A Room With A View

Chapter Forty-Six - Brian

November 18, Saturday

The cab rattled to a halt outside the Watley. Madeline hadn't stopped gushing about Sir Anthony Spier the entire drive. It had been worth the price of admission to see her excitement.

Brian paid the cab driver, and followed Madeline out into the breezy evening. She was still wearing his jacket. It looked good on her.

Theodore was there to open the glass door for them as they entered the Watley. None of the other residents were out and about, so the lobby was vacant. Their footsteps echoed against the marble floor.

Brian slowed to a stop in the center of the lobby. He could feel a hot flush working its way up his neck.

"Would you like to come upstairs?" Brian asked. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He felt cold and clammy, waiting on bated breath for Madeline's answer.

He hoped she wouldn't take his question the wrong way. He didn't mean to take her to bed, he just wanted to spend more time with her, to feel her near.

It was still a fairy tale for Brian, and every time he and Madeline parted ways, Brian was certain he would wake up the following morning and the spell would be broken. He would crawl out of bed, only to look across the courtyard and see that Madeline wasn't there. Or worse, that she was there, but with someone else.

Too much time had passed. Brian began to sweat along his hairline. He clenched and unclenched his fist.

Madeline was staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes. She parted her lips. "Okay," she breathed.

Brian exhaled shakily. He swallowed and gently led her toward his tower's elevator. Neither of them were touching, but Brian could feel the electrical charge between them. It felt as if something had shifted, like a plane he didn't know he'd crossed.

They stood silently side by side in the elevator. Soft Stravinsky filtered through the speakers. Brian opened his mouth to comment, but thought better of it. Phineas's taste in music did not need to be a vocalized part of this moment.

The elevator stopped at the twelfth floor. Brian held his arm against the doors and let Madeline out first.

"I'm just this way," he murmured, turning toward his apartment. He didn't feel like raising his voice above a whisper.

Madeline followed mutely, her eyes still wide and unsure.

Brian's hand was shaking as he struggled to fit his key in the lock. It took him three tries before the teeth finally bit into the inner mechanism and the deadbolt slid free.

"Here I am," Brian said. He opened the door. Madeline stepped over the threshold and trod lightly into the center of the room. She made a slow circle, and stopped, facing the window.

Brian watched her take in his apartment. It was strange to see it from her point of view. It was spartan and unfeeling in a way he hadn't noticed before. The new rust-colored wall behind his couch was the lone spot of color, making it look garish, rather than interesting.

Thankfully, he had made his bed that morning, so at least if Madeline peeped her head around the room divider he would appear neat and organized.

"It's so strange to see it from this perspective," Madeline said.

Brian balked at her, thinking she'd read his thoughts, before realizing that she was referring to seeing her own apartment through his window.

"It's like looking at a photograph of my life." Madeline crept closer to the window. She brushed her fingers against Brian's typewriter.