I would have liked to hope that six months after Charlie died, I would have been back on my feet, smiling, ready to take on the world and any other cruelty it had to offer. Instead, I found myself on my couch, feet propped up on my coffee table, absentmindedly watching Love Actually for the eighth time this week.
I jabbed a spoon into my pint of chocolate peanut butter ice cream and heard a faint scraping sound as I scooped up the last bite. Glaring at the container, I scowled, just as Jamie began spouting his heartfelt proposal to Aurélia. "Just you two wait. It doesn't last long," I muttered to the TV and my empty living room. The memory of Charlie proposing to me on the Brooklyn Bridge, the sun setting behind him as he bent down on one knee, flashed before my eyes, and I tried to shake the now painful memory from my brain. This really was rock bottom.
As if on cue, my phone started ringing, Elton John's "I'm Still Standing" blaring, courtesy of my friend Roxanne who insisted it would cheer me up, which--surprise!-- it hadn't. Grumbling, I picked up the phone and managed to mumble a grouchy "Hello?" to whoever had the audacity to call me at 1pm on a Wednesday.
"Emma, sweetie, hi, how are you?" Roxanne's cheery voice rang through my speaker, and suddenly I lost the urge to be angry.
"The usual."
"Love Actually and chocolate peanut butter ice cream?"
"You know me so well it's scary," I replied, and she laughed.
"Not my fault you've developed a pattern hun. Anyways, this is your reminder call to go collect your unemployment funds for the month--"
"Today? What? I could have swore I just picked it up--"
"Emma, that was four weeks ago," she said softly, and I went silent. Could it really have been four weeks? I wasn't that out of it, right?
"I could go with you, you know, if you want company. I could call out of work early and meet you--"
"No! It's fine, I'm fine, I'll go. You already do so much for me," I mused, truly meaning it. Without Roxanne, I probably would have forgotten to feed myself and starved months ago. "How about if you came over tonight? I'll grab some wine, we can order takeout."
I could practically hear her beaming through the phone. "That would be great! Should I invite Antonio?"
"Of course, he'd be pissed if we left him out. See you then, and thanks for the reminder."
I hung up the phone, already exhausted. Leaving the safe haven of my apartment was the last thing I wanted to do, but without my unemployment funds I couldn't buy more ice cream, so I didn't have much of a choice. Sighing, I dragged myself off the couch and went in search of clothing other than pajamas, accepting my fate.
* * * * * *
If anything hadn't changed in the last six months, it was the subway. The dirty, clustered, fast-paced station was perhaps the only constant in my life, and I can't say I minded that. I was a New Yorker at heart, and people watching was one of the only pastimes I had kept after Charlie's death. I clambered onto the crowded car, headed for the stop closest to the NYC Employment Services Department. Unceremoniously dropping myself into a seat besides a snoring old man, my thoughts immediately wandered to why, exactly, I was 24 and had to drag myself to an unemployment office every month.
I wasn't a helpless housewife, if that's what you're wondering. Before Charlie died I was a freelance journalist, barely two years out of college, making a decent living by writing about everything from gang activity to the latest fashion trends. I tried to keep up with it after, really I did, I just couldn't get myself to focus, and soon enough the flow of opportunities slowed to a halt. I probably still would have been trying to make it work had not Roxanne found out I had been living on sour milk and stale bread for two weeks, at which point she physically dragged me to the somber hell hole that is the NYC Employment Services Department.
Across from me, a young couple stood pressed chest to chest in the crowded subway, seeming completely ignorant of the world around them. My scowl faded as the young man reached up to stroke his beloved's cheek, bringing back a rush of memories--
Charlie and I laid on our couch, snuggled up underneath a blanket watching Criminal Minds. He stared at the TV, brows furrowing in thought. "You're so cute when you're thinking," I said, and immediately he turned to me with a lazy smile.
"You know I don't like it when I can't figure these things out."
"C'mon, this isn't even a hard one. Look," I said, sitting upright and pointing to the primary suspect, who was being interrogated with little success. "They're trying to make it seem like she's the killer, because she's being difficult in giving up her alibi. But think about it; why would she want to kill her husband? They already said he was a nice guy, and she has given no indication that he was abusive or disloyal in any way. He wasn't particularly wealthy, and they haven't mentioned any sort of ulterior motive or history. More likely she was doing something she doesn't want people to know about, either something illegal or taboo, which is why she doesn't want to mention it."
About five seconds later, the woman in question on the TV screen broke, and admitted she had been having an affair and was with her lover the night her husband died. "See?"
Charlie shook his head at the screen, then turned to me. "Brilliant. You're brilliant. Have I told you that lately?" A grin spread across my face and I leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. "Yes, but please, don't ever stop." I could feel his chuckle resonate in his chest as he stroked my hair. "Don't worry Em, I never will." We kept watching, and soon enough they had narrowed it down to two suspects.
"Definitely the neighbor."
"You're definitely wrong. Absolutely the coworker."
Charlie sat up, his dirty blonde hair falling into his eyes. "How? She was literally out of town, and has the hotel reservations to prove it."
"Yes, but a quick confirmation with the hotel would tell us she never arrived. They already found her diary at home, which told us that she was infatuated with him and has a mental health disorder, but no murder weapon, probably because she was so frantic she just threw it in the bushes behind the victim's house."
"But the neighbor--"
"--is happily married and has only his annoyance and anger to drive him. Love, however one-sided, is a much stronger motivator."
Over the next five minutes, the police found the weapon in the bushes, re-interrogated the coworker, and had a confession. I looked up at Charlie with a smirk. "See?"
He pulled me up roughly and stroked a loving hand down my cheek. "I'm so glad I married you." My heart fluttered, just like it did every time I thought of that word. Married. Us, married.
"Likewise," I smiled, and he leaned down to plant a fierce kiss on my mouth. I let myself melt against him, never tiring of the feel of his soft lips against mine--
The sound of screams pulled me from my memories. A mother, carrying a screaming child against one hip and clutching the hand of another, got onto the car, earning glares from the passengers around her. "Here, take my seat," I said, standing up and gesturing to my spot.
"Thank you," she breathed, falling into my seat and pulling her children close.
"No problem. I can't imagine what it's like being a single, working mother. You must be exhausted." She glanced at me quizzically, and I pointed to her hand. "No wedding ring. Business attire. Children."
She nodded, understanding. "Very intuitive. And yes, it is tiring." Single, but not a widow. Missing that look in her eyes. More likely a recent divorce, I thought to myself. That word, intuitive, though, drove me back to my memories, and the subway car faded around me.
"I don't know how you do it. It's just so intuitive to you-- you can look at people and immediately know what's going on inside their heads," Charlie said, his arm around me.
"It's probably from four years of interrogating people for articles. Some people are pretty easy to figure out."
"No, it's gotta be natural. You knew I had my eye on you weeks before I got the courage to ask you out!"
I laughed. "You made it too easy, staring at me all the time! I could practically see hearts dancing in front of your eyes."
"I did not!"
"C'mon Charlie, who are you fooling? You fell for me the moment you saw me walk into Riley's."
We both smiled at the memory. Charlie had been working at a local coffee shop in my college town when we met, and he had been so nervous to talk to me the first time I walked through the doors that he had spilled an entire pot of coffee on the floor.
He frowned suddenly. "You changed the subject. I'm serious, Em, you could do this sort of stuff for a living!"
"I'm perfectly content with freelance journalism."
"Yeah, but what if you did that for, like, the FBI?"
At that I laughed. "What kind of FBI needs a journalist?"
"I don't know! Maybe to record cases and stuff, like do reports on stuff. You write articles about crime sometimes, right?"
"Well, yes, but that's different--"
"How so?" He cocked his head, and I sat silent. There wasn't much of a difference, I guess. "My point exactly."
"It doesn't matter anyways. I'm happy, you're happy, why mess with that balance?" I said, and Charlie simply shook his head and pulled me closer to him.
"Just be quiet and let me be right, would you? Think about it."
I snapped out of my daze right as the subway car pulled into my station. I walked briskly, shaking my head to rid myself of the memory. We may have only been married for a year, but we had been together for three. It was all I could do to push the painful memories down, if not for my sake, then at least for the sake of my friends, who lately had taken on the double role of friends and caretakers. When I had gotten the call that changed everything... well, suffice it to say I went so numb that I forgot most of what the lady said, other than 'fatal car accident.' At the morgue, I remember seeing his body--so battered from the accident that I could barely tell my soulmate lay underneath all of the bruises and dried blood--but I don't remember screaming and having to be hauled out of the building by security. Antonio said he had never seen a person so broken in his life, and even though he is a drama queen, his words stuck with me.
My walking slowed as other memories resurfaced: watching Charlie's lifeless body lower into a grave, crying hysterically in my kitchen while Roxanne attempted in vain to comfort me, weeks spent sleeping on my couch because the scent of his cologne still lingered on our sheets. After months of burying memories in a failed attempt to seem okay, I was surprised that this one, no more than a simple, domestic night in, had slipped through the cracks.
Think about it, he said. I scoffed. All I had thought about since Charlie's death was him, missing him, and what the hell I was supposed to do without him. For one thing, you can collect your unemployment funds so you can survive, I reminded myself, and I forced my feet forward.
* * * * * *
"What do you mean they told you no?"
"I mean they told me no. They said that because of the circumstances last month's check was my last."
"That's bullshit! What sort of circumstances?" Roxanne demanded.
"Freelance isn't exactly a regular, steady job, plus I stopped working 'willingly'."
"Also bullshit! Your husband died, what were you supposed to do, work through that?"
"You know I tried. It's okay, I'll figure something out. See you in an hour," I said, and hung up. I was screwed. Completely screwed. Unemployment checks were my only source of income, and any savings Charlie and I had were spent on his funeral long ago. I angrily grabbed a pint of ice cream from the grocery store freezer and walked up to the clerk, placing my basket on the counter. He eyed my basket-- a bottle of wine and ice cream-- and looked me up and down, taking in my grey sweatpants, floral t-shirt, and messy bun. I gave him a look that made him decide not to ask questions, and he quickly started ringing me up.
"$21.68, please."
I swiped my card, and the clerk frowned at his screen. "It says insufficient funds, miss."
Sighing, I grabbed the ice cream and put it back in the freezer. "How about now?"
The clerk pressed some buttons and nodded. "Seems all good, miss. Your remaining total on the card is--"
"Don't tell me. I don't even want to know," I said, grabbing my bag and leaving the store as fast as I could.
Broke. Dead broke, and this time no way out of it. I couldn't turn to Roxanne and Antonio-- of course they'd help, but I couldn't do that to them, after all they've done for me. There was my mother--
I shook the thought from my head before it even finished. She hadn't even bothered to come to Charlie's funeral; turning to her to ask for money is the last thing I would ever do.
What other choice do you have, though?, my inner voice said as I walked back down the subway stairs and onto a car headed home. I threw my head into my hands, willing my panic to disappear.
Pull yourself together, I snapped at myself, and I raised my head to look around me. The car was rather empty for 6pm; there were only about seven other passengers. I surveyed each one, focusing on people watching instead of how I was going to afford rent. When I got to the last person, across the car from me, I noticed he was already staring, and I felt my stomach turn in disgust. The only thing about the subway I didn't like? Creeps.
The creep in question wiggled his eyebrows, and I pretended not to notice, grabbing a discarded newspaper on the empty seat beside me to appear occupied. From behind the paper I watched him walk over to my side of the car and grab the pole closest to me, looking me up and down in a definitively creep-like manner. Up close, he looked even more disgusting than from across the car--fancy suit, combed back hair, and a sort of attitude that screamed 'I get what I want'.
"Mind if I take a seat?" he said, smirking at me. I looked up as if noticing him for the first time. "Yes, I do actually." He blinked, and after a moment decided to only hear the word 'yes' as he plopped down beside me. "What's your name, pretty thing?" he said, stretching an arm across the back of my seat. My skin crawled. "None of your concern."
He laughed. "That's quite a long name. How 'bout I call you honey-- or, I could call you later? What's your number," he said, more a statement than a question.
"None of your concern."
He smirked, leaning close to me even as I leaned away. "Playing hard to get. I like that. I like playing games, if you know what I mean. How about--"
"--you piss off? I couldn't agree more."
The irked, feminine voice caught both of us off guard, and in synch the creep and I looked up. A business woman I had noticed earlier across the car had come to join our conversation, and was currently staring daggers into the creep next to me. Involuntarily he drew his arm back from around my shoulders, and I felt a breath I hadn't known I had been holding escape me.
"Excuse me?"
"I said piss off. You're bothering her," she said, jerking her chin to me before drilling her deep green eyes back at the creep, who had the audacity to seem insulted.
"I'm doing nothing of the sort."
"Bullshit," I said, and he turned his incredulous gaze from the strange woman to me and back.
"Ladies, I don't see what the issue is--"
"The issue is you. Giving her unwanted attention. Which, by the way, counts as harassment, for which you can be charged and go to jail. Do I make myself clear?"
The creep suddenly smirked. "Oh, well if that's the issue, I could certainly turn my attention elsewhere," he said suggestively, his eyes racing up the woman's figure. Within a second I heard a resounding slap as the stranger slapped him across the face.
The creep held his hand to his face as he stared slack-jawed at the woman. "What the hell was that for?"
"Being a creep. Now beat it."
"I'll have you know I'm a respectable businessman, and I will press charges--"
"No, you won't," she said, digging into her own purse to pull out a business card. The man grabbed it angrily, but his anger was immediately replaced by fear as he read the name on the card and gulped. I almost laughed-- he looked about ready to wet himself.
"Leave."
At that one word, the creep quickly stood up and walked to the other side of the subway car without giving either of us another glance. I looked up at my savior, nodding to her. "Thank you."
"No problem. I have no time for creeps who bother women. May I?" she said, gesturing to the seat beside me.
"Of course."
She sat down, pulling a crossword and pen from her bag. "Long day?"
I laughed, shaking my head. "You have no idea. How could you tell?"
"You looked about ready to jump off Brooklyn Bridge when you walked in here. Had a similar look on your face earlier today, but now it's more... pronounced."
"When did you see me earlier today?"
"The subway. You got up to let a mother and her kids sit down. Very thoughtful."
I took a long look at the woman beside me. Jet black hair, a sharp nose, and piercing green eyes which, accompanied by her tailored suit, made her the absolute image of beauty and business and success. "I must really be losing my touch. I don't recognize you at all."
"I'm not surprised. Subways are very crowded, a lot to overwhelm the senses."
"No, that's not it. I'm normally more observant, I just have...had a lot on my mind lately," I managed, slightly crushing the newspaper I was still holding in my fists.
She looked from the newspaper to me. "Everything alright?"
"Not really. I lost my husband six months ago, haven't held a job since, and was just told my unemployment funds have run out, which means I can't afford rent. Or ice cream," I added, unsure of why I was sharing so much with a stranger. "I'm too emotionally unstable to go back to work, I can't turn to my family because they're either dead or dead to me, and I'm not about to ask my friends to support me after all they've done to help. I'm not one to wallow in self-pity, but I'm relatively sure I've got the worst damn lot of everyone I can think of right now."
The woman gave me a look. "I'm sure that can't be true. You could be like that guy," she said, pointing to an exhausted, dirty workman across from us.
I shook my head. "He may have a hard job, but he has a loving wife and two kids to come home to everyday. And a paycheck to pay for their food, and his drinking."
The woman blinked at me. "What about that woman?" she said, pointing to an older lady gazing out the window as the dirty brick wall raced by. "She has loved ones, and is likely expecting to meet up with them soon, which is more than I can say for myself. Also seems to be generally in good health, which I am certainly not because of the copious amount of ice cream I consume."
"How do you--"
"Every few minutes she keeps checking her phone. Doesn't seem like the type to be technologically attached, or have any other reason to need to check her phone. Plus she seems impatient, she keeps fiddling her thumbs." I paused, looking around the car. "Even the creep's got it better than me; an oblivious wife back home and a steady job, never mind how fragile their relationship is."
The woman sat quietly for a moment. "What about me?" I turned my attention back to her, meeting her gaze. "You're a businesswoman who worked hard to get to where you are. You have no time for disrespectful men because at least one hurt you in the past, though you're single now and enjoying it. You have a habit of biting your nails that you're trying to quit, but with little success," I said, watching her take in my words. "You're very kind, so you were brought up by good people, but in rough circumstances, which is why you are independent and unafraid to stand up for yourself and others. Also, again, you're employed, so definitively not at rock bottom like me."
The woman stared at me a moment, and a small smile appeared on her lips. "You've got a knack for this sort of thing, you know that?" Before I could reply, she stood up. "This is my stop. Don't get yourself down; you seem resourceful, I'm sure you'll figure this out." Without another word, she walked off the subway car, stiletto heels clicking behind her.
* * * * * *
"And then she just walked away," I finished explaining, taking a sip of my wine. Antonio and Roxanne had shown up at my door with smiles, but a quick recap of my day had us all tense. "What are you gonna do now?" Roxanne said, taking another bite of her pad thai.
"I don't know. I could try freelance again, but it'll be tough getting jobs after a six month hiatus."
"Have you thought about applying to newspapers in town?" Antonio tried.
"No use. I only have two years of field experience, and not a consistent two years at that."
He pursed his lips. "If you want, I could ask Michelle if we could hire you on for a bit, while you look around for another journalism gig."
I smiled at him. "Thank you, but I doubt Michelle would be okay with that. I think the last words she said to me were 'your presence stifles my creativity.'"
"To be fair, it was only three weeks after the funeral, and you were wearing a full gray tracksuit. I don't entirely blame her," Antonio said, swirling his drink.
Roxanne slapped his arm. "You're an asshole, you know that?"
"I prefer the term 'brutally honest'," he grinned, and I rolled my eyes. "Seriously though, Em, I can ask."
I shook my head. "It's fine. Honestly you both have been way too good to me already," I said, pointing my fingers at my friends. "I have to find my own way out of this whether I'm ready to or not."
My gaze strayed to the empty seat at my kitchen counter, where Charlie used to sit, and I quickly refocused my eyes elsewhere.
"You could put an ad in the paper? Maybe some people are looking for freelance writers, they just don't know where to find them," Roxanne said, grabbing the crumpled up newspaper from the subway off of my countertop.
Antonio wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Didn't know people still read hardcopies of that stuff. Would that even work?"
"Maybe. I usually advertise on LinkedIn or Facebook, more modern..." I mused, but my attention had strayed to a small ad in the corner of the paper. Somewhere in the background I heard Roxanne start talking again, but I was busy deciphering the smudged print.
"Help Wanted: Secretary/Journalist."
Roxanne stopped speaking, and both her and Antonio looked up at me. "What was that?"
"Help Wanted: Secretary/Journalist," I repeated, taking the paper out of her hands. "Hiring for the joint position of secretary and journalist. Duties include but are not limited to keeping records, handling correspondence, scheduling appointments, and reporting on internal cases. No prior experience necessary, but appreciated. Call number below to schedule an interview."
"What's the name of the company?"
I squinted. "Conrad and Co., a private detective agency. Address 213 W 21st St, fourth floor."
"A detective agency? I thought those only existed in books," Antonio said, taking another sip of wine. Roxanne scoffed. "Dummy. Of course they exist, although I imagine the pay isn't great. Who needs to hire detectives when you have the NYPD?"
"Might be dark work, too. Unsolved murders, death. Dark stuff. Probably not a good idea for you right now, given the circumstances, right Em?" Antonio looked up at me for confirmation, but I had stopped listening.
You've got a knack for this sort of thing, you know that? The woman from the subway's words echoed in my head, as did the odd memory of Charlie that had resurfaced earlier.
Em, you could do this sort of stuff for a living! Think about it. In that moment, I did think about it. About how, if Charlie were looking down on me from somewhere, he might smile if he saw me actually taking him seriously. I looked back at the newspaper ad, thinking over the odd coincidence of it all. A slight smile lit my face as I looked up at my two best friends. "I'm gonna need your help picking out an outfit. I've got an interview to schedule for later this week."
* * * * * *
Hello my lovely readers!
I decided with my newly out of college spare time to revamp Ace of Spades. I tried to go at this story with more of a formal 'plot'--which, good news for you, means the entire story is mapped out and ready to be written. Hoping you all enjoy reading this one as much as I am going to enjoy writing it :)
Xoxo,
Alyssa