. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”

Mac grabbed their order from the counter and brought it back to the table.

Hadley unwrapped her sandwich and asked, “What should I wear?”

Mac shrugged.

“Something—comfy, casual.”

That answer soothed Hadley. If Mac said she needed to dress up, she would’ve had to reconsider.

Since the rest of the day dragged, Hadley had too much time to think about going out. She fought the urge to cancel. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to spend time with her friend. Honestly, she wasn’t entirely certain she knew how to hang out and socialize, like a normal young person, or what
normal
consisted of.

What if Mac asked about her family or where she grew up? Those were
normal
questions, but her answers were socially unacceptable. If he got to know her, maybe he wouldn’t like her. If she canceled, they could continue to be nine to five friends, surrounded by office walls where they were both too busy to engage in lengthy conversation that could lead to personal questions.

Hadley decided not to cancel, mostly because she dreaded the thought of sitting in Dr. LeClair’s office and explaining why she turned down an opportunity to have a ‘typical’ and ‘human’ interaction with someone she considered a friend. The good doctor had been driving home his ‘normal socialization’ points more frequently, and probably for her own good, but falling on her face scared her.

After shutting down her computer for the night, she retrieved her purse from the desk drawer and strolled to Mac’s office to firm up details for later. He wasn’t in his office, and after looking in the break room and the copy room, she gave up and sent him a text with her address before leaving the building.

Her steps fell in stride with the regular Tribeca posse leaving work and heading for SoHo. Most of the people’s faces were buried in their cell phones, completely oblivious to their surroundings.

The anxiety that plagued Hadley made her far too anxious to be so unaware. Bad things happened when you didn’t pay attention. Her mind worked at an impossibly fast pace as various scenarios raced around in her head: mugging, kidnapping, a car jumping the curb and squishing the lot of them like bugs. Not a single one of them would notice. Didn’t they realize the danger they were in? She took a few deep breaths and remembered, for most people, life was safe.

Mrs. St. Armont’s absence from the rocker in front of her apartment increased Hadley’s angst. She worried something awful happened to her grumpy neighbor. Going out with Mac had her anxiety racing up the crazy meter.

After convincing herself Mrs. St. Armont probably went inside to watch talk shows, and she would survive a night out, Hadley opened her apartment door and went inside.

Following a quick shower, Hadley slipped into a pair of comfortable jeans and a soft, blue t-shirt. She brushed her long brown waves and tied them back in a ponytail. As she looked in the mirror, she hoped Mac meant it when he said ‘casual’ because that was definitely the look she had going on.

Hadley didn’t have time for dinner, but went to the kitchen and enjoyed a few dollops of Nutella before sitting on the couch and lacing up her sneakers. The doorbell startled her. In the nearly three years she lived in her apartment, she never heard the sound of her own doorbell.

She told Mac he could pick her up without considering she never had a visitor. Her gaze darted around the tiny one bedroom with hardwood floors. The living room housed a sofa with a small coffee table and an old television. Two barstools rested below a small, laminate serve-through counter that separated the kitchen and living room. She didn’t have a dining room table and spent hours installing the barre on the wall where one should be, so she could practice ballet in the space.

The doorbell rang again.

Mac’s friendly face greeted her when she opened the door. His dusty brown hair covered his blue eyes. Freckles dotted his nose and cheeks. His mouth formed a smile, revealing slightly crooked teeth. Hadley returned the smile. She noticed his sweats and sneakers, and felt relieved to not be underdressed.

“Hi,” Mac said casually, surveying her apartment over her shoulder. “I was worried you changed your mind.”

“Nope.” Hadley shook her head. “You’re right, I do need a little more fun in my life. I’m almost ready.”

“Are you going to invite me in?” Mac nodded his head to the right. “Or should I stand in the hall and chat with the cat lady?”

Although Hadley laughed, her hand flew up to cover Mac’s mouth. Apparently nothing awful happened to her neighbor. With her other hand, she pulled Mac through the door by his arm and peeked down the hall at Mrs. St. Armont.

Her neighbor sat in the corner, outside her door in a rocker with a bunch of cats surrounding her as she petted the one on her lap. Hadley smiled and waved at her neighbor, who promptly scowled back in response. She closed the door and spun to face her guest.

“Did you have to say that? She already hates me.”

Mac grinned. “What’d you do to her?”

“I was bringing up groceries and couldn’t see. I accidently stepped on one of the cats’ tail.”

“Ah. Did she freak out?”

“She usually speaks Creole, but ‘crazy bitch’ was in perfect English.”

Mac laughed hard. “You better be nice. She might put some voodoo curse on you. I’ve heard stories.”

Hadley smacked Mac’s arm.

“Stop it. She’s lonely. Her husband died last year, and that’s when she got all the cats.”

“Just sayin’. I bet she practices all sorts of dark magic.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s a tad dramatic, even for you.”

“Hey, I didn’t say I believe in voodoo, but I bet she does.”

They stepped into the hall, and Mrs. St. Armont narrowed her large eyes at them. Hadley gave her neighbor a weak smile and bowed her head before locking her door.

Mac started making crazy chanting noises, and Hadley elbowed him before the two took off down the hall giggling.

Like normal friends
, Hadley thought.

Perhaps she could handle a night out after all.

When they reached the door to the stairwell, Hadley turned to her friend and said, “If I wake up with warts, you’ll be sorry.”

“If you wake up with warts, I’ll kiss the old bat.”

He held the door for her, laughing as he gestured for her to go ahead of him.

Hadley sat in the passenger seat of Mac’s Honda. His joker smile greeted her, and the two shared another laugh at her neighbor’s expense.

As they hit Broadway, heading toward midtown, Hadley asked, “So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Mac looked over and smiled.

“Nope—not yet.”

They drove in silence for several miles. Hadley watched the city streak by the passenger window like rainbow streamers. She wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings until she noticed they were in the meat packing district. Knowing nothing exciting happened in the area increased her curiosity as to where her friend was taking her. Mac drove to the back of an expansive industrial park. As he took a corner, she noticed the parking lot full of vehicles and heard the faint thumping of base in the distance.

Underground warehouse parties were a thing of Hadley’s past in which she spent, drunk, high, or both. A past she didn’t wish to return to, even to spend time with Mac.

“A warehouse party? That’s where you wanted to bring me?”

The unmistakable distain in her voice worried Mac, and he laughed nervously.

“Don’t get all twisted yet. It’s not a warehouse party, per se.”

Annoyed at his pressing, and his assumption she was an idiot, she turned her head to glare at him with both eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Yet, I hear the faint sound of house music.”

While ignoring the frustrated grumbles from the passenger seat, Mac pulled into a parking spot. He turned off the ignition and peered over at his friend. The music grew louder as did the frustration on her face.

He sighed.

“They do play house music, but it’s not what you think.”

“Okay.” Her eyebrows shot up again. “Explain.”

“I know you’re a dancer, and this is a place where you can dance with other dancers.”

Her shoulders relaxed a little.

“Mac, I’m not a dancer.”

Now Mac was annoyed. Hadley hid many things about herself, but dance wasn’t one of them.

“I’ve seen you at work, dancing when you think no one is watching. Every time music plays your hips move, and you have a barre in your apartment. Don’t tell me you aren’t a dancer.”

Hadley gestured to the building and gritted her teeth.

“I’m not that kind of dancer.”

“You don’t know that. There are all types of dancers here. Come in and check it out before you make a decision. If you don’t like what you see, we can leave.”

Hadley heard about the underground dance movement in New York, consisting of dancers that hadn’t made a professional company. Most couldn’t afford studio time or costly lessons, and they’d taken to renting space in vacant warehouses. Some of the dancers were given the same affections as movie stars. A few had been discovered and went on to be back up dancers for famous singers.