Well Hung

by Pratt, Lulu

  At one of the said board meetings, I took my seat in the corner, out of view of the various powerful people around the table, and was happily committing myself to an hour spent looking at my phone under the table when Xavier rushed in at the last minute with a team of men and women.

  “Sorry, sorry, we got held up in traffic,” Xavier apologized. “The airport runway was crowded with jets today. Anyway, this is my assembly of authentication experts. They’re all very smart, I assure you.”

  The airport runway was crowded with jets, I mimicked in my head. Saying it aloud would be a swift and dull way to get fired.

  He continued, “Now, what were you discussing?”

  As Xavier spoke, he nabbed the seat next to me, flopping down into it with the easiness of a man who could take any seat at any table he so wished.

  God, why did he always have to be so close? If he could just sit a little further away, or across the room, or in another country… maybe then I could resist his magnetic pull. I felt angry, helpless — and so, so turned on.

  His long, elegant fingers ran across the table next to me, each knuckle curling and straightening as though he were playing the piano. Or like he was pleasuring me…

  I had to get my mind out of the gutter. This wasn’t going to get any easier, so it was up to me to be stronger.

  “How’s the meeting going?” Xavier whispered to me as Mx. Tok resumed her speech.

  “Fine. A little boring.”

  “Is it less dull, now that I’m here?”

  Yes. But I didn’t want to give him too much satisfaction.

  “That’s not necessarily a good thing,” I huffed.

  Xavier snorted under his breath at my obstinacy. “Whoa there, girl. We can still be friends.”

  We would just see about that.

  The next time Xavier came calling at Comino, I was ready. I knew far in advance that he had a meeting scheduled that day, and I prepared like a soldier going into battle. I made a half-assed go at meditating prior to the moment of reckoning. I repeated mantras to myself like ‘He is going to be engaged, he is going to be engaged.’

  And yet, when Xavier inevitably showed up, this time in a simple crew neck T-shirt, jeans and a pair of thick black boots, my breath still caught in my throat.

  “It’s archiving day, did Mx. Tok tell you?” he said with effortless cheer as he entered the office and approached my makeshift area, dropping a load of paper down on the desk. “Here, it’s all the documentation from the family archives. Paper trails, family tree, the works.”

  “Great.”

  “You need anything else? Blood, maybe a semen sample?”

  He laughed at his own joke, before remembering the impropriety of it and falling silent.

  “Anyway, I’m happy to help,” he continued, covering his last bluster. “Put me to work, chief.”

  “Well… I suppose you could help me in the document library.”

  This wasn’t, strictly speaking, true. I didn’t need his assistance. It was a simple matter of cataloging, no more than mere data entry.

  But I figured fudging the truth to spend a little more time with Xavier was no great sin, and he was an important donor to the Gallery. I mean, it’s not like we were fucking, it didn’t violate the covenant of marriage, or near marriage, or intended marriage. Men and women were allowed to be around one another without deeper implications. Even if said man and woman have recently had sex? I wondered sardonically.

  Xavier collected the papers back into his sinewy arms, and together we descended into the basement.

  The document room was little more than a few tightly packed shelves stacked to the brim with manila folders that had long since yellowed. It smelled of dust and history. Does history have a smell? I think so. A rather intoxicating smell. The overhead light flickered, perennially near burn out.

  There was hardly any space in the document room, let alone some to spare. Xavier kept as far away as he could, but even still, there wasn’t much more than a foot between us. His broad shoulders brushed against the shelves, and he was forced to turn sideways, moving closer to me, just to fit in the section. He held the folder in front of his chest as though it were a chastity charm, keeping him pure for marriage — even if that ship had already sailed.

  But while his posture might’ve implied he was trying to play good, his eyes were bad, roaming over my body every time I turned around to thumb through the family archival section. Whenever I flicked my eyes back to him, requesting some scrap of paper or another for the archive — or, if we’re being honest, to catch another glimpse of him in the shadowy light — he promptly looked away, suddenly managing to find interest in the gallery catalogs from the 1980s or some such nonsense.

  After what felt like ages packed tight into the room, but couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, a trickle of sweat dripped down my neck. I was covertly watching Xavier, and I knew he was watching me. When we’d entered the room, the odor had been almost mothball-ish. Now, everything smelled of Xavier. I breathed in deep, savoring it for as long as possible.

  “Okay, I’m all set,” I announced at last. “We can head back up.”

  Xavier waved his now-empty arms about. “I feel so much lighter. And so much dustier.”

  I laughed. “We’ll find you some hand sanitizer upsta—”

  Just as I was about to say upstairs, I tripped over one final box I’d carelessly forgotten on the ground in my haste to get out of the confined quarters and away from Xavier’s allure.

  I fell forward…

  Directly into Xavier’s arms.

  He caught me mid-air, his muscles tensing around me, his hands going to my waist.

  “Whoa there,” he murmured, steadying me upright. “Careful, Chloe.”

  Words of gratitude and embarrassment tumbled out of me. “Jesus, I can’t believe I’m so clumsy, thank you. I should’ve seen it there, I don’t know what I was—”

  His hands tightened at my waist, moving to the small of my back. His dark brown eyes held my own, not allowing me to look away. For a moment, I imagined his lips on mine, remembering how good it had felt to fuck him, how perfectly we’d fit together.

  But then he loosened his grip, brushing a fragment of paper off my shirt sleeve before shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “There now. No need to fret. Just a little trip, happens to the best of us.”

  There was no further trace of emotion, except for the slight flare of his nostrils.

  As he walked away from me and to the door, I felt my stomach go queasy, clenching in knots. Great, now on top of making me nervous, Xavier was literally making me ill.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, fine, why?”

  “You made a noise.”

  I had? “Oh. Um, I guess I’m just a bit under the weather.”

  “No way. The Chloe I know is always healthy as a horse.”

  “Maybe the Chloe you know has changed,” I shot back, stomach still rippling.

  He went quiet, then softly replied, “No. She hasn’t.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Chloe

  A FEW DAYS after Xavier had turned both my stomach and my mind, I was hard at work doing some cataloging research for Comino Gallery, biting the nubby end of a pencil and ignoring the eraser taste in my mouth.

  I caught sight of myself in one of the office’s sunburst mirrors and quickly dropped the pencil, realizing I looked like an impudent eighth grader. Well, at least my skin is clear, I thought sullenly.

  The door to our office suite was flung open, and Mx. Tok strode in, balancing on seven-inch flatforms that made her look like a McQueen alien.

  “Chloe,” she intoned in that distinctive voice.

  I immediately stood to attention, a soldier reporting for duty.

  “What can I help you with, Mx. Tok?”

  “I’d like you to restore the Girl with a Wilted Flower.”

  Damn. That was the piece with a small hole in it,
otherwise known as one of the ones that would need the most work. Was this a test?

  “If you can do this, we can talk more about your future at Comino Gallery,” she continued. “I take care of good workers.”

  My chest involuntarily puffed up. This was a huge opportunity. The approval of Tok and a position at Comino could fling open every door in the art world, straight into the likes of LACMA and Hauser & Wirth.

  “Yes, Mx. Tok,” I replied with confidence, eager to show her my skills. “I’m certain I can do it.”

  “Very well.” She arched a thin, drawn-on eyebrow. “Impress me.”

  I will, I thought.

  “You’ll begin tomorrow.”

  She exited as quickly as she’d entered, leaving me to plop back down in my seat, releasing all the muscles that wound up tight whenever she came near.

  I was going to restore a piece of artwork for Comino. My career lay before me like a shimmering mirage — trips to Paris for gala openings, weekends in Miami for Art Basel. With her support, what couldn’t I do?

  That was when I heard a familiar voice at the door.

  “Hey, Chloe, is it cool if I come in?”

  I looked up and saw, as I’d known I would, Xavier’s familiar head peering through the door, his face contorted with the question that hung mid-air, waiting for a reply.

  No sooner had I seen him than I got my answer. What I couldn’t do, even with the support of Mx. Tok and Comino, was have a relationship with Xavier.

  My heart, which had been afloat moments ago, sank into the depths of my stomach, but I managed to reply, “You don’t have to ask, Xavier. You’re like, the biggest donor here. You can go wherever you like.”

  “That’d be rude, though, wouldn’t it?” He reddened a little in his high cheeks. “And… I brought a visitor.”

  “Who?” I asked, curious.

  In the number of times Xavier had come to Comino since I’d begun, he’d dragged plenty of people along with him, but he’d never queried whether or not it was appropriate — mostly because they were his employees. Who could possibly justify such a formal request?

  He murmured, “Rebecca. I’ve brought Rebecca.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “Oh.”

  How could I say so much with so little? The “oh” ballooned between us, sucking up all the air.

  I wanted to say more, to say how could you and don’t drag her into this, but I knew she was just on the other side of the door. In spite of all my instincts, I kept composed.

  “Obviously she’s welcome,” I said with a breeziness I didn’t feel.

  Xavier’s face fell a fraction of an inch, but he soon matched my forced ease. “Right. Naturally.”

  He popped his head back out the door, and through the muffled wall, I heard him say, “Come on in, Rebecca, you can meet Chloe.”

  This felt like some kind of sick game. Why was Xavier dragging an innocent into our complicated little pas de deux? I felt a pounding guilt in the base of my skull.

  Xavier opened the door further, and there was Rebecca.

  CHAPTER 8

  Xavier

  WELL, THIS was shaping up to be a bad idea.

  In fairness, it hadn’t been my bad idea. My father had suggested I bring Rebecca to Comino and show her the new acquisitions.

  “It’ll be a way for her to become acquainted with the family’s art,” he’d proffered. “And give you two some much needed romantic time.”

  The swift transition between close friendship and romance had been hard for Rebecca and me, and by extension, our fathers, even though it had been in the works for years. It’d been determined for so long that when we came of age we would wed, but now that the moment had arrived, we were having some difficulty adjusting to the newfound relationship. My father felt certain that if we could just spend a bit more one-on-one time together, with the intention of “letting love bloom,” as he put it, the emotions would sort themselves out.

  So far, he hadn’t been proven right at all. If anything, it was the opposite.

  As a matter of fact, Rebecca was rather out of sorts. While I was trying to hang around her more, she seemed fixated on seeing me less and less. Perhaps unrelated — or possibly to the end of distancing herself from me — she’d been traveling quite a bit on her own. I would’ve been happy to go somewhere together, maybe Morocco or Paris, as a kind of romantic getaway. But she’d demurred at this suggestion, saying that I was busy with work, that she was just seeing old college friends and the like.

  I’d worried that she was keeping me at arm’s length because she was being forced into the engagement, which was the last thing in the world that I wanted. If there wasn’t mutual consent, I certainly wouldn’t force her into a marriage, or a very public proposal.

  We’d had a talk about it the previous week, in the interim between her latest trip and the next.

  Twiddling my thumbs, I’d nervously approached her, asking if we might have a chat. She agreed readily, finding herself a seat on the couch and flopping her legs on the coffee table.

  “What’s up, Xavier?” She studied my face, then laughed in that little tinkling way she had. “You look sweaty.”

  “Rebecca, tell me straight. You’re not being strong-armed into this, are you? Because nothing in the world could hurt me so much as that. A relationship takes two willing parties, not just good intentions.”

  She shook her head emphatically. “No! Of course not. I love you, Xavier.”

  As a brother, maybe, I thought to myself, but replied, “Well… if you’re certain.”

  Rebecca had laughed once more. “I am. Stop being such a worrywart, it ages you.”

  We’d hugged it out. Again, it didn’t feel romantic so much as familial, but maybe that could change as the seasons passed. The best relationships start out as friendships, right?

  And Rebecca was sweet, and moreover, smart as a whip. She would be an excellent business partner down the line. We would be a fantastic team, running our fathers’ business with clear-headedness and finesse. Maybe someday we’d make one of those Tatler round-up lists of the world’s top powerhouse couples.

  I saw a future with Rebecca, no doubt. But did I see love?

  “Xavier?” The sound of Rebecca’s voice snapped me back to the present. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  My mouth was working slowly, and I couldn’t seem to form the right syllables. The shock of seeing Chloe and Rebecca within spitting distance of one another was too much.

  “Xavier,” Rebecca whispered harshly, this time more impatient. “Introduce us, you’re being rude.”

  Rebecca was such a stickler for manners, and politeness. Despite her clear annoyance, she maintained a perfect façade of happy-go-luckiness.

  Chloe, meanwhile, did nothing to hide her anger. Besides furrowed brows and a downturned lip, her hands were gripping the legs of the table. I suspect she didn’t realize that I could see her knuckles turning white.

  I gathered myself and said, “Rebecca, this is Chloe. Chloe is—”

  “A temp here at Comino,” Chloe interrupted, rising from her chair and extending a hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  Rebecca crossed the room and shook her hand, a bright smile shining from her face.

  “How lovely! And Xavier mentioned you knew one another in college?”

  Chloe’s eyes darted to mine, silently asking, How much does she know?

  To save her any embarrassment, I rushed in to say, “Yeah, Chloe and I were friends. It’s been a few years.”

  Chloe dipped her chin in agreement, backing up my falsehood. God, now I was forcing her to lie on my behalf. This had escalated at an unexpected velocity. I should never have brought Rebecca here, I thought miserably. But then again, what was I supposed to do? Just leave my intended out of my life? There was no right answer, just pain and redistribution.

  Just as I was trying to work out how to get Rebecca far away from here, from where my past relationship with Chloe would be laid bare i
n the merest of glances, Rebecca offered the solution.

  “I’m on a tight schedule, Xavier,” she grumbled, with an edge of aggravation that was so unlike her. “It was nice to meet you, Chloe, but I have a plane to catch.”

  “Likewise,” Chloe returned. “Xavier has spoken so highly of you over the years.”

  I shot her look that said, Knock it off. If she opened her mouth much more, the truth was sure to fall out. And yet, it was hard to be mad at her when those pink lips were so perfectly pursed.

  “Has he?” Rebecca inquired half-heartedly. “How interesting.”

  “Yes, he always said what a wonderful friend you were.”

  “And that you were very beautiful,” I added for Rebecca’s benefit, hoping to yet salvage the situation.

  Chloe raised a sinister brow. “Hm. I don’t remember that. Strange, we spent so much time together, you’d think it would’ve come up.”

  “Chloe,” I hissed, minutely shaking my head to indicate that she was crossing a line.

  But Rebecca didn’t even seem to notice.

  “In any case,” Rebecca said, cutting off my next aside to Chloe, “whether or not Xavier waxed poetic about my beauty, I do really need to be off. Ta-ta, you two. Have a good time.”

  With that, she uncoiled herself from my arm, which had fallen somewhere around her upper shoulders in what I estimated to be a loving, protective gesture, and slipped out the door.

  I shut it behind her with a dull thud, waiting another moment to turn the lock.

  “Well,” I huffed, facing Chloe. “That wasn’t very professional of you.”

  “Professional?! We had sex, Xavier. And now you’re bringing around your… well, not your girlfriend, you’re clearly not in love with one another. Your pre-determined fiancée, more like. How’d you think I would react to that, like an obedient puppy? I’m a human being, I have feelings. I don’t expect — or want — to date you, but I also have no interest in hanging out as a trio, however nice she may be.”