Triptych - One Guest Post: Phillip
I glance up from my desk to see that the rain sheeting the windows has finally lightened into a mist. At the door, a discreet knock signals Dylan’s presence.
“Mr. Markham?”
“Oh, Dylan. Yes, I’m fine. Sorry to have kept you so late.” I lean back and stretch myself out, easing the knots in my shoulders and arms as best I can.
“Are you certain? I’ve nothing special planned for tonight.”
“No, I’m fine. Go home. I’ll be leaving soon myself.” He smiles and nods, then turns to leave. I myself have no intention of leaving - I have nowhere to go. I had planned on an early dinner with Cat but after today’s radio interview, Tucker wanted to brainstorm with Cat and that hack Lebredo, Cat’s publicist. Might as well just stay here and get caught up on the never ending stream of projects that floods my desk these days.
These days.
These days have gone on far too long. So has my avoidance of the inevitable. I stand and cross the room to the low slung table, its glass surfaces wearing the iridescent streaks created by the ambient lighting. I touch the invisible trigger and a small drawer opens. I smile, remembering when this puzzle box of a table first made its appearance then grab the key and the small piece of vellum beside it.
“Dylan?” I call over my shoulder, knowing that he’ll still be within earshot.
“Yes, Mr. Markham?” He appears immediately, Marc Jacobs trench faux carelessly tossed over his arm.
“Call me a car before you leave, would you?” He smiles and nods, hangs back a moment in hope that I’ll offer him a lift. Dylan will not be sharing my car or anything else for that matter. Those days are far behind me. I have Cat now, for however long it is he’ll be staying. Things are changing, after all, and soon they’ll be spun out of control.
I toss some files into my briefcase and lock the room down before I head to the lobby. Force of habit, I guess - God knows I won’t be giving them so much as a glance tonight. I’m on autopilot now, my mind disengaged even as I give my driver my destination. Traffic’s being a bitch (as usual) so I take advantage of the opportunity to clear out my emails and shuffle a few things on my blackberry. Anything to keep from thinking about things. Fuck, it’s pathetic when you bullshit yourself: a specific thing is what I’m avoiding even as the sleek town car navigates its way to what I’ve put off for too long, but not long enough.
We’re here far too quickly. I take a deep breath and slide out, instructing the driver to deliver my case to the Dakota. I know him, I use this service exclusively and have for years. It will get to where I want it to go. Teri put me on to them - they’re referral only and he made the connection, steering me away from another fleet recommended by an acquaintance.
Where the cross town ride seemed to take only an instant, the elevator up to the nineteenth floor is an eternity, allowing me time to realize something incredibly disturbing. Teri steered me more often that I had thought, especially in the early days of our whatever the fuck that was, working relationship, I guess. A subtle suggestion that I accept one invitation over another, cultivate this contact over that one - it wasn’t me who managed to navigate around the blacker backwaters of Dunraven.
I’d always thought myself so clever, so very much the jaded cosmopolitan, in my dealings with Dunraven. Seen it, done it all. Or so I thought. It was only later, much later, that I began to hear the whispers, catch the dark, knowing glances exchanged by others. A gentlemen’s club is what I told myself. Alright, a gentlemen’s sex club. Something for everyone, if you were rich enough, important enough to merit the invitation. Eventually the other invitations began to arrive, those special “events” not open to general membership and with good reason. We never really discussed specifics, Teri and I, even when I made him “the offer,” but somehow, I realized fairly early on that he knew more than I did about Dunraven.
When I’d told him what I’d done to get Justin into Dunraven, what Brian and I had done to get him and Kiernan’s kid back, he’d simply leaned back in his chair and said, “Walk carefully the rest of your days, Phillip. You have bankrupted your luck with that stupidity.” I never understood how Venice didn’t explode in the media and I didn’t ask. By then I’d learned better than to pry.
I can’t put this off any longer. I’m at his door, key in hand and alarm code at the ready. He’d told me once that there might come a day when he would be gone. I laughed and said, “Teri, you’re forever disappearing on me, what would be the difference?” He just smiled and replied, “You’ll know,” and told me to check his flat of the moment for anything I might care for. “You needn’t be concerned about bodies,” he smiled. “Nothing so untoward. But do it quickly. And alone.” With that enigmatic remark the conversation was ended, never to be revisited.
Hanrahan’s phone call was both cryptic and chilling. My friend has been gone far too long and I promised I would do this - thing- for him. Or me. Or who the fuck ever. I turn the key and enter quickly, quietly, and clear the alarm panel. Teri’s dens have always carried the scent of sandalwoods and this one is no exception. I draw a breath, forcing myself to relax as I stand inside my missing and most likely dead friend’s last home. The place is dark except for what city light reaches in and being unfamiliar with the layout, I squint, searching for a control panel when suddenly the recessed ambients flick on and a voice I’d never thought to hear again says,
“Nice of you to stop by.”