Cynthia was quite an ordinary looking girl. As far as hosts went
she could have been the most plain woman Donovan had ever laid eyes on but he
was aware it was eleven in the morning on a Wednesday. Any restaurant worth
it's salt would preserve the jaw-dropping specimens for the evening shifts when
there would be much more traffic. Plus, for all Donovan was aware, the girl
could be a relative or friend of the owner and had been given the job to line
her pockets for whatever vocational endeavour she was wrapped up in. Perhaps
shot-put or javelin. Her shoulders were very broad.
"I'm sorry sir, we don't have a valet here."
At least she sounded genuinely distraught by the revelation.
Donovan rewarded her empathy with a sad smile.
"So what are we going to do Cynthia?" He asked with an
air of authority he had observed his father adopt when admonishing a
subordinate. It felt powerful, no wonder the bastard rolled it out so often,
everyone was a subordinate in his father's world.
"I'm not sure what..." She was young and nervous.
Donovan felt quite confident he didn't have to ask if she knew who he was. Any
young woman in her early twenties with a social media account could likely
identify Donovan in a line up. He was certain he had been a question in a TV
quiz show a few weeks ago. His net worth and influence were hotly debated
topics in the tabloids. Not that Donovan had any idea what any of it meant if
he couldn't find the woman he had lost.
A man with a buzz-cut swathed in chef whites lumbered toward the
bar as the pair stood awkwardly facing one another. He was carrying a large
metal pan and slung it in the sink at the bar and turned the tap to begin
filling it.
"Lee..." The girl croaked, she cleared her throat,
"Ellis said you shouldn't do that Lee."
The chef ignored her, he was thumbing at the mobile phone in the
hand which wasn't resting on the tap. "Lee!" She squawked.
The older man looked up. Donovan noted the crows feet and
noticeable sagging of jowls along with an indistinguishable black tattoo on his
neck. "Sorry love, what were you saying?"
"We have a customer." Cynthia flapped her hand anxiously
at Donovan.
"Ellis said you shouldn't do that Lee." Donovan said
employing the same admonishing tone he had just used.
The chef made a low grumbling sound in his throat and turned the
tap off abruptly.
"Actually, maybe you can help me." Donovan said.
"I'm looking for a valet called Steve."
"Yeah, I know Steve." The chef said, "He's my
pot-wash."
Cynthia and Lee exchanged concerned glances. Cynthia looked
terrified and Lee appeared to be angry for some reason, his forehead was
creased and his nostrils flared. Donovan could tell that this revelation was
the sort of bombshell he had not anticipated.
"Hope you don't mind me asking but why is someone like you
coming here and asking for Steve?" Lee asked with an eloquence Donovan was
disconcerted by.
Cynthia was staring at her shoes with grim fascination.
"I'm not judging or anything." The chef held up his
hands, "Steve did the whole rehab thing but if he's still doing -"
"I don't think that's any of your business." Donovan
could barely contain his incredulity. This man in stained pyjamas had crossed
the line of impropriety.
"He's my employee." Lee was much taller and broader than
Donovan had previously noticed.
"Steve happens to know someone I am looking for."
Donovan said hotly.
"Yeah, Steve knows a lot of people but they don't turn up
here and I'd rather they didn't if I'm honest." Lee had moved from behind
the bar and was standing next to Cynthia who appeared shrunken in his presence.
"Cynthia." Donovan looked down at the crown of the
girl's head, "Could you please give Steve my number and ask him to call
me?"
Luckily Donovan had a pen in his pocket. He took a napkin from the
bar and wrote his number on it and then crammed it between the young woman's
fingers. He took an opportunity to catch Lee's eye and glowered at the chef
before stalking out of the restaurant.
Later that evening
"You’re here!" Donovan crowed delightedly.
"I should not be here." Sarah said solemnly. "You
are awfully chirpy."
"Ah, that'll be due to.... well, they are very nice here!" Donovan
looked down at his arm which was resting against his chest in a cast and sling.
His face felt fatigued from the strain of smiling but he was vaguely aware he
wasn't in pain. He had been advised to expect some discomfort. He couldn't move
his lower extremities having been bound into a sitting position with sheets and
pillows.
"Is she coming?" Donovan's head suddenly shot upwards having been
surveying his neatly arranged sheets with curiosity. His chin tilted upwards to
expose a large red welt consuming the lower section of his jaw and chin. His
eyes were encircled with deep purple, ice chip blue eyes prominently glinting
from his bloodied visage.
Sarah felt a pang of sympathy for him. It hadn't crossed her mind
to try and contact anyone else regarding the brief phone call she had received
from a harried ward nurse. The experience of answering the phone and immediately
jumping in a taxi to get to the hospital had taken up all of her energy. Fury
and frustration had consumed her as she had stormed into the building striding
toward the hospital room.
Donovan had been asking repeatedly since becoming conscious when
his 'emergency contact' would be coming. One of the nurses had suggested
informing his father about what had happened but Donovan had vehemently
disagreed with taking such action.
"Why am I here Donovan?" Sarah asked upon entering the
room. She rarely sounded like she was pleased to see him but Donovan had always
admired her honesty. It was a refreshing change to the familiar sycophancy he
was subjected to. She was all leather, black jacket, boots and attitude. The
sight of her felt like a tonic to his anticipation but Sarah wasn't who he
expected to see.
"They said they'd call my emergency contact." Donovan
wasn't sure how to approach the question. Perhaps She was in the hall waiting
to make an entrance. Perhaps they had travelled separately.
"And why did they have that number? My number?" Her eyes
were down-turned, forehead slack, hair somewhat frayed at the edges, Donovan
noticed on second inspection that she looked dishevelled.
"That's the emergency contact number that she gave me."
He said distractedly, "Where is she?"
Sarah loitered at the bottom of the bed surveying him with a
furrowed brow, down-turned eyes and a sorrowful expression. She sighed deeply
and looked at him, their eyes connected. It was rare for her to make eye
contact, she would always look off into the distance or focus on her own
fidgeting fingers when talking to him.
"She's not coming Donovan." Sarah said softly.
"Oh..." Donovan looked at his feet enshrouded in white
cotton. Sarah's black figure hovered in the background, out of focus, a shadow
he wished would vanish. He wiggled his toes back and forth and then looked at
the florescent lights distractedly. His eyes stung and he scrunched them shut,
his toes continued to wriggle, "When is she coming?" He croaked.
"She's not." Sarah
said.
The phone number the nurses had called was Sarah's personal
number, it was a phone she didn't use but carried with her at all times and
kept fully charged. Sarah hadn't used it for anything for the longest time but
kept it with her out of habit. It was an old scar that had barely healed and
threatened to rupture at the slightest provocation. Donovan didn't know this.
Sarah could discern at least that much. The number had been given to him
because She knew that it would be a direct line to Sarah and that Sarah would
always answer the call regardless of the time or place. It felt like a
betrayal.
Sarah walked up to the side of the hospital bed and her cool
skeletal fingers entwined with his. He could barely feel the sensation of skin
against his but he was vaguely aware of her sudden proximity. Had Donovan been
able register what was happening around him he would have realised that this
was the first time Sarah had touched him. The drugs and despair were too much
for him to appreciate this small moment of intimacy. It felt like gloved hands
brushing in the winter. He was too numb, too far away to feel her attempt to
pull him back.
"Are you okay?" Sarah asked, her hair framing her
expression of concern as she looked down at him, eyes boring into his forehead
as he resolutely avoided her gaze.
"I'm fine!" He said quickly and much more loudly than he
expected. Was he shouting? Did everyone hear him? What would the nurses
think?
Sarah released his unresponsive fingers and collapsed into the
plastic chair next to his hospital bed. She surveyed the wires and contusions
adorning his exposed arms with a grim expression. They sat in empty silence for
a few minutes.
A nurse appeared and broke the spell as Donovan was compelled to
discuss how he was feeling with the warm business-like woman. She rearranged
his pillows when he said he felt like he was 'sinking'. Sarah helped shove
another cushion behind him. The nurse reviewed the clipboard at the bottom of
the bed and suggested that they would wait for the doctor to see if they would
need to keep him in for the duration of the night. Sarah had nodded and mumbled
in acquiescence.
"Do you think they'll give me a sponge bath?" Donovan
asked after the nurse had left.
Sarah cleared her throat, "What happened?" She asked.
"I got pushed out of a window." Donovan said.
Sarah looked shocked, he could tell. He couldn't quite twist his head to look
at her face directly, she was sitting at a very awkward angle with her legs
slung over the arm of the chair. His neck brace was very obstructive but he
could definitely tell she was horrified by the prospect.
"Nah, but I did get the shit kicked out of me." He said.
"No kidding." She said.
Donovan had received an ominous phone-call around six in the
evening. A low gravelled voice wanted to know if someone required the services
of a valet. Donovan had been sitting in a bar with a few friends in the
Quadrangle. The surrounding music had been loud and he had to jam his fist in
his ear to block out the voices and noises around him. The voice advised
Donovan to meet him at a hotel in the lower Business District and go to room
603 in an hour.
Donovan looked around him and a smooth smiling face was peering at
him from across the booth. Rashida was giving him some very promising signals.
She had a perfect petite nose and complimentary features. Her mother was a
cabinet minister and they had frequented intersecting social functions for the
past several years. Since she had graduated from University Rashida had begun
to increase in confidence, she was also dressing better and drinking hard
liquor. Further to that she had been making eyes at him for the majority of the
early evening.
"Ahh, might not be able to make it tonight chum."
Donovan had said. The line remained silent for a long moment, "Are you
there?" Donovan had asked. "Sorry the line has gone quiet." He
pressed the phone harder to his ear.
"Just get to the fucking hotel fuckhole." The line disconnected.
"If only I had stayed with the lovely Rashida..."
Donovan said wistfully.
"Then maybe you could have slept on her couch." Sarah said.
The hotel had been an exceedingly low-class establishment, far
below Donovan's standard, he doubted he had ever had the displeasure of setting
foot in a discount chain hotel before. There were vending machines in the lobby
and a singular receptionist in a garishly coloured waistcoat with an overly
large pimple on her cheek.
A sharp rap on the door of 603 had prompted it to creak open into
a darkened cramped room and then the itchy carpet had grazed Donovan's chin and
his ankles were grasped firmly as he was dragged deeper into the cavern.
"Carpet burn on my chin!" Donovan exclaimed, perhaps his
other injuries were technically worse but the carpet burn was certainly an insult
more than anything. Such an injury wouldn't have happened in an establishment
with a better pile density in their carpets.
"Classy." Sarah had said smoothly.
For the following ten minutes or so he was kicked and throttled
and at one point his arm was slung behind his back and cracked into two pieces.
The x-rays showed a perfectly clean transverse fracture according to the doctor
when he first came around. Apart from that there was a lot of internal bleeding
and perhaps they mentioned a rib or two but nothing had been ruptured.
Donovan thought the actual beating hadn't been half as bad as
lying on the floor shifting in and out of consciousness for what felt like
hours. The gravelled voice had called an ambulance and had left Donovan on the
floor with a bag of ice from the mini-bar tucked against his stomach. The cold
had burned, inhaling and exhaling were agonising, the darkness had been
overwhelming.
"I just turned up and fucking Lee... he told me I shouldn't
go back there or he'd call the fucking police." Steve had grunted sitting
on the end of one of the single beds in the dark room. Sirens were echoing in
the streets.
"I haven't been a valet for years." Donovan recalled the
voice saying as he saw white specks dance around his vision, he couldn't tell
if his eyes were open or closed. "I lost my job then too. But she made it
up to me." Donovan could see the faint glow of a mobile phone in the dark
illuminate an aged wrinkled face with gnarled features.
"And now we're even." Steve the valet had said walking
away and slamming the bedroom door behind him.
Sarah frowned as Donovan ended his story with a deep sigh.
"She cost him his job." Sarah mumbled.
"And I had my knickers around my ankles in the back of some
Rolls or whatever and well... yeah." She had cackled maniacally. "Oh
man what a night...." Her hand slapped her thigh and her martini glass
shuddered as she careened forward spilling it across the table.
"That's not what I asked." Helen had been unimpressed
with her raucous demonstration. "You shouldn't be giving the clients
drugs." She added sternly.
"I don't think you should be telling me how to do my job
Helen." She had said with an unfocused glare, "I don't tell you how
to cash the cheques."
"I think it's fair that we don't get involved in each other's
areas of..." Sarah mumbled.
"The grown-ups are talking Face." Helen interjected with
a raised palm toward Sarah.
'The Face' was Sarah's code-name. This was if they were attempting
any level of discretion but such fripperies continuously fell by the wayside as
the women ignored their own rules with sneering disregard. Any level of
professionalism evaporated once they had begun to drink. Helen referred to
Sarah as the 'Face' simply as a term of derision. Sarah knew it was because she
had nothing more to offer the business and Helen belittled her as a way of
maintaining control. Being able to acknowledge such behaviour didn't make it
any easier to accept. These were not reasonable women. Helen had become less
combative as time had passed but Sarah never could forget those early vicious
moments.
"He was her dealer." Sarah explained to an enraptured
Donovan. "The first night she met him she cost him his job."
"Oooooh." Donovan said with realisation and relief.
Sarah noted that he looked very drowsy. "So how did she get him
sacked?" He asked.
"Don't remember." Sarah shrugged.
