Chapter Nine
After I left Hudson’s office, I decided to try to forget my tension by wrapping myself in work. I was successful for most of the afternoon, but the anxiousness and stress of the day lingered just under the surface. I had to be at the club to meet Gwen by eight and imagined it would be a late night. I longed for a run, but decided instead on a group therapy session. Thursdays weren’t the day I usually went, but there was a session at six led by my favorite counselor. I could grab a bite to eat, hit the group, and be back in time to work that evening.
I shifted in my rusty folding chair in the Unity Church basement as I focused on listening to the others share. Most of the Thursday night regulars were strangers to me, and it seemed most of their addictions were hard to relate to mine. One person was a shopping addict. Another was addicted to social media. There was a gamer there too, a guy who was just as consumed with buying the latest system and game as he was with playing them. The only person that I felt even slightly connected to was the tattooed sex addict that I’d seen on other nights as well. I’d heard her speak before and recognized a lot of her same fears and frustrations as my own.
“Would you like to share anything, Laynie?”
I was more than a little surprised when the group leader called my name. Members weren’t required to speak at each meeting—or ever, if they didn’t feel comfortable—so it was odd for Lauren to call on me specifically. She knew me, though, having counseled me since the early days of my recovery. And if she couldn’t tell from my demeanor that I had something on my mind, the fact that I’d shown up twice in one week had to be an indicator.
I gave the customary history of my illness and then paused. Since I hadn’t planned on speaking, I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to say. After a breath, I said, “I’ve had some extra stressors in my life recently, and I’m here because I feel like it’s causing me to backslide.”
Lauren nodded, her long braids clicking with the movement. “Very concise identification of emotion, Laynie. Let’s first talk about what kind of stressors you’re dealing with. Is there anything you can eliminate?”
“Not really.” I guess half of my stressors would be removed if I broke up with Hudson, but that wasn’t an option I was willing to consider.
“And that’s perfectly fine. Sometimes you can’t eliminate stressors.” Lauren turned her words to the whole group, using it as a teaching moment. “Most times you have to deal with them. Or we choose to deal with them because the reward is greater than the impact of the stress.”
Boy, had she nailed it. “Yes. That’s it.”
“So what are these stressors?”
“Um.” Now that I thought about it, I realized I’d had a lot in the last few weeks. “I recently moved in with my boyfriend.” I didn’t add that the relationship was still fairly new. At least not out loud. Internally, I marked it as another factor in my anxiety level.
“You have a new living situation.” It was customary for the leader to acknowledge the information shared. “That’s an adjustment.”
“Yes. And I just took a huge promotion at my job.”
The room buzzed as people shared congratulations. “Kudos to you,” Lauren said. “But yes, another stressor.”
“And my boyfriend...” How to bring up my current situation when I wasn’t quite sure why I was in it in the first place was tricky. “He has baggage that I’m having some trouble dealing with.”
Here Lauren took notice. “What kind of baggage?”
“Well, his ex—” Celia wasn’t really his ex, but it was easier to call her that. “She’s decided for whatever reason that it’s her mission to destroy our relationship. She’s been terrorizing us. Me, really. First, she accused me of harassing her—which I didn’t do.” I looked around at the other group members. “Honestly.”
“Hey, no one’s judging you here,” Lauren reminded.
Which wasn’t exactly true, because I was certainly judging myself. Admitting the next part was especially hard. I was about to complain about the thing people usually complained about me for. “And now she’s harassing me. Following me places. Leaving me notes and things.”
“Oh my god,” the shopping addict exclaimed. “Have you been to the police?”
A few other people mumbled the same concern.
I shook my head, halting the talk. “She hasn’t done anything worthy of reporting.” I could go on about what was and wasn’t worthy of reporting, but it wasn’t relevant.
“That kind of harassment would be stressful to anyone.” Lauren leaned toward me, her forearms braced on her thighs. “But I’m going to take a guess that it’s been harder on you. Does it bring back emotions from your past?”
“Of course it does. I used to do these same things to other people. It’s awful. It makes me feel awful.” I’d been afraid I might cry, but surprisingly, the tears were absent. Perhaps, I was growing stronger or had become more reconciled with the situation.
With my emotions in control, I was able to delve further into analysis. “Also…I kind of feel like I deserve it now. Like it’s my karma for the shit I pulled.”
The red-haired sex addict piped up, “You know that’s not how life works, right?”
“I guess.” But hell, I didn’t really know anything.
Lauren let us sit silently for a moment. She believed in a lot of quiet moments of reflection. They were often the worst and the best parts of the session.
I chewed on my lip as I processed. “Honestly, I know there are things that I need to work through in the area of self-worth. I’m journaling. I’m doing some meditation—yes, I need to do more. But really, those aren’t the emotions that I’m concerned with.”
“Okay,” Lauren conceded, “as long as you recognize that you have some work to do there, we can move on. So you have these stressors—some of them good—that can’t be eliminated. And you say they’re causing you to backslide. How so?”
I ticked the list off on my fingers. “I’m agitated. I’m anxious. I’m paranoid. I’m accusatory.”
“That sounds like me on my period.” Again from the sex addict.
“Yeah, I call that being a woman.” This came from the compulsive shopper.
I couldn’t decide if they were attempting to relate or invalidating my feelings. Paranoid that I was, I assumed the latter. “You’re saying these are normal emotions, and I need to just chill the f*ck out.”
“Maybe,” sex addict said.
“Not necessarily.” Lauren tapped her index fingers together. “They are normal emotions. But if they are impacting your daily life and relationships, then you need to deal with them.”
“They aren’t…yet. But only because I’m fighting them.” At least I was trying. “The paranoia is the worst and it’s unfounded. I’m suspicious of a woman my boyfriend works with. And I have no reason to be. Fortunately, he likes it when I’m jealous.” I delivered the last part for the sex addict who winked in appreciation.
“Do you think you’d like to try medication?” Lauren preferred to stay away from drugs, but she always offered it as a solution.
I’d hated the numb zombie I’d become on the anti-anxiety pills I’d taken in the past. “No. No meds. I’d rather handle this on my own.”
“Well, you know the drill.”
“Yes. I do. Substitute behaviors.” Though two of my go-to substitutes were running and reading—both had been compromised by Celia.
Lauren pointed a stern finger at me. “And communication. Make sure you talk through all the feelings you’re having, no matter how unreasonable.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “That’s why I’m here.”
She smiled in a way that made me think she understood I’d felt patronized. “Being here is a great step, Laynie. Don’t get me wrong. But it’s not just us you need to talk to. Make sure you’re communicating with your boyfriend too.”
Communicating with Hudson…
God, I was trying. We were both trying. But if I really went there, really told him all the paranoia that lived inside, about the knot of dread that permanently occupied my belly—would he still be interested?
As she often did, Lauren addressed my unspoken concerns. “I know, it’s scary. You’re afraid other people can’t deal with your thoughts and your feelings. And I can’t promise that they can. But this is who you are. It’s not going away. If you can’t share who you are with the people who love you, then maybe they don’t really love you.”
That was the biggest question of all, wasn’t it? Did Hudson truly love me? He’d shown me that he did, but he’d still never really said it. And I’d never really asked. Maybe there were still things left to be said—by both of us.
***
Gwen showed up to The Sky Launch fifteen minutes early, which would have been impressive if I wasn’t running in just she arrived. And because of everything else on my mind, I felt off my game. Fortunately David was there with me to help fill in the gaps as we walked through the club and talked about what role Gwen might fill.
It turned out Gwen Anders knew her stuff. At every turn she had appropriate questions and innovative ideas. She was no-nonsense, enthusiastic, and forward-thinking. Though most everything she said was right on, I inexplicably bristled a few times at her suggestions. Maybe because she was tough. Maybe because she challenged me. Maybe because I was on edge in general.
After the tour, Gwen helped us open for the night. Then we moved back to David’s office to wrap things up. More accurately, my office, since David was leaving. Maybe our office if I decided Gwen would be the one to help me with The Sky Launch.
“So,” Gwen began, “right now the club is open from nine p.m. to four a.m., Tuesday through Saturday?” Gwen and I were settled on the couch. David had pulled the desk chair around to make an easy conversational area.
“Right,” David confirmed.
“But we’re moving to expand the hours and be open seven days a week.” That had been one of my goals since I’d gotten my promotion to assistant manager.
Gwen frowned. “That doesn’t seem the best idea right now. Eventually perhaps. But right now you aren’t filled to capacity when you are open.”
I tried to hide my scowl. It was refreshing that she was so direct, but attacking one of my ideas so blatantly didn’t sit well.
Apparently not noticing my reaction, Gwen went on. “Why would you extend your hours? First step is to bring more people in, fill the club, then expand.”
David looked hesitantly to me. “There’s actually some good reasoning in that, Laynie.”
There was good reasoning. Still, did I want to work with someone who was always so forthright?
I wasn’t sure.
“Expansion was your idea, wasn’t it?” Gwen finally caught on. She shrugged. “I stand by my opinion.”
She was good. Real good. “Gwen, I have a feeling we’re either going to be very close friends or bitter enemies.”
“Do you want this job, Gwen? Because I’d suggest the close friends angle and then you’re a shoe-in.” It was sort of cute how David tried to smooth the tension over. He’d never been one to like conflict. He was more of a people-pleaser.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Gwen crossed her long legs. “Alayna’s a smart woman. She strikes me as the type to know the value in keeping your enemies close.”
I narrowed my eyes. The last time I’d heard that phrase it had been from Celia. Keeping her close hadn’t benefitted me at all. Of course, I hadn’t been aware she was my enemy at the time, and I wasn’t sure that Gwen was my enemy either. I just didn’t know enough about the woman yet.
“Tell me something, Gwen.” I put my elbow on the arm of the couch and propped my chin in my hand. “Why do you want to leave Eighty-Eighth Floor?” The question had crossed my mind before, but I hadn’t gotten around to asking until just then. “You seem to be an integral part of that club’s success, and, not that I wouldn’t love to steal you away from them, but why would you let me?”
“Sometimes a woman just needs a change of scenery.” She ran a hand over her leg, smoothing out her pantsuit with deliberate focus.
“I don’t buy it.” If she could be hard-nosed, so could I.
“Touché.” She sighed then met my eyes. “Personal reasons. Forgive me for not being more forthcoming, but it really doesn’t have any bearing on why I should or shouldn’t be hired. My boss at Eighty-Eighth knows I want to leave. He’ll give me a good reference. Other than that, I’d rather not share.”
People and their damn secrets. I wondered if Hudson knew Gwen’s reasons. I wondered if he’d tell me if I asked.
Then, paranoia snuck in, and I wondered if it wasn’t the reasons she wanted to leave Eighty-Eighth Floor that were important, but the reasons she wanted to work at The Sky Launch. “It’s not because of Hudson, is it? That you want to work here.”
“I’m not sure what you’re asking. If you mean, do I want to work here because this club is the only one in town owned by the powerful business exec Hudson Pierce who also runs the hottest restaurant in town—Fierce—and the hottest club in Atlantic City—Adora—then the answer is yes. I want to work here because Hudson Pierce has the power needed to make this place live up to its potential. The Sky Launch is one of the few places that could rival what Eighty-Eighth is.”
Of course that’s why she’d want to work here. What other reasons would there be?
I scolded myself for thinking the personal reason had to do with Hudson. Trust. I had to remember trust.
Blowing a piece of hair out of my eye, I made my decision. “Then you’re hired. Not because you’re my friend or my enemy but because you’re exactly who I need. I reserve the right to pass judgment on you personally in the future.”
Gwen smiled slightly. “Fair enough.”
David stood and held out his hand. Gwen stood up to shake it. “Welcome aboard,” he said. “Sorry I won’t be here to watch you kick ass. Or kick Laynie’s ass. Either way, I think you’re going to knock her off her feet.”
“Hey, now. I can kick ass, too.” I stood and put my hands on my hips, feigning indignation.
The look on Gwen’s face said she doubted my statement.
“What’s that expression for? You can’t doubt me. You don’t even know me.”
“No, I don’t.” She narrowed her eyes. “But you have to be lacking something—or you think you’re lacking something. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have come looking for me.”
Maybe we’d be enemies then. “I just don’t want to do it all alone.” My voice came out meek and I regretted defending myself. I didn’t owe her anything.
To make matters worse, Gwen pointed out my unnecessary words. “No need for explanations. All I need to know is when I start.”
“You’ll accept the position then?” I was already somewhat regretting my decision.
Gwen raised a brow. “You accept that I might be a bitch to work with?”
“For some crazy reason, yes, I do.” We had to work together, after all. Not be friends.
“Then I’m all yours.” This time her smile reached her eyes.
“Fantastic.”
***
Hudson was asleep when I arrived home hours later. It was disappointing—not just because he’d promised sexual favors, but because, after therapy, I’d been eager to connect with him. I considered waking him, but a part of me couldn’t help feeling like he might be avoiding me. There was no reason to believe that. Just that he rarely went to bed without me and my insecurities were on high alert.
Instead of giving in to them, I sat on the edge of the bed, closed my eyes and ran a few mantras through my head. The repetition settled me, but I longed for more. From his breathing pattern, I knew he was sound asleep behind me. Still, I was eager to start the communication that Lauren had suggested. Without bothering to undress, I stretched out next to him and ran my fingers through his sleep-tussled hair.
“I’m scared, H.”
His breathing didn’t alter.
“About lots of things. Little things. Mostly, I’m worried about Celia—that I’m not strong enough to not let her get to me. Especially because she’s always been the girl that you should be with. In my head, she’s the one I picture you with. Everyone does. She’s perfect for you, from her manicured nails to her pedigreed upbringing. And, at the moment anyway, she doesn’t have a police record.” I smiled to myself, fantasizing about Celia pushing far enough that she’d possibly get a restraint against her.
Of course, she was a Werner. Her money and connections would never let that happen. I shared that fear with Hudson too.
It was so simple to tell him these things when he was sleeping. Not because it was difficult to talk to him when he was awake, but because his presence dominated so completely that I didn’t feel the need. It was when I was away from him that my thoughts tortured me most.
“I believe in us, H. More than anything. But do you? You used to tell me you were incapable of love. Do you still believe that? Or do you love me as much as I believe you do?” He curled into me, but it seemed like a reflexive move, not a conscious one.
As he turned, his phone fell into my lap. He must have fallen asleep with it in his hand. Had he been waiting for my call? I’d texted around midnight saying I’d be late. Had he gotten that message?
Curious, I swiped his screen to unlock it. My text message had been marked unread—he must have fallen asleep before that. No wonder he hadn’t texted back.
It was mostly accidental that I hit the recent calls button. At least, I told myself it was an accident. Immediately, the name on the last call caught my eye—Norma Anders. They’d talked for twenty-seven minutes, the call ending at nine-fourteen.
I reached over Hudson to put the phone on the nightstand then settled into his arms. He’d probably been talking to Norma about Gwen and her new position at the club, I told myself. Except Gwen hadn’t left the club until ten. She hadn’t made any calls or dismissed herself during that time, so Norma and Hudson couldn’t have known I’d offered the job to Gwen at the time of the call.
And the thing that really didn’t fit into the equation—why was Hudson the one who called Norma?
They work together. They were discussing business, of course. Because wasn’t nine at night exactly the time that a typical executive talked to his female financial manager? On a cell phone? From his bed?