The Persistence of Memory

Chapter Five

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Close to 20 minutes later the taxi pulls up outside a 4 storey red brick building with lots of windows in Greenwich village. It looks like a warehouse but the driver in his short-tempered, New York way, assures me that it's the right address - clearly angry about being questioned by an English woman. I contemplate asking him to wait.

For all I know Aidan told me to come over just so he could tell me to fuck off to my face for being a rude ignorant bitch. Though in the end, I decide not to. There are plenty of them whizzing past and now that I knew how to get one I shouldn't have too much trouble. I look down at the piece of paper again before walking up the few steps to the front of number 1815 E 24th Street.

Apt 3 is what's written in Sasha's girlish handwriting and luckily it's also what's on the intercom on the wall. I press and hold for about 5 seconds and wait. When no response comes, I press again, longer this time. Just when I think he's not home I hear a click from the intercom.

"Yeah?" The deep male voice says sounding out of breath.

"Mr Foley? It's Eloise Alford. You said to come over." My voice sounds polite and steady to my ears. Go me.

"3rd floor," he says gruffly before I hear the sound of the door unlock.

A little unsettled by his tone, I take a deep breath and push open the heavy door into the building. It is a warehouse. Or was. The entrance hall is a wide and has industrial levers and exposed steel beams in keeping with its previous life. The lift is also one of those industrial style ones you see in movies. The ones large enough to fit a mini inside. The door is heavy, but with a firm yank, it slides up and I step inside, managing to pull it down with greater ease. Inside, I hit the large button which says 3 and the thing jerks into motion.

As it ascends I take out my compact and smooth down my hair and pinch my cheeks. Why am I so bloody nervous? Is it about seeing him again? About what he might say? Is it because I'm scared he isn't quite like how I remember him? That I've built him up a little too much. There's no way his eyes were that hypnotising.

With a jerk, the lift comes to a stop and I reach down for the handle to pull up the huge metal door. However before I reach it, it slides up all by itself. From my bent-over angle, the first thing I see is a pair of slightly tanned, very male bare feet.

Standing up straight, I take in the sight as it's slowly revealed. I literally have to swallow a pathetic female gasp. He's wearing a plain white T-shirt which has risen up to show me a hard tanned stomach. A smattering of dark hair trickles down into the top of his faded black jeans which are slightly loose and belted with an aged brown leather belt. His hair is messy unruly curls which still look damp. If I were writing a description it's what I would describe as 'Just fucked'.

Oh fuck, was it?

From some sad desperate female place inside me, I hope not.

"Hello," I say with a polite smile.

He doesn't respond. He just smiles a small reserved smile. He doesn't look angry though so that was good. No, there are a whole host of adjectives I would use to describe how he looked right now but angry isn't one of them.

"You getting out?" He asks. I nod and my body lurches forward. As I do I glance along the corridor and see a door open, which he gestures toward with his large eyes.

He follows behind me in silence, the weight of his stare heavy on me. Why isn't he talking? Why on earth did he invite me over if he didn't want to talk to me? Maybe seeing me reminded him of exactly how annoyed at me he was?