21 Skin suit
Monday, June 19
Jenny
I wake with a start, scared I’ve been abducted or something. I don’t recognize the room but the bed is mine. Glancing around, I’m confused until I see a note on the pillow next to mine.
Raincheck?
L.
Memories flood my mind of Sukii and I unpacking. I was crying and drinking the champagne and she had to leave. Lawrence showed up. The rest is hazy.
I’m pretty sure he carried me to bed, we were going to nap.
But the bedroom is bare, or rather clean.
No boxes or clothes.
My phone is charging on my nightstand next to me. I grab it and check the time, six in the morning.
How long have I been sleeping?
What day is it?
Climbing out of bed, I realize I’m still wearing my underwear and tee shirt, but my pants are neatly folded on the armchair in the corner of the room. I have no memory of getting undressed or making the bed.
It’s all a blur.
I pull on my robe which is creepily resting on the hook on the back of the door, and stagger out into the living room, almost collapsing when I see it.
The whole apartment is put away.
There’s not a single box.
It’s like a science fiction movie.
My house looks how it should with only a few things out of place. A smell hits my nose and I turn, seeing a coffeemaker I don’t recognize but I smell the coffee.
“What the hell?” I whisper and walk to it. My stomach growls and I wonder if the magical apartment fairy left me any of that pizza I recall Lawrence bringing. There’s another note on the coffeemaker.
Sorry, this should have been your housewarming gift.
Bev has informed me that the Tiffany’s was weird.
Laughing, I open the fridge and step back, gasping. It’s full. It’s weirdly, accurately full.
With trembling fingers, I open the other door and gasp again. Even my organic coffee cream is there with my favorite yogurt, bread, milk, and butter. My jam, how the fuck?
Taking the cream out, I close the fridge and walk to the coffeemaker, opening a cupboard above it to find the mugs where I would’ve put them. My French press coffeemaker is there too, tucked away up top.
“Did I put this all away?” I ask no one as I pour a cup of coffee and walk to the living room, setting the mug down and opening the curtains I don’t recall installing.
The scenery hits me. It’s New York in the morning with the sun rising.
I walk out onto the balcony, confused by the furniture here. It’s not mine. I never had a deck before. The scene suggests I’m still dreaming. This is a dream.
But it’s perfect.
I sit and sip and listen to the sound of the city.
It’s more than perfect.
And I don’t know how he did it, but I’m pretty sure Lawrence is somehow responsible for this dream.
As much as I hate to admit it or accept his help, this is the best wakeup I’ve had in a while. Ever maybe. It reminds me of Christmas mornings before my mom died. She was one of those people who put so much effort into other people’s happiness. Overdoing to the point that Josh would complain we were getting too old to pretend so much magic existed. But somehow Lawrence Eckelston has made me believe again. Lawrence, a person I have clearly misjudged, has managed to evoke that same feeling my mother gave me.
Leaving the balcony and the view is hard, but I go inside and take a quick look around. Everything is here. My second bedroom is an office and den and someone has ensured the soap and towels are in the bathroom.
My closets are filled with linens and things that should be in storage. I’m a little worried Lawrence knows me this well after a few days.
I’m either incredibly predictable or he’s some kind of serial killer.
The thought sticks with me all the way through eating and getting ready for work. But by the time I’m walking across the foyer of the building, I’m wondering if Sukii helped him.
I wave at the new doorman and hurry out into the street.
It’s discombobulating being here but once I have my bearings, I hurry to the subway at Lexington and ride it to Grand Central. My work is right next door to the Chrysler Building.
I smile at Mark, our doorman, as I enter. “Morning, Mark.”
“Good morning, Miss Snowdon.”
“Jenny, call me Jenny,” I say for the hundredth time and click across the massive marble foyer, waving at the receptionists. “Good afternoon, ladies!”
“Good afternoon, Jenny!”
When I step into the elevator, I lean against the stone wall and try to figure out what the hell I’m doing with Lawrence. It’s a minute of contemplation before I put on my game face. Office Jenny is a whole other beast, and I’ll have to figure out Lawrence later.
When the elevator doors open, Stan is standing in front of me, disheveled and not wearing his usual three-piece suit. His face is the shade of crimson I worry about fairly consistently. He’s too old to be that red.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” He gasps. “I had hoped you would come in early, but I know, all the unpacking.” He sighs, taking a deep breath. “We have a crisis. A real one.” His eyes widen and the vein in the middle of his forehead has popped out, flexing with his heartbeat.
“It’s okay, Mr. Levisohn.” I place a soft hand on his arm. “Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” I use soothing tones.
“I know you will. You’re my girl. This is why—anyway, I need your brand of genius right now.” He wheezes another breath and turns, pulling me with him. “There was an incident last week while you were at the wedding and it’s come to a head as of last night. A complete crisis.”
“An incident?” My stomach tightens. He doesn’t
