Framed (16 page)

“They sound like a fun bunch.”

“You have no idea.”

“How long have you been dealing with these ass clowns?”

“My whole life.”

“And how long is that, exactly?”

“Long enough to know that they're up to something. I'm just not exactly sure what that is yet,” he said, a rumble escaping his chest. “I don't have much time to figure it out either.”

“When are they coming?”

“Who knows. They said a couple of days,” he said, sighing heavily. “That could mean two or twenty. Days mean little to those whose lives have spanned centuries. I'll keep you posted.”

“So, if they blame the killings on me, does that mean you'll be killed too? Oh, wait. I'm sorry, you can't be killed,” I mocked. “Will you be punished then?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Guess it's just another reason to renege on your word.”
“Perhaps it is,” he said without hesitation. “Goodnight, Ruby.”

15

There wasn't much “good” about my night, so I decided to take the next day to try and rectify that situation. There was an enormous flea market about an hour north of Portsmouth, so I packed up the car early and drove there alone. Even if the escape was temporary, it was a long coming and necessary. I realized that it was silly to be shopping when my days were likely numbered, but it made me feel better, and I was hoping to maybe pick up some materials for Peyta to work with when I was gone. I could at least help her with that; that was something I could control.

The weather was glorious, so I put the top down and strapped a vintage Dior scarf over my hair to keep the tresses in check. I had to take the back roads to get to where I was going; the New England saying “you can't get there from here” was undoubtedly true. I didn't care though, I had my iPod blaring and sunshine on my face. In that moment, everything was right in my world.

I pulled up to the spot just as it opened. It was somewhat of a “locals only” event, but I had my ways of finding those things out and worming my way into them. For such a small town, the market was enormous, covering a couple of acres with rows upon rows of tables piled with trinkets and what not, all waiting to be haggled over and purchased for the right price. My blood rushed ever so slightly at the sight of it. A good bargain could get most women's hearts racing.

My standard approach was to start at the far end and work my way back to the front, so I wound my way through the patrons and the vendors until I reached my destination, the crowd thinning out along the way. The plan proved to be a good one. As I neared the end of the line, I saw a booth chock-full of goodies: vintage furniture, mirrors, tchotchkes, china, silverware, and frames—gaudy, garish, and
amazing
frames.

I spotted one hidden behind an old oil painting propped up against an art deco chest of drawers. After fishing it out, I held it out into the sun from beneath the tent. It was hand-pressed copper that had patinaed beautifully over time, the minty-sage green encrusting all the nuances in the flowing scroll pattern, giving them depth and movement. I traced them gingerly with my finger as I wondered about the person who sculpted such an original and captivating piece. I wondered what picture was worthy of such an amazing home.

“I hope you have something pretty unbelievable to put in that,” said a high-pitched and mildly squeaky voice from behind me. I turned to see a woman around my age with auburn brown hair to her shoulders framing a freckle dotted face.

“I hadn't thought about that,” I replied honestly. “I was a little too mesmerized to think of how to practically use it.”

“Well, I hope you do. It's to die for,” she said, admiring the frame I held in front of me. “I'm a little angry you beat me to, to be honest.”

She smiled a wide, friendly smile to signal her kidding. I'd thought her face was plain when I first turned to see her, but her smile changed everything. It had a joy in it that I'd never seen before in an adult. I'd only ever seen it in children playing—the smile that knows no sorrow, no pain, no evil. I was drawn to her immediately.

“Well, I'm glad you're a good sport about it. I would hate to have to be hauled out of here by the police!” I said in jest.

“Ha!” she scoffed, her impossibly wide smile broadening. “I've got a get out of jail free card at home. Bring it on.”

My new acquaintance and I broke out into roaring laughter under the shelter of the tent, but our voices carried far beyond it for sure. People down the rows stared at us curiously, and the owner of the frame came over and gingerly pried it out of my hand, while politely asking if I was going to be taking it or not. The question did nothing to stifle our belly laughs.

I was bent over at the waist, clutching my stomach, while she propped herself up against a dresser with an elbow, leaning into her hand for support. As our hysterics slowly died out, I straightened myself up and wiped the tears from my eyes trying to make myself look more presentable. She smoothed her clothing and ran the sleeve of her purple top across her face.

“This is by far the most random public outburst I've had in a long time,” she said, reaching her hand out towards me. “I'm Kristy.”

“Ruby,” I said, returning the gesture. “I wish I could second your sentiments, but sadly for me, this is one of many this week alone.”

“I guess I need to hang out with more people like you then.”

“I guess so.”

In the back of my mind, I kept thinking that that was the last thing she needed to do; my public outbursts were not well suited to human audiences. I
wanted
to turn away saying, “nice to meet you,” and be on my way, but I couldn't. She was sweet and funny, and I could see us doing normal, everyday things together. I craved that so desperately that, even though every fiber of my being said to politely go, I stayed.

“So where do you live?” I asked casually. “Maybe we can grab lunch some time and I could act out the Ezekiel 25:17 scene from
Pulp Fiction
? That would be an
epic
public outburst.”

“Yep,” she said, pressing her lips together, looking pensive. “That would fit the bill. I live about an hour from here, just outside of Portsmouth.”

“Really?” I exclaimed, with a little too much enthusiasm. “I live downtown in a three-story walk up. I live above my store.”

“You own one of those cute shops?” she asked with equally misguided excitement. “Which one?”
“REWORKED. It's a jewelry—”

“Are you serious?” she squealed. “My friends and I love that place! You're not the designer, are you?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“I adore your work,” she started, only to pull back suddenly. “I'm sounding a bit like a groupie, aren't I?”

“I'm no expert in the matter, but you may be reaching that stage,” I said in mocking. “If you ask me to sign your chest, I'd say you've crossed the line.”

“Agreed,” she said, flashing a grin,. “Here's my number. Give me a call whenever you're prepared to deliver on your suggestion.”

She handed me a grocery receipt with her number scribbled on the back. I accepted the paper with a smile; my inner optimist was beaming. I had flashes of us sitting outside cafe's laughing until we cried, going to movies, and flea marketing until our feet were blistered. I romanticized a relationship we hadn't even formed yet, but the delusion delighted me and I allowed myself to have it. I deserved it.

We spent hours roaming through the countless rows of vendors, rummaging through junk, finding random scores, and laughing like teenagers—at least how they did in the movies. After five hours had passed, she got a text from her husband asking if he needed to send out a search party for her. She politely excused herself from our day of shenanigans, and I offered to help her load her car. The girl knew how to shop.

I waved over my shoulder as she drove off in her silver Hyundai sedan, making my way over to the TT. My hands were full of goodies for Peyta; she'd be well stocked for at least a few months, maybe more. Amongst all her treasures was one of my own. I'd purchased the frame with encouragement from my new found enabler, though it made no sense to have done so for several reasons, one of which being that I had no personal photos. Another being that death was looming over me, and even death could only loom for so long.

I threw my new stash onto the passenger seat and the floor in front of it before firing up the Audi and cranking the iPod. I took my time getting home, stopping for a bite to eat at some mom and pop place along the road and a farmers market a few miles down from that. The TT was at full capacity by the time I cruised into P-town; I on the other hand was not. It was late afternoon and I was completely spent. I dropped off my haul in the workshop before climbing the staircase to the apartment with an armful of veggies, which I quickly deposited in the kitchen before making my way to my room.

With little energy to spare, I collapsed onto my bed after propping up my new and very empty frame against my dresser. I pulled the crinkled up receipt that Kristy had given me from my pocket and placed it on my nightstand. Briefly admiring my two favorite finds of the day, I quickly nodded off to sleep.

16

“Hello?” I groaned, sounding groggy and hungover. I'd sacked out on my bed almost as soon as I'd hit it, and the sound of my phone blaring had ripped me from my slumber.

“Ruby? It's Matty,” he said, sounding confused and concerned. “Are you okay? You sound like shit!”

“I was asleep, thank you very much. What do you want?”

“It's five-thirty,” he replied, his confusion still apparent. “Why are you sleeping? You don't have mono, do you?”

“Jesus, Matty! No, I don't have mono. I'm
tired
. What do you want?” I asked, sounding every ounce as frustrated as I felt.

“You're such a senior citizen,” he replied with a giggle. “Anyway, I was calling because I think we need an impromptu practice to make up for you playing hookie the other night. That main chorus section is still a disaster, and I'd really like to get it cleaned up before our next rehearsal. We wasted so much time last class trying to figure it out. How about me heading up to your place in an hour? We can put that studio of yours to good use...or do you already have plans?”

“Uh...okay, I guess,” I stammered, still not fully having my wits about me. “I don't have any plans.”

“Great!” he exclaimed. “See you in a bit.”

The dial tone kicked in before I even managed to say goodbye.

He'll do nicely, though he's a little wet behind the ears. It'll be more like a snack than the main course.

“No! Absolutely not!” I yelled, horrified by the idea.
Promises...

“
You'll get your pound of flesh, Scarlet, but Matty is
not
on the menu. Not now, not ever.”

You don't get to make the rules, Ruby.

“
I sure as hell do. I can make your life just as miserable as you can make mine,” I blustered. “Don't fuck with me on this one or so help me I will get creative on your ass.”

You know how I dislike threats.

“
Ditto.”

Then present a more appealing offer and maybe I'll take it.

“When a better offer presents itself, I will.”

I no sooner had the words out when my cell phone chirped alerting me to the text message it had just received. I picked it up and looked to see who it was and instantly regretted it.

Mmmmm, that one fits the bill nicely.

“Y
ou don't even
like
him,” I said in rebuttal.

True, but, luckily for me, liking someone is not a prerequisite for fucking them.

“
Sean is off limits too.”

No Cooper, no Sean, no Matty...your male menagerie is exhausted. Would you like to fuck a stranger in a back alley instead?

I shuddered at the thought.

I didn't think so. Make your choice, Ruby, and make it quickly before I make it for you. Tick-tock...

* * *

Once the most-annoying-sound-in-the-world, otherwise known as my doorbell, alerted me of his arrival, I met Matty downstairs and let him in. He'd never been inside my place before, so I gave him the dime tour of the apartment before heading up to the third story studio. Converting that space into a loft of mirrors and hardwood was the best decision I'd ever made.

“We should warm up first,” he called as I walked over to the sweet stereo set up I had. Everything was high end from top to bottom, and I smiled when I looked at it; I always did.

“Yep, just getting some tunes cued up first.”

He stripped down to a t-shirt and shorts as I walked back to the center of the room. I stared at him in the mirror as he peeled off his layers. Scarlet growled.

“Not this one,” I whispered under my breath. He turned and looked at me strangely.

“Did you just say something?” he asked, looking slightly confused.

“No. Maybe the floor creaked.”

He shrugged it off and started his stretching routine as I did mine. I continued to sneak glances at him during our warm-up as his muscles flexed and bulged. I forced my eyes closed at several points to make the desire to tear his shirt off subside.