Assistance

There was not a single point where Annabelle ceased to amaze me. Her mind, her kindness, her beauty. But this took the Olympic gold. Thirteen minutes. That's all it took. In thirteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds she vanished. I would say without a trace but her phone and wallet remained on the bar, proving that I didn't hallucinate the entire interaction. That was no consolation though.

I haven't always been a private person. Quite the contrary, actually. I used to love to share everything with everyone. I thought people would be happy to share in my successes. My joys. I was wrong. My solitude is a learned trait. Taught. Enforced by necessity. My life hasn't always been complicated, either. Not to this extent at least. There was the typical family drama, heartbreak and so on. It was from those growing pains I learned the importance of privacy. Not everyone wants to know about your life because they care. Not everyone wants to see you succeed for your benefit. This was a whole different ball game.

As frustrating as it was, I couldn't be angry about any of this. Well I could, but that would make me a real fucking asshole. Blowing off my actual daughter to have sex with a woman pretending to be my "little girl" is one step above dog shit. Hell, to call myself dog shit would be a great disservice to dog shit. Oh, and that woman is my much younger assistant. There would not be enough acid baths in the world to cleanse me from that level of disgust if I had felt so much a tinge of anger.

I should have told Annabelle while we were at the aquarium. It would have been a sensible place to ease her in slowly -- not fling her into the deep end. I could have broached the subject at the lunchette. Or in the car. Or any number of ways I could have avoided something like this happening.

I could have broken it into two parts. Two steps. It would have still been shocking but at least digestible. Step one, tell her that I have progeny. Lay the foundation for step two -- the circumstances of my daughter's conception. That nightmare would have to be a conversation all its own but I would have at least made my life somewhat easier. But why, oh why, would I ever do that?

Instead, I was shy. No. Not shy. Stubborn. Too focused on my own anxiety to see the reality: that this woman cares for me. Would she be shocked? Probably. Annabelle had to know that I was hiding something and accepted, perhaps begrudgingly, that it was none of her business. Up until recently, at least. Now she had every right to know what was going on. But, at minimum, she suspected something.

The reality, though, was that under different circumstances, the likelihood of her running and screaming when she found out the truth was minimal. Annabelle's sweet. Genuine. She wants to please me and do everything in her power to make me happy. That alone was an unfamiliar sensation. But no matter how hard I pushed to figure out what she was trying to manipulate out of me, it never came to fruition. That is because she had no intention of manipulating me. I spent the time figuring out all the ways this could fuck me. And where did my actions lead? To things fucking me. Me fucking myself -- and her running away.

I'm convinced the elevator crawled to our floor out of spite. There is no way anything could move as slow as that elevator did. It had to be on purpose. The gods cruel retribution for my ego. I was a moment away from saying, "Fuck this," and taking 42 flights of stairs. At that point I had enough adrenaline to scale down the side of the building. Thankfully the elevator arrived before I could attempt my best Spider-Man impersonation.

The journey to the lobby was excruciating. If the elevator was slow coming up, it was even slower going down. I shot out of the elevator like a cannonball as soon as the doors opened, barrelling towards those lobby doors. What would I do after I got through those doors? I hadn't the slightest idea. But I just had to get through those doors.

"Mr. Sheffield," a voice called out, bringing me to a halt.

Cheryl approached me at a hastened pace.

"How are your accommodations? Anything... missing?"

I could have hugged Cheryl at that moment. I knew it was more than sentimentality that kept me returning.

"Ah, yes. By any chance, have you seen the young lady I arrived with tonight?"

"I have. She left the premises around fifteen minutes ago. Would you like me to ask the bell captain which direction she went?"

"That would be incredible. Thank you, Cheryl."

She nodded. I followed behind her in earnest. We approached a man in his 30s. His beard was close shaven and hair neatly trimmed. He was speaking to, what appeared to be, a young bellhop.

"Shawn," Cheryl said once we were in earshot. The man perked up. He said something to the bell hop and approached us.

"Yes, Mrs. Finnegan?"

"Shawn, I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Lawrence Sheffield. Mr. Sheffield is a dear friend of the hotel."

Shawn shook my hand and introduced himself. I had a feeling there was a code embedded into the conversation.

"The young woman who accompanied Mr. Sheffield here tonight went for a walk and forgot her phone," she motioned to the phone and wallet in my hands. If, when I found Annabelle, she did truly want to disappear, I wanted to make sure I did nothing to hold her back.

Cheryl continued,

"Mr. Sheffield would like to know if you happened to have seen which direction she went. Mr. Sheffield, do you have a photo?"

Did I have a photo? Hundreds. Most of which where Annabelle is completely unaware her photo was being taken; moments where she was focused and beautiful or silly and goofy. Moments I walked by just to try to grab a quick picture for later. To remind myself she is real. That she exists. But I couldn't very well say that. So instead I replied,

"It would be no use -- you wouldn't have been able to see her face. She would have her hood up, trying her best not to be noticed."

I closed my eyes tight to conjure her image. I need to describe exactly what she was wearing. She was wearing the clothes we had bought earlier that day. The clothes she tried on and blushed when she asked my opinion. I gave her reassurance and agency before she made her decision. Although, in truth, I was pleased with her choices. She looked adorable in her casual wear. Seeing her in those clothes, hanging on my arm, made me feel a sense of forgotten normalcy.

"She was wearing a black hoodie with pink elbow patches. It had a tie dye skull with a flower crown that said, 'Freedom Awaits.' She had on black jeans and Converse."

Without so much as a moment of thought, Shawn replied,

"Yes, sir, I saw her make a left outside of the doors. Would you like me to speak to my team and see if there is any more information?"

Cheryl responded for me,

"Yes, please. Thank you, Shawn."

He smiled and about faced. As he turned, I called out,

"Shawn, question -- why did you notice her?"

He smiled.

"Part of the job, Mr. Sheffield."

I turned to Cheryl. I became aware of the type of person it took for her to get to this level. I always appreciated the cosmic satisfaction of the parallel career growth, but this provided a fresh perspective.

"I will call you when I have an update," Cheryl reassured me,

"Is the number on file a good way to reach you?"

"Uh, yeah that works."

I reached into my pocket to take it off "Do Not Disturb" mode. I quadrupled checked the ringer volume. Did I have a louder ringtone? Whatever -- it takes too long to check.

"Thak you, Cheryl. I'm going to go and,"

"Go," she nodded me on,

"And Lawrence -- good luck."

I had been coming to this hotel for more than 20 years and not once can I recall a time she called me by my first name. I took it to mean approval. It also meant that Annabelle didn't leave the hotel an emotional wreck. If that had been the case, I doubt any number of years of patronage would cause Cheryl to point me in the direction of a distressed, young woman.

I walked out the door, out in the real world, with all of its dangers. I turned left and just kept going. If I was Annabelle, where would I go? Where would I turn?

I reckoned she was aware she was without her phone and wallet. So I imagined she would take a path easy to retrace. I marched forward.

As panicked as I was, I could not fault Annabelle. It was a shitty situation. If I was in her position, literally and figuratively, my heart would have shattered. Here she was being completely vulnerable for me. Sitting on the floor for me. Willing to surrender to me, submit herself to me. And I up and leave for a mysterious phone call from a familiar ringtone I refuse to talk about. Great work, Lawrence.

I would say the experience was indescribable but that would be incorrect. I've witnessed this feeling before. I had never felt it, but I knew of it. Suddenly I was a little kid again. I was on the floor of my grandparents house. It's Sunday night and "The Wonderful World of Disney" is on TV. Lady and the Tramp plays on the screen. I remember the moment Tramp realizes Lady is no longer following behind him. That, because of his actions, she had been snatched by the dog catcher. I remember how it made me feel: the nerves and fear of an unhappy ending. I had limited life experience and no knowledge of the marketing appeal of a guaranteed happy ending.

What if he never sees her again? What if she gets hurt? Would he blame himself? Was it all his fault? I had no way of knowing what would happen.

Now, here I am, wondering the same thing. Only this time it's my fate I'm wondering about and not a pair of animated dogs.

Then my phone rings. A call. I fumbled trying to get to my phone. My extremities felt like concrete, in spite of the temperate weather. It was the hotel.

"What's wrong?" I blurted out in panic. Not my most dignified moment but hopefully it was Cheryl on the other end of the line. Or better yet, Annabelle.

Cheryl responded,

"Mr. Sheffield, Cheryl from The Regency. Would you like the good news, the better news, or best news?"

My heart stopped. I never imagined I'd ever hear those words in the order, let alone directed to me.

"What's the catch?"

Thankfully, Cheryl laughed.

"No catch, Mr. Sheffield. I spoke with Annabelle, she is safe."

I audibly exhaled. I leaned on a wall, afraid gravity would take me out.

"She is at a bar, I am sending you the address via text message to meet her and..."

Dramatic pause. Don't leave me hanging at door number three, Cheryl. My heart is delicate.

"It's a gay bar."

Oh thank fuck. Not out of any jealousy -- but because I knew this minimized the chances of pervy guys trying to pull something on her.

"Cheryl, thank you."

"My pleasure, Mr. Sheffield. Good luck."

The phone call ended. I checked my messages and saw the address. Two blocks away. Annabelle may surprise me but it was reassuring that I at least had the capacity to understand her methodology.

The walk to the bar was solemn. I had no idea how to approach this. I had never been in this situation before. From my best recollection from an animated film I saw in childhood, Lady promptly, and rightly, chewed out Tramp for his behavior. Oh boy.

The music was pounding from the bar. Well, if there's as good a place as any to have an insanely sensitive and private conversation, it would be a very loud bar. There was a group of leather clad men outside in a smokers circle. Their conversation became hushed as I approached.

"Are you Lawrence?" a man older than me with a grey beard and leather outfit asked me.

"I-I am," I replied. Him being able to guess who I am is probably not a good thing.

"My name is Daryl, I met your..." he paused, unsure of what to call Annabelle in relation to me. That made two of us. He redirected,

"I met Annabelle. She's inside sitting at the bar waiting for you."

I started to walk through the door. He stopped me.

"Before you go in there though, I should tell you that she's had a tough night. She came up to me asking for a cigarette and directions back to The Regency. Something told me to keep an eye on her so my partner and I trailed her for a bit. A group of drunken assholes tried to mess with her."

Before the blood could flood my face with rage, Daryl continued,

"I didn't have to do anything. That girl got that guy on the ground and had them scampering away."

Atta girl. I always knew she was scrappy but that's just impressive.

"After I saw what happened, we called out to her and asked if she was ok. She asked to use my phone to call the hotel. I asked her if she wanted us to walk back to the hotel but she said she'd rather call and have you meet her here."

"She figured you'd be out looking for her," a young twinky boy added. He clung on to Daryl's arm, peaking out at me.

"This is my boyfriend, Jason."

Jason stuck out his hand and gave me a light shake. Jason giggled,

"Say, Annabelle is right -- you are a handsome fox."

Was I blushing? At least I can figure that Annabelle most likely wouldn't be complimenting a person she hates.

"Down boy," Daryl teased, causing Jason to cackle.

"You wanna go in and see her?" Daryl asked.

"Yeah. I do."

Daryl stomped out his cigarette and escorted me inside.

The floor vibrated from the music as we walked in. There were flashing lights, a packed dance floor. A drag queen with hair tall enough to reach God was DJing. I looked towards the bar and there she was. Even small and hunched over in the corner, I could see her from a mile away. The empty seat next to her was reserved by her sweatshirt.

I approached tenderly, as if I could startle her. Annabelle looked over at me. I saw the flash of a meek smile. I slid onto the stool.

"I thought nobody puts baby in the corner."

She smiled. Good sign.

"Baby put herself in the corner."

I chuckled. This caused her to chuckle. More good signs.

We fell silent. Where would I begin? I can't ask her what happened -- she would feel like she's in trouble. I can't explain the phone call off the bat, that would be a punch to the head. Silence was the best option. Annabelle would tell me what's ok.

After a few moments of contemplation, Annabelle stuttered,

"I -- I ran."

"I noticed."

"I, uhm, I'm sorry I did that."

"Thank you. You don't need to apologize, but I do appreciate that you have."

She nodded. I reached into my pocket and retrieved her phone and wallet. I placed them on the bar.

"You left these at the hotel."

"I noticed."

"I figured."

Another shared chuckle. All good things.

"I wanted to make sure you had them," I continued,

"So that way you would be free to leave if that is what you desire. I will transfer some money to your account to pay for transportation and then some. I will make sure that you are more than adequately taken care of."

There was a heavy pause. Not a good sign.

"That's the thing," she finally started, "That's not what I want."

Describing it as a wave of relief would be an understatement. A ripe tide of relief wouldn't do it justice. I could feel my heart ascending from my ass back into its upright position in my chest.

"I regret running. It was impulsive and stupid and selfish. It was...immature. I got scared and I didn't know how to tell you that so I ran."

"Why were you scared?"

"I was getting what I wanted."

She fiddled with her ring in-between her fingers. It was the ring she always wore on her right hand. I assumed it was a promise ring of some kind until she vaguely mentioned being single once.

"I know it's weird but I just couldn't believe good things were happening because when good things happen that means they can be taken away and then you got that phone call and..."

She trailed off and said, just above a whisper,

"It felt like you were being taken away from me."

Fuck. There has been a louder silent room than the bar that night. The elephant was in the room. It had to be addressed.

"Would you like to know about the phone call?"

She hesitated before nodding. Annabelle knew there was no going back once she heard whatever it is I was about to say. I figured grand overtures would make it worse. Time to rip off that band-aide.

"My daughter called me. She hasn't been feeling well and she had another bad dream."

I was met with silence. I had suspected as much. She took a sip of her soda. At least she was calm. Or maybe numb.

"What's her name?"

"Selene."

"How old is she?"

"Six."

"Where is she?"

"At my mother's house in Virginia. That's where she lives. My mother and stepfather have full custody."

"Where's her mother?"

"Not in the picture."

Annabelle cut me a look. That answer wasn't good enough.

"She is an in-patient at a psychiatric hospital."

Annabelle loosened up a bit. I didn't know what to make of it yet.

"If you would like to hear more details I will tell you everything. I must warn you, though, it is intense and...not pleasant."

Annabelle nodded. I braced myself to tell a story I hadn't uttered in almost seven years.

"We were dating, briefly. She wanted to have children. I did not. To be honest, I didn't see the relationship going far but I wanted to give it a fair shake. She was nice enough and, well, I guess it felt better than being alone."

I looked at Annabelle. Her gaze had softened. I have never been exposed like this before. I went from being the iron curtain to a burst of emotional honesty. I had never admitted before that I felt lonely more often than not. That, for a person whose isolation had become a trademark, I longed for companionship. Now, I was telling all of it to her.

"One night, we were at her apartment. She made us drinks. Next thing I remember, she was on top of me and it was,"

I paused. I owed it to Annabelle to be as transparent as possible. She's deserved all the clarity in the world. We locked eyes. I sensed she knew what I was going to say but I knew I needed to say it -- for the both of us.

"I was finished."

I did a wellness check to see how she was handling it. There were tears in her eyes. I don't think she every I imagined any of this.

"I'm so sorry," Annabelle murmured.

I waved her off. Her apologies were not needed. I had made my peace with what happened to me.

"Thank you. I'm not telling you this for your sympathy. I would just like you to understand the circumstances I -- I wanted to protect you from."

She nodded. How could one person be so understanding?

"She had a psychotic break when she was eight months pregnant. She mentioned being treated for bipolar and I guess the pregnancy triggered it. I didn't contest paternity. Even if she had done that to a million guys, I know I have the resources to make sure the child is taken care of."

I paused. How far did I want to go with this? Might as well go all in and introduce a bit of my family drama.

"It was also good for my mother. My mother had to work through some issues when I was a young child, and my father wasn't in the picture. I was mostly raised by my grandparents until I was around nine. She regretted missing those years so this was a nice second attempt for her. Besides, I think she always actually wanted a girl anyway."

I chuckled to let Annabelle know that I was OK -- truly. Everything was ok.

"I believe you can understand why I keep all of that information as private as possible."

She nodded. I didn't expect a response. It was a lot to process. We sat next to each other for a few minutes, the music pulsing through us.

"May I ask you a question?" I asked. I wanted to give her room to say no. But she nodded.

"Was that the only reason you ran away?"

She shook her head no. She continued to fidget with her ring, passing it between her fingers.

"I was afraid that maybe I was just," she struggled to find words,