by Black, Lena
Is she right? Do I have feelings for Gunnar?
I shower, pack for my weekend in the Hamptons, and dress for the conference. Choosing a pair of leather shorts with a Peter Pan collar white blouse, I pair it with neon pink, pointed toe heels. It’s a sassy blend of sweet and spicy. Leaving my hair down in loose waves for the perfect carefree touch. Total rocker chic.
When I walk out to the living room, Gwen’s sitting on the couch surfing through the channels.
“Oh, hot momma! Where are you off to looking so sexy?”
“I have a work thing.” I grab my fringe purse and fling it over my shoulder. “I won’t be back later. I’m staying with Gunnar tonight then leaving for the Hamptons tomorrow.”
“How are you getting there?” she asks, flopping the remote control on the couch next to her.
“Cassandra rented me a car for the weekend,” I answer, picking my luggage off the floor. “The rental service dropped it off a few minutes ago.”
“Have fun,” she says as I head for the door.
“Enjoy your date.” I smile back at her then exit, locking the door behind me. When I make it downstairs, I find a white BMW coupe parked at the curb right out front.
Nice Mom.
In a large meeting suite at The Plaza, I’m sitting in the middle of an ocean of journalists from newspapers and magazines all across the country. They talk amongst themselves, a dull roar surrounding me.
I smile to myself as I wait for Gunnar to come out. Even though this is a work thing, it doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun, too.
Suddenly, the doors open and the band walks out, camera flashes going off everywhere, clicking away, filling the room with blinding light. Anarchy takes their seats behind a long table covered with a white cloth.
I focus my eyes on Gunnar, in his torn jeans, plain black tee, and worn boots, his uniform. He scans the room behind his black Ray Bans, but probably won’t see me until the glaring glimmer of lights stop blasting in his face.
Callie announces them and says, “When you’re ready, ladies and gentlemen, Anarchy Reigns will start taking your questions.”
Gradually, the flashes die down until it’s only one here and there. And that’s when he spots me. A small smirk creeps on his face, kinking the corner of his mouth. I smile back, mouthing ‘Hi’ to him.
“Hi,” he mouths back.
Hands fly into the air and people try to get the band’s attention.
“You,” Callie says, pointing to a reporter right in front of me.
She rises and says, “Tammy from Buzz Magazine. With the low critical praise from reviewers about your last album, what can we expect from your next?”
Gunnar takes the lead, answering for the group, “I’m really excited with where it’s going. I’ve recently found inspiration and it’s really begun to push our music in a whole new direction.”
He glimpses at me and smiles shyly.
“Next question,” Callie comments.
“Yes.” Some young hipster with a floppy beanie pops up. “Danny from Metalhead Monthly. Don’t you think fans might be expecting more of the same? Why stray from what you know?”
“Well,” Gunnar says, “if you don’t grow, you die. I think our fans will be excited about the new formula as well. We are taking our music to a higher plain, so to speak, and I think they’re ready for it…Next.”
I rise, with a stupid-ass grin on my face, completely unprofessional, but I just can’t stop it.
“Lace from Rocked Candy Review.” We stare at each other for a few seconds.
“Yes, Lace, you have the floor,” he practically purrs.
I break eye contact with him, noticing everyone looking back and forth between us.
“Yes, um. It’s a pretty well-known fact that you’re a ladies man, but lately, you haven’t been seen with any women. Is there a special muse creating such passion for your work?”
I know this isn’t hard-hitting stuff, but like Gunnar, the temptation is hard to resist.
His eyebrows shoot up quickly, amused.
“No one I’d consider special,” he retorts.
I can feel my face turn a brilliant red and my mouth drops open. I am furious.
“Oh really?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest, staring him down. “No one special?”
He leans back in his chair, hanging an arm over the back, and says with an arrogant air, “What can I say? Once you’ve had one, you’ve had them all.” Is he fucking kidding me? Did I make a terrible mistake doing this? “Is that all, baby doll?”
Oh, he did not just call me baby doll!
I want to yell at him, hit him, hurt him with everything I have. Then I look around the room and realize every set of eyes is honed in on me. I can’t do anything about it now, not in a room full of my colleagues.
“Yeah, that’s all, Mr. Haze.” I sit back down, keeping my eyes cast down at my neon pink heels. “Asshole,” I mumble.
I wait out the rest of this torturous situation, ignoring him with all my fucking might. I refuse to acknowledge him. I know my questions were a tad childish, but he was a flat out dickhead!
When the last question is asked about twenty minutes later, Callie says, “That’ll be all for today. Thank you for coming.”
That’s my cue to exit stage left, leaping up from my chair as the crowd starts to dissipate. I weave through the maze of people, desperate to get out, like yesterday.
I guess I can head up early to the Hamptons. Even if it means I would have to spend an extra day with my mother’s nagging. I would miss all the heavy traffic if I left a day early.
I’m walking through the grand lobby, my heels rapidly clacking on the marble floor as I all but run for the front doors.
“Lace!” Gunnar calls for me. “Lace, wait up!”
I don’t stop moving toward my exit. I just want to get away from here, from him, from the mortifying incident.
I’m a fucking idiot!.
“Lacey, stop!” he commands. It halts me in my tracks, the soles of my shoes skidding to a stop. But I don’t turn around. I can’t. I’m just so hurt. I don’t know what I’d expected him to say. ‘Oh, Lace. You’re everything to me.’
Is that what I wanted him to say?
He steps in front of me, but I don’t look up into his face. I stare down at his stressed boots, clunky and unlaced.
“Why did you run?” he asks, and my eyes dart up to his, narrowed.
“Why did I run? Are you fucking mental?” I say loudly, catching the attention of a few guests and employees.
“Not since the last time I checked,” he replies monotonously. “I thought we were having fun with each other. Wasn’t that your intent, to fuck around?”
“It wasn’t fucking funny, asshole.”
“Oh, back to asshole is it?”
“You deserve it after that bullshit you pulled.” I feel tears building in my throat, but I choke them back down. “You told me I was nothing special. You made me feel like a goddamn whore, Gunnar. How should I feel?”
His bafflement shifts to empathy. “Lace, baby,” he steps toward me, “I’m sorry. I took it too far.”
This time, the tears rush out before I can fight them back, spilling out like hot trails of salty sadness.
“Am I really nothing special?” I sputter out, my arms crossed over my stomach, attempting to comfort myself.
“Fuck no, baby.” His hand reaches out for me, hooking about my back and pulling me into him. “You’re fucking incredible.”
I lay my head on his shoulder, smelling the musky scent of his neck, and calm a bit.
“I should have never done this,” I state.
He runs his fingers through my hair, his other hand clung firmly to my lower back while the thumb strokes the curve. It’s soothing, tender.
“I loved it…If I’m being honest, it made my cock hard as fuck.”
“What?” I ask, looking up at him.
“You fucking heard me.” He slams his mouth down on mine b
efore I can respond, clamping down on my bottom lip. “Now I’m going to take you back to my place and nail you until you realize how fucking special you are to me.”
I am so screwed.
I take my car out to the Hamptons, stuck in traffic for the majority of the drive. All of New York will be out here this weekend for the endless parties and networking.
Gunnar wasn’t too pleased I had to leave him this weekend, but he didn’t argue. Though, there is a part of me that’s apprehensive to leave him behind in the city with that skankzilla, Callie. But I’m happy to have this time away. I’m looking forward to the beach.
I arrive at the family beachfront home sometime after noon. It’s your typical Hamptons’ manor with cedar shingled siding and large white framed bay windows. It’s been in my family since my great grandmother, on my father’s side, had it constructed in the twenties. My mother calls it The Cottage. I call it over the top.
Lugging my bags packed with mostly books, I head inside.
I open the dark blue door, bracing myself, and call out, “Mom? Are you here?” Silence. “Margaret?”
Margaret is my mother’s housekeeper. She’s really sweet and funny. I love her to bits.
“Anyone?”
Still nothing.
I guess not.
I pause a second, taking comfort in the familiarity of the space, decorated in relaxing whites and multi-toned blues and cedar furniture. It’s very airy and bright.
I head upstairs to drop off my stuff, tossing my bag onto my bed, covered by a pastel quilt, and change into my bikini and white cutoff jean shorts. I dig one of my books out, snag a towel, and slip on my flip-flops before running back down to the first floor to look for my mom.
Maybe she went into town or down to the beach.
I call for her one more time then stroll through the house to the back patio. I survey the grounds and just beyond, past the tall grass to the beach, but it’s empty. I walk along the wood-planked pathway, letting the sun warm my skin while the salty breeze simultaneously cools it off.
I lay my towel out and then I do the same, cracking open my book. I pop in my earbuds, putting ‘By the Sea’ by Summer Fiction on repeat. I read a few chapters and before I know it, I’m halfway through the book. My stomach grumbles, so I gather my things and head into the house.
When I enter the main hallway, I find my mom coming in the front door, arms loaded with retail bags. “Margaret?”
“Hey, Mom.”
She glimpses at me. “Oh, good. You’re here. Where is Margaret?”
“I have no clue.” I shrug.
“Will you help me with these?” she asks.
I walk up to her, grabbing an armful, and murmur, “It’s great to see you, too.”
“Don’t start with me, Lacey. You know how busy this weekend will be for me. I’m just a little frazzled.”
She always does this. She plans some big event and then wears herself thin trying to get everything together herself, snapping at anyone within a five-mile radius.
I follow her into the living room, setting everything on the couch.
“Please, be careful with those,” she carps.
Jesus. It’s not like I was juggling the bags.
I can just tell this is going to be the weekend from hell. The only things that bring me here are the beach, space, and weather. Though I love New York, it can be a bit cramped and blistering hot in the summers. It’s nice just to have room to breathe. Plus, some of my best memories are here with my dad. Some of my only memories of him really.
“What did you buy anyway?”
“Some dress options for the party, shoes, accessories. The essentials.”
Oh, right, essentials. She spends money as if her life depends on it.
“Isn’t one dress enough?” I ask crossly.
She shoots me a warning look.
“You must have options, Lacey.” She picks up a bag and hands it to me. “I bought you a few things as well.”
“Thank you.” I know there’s no point in arguing with her. I’ll lose. I always lose.
“You should go upstairs to shower and dress.” She glances down at her expensive Rolex. “We’re having company over for dinner tonight.”
“Who?” I ask, clearly not in the mood to entertain. I hate having to always be on when it comes to my mom and her dinner parties.
“Just a few close friends.” She sighs and places a hand over her forehead. It’s how she lets me know I’m bothering her with too many questions. She doesn’t like to be questioned on anything. I’m just to do as I’m told and smile politely. “You’ll find a gray dress in the bag. Please wear it.”
That wasn’t a request.
She can be so high-handed. After all these years, she still has her hooks in me. And I’m gutless, too big a wimp to stand up to her overbearing ways.
I hope that one day I’ll find my voice and, in turn, a life of my own making.
I shower and wear the gray sheath dress as she firmly requested, not wanting to argue and further agitate her, like an obedient daughter. But it just looks so matronly on me. The one inch heels and string of pearls aren’t helping either.
Hearing voices downstairs, I leave my room to join everyone gathered in the living room. A few faces I recognize, but there’s one I don’t. It belongs to a gentleman with graying hair and green eyes. He must be about my mother’s age and seems very comfortable here.
“Ah, Lacey,” Cassandra says, noticing me. “Come meet Robert.”
I slowly move toward them and extend my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Robert.”
He grasps onto it gently and holds it. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Lacey,” he says with an overly enthusiastic smile, his capped, bleached teeth displayed proudly. “Your mother has told me so much about you.”
Has she? Who is this guy?
“The pleasure’s mine, Mister…?” I eye him carefully.
“Mitchell.”
“Mr. Mitchell.”
“No, please, call me Robert,” he insists.
Oh, Jesus, could this be any more predictable?
“Dinner’s served,” Margaret announces.
Oh, thank God. I don’t know how much more I could take of this awkward situation.
As we take our seats in the dining room, I notice the one beside me remains unoccupied. Everything about this feels peculiar. Something in my gut sends alarms off.
Suddenly, there’s a knock and everyone seems to go silent. Margaret sets down a platter of lobster tails on the table then goes to answer the door. When she opens it, a look of shock bursts onto her face.
In walks Holden, a bottle of wine in hand, handing it over to her without even an acknowledging glance. He always treated her like the help. That always bothered me.
Of course she did!
Cassandra glimpses at me before rising to greet him. “Holden darling, please come in.”
She walks him toward the table and gestures to the empty chair beside me. I don’t look him in the eye. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
“Thank you for inviting me, Cassandra,” he says, kissing her ass. Out of my peripheral vision, I see him take the seat next to me. “Hello, Lacey.”
“Hi,” I utter, still staring anywhere but at him. I was starving and now the thought of eating turns my stomach.
“Did you miss me?” he inquires, his breath brushing against my neck.
“Hardly.”
Why won’t he just leave me be?!
“Well, I missed you,” he whispers. “Though, the last time I saw you, you had your boyfriend’s hand all over your crotch.”
I shoot him a glaring look, narrowing my eyes.
“Shut your mouth,” I snap back, too quiet for the other guests to hear. “May I be excused?” I ask, rising and leaving before my mother can stop me. I rush out to the back patio and shut the glass sliding door behind me, shrieking to let out my frustration.
Ever since I got here, I feel like there’s a noose
around my neck, squeezing until it’s impossible to breathe.
I hear the whooshing of the glass door sliding open and closed. Without turning around, I know exactly who it is.
“What do you want, Holden?” There’s venom in my voice.
“Don’t ask dumb questions, Lacey.”
I peer at him over my shoulder and then walk down the steps toward the pathway leading to the beach. “You know, that’s exactly why I left you,” I comment as I make my escape. He follows. “Go away!”
I walk quicker, but it’s pointless.
“You’re acting like a spoiled brat,” he states.
Same old Holden.
I screech to a halt and spin around. “Why would you mention Las Vegas in front of my mother?”
“Is it Vegas or him you don’t want her knowing about?” He smirks at me smugly.
“It’s none of her concern who I see.”
“Then why are you trying to keep him a secret?”
He thinks he’s so fucking smart.
“Who said I was?” I ask, my lips tightening with frustration.
“It’s obvious you’re ashamed of him. As you should be, he’s beneath you, Lacey.” He takes a step toward me. “He’s fucking scum.”
I take a step back.
“He’s more of a man than you!” I scream.
I’m so angry he can get to me this easily.
“Please,” he curtly chuckles out, waving me off, “he’s garbage.”
Tears well up in my eyes, stinging like salt on an open wound, and my hands ball into fists at my sides. “You can leave my goddamn house now. And don’t even think of coming back.” He doesn’t budge. “Now!”
At my emotional end, I turn my back on him, listening to the wood planks creak under his weight as he walks back toward the house.
When I finally head back in, long after the other guests have left, I find my mother sitting on the couch with a glass of wine. Not wanting to deal with her, I attempt to sneak past her.
“Are you proud of yourself?” she asks without looking back at me.
“Can we do this tomorrow? I’m tired.”
She sets down her glass forcefully and rises, turning back to me with a cold expression.
