by Sorell Oates
“All these women in your life and yet there is not a sign of any of them anywhere. Where's the vibrancy and color?” she mulled.
“Yes, well, there are no women in my life now. This is a bona fide bachelor pad. Besides which,” he lifted her feet from his couch to sit beside her with his glass of red wine, “you don't appear to have any problems visiting daily. The decor can't be that repellant.”
“I never said it was repellant. I was merely stating the obvious. I say what I see, bro.”
“Imogen, with my IQ and qualifications, let me remind you I do not require you to draw my attention to the obvious.”
“You're in a mood tonight.”
“I've been in a mood all week,” he said dejectedly.
“You're giving me daggers.”
“I'm not, but I am directing the full blast of my frustration on you. This is entirely unfair of course, but all I think of is the art gallery and Susie.”
“I didn't know she was going to be there,” shrieked Imogen, her response demonstrated this conversation had taken place numerous times since the infamous gallery opening.
“You sent her flowers!”
“I didn't leave any contact details.”
“You admitted that was good luck, not good management. You had every intention of contacting her and every hope she'd contact you.”
“Rupert, I told you that months ago when I read the announcement in the American Theater paper. I remember the day. It was after you found out Oscar and his whirlwind romance with the journalist had him tying the knot in Egypt.”
“You didn't say you were contacting Susie.”
“I can't remember exactly what was said.”
“You didn’t say ‘I am going to send Susan-Marie Thompson flowers,’” he assured her.
“Katy.”
“What?”
“Katy is the name of Oscar's new wife.”
“Forget that. You want me to settle down and have a wife? I couldn't be any further from that eventuating,” scowled Rupert.
“Why'd you do it then?”
“What?”
“Give those girls the boot?”
“Because when I saw Liz's face at the gallery, I saw the impact of incorrectly assuming our relationship was implicit. I couldn't bear seeing her hurt. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I want a simple life.”
“Maybe life would be simple with just one woman.”
“Perhaps.”
“Rupert?” asked Imogen tentatively. “Why now?”
“Blast from the past.”
“Susan?”
Nodding, he dropped his head ashamed of himself.
“That's fabulous. High school sweethearts reunited.”
“What on Earth makes you think we were high school sweethearts?”
“I,” she stopped.
“You never mentioned the musical,” said Rupert.
“No. I didn't. I knew Nikki fancied you like mad. It's only, I'd come back from Saturday shopping leave one afternoon and outside the auditorium, I saw you and Susan dancing in the rain. When I think back, it was picturesque. At the time, I thought from the way you looked at her, the way you held her, you'd found love.”
“I was with Nikki.”
“Yes, I knew that. It's only, when I went to see you in the show, I never saw that dance – the one I thought you were rehearsing in the rain. It wasn't part of the show's choreography. I kept watching and waiting and the next thing I knew you were taking curtain calls. You were dancing with her in the rain because you wanted to, not because you had to.”
“I was. I did.”
“Something changed dramatically in you when you met Susan. At long last I saw a side of you that was free of everything. Free of the eldest child syndrome. Free of that in-built need to always protect me. Free of your efforts to ensure mum and dad stayed married. It was like when you were rehearsing for that show you were able to explore yourself.”
Rupert was unable to meet his sister's eyes.
“Then these ugly rumors emerged, courtesy of Nikki. I never believed you'd ever treat another person like that. Not you. Not my big brother. He would never hurt a fly. He would fight anyone's battle if they needed protection. You were in Susan's corner. They were lies weren't they?”
“I'd ask if you've ever done anything to betray the moral fiber of your being, gone against everything you believed, but you couldn't say yes could you Imogen? That's not something you'd ever be able to relate with. You wouldn't allow anybody to lower the standards you set yourself. You wouldn't put your own needs in front of another.”
“It was true, wasn't it Rupert?” her voice filled with sadness.
“It was true. I sat there knowing how awful I was behaving, how hurtful the words were, how untrue it all was and I lied. On the promise of sex, I lied.”
“In that case, Susan was remarkably restrained when you met at the gallery opening. She went after you when you got in a tizzy.”
“We met before.”
“What?”
“At the gym. We met on Monday at the gym. I didn't recognize her. She gave me a number and then came to the Radmacker exhibition.”
“Did you call?”
“No, I was—”
“Not the three-day rule,” lamented Imogen.
“It's there for a reason,” said Rupert, relaxing at in his sister's unconditional love despite his questionable behavior at times.
“What now?”
“I don't know. I don't know where my head’s at. One minute my life is merrily rowing along, the next I have the most beautiful woman in the entire galaxy in front of me, who I deliberately crushed as an ignorant, selfish teenager. I don't know what's going on. I wanted to take her to dinner. Treat her properly. Let her know I changed. If I'm honest, my motives weren't entirely honorable. I fancy her. But then I always have.”
“You're not alone there.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning she's a top, hot Broadway diva. She was gorgeous at school. It's only that everyone felt the need to judge her on her weight.”
“Except you,” he murmured.
“I know what it's like to be an outsider. More importantly, I know how love can change a person's life. You and mum and dad taught me that. It's a priceless lesson I learned because of my birth parents abandoning and my real mum and dad taking me in. I know its importance, of course, it's one I try and exercise daily.”
They sat in silence. Unlike his sister who was happy to lounge in her pajamas whatever time of day, Rupert preferred to keep bed-wear restricted to the bedroom. He was however, not adverse to wandering around the house in his black Emporio Armani lounge shorts and naked torso. With company, however, he was obligated to put a t-shirt on, even when relaxing with his sister. Rupert flicked on the TV. The sound blared out startling Imogen. She spilled her wine. Cursing, she dashed to the kitchen, racing back with a bottle of white wine. Pouring it on the stain, Rupert grabbed her wrist.
“Don't waste it,” he yelled over the TV.
“Put that thing on mute,” she screamed to be heard.
Immediately he switched off the TV to watch her blot the stain with clean white cloths.
“It'll come out I promise. Yet another important lesson in life I learned from Mum.”
Her throw-away comment on their mother’s love of claret managed to have Rupert chuckling. “Imogen we're billionaires. It's hardly a big issue.”
“True, but what if all the furniture shops have stopped stocking boring, uninspiring, monochrome colors.”
He continued laughing at her biting remarks.
“Have you been sitting in the whole weekend drowning your sorrows?” she grilled.
Pouting, she knew she was right. She hated him drinking by himself. She hated him sad in the massive apartment.
“Have you been out all weekend with Hank the Grid Iron player?” countered Rupert
“I have. I even went to see him play yesterday with his father.”
“He was
playing in the Jets with his father?”
“Don't be idiotic, Rupert. He was playing. Me and Hank's dad were watching Hank smash the Miami Dolphins.”
“Sounds painful.”
“Only for Miami.”
“Meeting the parents. That is something.”
He was losing his sister. She'd always been flighty and naughty and incredibly fun, but she was growing up.
“Stay and finish the white wine with me?”
“Rupert, it's Monday tomorrow we've got work.”
“Please.”
“On one condition.”
“What?” he asked, sitting straighter on the couch.
“Ring Susan. If you promised you would, do it. Bite the bullet. It's Sunday night. It's well past the three-day rule. Pick up the phone and call.”
She dangled the bottle of white wine in front of his eyes. Going to snatch it, she jerked back suddenly.
Rupert reached for his cell phone nervously.
CHAPTER 10
“What did you say?”
“I said yes.”
Dylan hated hearing that Susan-Marie was going on a date with Rupert. Whatever her plans were, he had an underlying feeling she wouldn't be able to see them through. She was a good person. Though Rupert deserved being taken down a peg or two and public humiliation, but Susan's soft heart hadn't hardened over the years as far as he was aware.
“The plan being?”
“The plan is to make him fall for me. Lead him in a merry dance, then let karma bite him in the ass.”
“It doesn't sound very you, Susan-Marie.”
“It's not a side of myself I'm proud of. It's something I’d hope I'd never have to stoop to. But fate crossed our paths and I vowed long ago if I got my chance I would turn the tables on Rupert Locke-Smythe.”
Sitting in a cafe near the theater, the two were enjoying lunch. Dylan opted for a hamburger and beer, whereas Susan restricted herself to a salad and soda water. It was too cold to sit outdoors, but the hustle and bustle of the over-priced venue gave the chic coffee-bar warmth and atmosphere. Sitting by the window frontage, they could have people watched for hours. As it was, people were looking in at the handsome couple. Her jet black hair and green eyes suited Dylan's blonde hair and blue eyes. Gothically dressed in black, Dylan's clothes remained sleek and stylish in and out of the office. His black trousers and satin shirt gave him a gaunt Halloween inspired style, not inappropriate given it was that season. Dressing in brighter, bold colors, Susan's patterned genie pants were sixties inspired, complimenting her ballet pumps. Content to wear a singlet in rehearsals because of the heat exuded by a cast of fifty singing and dancing on stage, she flung on her favorite pullover bright orange fleece to cover up for lunch, knowing the sudden exposure to the autumn cool might affect her throat – not something she or the production could afford. The rehearsal timetable was strict. Composing her own timetable of events to formulate a scheme to ruin Rupert's heart required Dylan's assistance. Susan was focusing solely on the task in front of her, not the company of Dylan or her tasty plate of food. Checking her watch she realized she had quarter of an hour before she was due in the theater.
“I'm seeing him tonight for dinner. That'll start the ball rolling. A lot of flirtation. A little prick-teasing. Come opening night, with your help, I shall recreate the scene he, Nikki and I had to partake in before the after-show party all those years ago. This time we'll be playing different roles.”
“And my role is?” asked Dylan, knowing exactly what part he would play.
“If you can bear it. You'll be playing my lover.”
“I can manage that.”
“Are you sure you're okay with it? I understand if you're uncomfortable. I could 'borrow' David, but as wonderful as he is on stage, his off stage persona leaves no scope for question regarding his sexuality.”
“Susan-Marie, I was there. I was in the gymnasium when Nikki announced to the cast the 'joke' they'd played on you. I was the guy scouting the school grounds for your whereabouts. I was the boy telling you one day things would be different. I was the kid that was right. What Rupert did was unforgivable.”
“What you did though, I'll never forget. It was ironic you landing my first major role in Hairspray after I'd completed my degree in musical theater.”
“Any up and coming agent would've landed you that role. You were gifted. You fit the part. Now you fit every part of every female lead currently going.”
“Not for too much longer. I'm thirty now. My star is fading.”
“Not at all. You won't be playing Sophie in Mamma Mia, you'll be graduating to the role of Donna, her mother. It was good enough for Meryl Streep.”
“I know. Getting older and growing up I suppose is hard to face. Might be the body-clock ticking but I'm getting waves of wanting to settle down somewhere stable.”
“But not here,” he stated ruefully.
“Dylan. My heart lies in London. You know that. I completed most of my education there. I graduated from the Central School of Speech and Drama – it's where Dame Judi Dench trained! I've tried to ensure the majority of my work is based there.”
“Leaving me without an income.”
Swatting his hand, she gave him a suspect look. “Do not pretend for a second that I'm your biggest earner.”
“No, but you're my favorite.”
“Then don't take me off your books. The West End is something else, but Broadway has its own reputation and status. It was finishing high school here. It was living in a house I barely knew as home. It was the absence of a parent and supervision of an Aunt and Uncle who I’d never previously met. Those combined evoke disappointment and drama.”
“All that and a broken heart.”
“Yes, all that and a broken heart. Are you in, Dylan?”
“What? Making out with Broadway's hottest star to teach Rupert Locke-Smythe a lesson? I'm with you all the way, Susan-Marie.”
CHAPTER 11
Seeing him approach the restaurant, Susan's heart went to her throat. He was traffic-stoppingly handsome. Dressed down in navy chinos, a slim-fitting pink shirt, casual, open navy blazer and blue suede shoes, Susan wondered if Rupert had been styled by one of New York's hippest fashionistas.
Wearing her typical color of black for evening functions, she knew how bland she was next to him. Five stone lighter or not, she would never compete with Rupert in terms of panache. A shawl surrounding her shoulders was passed to the cloakroom. Susan wore a simple Laura Ashley dress. The velvet dress had a hidden zip and fastener. The inch wide straps were a corduroy fabric. The shaped bodice had a black satin ribbon tracing the outline of her cleavage. Black lace frills were scattered close to the hem. It was a perfect reliable black number, but she felt less than perfect compared to Rupert.
“Don't you ever wear a suit?” The greeting was a tad abrasive. Undeterred he planted a kiss on her cheek.
“Every day at work. Once I'm out of the office, I'm out of the suit. It helps separate play from work.”
“Your clothes determine your attitude?”
“Absolutely. You look stunning, by the way.”
“I look like everyone else here.”
“Sweet talk aside Susie, you don't.”
“I feel over-dressed next to you. I automatically assumed you'd be wearing a suit.”
“We aren't at Brighton College now. I'm not obliged to wear a uniform,” reminded Rupert.
“It was so rigid wasn't it? You must've loved changing into rugby gear.”
“God no! Every time I did, I knew I was going on a field for at least eighty minutes of hazardous play that could leave me broken, bloodied, bruised and potentially ruin my aspiring dreams of becoming a model. I loved the drama club because we all dressed down and there was a sense of…” Rupert stopped his reminiscing mid-sentence.
Heading into the magnificent Trump International Hotel & Tower a doorman guided them to the three Michelin-star restaurant, Jean-Georges.
Rupert had gone t
o town booking a table there. Close to Broadway, the restaurant itself was elegant. Curving banquettes, bay windows facing the street, soft, sheer white drapes were clouding the view of the autumn leaves painting the sidewalk and the almost whirling fixtures gave the room a round, smoothness to its neutral interior.
