The Position (3 page)

But I’m already gone. I’ve thrown open the door and am hauling ass toward the fight. I’m a small, unarmed woman and I have no idea what I’m going to do. All I know is that I have to stop them before it’s too late. I see a pile of decaying wood outside a closed, corrugated door. Without thinking, I grab the most solid plank I see and charge at the men.
 

“Get away from him, you motherfuckers!” I shout.
 

The men turn in surprise. But when they see me, they only laugh. Captain lets out a weak groan. There’s blood all over his face and in his beard. He’s curled up in a ball, barely moving. I wield the plank like a baseball bat, but before I can swing it at one of the junkie’s heads, he kicks me hard in the stomach.
 

I fall backward and the plank of wood skitters from my hands. At first I can’t breathe; the wind is knocked out of me. Flashes of white light burst before my eyes and I feel nausea swell inside me. I’m waiting for the junkies to come after me, but they don’t. I hear muted shouts and thuds. Cursing.
 

With effort, I push myself up, and turn to look. One of the junkies is laid out on the ground, unconscious. The other is staggering frantically down the street. Lazarus stands panting, watching him go. His lip is bleeding and his fists are balled. His eyes are narrow and fierce. He turns quickly and rushes to me, kneeling on the grease-stained concrete and putting a gentle hand on my back.
 

“Let’s go. We have to have a doctor check you out.”
 

But I shake my head and push him away. “No. Not me.” I manage to get to my feet and stumble over to where Captain lay, unmoving. I put a hand on his shoulder and gently shake him. “Captain! Captain! Hey!”
 

His eyes flutter open and he squints up at me. “Mickey?” Lazarus watches us, baffled. I turn to him, eyes full of panic and fear. “We have to get him to a hospital. Please. Help me get him up.”
 

Without a word, Lazarus bends low and easily lifts bony old Captain off the ground. “Open the back door,” he calls. He’s serious but very calm. I race to the car and throw open the back door. Lazarus gently places Captain inside, not blinking at the blood smeared on his expensive sports coat. In fact, he slips it off, folds it up, and places it under Captain’s head.
 

Lazarus races through the empty streets, throwing mystified glances my way. “How do you know him?” he says at last.
 

“Long story,” I mumble.
 

Suddenly, my brain does an epic shift. Ten minutes ago all I wanted was Lazarus. Now the only thing that matters it that Captain is okay. I turn around in my seat and study him carefully. His eyes are closed but his lips move continuously in some silent monologue. I watch the weak rise and fall of his scrawny chest beneath the tattered ski jacket.
 

Lazarus doesn’t press me. When we get to the hospital, he screeches into the emergency dock and throws open his door.
 

“This man needs immediate attention!” he shouts at the small group of nurses smoking outside. They snap into action.
 

I watch with tears in my eyes as they pull Captain’s broken old man body from the back seat and onto a gurney. A nurse whips an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, and they whisk him away. I run along behind, but one of the nurses stops me.
 

“You need to wait here, honey. We’ll do everything we can to help your granddaddy. I promise.”
 

They disappear down the hall and around the corner. Out of sight. My granddaddy. Tears flood my eyes. Captain might as well be my granddaddy. I never had a real one. Not one who cared to call or visit, anyway. My parents had long run off any caring soul in the entire extended family. No one wanted to be anywhere near that pair of fuckups and their sad, weird little girl.

There’s a hand on my shoulder, but I barely notice it. Lazarus steps around to face me and lifts my chin with his fingers.
 

“It’s going to be okay, Mickey,” he whispers.
 

His gentle words bring the tears on fast. I press my face into his chest and sob. He puts an uncertain hand on my back and stands very still, waiting. His cell phone rings, and he ignores it. But it brings me back to earth and I push away from him. I realize that it’s only pity. And there’s nothing that kills me more than pity. I turn and drift down the hall in a daze until I see a waiting room filled with ugly plastic chairs and somber people. I settle into one of the chairs and wipe at my face. Lazarus is right behind me.
 

“Do you mind if I wait here for him?” I ask tearfully. “I’ll be back in the office tomorrow.”
 

Lazarus sits down beside me. His cell phone rings again, but he still doesn’t answer. “He’s not your real grandfather, is he?” I don’t look at him. And I don’t know what to say. If Lazarus ever found out about my own situation, I would die of humiliation.
 

“He looks homeless, Mickey.”
 

I nod. “He is,” I say faintly. “He doesn’t have anyone else. But he’s like family to me.”
 

Lazarus leans forward to study my face, as if searching for something there. His cell phone rings again.
Shut the fuck up!
I think, irritably.
Take a hint! Call him later!
I look at Lazarus with exasperation. That’s when I register that his face is scuffed and his lip is split. I hadn’t even taken the time to notice.

Without thinking, I reach out and touch his cheek just below the abrasion. “Your face,” I whisper. “They hit you…” Guilt floods through me. Without any concern for himself, Lazarus rushed into the action and saved my impulsive ass. “God, Jude. I’m so sorry I dragged you into that. I just reacted. I wasn’t thinking…”

But he just looks at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to figure out.
 

“What’s wrong?” I sniff, self-consciously wiping at the smeared makeup under my eyes.
 

“You are a very strange and mysterious girl, do you know that?” Lazarus shakes his head. “I just realized, I know almost nothing about you.”

I shrug, trying to hide the nervousness I feel whenever someone wants to pry into my fucked up personal life.
 

“What’s there to know?”
 

“I have a feeling quite a bit.” He rubs at his whiskers, looking mystified. “I’ll admit, you have me rather…fascinated. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
 

I smile sheepishly. Lazarus holds my eyes. He’s different in this moment. It’s hard to describe. He seems entirely grounded and present, which makes me think that the rest of the time he’s either playing the famous architect part or relenting to his weird, sexual kinks. My eyes unconsciously flick down to his mouth. His lips look so soft behind the sexy, rough stubble on his face.
 

“Thank you,” I say. “For being there for me. You were amazing.”
 

Lazarus reaches out and pushes a stray strand of hair behind my ear. It’s such an intimate gesture, it takes my breath away.
 

Then, of course—fuck my life—his stupid cell phone rings. Again. This time he fishes it from his inside pocket, looks at the screen, and sighs. I glance over and catch the name, too. Celestina.
 

“Will you excuse me?” he mumbles as he gets to his feet and crosses the room before answering.
 

I watch him pace a few times back and forth behind a row of chairs, his brow furrowed and unhappy. With a groan, I rub my face and try to wipe the mascara smears from under my eyes. I wonder about what kinds of problems Celestina has in her life. Accidentally corking a bottle of wine? Snagging her new two thousand dollar sweater on her ten thousand dollar purse? Her Uber driver turning up five minutes late? Whatever. Like Lazarus, she happened to be born in a crystal palace. And I was born in the shitter.
 

One of the nurses who took Captain in appears.
 

She crouches beside me with a gentle smile. “Sweetie, he’s going to be okay.”
 

Tears flood my eyes again and I before I know it, I’ve thrown my arms around her neck. She pats my back, and I can’t help wondering how many strangers she hugs every day. All that reassuring. And consoling.
 

“Oh, thank God!” I mutter.

“He’s a tough cookie,” she goes on. “We still have some tests to run, and then we’re going to keep him sedated for the night. You won’t be able to see him until tomorrow, so there’s no reason to hang around here, really.”
 

I nod and wipe at my eyes. “Thank you so much.”
 

Lazarus appears, tucking the phone back into the inside pocket of his coat. I smile up at him.
 

“She says Captain is going to be okay!”
 

He looks genuinely relieved. “I’m so glad to hear it. Are you staying, Mickey, or do you want me to drive you home? You’ve been through enough today.”

Before I can answer, the nurse blurts out, “Take her home. She won’t be able to visit until tomorrow, so…”
 

Lazarus nods. “Where do you live, Mickey? I’ll drop you off.”
 

I blink at him.
Oh, sure. Take me home. My car is parked behind a Walgreens not too far from here. I’ll invite you in for tea!

“I’d rather go back to the office,” I blurt out. “I have a lot to do.”

When we get to the car, Lazarus pops the trunk and digs a clean shirt from a small valise.
 

“If you change your mind later,” he says, unbuttoning his shirt as if we were siblings sharing a room, “let me know, and I’ll call you a cab.”
 

I’m too mesmerized to speak, my eyes fixed on the flash of bare flesh peeking through. Without a thought, he slips off the shirt and tosses it into the open trunk. My jaw drops. His skin is tan and smooth over the strong, prominent pecks, the rippling abs, and defined musculature of his shoulders. My fingers twitch, overwhelmed with a desire to touch him. I want it so much I can almost feel the heat of his skin beneath my hands.
 

That’s when I realize he’s watching me with a half smile on his face. His eyes twinkle with mischief. He’s doing it on purpose. Enjoying it. Our eyes lock and I can feel the electricity power through me. Then he slips on the clean shirt and quietly buttons it, not taking his eyes off me once. He closes the trunk and gives me a wink.
 

“Well,” he says, still smiling. “Back to work.”

Chapter Six

When we arrive back at the office, I tell Lazarus I’m going to freshen up, and duck into the bathroom. My ribs hurt around where I was kicked and my head is spinning with fatigue. When I look at my reflection, I’m surprised to see that I actually look okay. There’s a bit of mascara under my eyes and the tears have left my cheeks flushed. But the loose strands of hair that have fallen around my face are kind of sexy and my green eyes are strikingly bright behind my rimless glasses.
 

I wipe under my eyes and freshen up my lipstick. Then I realize that my clothes are a mess. The cords are caked with oil and mud and the blouse is smeared with dirt. Fortunately, homeless chicks like me always travel with a change of clothes. I dig through my bag and find a relatively unwrinkled black skirt and a purple silk blouse. The skirt is form fitting and the silk blouse accentuates my boobs. So much for going back to Frumpsville. I trade out the boots for a pair of pumps and head back to the office.
 

When I walk through the door, Lazarus is standing beside the enormous window talking with Celestina. Her black bob has been parted on the side and falls partially over one of her eyes. She’s wearing a pair of black jeans that flare at the bottom, a long brown leather coat, and high heeled boots. She’s stunning.
 

But when she sees me, her mouth opens in surprise. Her body stiffens and her eyes sear into me. For a moment she doesn’t speak or move. She just rakes her eyes over me like claws.
 

“Jude.” She says his name like a condemnation.
 

He turns to see what she’s staring at. Even though he plays it cool, I can see the uneasiness in his eyes. Celestina has never seen the new and improved me. Her eyes never leave me. I can almost feel them burning through me.
 

“Who is this?” she hisses with her Spanish accent.
 

Lazarus frowns. “Michaela,” he affirms. “My assistant. You’ve already met her. And she’s right here. There’s no need to talk about her in the third person.”

Celestina’s expression darkens further. “This is not the assistant that I met.”
 

“Yes,” Lazarus says sternly, though I can see the sweat glisten on his upper lip. “She’s the same one. Eva had a talk with her about being…you know… more physically…sartorially…aligned with our… brand.”

She gives him a withering look. “I have no idea of all these words. And so they are probably the bullshit.”
 

“It doesn’t matter,” Lazarus grumbles. “Eva gave her a hard time about her clothes, that’s all. Fortunately, Michaela is a good sport.”
 

I almost wince when he says that. That’s not going to make her happy. And it doesn’t. Celestina narrows her eyes. Her lips press tightly together and I can hear her exhale from across the room, like a fire-breathing dragon. “Is she?”

Lazarus sighs and gives me a pointed look. “You can go to your office now, Michaela,” he says curtly.
 

I nod and hurry to my little hovel, wishing like hell it had a door to close. But it doesn’t matter in the end. Celestina turns on her boot heel and storms out. Lazarus goes after her. Such a cliché. On one hand I feel bad for Celestina, who probably suspects the truth—that Lazarus’s appetites are less than under control. But she’s also a hideous bitch, so that makes it hard to feel too bad about it.
 

I busy myself with work, trying not to think about it. But I can’t help it. My mind keeps drifting, thinking about Lazarus’s lies. Another man full of lies. Just like my father. Every time my folks hit their fourth Jack and Coke, Mom’s jealous accusations would fly. There was never any doubt they were true. Dad was a womanizer. In the end, the two of them threw so many glasses in those fights that they ended up having to drink whiskey out of plastic cups.