by Mj Fields
He puts his hand over his heart like I’ve wounded him. “Is that a short joke?”
I laugh as I turn and look at him. “Are you jealous that he’s taller than you?”
“He’s six foot one, Stella. I’m five foot eleven.”
“Aw … so you are feeling slighted.” I pout out my lower lip.
“I more than make up for the two measly inches, in not only length but girth.”
“Ew, I don’t want to know about your man parts.”
His eyes twinkle. “You may not have, but now I guarantee you’ll find your mind wandering to what it is Aaron Esposito has between his—”
“Oh, shush,” I cut him off. “If I wanted to know that, I’d have asked half the girls in high school.”
“Half is a low estimate, Stella. I was filling a void back then.” He smiles broadly. “Didn’t know exactly what it was I was lacking—”
“Well, according to you, it wasn’t what’s hanging between your legs.”
“What the fuck is going on here?” I hear Elijah snarl from behind me.
Aaron smirks and whispers, “Average.”
I turn around to see Elijah, his green eyes angry and narrowed, his cheeks red. “Did you see Aaron’s here?”
“Are you kidding me right now, Stella?” The way he says my name is venomous.
“Take it easy, partner.” Aaron’s tone isn’t playful like it normally is, which means he’s intentionally provoking Elijah.
I turned around and point at him. “No.” Then at Elijah. “No. Not here. Not now. Not ever. You two are four years past this behavior.”
“And yet, you’re over here making dick jokes like a single woman would with her girlfriends, with him.” Elijah points at Aaron.
He actually has a point, but right now, exhaustion and annoyance are overcoming common sense. “It didn’t start as a dick joke, Elijah. It started that I was—”
I pause and hear Aaron whisper, “Easy, Stella.”
“I was telling him what it is I love about you.”
“I would rather you not discuss our sex life and personal business with anyone, especially a man.”
“It actually started out with me asking who the woman hanging on you was.”
“Stella,” he huffs and shakes his head. “As you know, I can’t attend functions alone; it wouldn’t look good for the company. Spencer is my assistant, and it’s actually nice to have someone beside me that not only knows potential clients but does research to find out more about them personally. It strengthens the trust between them and me.”
“Then, why am I here tonight?”
“Yeah, Elijah,” Aaron asks. “Why?”
Elijah practically bares his teeth at Aaron as he takes my elbow and leads me away from the masses.
Once we’re away from everyone, he releases my elbow and runs a hand through his hair. “I messed up today.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Explain.”
“Will you uncross your arms, Stella. Your breasts are popping out of that dress.”
“You bought it for me,” I remind him.
When his eyes quickly look away from mine, I know he’s hiding something.
“Something didn’t sync in my calendar, Stella.”
“Meaning what?” I ask, confused by the sudden change of topic.
“I live by the damn thing. I didn’t get the alert that it was this week you were coming back stateside. Spencer reminded me when I came into the office.”
I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach.
“I shouldn’t depend on technology as much as I do, Stella, but that’s the nature of the beast.”
No I’m sorry?
“I know you’re upset, but let’s look at it as …” He pauses and scratches his head. “You flew alone, and now you know you can absolutely handle it.”
Still, I feel the wind is knocked out of me.
“I promise to make it up to you.” He glances over me, and I know it’s because this is important to him. Business is important to him.
I understand, I do, but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept.
I want to cry.
When he glances back down at me, I attempt to look away, but he takes my jaw and makes me look up at him.
“Would you like me to have Roger come get you and take you to my place? You can rest, and we can start this day over tomorrow?”
Unable to speak, I shake my head.
“I won’t be able to give you the attention you want tonight, Stella. I think three of the four men are ready to leave Longley and Johnson for my company. It would—”
“Go.” I swallow back all emotion and force yet another smile.
He studies my face, waiting for me to react because that’s what I do—I react.
“I’ll get a cab.”
This makes him happy. “Come; let me introduce you before you leave?”
“No, it’s—”
“Stella, I’d like them to meet the woman I love.”
That’s the Elijah I fell in love with.
He holds his arm out, and I link mine through his. Then we walk over toward the bar where Spencer is speaking with the four men. Before we get there, though, Elijah stops a waiter and grabs a glass of champagne, handing it to me before taking one for himself.
He holds it up. “To the future.”
I tap my glass to his and repeat his sentiment, “To the future.”
As we each take a sip from our flutes, he looks over my head.
“If you need to hurry, Elijah, it’s okay. I just need you to be honest with me. Always.”
He leans down and does something completely un-Elijah-like—he kisses me.
Warmth caresses my body when his lips touch mine. And when he pulls back, I still feel him on my lips.
“I love you, Elijah.”
He gives me a genuine smile. “I know.”
Standing on Fifth Avenue, I watch the red dot that represents the car I ordered moving closer and closer to me.
Seven more minutes. I can do this.
For an August evening in New York City, it’s actually pleasant. There’s a nice breeze. The normal hustle and bustle of New York has quelled a bit at this hour, and I’m finally feeling … relaxed.
I close my eyes, just to rest them a bit when I begin to feel the full effect of the day. Or has it been two days? I can’t even think straight.
When I hear a horn honk, my eyes spring open, and I see a metallic gray, late model convertible sports car. Upon further examination, I see it’s a Jag, pulling up to a stop in front of me.
When the driver’s side door opens, I’m met with a familiar thirty-megawatt smile.
“Nice wheels. Where’d you steal this from, Esposito?” I joke.
He hurries around and opens the passenger side door. “A body shop in Queens. Get in before the cops show up and ruin my night.”
I look up to see the car I’ve been waiting for, a red Honda Civic.
“You’re half-asleep, Stella McCarty.” He looks at the car waiting for me. “And your driver looks like Dwight Schrute from The Office. That guy is one tragedy away from snapping and becoming a headline. Get in the car.”
I try not to laugh but fail. “Oh, my God, Aaron. What if he heard you?”
Stepping away from the car, he winks while reaching in the back pocket of his suit pants. Then he walks over to Schrute, leans in the car, and hands him some cash.
Schrute looks at me, and I wave and nod.
Aaron steps back and motions for him to pull away from the curve.
As he quickly walks back over, he smiles. He has the most genuine smile. “So, you come here often?”
I smack his chest.
“Be careful. You might hurt your hand.”
Before I can say anything else, I hear sirens.
“Stella, get in the car. They’re coming for me.”
Shocked, I hurriedly get in. Then I realize what I’ve done.
“Are you serious!” I yell at him as he walks arou
nd the car.
Laughing, he opens the driver’s side door and slides in. “It’s mine, Stella. My grandfather got it as a gift from his parents upon his engagement. He gave it to my father when he asked for his daughter’s hand. Now it’s mine.”
“Oh, my God, are you getting married?”
His face goes blank, completely and totally expressionless. Also, completely and totally un-Aaron-like.
I point an accusatory finger at him. “I’m gonna kill you for not telling me.”
“Keep wagging that thing in my face and I’ll bite it off.” He smirks as he puts the car in gear. Then, as he pulls onto Fifth Avenue, he asks, “Staten Island?”
I roll my eyes. “Elijah’s place.”
He sighs. “The address?”
“75th.”
He shakes his head slightly.
“What?”
“Pretentious.”
I laugh. “He deserves it. He works so hard that he forgot today was the day he was supposed to fly with me from England.”
He comes to a stop at the light and looks at me. “He forgot?”
“He’s busy,” I yawn out.
“Are you okay?”
“Do I look okay?” I laugh.
He looks me up and down, eyes stalling on my boobs.
I smack him.
He sucks in his lower lip.
Odd.
“Look great to me, but he knows you hate flying. We. All. Know. You hate flying.”
“Well. I. Need. To get over it, and I think today was a great start.”
“I think—”
“Hold up,” I stop him. “When we all hung out that summer before I went to London, you and he were good.”
“We’d be good if he took his responsibilities a little bit more seriously.”
I can’t help laughing but stop when he arches a brow.
“You can assume whatever you want about Donahue and Hearst. But make no mistake about it, Hearst is still in gold right next to Donahue for a reason.”
I feel bad for what I said. I know his father is still a full partner in the firm, but I also know he hasn’t stepped foot in the building, let alone the country, since his wife and Benton, Elijah’s father, died in the accident, even after his name was cleared. I don’t care who you are, friend or foe, that screams suspicion.
But, as I’ve told Elijah a million times, the accident was not his nor Aaron’s fault, and until tonight, I thought I had finally gotten through to him … them. However, four years is a long time for the two of them to have to rub noses without me there to try to remind them of that. To be nice to one another. To act like adults. Or, should I say, as adults should act toward one another. After tonight, it’s more than obvious that I’m going to have to start all over again, trying to make my boyfriend and the man who was our best friend growing up mend fences again.
I just hope that this time it will stick.
Not just for me, but for them.
I reach over and squeeze his wrist. “I know, Aaron, and I’m sorry. I just want you two to get along again.”
“Stella McCarty”—he winks—“I’ll do anything for you.”
Chapter Six
Stella
Present Day
When I wake up, it’s in dark, unfamiliar, albeit comfortable surroundings. I am momentarily confused—about the time, the place, the continent—but when I inhale a scent that’s distinctly his, I whisper his name, “Elijah.”
I roll from my side to my back, expecting to feel the warmth of his body against mine. Instead, I get a cold and empty space.
I sit up slowly and lean over, blindly feeling for my phone on the nightstand. When I have it, I hit the home button and see the time is two in the afternoon.
I slept the entire day!
Annoyed at myself, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and shimmy down until my feet hit the cold marble floor. I hurry to the bathroom to get my day…? afternoon …? night started.
Underneath the pounding jets of hot water, I’m anxious with wonder.
Why didn’t he wake me when he got home?
Why didn’t he wake me this morning?
I know it’s irrational, considering he knew I had a very long day and probably wanted me to sleep so that I woke fresh for the day. The day he was going to “make it up to me.”
Showered and dressed, I walk through the room and notice the bed is already made. I wonder if he has a housekeeper and secretly hope she looks less like Miss Talcott and more like Mrs. Doubtfire.
When I open the door, I hear him speaking to someone. I stop and look down at my choice of clothing—a bright yellow baby doll dress. I second-guess my choice but then decided that he fell in love with a much less put together Stella than even this, and maybe, just maybe, it would bring him back to that place.
“No, he’ll fuck it up.” Pause. “I said no! I don’t give a damn what he says. Keep him away from the clients, the files, the accounts. Tell him that he’s a non-essential employee and to stay the hell out of my way.” Pause. “Then tell him to call me on Monday. I have plans this weekend with Stella.”
I don’t know who he’s talking about in such an angry manner, but he said he has plans with me, which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.
“Spencer, I have this handled on my end; do the same on yours.” Pause. “You’re fucking kidding me!”
The venom in his voice causes my warm and fuzzies to run to a corner, tuck their tail between their legs, and hide.
“Fine, I’ll deal with it. Get a table at Polo Bar in an hour. If the meeting goes in the wrong direction, I can always send Stella next door to Ralph Lauren.” There’s a long pause. “You need to remember she’s my girlfriend and watch the way you talk about her. She’s no longer the girl with the fucked-up hair and jacked teeth who dresses like a clown. She’s the goddamed woman who came off a long flight, exhausted yet pleased to see her man, and walked into a fundraiser looking like a million bucks last night. And Spencer, she wore the dress better than you did.”
I quietly step back, hoping he doesn’t hear me. Not because I don’t want to discuss what I just overheard, but because I’m really not sure what it was I actually did. He did tell me his app didn’t sync so, he forgot I’d be home. He also mentioned that Spencer attends functions at times because of her employment. But had he bought her a dress for the event or was she getting ready here—Was it her dress? I will assume that he had it sent here for me and didn’t have time to have it altered. This makes his statement that I wore it better confusing. Do I take it as an insult or a compliment? Should I be offended that he’s going to “send me to Ralph Lauren” if the meeting takes a turn? Who is the employee that is giving him a hard time?
Who cares! Who the hell does Spencer think she is!
Once inside his room, I stand looking in the mirror at my reflection because, even though he put her in her place, the part that really upset me was the attack on my appearance.
I never cared about my “jacked teeth” or “crazy hair.” And as far as my clothes go, what’s wrong with color? I know it’s not the norm for people to dress in loud colors. It’s more a use for a pop. People fear the pop now.
Fearing the pop? A fear of color? I ponder those thoughts.
When did I fall in love with color? As a child, of course. I colored everything. But when did I really fall in love with it?
I walk over and climb up on the bed.
I guess I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it came to be, but I remember looking up at the blue sky, the sun, and it brought a sense of peace and calm to me. Then I remember Mom, who ran a childcare center at our home after the one she worked at prior was destroyed. Specifically, I remember her reading us Pinkalicious, and then Purplicious, illustrated by Victoria Kann, who also co-wrote the stories with her sister Elizabeth Kann. Well, I fell in love with those books. They inspired me. Or rather, they gave me the “Kann” do belief in my artistic ability.
I drew hundreds, maybe even thousands, of
pictures of colorful, blissfully happy characters who brought me an excessive amount of joy, which spilled over the dark, ashy moods the adults and some of the kids had been left with, a residual effect of the attacks.
Residue … emotional residue … dulling the pop.
I lie down and look at the stark white ceiling, thinking about how badly I wish I had a crayon to color it with blues and yellows. Then I think about my “clown clothes,” wondering when I started dressing in such vibrant colors.
It hits me.
I began dressing in loud colors, a stark contrast to the gloom … the ash, surrounding me back then. What was amazing was it seemed to lift the spirits of those around me, too.
I think back on the pictures Mom always took and how he looked at me. Then I think, Fuck you, Spencer. My boyfriend loves the pop. He doesn’t fear it. However, you seem to.
I feel a smile spread across my face, and I flop back on the bed and sigh.
When I hear the door being opened, I tilt my head back and watch as Elijah stops in the doorway. He looks at me intensely, and I want to tell him that it’s fine, but then he’d know I was eavesdropping. I don’t want that—an argument to be the first thing we do when we see each other every day.
I smile instead.
He leans against the doorjamb and crosses his arms. “Sleep well?”
“I can’t believe you let me sleep all day.” I roll onto my stomach and look up at him.
“If you want to sleep more, feel free.”
“You’re leaving?”
He grimaces as he pushes himself off the doorframe. “The investors from last night want to meet.”
I can’t tell him I know this.
Sneak, I scold myself.
“I think you should stay here. Wait for me to get back.”
“I think I slept through afternoon tea. High tea—”
He smiles. “Low tea.”
“That’s not a thing,” I tell him as he begins to sit beside me, and I roll onto my back.
“No?” he asks quietly as he looks me over.
Leaning down, he cups my cheek and kisses my forehead as he moves his hand down the side of my neck. “I’m so glad you chose New York.” He kisses my cheek. “I’m so glad you chose me.” He takes my mouth with his own, with more need than I have felt from him since the first time we kissed.
