AWAKE Chapter One

 

November 20, 1999

 

Could you maybe help me get him to my car?

 

1

 

Blair didn't go to the theater for a night of opera, but to kidnap Sophia Stewart. At the last minute, she bought a ticket and followed cues around the old, gilded theater to her seat in the topmost balcony. The seating sloped straight down, in hopes of giving each ticket holder the best seat in the house, though Blair's spot in the nosebleeds barely made the trip upstairs worth taking, if her goal had been to see anything on stage.

 

The house lights dimmed and rose again, signaling everyone to take their seats.

 

Sophia had already taken her spot, smoothed her dress and glanced around with shining, eager eyes. Her hair hung over her shoulders in loose brown waves, pinned over one ear with a peacock feather. The seat beside her was empty.

 

She's waiting for a date. Two for one if he's good looking.

 

Despite the suits and pearls and floral ensembles around her, Blair hadn't dressed for a fancy night out. She hadn't been to an opera or symphony in so long she didn't realize dressing up was still a big deal at these things. A blue button-down shirt, dark jeans, and a ponytail were all Blair could muster on her rush to get to the theater.

 

Everyone's sure to remember Sophia's purple sequined dress, even if they don't remember me.

 

"Need help finding your seat?" An elderly usher smiled at her. "Show me your ticket."

 

Blair handed him the stub she'd mangled in her sweaty palm. The usher eyeballed it through reading glasses, checked the numbers on the seats beside him, and let out a surprised noise. "This is your row," he said. "If it was a snake, it woulda bit ya."

 

Blair smiled dutifully.

 

The empty seat next to Sophia belonged to Blair. She hadn't expected to get near her object short of following her; now she'd have to spend the next two hours trying not to engage in small talk.

 

If she'd had time to plan — any time at all — she would have done something better than grabbing her supplies and rushing to the venue to buy a ticket at the window. The fact was, she'd fantasized about kidnapping Sophia since they'd met at Blair's brother's last office party, but fantasy didn't translate to a workable plan. It would be easy enough to lure her away from a group at the theater. I'm new here; how do you get to xyz? New York was painfully easy that way.

 

Her intelligence about Sophia Stewart that evening came from her brother David, who'd said Sophia was trying to get out of mandatory overtime to see a show. With the way this chick was acting, she'd lose her job and Blair might never find her again. Her career depended on her bagging Sophia.

 

"Do me a favor," David had said, calling in the middle of a tv dinner. Blair had paused work on a painting to gather inspiration from the latest hair-pulling reality show.

 

"What?"

 

"Your girl crush, Sophia Stewart is awol."

 

Sophia wasn't a crush — not exactly — but she didn't dare divulge to her brother what she really wanted with his employee.

 

"What the hell do you want me to do about it?"

 

"She went to a show. It isn't a secret."

 

Blair's interest piqued. She hadn't been able to figure out a way to get to Sophia out of the office — away from her brother.

 

"I need you to deliver a message for me."

 

"God dammit, David, what are you? The fucking mafia?" She tossed the plastic dish on the cluttered coffee table. "Send a message," she mocked. But while David was still talking, Blair interrupted, "Where's this show? It'll be impossible to locate one person in a New York City auditorium, but what the hell?"

 

He gave her the address, whatever horse-shit message he wanted to leave his employee, and Blair bolted for the theater.

 

***

 

The lights dimmed again, blanketing the red velvet and mass of humanity in inky darkness.

 

Blair squeezed and sorry'd and sat beside Sophia. The fuzzy upholstery caused her shirt to crawl up. Her knees bumped the seat in front.

 

"Sorry," Blair whispered.

 

Sophia turned to her with a toothy, 'like me' grin. Residual light from the tracks in the aisles glinted off her eyes and teeth. "It's so small!"

 

Eye contact. A curt nod.

 

Sophia Stewart was beautiful, except for tonight's hideous sequined spectacle, which was the point. She's gonna bring in a ton of money.

 

Don't stare, for Christ's sake. Nothing's gonna make her run like a good creepy leer.

 

If she managed to get a quiet moment with Sophia in the ladies room, it could be lights out with the chloroform. My friend's had one too many, she'd say. One too many of what? This isn't a bar, for crying out loud. What a stupid fucking idea. There'd be a massive struggle, and then I'd carry her out over my shoulder? And there's no such thing as a quiet minute in the bathroom in a place like this. It'll be like a fucking zoo in there. 

 

Ask for directions afterward. It's vanilla, but it'll work.

 

Blair might never get a chance to use her "archaic and dangerous" chloroform again. For fuck's sake. What happened to everyone's sense of artistic expression? It had been so perfect with Don, but she'd caught him alone at his home, and she'd been too angry with him to imagine the consequences. 

 

The bathroom will have a line a mile long.

 

Music flared in the orchestra pit. Sophia flashed another smile Blair's way, applauding.

 

***

 

At intermission, Sophia's hand clamped Blair's arm. She leaned forward with her other hand on her heart.

 

"Did you see that last performer?" she asked.

 

Blair kept her eyes on the hand. No manicure, but smooth skin. Nails weren't bitten. No calluses.

 

"Josh Gray," Sophia continued, her voice garbled in the stew of voices. "Have you heard of him?"

 

"Who?"

 

Sophia pointed at the stage. "The last performer." She clasped her hands in her lap. "I love him so much. Do you know how many times I've listened to his cd?"

 

Blair did not know. She wanted to scoot past and leave. Rethink. She'd known Don didn't have family or many close friends. The only thing Blair knew about Sophia was that she was cute and she sucked at her job.

 

Don't say another word to her. Wait till she's walking to her car or the subway. That's the time.

 

Sophia's eyes glistened and her voice trembled through a smile that wouldn't quit. "I can't believe I saw him in person. Heard," she corrected. "Can't really see anything from here."

 

I can't do this. 

 

Blair stood.

 

"Oh." Sophia's face fell as she smooshed against the folded seat to let Blair pass.

 

People trickled back into the auditorium at first, then came in torrents at the end of intermission. Blair pushed through to the ladies room and closed herself in a stall, where she sat for an hour and a half.

 

***

 

"Is that stall broken?" someone asked, among the next flood of people who'd come to the ladies room after the show.

 

"Someone's in there," another said. "I recognize those shoes from intermission. It's ridiculous for someone to hold up a stall with this many people out here."

 

Blair sighed. Those women made sure she heard them. Their shoes were nearly under the door. Instead of holding position until they left, Blair flushed the unused toilet and threw open the door. Two middle-aged women in pastel pant suits and enough perfume to give Blair an instant headache stared at her, clutching what they probably called "pocketbooks."

 

"Fuck you," Blair said, leaning toward them. "I have diarrhea." She swiped one of them on the face, who cowered back, and left without washing her hands.

 

2

 

The lobby sprawled in length and height. Bucolic murals interrupted marble and gold walls. Half-ton crystal chandeliers hung delicately from the ceiling. Fresh coffee and cocktail sausages wafted their beckoning fingers throughout, and beneath it all, Sophia's purple sequined dress twinkled in the swirling crowd.

 

"Shit," Blair whispered. The odds of Sophia remembering her as the audience member who never returned were staggering. As the only damage control she could muster, Blair pulled out her ponytail, undid some buttons on her shirt, and rolled up her sleeves. Master of disguise: no.

 

With most of the relocated audience focusing on buffet tables around the room's perimeter, an idea cooked. While she'd resigned herself to following Sophia out of the theater and taking her devious plan to the street — a place all number of crimes were committed every day — the circulating glasses of champagne gave her a brilliant thought. 

 

Blair edged to a corner and dug through her purse.

 

Come on. One. I just need one.

 

Credit cards. Keys. Nokia. Receipt.

 

She pulled out a travel tube of aspirin. Inside, a single pill rolled along the bottom, which she dumped into her hand.

Roche scored on one side. Rohypnol.

 

Now, where the hell is she? 

 

Near tables of finger foods, Sophia made her appearance.

 

The pill Blair held looked innocent enough for the speech-slurring-blackout-inducing-hammer-to-the-face it really was. Her dealer assured her the substance dissolved clear. She struggled to close her purse with the pill in her clammy fist.

 

Blair pushed through the crowd to where Sophia put her glass on the table to pick apart the sweets buffet. A coating of powder stuck to Blair's hand as she let the sweaty pill drop into the fizzy drink and brought Sophia's glass to her lips.

 

Whoops! Her expression told those around her as she replaced the glass on the table in front of Sophia. Wrong glass!

 

Sophia picked up her champagne, oblivious.

 

I'm her friend; she has an allergy. 

 

Blair eased against the wall, her heart hammering. 

 

All I've got to do now is wait. Next step: collect.

 

3

 

After ten minutes, the bitch was still on her feet swirling the champagne without drinking it. Blair contemplated her previous plan again, when a man wearing all black — a musician, probably, floods of them now — approached the table, attracting Sophia's attention in the process. His champagne glass went next to hers; her face flushed bright red. Though their words were lost in the din, their body language hinted at recognition, commonality, attraction. He accidentally picked up the spiked drink and downed the whole thing.

 

"Fuck," Blair whispered.

 

For a few minutes, nothing happened. More flirting. Blair grabbed a glass from the nearest waiter and made a pretense of mingling.

 

Sophia laughed, put her hand on the guy's arm. His eyes turned to curvy slits as the drug worked through his system, and burst out with a guffaw that overtook the room. Several cautious glances from those nearby caused Sophia and the musician to cover their mouths in amused embarrassment. The guy pulled his tie, made a motion to take his jacket off, only to pull it tighter. Sophia gestured toward her dress and shimmied; he cocked an eyebrow and threw open the top few buttons of his shirt before stumbling against the wall and sliding to his butt. They giggled again.

 

Blair rolled her eyes and finished her drink. After leaving the empty glass on the nearest table, she pushed toward the exit.

 

"Somebody!"

 

The voice rose in panic above the conversations.

 

"Somebody help!"

 

That's my plan working on the wrong person. Bravo.

 

But after one more shuffle toward the door, Blair stopped. 

 

Two for one? 

 

If she got them out of the theater without much fuss, it wouldn't be too late until…

 

Yes.

 

She hurried back, pushing people out of the way.

 

Sophia knelt over the man's prone body, rubbing his back, trying to coax words from him.

 

"What happened?" Blair asked.

 

Other guests kept their distance. One glanced at Blair and said, "One too many."

 

Sophia's eyes widened in recognition. "Hey!"

 

"What's going on here? Did he drink too much?" Blair's heart pounded as she struggled to construct a new plan. 

 

Pieces of broken glass and champagne drops speckled the waxed floor, weaving a sweet, alcohol smell in the area.

 

Sophia's hand was bleeding. Blair grabbed her hand to inspect the damage. 

 

Shit.

 

Sophia pulled away. "Oh jeez. I didn't even notice. I'm more worried about Josh. We were talking and then he passed out."

 

"Well, he's been drinking," Blair said. 

 

The singer's eyes were closed, but remnants of laughter played on his lips.

 

"You know him or something?" Sophia asked.

 

"He's my stupid brother," Blair said, quickly fabricating a lie. "He plays classy music and shit, but doesn't have a handle on his alcohol intake. You know what I'm saying?"

 

Sophia picked a piece of glass from his curls.

 

Blair leaned toward Sophia and lowered her voice. "Could you maybe help me get him to my car?"