by Taras Ford
“Chill out, man. I promise, no trouble. Just friendly conversation. Besides, if I just turn and leave, you’ll be forced to explain why. You’re too full of yourself to lie about who I am.”
“Are you playing with me?”
Todd shook his head. “Look, I’ve done my penance. I got that stupid broad an interview with Ford.
She’s pretty high on the hog now, and she thinks she did it on her own. You said yourself that I need to stop playing games and meet women other than the models I screw. Here’s my chance.”
“Those girls are not the sluts you fuck in your studio.”
“Their friend is,” he shot back.
“I won’t have you toying with them!” Nolan scowled. “You step out of line once, and it’s me and you. Just so we’re clear.”
Todd put on a serious look. “Scout’s honor!” he said.
When they returned to the living room, Nolen’s mood had lightened. “Ladies, are you hungry?” They nodded. Sydney accepted Nolen’s extended hand, and he led her to the dining room and Todd went for Trish. “Trish, would you mind if I accompanied you to breakfast?” Trish’s brow rose at the offer. Todd gave her a pleading, innocent pout. Sydney looked back at Trish’s hesitance, but felt a sense of relief when Trish spoke. “Sure,” she said, but when he extended his arm, she avoided it with a bashful blush and walked away.
Sydney and Trish sat directly across from each other, exchanging quick glances. Trish scooped her long hair behind one ear and looked up at Todd, who sat at one end of the table, opposite Nolen. “So are you two brothers?” Trish asked.
“You could call us that,” Todd said, holding her stare.
Nolen, however, directed his attention to Sydney. “No, we aren’t brothers,” he said, before sipping his coffee. Sydney noticed he spent more time watching her than eating the modest portion of food on his plate.
“How did you two meet?” Todd asked, grinning up at Sydney.
Nolen glared, but Todd ignored him, chewing, with a slick grin on his face. Sydney shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the answer. It sounded ok when she explained it to Trish and Portia, but as she worked on a reply, she realized what else it sounded like. “He’s an investor in a production I auditioned for.” Todd turned to Nolen. “You’re investing in plays now?”
Nolen said nothing.
“Sydney got the part,” Trish announced. When Sydney looked up, Trish winked at her.
“You an actress too?” Todd asked Trish.
“Oh, I’m not an actress,” Sydney said. “I dance.” She glanced at her friend. “Trish is a painter.”
“Really? Have I seen your work?”
“No, I’m not that good,” Trish said, and Sydney kicked her foot lightly under the table for the way she downplayed her talent. “Not yet. Maybe one day.” Trish corrected herself.
Todd continued to focus on Trish. Sydney noticed how uncomfortable her friend became. “Yeah, one day soon we’ll all be reading about how far your talent has taken you.” The chef came out with more food, and Sydney sat up straight, pushing back her plate. “I can’t eat any more, thanks.”
Trish dropped her fork. “Me neither. This was nice, Mr. Adams. Thank you.” Nolen smiled at her. “Call me Nolen.”
“So, Trish, where are you from?” Todd asked.
“Just around,” she mumbled.
“Trish is our free spirit,” Sydney said, coming to her aid. “She never defines herself by one particular place. Besides, it’s not where you’re from, it’s where you’re headed that counts, right?” Trish gave Sydney a grateful smile. “That’s right. It’s where you’re headed.”
“Why don’t I give you a tour?” Todd offered, ignoring Trish’s vague answer. He scooted back his chair.
“Well I guess that would be ok,” Trish said, she met Sydney’s gaze with a silent plea for an escape.
“Todd, let’s take the ladies for a game of squash down in my gym,” Nolen said. He narrowed his eyes on his friend.
“That’s an even better idea,” Todd said, rising from the table. “Trish and I will meet you and Sydney downstairs.”
Sydney saw the strained look on Nolen’s face as Todd pulled out Trish’s chair and led her from the room. “Is something wrong?” Sydney asked.
His expression softened. “Not really,” he said, but his eyes followed his friend as they left. “I had hoped to spend some alone time with you, and I don’t mean fifteen minutes while they take a tour.”
“And why is that?” she asked.
“I like your company.”
“Really? I figured after skating last night, you’d have had your fill.”
“I don’t scare off easily, Sydney.”
“This is true.”
“Is that what you want? For me to stop pursuing you?”
“You said one date and you’d let this go,” she placed both elbows on the table and propped her chin against her raised hands.
“No, I said if you had dinner with me, I wouldn’t come around the rehearsals anymore or show up at your job.”
She laughed. “You always remember your exact words?”
“In my business, words can be used against you. Deals can be undone. And since every moment spent with you is emblazoned in my memory, I would have to say yes. I remember every word.” She stared at him, and he stared back. “You’ve been staring at me since I picked you up,” he said. “Is there something else you want to say?”
“No, sorry. If I’m staring, it’s not intentional.”
“Don’t apologize. I like the attention.”
Sydney wondered if he would be so interested in her if he knew that her experience wasn’t as vast as her dance moves might have made him think. It was the reason that Portia and Ricky felt that she was naive, although neither would say it aloud. When she first arrived in New York, her and Ricky hit it off immediately.
But their courtship was slow and rooted in mutual respect. When Ricky tried to take their friendship to the next level she stopped him cold. Then the Ben Mendoza incident happened. Sydney had been so shaken when she went to Ricky she’d offer him anything for comfort. Thankfully Ricky could never take advantage of her in a vulnerable state. They both decided against making love. Instead he held her through the night. Ricky was a good guy. So why was she drawn this man?
“Well, I guess we should find the others,” she said.
Nolen rose. “Yes, let’s find them.”
“So why don’t you like to talk about where you’re from?” Todd asked.
“I just don’t,” Trish said, she tossed her bang from her eye.
Todd took in her appearance while she avoided his questioning gaze. He opened the door to the side stairwell, and she stepped through. He’d showed her the rooms and the view from a private balcony, then they made their way to the gym.
“What do you like to talk about?” he asked.
“My art.”
“I understand. I’m an artist too.”
“Really? What kind?” she asked as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Photography,” Todd answered.
He pushed open the door so that she could step through. The private gym was a popular spot for social gatherings. The boys from the country club, along with their companions, could compete in tournaments on the other side where the squash rooms were. Nolen always kept the latest equipment and sportswear for his guests, both male and female.
“I love photography. You know I’ve actually thought of combining stills with my paintings.”
“Combining it how?”
“Well, I do mostly abstracts. I’d like to go even further, maybe combine my oils with still images in a collage of sorts. It’s really about this new technique that I’m trying to perfect. So many things can be interpreted through art, like this workout bench here.” She stepped close and ran her hands across the cool steel of the bar, scrunching up her face. “See the lines and the precision? The way it’s rooted to the spot, solid and formidable?” Todd loo
ked at the bench and smiled. “It’s a workout bench. It’s supposed to be solid and formidable.”
“No,” Trish said seriously. “Nothing is as it appears Todd, nothing and no one. . . .” Her voice trailed off, but when he met her pointed gaze, she began again. “This bench rewards a person’s commitment and dedication. It’s a magic wand. Take, for instance, a woman wanting the perfect body, probably based on what her lover, the television, or a magazine says is the ultimate measurement of beauty. Ok, now what does she see?”
“A work bench,” Todd said and shrugged.
“Nope, not even close. She sees in it the hope, the promise that using it will bring. Maybe she can conceal her imperfections. It talks to her. It sits here making empty promises, which she has no choice but to believe. Everyone tells her that beauty is a size four, and this bench is the only thing between her and that dream.
It’s what we choose to believe. The truth is that the workout bench isn’t the key to physical and mental happiness. It’s the hard work you put into it that makes it a reality. Imagine if we put that kind of commitment and effort into our emotional happiness.”
She sat on the bench with her legs apart, then laid back so that the bar was above her head. Todd watched her close her eyes and listened to her soft voice as she spoke.
“Try someone else. Imagine the athlete coming here and placing all of his passion into this one central location, pushing himself to the limit, hoping that the end result will cure you—of what? Self-doubt, self-hatred, or maybe just make you number one for a change? Maybe you’re the guy who dates the model types, or the girl who’s going out with the star quarterback. Beauty is what you value. This grueling investment is the price you pay.”
Raising her hand, she gripped the bar as if she wanted to lift it above her head. “It’s more than a workout bench, Todd. With that photographic eye of yours, you have to know what I mean. People that lay here before me came with something, leaving their wishes behind. Now really see it, then come over and feel it. Pick up your camera lens and capture it. Strip it bare of what others perceive it to be, and reveal its true meaning.” Opening her eyes with her blond hair hanging down behind her off the bench, she looked over at Todd.
“That’s what the abstract is about, because people only see things in one dimension. When I paint, I reveal the truth, but only for those who can really open their eyes past the pretense.” Sitting up, she smiled. “You have a lot of power with your camera. You can add dimensions too, show people who and what they really are, capture the truth in those lenses. I like the idea of truth. It’s so much better than walking around constantly living a lie.” Unable to speak, Todd stared at the blond beauty before him. No one had ever explained his passion the way she had. Her green eyes shone as she stared back at him with a wisdom that he supposed most people overlooked. Behind her sweet, unassuming manner, he recognized a pain like his own, a reason for making things beautiful, replacing the ugly things they’d seen in the world. When he created, he let go of the horror of being Marshall Ellison’s son and became simply Todd.
“I would like you to paint me,” he said.
Trish drew back. “You would?”
“Yes. I’ll pay you for your time.”
“You haven’t seen my work.”
“I don’t need to. Anybody that passionate about what she does has to be good at it.” She smiled. “Thank you, Todd. I’m flattered.”
“I just ask that we keep it private. The painting should be just between us. Not even your roommates can know who your client is.”
Sydney and Nolen walked through the door. The girls exchanged smiles to reassure each other that they were ok.
“Ladies, there’s a change of clothes for you in the women’s locker room,” Nolen said, pointing to the corner entrance. “I keep a variety of sizes, so you should find something that fits.” Sydney frowned. “We have to change clothes?”
“You can’t play squash in those boots,” Nolen said.
“Will you be changing?” Sydney asked with a suspicious look.
“Yes, I will.”
Trish stood. “Come on, Sydney. This could be fun.”
Sydney looked at Nolen again before turning to leave. He watched them both disappear, then returned his attention to Todd. “What’s up with you?”
Todd stared after the girls too. “Honestly, she’s ok. I mean, I like her.”
“Yeah, right,” Nolen said and followed them out.
Todd remained frozen, staring after Trish and replaying their conversation in his head. He looked back at the workout bench where she had lain. “Interesting,” he mumbled.
“Look at all these clothes. How often does he bring women here?” Sydney asked, mildly irritated.
Trish held up a yellow tennis outfit with bloomers. “How does this look?” she asked, turning around for Sydney to see.
Sydney shook her head. “No, girl, with your hair, you’ll look like a lemon,” she giggled. In the lower drawer she pulled out an apple-green outfit that matched Trish’s eyes. “Here, this color works.”
“Thanks! And cut the man some slack. He had a life before he met you, and unless you want to change the life he has now, what do you care how many outfits he has for women?”
“I guess you’ve got a point. Actually, I don’t care. I’m just here to be polite, you know?” Sydney asked. She spotted a black tennis outfit and walked over to it, pretty sure that he would once again be dressed in black.
How cute if we matched, she thought. The girls found sneakers in their shoe sizes, got dressed, and checked their appearance in the mirror.
Sydney, her ponytail thick and frizzy from being air-dried, looked about eighteen, especially with gold hoop earrings hanging from her ears. She hated it. The last thing she wanted was to appear like she was some schoolgirl with a crush.
Trish grabbed a barrette and put her long, blond hair up on the top of her head. She looked even younger, but seeing her in the green outfit that complemented her eyes, Sydney appreciated how pretty she was.
She wasn’t as tall as Sydney, but she was fit and curvy. Her tiny waist and temptress hips gave volume to her tennis skirt. “We look nice,” Trish said.
“If you say so,” Sydney said, turning sideways to admire her figure in the tennis outfit. “You ready?”
“Ready.”
Together they left the locker room, Sydney stopped in her tracks. Her date had changed, but not into the outfit she had hoped for. Nolen wore long white basketball shorts and a sleeveless white mesh basketball shirt. Tattoos on both of his arms showed that he hadn’t been raised in the country club set.
He leaned against the wall drinking from a water bottle; he smiled as his eyes dropped to her long legs.
“I thought you wore nothing but black?” Sydney asked, unable to conceal her disappointment in the little joke she thought they’d share.
“What made you think that?” he asked, giving her a half smile.
Todd, who had changed as well, handed Trish a bottle of water.
“Thank you,” she said with a shy smile.
Nolen lowered his water and grabbed Sydney by the hand. He pulled her toward him. “Ever play squash?”
“No,” she admitted. But I bet I can play as well as you can skate, she added silently.
“How about you, Trish?” Nolen asked.
Trish bit her bottom lip. “Yeah, I’ve played.”
“You have?” Sydney asked, shocked.
Todd chimed in. “Well, then, I’m really looking forward to playing against you.”
“You’re on!” Trish said.
Nolen rubbed Sydney’s hips, keeping her in front of him, and she felt her heart quicken from the intimacy of his touch. “Come on. I’ll show you,” Nolen said, rising off the wall and leading her by the hand with Trish and Todd following them out.
They walked into a room with ten stadium-type seats facing a large window. Through the glass Sydney could see a divided court facing a wall. It allowed for tw
o games to be played at once. Todd led Trish to the room to the left, and Nolen opened the door to the room on the right. The hard, glossy floor shone like polished glass under the glare of the bright florescent lit ceiling. It reminded Sydney of a basketball court. Squash racquets and a bag of balls hung on the stark white wall. Nolen grabbed two racquets and a blue squash ball.
“Blue’s for beginners,” he said, passing her a racquet. “You know how to play tennis?” She twirled the racquet in her hand. “Knowing how to play and playing well are two different things, right?”
He laughed, and she blew him a kiss. Nolen bounced the soft ball against the court with the racquet, turning his back to her. “Instead of facing each other like in a tennis match, we play off this wall here. You miss a swing; it scores against you, just like in tennis. This is a nine-point game. Each time you successfully serve back, that’s a point.” He looked back over his shoulder. “But, first, come here, my butterfly.” He tossed his racquet aside and she walked around him. Standing behind her, he put his hands over hers, trapping her between his strong arms, then gripped her wrists to help her hold the racquet. She felt his breath on her neck as her rump brushed against his groin. Sydney swallowed and tried to remain unfazed by the position. She was doing pretty well until he put a foot between her closed feet, forcing her legs apart, then bent her over.
“Never hit a ball standing up straight. Always remain in a leaning position, surging forward.” Letting go of the racquet with his right hand, he placed it gently on her right thigh, rubbing it upward and inching her skirt up to reveal more than she had ever intended. He then whispered in her ear. “The leading leg is this one. When the ball comes at you, step forward from here, and then strike it with your body parallel to the side walls, not dead on.”
With his hand on her thigh inching so dangerously close to forbidden territory, she felt faint. Her hand trembled, and she tried to hold on to her racquet. Before the creep of his fingers reached all the way up, he moved it, and she nearly cursed him in disappointment. His hold never lessened. He held her arm, and continued to press into her. Sydney swore she felt the beat of his arousal pushing into her from behind.
