Tough Sell

by Trixie More

  Oh. Oh, so that was it. She thought about the implications of that for the first time. She’d felt like she’d been fired, but of course, she’d still been in their employ the entire time she’d been working with Edward. Her whole portfolio belonged to them. Her shoulders slumped.

  “Did they call here?”

  His face was kind but he shook his head slightly. “I can’t say.” He put down the folder. “Obviously, you are just now realizing your mistake?”

  “I feel like a fool,” she said. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about that.”

  “I believe the work you produced felt like yours. You took pride in it. That’s not a bad thing.” He looked at her carefully. “Before you open your portfolio, is there anything with you today that you created before you worked for them? Or examples for demonstration only? For fictional clients, perhaps?”

  She shook her head mutely. “I have layouts that I created when I worked for my family but those aren’t in here.”

  He smiled at her, a little sadly she thought. “I’m afraid I can’t help you then.” He tilted his head to the left. “You can try again with some fresh work.”

  “Does it matter that none of this work,” she nodded to her laptop, “was ever put to use in an actual campaign?”

  He shook his head. “If you created it while being paid by them, then it is their intellectual property I’m afraid.”

  Dorothy nodded. So be it. She stood, reached out and offered her hand. “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate your being so forthcoming.”

  “I wish I could say it was my pleasure. Come on. I’ll walk you out.” He opened the door and Dorothy walked away from her dream of saving Walker and Birkeland.

  She walked out of the building and onto the street. A breeze, smelling clean and salty, ruffled her skirt. She turned and walked west. She wasn’t far from Battery Park. As a girl, she’d loved to come and take in the view of the Statue of Liberty. She let herself wander in that direction, barely noticing the increasing number of people around her.

  Eventually an Asian boy bumped into her leg and jolted her into the present moment. She looked around. Diversity was nothing to think about in Manhattan, but here, where there were so many obvious tourists, it was different. All of these people, lining up for the ferry, going to visit the exact place where so many before them had entered America when it had been new and untamed.

  They had come here with nothing. A suitcase maybe, enough money for a week perhaps? And that had been it. Many had come alone, leaving their families behind. She walked past the line for the ferry to Ellis Island, continuing to the edge of the park without actually deciding to. She let the crowd move her along, in her uncomfortable shoes, carrying her awkward leather portfolio. She might actually feel something similar to those immigrants, she thought. The wind was colder here by the water and the breeze kept blowing her hair into her face. So many people had come here with nothing, and survived. Her parents had started with nothing, and more than survived. They had thrived. Fate wasn’t the force at work, she supposed. As she sat on the bench, she searched for a temporary employment agency near her apartment, and finding one, filled out their form, officially beginning her search for employment in this city inhabited by people who made their own futures.

  On the subway home, she checked her text messages but of course, there were none from Ed. On a brighter note, the apartment smelled of oil and garlic and Italian everything when she got home. She felt a tightness in her chest and tingling in her nerve endings as gratitude washed over her. Here was her home now and in the kitchen, she would find friends who loved her. She tossed her bag and laptop into her room and went to the kitchen.

  On the stove, cutlets were frying in oil. Derrick was prodding them with a spatula with one hand and holding a glass of red wine in the other.

  “There she is,” Allie sang. “Our wandering roommate, back from the search.” She handed Dorothy a glass of wine. “How did it go, kid?”

  “Miserable, I think.” She sat at the little Formica table and told them about the day, including the fact that she’d been effectively blackballed. “It doesn’t make any sense—they for sure don’t want the account. It’s so dog-in-the-manger.” Her friends looked at her blankly. So her friends weren’t big fans of Aesop, who cared? “You know, they aren’t going to use it but they don’t want anyone else to have it. You can look up the dog thing.”

  “Well, it does make sense. From what you said, they aren’t fans of his products.” Allie shrugged and then grinned. “You know, it’s dog-eat-dog.”

  Derrick laughed. “Our food is ready.” He was just doling out the cutlets and pasta when the buzzer went off.

  Allie looked around. “Anybody expecting something?” Dorothy and Derrick shook their heads. Allie went to the door. Curious, Dorothy followed when she realized Allie was talking to someone. Allie glanced at her. “It’s your Ed guy. Should I buzz him?”

  Her pulse leapt at the words and she nodded mutely. What could he want? She couldn’t imagine he’d suddenly decided to talk to her. She opened the door and waited as Allie returned to the kitchen.

  The man that came up the stairs looked like Edward, but that was about it. He had on loose jeans and a T-shirt with a picture of a rain forest on it but it looked like he might have slept in it. His jaw was covered with stubble, his hair hadn’t been combed and his face was pale, except for his bleary, reddened eyes. She was stunned by his appearance and that wasn’t even the strangest of it. This Edward moved like he was in a trance, stepping slowly and with deep concentration as he climbed the stairs and came down the hall.

  Was he drugged? Dorothy couldn’t imagine. She should have been shocked, or frightened, or even insulted that he had come to her apartment in this condition, but instead, all she felt was concern. She knew, right then, that she was in deep. Apparently, in her heart, this man … this unkempt, shambling creature, was her man. She shoved one of the shoes from the rack into the doorway to prop it open and went to get him. After all, if he was hers, then she was going to put him to rights.

  Chapter 19

  The stairs in Dorothy’s building were marble or something, not like the ones in his building. They were white stone that had a subtle sparkle to them. Each step had a wide dip worn in it along the front edge as if thousands of shoes, over decades and decades, had come to rest on the front lip and slowly eroded the step away. Edward supposed that’s exactly what had happened.

  Each floor had its own smell, he noted, as he climbed up. Dorothy’s floor smelled like cooking. It was a good smell. When he came up the last step, he could already see Dorothy standing in the doorway to her apartment. Allie had answered the buzzer. That hadn’t been what he’d expected, but then, he guessed it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like there was any other option for him. He had to move on, he had to do this and move on.

  His Dorothy was lovely, standing with the glow of the apartment behind her, making the fine blond strands of her hair shimmer. Her arms were wrapped around her middle and she had a frown on her face. Well, he hadn’t expected a smile, had he? Then she seemed to shake herself. She ducked into the doorway and returned with a shoe? She dropped it in the doorway to hold the door open and rushed out toward him. He started to awkwardly open his arms, in case she was coming to hug him, but she dodged to the side and pressed her palm to his forehead.

  It was a timeless gesture really, that checking for fever, so he must look pretty bad. He hadn’t thought about it until he’d sat down on the train and caught sight of himself, reflected in the windows. He should be glad she didn’t just kick him out. The muffling calmness that had swaddled him since he’d entered the subway started to thaw and part of him was sorry for it. Another part was kicking to be free of it, and that was the part that made him turn his face into Dorothy’s palm, like a dog looking for a soothing hand. She cupped his cheek and slid a hand behind his head, pulling his face into the curve of her neck. Wrapping his arms around her, he felt the smooth hardness of her
ribs beneath the silky blouse she wore, felt how the muscles along her spine drew into the hollow of her low back, became aware of the difference in their size, the way he was so much larger, physically, when she always seemed larger than life to him. In their dealings, and their loving, she felt the same as him, but in this moment. Here, she was smaller, more fragile and yet her arms around him felt strong. His heart lurched and the wish not to have to share his shame with her was so strong, that it was an ache that seemed to knit his ribs together and pull him inward. The muffling deadness along with its hyper-awareness broke, and his next exhale came very close to a sob. He stiffened and pulled away. He was going to do this, and while he wasn’t going to do this in anger, he certainly wasn’t going to cry.

  Dorothy had her own plans though. She was hugging his arm and tugging him inside the apartment. She hustled him into the tiny bathroom and held up her hand.

  “Stay there. I will be right back.”

  Then she kissed his cheek and disappeared. Bemused, he turned on the light and looked around. An ancient, white enamel free-standing tub, with a black and white checkered curtain that came all the way around it, dominated the room. The towels were soft and gray. Why had she stuck him in here?

  She bustled back in and toed the door shut behind her. In her arms were the sweatpants and T-shirt she’d worn home from his place the day they fought. They were folded neatly and must have been laundered. She dropped them on the back of the toilet and leaned past him to turn on the shower. He smelled her hair. It smelled clean, like her.

  “I’m not going to ask you what happened,” she said as she eyed him up. “We’re going to have a nice, hot dinner and then you and I will talk.” Heaven. Dinner sounded like heaven despite the meatball sub he’d had before his fight with Gunnar. “But first, take off your clothes and wash up.”

  He felt himself smile and she must have seen something in his face, because she kissed him on the mouth this time.

  “Ugh. And I’ll get you a toothbrush.”

  “That bad?” Behind him the steam was rising and the water sounded inviting.

  “Mister, you have no idea. Get washed.” And then she was gone and he ached for how much this felt like home, like it was right, and how soon he was going to lose it.

  When Edward emerged from the bathroom; his hair was damp and finger-combed back from his stubble covered face. His skin had lost the sallow paleness and he looked more like himself. At least he was moving at a normal pace, Dorothy noted. When his eyes found hers across the kitchen, he gave her a small smile. Derrick was speaking to him and as the men spoke, Ed’s face lost some of the sadness she’d seen and she was glad for it.

  Derrick pressed a plate into Ed’s hands and she heard him decline the wine offered. He came to the table with a plastic bottle of water. Dorothy suppressed a grin. How he must hate using that bottle. A little aggravation might be good for him.

  “Here, Ed, come sit next to me.” She pushed at the padded, aluminum chair beside her and he settled in, squeezed between the wall and the table. His legs relaxed and the weight of his thigh pressed against hers. She reached under the table and stroked it, patted the knee, like she would a child. His handsome face turned to her, tilted a bit as he leaned over and gave her a little kiss.

  “Much better, mister,” she said and she felt her eyes water a bit at the sadness she saw in his, so she gave him a bright smile. “Now mangi, baby.”

  “This looks great,” he said, looking around at Derrick and Allie. “Thank you for waiting for me. I haven’t eaten family style in years.”

  In typical Allie style, her friend ignored that comment, and instead, gestured to the rolls and salad in bowls on the table.

  “Help yourself. And eat hearty because last one to the table does the dishes.” Her friend’s big, bossy personality seemed to shake the last dregs of whatever was weighing on Ed, because he smiled and started loading up his plate with the quick, sure movements that were so familiar to her. Dorothy relaxed and began working the conversation around to Derrick, asking how his brothers were and about the car he’d gone to test drive that weekend. Ed followed along and fell into a discussion around whether a truck was of any use to a guy who lived in the city. Allie picked up with that one and they all wound up talking about the upcoming catering jobs she and Derrick had scheduled. By the time everyone’s plates were cleared away, Dorothy’s original worries were fading. Ed didn’t seem to be under the influence too badly, although his breath had smelled of booze when he first arrived, and whatever had been weighing on him seemed to have receded.

  After the meal, they did the dishes companionably and without discussing it, retreated to her room. The room looked different to her, bringing him in here. She shut the door behind them and sat on the edge of the bed. He paced around, picking up trinkets from her dresser and examining them, peering out the window.

  “Ed. What’s going on?” She thought of how he had come up behind her on the street that day when she’d gone to his place in a panic. He had coaxed her gently inside, calling her brave. “Sit down here beside me. I want to be able to touch you.”

  He stopped, his back to her. “I’m not sure you should.”

  She came behind him, replaying the scene in a new way. Running her hands over his shoulders, down his biceps, sliding her arms around his waist, feeling the soft cotton of his shirt against her cheek. “Of course I should.”

  “I didn’t know if you’d let me in.”

  Again, she gave back to him in her own way. “I’ll always let you in.”

  He turned then and brought his arms around her, found her lips with his, gently pressing, licking, kissing the corners of her mouth and returning to press kisses along her lips, following with sweeps of his tongue as if he were memorizing her mouth, learning every curve of her lips with his own. She felt his warm, strong hands slide along her ribs, curve around her waist, smooth the crescent of her hip and then his knees bent slightly and he was lifting her in his arms. He cradled her to his chest as he settled on the bed with her in his lap. Against her thigh, his erection felt solid and warm, it felt vital and she rubbed against him.

  “My Dorothy,” he whispered, and her heart sang inside her. She felt the damp warmth of his mouth below her ear and she hung on to him as the nerves in her neck buzzed with pleasure. His hand was between her legs, sliding between her thighs, rubbing lightly over her vulva before sliding upwards to her breasts.

  She turned and straddled him, feeling the silky dampness of his hair under her palms, running her hands over his chest while she returned his kisses and pressed herself against his cock. She felt him tense, felt the resistance move through him and a part of her wondered what they were doing. She understood that nothing had been resolved, but he’d seemed so fragile when he’d shown up and she wouldn’t impose her edict on him now. She felt protective and strong. She wanted to give to him the gentle kindness he’d shown to her. He rolled her beneath him and wedged his knee between her legs and she let him. But she knew that during those moments, when she had been the uncertain one, it had been his obvious attraction to her, as much as his kindness, which had soothed her. So this time she rolled again and then slid down his body, pushing up his shirt, kissing his abdomen, sliding her fingers beneath his waistband until she cupped his balls, gently stroking his perineum with her middle finger as she began to tug down his pants.

  He resisted for a moment, gripping the sides of his waistband and she released him, crawling up his torso until she was draped over him, mouthing his lower lip, sucking at his neck, pulling his shirt up and off of him. She moaned at all that warm muscle below her and sat up straight, kneeling over him, and together they unbuttoned her blouse. He unfastened her bra even as she shrugged out of her shirt and tossed it on the floor. Then he pushed down her pants and she wriggled out of them but she didn’t give up her place on top, instead she pulled at his waistband again.

  “Take these off for me, Ed.”

  He closed his eyes, his mouth tur
ned down and a furrow engraved between his brows. She was sure he was trying to hold back a reaction, but suddenly, she wasn’t sure what that reaction was.

  “Ed?”

  His eyes opened, clear and vulnerable.

  “You know that I’m in love with you, don’t you?” Her heartbeat sounded in her ears. Her words came from somewhere beyond her, rising up and speaking themselves into the world. The creases on his brow deepened. The look of longing on his rugged face as his gaze flickered from her eyes, to her mouth, and back, called to the feelings of sorrow within her. She felt a traitorous tear slip free and slide along her cheek. He crushed her to him and she let herself be pulled down as he kissed her roughly, clutching at her as her hips ground against his erection. He lifted his hips and yanked off his pants and underwear together, moving his hand between them and fingering her pussy through her panties.

  “You feel how wet I am?” she asked and he rewarded her with a groan. She thumbed her underwear off and returned to lie on top of him, sliding herself over the ridge of his cock, wiggling against the head until it was just right, sucking at his neck, biting at his ear and lower lip until she felt herself ready to go over. She pushed up, her palms flat on his chest, legs bent beneath herself and sat directly onto him, working herself against him. He looked up into her face and she smiled down at him, this man that she loved. She didn’t want to hold herself back, she didn’t want to be anyone other than who she was. His hands came to her hips and he began moving her, helping her keep a rhythm, pushing her faster.

  “Lift up for me,” he growled and she raised herself. “Put me inside you.”

  She groaned. “Fuck. Condom,” she panted.

  He looked at her incredulously. “Shit. Nightstand?”

  She bit her lip and nodded, hanging onto him as he did a sit up that made his oblique muscles ripple while he leaned over and scrabbled at the drawer.