by Hunter, Lara
“Oliver,” I breathed, breaking out into a mad run as I held my arms open for him.
Turning with a smooth flourish in my direction, Oliver regarded me for a long, timeless moment with a cold, unsmiling expression.
Then, abruptly, he turned away.
“Oliver!” I repeated, this time in a scream as I bolted upright in my makeshift bed.
Finding myself once again alone in Kirk’s apartment, I released a low, deep sigh as I covered my face with my hands.
As exhausted as I was, and as much as I tried to get the rest that I needed, the same questions continued to plague my mind.
Where was Oliver? Who was he with—and when would he come back?
~
Chapter Six
~
Lily
Finally I managed to get back to sleep; falling into a deep, very restful repose as I curled into the fetal position in the depths of Kurt’s cushiony couch.
Thankfully the specter of troubling dreams finally abandoned my psyche; freeing me to finally get the rest that I needed. When I finally awoke several hours later, I was stirred by the feel of a gentle kiss, planted tender on the skin of my forehead.
My eyes fluttered open to behold the person who gifted me with this delicate kiss. I admit that I was disappointed to see a grinning, super cute blond in front of me, as opposed to a bronzed, sultry brunette; even so, I returned Kirk’s beam as he kneeled to hand me a single, very radiant red rose.
“Thanks my friend,” I told him, openly admiring the rose’s dew-glistened, ruby hued petals and inhaling its lush, fragrant scent.
Kirk shrugged.
“I would love to give you a whole dozen but I still have to shell out my rent this month,” he told me, adding as he handed me a multi-colored box that weighed heavy in my grasp, “I did manage to spot you a dozen doughnuts, though; chocolate cream with sprinkles, just as you like them.”
“Yum!” I exclaimed, exchanging high fives with my beaming crony as I threw open the box.
“Glad you like them,” he nodded, adding as he wagged a scolding finger in my direction, “No snacking, though, until you eat your dinner. I have a triple cheese lasagna in the oven, almost ready for you.”
Soon I found myself once again at Kirk’s kitchen table, this time devouring a yummy, cheesy treat that warmed and filled my tummy.
“Honestly, Taylor,” I shook my head between bites, “I had no idea that you were such a gourmet.”
Kirk grinned.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Ashton,” he assured me with a wink, adding more seriously, “I hope you don’t mind, Lily—but when I was at work today I told Trisha about what happened to you.”
I froze.
“You didn’t,” I released on a sigh, sinking deep in my seat.
Grabbing my hand across the table, Kirk pinned me with an empathetic glance as he said, “Lily, you have no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed. You haven’t done anything wrong, something terrible was done to you. Trisha sends her good thoughts to you, and reminds you that you still have several more vacation days—just in case you need a little more time to rest and deal with things.”
“…and after those days are used up, I need to get my rear in gear and get back to work,” I completed with a smirk, adding more seriously, “Just out of curiosity, Kirk, did you happen to see Oliver at work today?”
Kirk shook his head.
“No,” he said faintly, with a shrug. “Not that this means anything, though. You know what a big building we have at Clark Industries. My duties rarely take me anywhere near Oliver’s office and frankly, that’s just fine and dandy with me.” He paused, adding as he tightened his hold on my hand, “I still wish to this day that you could have given me a chance, Lily. I know that I can’t give you the clothes, the jewels, the theater tickets, the Miami vacations… but if you were my lady, I swear I’d always be there when you needed me. And even, for that matter, when you didn’t. I’d probably get pretty darned annoying with my ever-present presence, so to speak—but you’d never have to worry about me running out on you, cheating on you, or hurting you in any way.”
I smiled.
“I know, Kirk,” I affirmed, squeezing his fingers between mine as I added in a soft voice, “Maybe if I had met you before, my dear, then things just might have been different. But—and since I have absolutely no desire to quote Woody Allen, I’ll quote Ms. Selena Gomez instead—the heart wants what it wants.”
An uneasy silence met this comment; one that I broke by setting aside my fork and gesturing broadly in the direction of Kirk’s living room.
“So Kirk, what’s on the schedule for tonight?” I asked, forcing a genial smile. “Care to watch some TV while we unabashedly pig out on those scrumptiously fat-drenched doughnuts?”
Kirk grinned, breaking the tension with a little chuckle as he reached deep in his pocket.
“We’re not just going to watch some TV,” he told me, producing a DVD case that looked eerily familiar. “We’re going to watch one of your favorite movies as we devour our doughnuts.”
“Wayne’s World!” I exclaimed, immediately recognizing the smiling—if a bit curious—faces of Wayne and Garth on the cover of the DVD. “I’m so in!”
Moments later I lounged once again on Kirk’s couch; this time sitting by his side as we laughed, chortled and recited the lines of our favorite comedy classic.
Lulled into a drowsy, relaxed state by my friendly, homey surroundings, I found it increasingly difficult to keep my eyes open as the movie continued. Finally I lost the battle, drifting off to sleep as the film’s closing credits rolled on the screen before me.
When my eyes fluttered open moments later, I found myself still on Kirk’s couch and nestled close to my now sleeping friend; my head resting on his shoulder as he let loose with a loud snore.
I must have been well and truly sleepy to doze through all that racket, I yawned, blinking my eyes against the rays of blinding sunlight that flew free through a nearby window.
With a gentle but very purposeful hand, I shook my friend awake, saying as I did, “Kirk? You’d better get up or you’ll be late for work.”
Pinning me with a sleepy gaze, Kirk shifted restless on his couch and stretched his hands high above his head.
“Just wait until I tell all my friends that I slept with Lily Ashton,” he mumbled with a joking grin. “So what are your plans for today?”
I shrugged.
“I’m supposed to have a meeting this morning with the head of a security company,” I told him, running some soothing hands through the strands of my mussy dark hair. “His team is going to change the locks on my doors and install a security system in case my intruder decides to make an unwelcome encore appearance.”
Kirk nodded.
“Sounds like a plan. We want to make sure that you’re good and protected,” he said, releasing a groan of acute discomfort as he stood up slowly from the couch. “Ack. I’m not as young as I once was, Lily—and my back is protesting this fact, as loudly and vehemently as possible.”
I winced.
“You know,” I told him with an empathetic grin, “You didn’t have to sleep on this couch all night, here with me. You could have gone to bed.”
I took in my breath as Kirk turned to me, searing me with an intense gaze that betrayed his inner emotions. I answered him with a blank, confused stare that managed to betray mine.
“I stayed here,” he told me, voice low and sincere, “Because you needed me.”
I considered these words hours later, as I sat alone on another comfy couch, this one located in my own living room.
Assured through a phone call from the En Guard security company (ordinarily I’d find that moniker funny—now, not so much) that my security system was working and in place, I collected my things, said an awkward goodbye to Kirk—the all too accommodating host who insisted on hugging me and kissing my cheek in an all too warm gesture of goodbye—and headed back to my place of re
sidence.
Only it didn’t feel like my home anymore. I had new locks and a new security system, to be sure, a high tech outfit preprogrammed to ensure my safety; what I didn’t have were those precious objects that my intruder had soiled and broken. What I didn’t have was my peace of mind; or the ability to be relaxed and comfortable in my own home—or, for that matter, my own psyche.
Reaching for the cell phone that I’d dropped haphazardly on my plain cherry wood end table, I dialed Oliver’s number; rolling my eyes heavenward as I heard the opening lines of his all too familiar voicemail message.
Yet this time when I heard the beep, I was more than ready.
“Oliver, this is friggin’ ridiculous,” I barked into the phone. “What’s with the disappearing act? I need you. Where are you? Call me as soon as possible.”
Hitting the end button on the phone, I jumped up from my couch and bounded for the door; setting out for a rather sketchy side of town that—oddly enough—was starting to feel like home.
Soon I found myself once again standing at Kirk’s doorstep with my purse and my overnight bag in my hand; offering him a sheepish smile as he opened his door to me.
“Lily?” He blinked in surprise as he waved me inward. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this evening.”
I gritted my teeth.
“Yeah, well, I still feel kind of odd about going home after—well, after everything that has happened,” I told him, clutching my hands in front of me. “And, I’m sorry to say, Oliver is still nowhere to be found. I really don’t want to impose on you, but I need a place to stay for just one more night.”
Kirk nodded.
“Say no more, Lily. My home is yours,” he assured me, adding as he motioned me toward his living room couch, “Sit down and relax while I make us dinner.”
Soon I sat once again at the edge of my newfound resting place; happily devouring a plate of steamy homemade spaghetti as Kirk and I enjoyed a viewing of that sentimental old chestnut ‘Love Story’ starring Ali MacGraw and Ryan O’Neal.
Even as I ate Kirk’s food and enjoyed his warm, congenial company, I couldn’t help but lose myself in the fantasy of this classic romance; one in which a rich, spoiled young man falls in love with a smart, sassy working class girl.
I’d first seen ‘Love Story’ as a teenager, when my mom took me to a matinee showing at a revival theater where I’d spent many a happy evening. To this day I remember us crying together at the film’s end—with emotional teenaged me declaring that I’d found one of my new favorite films. And now I couldn’t help but notice the obvious similarities between this story and my own and as I saw the developing love story on screen between the characters of Oliver and Jenny, my heart ached and pounded for my own Oliver. I just couldn’t help but wonder where he was right now, and if someone else was playing the role of his romantic heroine. His Jenny.
Of course, I’d never wish Jenny’s fate on anyone, not even a rival for the affections of the only man I’d ever really loved, I mused quietly, adding as I felt my heart sink, It just hurts, that’s all.
I didn’t notice when the single, wayward tear crossed the surface of my cheek but Kirk certainly did. I jumped in my chair as he leaned forward and kissed it off, his tongue flicking ever so softly at the moisture as his lips caressed my skin.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have picked this movie,” he whispered. “It’s just that, well, I’ve been thinking about you all day Lily. I think about you all the time—and I never dreamed that I could get this close to you. So somehow tonight, I thought that a romantic film was in order.”
I stared at him for a moment, his sudden boldness and sense of nearness leaving me speechless.
Finally I averted my gaze from his smiling face, saying as I did, “Oh it’s all right. ‘Love Story’ is a classic movie, one always worth watching. It’s just that the hero is a rich guy named Oliver, and—well, right now it hits a little too close to home, I guess.”
I took in my breath as Kirk jumped to his feet; pushing the off button on his television set before turning to stand tall and proud before me.
“Well in my mind, Lily, the solution is pretty simple,” he told me, kneeling before me and piercing me with an intense stare of sheer adoration. “Start a new love story and with a real man who knows how to take care of you. A man who would never desert you, never make you cry. A man like me. I swear it, Lily, I could make you forget about the spoiled rich boy in just one night—just give me one night, babe.”
With these words my host surged forward; searing my lips with an intense, very passionate kiss. Suddenly his mouth was on mine, his hands were on my shoulders, and his tongue flicked tentative across my lips.
Breaking away from him with a sharp gasp, I bolted upward from his couch; in the process managing to dump my spaghetti plate all over his white shag carpeting, watching helplessly as its ivory surface was marred with a thick coating of noodles, meatballs and garlic sauce.
“Kirk, I came here for a place to stay and maybe some friendly company,” I told him, tone low and stern. “I did not ask or give permission for you to kiss me. That was out of line.”
Once again jumping to his feet, Kirk held his hands up between us in what seemed a defensive stance.
“Lily, I am so sorry,” he insisted, adding as he bit his lip, “I totally misread your cues…”
“That may be because I didn’t send any,” I insisted in return, planting my hands on my hips. “I’m very vulnerable right now, and you know as much. And while I have been grateful and very affectionate with you, I was not flirting with you in any way, shape or form.”
Kirk shook his head.
“I’m sorry. It’s not you, this is all my fault,” he repeated. “Lily, I swear I wouldn’t hurt you for anything in the world. Please forgive me.”
I thought a moment, then sighed.
“Just don’t let it happen again,” I said finally, adding as I kneeled over to grab my overnight bag, “I don’t hate you, Kirk—but, the way things are with Oliver, I can’t take a chance on anything happening between you and me. It would only complicate things further.”
“Lily, please don’t go,” Kirk insisted, shaking his head from side to side. “I swear I won’t try anything if you stay… Take my bed if you want and lock the door behind you. I’ll sleep out here on the couch…”
Grasping my bag with one hand and holding up a restraining hand with the other, I turned for the door.
“I just don’t think I’d feel comfortable if I stayed,” I told him. “And what I don’t need is another sleepless night. Good evening, Kirk.”
Moments later I was back in my car; my headlights illuminating a path that seemed to lead nowhere. Where was I supposed to go now? Suddenly I felt like a person without a place, without a real home.
While steering my car through the downtown area that separated my neighborhood from Kirk’s, I suddenly spotted a neon sign that indicated the location of the Crown Royal Hotel; a statuesque, ivory hued hotel that towered high into the sky above.
I’d stayed only once at the illustrious Crown Royal; Bennington’s most exclusive hotel and the place where Oliver and I had celebrated our first anniversary.
It also happens to be the place where Oliver celebrated his 12th birthday—this owing to the fact that Harry Clark owns half the friggin’ hotel, I mused, rolling my eyes heavenward as I pulled into the fancy cobblestone drive that fronted this plush, resort-style accommodation. Is there any place within a five-mile radius of this friggin’ city that does not bear the Clark name? A gas station, maybe? A podiatrist’s office? A hot dog stand? Anything?
No matter. I needed a place to stay and this was one. Case closed.
Yet once I had checked in at the desk, reserving a one-bedroom suite for one night only, I couldn’t help but recognize and remember every niche and cranny of this luxurious berg. The lobby draped in finest velvet, the clean-lined elevator where Oliver and I had snuck a random but very passionate kiss. And finally the suite
that seemed like something out of a dream.
Yet even as I collapsed in the feathery confines of a whisper soft bed—one adorned with a comforter of lavender silk and topped with a lovely array pillows—I felt nothing but anger.
It didn’t matter that I slept beneath a crystal chandelier and a watercolor portrait framed in brass, or that at any time I could activate a multi-faceted, high definition entertainment center for my pleasure. I was mad. Mad at Oliver Clark. Mad at the phantom intruder that had ruined my home. And mad at Kirk Taylor.
I wanted my life back—and now.
Grabbing my nearby purse, I fished my cell phone from its cluttered depths and hit Oliver’s contact button with a vengeance, swearing softly as, once again, I heard the blasted voicemail message.
