If I Break

by Portia Moore

  “Sure,” I give in with a sigh.

  “A very good customer of mine wants to meet you. He’s been eye-humping you all night,” he explains while helping me take my coat off.

  “What?” I snap, before even getting a chance to censor my tongue. He is my boss, and, as always, a little A-hole-ish, but who the hell does he think he is?

  “Just say ‘hello’ and nothing else. He’s a reporter for The Tribune. He can bring a lot of exposure to the club,” he says urgently.

  “I don’t know,” I do know. I don’t want to do it!

  “It’s just a quick drink. It is his birthday after all, and the VIP room is filled with people. Just a drink.”

  “If you’re too tired, maybe I’ll switch your shift. Maybe you’d rather have Monday night instead of this tiring Saturday shift,” he suggests slyly. That’s low. Monday is the absolute worst night to have in the club. It’s slow, fewer tips, and I have a class Tuesday mornings.

  “Okay. I’ll do it,” I say, finally giving in. I hang my coat back up and start to follow him out, but he stops me at the door before I can even cross the threshold.

  “How about I give you time to put on your other shoes and let your hair back down?” he winks. I bite my lip in frustration. Fuck you, Ryan. I go back to my locker to get my heels.

  “I’ll meet you upstairs in a few minutes,” he smiles and before leaving and pops his head back in the doorway. “A little lip gloss wouldn't hurt either,” he quips before disappearing. Jerk-off.

  I slip out of my gym shoes and let my ponytail back down. I purposefully don't put on any lip gloss. Just a quick drink then bed, I tell myself and try not feel like such a pushover.

  ***

  The VIP room is buzzing with people but empty compared to the other floors. With a three bottle purchase for a table it makes sense though. Dan the VIP security guy is standing at the entrance. He’s pretty intimidating for anyone wanting to start any issues. At almost 6’4 at least 290 pounds and a headlock that have brought many to their knees he's a good guy to have on your side. He’s flirting with two girls who are trying to talk their way in for free but he gives me a quick nod of acknowledgment. I take a deep breath and remind myself I need my job. Having a drink with a guy for my boss isn’t that bad. Wait, that even sounds wrong. Being pimped out was not apart of my job description. I hope this guy isn’t a complete asshole drunk or sober. Even if he isn’t I hate the dating scene. I’ve had two serious boyfriends: Daniel, my high school sweetheart, and Michael, who as it turned out wasn’t that serious with me after all.

  I’ve been on a handful of dates with guys since I moved here from Michigan. Many of which turned out to be complete disasters. I’ve grown to hate the whole situation; the obligatory awkward conversations and my date’s disappointment when I don’t put out after the first date. The guys I run into are nothing like the princes in the stories my aunt read to me when I was a little girl. My adult theory –The Prince Charming myth is the other curse God created to punish Eve and every other woman for biting that stupid apple. Looking around the room I spot Ryan sitting in the corner talking to a short, blonde woman accompanied by a man in blue dress shirt and black slacks.

  Ryan sees and waves me over. As I get closer to the guy, I have to agree that Trish was right—he’s cute, in an Abercrombie and Fitch sort of way, dirty blonde hair and green eyes, even a coy smile, but that still does doesn’t mean I like being coerced into talking to him. When I reach the table Mr. Abercrombie and Ryan stand up while the woman just smiles in my direction.

  “Lauren, I would like you to meet Jason Daniels. He’s doing a story for The Tribune’s entertainment column. And this is his partner, Marie.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Jason shakes my hand, a huge grin on his face.

  “Very nice to meet you,” he repeats again, almost nervously. After a few awkward seconds we all sit down.

  “How about I have Diana make you one of my favorite drinks, Marie?” Ryan asks gesturing towards the VIP area of the bar. I keep myself from rolling my eyes, I guess he wants Jason and I to have alone time because Ryan can easily have Diana at our table in less than a minute with just a gesture.

  “I would love that,” she links her arm between his and leaves me and Jason alone. He seems to be tongue-tied at the moment; awkward conversation avoided maybe?

  “Would you like to sit down?” he finally says. Crap, no such luck, he’s not mute. I smile graciously as I sit in the plush leather booth.

  “Did you like the drink I sent you?” he smiles.

  “Yes, it’s my favorite.” I look down, trying to avoid the awkward silence filling the air. “Even though I’m the one that should be buying you the drink, I hear it’s your birthday.” I say with forced friendliness.

  “Yeah. The big 2-4,” he laughs.

  “How does it feel?”

  “Not too different from 23.” He laughs and sips his drink. “Oh, would you like something, another Long Island—?” he starts, but something has caught his attention across the room, maybe it’s his girlfriend. This is probably just wishful thinking on my part but with my luck who knows.

  “Would you excuse me for a minute?” he says leaving me to sit alone. I wonder if this fulfills the requirement of a drink, as far as Ryan’s concerned. I wonder who he was looking for —I guess the blonde who was with him, maybe more than just friends? Drumming my finger on the table I wait for my new friend to come back.

  Ryan arrives a few minutes later and I’m still at the table alone I see he’s the same.

  “Where did Jason go?” I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to be babysitting him.

  “Umm, I don’t know. He told me he’d be right back in a minute. Look Ryan, I have an exam I have to study for this weekend and I really need to get some sleep,” I explain, getting up to leave.

  “Wait! Please, just five more minutes, I’ll go find him,” he begs holding my arm.

  “Fine,” I relent.

  “I’ll be out on the terrace while you look for him,” I compromise.

  “Okay. Back in five minutes,” he promises before hurrying off and I sneak away to the terrace of the club. It’s my favorite place in Chicago. It makes me feel free when the wind blows just the right way and the lights of the city sparkle in the night. It reminds me why I'm not in my old comfort zone in Michigan. This may be my lucky day since there are only two couples making out in the corner, it’s usually more. I stroll to the other side so they can have their privacy. You can see all of Chicago from right here. I could stand here for hours just looking out over the city.

  I glance at my watch and notice that it has been around five minutes. I decide to head back to VIP before Ryan has a panic attack. Right as I’m making my way back into the club, Michael heads towards me.

  “This must be my lucky day,” I mumble sarcastically to myself, but loud enough that he can hear me.

  “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks as I walk past him.

  “Actually, I’m meeting someone.” I smirk at him before continuing on my way.

  “What? Who? I mean you just got off,” he stumbles over his words. I guess I surprised him. I just smile adding a shrug but he calls after me, “Well, when you’re not busy, I need to talk to you.” I don’t even look back.

  What Michael doesn't understand is I don’t care what he needs. He lost that privilege when I caught him banging some girl in the storage room of the club. He didn’t even have the decency to screw her in his car like a respectful douche bag would do.

  I’m seeing red as I make my way down to the VIP room. I’m in total disbelief at Michael’s audacity and sudden resurgence of trying to weasel his way back into my life that I don’t even notice the person in front of me that I crash into. A second later I feel cool liquid spread down my blouse, best day ever!

  “I’m soooo sorry,” I say embarrassed. This is completely my fault and I’m even more furious that it’s Michael that caused me to do it.

  “It’s ok
ay,” a deep voice replies and it sends a shiver up my spine.

  “I’m sure your shirt costs a lot more than this drink,” it says again, and I’m afraid to look up, only hearing my heart beat in my ears. When I work up the courage to finally see whose voice is causing my heart to try to escape my chest I find a tall, ebony-haired stranger looking down at me.

  And God he has the most beautiful pair of gray eyes and a amazing smile that’s housed by the most perfect lips in the history of man kind. I mentally remind myself not to swallow my tongue and breath. Is he real? Or have I been knocked unconscious and being fanned with a cover of GQ magazine. This encounter will probably turn out to just to be a figment of my imagination.

  The more I look, no stare. I'm actually staring now, he has to be an illusion. I search for a flaw taking in every inch of him, from his chiseled features, to his chocolate brown hair falling right over his eyebrows, strong broad shoulders are hidden beneath a dark gray blazer and black fitted shirt. No flaw found. He's unsettling beautiful.

  “I-I’m sorry. I can be so clumsy at times,” I choke out internally cheering my mind for taking control again.

  “Let me get you something for that,” he responds, disappearing into the crowd. I panic, what if he doesn’t come back? What if he does come back. That scares me even more but a minute later he's here again with a cloth in hand and I’m still not prepared to think like a civilized person instead of a cave woman.

  “Thank you,” I reply sheepishly taking the cloth from his hand. Hes smiling at me like he knows a secret that I’m not in on.

  “I’m really sorry about your drink. I can get you another one,” I offer, staring up at him. He has to be at least 6’2.” I subconsciously take a few steps back, so I don’t have to look up at him like a little girl.

  “You’re good,” he assures me coolly. No, he’s good apparently, since no matter how hard I try I can’t bring my eyes to leave his face.

  “I work here, it’ll be no problem,” I reply. His gaze is intense, almost intimate, but his smile so charming or rather, welcoming—like he’s luring me; and for a moment, time slows down. All of the noise around us has disappears, and it’s just the music and my breathing.

  I wonder if he hears it?

  He steps closer to me and I notice in those perfect gray eyes, the iris is surrounded by subtle green tint but beautiful as they are, they’re upstaged when he lets the right corner of his bottom lip free he’s been holding captive between his stark white teeth. His tongue sweeps across those delectable lips adding the perfect amount of moisture and right then a wave of heat flushes through my entire body. I cringe to myself referring to a body part as delectable, a stranger’s at that but there is absolutely no other way to describe them.

  “I know.” His words jolt me back to reality and I lean forward a bit the return of the noise making it more difficult to hear him and a second later he leans down towards me his face near my ear and my breath hitches.

  “Your shorts gave you away,” he says into it and just as quickly he’s back in his own space.

  “These God forsaken shorts,” I’m so embarrassed and begin pulling them down. He nods his head, a grin now on his face as his eyes travel down my body.

  “No, thank God for those shorts,” He's biting his lip again and I feel myself changing all shades of pink.

  “ …and I was actually coming to get a closer view of the woman I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of since you walked in, anyway,” he explains, looking directly in my eyes with a smile that could melt the Arctic-- with that I almost swallow my tongue. What am I supposed to say to something like that?

  “She’s Lauren,” I can’t help but whisper. Wait, that wasn’t right. Wake up, genius! I scream inside my head.

  “I mean, I’m Lauren,” I laugh, hoping the music covers my ridiculous answer and that I won’t drop dead of embarrassment right here. Thankfully, my brain cells are released from my hormones’ grip and direct me to extend my hand.

  He smiles almost as if he’s amused. I guess I’d be amused too if I could reduce a college-educated woman to a bumbling idiot just by licking my lips.

  “I’m Cal,” he replies.

  April 27th 2011

  I open my eyes and turn over to see Cal still asleep. I remember when I would watch him sleep; he seems like such a different person when he does. When he’s awake, he’s confident, cool, and in control of every situation. I think this is the only time he doesn’t have a wall up—where he's not plotting and planning and his guard is down, the one he has up, even with me.

  I touch a lock of his hair and move it back into place. He starts to wake up, so I turn away and settle back on my pillow. He knows I’m awake, but he won’t say anything to acknowledge it.

  His fingers run through my hair before tracing a soft line down my neck and they momentarily rest on the small of my back. He begins to trace his signature there causing me to roll my eyes and get goose bumps simultaneously. This is his way of saying good morning, a tease. I feel him get out of the bed, his footsteps grow faint as he enters our bathroom and the door shuts. I roll onto my back, entangling myself in our sheets.

  A sigh escapes my mouth as my thoughts drift to last night; tingles shoot through my body at the memory, and I try to shake the thought. He can make me feel wanted and be so in tune with me, physically, but his mind can still be miles away in an emotional desert. It didn’t used be like this with him. I can’t pinpoint when it changed, but somewhere along the line, he started to grow resentful towards me, or maybe towards our marriage. I’m not sure which, or if there’s even a difference. We used to talk about it—or, at least I tried to talk and he blew it off, telling me I was paranoid and overreacting. Now I don’t talk—I throw fits.

  I didn’t used to be angry all the time and vindictive, but now it’s my defense mechanism with him. It’s about the only way to maintain my sanity. He has a wall up that he won’t let me see behind. I only see what he wants me to see. I’ve known him for three years and he’s still like a puzzle that I’m trying to solve. Sometimes I just get mad and want to throw the pieces at a wall and give up.

  Unfortunately, I always come back, letting the mystery of the final product pull me in. It seems that’s what we’ve resorted to—emotional mind games. We both play them. He’s forced me to play, and all I want is for it to be over and for us to be how we were before we were married. If it were up to me, I’d wake up every morning and tell him how much I love him.

  Now, I just keep my feelings to myself until I have an emotional overload, like yesterday, aided by a bottle of wine—a bad habit I’ve developed after being left alone for days at a time.

  His story is that he’s working. I do believe him—mostly—and for a while, I was content with sharing him with his job—or at least what he says is his job. I’ve never been privy to the specific details other than that he works in a special division of Crest Field Corporation, a company that has its hand in nearly everything, from real estate, to commercial retail, to highly-questionable financial investments.

  Conveniently for Cal, he’s in a position that’s so confidential, he can’t even tell his own wife where the hell he is half the time. When I complain, he says I knew this when I met him. And I did, but it feels more exciting getting surprise visits from your boyfriend when you don’t live together. The picture isn’t so rosy when you’re home alone most of the time, and it seems as if your husband is just dropping by rather than living with you.

  I look towards the window, where the sun is shining in. He must have opened the blinds. Two conclusions quickly come to my mind: He’s either trying to wake me up, or he’s just trying to annoy the shit out of me. Whichever it is, I’m not happy about it.

  I grab the remote that controls the blinds and shut them back down. I hate how the weather almost never matches my moods. Right now I would prefer it to be raining and dark out, so I can linger in my depression, but as always, things never go as I plan.

  I hear him come
back into the room, and I look over as he opens the closet. His typical get up, a gray button-up and black slacks will, I’m sure, be paired with one of his long, black coats. He probably spends more money on clothes than I do. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him head back out of the room, so I turn my attention back to the ceiling. All of a sudden, I feel the sunlight warm my back. He’s let the damn blinds up again. I was right. He’s trying to bug the shit out of me.

  “What the hell is your problem?”

  “It’s time to get up.” He glances up at me now while rifling through his drawer across the room.

  “It’s morning. I’d like to sleep,” I growl before burying my head beneath the covers.

  “Morning?” he asks, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “It’s one o’clock,” he laughs.

  One? I roll over and maneuver myself to see the clock on his dresser. Damn. He’s right.

  “I’m sorry I tired you out. I won’t keep you up so late tonight,” he says, smugness lacing his voice. He turns his attention to his cell phone. I roll my eyes at him and start to get up, making sure the sheets cover my entire body. He notices.

  “You have something I haven’t seen before now?” He asks deviously. I don’t dignify him with an answer. I head to my closet, which he is now blocking.

  “Excuse me,” I say sharply. He just smiles down at me. When he doesn’t move, I push past him but he holds onto the sheets, so my choices are to either keep walking, bare as an egg, or to stay put and covered. I tug on it, but he won’t let it go. In a battle of strength, he’ll win every time so I do the only thing I can do to save my dignity. I throw my hands up and twirl around in the birthday suit God gave me.

  “Happy now?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Well, you are wearing my favorite outfit on you,” he says with an amused grin. He points his phone at me, and I hear the flash go off on the camera.