Layers – Chapter 1 Page 1
He awoke that Saturday morning as he so often did on weekends. His head was throbbing and his hangover nasty. As he attempted to open his eyes, the light entering through the open shades to his right made it all the more difficult. Shifting his body to his left, he was able to obscure the brightness of day
Lying beside him was a young woman in her mid twenties, which would make her approximately a decade younger than himself. She was sleeping deeply, his movements not effecting her in the least. She was a beautiful sight to behold. Greg was at a complete loss as to the previous night’s events. As he rose to go to the bathroom, he told himself not to forget to look for her name in her purse or some other possible place where he could discover her identity.
After splashing some water on his face, Greg opened the medicine cabinet. How he hated the security cap on days like this. He struggled to open the plastic container of Advil, poured some unknown quantity into his mouth, and swallowed.
He proceeded to the kitchen, where he made the necessary preparations to eventually produce a hell of a strong pot of coffee. He remembered to search for the identity of the woman sleeping in his bed. There was no purse, so he located her jeans in his bedroom, took them in the hallway, and began to search the pockets.
Pay-dirt. Hidden amongst crumpled up bills of assorted currency, he found her drivers license. Paula Davidov, born November 22, 1982. Her license was nearing expiration, and the picture upon it was quite a few years old. But it came as no surprise to Greg that she was as beautiful then as she was now. With her present perfect features, there was no question in his mind that she had always been a gorgeous girl.
As he returned her jeans to their original position upon the dresser, she began to stir. She stretched her arms way up in the air, before realizing that she was exposing her breasts to the man who was observing her in the room.
“Good morning, Paula”, Greg heard himself say, congratulating himself on having the smarts to discover her name before she awoke.
“Ahhhh”, Paula groaned, as she completely hid her face and naked body beneath the covers.
“Hey, I’m not that bad. I’m going to get myself a cup of coffee. You want one?”
“Umhu”, she murmured, which Greg took as a yes.
“You want some Advil with that?”, he inquired.
She slowly peaked her face out from beneath the cover. “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you”. She spoke in a very gentle, even shy manner. Greg could not be sure whether this was the true Paula, or her reaction to the circumstances she now found herself in.
He soon returned with a tray containing two coffee cups, a glass of orange juice, and a bottle of Advil. Paula had gotten dressed in his absence, now sitting up in bed, her back resting against the pillows.
“That was quite a party”, Greg said, as he placed the tray on the bed and seated himself opposite Paula.
“Do you remember everything you did last night, Greg?”, she asked. She now spoke with a little more confidence. Greg found it a little strange that her tone suggested that they had known each other for far longer than just a solitary night.
“Not really, I’m sorry to say. I was really wasted”.
“You want me to tell you everything that happened? It’s quite embarrassing. I can spare you the details if you want. I just think you should know”.
“I’d rather you not”, Greg responded. “What happened, that’s in the past. Why should I be reminded of painful events? Life goes on”.
Greg opened the bottle of Advil and handed a couple to Paula. She put the pills in her mouth and washed them down with the glass of orange juice Greg had brought for her.
“There are a few reasons that I think you ought to know”, Paula said. “The first, and of lesser importance, is that some people are going to treat you in a, let’s see, how should I put this?” Paula cupped her mouth with her hand, searching for the most appropriate phrase. “In a manner that perhaps you’re not exactly accustomed to. And the second reason, Greg, is that you’re life is probably in danger right now. Serious danger”.
Greg did not drink alcohol during the work week. But when he drank on weekends, he more often than not blacked out. The last event of the night previous that he recalled was speaking to a group of Russian immigrants at an open bar. He remembered being nearly awe struck when he first entered the apartment in which the party was staged. It occupied the entire twenty fifth floor of an Upper East Side building in New York City. And, being by profession an elite real estate agent in Manhattan, Greg was not a man who was easily impressed by great wealth. But this sort of display was, to say the least, out of the ordinary.
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