I wanted this girl. Not in any other way except for her usefulness to me. The stars lined up, perhaps it was fate that blew her in. She was highly qualified, highly ambitious and she just happened to have a boyfriend whose sister could break my case. From the moment she appeared in my world I knew there was something special about her. That elusive, unnameable, indefinable something that separates the great from the merely talented. I thought I had seen them all before. Junior associates are an easily recognisable breed. Impeccably groomed and turned out. They have hungry eyes, smart mouths and sycophantic tendencies. Ellen knew her worth. She had turned down one of the largest firms in the city for the opportunity to learn from me and then she turned me down for her sisters wedding. I had to go to her. I was irritated and amused in equal measure. Her decision was stupid, bold and daring. Of course I hired her.
Ellen was different from the off. She had a temper, she was unpredictable and not afraid to speak her mind. These character traits were not usually something a first year associate could afford. Once the Frobisher case developed, of course she was suspicious of the reason she was hired. She was already mine by then. The rest of the staff viewed her with wariness and jealousy. I kept her close, I entrusted her with work well above her station. I set her and Tom against each other so she was isolated to the extent she only had one person to turn to. Me. I enjoyed Ellen, she was ferociously bright, driven and completely out of her depth. Watching her vacillate between wanting to do what she perceived was the right thing and wanting to do what would advance her position was fascinating. Her boyfriend was her weak spot. He wanted Ellen to protect his sister. Ellen wanted to please everybody. It was never going to happen. Especially once Katie's lies began to unravel.
I invited Ellen and David to dinner at my apartment. I was curious to see how they interacted. I was curious to see how she handled herself. It was excruciating from her point of view. His arrogance and animosity were palpable. She actually made excuses for him. He had no idea of the scope of Ellen's ambition. He would hold her back, blunt her edges, clip her wings. If she allowed it. If I allowed it. Looking back, I was so consumed with the case I overlooked the small warning signs that were tugging on the fringes of my attention. I noticed her. I noticed what she was wearing, if she looked fatigued, who she was talking to. I gravitated towards her, drawn in by her smile, her enthusiasm, her eagerness to impress me with a nugget of information or an insightful remark. I would find myself listening for the clip of her heels heading towards my door and find my lips already twitching into a welcoming smile. I would find some reason or other to prolong our conversations especially late in the evenings when the lights had dimmed and the incessant hum of activity that accompanied the working day had declined. I would hover in the doorway of her corner office and watch. Her head low, her eyes glued to the screen of her laptop, her legs crossed, shoeless at this late hour. She would straighten up in an attempt to look alert but her smile would be swift and strained. Once I gently clasped her shoulder and told her to go home. I don't know who was the more surprised.
The honeymoon period was sweet but brief. What I first discounted as youthful bravado and enthusiasm were fast becoming insubordination and downright defiance. One year out of law school and she thought she knew better than me. She refused to tow the line. Striking out alone against my express instructions to interview a dangerous, desperate man. I was outraged at her arrogance. My temper flared further at her petulant response to the dressing down she so richly deserved. I fired her.
The following day I followed the trail of crumbs she had left me all the way to her door. A door which, in a roundabout way, I had provided. A door she was more than happy to walk through. Ellen was sat crossed legged on the floor. Pouting. She looked barely out of her teens. Michaels age. Again something tapped on the edge of my consciousness. Something wistful and tinged with regret. A fluttering feeling I quickly swatted away. I was on a mission here. I was waving the proverbial white flag. I had underestimated her. She needed a firm hand, she needed reining in. I was prepared to give her another chance. The childish pouting continued, it was a deception. Behind her truculence she had more backbone than anyone on my staff. She would deign to return to see out the case. In her eyes she was doing me a favour.
The dynamic had shifted slightly. She saw herself as her own woman now. I no longer believed her every action was designed to impress me or strengthen her position. Ellen wanted to bring Arthur Frobisher to justice as much as I did. We spent an increasing amount of time together. I would invite her to the apartment when Phil was away to help me work. She would sit on a corner of my couch looking completely at home. Looking like she belonged there. We would work. We traded ideas, theories and information with take out cartons scattered across the kitchen worktops. Later she would curl up like a cat with a nightcap glass of bourbon before heading home to her fiancé with my chiding her about inclement weather or nefarious individuals. She would smile softly as she bade me goodnight. She became less guarded and perhaps I did too. I spoke of my fears for my errant son and the sense of anger that drives me. She told me she wanted it all. The fulfilment of a successful career, a husband, children one day. I sipped my drink and kept my counsel.
After three months I felt closer to this brilliant young woman than I did to anyone else in my life. My husband was withdrawing and I suspected one of his many, generally fleeting indiscretions had finally taken root. My son was waging some infernal adolescent war against me that was as wearisome as it was predictable. I did not have the capability to fight on three fronts. The case was my priority, Ellen was my refuge. My day no longer began with the sun coming up or my morning coffee. It began once I had my first sight of her, when I knew what she was doing that day and if she was coming over that night. Then I could settle to my work. There was no single revelatory moment. It seemed one day she was Ellen and the next day she was the person I was in love with. I was stunned into inaction. I was fifty eight years old and I had fallen in love for the first time in my life. I had believed certain types of people, my type of people, did not fall in love. I had felt physical attraction many times. I knew that for what it was. I had also felt the force of a connection, of respect, of finding someone I was in tune with, understood, and out of that, love had grown. I loved Phil. I really did. I was in love with Ellen. The difference hit me with the force of a truck. For days I let it wash over me. This new sensation. I saw her differently. I saw myself differently. I wished I had met her years ago. I wished I was younger or she were older. For the first time I wished I was a better person. One good enough for Ellen.
I did not have the luxury of time to wallow in it. I acknowledged it and moved on. I did not allow myself fantasies of a relationship. Ellen was twenty six years old. She was a beautiful young woman with a fiancé and a great career ahead of her. I was in love not completely deluded. Although in the late hours of the night when sleep was a distant stranger I would think of her. How she looked that day, the conversations we had, how she was coping under the strain. I would analyse our interactions with the same angst of a teenage suitor looking for signs that were not there. I would content myself by imaging our lives in the future. I cast myself as a mentor figure. Once the case was over and she left the firm I vowed to maintain a place in her life. I could open doors for her. Smooth the path. I wanted to watch her grow and soar. Perhaps one day she could take over my mantle. I would drift off to sleep, wrapping those dreams around me like a blanket.
Four days later Ray Fisk fired the shot that decorated the walls of my office with his blood and brain matter. I misjudged Ray. I thought of him as a kindred spirit. Anything to win. I knew he would be angry, sickened even by my actions, but I thought he would understand. This case was open warfare, there were no limits, no lines that could not be crossed. It wasn't personal. I thought he knew me better than that. I should have known him better than that. In his heart Ray was a simple man of honour. To do what I wanted would have stripped that honour away. It was the final straw for a man fighting his personal demons as well as his case. When he walked back into my office I believed he had come to terms with my ultimatum. He had, just not in a way I could ever have imagined.
Survival instincts are one of the strongest in the human psyche. Mine are honed to perfection through necessity. While the sound of the shot was still echoing in my ears, that instinct kicked in with incredible force. This could finish me. End my career, my reputation. Take away everything I measured myself by. Suddenly I was faced with the same conundrum as Ray. Only Ellen knew the real reason for our meeting that night. She was due to arrive in minutes. I only had minutes to save myself. When she saw the scene in my office I saw horror in her eyes. I saw fear and that most dangerous of emotions. Guilt. I told her to leave before the authorities arrived. I would meet her at the apartment later. When I arrived the shock was still evident in her eyes despite the fact they were glassy with alcohol. She had argued badly with her fiancé the preceding day. He was already holding her back and demanding she choose between this case and their relationship. She looked completely exhausted. She looked so very young. Could I trust her with a secret of this magnitude? Despite her tender years she was as fearless and as ambitious as anyone I have ever met. I sat close to her. Close enough for me to feel the tremors of her body, to smell the alcohol on her breath. "Do you regret what we did?" My heart stuttered and jumped with that one seemingly innocuous phrase. I could not take the chance that she would remain silent. I trusted no one. I took her hand in mine, looked straight into her eyes and promised her everything would be alright. I've always been a good liar.
I had to get out of the city. I had to get away to clear my senses. The echo of the gun, the smell of cordite, the sight of blood. So much blood. I thought I was close to breaking point. I was wrong. Looking back now, madness took control of me the moment Ray fired that shot. I did not return to myself until I took uncle Pete's call.
"It's done."
Emotion overcame me. It slammed into my brain and body. I cried, shook, and cried some more until there was nothing left. I retched and trembled on the bathroom floor of some anonymous hotel in a town I'd never heard of. Then I visited the grave of another I had loved and lost by my own hand. Am I a monster? I'll leave that for others to judge. I loved Ellen. She had come into my life like a sunburst. For a time everything was brighter, more colourful, more intense. Around her I felt more powerful than I had for years. I was at the peak of my career. I wanted to haul her up with me. I was consumed with possibilities, I felt so alive. Now she was gone. Sacrificed like a pawn in the game my life had become.
I stayed off the grid for three days. When I finally responded to Tom's frantic calls I discovered the world had gone mad in my absence. Ellen had survived the attack but was in jail charged with murdering her fiancé. Uncle Pete had cleaned up as best he could but there were too many loose ends. Premeditated murder, unlike a crime of passion is usually an uncomplicated business. I always believed the most likely culprit was not the one with the most to gain but the one with the most to lose. Loss of power, wealth and reputation are all highly motivating factors to those who have them. I knew Ellen would put the pieces together eventually. I was living on borrowed time.
The Ellen I had grown to love was nowhere to be seen in the countenance of the woman I was faced with on my return. So many emotions were battling for precedence within her she was barely holding herself together. Grief for David was clouding everything. She had seen her future bludgeoned to death. A battered and bloody corpse. Grief was blinding her. That grief was my saviour. Vengeance and Justice for David came to the fore. Her mistrust and suspicion squashed into the backseat of her mind. For now. We both walked a tightrope for the remainder of that awful year. One misstep would send either of us plunging to a fate only I deserved. The teasing, bickering relationship I had so enjoyed was replaced with a tortuous game of brinkmanship. I knew she was working against me. Deceit and hatred burned in her eyes. She had lost everything. She blamed me. Of course she did. How quickly she forgot her own ambition in her hunger to despise mine.
The refuge that was once my marriage was not the safe harbour it used to be. The rock on which in times of stress I had leant on and sheltered beneath had eroded beyond repair. Ellen's interference only expedited the inevitable. We separated acrimoniously. I could describe uncle Pete's death the same way. My defences were being stripped bare and I was weary of it. Tired of fighting, tired of running, tired of feeling alone. I felt both hunted and haunted. Those once merry brown eyes that shone with the zeal of the young and hopeful were now dulled with alcohol and the harsh reality that your dreams came at a heavy price. For all her machinations Ellen was suffering as badly as I. Her weight dropped alarmingly, her hands shook, her pallor could not be concealed with cosmetics. I was as much relieved as I was terrified when it all came to a head. Staring down a gun barrel, I felt oddly at peace. Payment was coming. I was already bleeding. Stabbed in the elevator by another desperate man. I was having one hell of a day. I could feel my consciousness slipping away. I barely heard her accusations, she barely registered my denials. We had both made our minds up. This was another charade. She would wring out my suffering as long as she possibly could. A bullet was too quick. Too merciful. Too final. I staggered away into oblivion, another gunshot echoing in my ears. It drowned out her footsteps as she walked away from me.
I let eighteen months go by. Ellen began to forge a career at the DA's office. It was laughably beneath her talent. Perhaps she meant to stay away for good. Perhaps she knew I would come after her. The Tobin case crossed into both our realms. I sent a gift. A peace offering. A plea in the guise of a leather Chanel purse. I knew Ellen had neither forgiven or forgotten. I vacillated between wondering if she was plotting my demise and admitting that I simply missed her. She appeared in front of me like a genie from a bottle. The girl I first encountered was gone. In her place stood a woman ready and equipped to cross swords once more. There was a glint in her eye, that familiar defiant tilt to her chin and a lightness in her step. I revelled in her return. Everything and nothing had changed. Ellen walked back in as definitively as she walked away. Suddenly we were sharing information over coffee or lunch. She reclaimed her spot on my sofa as we watched each other warily over late night glasses of bourbon. We reeled each other in with tentative smiles and conversation. I took her out for dinner using work as an excuse. I felt a courtly pride as heads turned to follow her as she walked to my table. I could not suppress my smile as she approached. She had the audacity to wink at me. Taunting me with what I was missing. It was gentle. Playful even. Ellen always did surprise me.
She surprised me again with theatre tickets. An evening at the theatre could not be construed as work related. I chided myself about how long it took me to get ready. I analysed every action. She picked me up. She walked on the kerb side as we made our way into the theatre. She complimented my dress and raised an amused eyebrow at the height of my shoes. She took me to dinner afterwards in a small bistro close by. She even paid. There were candles on the table, an enticing menu and unobtrusive service. We discussed Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller before moving on to the movies and the film noires that I loved and had grown up with. We lingered over coffee and brandy and gazed at each other as silence built between us. She was so beautiful it took my breath away. For one night our history had been put to one side and I had a glimpse of something I could never have. "I've had a nice night." The words hung between us like an accusation.
Her hand hovered briefly over mine before she brushed a single digit over the outside of my index finger. I felt the touch all the way down to my toes and ripped my eyes away from her. Despite my carefully constructed facade and years of practice at maintaining a neutral expression, I cannot control the bodies natural responses. I felt my cheeks flush and my mouth went dry. It took everything I had not to shift in my seat. I leaned back and studied her carefully looking for signs of deceit or deception. Just because I could not see them did not mean they were not there. She stared back as cool as a cucumber.
I sat up for a long time. I drank with a melancholy soundtrack for company. It matched my mood. I was tired of games, I didn't want to play anymore. Knowing what I did to her hurt. Of course I was sorry. I was sorry I did something so unforgivable. I was sorry that given the same circumstances I would probably do the same thing. Mostly I was sorry that I was going to get found out. I drained my glass and checked my cell. She had texted me which was unusual.
"Are you ok?"
No doubt a reference to my quietness on the way home and no offer of a goodnight drink. I did not want her in the apartment in our current mood. I did not want her to seduce me any further. Not now we both knew that she could. I felt irritated and wrong footed. I tossed the phone aside, got up from my prone position on the couch and went to lie awake in my bed for a change of scenery. The weekend was interminably long. I could not settle to work. The dog tired of being walked and lay curled up with his back to me. I purchased several items of high end jewellery from a computer screen. I was like a child again longing for Monday to escape my miserable home life and get back to school where I was somebody. I wanted to see Ellen. I wanted to look in her eyes without alcohol, chocolate mousse and candlelight affecting my judgement.
I didn't have to wait long. Ellen pitched up in my office just after seven on Monday morning with a hesitant smile and a box of pastries. Perhaps she was trying to bring on diabetes or clog my arteries. The alternative of courting was too unlikely to contemplate. I asked her if she was having trouble sleeping, she muttered something about wanting to get an early start. I reminded her she had not worked here for over two years. Was that what she wanted A job? My assistant had yet to arrive. Ellen made coffee while I ate a pain au chocolat. It was divine. My mood picked up. I debated the merits of a cinnamon roll before Ellen reappeared. We had a brief but lively spat about the missing chocolate pastry. Apparently it was her favourite. Who knew. She lingered for almost an hour while we cautiously traded information about the Tobin case. Something else was bothering me. Something was off with Tom. He had been by my side for twelve years. Something was on his mind. Ellen pleaded ignorance as she drained her coffee and collected her bag. She avoided my eyes until she reached the door. She briefly returned to reclaim the box of pastries from my desk. The girl never did lose that petulant streak.
"Have a good day." She murmured and was gone.
Her obvious evasion ensured that I didn't.
The Tobin family turned in on itself. Greed, entitlement, jealousy and loss. The perfect storm. Ellen walked a very fine line between my office and the one that actually employed her. Tom finally admitted his predicament. He had invested with the Tobins. He stood to lose everything. The culmination of the case meant I did not watch him as closely as I should have. I know the lengths people will go to, to protect what they have. Ellen was mixed up in his scheme somewhere. I lost my temper believing they were conspiring against me. I lost my focus and ultimately Tom lost his life. Ellen turned up at my door late the night they fished his body from a dumpster. Her eyes held that blank, hollow look I prayed I would never see again. I poured drinks with a shaking hand. I felt numb. I could not comprehend that Tom had gone. Tom my loyal lieutenant, my keeper of secrets, my voice of reason. Gone. I heard a strangled sob erupt from the woman behind me. I turned and suddenly she was in my arms. She buried her face in my neck and clung to me as she cried. Huge gasping sobs. Her tears soaked my skin. Her whole body shook as if she was coming apart. Perhaps she was. Perhaps we both were. She had fistfuls of my shirt and she shook me roughly. "Is it worth it?" She cried. Her breath hot and wet close to my ear. I tightened my own arms around her. For once I had no words. After some time she drew her body away but her eyes held on to mine. "Can I stay here. I don't want to go home."
I nodded. We took drinks and settled on the couch. She drank robotically. We didn't speak. She began to slump back against the cushions. I made a quick check of the guest room fluffing pillows like a housewife. When I returned Ellen was curled in a tight ball, her arms wrapped around herself. Her shoes discarded on the floor. I managed to rouse her and she headed upstairs. I took my time getting into bed. I was hyper aware of her presence a few steps down the hall. I stayed awake a long time savouring that presence. I knew when I woke in the morning she would be gone.
I didn't see her until the service two weeks later. We stood together, neither of us really welcome amongst Tom's family. For ten minutes, I struggled to recall his daughters name. Tom's wife held their baby son, hugging his protesting form too tightly. I felt Ellen's hand brush against mine. I caught it and clung to it gratefully. We were for once united in our grief. We were both outsiders here. Her hand was freezing, her grip was as tight as my own. We drank bourbon at the wake. Matching each other glass for glass until we were numb. People jostled around us. The room hummed with noise. The only thing we could hear or see by that point was each other. "Get us a room." She slurred in my ear. I looked at her blankly.
"You heard me." She wandered to the restroom weaving dangerously on towering heels. I complied in a dazed stupor and hovered self consciously in the ornate foyer of the upscale hotel that served as the venue for the wake. Once she emerged she headed determinedly towards the elevators. I fell in step behind her. We stood as far apart as it was possible to get in a eight foot square tin box. Ellen slumped against one side, I propped myself up on the other, alcohol fumes merged in the middle. The door slid open on the tenth floor and our eyes met. For a beat neither of us moved. Then she drew herself upright and marched out. Our shoulders bumped as we made unsteady progress down the hallway. I opened the door and we stepped inside. The bed was the size of a football field. I sat heavily on a small chair. Ellen kicked off her shoes, she dropped to her knees in front of me and twisted her torso around.
"Unzip me." She moved her hair aside. My hand stretched out. It shook helplessly. I tried to take hold of the zipper without actually touching her. I drew it down to her bra strap and stopped. Her skin was creamy white. Freckles were scattered across her back. She turned and gazed at me with hooded eyes.
"Don't pretend you don't want this. Blame it on alcohol, grief. Blame it on me, anything you want. I just want to feel something."
She lay her head down on my lap. Her dress hung awkwardly off her shoulders. I ran a hand through her hair hoping the motion would soothe her off to sleep. As much as I wanted her, I didn't want this. A drunken meaningless encounter in a hotel room with us both raw and hurting. But she was running her lips along the inside of my knee. I could feel her hot breath through the filmy fabric wetting my skin. I shivered and tried to draw my leg away.
"Ellen..."
"Don't..."
She turned her face up towards me. Her eyes were desperate and glassy with tears. Her voice almost broke on one word. Don't what? I wondered. Don't reject me. Don't speak. Don't think about afterwards. I could never refuse her anything.
I opened my eyes at two in the morning. We were in a tangled heap of limbs. Ellen snored softly. A shadowed naked form in the dark. I needed the bathroom. Everything ached. I closed the door and put on the light. I showered, dried off and stared at myself in the mirror. Faint scratches and bruises were already beginning to show. I put on a robe and removed the last traces of make up. When I stepped back into the room Ellen was blearily awake and propped up on pillows. "Get back in bed it's the middle of the night."
I told her I had to go. She flicked on a lamp as I conducted an undignified search for my underwear. I was hungover and angry. I could feel her staring at me. I couldn't think of a single thing to say to her. "Patty don't go. Let's..."
"Let's what?" I answered harshly. My mind was sluggish. I was exhausted. What were we going to do exactly. Talk about it, thank each other, have another round? None of them appealed. This wasn't the start of anything. It was the beginning of the end. I had given in to the pull of her on her terms. A mistake. Another in the litany I had made with this woman. I had a flash back to earlier. Her moaning, writhing beneath me. Digging her nails into my shoulders as she came with my fingers inside her. I shook my head to clear it. I couldn't remember kissing her. I looked back as I opened the door and watched a lone tear track down her cheek. That single tear undid me.
I dropped my purse to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed facing away from her. Facing the door. The door I should have walked through. I exhaled in a long shaking stream, as if it was my final breath.
"Ellen. I'm sorry I ever met you."
Fin.