by Shayne Ford
I unwrap the muffler and tear it away from my neck, a smile tickling my lips.
Suddenly, I begin to feel a little better, although I have no idea why.
For a moment, I no longer think about Ed or the past.
For a second, I enjoy the present without worrying about the future.
For a moment, I focus solely on the view in front of me–– the mountain rising in the distance, the road snaking through the gentle hills, and the ground covered with snow.
Out of the blue, I want to make this day special for me.
Memorable.
I quickly come up with a plan, and a few minutes later, I take a turn, enter downtown and stop in front of a grocery store.
Thirty minutes later, I leave the place with a paper bag full of fresh bread, cheese, fresh veggies, fruit, and a chocolate ganache cake. I skip the Valentine’s Day decorations but pick up a bottle of wine and also a bouquet of pink roses.
My mood gets even better by the time I walk into my apartment.
I shrug out of my clothes and take a shower before I put on my pajamas, my favorite slippers, and a robe, and get settled in the kitchen.
For the next hour or so, I cook dinner––creamy potato soup, salad, and garlic bread with melted cheese and herbs, and then I set the table for myself.
I light up a red candle that goes next to the bouquet of roses sitting in a vase on the table.
It’s early evening when I put on some music, set the food on the table, and turn on the TV, muting the sound.
The music, a mix of electric guitar and mellow saxophone, sets the right atmosphere.
Smiling, I place my phone on the table next to my plate, pour myself a glass of wine and start eating. The soup is hot. The bread is warm, moist inside while crunchy outside, the salad complementing everything perfectly.
Minutes later, I finish eating, clear the table and bring the dark chocolate cake at the table. A slice goes on my plate.
First, I pick the glazed raspberries and start munching on them before I take a mouthful of delicious creamy cake.
A quiet alert on my phone draws my gaze to the screen.
A few pictures of Liz and Chloe getting ready for the party flash across the screen.
Liz’s hair is longer than it used to be, a shade darker as well, giving her an exotic look as it sets off her smooth complexion and dark eyes.
The scarlet tone of lipstick matches her locks, highlighting her full lips while a draped, one-shoulder dress hugs her silhouette, stopping mid-thigh.
I start typing.
Me: Looking good, cuz. Sexed yourself up?
She sends back a face blowing a kiss emoji.
Chloe fashions a red body con dress, her mane of curly hair draping on her back.
Liz: Whatcha doing?
Me: Eating, drinking. Having a good time on my own.
I send the message before I lift the phone from the table, angle it and take a couple of selfies. The pictures capture my face, the slice of chocolate cake and the glass of wine.
I send them both to Liz.
Liz: Oh. Having a pajama party?
Me: Yup. And I’m loving it.
Liz: Good for you. You know where we are in case you change your mind.
Me: Okay.
I put the phone on the table and take another bite of cake when my gaze shifts casually to the TV.
The local news parade in front of my eyes. I swing my gaze back to my phone when something hits me.
Wait. What?
I shift my eyes back, doing a double take.
The anchorwoman reports live from inside the Casino, namely one of the Resort’s venues.
Beams of light sweep the floor littered with confetti and pink balloons before they trail the walls, and tables, the ceiling, and the disco balls.
It’s the club.
The woman keeps reporting, a collage of clips from a few moments earlier filling the screen. The venue is almost full, and the guests are still arriving.
Women wearing pretty dresses the color of the lollipops are all over the room–– red, pink, yellow, and orange. The footage captures the beautiful women accompanied by sharply dressed men.
The champagne pours into the glasses while the music plays, couples swirling on the dance floor.
A bad feeling grows inside me.
I tip my gaze down only for a second when a voice screams inside my head, prompting me to flick it back up just as fast.
It was a mere second, a snippet, something that slipped away like a blur, but my mind is already on it, analyzing it, questioning it.
I leap out of my chair, grab the remote from the other end of the table, press stop and rewind.
A few seconds later, I freeze the image.
Right there.
The VIP booth that’s usually occupied by the Casino owners has people sitting around the big table.
Men and women. I spot Lex Harrington. I think I see James Sexton as well. The image is a bit fuzzy. I press ‘forward’. And freeze it again. The camera zooms in, the footage a little more revealing.
Red locks.
Red locks, what? Oh, fucking no.
What is that?
Long red locks frame a familiar face, the woman’s luscious silhouette filling a sequined silver dress.
No... Oh, yes.
It’s her. The sexy dancer. The woman who dances with a rope, dangling from the ceiling, her show one of the main attractions of the resort.
My eyes slide to her right although my gut screams at me to forget about it.
Oh... A man sits next to her.
His back is turned to the camera, but I don’t need to see him to know that it’s him.
I recognize his neck, the line of his shoulders. The way he combs his fingers through his hair looking so familiar.
My knees are about to give in, my legs to fold under me.
I lean against the table and press ‘play’ my mouth agape as the images shift in front of my eyes. I watch them dumbfounded, my breath stuck in my throat.
As my eyes linger on the screen, James Sexton’s words echo in my ears.
‘Think of it this way... You are the woman that he wants. You have all the answers in you, and all you need to do is to listen to them.’
If I’m the woman that he wants, what the fuck is this?
Seemingly the man who wanted me so much is now sitting at that table at a party, on camera, in the company of the woman who not long ago was his, um... I don’t know? Some sort of dancer with benefits?
Are you kidding me?
I spring up to my feet, pushing back the table that I was leaning on, stumbling over a chair.
Tension sweeps through my body as I straighten my back and take a few steps toward the TV.
I still can’t see his face, because he’s talking to her–– I imagine, or what other reason could she possibly have to smile from ear to ear.
Suddenly, I start walking backward, my eyes on the screen although the camera is no longer focusing on their table.
Gaze pinned on the screen, I run my hand on the table, searching for my phone.
I pick it up and call Liz.
“Hey,” she shouts in her phone, a loud noise in the background.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“Can’t you tell?”
“Where is your table?”
“Um... I don’t know. Let me see. The left side of the bar. Why?”
“Can you see the VIP booths from where you are?”
“Uh... Some of them. Why?”
“Ed Preston is there.”
The noise intensifies in the background.
“What?”
“Ed. Preston. Is. There.”
“Uh-huh... Where?”
“He’s in one of the VIP booths. I just saw him on TV.”
“Let me take a look.”
The noise starts fluctuating in the background as she begins to walk around.
“I don’t see him.”
“He’s not
alone. The dancer is with him.”
“Oh, shit... Are you sure?”
“I just saw them on TV.”
“Oh, wait. Yes... Here they are. They’re all here.”
Her voice drowns in disappointment as she utters the last words.
“What do you see?”
“Uh... Well. It looks like you were right.”
My heart begins to drum erratically.
“About what?”
“There’s, um...”
Her voice trails off before she continues.
“Um... They’re celebrating, and the woman sits next to him, but I don’t know if that means anything in particular.”
My phone almost melts in my hand as I start to squeeze it.
“Okay. Thanks,” I say curtly.
“Wait.”
“I gotta go. We’ll talk later,” I say rushed.
THEA
I hang up, and dash out of the room, a chair falling in my wake.
Teeth gritting, I storm into the walk-in closet and start picking dresses from the rack. It takes me a couple of seconds to opt for the sluttiest one and a matching set of lingerie with garters and a balconette bra.
It’s not even a dress.
It’s actually a snugly fit romper with spaghetti straps, a front zipper, and a matching fabric belt, the neckline trimmed with sequins to stick with the overall theme.
I put it on and slip into a pair of knee length high heel boots.
The shorts are really short, my garters peeking from underneath, the edge of the thigh-high stockings in full view.
I glance in the mirror.
Well... I look more like the Halloween witch than the Valentine’s Day darling, but that’s beyond the point. I slip into my favorite shaggy faux fur jacket, grab a small purse, stick in all my belongings and study myself in the mirror again.
Oh. I forgot to put on my makeup.
I drop my purse on a chair and swivel back to the mirror. It takes me five minutes to paint my lips, put the eyeliner on, coat my lashes, and brush my hair.
On my way out, I grab a bottle of perfume and spritz a few drops on my wrist and neck.
I don’t know what my plan is. All I know is that I need to do something–– anything, and preferably find an explanation.
The smart thing would be to call a cab, considering the circumstances, but I don’t have the patience to wait for it, so I snatch my car keys, lock the apartment and dash down the stairs.
I mumble and curse all the way to the Casino, which is about a twenty minutes drive.
I can’t believe I bought all that bullshit.
All that talk about love and me being his woman, and him being my man. What a bunch of crap? The man I danced around the whole past week. He’s strong and deep. Sophisticated. He needs to grow into himself.
Ugh.
Are you kidding me?
How could I be so blind? And how could James say those things to me? Did he do it on purpose to confuse me even more?
Was he telling me the truth or was it just another way of saying that Ed and I were doomed?
What was it, James?
Grinding my teeth, I bite back more curses when the lights of the Casino explode at the top of the slope.
Carefully, I roll my ride toward the entrance. It takes minutes before I bring the car to a stop, step out, and hand my keys to the valet parking attendant.
The crowd swallows me as soon as I walk into the lobby.
Purse clutched in my hand, I enter the venue, make a beeline for the bar, and order a drink. Moments later, I empty the glass in a big gulp.
The bartender tosses me a worried look.
“Thirsty, huh?”
“I need another one,” I say with a voice that makes an explanation futile.
Quiet, he brings me the second drink. I empty the glass in a few seconds.
“Are you okay?” the man asks, unable to tear his gaze away from me.
“I’m perfect,” I say, palming a bill from my purse and setting it on the counter with a short flick of my hand.
“Keep the change,” I say as I spin around.
I lose my balance for a moment, but I regain it quickly, fire burning through my veins.
Oblivious to everything happening around me, I make another beeline, this time for the VIP booths when the voice of a man that can only belong to a bodyguard, rings out behind my back.
“Miss?”
I pick up the pace.
“Miss? You can’t go there.”
I rush, even more, pretending that I couldn’t hear him.
“Tom, check table twelve. A female guest is heading that way.”
His words prompt me to take an abrupt turn and sneak behind a group of people. No bodyguard will stop me from getting there.
I try a side door that gets me into one of those corridors that can take you God knows where and as I pace down the hallway I spot the door that James Sexton used to walk through the other night when I followed him to his office.
This is it. This should take me straight to their table.
I cuff the doorknob with my shaky hand and open it slowly. The inside of the venue fills my view.
Not far from me, I spot the table where Edward Preston sits. Except for Rain and Dahlia who are not there yet, everybody is seated around the table.
There are a few dancers, and one of them is Valerie Redhead. She’s glued to her seat, all curves and rings of hair, her back arched, her eyelids heavy over her eyes. Her dress sparkles while her hair shimmers, and her lips gleam in the bright light.
She looks like a walking billboard for sex.
Next to her, Ed Preston has his head turned to James Sexton. They’re talking to each other.
This has to happen fast–– before I get scooped out by a bodyguard or two, and thrown out.
Without the slightest hesitation, I take a long breath and start walking. A few people notice me before I get the chance to get close to their table.
Not far from the booth, I spot the two bodyguards talking in their headphones.
One of them must be Tom.
They pick up their pace as well. I couldn’t care less. I’m faster than them.
James Sexton lifts his gaze at the very moment I pull to a halt behind Ed Preston’s back.
The woman is at my left while Ed sits slightly at my right, James Sexton right next to him. He locks my eyes briefly before I tap Ed Preston on his shoulder.
“We need to talk,” I say, loud enough that the other people at their table interrupt their conversations.
Everybody’s looking at me.
Lex Harrington flashes a smile. I toss him a glare. He seems unfazed. So is James Sexton.
The woman shifts in her seat before Ed does.
She lifts her gaze to me, her lips looking plumper than ever as does her buxom chest.
There’s no expression on her face, only the hint of a condescending smile.
“Who is this?” she asks.
Somehow, she’s the only one who wants to know, except, perhaps, the bodyguards who are only feet away.
I expect them to grab me at any moment when I tap Ed Preston’s shoulder again.
James’ hand goes up as the bodyguards swing their arms to snatch me and drag me out.
“Wait,” James barks.
Everybody freezes, except for the woman who starts talking again, her question addressed explicitly to Ed Preston this time, who takes his sweet time to react–– when it comes to me, anyway, but not her.
She places her manicured hand on his arm while he slowly turns his head to her–– to answer her, I suppose, when with one swift motion, I lift her glass of champagne from the table and pour her drink on her lap.
Commotion ensues.
She releases a small scream, and pushes up to her feet, inadvertently snagging the tablecloth, and making her plate and glass slide down and land on the floor.
She turns to me, fuming.
“Can someone tell me who is this crazy bitch
?”
Ed Preston finally pushes up to his feet and pivots to me as well.
The moment he locks my eyes, the room begins to spin with me.
He doesn’t seem surprised, mad, let alone happy to see me. His cold eyes frost my veins.
A split second it’s all that takes before I grapple with an unexpected life review that brings back a carousel of images from the past I shared with Ed. All the moments that we spent together. His touch and kisses. His words and hugs. His soft smile and warm eyes.
They’re all gone now, replaced by a man I can physically recognize, but I can’t recollect emotionally.
Suddenly I feel as if I register a great loss, one I did not anticipate in any way.
All these past days, I kept the memory of him intact, the way I cherished it, with his eyes speaking of feelings for me.
And now, that I finally see the difference, I realize that James Sexton was right. Ed might have been the man that James referred to, but now that man is gone... And I don’t see what could bring him back.
Somewhere in the background, I hear James Sexton instructing his people to clean the mess on the floor.
“Tell her,” I bark at Ed. “Tell her who I am.”
His jaw clenches.
The woman slides her hand onto his arm, and my retina bursts into flames.
“Who is this, darling?” she singsongs.
Darling?
I shoot her a glare, my gaze gliding swiftly away from her, stopping short on the woman’s purse.
I snatch it from the table and throw it on the floor feet away from us. The bag lands upside down, all the content spilling out.
Hopefully, that will give her something to do and clue her in that she should keep her mouth shut.
“Let’s go,” Ed says, curling his hand around my arm.
I yank it out of his grip.
Ignoring me and my fit, he steps ahead of me, while I follow him like a shadow. He pushes the door open and lets it slide back almost hitting me in the face.
So much for manners.
On the corridor, he turns left instead of right away from the hotel and the office.
“Where are we going?” I ask as I recognize the path leading to the exit.
“I’m taking you home,” he says without looking at me, yet producing his cell phone.
I stop.
“No way. I’m not going home,” I blurt.
He stops, and turns around, looking menacing as he closes the gap between us and stops inches away from me.
