Kate Carlisle - The Lies That Bind

Despite the ubiquitous tourists and the cars and the kids, I loved San Francisco. Who wouldn’t fall a tiny bit in love with a town where you could walk into a bar and sit down between a Trotskyite and a drag queen and wind up three hours later at a Giants game with both of them? For a place that was remarkable for its lack of pretension, San Francisco was unashamedly self-indulgent. San Franciscans adored their town. One of the first things a new resident learned was that San Francisco dwellers capitalized the t and the c when referring to the city of San Francisco. This was The City . And while most cities didn’t require full participation, San Francisco did.

I smiled as I coasted down Filbert again, feeling much better than I had earlier. The hills had done their job.

I headed for home, and less than fifteen minutes later drove into my parking garage. I found my space, turned off the engine, and rested my forehead on the cool plastic hardness of the steering wheel.

Unfortunately, the reeling thoughts of Derek and Layla were back in full force and I knew I wouldn’t survive the night if I didn’t find another distraction. So I pulled out my cell and called Robin.

The next morning, I woke up puffy and so exhausted I didn’t want to get out of bed. I felt hot and wondered if maybe I had a fever. Everything hurt and I was certain I was coming down with a cold or the flu.

I lay in bed, pondering the night before. I’d been an embarrassing mess. And good friend that she was, Robin had rushed over to keep me company. She poured wine and listened to me rant. Occasionally, she would remind me that Layla and Derek together was all a big fat lie, and I would agree and thank her. Then I’d go off on another tirade. I think we laughed a lot. I hope so.

I guess I didn’t have the flu, after all. I had a bit of a hangover. We’d finished a full bottle of wine. Or rather, I’d finished it. I think Robin had nursed one glass, just to keep me company. She really was the best kind of friend.

I climbed out of bed and trudged to the kitchen, where I downed two ibuprofen, then started the coffeemaker and stumbled off to the shower. I let the water pour over me for a long time, trying not to think. But it was impossible; all sorts of errant thoughts kept filtering through.

I examined every word Derek had ever said to me, picking them apart, searching for ulterior meanings.

I stared at myself in the mirror. The truly pathetic thing was that I was doing all this to myself, clear in the knowledge that Naomi was lying. What kinds of torture would I be going through if I’d actually believed she was telling the truth?

It was a sickness and I hated it.

I buried myself in work, dragging Guru Bob’s book out of my bag to begin the restoration. It was a beautiful little gem and I was happy and honored that he trusted me to do the job, but my heart wasn’t in my work today.

Nevertheless, hours later I’d photographed every inch of the book and taken it apart, piece by piece. I saved every bit of sinew and thread I could salvage, spreading the pieces out across my worktable, mapping it on wide strips of white construction paper. I loved my work, but I was tired and cranky and wanted to take a nap in the worst way.

But it was already three o’clock and I knew if I lay down now, I’d sleep right through my class. So I made a small pot of Peet’s coffee, hoping it would get me revved up enough to go teach my class. I felt marginally better after two cups. As I washed my cup in the sink, the phone rang. I ran across the room to grab it.

“It’s not true,” Derek said flatly.

My heart stuttered at the sound of his voice and I had to clutch the edge of the bar stool to keep myself steady. My hands were shaking. When had I turned into such a weenie?

“Why should I believe you?” I said, hating the vulnerable tone of my voice. Even though I believed him, I still wanted to hear him deny it twenty different ways.

“It’s not true,” he said again, enunciating every word. “I don’t know why Naomi lied to the police, but I’m going to find out.”

“How did you know it was Naomi?”

He paused. “You know it, too.”

“Yes.”

“What else do you know?”

“I think she did it to get back at me.”

“Why would she use me to get back at you?”

I gritted my teeth and said, “I might’ve threatened her a little.”

I heard him sigh; then he said, “What time is your class?”

“It starts at six.”

“I’ll be by in ten minutes.”

“Okay. You can-” But there was only a dial tone in my ear. I was going to let him park in the building but I guessed he could manage on his own.

Glancing around, I saw more dishes in the sink and the couch pillows thrown about. I bustled about the loft, straightening and cleaning, polishing the coffee table and mentally preparing myself to see Derek again. Cleaning always helped distract me from my problems. It was a wonder my place wasn’t sparkling from floor to ceiling.

And yet, despite the fun diversion of scrubbing the sink, little thoughts began to sneak in. Had Derek spent the night in a jail cell? Or had the police let him go and he’d come back to BABA, looking for me? Probably not, and it was just as well. I’d spent the entire evening gibbering like a nincompoop. Poor Robin! She’d listened to me blather on and on, babbling about Derek, wondering what he’d been doing and when he’d been doing it. And why did it matter?

I’d managed to let my fears get the best of me, even though I’d seen right through Naomi’s lies. I’d been enveloped in a nasty, miserable red haze of jealousy. Or is jealousy a green haze? Either way, it wasn’t pretty.

I guess one could conclude that my feelings for Derek were even stronger than I’d realized. And that was so freaking scary, I wanted more than anything to grab the mop and clean my kitchen floor. But I couldn’t. I had five minutes to pull myself together, so I rushed to my room and gave it my best shot.

The doorbell rang. I ran down the hall, then skidded to a stop. It wouldn’t do for him to hear me racing to the door. And since when had I ever played games like this?

I blew my bangs off my forehead and walked the rest of way.

“Oh, hi.” There, that didn’t sound awkward. Not at all. Much.

“About time,” he murmured and took one step into the house, but it was more like he stepped into me , fitted his mouth to mine and took.

And nothing else mattered.

Out on the sidewalk an hour later, after we’d had a nice conversation and some tea… no, really. After that long, lovely kiss at the door, Derek had pulled me into the living room, where he insisted we sit down and talk. He proceeded to assuage any fears I might’ve had about him and Layla. Of course, I assured him that I hadn’t given it a second thought, but he persisted in telling me the whole story.

He’d never met Layla before, but a mutual friend had told him to look her up when he got to the city. This was weeks ago, and they’d planned to meet over cocktails the night of the Covington Library event, when Abraham died. Derek found me with blood on my hands, and the rest was history. He never contacted Layla again. So I had spoiled their big date. I did not regret it.

Then, when Derek showed up at BABA with Gunther, Layla thought they ought to pick up where they’d left off and go for cocktails after the party. Derek quickly disabused her of that possibility.

He wasn’t as sure of Naomi’s motives as I was. He suspected Layla had lied to her niece about him to save face. He had a point, I thought. After all, how would it look to her underlings if the great and powerful Layla couldn’t lure a man into her bed?

I stood on the sidewalk as Derek opened the passenger door of his Bentley.