Asylum

Chapter 34: A Black Mamba

Thursday afternoon

I flipped through the "costumes" in my closet dispiritedly. I really had nothing new to wow my loyal Asylum customers (inmates?) with. Ivan had contrived to keep me at his side almost every second since we'd left Emilio's boat, determined to be there for me if I had another meltdown like the one in our cabin bathroom. I kept assuring him that I was okay, and that nothing had changed between us, but he was clearly consumed with guilt and kept swearing that he would never allow anything bad to happen to me. Last night when I returned to work at the bar, he had checked on me repeatedly from his lookout in the owner's box, and Marshall had maintained line of sight on me every minute that Ivan had spent in the office.

A selfish part of me didn't mind: I had loved every moment being with him. Somehow, even everyday activities were better with him around – reading a book (I finished A Frozen Heart on the plane, much to everyone's surprise, including my own, but I had to know if Freja and Nohr lived happily ever after – of course, they did), cooking dinner, listening to my language app, even brushing my teeth with the toothbrush he'd bought for me infused me with happiness.

But the rest of me knew that we needed to move on from the horrors we'd witnessed on El Dragón Marino, and quickly, or Ivan's self-condemnation and overprotectiveness would start to impact our relationship. It was up to me to change the conversation, and I thought I had just the thing, if I could convince Marshall to help.

That little plan, plus my need for a new cocktail-shaking outfit, led to my insistence that I had to go back to my flat today. I hadn't been here since Saturday afternoon, leaving for work on Wednesday night straight from the loft, since Ivan had somehow managed to keep me distracted until it was too late to head back to East Harlem to change; I blushed a little thinking of the delightful forms that distraction had taken. Fortunately I had stashed a couple of my temporary tattoo sets in his bathroom in case the ones I was wearing were ever damaged and had to be redone while I was with him. Ivan had dropped me off a couple of blocks away from Asylum and watched me walk in, careful that the staff wouldn't see us arrive together.

I sighed. Wednesday's shift had been a minor letdown – I was becoming known among both the staff and some regulars for my theme outfits and tied-in specialty cocktails, so seeing me in a black tank and skinny jeans with my hair in a low pony had stumped everyone. Stefano had asked if I'd had a rough weekend, Glory had correctly speculated that I'd gotten ready at someone else's house and pressed me for naughty details about "Mr Right Now," and even a couple of bar patrons had expressed confusion and disappointment with my ensemble. I had bought them each a drink and told them to come back tomorrow, when I promised I'd have something new.

Only tomorrow was now, and I hadn't had time to plan a thing. Though I'd convinced Ivan that I would be fine for the couple of hours we would be apart while I took a taxi uptown, tearing myself away for even that long was like pulling teeth for both of us.

I let out another long breath and my frantic hands stalled in the crammed closet. I no longer had the remotest idea of what I doing. The job at Asylum was not my real job, but I was expending a ridiculous amount of thought and creativity and energy on it. This thing with Ivan couldn't possibly continue, should never have begun in the first place – I was a fucking cop and he was the money launderer I was supposed to be keeping tabs on, I reminded myself – but ending things with him now would be like performing seppuku on myself. Just the thought of being without him made my abdomen cramp in anguish.

I pushed those panic-inducing thoughts out of my mind and concentrated on my wardrobe choices, but came up blank. Fuck. I would have to make time for some shopping tomorrow; it was serious work to pull off the equivalent of a Halloween costume four days a week.

Halloween. I closed the closet and hopped over to my dresser to rummage through my sweats. There at the bottom was the yellow track suit with black side stripes I'd worn for a Halloween party last year. I hated yellow, but desperate times ... tonight I would be The Bride.

I quickly threw on a plain black sports bra and the track suit and checked my reflection in the mirror hanging on the bathroom door. The good news was I didn't have to do anything special with my hair and makeup, but this ensemble was light years away from what I'd envisioned wearing later tonight at the loft. I'd just have to squeeze in a costume change. In a flash of inspired desperation, I grabbed a short black lacy negligee to stuff into my backpack. That would get his attention.

I checked my watch. The time saved in front of the bathroom mirror meant I could ride the bus instead of taking another taxi and still make it in plenty of time for my shift. And I would have a two whole bus rides to figure out what I would put in a Black Mamba.

I threw on my coat – the night was surprisingly going to be warm enough not to require a scarf and gloves – and grabbed my backpack and cello case as I headed out the door.