Figment (10 page)

“Er, yesterday was great, Z. I had fun.” He shot me a glance.
“Is that all right?” he mouthed.

“Yeah, thanks for going up to Brighton with me!” I chirped.

“I’m so glad you’ve been seeing some of England, Zoe,” my mother said, patting me on the arm.

I averted my eyes from her clear blue gaze, swallowing the guilt that suddenly rose in my throat.
She told you Davis was dead.
I hardened my heart. “Yes, and tonight, we’re going to the movies.” I gave Oliver a significant look. Before we left Brighton, Davis had told me to come up to the penthouse this evening. He had a surprise, he said.

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot.” Oliver swung into action again. “A Bette Davis double feature at the Strand Cinema.”

Bette Davis?
I had never been a fan of hers. Luckily, Mom didn’t seem suspicious.

“That’s lovely.” She smiled at us both, then continued trundling down the sidewalk. “I have to get back, Zoe. Your father will be home soon,” she called over her shoulder.

I lingered a moment. “Thanks for covering for me. Seriously. I really appreciate it.”

His gaze ran over my face, and he half smiled. “How
was Brighton?”

“It was so fun.”

“I had a great time, too. Those sausages we got were delicious.” He twisted his mouth humorously.

“Very funny. Are you saying I owe you a trip to the beach?” I teased.

“Don’t worry. I’ll collect my payment sooner or later.” He cocked an eyebrow at me, and I ran down the street, laughing. Thank goodness I had him.

I pleaded off dinner, saying that Oliver wanted to show me a great little pub before the movie. I took a quick shower, letting my wet hair fall down my back in natural waves, and brushed on just a little brown eye shadow. Hooking the charm around my neck on the new chain, I poked my feet into my flip-flops and stealthily made my way up to the penthouse.

The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped out onto the dusty floor. The rooms were dark, lit dimly by the city lights coming in through the windows. “Davis?” I called softly. I could make out our two sets of footprints leading to the hideout in the corner. The plastic sheeting that hung from the rafters swayed in an unseen breeze. “Davis!”

“
Hooo,” something answered, and I jumped, just as something gray flew up in front of me.

I squeaked, my hands out in front of me to ward it off, whatever it was, before I realized it was a pigeon.

“Hoo,” remarked the pigeon, walking back and forth on a windowsill. It pecked rapidly at the glass.

I exhaled and tiptoed over to Davis’s corner. He was gone, but his backpack was there, as was a note lying on the rumpled blanket.

I picked it up.

Dress up nice and meet me on the steps of Parliament!

I squealed and ran to press the elevator button. Back in my room, I grabbed a shimmery silver dress from a corner of the closet and pulled it over my head. I wedged my feet into strappy sandals and took a few tentative steps, regaining my stride.

Out on the street, I inhaled the sweet air, scented with lilacs sold by the Korean woman on the corner. The balmy breeze touched my bare shoulders. A group of sailors went by, laughing, and on the other side of the street, a man in a fedora started playing the accordion. I hurried down the sidewalk. I could see Parliament a few blocks away on the banks of the Thames. It was lit brilliantly at night, with yellow lights shooting up the sides, lending the ancient building a magical glow.

Feeling like Audrey Hepburn, I ran up the steps just as Big Ben tolled nine.

Davis was waiting at the top, wearing a narrow-cut dark suit, leaning against a pillar, hands in his pockets, hair in his eyes, smiling at me like my movie-star lover. “Hi,” I breathed.

“I’ve never seen that dress on you.” His eyes raked me, and I shivered.

“Do you think it looks okay?” I already knew the answer from his eyes, but I wanted to hear him say it.

“Beautiful.” He brushed a tendril of hair from my forehead, then pressed a soft kiss to my lips. My arms went around his neck, and I twined my fingers into his hair. He pulled me against him, holding me around the waist. After a long moment, Davis stepped back. “You want to see your surprise?”

“Yes!” I took his hand, and he ran me down the steps. “Where is it?”

“There.” He pointed to a giant white Ferris wheel that was rotating slowly not too far away. I’d noticed it before.

“We’re going on that Ferris wheel?”

“It’s called the London Eye.” We walked down a wide stone walkway as Davis explained. “It’s not just any Ferris wheel. You can see all of London from the top. And it has these little pods that you ride in, like tiny rooms, instead of seats.”

“Oh, cool,” I breathed, staring up at the spoked wheel rotating in the night sky like the missing piece of a giant’s bicycle.

At the entrance to the Eye, we rode a short escalator to a concrete platform. It was like a train station, except that the space-agey, egg-shaped pods were rotating by the platform very slowly.

A few other people were waiting to get on, all wearing cocktail dresses, like mine, with the men in suits, everyone very chic. They turned to look at us, and I suddenly felt intimidated and tried to hide partially behind Davis.

A conductor was ushering the others into a pod. It was mostly glass, with a wooden floor and a big wooden bench in the middle. It moved so slowly, the passengers stepped on without the pod stopping. Then the conductor shut and sealed the door, and the pod moved up the wheel.

“Do you think it ever gets stuck?” I giggled nervously.

“It’s very safe, miss.” The conductor must have overheard me. The door to the next pod was open, and Davis stepped on.

“This is ours.” He held his hand out with a reassuring smile, and I looked into his face and then stepped over the threshold. The moment I touched his hand, my fear evaporated. I couldn’t feel afraid with him near.

With a whoosh, the conductor closed our door, and we began rising into the night sky. Instinctively, I clutched Davis’s arm, but after a moment, I loosened my grip. The little pod rotated with the wheel so smoothly, I could barely tell we were moving at all.

Davis looked down at me. “Isn’t this incredible?”

“Yes.” I took a deep breath and looked around for the first time. That’s when I noticed the table set up in the middle. Champagne was bubbling in two flutes, and chocolates were heaped on a plate decorated with rose petals. A Jack Johnson tune was playing softly through some unseen speakers.

“Davis
. . .” I looked up at him.

He was grinning. “Well?”

“Did you do all this?” I hugged him. “For me?”

“I did it for us,” he corrected me. “I thought this would be a fun way to see the rest of London.”

“It is,” I breathed. The view spread all around us, with white and yellow lights glimmering as far as I could see. The black Thames snaked beneath us, reflecting Parliament and Big Ben like a wavery mirror. “Look, there’s Buckingham Palace.” I pointed.

“And the Tower of London.”

We stood at the windows a long time, picking out landmarks as the wheel rose higher and higher. Then Davis handed me my glass of champagne. “I think we should have a toast.” He raised his glass. “To us, baby. They tried to keep us apart, and we’re still here, still together.”

Tears rose to my eyes, and I blinked them away. “I was lost without you,” I whispered to him. “And now I have you—and I’m happy all day.”

“Me too.” Davis smiled down at me, then reached past my shoulder and pressed a little button on a keypad on the wall. The music swelled around us.

“You saw her bathing on the roof
. . . Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you . . .”

Davis sang the beautiful lyrics as the sad, sweet song played. He pulled me close to him, and we danced, swaying back and forth. I could feel the muscles of his chest pressing into mine and smelled the fragrance of the pine soap he always used.

I raised my head and kissed him, relishing his slow, hot lips on mine. He ran his hands up and down my spine through the silk of my dress. We twirled slowly, locked in a kiss, until finally I broke away, breathless, laughing a little.

“I need to catch my breath.” I sat down on the bench in the middle and put my hands to my hot cheeks, smiling up at him.

He sat down beside me and offered me more champagne. I took a long drink of the crisp, bubbly wine, then bit into a chocolate from the laden table. “Davis, this must have cost so much. Are you going to be okay?”

His brow darkened. “Hey,
now. Why are you worrying?”

“I’m not,” I reassured him quickly. “It’s just, you know, the plane ticket over here, and all the stuff we’ve been doing, and now this.” I reached for his hand. “I just don’t want you to stress out because of me.”

His face cleared. “I’m not stressing. I have plenty of money, Zo.”

I have plenty of money.
The sensations hit me then, sending me reeling. I staggered backward, knocking the plate of chocolates to the floor. I clutched my head as the image filled my mind:
Davis’s face, turned toward me in the dark of the car that night, looming up in front of me, blown up to a monstrous size, as if I were Alice in Wonderland.

“The money, Zo. It’s the money.”
His disembodied voice echoed in my ears, slowing down like a record played at low speed.

Then, just as suddenly, the flash was gone. My vision cleared. I saw Davis’s face still in front of me but shrunk back to normal size. “Zoe? Zo?” he was saying anxiously. He was holding my upper arms. “Are you okay? Talk to me.”

I was breathing heavily. “I’m okay,” I managed. Davis sat close to me, chafing my hands in his.

“You’re totally white,” he said. “What the hell just happened? I thought you were having a seizure or something.”

I barely heard him. There was something I could almost understand, something about the money and the car following us that night. It was something I knew then, but I’d forgotten. Whatever it was hung tantalizingly at the edge of my mind, as if in my peripheral vision. I could sense its shape, but if I tried to look at it directly, it disappeared.

A glass of sparkling water appeared in front of me, lifting me out of my reverie. “Here. You look like you need this,” Davis said. His eyes were still concerned.

I took a long, fizzy sip. “It was weird,” I said slowly. “Like something at the corner of my mind I can’t quite see. Something about the accident.”

A cloud passed over Davis’s face, but just as quickly, it disappeared.
He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the back. “Don’t think about it. I don’t want you to ever have to remember that awful night. Just think about now—we’re here, together, and that’s how it’s going to be, always.”

I could see the love in his eyes as he touched my cheek with his fingers. I stretched up to kiss him, and as our lips met, I knew he was right. I should try to forget the past, especially the accident. My life was happening right now, right here.

I knocked on the door marked
2F, my pulse already beating fast. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about my flash on the Eye. I had to find out more about the accident. I had to catch hold of whatever it was I couldn’t remember. Bring it, squirming, into clear focus and pin it down.

Oliver opened the door. “Zoe!” he said in surprise. He was shirtless and holding what looked like a ham sandwich. His worn jeans hung off his hips.

“Hi, sorry to barge in on you like this,” I said, trying not to notice his lean chest and abs. I plowed ahead. “I just, um—actually, I really need to use your laptop. Just for a little while. Would that be okay?”

He looked slightly taken aback but stepped aside, holding open the door. “Sure. Come on in.”

The flat was sparsely furnished, but in a clean, modern way. It looked like something out of one of my mother’s design catalogs. Oliver led me past an all-gray living room to the bedrooms at the back. “My parents are out visiting a site,” he explained. “They’re in real estate.”

I breathed a small sigh of relief. I wasn’t really in the mood for parental small talk just now. “Do you have to work at the gallery today?”

“Not till tonight. I was just working on a few drawings.” He grabbed a T-shirt from the back of a chair and pulled it on over his head as we entered his room.

It was small but flooded with light from two huge windows. A single mattress lay on the floor in a corner, covered with a wool blanket. But I barely noticed anything else, because I couldn’t take my eyes off the walls. Oliver’s drawings were pinned everywhere. I revolved slowly in the middle of the room. They were all of London, everything from the Tower to the street performers in the Tube. He worked in charcoal, and his stark, spiky lines made the figures and buildings jump off the page, daring me to ignore them.

“Wow,” I breathed. “You must really like London.”

“It’s the best city in the world.” Oliver pointed at a sketch of a man in a cap and apron, with a big belly, holding up a huge fish. “I saw this guy at Billingsgate Market. He’s been selling fish there since he was fifteen, he told me. And this one—this just seems like the quintessential London. You know what I mean?” He indicated another drawing of a row of old brick buildings, all squeezed together, big and small, with the rooflines crooked, on a cobblestone street. “It’s like Dickens’s London is still around.”