Beautiful Deceit

by Albany Walker

  "Well I guess I'll see you tomorrow." She stands and leaves without me saying anything else.

  I reflect on our conversation.

  I haven't seen Beau in over a week, so I don't think I need to worry about replacing Anna just yet.

  I've wondered a couple times if I shouldn't have told him all that stuff, but there's nothing I can do now. I don't regret it. It felt good to tell someone.

  Feeling a little let down, I call applicants and set up interviews for Wednesday.

  I leave shortly after.

  Instead of going straight home, I decide to walk. I submerge myself in the anonymity of the mobs of people going in a similar direction. I window shop and watch street performers enthrall tourists and locals alike. None of it helps to energize me like I'd hoped it would.

  I head home sometime after eight with little desire to return and sit alone behind the cushy walls I've built around myself.

  Another week passes. I have a new employee and one new partner in the works. My business is doing well. My personal life is just as dreary.

  I don't know who's more disappointed by Beau’s disappearance, Anna or me. She comes in everyday looking like she just got back from a photo shoot.

  Yesterday she finally broke down and asked if I'd heard from him. I didn't answer. She doesn't need to know I'm pining just as bad as her, but I'm pretty sure she does know I haven't seen him either. It's strange to miss someone I barely even knew.

  I decide to test a theory, to see if I'll be as comfortable with any man as I was with Beau.

  Jess has a friend she's been bugging me to go out with for months. I finally accept her request. He's picking me up at the store, instead of my studio, Friday at five. I'm not expecting much, but I want to know that I can be with other men and feel just as safe as I did with Beau.

  I spend extra time making myself look my best the morning of the date. The weather is starting to cool, but it's still nice enough for me to wear one of the few dresses I own. The hem hits around my knee and flatters my shapely legs, I twirl a little in front of the mirror feeling almost giddy. I look down at my neckline with a frown, then twist a light infinity scarf over my head to hide my cleavage. I swear I can wear a turtleneck and still show cleavage. I grab a moto jacket and some ankle books on my way out, fitting them on in a bit of a hurry. I am running a little behind.

  I start to rush down the sidewalk, but slow down after worrying about getting sweaty. This is all too much, I think as I turn the corner to the store.

  Jess whistles when she sees me, "He isn't gonna know what hit 'em."

  I smile and curtsy, "Why thank you."

  Anna doesn't acknowledge my outfit choosing just to smile at the both of us.

  Jess tells Jude about the date before she leaves. She makes him promise not to let me back out. Truthfully, I was thinking about it.

  At four-thirty, I'm ordered to have a seat where Jude can keep an eye on me, in case I get cold feet. He is taking his promise a little far.

  The door chimes, and the first thing I notice is a familiar blue hat. In the past two weeks, I've decided Beau may not be the friend is hoped he'd be. Friends don't let friends spill their guts and not talk to the person again. I turn and hope he doesn't notice me sitting near the coffee counter.

  A few minutes pass, and I heave a sigh of relief. I really hope he’ll leave soon, before my date shows up.

  I hear him speaking in low tones to George who points over to me. I shrink further into my seat. Shit, shit, just shit! George thinks he's being helpful when he tells Beau right where I am.

  I slowly rise and excuse myself, “I have to use the bathroom.” Jude nods probably thinking I'm freshening up before Nate arrives.

  I walk across the room slowly in order to keep my heels from clicking. It’s all for naught, because Beau strides right to me. Damn it, George. I stop mid step. My boot heel clicks loudly as it drops.

  He looks me up and down. He closes the distance between us and smiles. I almost forget I trusted him with something very private, almost forget he hasn't acknowledged me for two weeks.

  "Hot date?" he asks bending close and sounding like he knows the answer is a solid no.

  "Yes," is my only response. It surprises him. He looks intently at me like he's trying to spot a bluff.

  He doesn't say a word. He doesn’t need to.

  A man walks up and introduces himself to me as Nate.

  Inwardly I'm elated. I've managed to surprise him, even if it's only because he'd assumed I couldn't get a date.

  Chapter 7

  "You must be Samantha." I extend my hand out of habit. Instead of a handshake he envelopes my hand and lightly squeezes.

  "Jess has told me a lot about you. Are you ready to get going?" He looks over at Beau who is even closer than he was moments ago. Nate's brow furrows. He looks back at me, "Am I interrupting?"

  I take a step forward, away from Beau, while pulling my hand out of Nate’s hold. I don't want him touching me; it feels odd, unwelcoming. It’s not a good sign for my date or for disproving my theory.

  "No, we're done here. Let me just grab my bag and jacket." I plaster a smile on my face, while I walk to my office.

  Beau follows me, "You don't know that guy, and you’re just going out with him?" His tone speaks to his knowledge of my situation. I don’t like it. I don't know why it would matter.

  I reply with a tad of cynicism, "That's the point, right? I haven't done this in a while, but I'm pretty sure that's how dating works." I don't care that I am mocking his concern. He doesn’t have the right to be concerned after storming out of my apartment the way he did.

  "Well how do you know he's not just spying on you?" he spews nastily.

  "That's pretty low, Beau.”

  He snaps his mouth shut.

  "Shit," he curses. "I shouldn't have said that.”

  I nod, "You're right. I haven't told anyone about that shit in years, and now you throw it in my face, for what purpose?" He doesn't answer, but I wasn't really expecting a reply.

  I put my jacket on and weave my purse strap over my head pulling my long hair out from under the leather strap.

  I adopt a professional tone as I ask, "Is there something else I can help you with?" I almost want to call him Mr. Winchester, but refrain. He's never given me his last name anyway, I only know it from Facebook.

  "I---" Beau starts, but he doesn't finish.

  Nate steps past the door, "That guy Jude...he told me you'd be back here." I think he can tell something is going on.

  Beau slams his stupid fucking hat onto his head and storms out without another word.

  "All set," I say with false cheer.

  It's only seven, and I want to pour the hot soup I was served over my lap for a reason to get the hell out of here. The small restaurant is quaint. There’s about ten tables total and maybe half of them are full.

  Nate raises his hand for the third time to summon the waitress. I want to crawl under the table and bury myself in a hole. Nate asks her about the kind of bread used to make his sandwich, he tsks at her reply, and dismisses her curtly while he mutters about not earning a tip.

  He turns to me. I try, for the third time tonight, to not openly react to his rudeness.

  He makes small talk, “Jess tells me you own the bookstore. Seems kinda cool, you probably just hang out most of the day reading and stuff.”

  I open my mouth to clear up the misconception but never get the chance.

  “I’m working for my uncle right now. It’s not the best situation, but it leaves me enough time to work on Hidfield. That’s a game I’m coding.”

  I take a spoonful of soup and nod my head as I bring it to my lips. Pretending to find that fact interesting. This is the seventh time he has mentioned his game. I imagine I would be more interested if he didn’t explain the process in technical jargon I can’t entirely grasp. When I do try to confirm a term or ask a question about the process, he dismisses me with a, “You can’t possibly understand.”<
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  He's cute, I’ll give him that, in that nerd chic kind of way. Unfortunately, he has a number of cards stacked against him. I could excuse his behavior for first date nerves, but I can’t make an excuse for the way he makes me feel. I wonder if I hadn't met a certain someone a few weeks ago, maybe I wouldn’t be so critical of Nate. I'd probably enjoy his company more, possibly. I could probably even look past the fact that he openly complains to the waitstaff and has compared the food served to his mother's, through all the courses.

  I drag my spoon through my soup, while he continues to dominate the conversation.

  “Most people don’t realize how smart ferrets are.” I look up at his word and realize I have lost the thread of this conversation. “I’ve been training Croft since she was a baby, and she can pretty much do anything a dog can, but better.” I have no idea how we got to this topic.

  I look at him, thinking he can’t be serious, but there’s no indication he’s joking.

  “How long have you had him?” I interject, before he can continue.

  “Her.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Croft is a female, as in Lauren Croft.”

  I blink several times, while he stares at me waiting for me to get it. I don’t.

  “Oh sorry, I didn’t realize.”

  He gives a small tight smile, “I’ve had her going on four years now. Ferrets have a life expectancy of around six to ten years. I’ve been thinking about getting her a companion.”

  I don’t know what to do with this information. I really hope we don’t end up talking about ferret breeding.

  God, someone save me. It's times like this I wish I had a girlfriend to send out an S.O.S, a bat signal, something.

  When dinner is finally over, he leads me out to the sidewalk. His hand rests on my lower back. I hurry my steps feeling uncomfortable with him so close behind me.

  “Do you have any plans for the rest of the night?”

  “No, I’ll probably just head home. You?” I ask more out of courtesy than any real desire to know.

  “I’m actually headed over to a friend’s LAN party.” His brows are raised again like he’s waiting for my acknowledgement.

  “A land party?” confusion clear in my tone.

  He sighs, “No a L-A-N party. We have a small group of us that get together to test out each other’s video games or play old favorites. You could come, it’s fun even if you just watch.” He adds hopeful.

  My denial is automatic, “Maybe next time Nate.” I kick myself the moment my reply leaves my lips. In trying for politeness, I’ve made it seem I might be up for another time. Damn it!

  I signal for a cab. Thank God cabbies take cards, because I used my cash to pay for my half of dinner.

  I kick off my shoes as I enter the cab, not even caring about the grime on the floor. I don’t take a full breath until we pull up to my studio. I’m so done.

  I snap my book closed and growl. I don't know why I'm rereading this damn thing. I don't need to. I've already read it twice, plus I barely even talk at book club. This is just some strange form of self torture. At this rate, I'll never have sex again. Considering the two times I have had sex ended in disaster, it's pretty damn sad. I’m going to die alone with book boyfriends and vibrators as my only source of pleasure.

  What a way to spend a Saturday night. Alone, hungry and sexually frustrated, I look to the timer. It has six minutes left. At least my dinner is almost done.

  I'm in such a funk, I'm listening to my Sunday morning playlist. John Legend is powering through a ballad in the background. I pull my cheesy garlic baked chicken from the oven. The fried potatoes should be done as soon as the chicken is done resting, so I turn my oven up high to roast some asparagus. I drizzle them with olive oil, garlic, and coarse sea salt, before sliding them in.

  I hear a loud buzz. I pause in shutting the oven door. A few seconds later, I hear the noise again and realize it's my intercom. I look out the window, but I can't see the door from this angle.

  It buzzes for the third time, so I pick up the phone.

  "Yes," I say quietly.

  "Sam, can I come up?" Beau? What is he doing here? I am suddenly aware that I don't even have a bra on. Oh holy hell. "Sam?"

  Shit.

  "Yeah, can you give me like two minutes. I'll buzz you in and unlock the door, but I just need--- a minute." I say in a rush.

  I don't wait for him to respond, I push the button for a long moment and unlock the front door. Then I run. I run like I'm being chased by a pack of wild dogs. My socks slide across the floor. I grab the first bra I see and run to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me.

  I pull my white t-shirt over my head. Getting it caught in my hair.

  I look down and curse. I grabbed a fucking black bra. I walk to my dryer hoping there are some clean clothes in it but find nothing. Fuck.

  I hear the door shut, and I scramble for a brush. I don't have time for mascara and that'd be stupid anyway. I brush out my hair and leave it down.

  I have on a pair of black leggings that are far too worn in, but there's not much else I can do.

  I hear my timer ding. I straighten the large vee neck t-shirt hoping it stays put. I wash my hands and open the door.

  I peer around and find Beau pulling the rest of my dinner from the oven with a dish towel.

  "I would have gotten that but thank you." He places the pan on top of my range. He hasn't turned around yet, but there's no hat in sight.

  "Do you have company?" He asks, still facing the wall.

  "No," I say confused

  "Are you expecting someone?"

  "Nooo,” I hold out the ‘o’. “Why are you staring at my asparagus?" He finally turns and looks at me. I fidget a bit, then stand still. Whatever. He's the one that came to my house at eight o'clock at night, so what if I look like a bum?

  His eyes scan me from head to toe, and a warm feeling settles low in my stomach. He clears his throat but doesn’t say anything.

  I walk forward as the traitor I call a shirt falls down my arm. I lift my arm to try and right it, but the hem rises above my bum, revealing skin tight leggings.

  I am forced to decide if I’m more worried about my bra hanging out, or how thin my pants stretch over my rump. I choose the former. I keep him in my sight at all times because if I turn around he'll really get his money's worth.

  "Hey," I wave stupidly.

  "Hey," he answers. We are both just standing, looking at each other. Awkward doesn’t begin to describe it.

  "Well I was about to eat. Hungry?" I don't know what the hell else to do, and now I'm not even going to be able to enjoy my food, because I am nervous with a belly full of butterflies.

  "I don't want to eat your food."

  I scoff, "Why the hell not? There's nothing wrong with my food."

  Beau tips his head back and groans, "Good god woman. I meant, I don't want to eat what you've made for yourself, not that I don't want it."

  My shoulders fall, "Oh, okay. Well there's plenty, let me just grab some plates.”

  I pull the chicken and potatoes from the warming drawer. Then reach up to grab a couple plates from the cabinet.

  I turn to see Beau's eyes dart up quickly to my face.

  "Fucking shit," I say aloud. I didn't even make it two minutes. His eyes are bright as he bites his lip in an attempt to suppress a smile. "Go ahead," I lift my hand in a wave. "Laugh it up, you jackass. You didn't have to look ya know." Pull my hem down, but it's useless.

  He nods his head, "Oh trust me. I did."

  I roll my eyes and huff. "Like a thirteen-year-old huh?" I say under my breath referring to our first meeting.

  "He couldn't help it either," great, he heard me.

  "Oh piss off, I know my ass is big. Sit down before I decide you don't get any."

  Beau throws his head back and roars with laughter, exposing his thick neck to me. It’s one of my many weaknesses when it comes to this man. If I wasn't wiping the dribbles from my chin
I might have realized sooner what I said that caused his hilarity.

  "Oh, ha ha," I grumble realizing the innuendo too late. I set about making our plates, he's still chuckling. I ignore him.

  I take my plate and grab a big glass of sweet tea, then walk past the dining table to the sofa.

  A few seconds later he joins me.

  "Thank you for dinner," he says before he's even taken a bite.

  "Anytime," I reply without thinking. I don’t regret this offer the same way I did with Nate.

  I look away from his face and cut a small bit of chicken.

  "Did you have a good time?” He asks casually.

  "With what?" I know exactly what he's asking, but I'm not going to make it easy on him.

  "Your date," the word date is spat from his mouth.

  "I don't know if I'd call it a good time----" I leave the response hanging.

  "Oh? What would you call it?" I'm kinda in a corner here. I could lie and tell him I had a great time or I could tell him the truth.

  "Why do you wanna know?” I say after biting the tip off a spear of asparagus. I'm stalling.

  He shrugs

  I sigh, "It was pretty horrible. I don't have much to compare it to, but I wanted to go home before he asked for the bill." His eyes crinkle as he grins. "Somehow we got on the topic of ferrets and feet." I shudder, "I think they were related.” I finish with, “The worst part is he kept complaining to our waiter about how when his mom makes his sandwich, she always adds just the right amount of mustard." I slide my hand across the other indicating the spread.

  "What the fuck is he doing with a ferret and feet?"

  I throw my hands in the air, "I know right. He lets his ferret sleep on his feet."

  He looks properly repulsed, "Nasty."

  I bob my head, “It was just weird. I don't think I'll ever forgive Jess. She's been hounding me to go out with that guy for months."

  Beau stops eating and ask me, "What made you say yes now?"

  I purse my lips, "Honestly?"

  "Always," he confirms.