ducked into a supply closet. I lifted
a pair of latex gloves and pocketed them. The footsteps receded. I waited, then
slipped out and headed for the stairs.
I found an exit and slipped out the door, out onto the
streets. Outside, I tried to clear my head. Now was not the time to examine my
motives. I wasn’t about to let myself be bogged down with second-guessing.
I was going to get the truth from Blake Harrison. I ran down
the alley, planned my next move as I went, feet pounding the pavement. Heaven
or Hell… angel or demon… I would have my answers.
On the streets, my heart hammered in my chest. I blew out a
ragged breath and slowed my pace.
Instinct was to run, to cut through traffic and burst
through the front door of the convention center. I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed,
my mouth dry, throat thick. I murdered my gut reaction without remorse and
brought myself down to a walk.
There was no sense in running. Blake Harrison wasn’t going
anywhere. Time was on my side. He wasn’t expecting me. I had nothing left. Nothing
to lose.
I saw a clothing store across the street. Ducking between
cars, I made my way across. Twenty minutes later, I emerged in a dark suit and
tie. Off the rack, it wasn’t tailored to me, but close enough for my purposes.
The shoes were Italian and comfortable even new as they were. I could hardly
walk in to Harrison’s event in blue jeans and boots, but I carried my old
clothes in the store bag while I walked. Two blocks later, I dropped the bag in
a trash can and kept moving.
On the next block, I saw the conference center. It was
overflowing with partygoers, men in suits and ties, respectable in their day
jobs, contributors to a cause, but in the end, ridiculous dancers and incapable
of holding their liquor without making fools of themselves. The women were more
restrained in their own way, but still laughed too loud, gyrated too much to
the music, but mostly spent their time fending off the men.
It turned my stomach, but I waded into their midst, smiling
like a fool, laughing with a huddle of men at a thinly veiled off-color joke as
I passed and slipped into the entrance. It wasn’t the first time that I had
adapted to a hostile environment. My father had taken me to enough parties at
the Officer’s Club, the country club, and fundraisers that I knew how to
chameleon my way through the event. That’s what I called it. Becoming faceless
and blending in. Neither noteworthy, nor interesting. I was wallpaper, just
something in the background.
I moved through the crowd, like a shark, never stopping,
never slowing. Moving on and on, past the young and the old, searching for my
prey. And then I saw him.
Blake Harrison was a handsome man, I realized begrudgingly.
His face was lean and tanned, his smile white and even. His graying hair was
perfectly coifed. He was working the crowd, pausing occasionally to respond to
a question, or to make a comment. I expected him to be a trite, petty man, but
he seemed to take genuine interest in those who followed him.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. No sense in letting my
focus become clouded. I had to find a way to get to him. I could feel my face
flush at the thought. I needed a minute.
The men’s room was not far from the convention hall, and I
weaved my way to it. Pushing open the door, I headed for the sink, turned on
the tap, cupped a handful of the cold water and ran it over my face. The
splash of coldness startled me, providing clarity and clearing my head.
The door opened behind me, but I paid it no mind. I pulled
out some paper towel to dry my face when I first heard his voice.
“Enjoying the party?”
I looked up, surprised to find that Blake Harrison had
actually followed me into the rest room. He stepped to the urinal, then looked
up at me, eyebrows raised, waiting for my answer.
“Not really,” I said, shaking my head. “I secretly hate
these events.”
“I know how you feel,” he laughed.
My hand was in my
a pair of latex gloves and pocketed them. The footsteps receded. I waited, then
slipped out and headed for the stairs.
I found an exit and slipped out the door, out onto the
streets. Outside, I tried to clear my head. Now was not the time to examine my
motives. I wasn’t about to let myself be bogged down with second-guessing.
I was going to get the truth from Blake Harrison. I ran down
the alley, planned my next move as I went, feet pounding the pavement. Heaven
or Hell… angel or demon… I would have my answers.
On the streets, my heart hammered in my chest. I blew out a
ragged breath and slowed my pace.
Instinct was to run, to cut through traffic and burst
through the front door of the convention center. I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed,
my mouth dry, throat thick. I murdered my gut reaction without remorse and
brought myself down to a walk.
There was no sense in running. Blake Harrison wasn’t going
anywhere. Time was on my side. He wasn’t expecting me. I had nothing left. Nothing
to lose.
I saw a clothing store across the street. Ducking between
cars, I made my way across. Twenty minutes later, I emerged in a dark suit and
tie. Off the rack, it wasn’t tailored to me, but close enough for my purposes.
The shoes were Italian and comfortable even new as they were. I could hardly
walk in to Harrison’s event in blue jeans and boots, but I carried my old
clothes in the store bag while I walked. Two blocks later, I dropped the bag in
a trash can and kept moving.
On the next block, I saw the conference center. It was
overflowing with partygoers, men in suits and ties, respectable in their day
jobs, contributors to a cause, but in the end, ridiculous dancers and incapable
of holding their liquor without making fools of themselves. The women were more
restrained in their own way, but still laughed too loud, gyrated too much to
the music, but mostly spent their time fending off the men.
It turned my stomach, but I waded into their midst, smiling
like a fool, laughing with a huddle of men at a thinly veiled off-color joke as
I passed and slipped into the entrance. It wasn’t the first time that I had
adapted to a hostile environment. My father had taken me to enough parties at
the Officer’s Club, the country club, and fundraisers that I knew how to
chameleon my way through the event. That’s what I called it. Becoming faceless
and blending in. Neither noteworthy, nor interesting. I was wallpaper, just
something in the background.
I moved through the crowd, like a shark, never stopping,
never slowing. Moving on and on, past the young and the old, searching for my
prey. And then I saw him.
Blake Harrison was a handsome man, I realized begrudgingly.
His face was lean and tanned, his smile white and even. His graying hair was
perfectly coifed. He was working the crowd, pausing occasionally to respond to
a question, or to make a comment. I expected him to be a trite, petty man, but
he seemed to take genuine interest in those who followed him.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. No sense in letting my
focus become clouded. I had to find a way to get to him. I could feel my face
flush at the thought. I needed a minute.
The men’s room was not far from the convention hall, and I
weaved my way to it. Pushing open the door, I headed for the sink, turned on
the tap, cupped a handful of the cold water and ran it over my face. The
splash of coldness startled me, providing clarity and clearing my head.
The door opened behind me, but I paid it no mind. I pulled
out some paper towel to dry my face when I first heard his voice.
“Enjoying the party?”
I looked up, surprised to find that Blake Harrison had
actually followed me into the rest room. He stepped to the urinal, then looked
up at me, eyebrows raised, waiting for my answer.
“Not really,” I said, shaking my head. “I secretly hate
these events.”
“I know how you feel,” he laughed.
My hand was in my
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