“Oh my god. She is terrifying,” said Lisa, still clutching her purse and a single red shoe. Tires squealed as the black car whipped away like a wraith.
“You don’t know the half of it,” George said. He helped Lisa limp to the bench and together they sat down. Awkwardly he patted her shoulder and pulled a few leaves from her hair. “Hey, so are you okay?” he asked.
“I don’t know . . . ” Lisa put her hand to her forehead. It stung painfully when she touched it.
George looked over his shoulder in the direction Sue had driven. “Listen, I’m really sorry. I have to go after her or she might do something stupid.”
“More stupid than trying to kill me?”
He was up and running, heading back toward his house. George yelled over his shoulder, “I’ll call you!”
“Please don’t—.” He was already out of sight. “Leave . . .”
Weakly, Lisa assessed her situation. An hour spent vomiting in George’s guest bathroom had sobered her up considerably. It was the glass of wine that pushed her over the edge. A special bottle, very expensive and of a rare vintage, according to George. Lisa took a sip and thought it tasted all right. Then George insisted she smell it. Really smell it. She did as he did. Tipped the glass and put her nose in as far as it would go and sniffed. The odor was a wretched mix of sad pony ride, tire fire, and wet gym sock. She quickly set down her glass, almost spilling it, and covered her mouth with her hands. George stopped talking about himself long enough to recognize her symptoms. He led her to a small bathroom down the hall and discreetly closed the door.
George had actually been kind of decent when Lisa finally emerged, promising to drive her home after she’d slept off the worst of it. She got undressed and settled into his big soft bed, relieved to just close her eyes. But too soon the lights blazed on and there was George’s wife, screaming like a banshee.
And now she was alone on a city park bench in the middle of the night. She’d managed to get her dress back on. Good. She had her purse. Very good. But her feet were bare. She looked at the shoe still clutched in her hand. It was red, Prada, in a tiny size six. Definitely not hers. This one shoe probably cost more than a semester’s tuition. It must be the woman’s shoe. His wife’s shoe.
Guess I’ll never get that dream job at Burnam & Green, she thought. She would have laughed if her head didn’t hurt so badly. Hopefully this whole night would just disappear into the ether. She’d never say a word to anyone. George had no idea who she was, after all. And she was graduating soon. She could just pick up, move to a new city, or country even. Yes. Somewhere far, far away. Preferably an island. Fiji. Malta. Guam.
Her phone rang. She looked in her handbag. Keys. Phone. Pile of cash. She gasped. George had paid her upfront. She still had the money. His money. One thousand dollars in cash. The ringing continued. She grabbed her phone and saw it was Jamie calling. Clumsily she jabbed at the answer icon and pressed the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Lisa, where are you?” yelled Jamie, the blaring noise of the party leaking through the phone’s speaker. “I’ve been wandering around this stupid party for hours looking for you.”
“I’m in a park.”
“A park? Where?”
“I was in an accident. But not really . . . I don’t know.” She was struck by a wave of dizziness and tried to steady herself.
Maybe I should lie down, she thought.
“Lisa? Lisa, are you there?”
“I’m in a park,” she repeated.
“Yes, you said that already. Okay. I’m coming to get you. What street are you on? Can you tell me that?”
“I think it’s a park?”
“Lisa, maybe you should call 911. Is there anyone there who can help you?”
Lisa had closed her eyes at some point during the call. She opened them again and looked around. It was deserted. “No. I’ll be all right till you get here.” She squinted at the street sign. “I’m in the Pearl, at Irving and Tenth, I think. By the pretty brick townhouses.”
“Yes, I know it. Just sit there. Do not move.”
Lisa lay down on the bench, her head resting against the cool metal. Several minutes later the quiet was broken by the sound of a car pulling up, and Jamie’s voice asking the driver to wait. She heard footsteps and opened her eyes to see Patrick and Jamie kneeling next to her.
“Hey, you’re here . . . you’re both here. Why are you both here?” Lisa asked, feeling very disoriented.
“I ran into Patrick at the party. We grabbed a Lyft and came right over. Lisa, are you okay? What happened?” asked Jamie.
“Nothing,” said Lisa, her head still resting on the park bench. “I’m fine,” she mumbled.
“Lisa, where does it hurt?” asked Patrick. He ran his hands over her arms and legs looking for injuries. “Doesn’t look like anything’s broken, and I don’t see any bleeding.”
Lisa sat up slowly, feeling dizzy and pointed at her forehead. Patrick gently brushed her messy hair out of the way.
“Oh, shit. That looks serious. We need to get her out of here,” Patrick said to Jamie. Together they gently helped Lisa to her feet.
“Thanks for picking me up. I just want to go home.”
Jamie shook her head. “We are not going home, young lady. You need medical attention ASAP.”
“No. No. I’m fine. Totally fine,” she said, thinking only about lying on her own bed, safe from George’s wife.
“Holy shit,” said Patrick, bending down to pick something up off the ground. “Jamie, look at this. I think she got hit by a car.”
Lisa tried to focus her eyes on what Patrick held in his hand. To her horror, she realized it was a bent Oregon license plate that read “SUE ME.”
“That’s amazing,” said Jamie. “We can take it to the police. Look, there’s even a little piece of her dress on it.” Jamie pointed at a scrap of sparkling gold fabric stuck to the corner of the metal plate. “Lisa, you’re so lucky.”
“No, no,” said Lisa, panicking. She tried to swipe it out of Patrick’s hand and swayed dangerously. “That’s not anything. That was already laying here.”
“Patrick, help me,” said Jamie, struggling to keep Lisa upright.
Patrick took Lisa’s other arm, and together he and Jamie walked Lisa to the waiting car and helped her in. Jamie started to buckle Lisa’s seat belt for her.
“I am not a child,” said Lisa in protest.
“Fine,” said Jamie.
Lisa took the belt and tried to insert it with shaking hands. After several tries, Jamie grabbed the seat belt back and buckled it with an exasperated sigh, then got into the seat next to her.
Patrick settled into the front seat next to the driver.
“Can you take us to Good Samaritan?” Jamie asked the driver. “And hurry, please.”
The driver nodded, stepped on the gas, and barreled down the street right past George’s house. Lisa glanced up to see all the lights ablaze and Sue tossing a pair of burning jeans out the open bedroom window.
“Lisa, what happened? Who hit you?” Patrick asked, looking over his shoulder at her.
She couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. He looked so worried. “It doesn’t matter,” said Lisa, shuddering.
“Of course it does,” said Jamie. “We’re taking you to the hospital, and then I’m calling the police. Whoever did this is going to pay.”
“No,” said Lisa, shaking her aching head. “You can’t. You can’t tell anyone.”
“We’re trying to help. Just tell us what happened,” said Jamie.
“You really don’t want to know,” Lisa said.
Jamie put her arm around Lisa, “Just spill. You’ll feel better.”
“I don’t think I will actually,” she said. “I had too much to drink. That pretty much sums it up.”
“What? We weren’t supposed to drink anything. You heard Nigel,” said Jamie, her voice full of righteous indignation. “I didn’t drink. I wanted to. All these stupid waiters, wandering around with their delicious beverages.”
“Jamie, it was after I saw my mom,” said Lisa. “She was at the party.”
“You didn’t tell me she was there,” said Patrick.
“Well, you were being such a jerk, I never got a chance to.”
“I’m sorry. If I’d known, I would have stayed with you. You should have told me,” he said quietly.
“It’s fine,” said Lisa.
“So, who hit you? And what were you doing in this part of town anyway?” asked Jamie.
“It was just some crazy woman.” Tears welled up in Lisa’s eyes as she relived the moment. “I really think she wanted to kill me. Sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying.”
“Because you’re in shock. Let me get you a tissue.” Jamie looked in her purse and, not finding any, snapped open Lisa’s.
Lisa tried to stop her but was too slow. “Please don’t.”
Along with a packet of tissues, Jamie pulled out the small roll of hundred-dollar bills George had given her. “What’s this? Did Nigel pay you extra? No fair.”
“It’s nothing,” said Lisa.
“That is not nothing. Where did you get that money?” asked Patrick suspiciously.
Lisa glanced at him and could see him putting the pieces together.
“You left with that guy, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question. Patrick reached over the seat and grabbed the bills from Jamie’s hand then dropped them back into Lisa’s purse like he’d been burned. “You took his money.”
“You stole it?” asked Jamie.
“No, Jamie. She didn’t steal it,” said Patrick. “He paid her.”
“For what?” asked Jamie, still not getting it.
Lisa loved her friend for not immediately thinking the worst of her. Not like everyone else did.
“You know what,” scoffed Patrick.
Jamie gasped. “Lisa would never.”
“Lisa, just tell us the truth,” demanded Patrick.
Lisa sat silent. What options did she have? She could keep lying, but they’d figure it out. Or they’d go to the police with the license plate. And if her mother found out . . . “I’m sorry, Jamie,” said Lisa. “I was drunk. I wasn’t thinking. Nothing actually happened. I got sick and was just going to sleep it off. Then his wife walked in on us. She’s the one who came after me in the car. That’s why you can’t tell anyone. You can’t go to the police.”
“How much did you get?” asked Jamie.
“Seriously?” asked Lisa.
“Yes. I want to know.”
“One thousand,” said Lisa. “But I’m going to give it back.”
“American dollars?”
“No. Canadian,” said Lisa, exasperated.
“Wow. That is both disturbing and impressive,” said Jamie.
“Jamie, do you think this is a joke?” asked Patrick, incredulous.
“Well, no, I mean, of course not. But technically she didn’t do anything,” said Jamie. “You heard her, she got sick. You know how Lisa always throws up when she drinks too much. That would definitely kill the mood. If the wife hadn’t come home, this whole thing would be a nonissue.”
“I can’t believe this.” He handed Jamie the license plate. “Hey,” he said to the driver. “I need to get out of the car, now. Can you pull over?”
“Patrick, what are you doing?” asked Jamie.
“I’m leaving.”
The driver stopped at the next intersection and Patrick got out, and slammed the door shut.
Jamie rolled down her window. “Come on, don’t go,” she called.
“She’s your problem now,” Patrick said as he walked away.
“Maybe you thinking that she’s a problem is the problem!” yelled Jamie after him, but he didn’t turn back.
Lisa and Jamie sat quietly for a moment in the vacuum Patrick had left behind.
“Are you mad at me? You can go too if you want,” said Lisa. “I wouldn’t blame you. I don’t want to be around me right now either.”
“No. I’m not mad. You know I’ve always prided myself on my moral ambiguity,” said Jamie. She motioned to the driver to keep going. The car pulled slowly away from the curb. “So who was he?” Jamie asked.
Lisa shook her head, then immediately regretted it as a fresh wave of pain overwhelmed her. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “You won’t believe me.”
“Sure I will. Come on. Spill.”
Lisa looked at her friend, expecting signs of disappointment and judgment. So far, Jamie just looked curious. “You know that huge ad agency downtown? Burnam & Green.”
“Yeah?”
“He’s the Green.”
“You mean the Green.”
“Yep.”
“Damn. Was he at least attractive?”
“Eh . . . He was until he opened his mouth.”
“Can I tell my mom? She’ll be super disappointed in you of course, but kind of impressed too. The Green paid you a thousand bucks. Is that seriously the going rate?”
Lisa felt herself smile, something she thought she’d never do again. “Jamie, you are the worst,” she said, squeezing her friend’s hand.