by Ally Sky
“I think so…” I reply and continue looking in the mirror.
“Let me see,” he calls out, and I hesitatingly emerge from the dressing room.
“Wow! Talia, it’s perfect.” He smiles widely.
“It is, right?” I ask, not feeling very confident.
“You have to take it.”
I check the price tag and choke. Holy fuck. 1,500 pounds!
“John, which shop are we in?”
“What? It’s not that expensive,” he exclaims. “Donna Karan.”
My jaw drops. Donna Karan?
“I can’t take it.” I shake my head.
“Of course you can. We’ll buy it for you,” he insists.
“I don’t want you to buy it for me. You’re already far too generous as it is, spoiling me with free board and lodging. You’re not buying me this dress,” I tell him resolutely. I go back into the dressing room and take it off carefully, making sure nothing happens to it.
The dress is amazing, and I can see myself wearing it to the work event, even though I have no idea where it’s being held. I can just imagine the smile on Ben’s face when he sees me wearing that dress. But 1,500 pounds? My mood is even shittier now, as I hang it back on the clothes hanger and get dressed.
“John, would you mind letting me try on some dresses that are more sensibly priced?” I ask, as we leave the shop.
“You should’ve taken it.” He smiles at me as we go back to Oxford Street. We cross over and go into Debenhams.
We wander around the five-story store. It takes time but, eventually, I find a black maxi dress with a V-shaped cleavage. Tiny diamond-like stones decorate the wide straps and create the shape of a buckle on the high waist. The material flows in thin layers to my ankles. I check the price hesitantly—60 pounds. That’s more reasonable. I buy it and the saleslady packs it in a plastic bag. I’m ready to get back home, this has already taken too long.
“Come on, there’s a small café on the ground floor with a nice lounge area. Let’s sit there and talk.” John leads me to the escalator. At least I like talking to John.
“So, when are we going to meet Tom?” We drink our coffee downstairs and John doesn’t waste any time, diving straight into the hot subject. Danny has been trying for the past days to get me to invite him for supper, but I continue to avoid the subject.
I need to find a cover story.
“I don’t know,” I mumble nervously. “I don’t think he wants to come.”
“Why not?” John frowns.
“I don’t really know what’s going on between us.” I make up a white lie.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s complicated. We’re still trying to figure out what we want exactly,” I reply, and a tiny thought creeps in that it’s not that far-fetched from what’s happening with Ben.
“You’re not a couple?” he asks, surprised.
“Not really.”
“Don’t you go out with his friends?”
“No.”
“So what do you do when you’re together?” he enquires sternly.
I grin impishly. Come on, what do we do when we’re together?
“Talia…” He shakes his head.
“What?” I assume an innocent expression, as though it isn’t totally obvious that John won’t be pleased.
“Why do you put up with that?”
I feel as though I’ve just been punched in the stomach. Why do I put up with that? That’s exactly what I’m doing. Spending my nights with an amazing man who doesn’t want to give me anything more.
“That’s all he can give me right now,” I answer. “I’m so messed up.” I take a sip of coffee.
“You’re not ‘so messed up,’ you just tend to complicate even the simplest situation. I’m starting to think you enjoy it.” He grins.
“You think?” I ask. It’s a pity smoking isn’t allowed here.
“Talia, you’re an amazing girl and you’ve so much to offer, but you keep repeating the same mistake.” He takes a sip of coffee and stares at me unhappily. “Do me a favor.”
What do I have to offer anyone?
“You judge yourself way too harshly. You just need to assume a little bit more responsibility for your life.”
“Easy for you to say.”
He looks at me seriously and replies, “You make yourself out to be a victim, and that isn’t going to get you very far.”
“I don’t make myself out to be a victim,” I reply quietly. “I’m just realistic.”
“The reality you live in is mainly in your head. You prefer seeing failure instead of focusing on what you’re good at.”
“If you’re trying your amateur psychology on me.” I smile at him. “It won’t get you very far.”
“Let’s test out my amateur psychology skills.” John smiles. “If I were to ask you now to state three qualities you least admire about yourself, what would they be?”
Is he serious? Only three? Because I can give him quite a few more if he insists…
I hesitate, not knowing whether I should reveal what I truly think of myself. How did this conversation get so intense?
“Come on, don’t be shy. I won’t agree with a word you say anyway,” he encourages me.
“Let’s see. The first quality: I have no backbone. I find it extremely important to please other people – even at my own expense. The second quality: I can’t make decisions, and the third? Well, you know what I think about the way I look, so let’s not get into that again,” I answer truthfully.
“Okay. Let’s leave that aside for a moment. We’ll get back to that. Now I want you to state three positive qualities, things you like about yourself.” He makes himself comfortable in his chair, and a smile appears.
Okay, three strong qualities of mine. Let’s see…I try to think of something I like about myself, yet nothing specific comes to mind.
Damn, it’s not that hard. I struggle to find something positive to say as he continues to smile.
“Well?” He’s beaming, and I find it difficult to concentrate. Eventually I give up. A heavy feeling engulfs me. Can I really not say one positive thing about myself?
“And your point is?” I challenge.
“You’re lovely when you sulk,” he laughs.
“Your point?” I remind him.
“My point is, we’re so busy dealing with what’s wrong with us, we forget to appreciate all the good. Look at how easily you threw out three negative things. But when I asked for three positive things, you couldn’t find even one. Don’t feel bad, most people fall into the same trap. The thing is, we all have strong qualities, we just dismiss them easily.”
“And you can find three things I’m good at?” I frown.
“Easily.”
“Well?” I’m dying to hear what he has to say.
“Talia, you’re talented, you’re an amazing conversationalist, exceptionally eloquent, friendly, and funny, and so brave, dealing with things that would have destroyed other people ages ago.”
“I asked for only three. You can stop now.” I’m embarrassed and amazed John has found so many good things to say about me.
“You still don’t know how to accept a compliment.”
“Not really,” I reply.
“I take it Tom won’t be coming with you to the event tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so.” I smile slightly.
“At least your dress is amazing.” He laughs warmly.
“I still can’t believe you took me to Donna Karan’s shop, what were you thinking?”
It’s Saturday afternoon. I’m lying in bed, too lazy to get up after going to bed late last night. When we got back from shopping, all I wanted to do was paint and try to sort out my thoughts. The conversation with John had rattled me more than I thought.
Danny told me to be ready by six. I won’t paint today. I don’t feel like getting my hands stained. Anyhow, there are still stains on my fingers from the last few days.
What’s left to
do is to write.
Saturday
June 16th 2012
More
What if he’ll never give me more? How much longer will I sneak out of the house and into his bed and put up with what he’s willing to give me? How much longer until he decides he wants more, but with someone else? What will I do then?
How can I make him understand no one will love him like I do? That all I want is to make him happy?
Am I willing to accept it’s not going to last forever? I don’t want anyone else. I’m going to hold on to the hope that he’ll change his mind. Tonight I’m going to pretend he doesn’t know every curve of my body, every sensitive spot. I’ll smile innocently and charmingly, and no one will guess that this man, who will probably look gorgeous, as only he knows how, rocks my world and takes my body and heart to places previously unknown to me…
I will dream of the day when I don’t have to pretend and settle for just that…
Talula
After a long shower, I don suitable panties, as well as the dress I bought. No need for a bra.
I put my hair up, and put on my makeup, trying to make it look natural, just light brown eye shadow, eyeliner, and mascara. Then I wear my chosen high heels, dab on a light shade of lipstick, grab my black purse, and leave the room.
Danny and John are standing in the kitchen in their black tuxedos. They seem impressed as I walk up to them and try to smile. I’m wondering if they notice how nervous I am.
“Nice job, John.” Danny grins. “Talia, you look great.”
“Thanks.” I swallow hard. “Can we get this over with already?
“I assume we’re all going to drink tonight, so…a cab?” John looks at Danny for assurance.
“Yes.” Danny calls us a cab and, five minutes later, it arrives. We get in and my body starts to shake.
Even from a distance, Ben can cause my heartbeat to quicken.
The cab stops at Portman Square and we get out. The weather is chilly and I wrap myself up in the silver shawl I remembered to bring. We stand in front of an old, grey building. The big wooden door in front of us is closed, and I think to myself that this place looks nothing special.
Why bother with a tuxedo and a new dress? It looks so inappropriate.
“You ready?” Danny smiles, and I nod.
He opens the door and we enter a small room, which is dominated by a large reception desk. A pleasant-looking man in a black-and-purple uniform is sitting on the other side.
“Good evening,” he greets us.
“Good evening. We are here for the Storm Buildings event.”
“Of course. Welcome. Please come through.” He stands up, goes to a large, wooden door in the wall opposite us, and opens it.
We go inside and I gasp. What is this place? Nothing outside the building indicated what was going on inside. I look around, astounded.
We’re standing in front of a colossal, round stairway and when I look up, I see a huge, fancy, glass dome. The walls and furniture are designed in elaborately in the style of the nineteenth century.
“Where are we?” I ask. My voice lowers in awe as I turn and try to take in as much of the view as I can.
“Home House. It’s a private members’ club, London’s best kept secret,” Danny replies. “Nice?”
“It’s amazing…” I’m speechless.
We go through another wooden door and enter a huge hall. I look up. Glass chandeliers hang from the ceiling, lighting up the room in a soft, yellow hued glow. The pictures on the wall are even more beautiful as you walk along. The carvings and engravings are precise and exact. Along the pale-colored walls, there are elegant matching sofas. A few round, heavy ottomans in red-and-brown leather are scattered around the room.
In the corner, a string quartet is playing jazz. We aren’t the first to arrive, and I search for a pair of familiar green eyes among all the people.
A server dressed in black pants and a long, white, buttoned jacket approaches us. I notice a picture of a cute crocodile on each and every button. Are there any details they’ve missed?
“Would you like something to drink?” she asks with a smile.
“Whiskey?” Danny checks with John.
“Yes, what are you drinking, Talia?”
“Nothing. Maybe later,” I answer. I’m still trying to take in everything that’s going on.
“Two Lagavulin please,” John orders a whiskey I’ve never heard of, it seems that this place is definitely something special.
“Do you want to walk around the building? We’re going to go and say hello to a few people,” Danny offers, as if reading my mind. To be honest, I would love to disappear, there is no sign of Ben and my nerves are jangling.
“Yes,” I reply.
“Be careful you don’t get lost.”
I walk away from him and out of the big hall. It would be so like me to get lost in this place.
There’s a big garden, filled with generously spaced tables and parasols. Tiny lamps light up the stone tiles, and I wander among them. This is unreal.
I take out a cigarette and sit on a chair in the corner, wrapping myself in my silver shawl, trying not to freeze.
Although it’s June, it’s still cold. Goddamn weather. I inhale deeply and close my eyes.
I’m in London, in this amazing place, and it’s not quite as I imagined. I have a job, my paintings, and the blog, as well as my man with his green eyes that burn holes in my heart.
I feel as though I’m living someone else’s life and I don’t know whether or not I feel good about it. I can’t get the conversation I had with John out of my head. Tonight, more than any other night, I want to be mischievous and funny and charming. Instead, I’m sitting in this delightful garden, smoking a cigarette and running away from it all.
Although I’d like to hide in my little corner forever, I put out my cigarette, and go back inside, heading up the stairwell. My hand slides over the white railing. God, this building is huge. I wander around and absorb the smells and colors in every corner. The rooms are full of amazing wall paintings and designer corners made up into tiny living rooms. Waiters in their black-and-white uniforms with the golden buttons go around, offering drinks to the guests lounging on the sofas. I go down the stairs to the other side of the building.
Here the light colors change to a weak, dim lighting, with louder and more contemporary music. The bar is set up and, for a moment, I consider getting a drink, but I decide to go back. I don’t want Danny to start worrying. I return to the large hall, which, in the meantime, has filled up with people. I hardly know anyone here. It seems to me as though they’re all staring at me, wondering who I am and what I’m doing here.
“There you are.” Danny sees me from the other side of the room and makes his way to me. I breathe a sigh of relief. “Did you enjoy walking around?”
I nod wordlessly. A polite server walks past with a tray of glasses filled with red wine and I take one.
“Come, I want to introduce you to a few people,” he says, and I go with him, feeling self-conscious. My eyes search the room, could it be he hasn’t arrived yet? I don’t think so; after all, this is his event.
Danny turns to speak to a man who is standing and talking to a woman in a short, red dress—too short. I recognize Sharon, the almighty secretary of Storm Buildings. Her dress is extremely revealing.
“Daniel!” The man shakes Danny’s hand warmly, looking happy to see him.
Daniel. It’s been years since I last heard someone calling Danny by that name.
“Mason, I want you to meet Talia, my younger sister.” Mason smiles at me and shakes my hand, while Danny continues to the introductions. “And you’ve already met Sharon.” She smiles at me, while checking me out with a look I can’t quite fathom.
I nod slightly and give a forced smile. I can still remember her hand stroking Ben’s arm in the park—and now this dress. If she’s thinking of trying something, she’d better reconsider.
Danny and Mason are talki
ng, but I can’t be bothered to listen. I find myself searching the large hall. Where the hell is he?
And then I see him in the corner of the room, wearing a gorgeous, black tuxedo. He’s talking to a guy I don’t know, as I don’t know most of the men in the room. He seems to be smiling, but I can’t be sure. His hair is getting longer. It’s not as short as it was. I smile and wonder if he’ll cut it or grow it out. His long fingers are wrapped around a glass of whiskey. A woman is standing next to him, she’s facing me and I can see she’s pretty. No, she’s really pretty. She’s wearing a black, knee-length dress along with high heels, and she’s thin, almost as thin as I am, but much taller, with shiny, brown hair that cascades down her shoulders. She probably spent half the day in a beauty salon. She’s holding a glass of red wine and giggling. Ben bursts out laughing, and I can’t help but wonder who she is.
He turns his head, and our eyes meet. My heart skips a beat as he nods slightly and smiles casually, not giving away a thing. He’s really good at it. I nod back and smile slightly. I have to pretend. I can’t let anyone see.
I look at the group of people standing next to me, laughing aloud. Danny has disappeared without my noticing and I’m left standing with strangers. I listen to them and then recognize Carla from the park, dressed in a flattering, peach-colored dress.
A man who looks familiar from the weekend football games in the park is hugging her waist—he must be her husband, Ron.
“…and then she dragged me to see Phantom of the Opera.” Ron’s saying with great amusement. “I’m telling you, I haven’t slept that well in months.” The group bursts out laughing.
Carla continues the story. “And when it ended and I asked him how it was, he said, ‘Dreamy!’” Ron sees me standing next to them and turns to me. His cheeks are flushed from alcohol.
“Talia,” he smiles. “Have you seen Phantom of the Opera?” He catches me off guard.
“No,” I answer, hesitating, “I’m a fan of the lighter genre.”
“Have you seen anything interesting lately?” Carla asks, smiling and I know she’s trying to pull me into the conversation.
