I Know What You’re Going to Say by Carolyn R. Russell

I know what you’re going to say. I should have known better. I should have been smarter. But I didn’t, and I wasn’t.

It was a book launch on the Upper East Side that brought me out that night, away from the coziness of the boiler room I rented in Brooklyn and called my apartment. It was hot in the winter and reasonably cool in the summer, and on occasion I had fit as many as seven people into it. It wasn’t the smallest place I’d been in since I’d moved here.

The launch was for my friend Liv. We worked together at the lowest level of a rabid but sadly popular magazine; our beat was a thin online version that nobody read. Liv and I were close in that way that similarly minded people sometimes are, cheering each other on sincerely, but keeping a close eye on each other’s progress. It helped that she was a writer and I was an artist, working with lino and gel prints; we each had our own bailiwick. But I can’t say I wasn’t a bit rankled that evening. Liv’s book was a kids’ thing, 500 words and 32 pages. It was simply written and illustrated by a grad school friend of hers. It had been picked up by HarperCollins.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re not wrong. I maybe had a bit too much to drink at the party, enough that when the event ended and shifted to Liv’s agent’s apartment in the Village, I got into the limo.

I had met this agent several times before; when I grew up, I wanted a life like hers. Her name was Natalie Chase, and she lived with her husband and a couple of kids in a seven-room compartment of a brownstone that had been in his family for generations. It was all real oriental carpets and original artwork and space, space, space.

Have you ever lucid dreamed? That thing where you’re in a dream but you know it, and you can alter its elements in a hazy semi-conscious way? That’s how I felt when we got to Natalie’s. Instead of joining the group in the living room, I found myself wandering around, touching things. The polished oak paneling was butter beneath my fingertips, the silken lampshades dimpling as they met my knuckles.

When I felt a hand at my elbow, I knew it would be Liv. I was having a terrific time, I assured her. Liv’s eyes were wet and half-closed by then, like they couldn’t bear the light. We walked arm in arm to where the group was preparing a final toast. As the fluted glasses were raised, I put my arm around Liv’s waist. She put her head against my shoulder and smiled up at me.

I know this sounds terrible, but of the two of us I was the most sober. So, after we made the rounds, hugging and thanking everyone, I made the Uber call while Liv got our jackets. They said it was going to take a while because it was so late. Ten minutes or so later we were on the sidewalk, swaying slightly in our spring dresses, waiting for a white sedan and a guy named Steve. When the car pulled over, I helped Liv into the back seat. I had left my purse behind; I handed Liv my jacket and told her that I’d be back in a minute.

Can you imagine it? Running up the stone steps, going back to Natalie’s, explaining, finding my bag, and racing back down again to find the street empty and quiet?

She made a call that night. The police won’t say to whom, only that it lasted a few seconds. Uber says that their records indicate a no-show at Natalie’s address on the evening in question.

People were wonderful to me during the first few months of Liv’s disappearance. Natalie and her family were amazing; they took me in while I went through the worst of it. I’m actually still there; the kids and I became very attached to each other and I’ve sort of become their nanny/de facto auntie. Natalie has put me in touch with some of her contacts, and my prints are beginning to receive some notice.

I know, right? Everything happens for a reason.

# # #

Carolyn R. Russell is the author of “The Films of Joel and Ethan Coen,” published by McFarland & Company in 2001. Most recently, her humorous YA mystery, “Same As It Never Was,” was released by Big Table in August of 2018. Other works include essays and stories for the Boston Globe, Wanderlust Journal, and Medusa’s Laugh. She holds an M.A. in Film Studies from Chapman University, and has taught on the college, high school, and middle school levels. Carolyn lives north of Boston with her husband and two children. Read more here: www.carolynrrussell.com

Photo: Barrett Baker

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