Let It Roll

by Sophie Kent

  Liz’s dazzling red lips turned into a hard line. “He has dual degrees in art history and fashion design. He reads W, Cosmo and Vogue...and he’s gay, for God’s sake. He’s more a woman than either of us!”

  Susan gulped, turned away from Liz, and slowly started driving down the lane again. “I’m sure I’ll love anything he picks for me.”

  ###

  Lance was waiting for Liz and Susan at Liz’s apartment. He ushered Susan back to the bathroom and ordered her to shower, immediately. When she emerged from the bathroom, he had reinforcements. A woman with tiny hands and perfect olive skin started on her fingernails. A tall man with a goatee and long black hair tied back in a ponytail trimmed her dead ends off with quick precision, blew her hair dry and started straight ironing it into submission. And a pretty blond boy, no more than twenty years old, started in on Susan’s face, brushes light as feathers as he magically erased the two zits she’d been cultivating on her two-week hiatus.

  Lance and the three beauty artisans stripped Susan from her robe, clad her in some of her sexy underwear, then pulled out a garment bag. “You are going to love this!” Lance announced as he ripped down the zipper.

  ###

  Liz sat in her living room, watching a hockey game on ESPN. She didn’t care who won, she just wanted to see some violence, and her favorite violence wouldn’t be on for another hour and a half. Ultimate Cage Fighting where men in tight shorts start off kickboxing, and end up grappling and beating each other to a pulp. It was better than gay porn--same positions, just none of the silly camera angles or bad dialogue.

  Liz noticed the door to her bedroom was opening, and she leaned to look around her big screen TV. There stood Susan, looking truly stunning in a sky-blue strapless silk sheath, knee length, that hugged her body like the proverbial glove.

  She also seemed to be glowing, her face radiant and natural-looking, her blond hair swept back from her face, flowing down her back.

  “You look like a goddess.” Liz got up and walked around her friend with appraising eyes.

  “I feel like Miss America.”

  “Oh, please. You look way better than one of those bleach-blond hussies. Your blond is natural.”

  Susan giggled.

  “Just one last touch,” Liz said, stepping over to the couch and grabbing her purse.

  “Well, I don’t think anything else is going to fit in here,” Susan said as she ran her hand down the side of her dress.

  Both women froze and looked at each other, each looking like they had bad tastes in their mouths.

  “If you start quoting Pretty Woman, so help me I’ll just lock you in my bathroom and forget the whole thing. I’d rather see you shackled to my toilet than have you start regurgitating lines from that movie again. How many guys freshman year heard, ‘Just in case I forget...’--dramatic pause--‘I had a really nice time.’” She shuddered. “Vomit!”

  Susan rolled her eyes. “Just hope you didn’t get me some overpriced necklace, or you’ll be Richard Gear.”

  “Nope, no necklace. But what does any young woman need when she’s going off to a ball?”

  “Sensible shoes.” Susan looked down at the three-inch Gucci mules she had on her feet. “They’re gorgeous, but I’ll be hobbled by morning.”

  “Oh please! By morning you’ll be in a soft cushy bed with your feet up in the air. You probably won’t have to stand for a week if I know Kevin.”

  Susan’s face blushed a bright red. She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand.

  “Back to the subject at hand. What a girl needs most when going to a ball is...” Liz held out a fancy gilt lettered envelope. “An invitation.”

  Susan smiled as she took the envelope. Her name was printed in golden type. “It looks like an invitation to a royal wedding. You have a side business in counterfeiting?”

  “Nope. I just called up old Francesca and asked for you to be put on the guest list.”

  Susan’s jaw dropped. “Francesca actually invited me?”

  Liz scoffed. “The woman is practically a criminal mastermind. She knows Kevin will be leaving if you don’t come and claim him, and she wants him to stay and keep working for her.”

  Susan hugged herself. “Do you really think he’ll stay for me?”

  “Honey, that man would swim the freaking Atlantic Ocean to get to you.” Liz paused and smiled wickedly. “Hell, he’d probably take a swim through my vagina to get to you.”

  ###

  Kevin stood on the balcony looking out over all of downtown Chicago. He could see where his opera house would be constructed. He could see the immense tower of steel and glass where Costa Consortium was officed. And he could see the neighborhood where Susan’s apartment building was. Thankfully, he couldn’t make out in the evening light which building was hers.

  He set down his untouched glass of champagne. He’d only been holding it to look festive. He was only there, truly, to support Francesca and the project. He knew she wanted to show him off. He hadn’t realized she would be telling everyone who would listen that it had been his design, and solely his. He’d thought she would take some credit. But she just kept introducing him as “the designer of the new Chicago Metropolitan Opera House.”

  He’d never faked a smile for so long. His face felt ready to fall off. He loosened his bow tie a bit, probably ruining the effect of Francesca’s perfect tie job. Oh, well. He’d dressed up in the monkey suit for her benefit. She couldn’t begrudge him messing it up a little.

  His hands gripped the railing of the balcony as his mind flashed back to having Susan in his arms, naked against him, pressing herself hard against his chest. Her breath had been so hot and fast. For a moment he’d almost stopped, worried he was hurting her, but then she’d taken his nipple into her mouth and had bitten, just hard enough to send him over the edge.

  And like having a page ripped out of a book, the memory was gone, fluttering off, lost into the wind and night. How many people on balconies, or on the street, had such memories rush through their heads, just to have them torn away in an instant. The street, the sky, they must be littered with them.

  Kevin couldn’t wait for the party to be over. The instant it was, he’d hop in a cab with his already packed luggage and head off to the airport. Anywhere would be better than here. Anywhere where he’d never been with Susan, which gave him all destinations in the world except three: Dartmouth College, Cancun, and Chicago.

  The world would be his oyster, or some shit like that.

  And maybe, somewhere along the way, he’d stop thinking about her? Right?

  Ri-ight .

  Okay, lessening his own pain wasn’t quite cutting it when it came to reasons to leave. But what was enough reason was that Susan could not be in the same city with him. She’d been MIA for two whole weeks. Even Liz couldn’t find her. Not that he’d believed her that first week. No, she’d been lying about sending out the hounds and checking under ever stone. But after that first week, Liz’s voice had changed, he wasn’t just calling her, she was calling him, asking questions, checking to see if Susan had contacted him.

  She’d mentioned phoning Susan’s mother.

  He’d known right then that Liz was desperate to find Susan.

  Maybe she’d find her. Maybe she’d talk her into coming back to town. Now that he would be gone she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable, or embarrassed, or whatever it was she’d been feeling. Whatever feeling she’d been having that drove her out of the city, from her home and work and friends.

  Maybe he’d ditch the rest of the party, head for the airport early. .

  His hand went reflexively to the breast pocket of his tuxedo. He didn’t remember actually putting it there, yet there it was--the ring, in its satin covered little box. How utterly pathetic.

  “How long am I gonna carry you around?” he said to the box. He gripped the velvet tight in his fingers and looked out onto the city. One good throw and he’d never find it, never have to hold it or look at it again. It would never
burden his pockets again.

  “Don’t throw it away.” Francesca strolled onto the balcony and stood beside him, her fierce blue eyes practically glowing in the moonlight. They even outsparkled her beaded gown.

  Kevin was tempted to palm the ring and slip it back in his pocket, but Francesca wouldn’t be fooled.

  “I keep trying to leave it behind, in my hotel room, but I can’t let it go.”

  She took the box from his hand and opened it. The diamond ring flashed and sparkled. She closed it and pressed it back into his palm. “It’s hard to part with something so beautiful.” She stepped around and looked up into Kevin’s eyes. “It’s even harder to give up something we love.”

  “Francesca--”

  “I’m just telling you not to be too hasty. Things change.”

  “Yeah, and not always for the best.” If Asshole Mark had just been a man and married Susan, none of this would’ve happened!

  Francesca reached up and patted his cheek with her silky hand; her smile would’ve melted anyone’s heart. “But it can change for the better too. Don’t forget that.” She turned and started gliding away in a practiced sweeping movement, sexy and elegant all at once. She turned back and shot him with a knowing look. “And don’t even think of leaving before the party’s over. I have a little something special planned, and you’ll ruin it for me if you aren’t there.”

  Kevin stood there, stunned. She was good. How’d she know he was thinking about leaving early...and man, did she have a master’s degree in guilt or what?

  ###

  In her haste to get into the building Susan slipped getting out of the car, turning her ankle. Damn heels! She staggered for a few feet before she regained her footing. Her ankle hurt, but she still needed to get to the party. The doorman was young and pretty, and not only held the door but asked if she was all right.

  He’d seen her slip.

  “I’m fine, thank you. Where to for the Costa Gala?”

  “Just take any of the elevators to the top floor, ma’am.” He tilted his hat and looked like John Wayne. He didn’t really. But he made her think of John Wayne. And she thought of The Quiet Man, and then of Kevin dragging her across that beach six months ago. How warm and strong his hand had been.

  Susan gulped and teetered on her heels as she maneuvered herself toward the bank of elevators. The doors to all the elevators were polished to a gleaming mirror-like shine. She caught sight of her reflection and thought again that Lance had done well by her, very well. She couldn’t remember a single day in her life she’d looked prettier, or more stylish.

  Except she had this expression on her face. What was it? Desperation? Hunger? Need?

  She shook all the thoughts from her head when the doors to the closest elevator opened to the tintinnabulation of a fictitious bell. She entered the mirror lined box, hit the button for the top floor and waited for the doors to close.

  And then it hit her: she was going to have to tell Kevin she loved him.

  Sounded easy, but just thinking about saying it to him make her mouth as dry as the Sahara, and her knees start to shake. No, her knees were just tired because of the turned ankle, and the long ass drive back to the city, and the nature hike she’d gone on right before Liz had shown up. And the cotton mouth was just because she was dehydrated, nothing more.

  I love you .

  It didn’t sound right in her head. Sure, she could hear herself saying it, her voice wrapping itself around it, could even feel it on the tip of her tongue, taste it like candy, roll it around, sizing it up, weighing it, frantically calculating how it would come out.

  I love you.

  No, that was too short, too blunt. She needed more. She couldn’t just throw that at him without some kind of wind up.

  Kevin , I love you.

  Yeah, that’s so much better.

  “I know I’ve been--insane?” she whispered under her breath. “Crazed? Acting like a cat in heat? But it’s just because I’m...I’m so...sooo...”

  Okay, more words weren’t going to help. Susan took a deep breath. She’d just walk right up to him and kiss him. Kiss him hard, say everything she couldn’t say with her lips and tongue, with…well, her lips and tongue.

  She slapped herself in the forehead just as the doors of the elevator slid open. A waiter with a silver tray of champagne flutes stood there and offered her a glass. She smiled gratefully and scooped one up and downed it, throwing it back like a shot, chugging it in three long gulps. She closed her eyes as the cold sparkling alcohol washed over her parched tongue and slid down her dry throat. She opened her eyes, ignoring the startled look on the waiter’s face as she set the empty glass back on the tray, and took another glass.

  “Liquid courage?” The warm, silky voice of Francesca Costa slipped through the air and made Susan’s heart stop cold. “I think you’ve tried that before--not a good idea.” She took the glass from Susan’s hand and placed it back on the tray. “But I’m so glad to see you could make it. I was about to send a search party out for you.”

  “For me?” Why the hell does she care? Oh, right. She doesn’t want to lose her new top architect.

  “Yes, my dear. The whole reason for this party is because of you.”

  Susan chuckled. “And celebrating your company’s win of the opera house project has nothing at all to do with it?”

  Francesca smiled the slyest, most vicious of smiles, and slipped her silky arm into Susan’s, locking them together at the elbow. Arm in arm, like old friends, Francesca guided her away from the front of the great room and into the din and crush of the other guests.

  “Guilty,” she said. “I do love to throw parties when my company wins a big account. But just between you and me, I haven’t had near as many occasions to do so since you showed up in town.”

  “Sorry,” Susan said, yet clearly not.

  “I’m sure you’re not.” Observant. “But I could’ve shown Kevin and his marvelous design off just as well at a swanky cocktail party in my own home.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you rented out this joint just so you wouldn’t have to invite me into your home? Because I’ve already been to your place.”

  “And I choose to remember only the sober times.”

  Susan felt a flush of embarrassment burn at her face.

  “But that’s hardly the reason I was getting at. I needed to set the stage...for you.”

  Susan stopped and turned to face Francesca head on. “Set the stage for what? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Temper, temper. No need to make a scene.” Francesca was deceptively strong, turning, and pulling Susan effortlessly back into step with her. “I was only trying to tell you that I wanted to make it as easy as possible for you to win Kevin back.”

  Susan stopped again. This time she just stood there, all her strength leaving her. Her heart might have even stopped. She certainly had stopped breathing. It was worse than she’d thought. Not only would she have to say she loved him, but she’d have to win him back.

  “I’m not going to be able to do it,” she said to no one in particular.

  Francesca jerked her head in Susan’s direction, boring her icy blue eyes into hers. “Of course you can do it! He’s yours, all you have to do is claim him.”

  Claim him she says. Like he’s waiting for her in lost and found.

  Susan stared into Francesca’s gleaming eyes. “I love him, I really do, but I don’t know if I can handle him being...” And she just stopped talking. She still couldn’t get her head wrapped around the idea that he was a better architect than she was. It was all she’d had left, all that remained of her dreams, of her identity. She was going to be the best architect. And now her best friend would be. And he would be her lover too.

  How could she stand it, absorb it into herself and not go insane?

  “What can’t you handle?”

  Susan shook her head. She’d forgotten Francesca was even there.

  “That Kevin’s a better architect than me
.” There, she’d said it. She should be having that wonderful, uplifting, weight-off-her-shoulders sensation any moment. Yet all she felt like was a jealous, whiny bitch.

  Francesca threw her head back and began laughing in a cruel, demented rapture. Again, she was a dead ringer for Michele Pfeiffer as Catwoman.

  Finally, Susan had to glare at Francesca. “It’s not funny.” Her voice was tight and low, like a growl.

  Francesca held a manicured hand to her nonexistent belly. “You’re right, it’s not funny, it’s hysterical.” She sighed and took a few deep breaths. Everyone in the room was staring. “Come with me, I have something to show you.” She took Susan by the arm. Susan pulled away from her, but Francesca grabbed her again. “Believe me, you need to see this.”

  As Francesca drew Susan further into the party Susan felt more and more as if she were hiking up some steep mountain trail, and that she was coming closer and closer to actually scaling up the side of a cliff.

  Susan tried to put the brakes on again as they rounded a corner. “All I need to do is see Kevin, or at least I did before I started doubting my own worth, thank you very much. Whatever you need to show me can just--”

  Susan lost the words she was going to say. She lost the thread of the conversation she was having with Francesca. She even forgot her own name for a moment as she stared at the wall sized monitor in front of her, which contained Kevin’s design for the opera house, in three dimensional, fully-visualized splendor. From the elegantly cut marble facade to the sparkling water flowing down the steps of a waterfall springing from a pin and gold clamshell molding between the two arched entryways that led to two enormous leaded-glass front doors.

  The point of view moved inside, showing the color of the inside walls, the texture of the curtains, the grand majesty of the simple yet towering floor plan of the stage and the seating and the second tier of seats, and the gilded private boxes.

  Susan had never seen anything like it. It was glorious and yet intimate all at once. And though she’d seen nothing like it before, it seemed to always have been there. Timeless.