Dressing Mr. Dalton

by Charlotte Byrd

  But to get to bed, you have to walk through 3,000 square feet of house, and the transition is a little bit less fluid.

  I look up at him.

  His eyes are twinkling again, and he’s smiling his crooked smile at me.

  “You’re a good kisser,” I say.

  “So are you.”

  I nod.

  He leans closer to me again.

  He was never more than a step away, but now we’re breathing the same air again.

  This time, I make the move.

  I want to shut the whole world out again.

  I reach up to him and run my fingers over his smooth lips.

  His breathing speeds up, catching me off guard.

  I thought he’d be such a natural at this (getting girls into bed), but he looks nervous. Is that really him or is it just my imagination?

  I run my fingers over his lips from one side to another.

  I pull his lower lip down, feeling the soft, moist flesh on the inside.

  I look up at him.

  His eyes meet mine and we each dare each other to look away first.

  I find a new source of courage, coming like a secret spring from somewhere deep inside of me.

  Unlike our first kiss, the passion of this moment is like a smoldering coal, glowing in the aftermath of a fire.

  Hot, but quiet.

  I run my fingers over the outline of his face.

  I push back the loose strands of hair that keep falling into his eyes. His hair is soft and welcoming to my touch.

  I linger around his ear and slowly make my way to his earlobe.

  Then it hits me.

  Touch is an amazing sense.

  The sensation is completely different, depending on how hard I touch. Pressing too hard makes me feel the underlying strength of the thing that I’m pressing against, but touching something slowly and deliberately, produces a whole new sensation.

  The kind that sends goose bumps up my arms.

  I must’ve known this all along, but this is the first time I’m consciously experiencing it.

  I run my fingers along his neck.

  I’m sure that he shaved not long ago, but a few stubborn hairs are already making a resurgence.

  “You feel nice,” I say.

  He opens his eyes and meets mine.

  “I can’t stand your teasing anymore,” he says and presses his lips onto mine again.

  I’m swept away by his passion.

  I kiss him back, burying my hands in his hair.

  I feel his fingers running up and down my back.

  He squeezes my shoulders over and over again.

  He pushes me against the pantry door again, and it makes a noise as our bodies slam into it over and over.

  My knees start to buckle.

  I feel myself going limp and slowly slide down to the floor.

  He follows me.

  Suddenly, we’re both on our knees.

  A moment later, I’m lying on the floor and he’s on top of me.

  We’re moving as one.

  We’re dancing to the same silent rhythm.

  Then, something feels off.

  I’m not sure where it comes from, but suddenly, I feel queasy. Perhaps, it’s from the surge of adrenaline that rushes through my body.

  “Um, Finn,” I say, pushing him away from me.

  He sits up.

  “I feel sick,” I manage to say.

  And then I throw up.

  All over his tile floor.

  26

  Chloe

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say and then barf again.

  Finn recoils away from me, but I can’t stop.

  I’m actually projectile vomiting.

  Everything within my stomach is going in all directions, all over the tile floor and splattering the kitchen island.

  Finally, I stop.

  I heave a couple more times, but nothing comes out.

  I wipe my mouth.

  I look up at Finn, but my eyes can’t meet his.

  I have never been so embarrassed in my whole life.

  “Are you okay?” Finn asks, as if it’s no big deal.

  Then he grabs a pair of yellow cleaning gloves and pulls them onto his hands.

  “Oh, no, no, no. I’m going to do this. I’m so, so sorry.” I try to get up, but I feel unsteady.

  Like I’m going to fall down at any moment.

  But I cannot, under any circumstances, let Finn Dalton clean up my vomit.

  “It’s really no big deal,” he says with a shrug.

  Despite how woozy I feel, I take the rag and bucket out of his hand.

  “Please. Let me do this,” I say slowly. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  He smiles and gives in.

  “You might as well put these on then, I guess.”

  He hands me the yellow rubber gloves.

  I put them on and get to work.

  I work slowly, but deliberately.

  More slowly than deliberately because I don’t really have the strength to move any faster.

  My head is pounding like crazy, and my ears are buzzing.

  Finn sits down at the kitchen table, watching me.

  It takes me three trips to the kitchen sink to soak up almost all of the vomit into the rag and to squeeze it out into the bucket.

  When I turn to Finn and ask silently where I should dump the contents of the bucket, he points me to the bathroom right behind me.

  I dump the bucket into the toilet, flush it, and then look at myself in the mirror.

  What a mess!

  My hair is a complete disaster, sticking out in all directions.

  My eye makeup is a fright.

  To say I have raccoon eyes would be a big understatement.

  I’m wearing about a pound, thanks to Lila and all of her contouring and twelve layers of eyeshadow.

  So, I don’t dare wash it with water.

  Instead, I simply rub underneath my eyes with my finger to get rid of the smudge. I then look down at my dress.

  Unfortunately, this is not something I can do much about. Nevertheless, I try.

  The majority of the vomit has settled unpleasantly around my bosom and my stomach area.

  I peel off the dried bits and rub the rest with water.

  The stains grow bigger, and I worry that I’m making it worse.

  “Are you okay in there?” Finn asks.

  “Fine,” I say automatically.

  I feel him waiting through the door.

  “Actually, I can’t get any of this off my dress.”

  “I’ll get you a change of clothes to wear. We can take it to the dry cleaners tomorrow.”

  We? I fixate on that word for a little too long.

  Finn knocks on the door.

  “I have the clothes for you,” he says.

  I open the door.

  He smiles at me again.

  There’s a mischievous quality to it.

  “I’m so, so sorry,” I say, looking down at my dress. “This is such a disaster.”

  “No worries. Here, put these on.”

  I take the stack and close the door behind me.

  Quickly, but carefully, I get out of my disgusting dress.

  Only an hour ago, it was the most beautiful thing that I’ve ever worn, and now, it looks like it has been through war, as if it’s being held hostage.

  I pick up the shirt and press it against my body. It’s a simple white t-shirt, but it’s a bit long and big.

  This isn’t a girls’ shirt that Finn has laying around for his dates to change into (Lila told me that some guys do that).

  No, this is actually his shirt.

  I take a moment to inhale his aroma.

  It smells like lavender and his special musk.

  I then pull on the pair of sweats, which are also too big for me, and come outside.

  Finn’s head is buried in his phone.

  For a second, he doesn’t notice me.

  “Thank you for the clothes,
” I say.

  “Sure, of course.”

  “I’m not really sure what to say. Except that I’m horribly embarrassed by this whole thing. I don’t even know how this happened. I didn’t think I drank so much.”

  “Did you eat anything?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Well, that’s it then.”

  Finn’s eyes twinkle with understanding.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Most guys would be really grossed out by what just happened. But you… you didn’t seem to be.”

  He shrugs.

  “No, seriously. I’d like to know.”

  “Seriously? It’s not a big deal to me.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I have a lot of experience with bodily fluids.”

  I stare at him.

  What could that possibly mean?

  He stands up, takes my disgusting dress out of my hands, and folds it into a plastic bag.

  “My dry cleaner will get this out for you,” he says and walks over to the teapot on the counter. “I’m going to make some tea. Would you like some?”

  I nod.

  Neither of us speaks for a moment.

  I wait for him to explain, but no explanation comes.

  Just as I’m about to give up, he brings over the cups of tea and sits across from me.

  “I’ve seen much worse than what just happened. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. When I was fifteen, my aunt got sick with brain cancer. She didn’t have insurance, and my mom started working overtime to try to help her with the bills. She moved in with us, and I took care of her. We couldn’t afford hospice care or a nurse or anything like that.”

  Finn astonishes me.

  He speaks of this whole thing in the same plain and matter-of-fact voice that he would if I were to ask him about doing construction on his house.

  I’m pretty certain that most people would complain more about doing construction than he just did about taking care of his aunt.

  “How long was she sick?” I ask.

  27

  Chloe

  “Two years. My mom was hardly around. She couldn’t do anything for herself in her last few months of life. It was so sad to see. But the experience taught me a lot about being humble and grateful for all of life’s opportunities.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “It was during those two years that I really decided to become an actor. It made me so happy to pretend to be someone else for just an hour or a day. It felt like this huge burden was lifted off me. It’s a little hard to explain, but acting was my escape.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.”

  “And it may make me sound like a horrible person, but after she died, the first feeling that I felt was relief. I was relieved that my beautiful, vibrant aunt was no longer suffering. That she was at peace. Finally. She deserved so much more out of life. But that’s the thing about life; it never promises to be fair. And you never know what kind of hand you’ll be dealt.”

  “It seems like you’ve been seizing the day with your life, though.”

  “Yeah, I try. But I’ve also been incredibly lucky. Some of those early parts I got, I should’ve never gotten them. I was horrible. And those directors are really the ones who deserve the credit for getting those performances out of me.”

  “Maybe it’s karma.”

  “Karma?”

  “You took care of your aunt, selflessly. When most fifteen-year-old boys wouldn’t. Or couldn’t. And maybe all the luck you have had in your career is karma. You’re getting rewarded for all the good that you’ve done.”

  “Maybe.” Finn smiles.

  “I’m not a religious person, Finn, but maybe your aunt is looking down at you and sending you some good vibes. Or maybe she’s just watching over you.”

  Finn shrugs and takes a deep breath.

  “I’m not a religious person, either. But that would be nice.”

  We sit together for awhile in silence, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence like the ones we’ve shared before.

  No, this one is quite different.

  I feel like I understand something about him, and suddenly, it’s okay to just be together and not say a word.

  “So, tell me something about you,” Finn says. “Something personal.”

  I look up at him. My mind wanders.

  “I’ve never thrown up in a movie star’s Hollywood Hills home before,” I say. “So this whole thing is a bit new.”

  “Well, I should hope not. This would be an odd habit. And most movie stars are quite queasy. I’m not sure that they would let you get away with it as easily as I did.”

  I laugh.

  “I have never felt like my parents supported me,” I say after a moment.

  I have never vocalized these thoughts out loud before.

  Not even to my old, long-term boyfriends.

  But something about Finn makes me feel safe.

  Comfortable.

  Unafraid.

  “What do you mean?”

  “My older sister wanted to be an actress forever, and they always went to all of her high school plays. And they were really happy when she said that she’d be moving to LA and that she was going to major in acting in college. But they were never like that with me. I’ve loved fashion for a long time, but because I didn’t have a clear idea of what it was that I could do with fashion, or how I could make a living, they always thought of it as a hobby. It’s largely because of them that I majored in economics in college and got a job on Wall Street after I graduated. I was trying to please them. I was trying to show them how successful I could be.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “It didn’t work out. I hated the job, and I quit after a year and moved back home. I was really lost after that. I couldn’t figure out what to do with my life. And it was then that Lila invited me to move in with her out here and pursue fashion. Or wardrobe and costume design, really.”

  “I’m really sorry that they treated you like that.”

  “Well, they weren’t horrible parents. I don’t want to give you that impression. I just don’t really understand why they acted so differently to my dream than they did to Lila’s.”

  “That’s the thing about parents. We grow up, and we hold all of these grudges against them. But the reason we do that is that we expect them to know what they’re doing. But the plain fact is that they don’t.”

  “You don’t think parents know what they’re doing?” I ask with a smile.

  “No. Of course not.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because before they become parents, they’re just people. I don’t want to say that all parents try their best because that’s not true. But almost all of them are simply lost. They’re going through life just like the rest of us, without a clue as to what’s really going on.”

  “I guess that’s a good way to think about it,” I say. “Do you ever want to be a parent?”

  “I don’t know. You?”

  “I don’t know either. Most women my age are dreaming of having kids, but I’m not there. And honestly, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be.”

  “I sort of feel the same.”

  I take a sip of my tea and run the gist of the conversation back in my head.

  Did we really just talk about being parents?

  Wow.

  Yes, we did.

  “Well, I guess I should get home,” I say, finishing the rest of my tea. “It’s getting late. And I’m sure you want me out of your hair. I’ll just call a cab.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t have to.”

  “Oh, I can’t ask you to drive me home. Seriously, it’s not a big deal.”

  I pick up my phone and start to search for a cab company to call. Finn puts his hand on my hand.

  “Chloe,” he says quietly. The tone of his voice sends shivers down my back. I look up at him.

  “What if I asked you to stay? Would you stay?”

/>   I shrug.

  “I don’t know,” I say slowly.

  “Okay, I shouldn’t have made it a hypothetical. Chloe, I want you to stay. Will you stay?”

  I hesitate. I want to. Of course, I do. But I don’t know if staying means sex. I don’t know if I’m ready for that. Right now. I was before the incident, but now, everything’s different.

  But Finn clears up all of my apprehensions. “No pressure about anything. I can even sleep in one of the guest rooms if you want.”

  “Why do you want me to stay?” I ask.

  “Because I like you.”

  28

  Finn

  I wanted to fuck Chloe the first time I saw her. Even as I was yelling at her for spilling orange juice all over me. She isn’t my type, of course. Not at all. A little too short, and not as thin as the usual girls that I date. Not at all like Ariel. Not at all like any of the Victoria’s Secret models whom I’ve dated. And yet, every second that I spend with her, I want her even more. I watch her climb into my bed, with the faintest hope that something might still happen tonight. She’s wearing my sweats, and it takes all of my willpower not to go over there and try to peel them off her. But the mood is different now. We’re no longer making out on my kitchen floor. She just threw up all over my kitchen, and she needs rest.

  “You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” she says as I grab a pillow from the bed. The couch is across from the bed, against the far left wall of my bedroom. I don’t need much convincing. I jump into bed.

  “Wow, that was fast.”

  “Hey, that couch isn’t as comfortable as it looks.”

  “It doesn’t look that comfortable,” Chloe says.

  I dim the lights. Chloe closes her eyes almost immediately. I look at her beautiful face and the way her hair cascades down my pillow. This has definitely been an unusual night. The only real regret I have is that I didn’t tell the truth. I should’ve just come out and said that I was her date. Not pretended to be some white knight sweeping in and saving her from being stood up. No, I’m an asshole for doing that. The only thing to do now is to just hope that she never finds out.

  The following morning, Chloe is already up when I wake up. I wander into the kitchen, where she’s sitting at the kitchen table, with the phone up to her ear. I wander over to the tea pot and fire it up.