Vegas Knights (19 page)

She pushed the Post-It with the gallery's address written on it — Beth had tacked on the plane ticket's jacket — into his face. He pulled back to get a better look at it, then turned his sour gaze back to her confused face. "So?" he shrugged.

She had no words left. Fear stabbed her gut. What was happening? Had Beth written down the wrong address? But this was the name of the gallery, so that didn't make sense. She looked back at Mr. Soto with her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

The gallery started to get fuzzy, then grayed out. She heard a commotion and hands grabbed at her but she was powerless to move. She was startled to lucidity when a hand slapped her face. Blinking, she rubbed her reddening cheek and looked up into several pairs of concerned eyes. It seemed everyone in the gallery was now standing over her.
 

"Miss, are you okay?" A young woman was holding out a paper cup of water. Kelly took it gratefully and gulped it down, the coolness of the drink pooling in her stomach like liquid rock.

She sat up and looked around. "This isn't a joke, is it?" The perplexed faces that stared back at her told her no, this wasn't a joke. They weren't expecting her because they'd never heard of her.
 

"I'm so sorry. I don't understand what happened. I thought everything was arranged but..." she broke off. "Maybe my friend wrote down the wrong gallery?" What should have been a statement, ended as a question. She needed some reassurance that everything would turn out okay. Heads bobbed in agreement but their owners cast knowing glances at each other.
 

Mr. Soto stood and held out his hand to help up Kelly. When she was firmly on her feet, he patted her shoulder. "I'm sorry, miss, but I don't think there's anything we can do to help."
 

He and his employees turned away from her, a few casting nervous glances over their shoulders, as if she might go bonkers and pull a gun or something. Maybe in this city they were wise to be concerned.
 

"Do you mind if I just make a call?" she shouted at their backs. Mr. Soto waved a hand above his head. Kelly took that as a yes.

She dug her phone from her purse, booted it up and punched Beth's speed dial number. "Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up..." she whispered as the line started ringing.
 

The line clicked and a tone beeped in her ear. "The number you are calling has been changed or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this message in error, please hang up and try again..."

Kelly thumbed the 'end' button on her phone, her brow creased in confusion. "What the..." She punched the speed dial number again, and again the 'not in service' message played in her ear. Frustrated, she punched end, and scrolled through her contacts till she reached Beth's. She punched the number in manually, hoping there was some weird crossed connection somewhere.
 

"The number you are calling..."

"Gah!" Kelly's outburst drew a flurry of worried looks in her direction, including that of the owner. Not wanting to alienate the only Manhattan gallery owner she'd ever met, she gathered up her bag and paintings, smiled in his direction, and left the building. She tried Beth's number again, faintly hoping that being outside would help reception, but knowing deep down it wouldn't.
 

"The number you are calling..."

Tears of frustration threatened to spill down her overheated cheeks. Sweat instantly broke out all over her body, running in rivulets between her shoulder blades and breasts. She needed to find someplace cool that also offered food. The only thing she'd had to eat all day was a sad box meal on the plane consisting of a rock-hard bagel, a tiny tub of cream cheese, dried apple bits and a package of three processed cheese slices. She'd barely been able to choke it down, and only did so because she hadn't had a chance for breakfast.

Breakfast made her think of Rick, and how she stood him up. She looked down at her phone and sure enough, the display showed three messages waiting for her. The street noise was too loud to even attempt listening to them so she set out to find a restaurant or cafe.
 

Three very long blocks later, Kelly slumped into a booth overlooking the street in a small, dark and blessedly cool cafe. She set her paintings and bags on the seat across from her to keep them out of the aisle, but her server still looked irritated with her.
 

"Just get off the bus?" he asked snidely.

Kelly had never experienced such rudeness before arriving in New York, but right now she was too tired to care. "I'd like some lemonade and a turkey sandwich, please. And a big glass of ice water."

Refused his conflict of the moment, the waiter snatched the menu out of her hand and huffed to the kitchen.

Kelly pulled out her phone and tried Beth again. Same message. Then she steeled herself and punched the voicemail button.

BEEP

"Hey, Kell, I'm here but I don't see you. Were we supposed to meet somewhere? I thought I was supposed to pick you up but...well, last night was a little crazy and I might have forgotten."

BEEP

"Kelly, I got your note. You're on your way to New York? Who is this Beth person? What's going on? Call me when you land."

BEEP

"Kelly, I'm sorry you felt you had to leave. I never intended to deceive you. I honestly thought the paperwork was a formality so, in my mind, I was divorced. Probably sounds like bullshit to you, but it's the truth. I would like to talk to you, figure this all out, but if you're not interested, I get it. For what it's worth, Liz signed the papers today, and I called in a favor to get a judge to sign off on them about ten minutes ago. So I'm officially divorced. I'm free to leave Vegas. And now you're gone."

The resignation and pain in Rick's voice tore at Kelly's soul. She wanted nothing more than to call him and have him come rescue her from this mess, but she knew that would be disingenuous. She loved him, but nothing had really changed over the past few hours. He'd lied, or at least kept the truth from her, and she didn't know how to trust him after that. She understood his perspective, and believed he hadn't meant to hurt her but she was still smarting.
 

Besides, she had a dream to follow, even if it wasn't turning out exactly as she'd planned. She tried Beth again, then tucked the phone back in her purse, wondering if her friend was okay.
 

As she wolfed down the sandwich and fries the waiter had slammed on the table, Kelly gazed out the window at the people passing by. Most people were dressed in black or stylish business attire, but a few tourists stood out in their Bermuda shorts and 'Never Forget' t-shirts. The locals skimmed around them like salmon swimming in unison around an obstruction.
 

It was constant movement, infinite noise, boundless energy, and she couldn't wait to be a part of it. But first she had to figure out what had happened at the Soto Gallery, why Beth's phone was disconnected and, most pressing right now, where she was going to sleep that night. After this meal, she'd have less than $100 cash, and maybe a few bucks to spare on her credit card. She was doubtful a decent hotel room in Manhattan could be had for that.
 

She berated herself for not figuring out accommodations before getting on the plane, but she hadn't been entirely sure she was going to leave. As she was rushing around to get to the airport, it hadn't even crossed her mind. If she was going to be totally honest, she'd half-assumed the gallery would either recommend a place or set her up somewhere, as naive as that sounded. Now that she was sitting in a grimy diner with a surly waiter eyeballing her, she felt like a fool.

Her belly full, Kelly felt much better, like her brain was working again. She waved over the waiter, who brought the check and turned to leave.

"Um, excuse me," she said with as much sugar in her voice as she could muster while she laid her remaining $100 bill on the tray.

"Mmm?" He stopped and turned back.

"Do you know of any inexpensive hotels around here?"

He gave Kelly a knowing once-over, then glanced at her paintings and bag. Apparently deciding to take pity on her poor, lost soul, he sighed heavily.
 

"Well, the Westin is two blocks up that way, but it ain't cheap. The cheapest is the Mayfair on Avenue B, four or five blocks east of here, but I don't think you want to go down there without a little protection...and I don't mean of the rubber variety. Well, maybe that, too!" He laughed at the genius of his own wit as he returned to the till with Kelly's check and money.

When he returned with her change, she asked how much the Mayfair was.
 

"'Bout $75, but I wouldn't expect clean sheets for that." With tax added, she'd barely have enough cash for one night. But tomorrow was another day and she'd figure it out then.

The box of paintings, which hadn't seemed particularly heavy this morning, was getting heavier and more unwieldy by the minute, especially while toting her purse and the shopping bag of clothes. She wanted to smack the waiter's sneer off his face as she rear-ended the cafe's door open and wrangled it all outside.
 

"Thanks for the help, asshole. Hope you like your tip!"

His sneer turned to a glare, then he was cut off from view as the door slammed shut behind her. She plodded along looking for Avenue B, noticing the neighborhood was steadily turning grittier. The tourists and well-dressed professionals she'd spotted near the cafe had all disappeared, replaced by a rougher element. She was pretty sure the guy passed out on a stoop had a needle jutting out of his arm.
 

She stopped to get her bearings, and propped the paintings against a streetlamp. Craning her head to look at the street signs, Kelly jumped when something sharp jabbed at her ribs. A hot stench filled her nostrils as the man holding a knife to her side pressed his groin against her ass.
 

"Gimme your purse, pretty lady." His breath reeked of old booze and rotten teeth, and the rest of him smelled of stale piss. Adrenaline shot into her bloodstream as she tried to remain calm. Slowly, and without a word, she held out her purse, which was snatched away.
 

"What's in the bag?"

"A change of clothes." Her voice wavered slightly but she was surprised by how calm she sounded, like getting mugged by a homeless man was an everyday occurrence.
 

"Give it!" She just as carefully held out the bag. He grabbed it and stayed pressed up against her for a moment, then was gone.
 

She spun around but only caught sight of his shabby ass running down an alley. She moved to chase the guy down but caught herself.
What are you thinking, Kelly?!
 

What
was
she thinking, she wondered as she started trembling uncontrollably. What was she thinking walking in this bad neighborhood? What was she thinking coming to New York alone? What was she thinking getting on a stranger's motorcycle? What exactly was she thinking?

Sobs wracked her body as she slumped against her paintings and slid into a ball on the ground. Cigarette butts, a broken booze bottle and a hypodermic needle littered the gutter next to her, smelling exactly as her mugger had. Shaking and crying and covering her head, Kelly rocked herself back and forth.
 

No doubt the people clustering around her thought she was insane. If she didn't stop soon, they'd call the cops, who would probably take her to a mental ward or jail.
At least I'd have someplace to sleep.
She barked with dreadful laughter at the thought, throwing her head back. The crowd moved back in unison.
 

She stared wild-eyed at the crowd. "What am I supposed to do now?" she screamed at them. None of them would meet her eye, yet they didn't want to move on from the train wreck of a girl having a meltdown on the street. She tucked her head between her knees again in resignation and resumed rocking.

"Kelly?" A voice filtered through the sound of her own sobs. "Kelly Saunders, is that you?" The voice was familiar but she couldn't place it. She looked up in time to see a familiar face pushing through the crowd.

"Brutus!" She launched herself into her friend's arms, not believing he was there. She clutched and grasped at his back, making sure he was real, that this wasn't a dream. "Omigod, are you really here?"

Brutus grabbed her shoulders and gently pushed her back, but she kept hold of his arms, afraid he would disappear. "Kell, what are you doing here? Are you okay? What happened?"

She fell into his arms again, crying even more loudly. She babbled into his shoulder everything that had happened over the past ten days, from hating her job to meeting Rick to the Pinyon Art Collective to Beth to the snafu at the Soto Gallery to getting mugged.
 

"You just got mugged?" Brutus' face was full of concern. "We need to call the cops right now."

"But my phone was in my purse," she sniffed, wiping at her eyes.

"It's okay, my darling, I have a phone, too." He smiled benevolently at her stupid comment, and dialed 911.

An hour later, after giving a vague description of her attacker — "He was average height and smelled really bad" — to the police, Kelly and Brutus were on their way to his nearby flat. The cops had asked her if she had someplace to go, and when terror flashed across her face, Brutus stepped up and said she could stay with him. Kelly had never felt more relieved in her life.
 

"I can't believe you just found me on the street like that." They were carrying her paintings between them, sharing the load.
 

"Yeah, you're one lucky bitch." He bumped the package into her, giving her a wink and a smile.

"Seriously, the odds must be astronomical that you'd just stumble across me in a city of eight million people."

“I guess, but Alphabet City's not so big, and most folks never leave their neighborhood. When there's a commotion on the street..."