by Portia Moore
His hardened expression softens and he walks toward me. “Why? Why do you do that?” He holds the back of his head in both hands and sighs, exasperated. “You know that I love you!” He gestures toward me angrily and starts to pace the room. “If you only knew what it took for me to be here with you!” he says aloud, but it seems as if he’s saying it to himself.
“Of course, you’re tearing yourself away from work. How difficult it is to be with your wife—because we’re desperate for the money, of course. I need the Louboutin’s, and you need those Rolexes and foreign cars!” I shout back through my tears, sitting on the bed.
“I-I feel like you’ve grown resentful towards me. You used to be—well, I thought you were happy. You were fun, you made me laugh and feel sexy and wanted,” I smile remembering happier times.
“Now, I feel like you’re distant. I know you’re slipping away from me. The only time I feel connected with you is when we’re having sex. And recently it’s just been that. You don’t make love to me anymore… Maybe marriage turned you into this. I never imagined it being like this for us,” I say, using all my strength to finish.
I close my eyes and let out a much-needed breath, which feels like I’ve been holding it in forever. The silence in the room after all of the noise seems odd.
He’s been sitting on my desk chair, arms folded across his chest, with a range of emotions passing across his face. None of them have looked remotely sorry or understanding.
“I’ve never wanted anything more than our marriage, Lauren. You’re the one thing that belongs to me. The only pure thing I have is us. I used to have a different reason for being. It came from a dark place. My motivation changed when I fell in love with you. You’re my strength and my weakness. You’re the reason I fight to be here.”
I open my eyes and remember that those were his exact words in his wedding vows to me. I can’t believe he remembers them. I don’t even remember mine to that extent. My heart warms, thinking of that day on the beach in Rio where we were joined together, where I became Mrs. Scott. I was the happiest woman in the world.
“I meant that then, and nothing has changed since that day,” his voice is low and wavers just a tad. I start to approach him slowly and touch his shoulder gently. He seems to be in deep thought.
“I want you to stay with me. Here,” I look towards him my eyes pleading for him to give me the answer I want, that I need to hear.
“I’m not moving to Saginaw!” he says adamantly, arms still crossed as he stares out of the window.
“I didn’t say that,” I tell him.
“Do you mean like a week, or a couple of days?” he questions. He’s pondering. That’s a good sign.
“However long it takes,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady. He exhales and runs his hands over his face.
“What about my job? I’m just supposed to…”
I rest my head on his shoulder. “Oh, come on. You’re Mr. Big Bad Cal; just tell them you’ll be back whenever,” I smirk at him.
I touch his face and move it toward me, so I can look into his eyes, and he can see in mine.
“If you love me, you’ll do this,” I whisper to him. “I know you say you do. I just need to feel it,” I plead. If he says no, I don’t know what I’m going to do.
He’s thinking, which is always a good sign. I stop looking at him and rest my head back on his chest. “This isn’t really an option, is it?” he sighs.
“Not really,” I say honestly. If he leaves, I’m done. I can’t do this anymore with him. I’ll learn to forget about him, as hard as it may be. I can’t keep feeling like this. If he stays…
May 10th 2008
“Lauren Brooks is wearing one of the newest dresses from the House of Hillary. This stylish ebony gem is perfect for the hot date, business affair, or even a sophisticated gala. The top of the dress with sequined fabric gives this vintage silhouette a modern twist, while still keeping the garment classic. Her dress featuring a flocked sequined sweetheart neckline, a deep v back, an invisible zippered closure, and flattering split to get any red-blooded man’s juices flowing,” Hillary announces in her Joan Rivers voice. Angela and I die of laughter.
Hillary taps me warningly. “Stop, you’re going to wrinkle,” she scolds me, still in her faux, fashion-extraordinaire persona. “Do a spin for us, darling,” she says.
“Work it, girl,” Angela howls, supporting the foolishness. I begrudgingly oblige, rolling my eyes at their whistles and catcalls.
“Lauren Brooks, you look so fucking hot right now!” Hilary exclaims, returning to her normal self.
“I’m going to the anniversary of an art museum. Hot isn’t exactly what I was going for,” I joke as I keep my focus on the mirror. I must say, the dress is exquisite. Angela came over to work her magic on my hair, giving me deep romantic curls. And after much scolding, I was able to tone Hillary’s dramatic smoky eye down to a comfortable highlight.
“She means you look absolutely fabulous,” laughs Angela.
I look back and see Hilary going through my purse.
“Hilary, what are you doing?” I ask.
“Making sure you have all the essentials,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Makeup, gum, wallet, keys….Lauren. Do you not know you’re forgetting something muy importante?” she asks. Angela and I look back at her a curious expression on our faces.
“Where are the condoms?” she demands.
“Oh…I don’t have any condoms,” I say plainly.
“Exactly!” she states.
I roll my eyes at her. “It’s not like I’m going to need them,” I reason with her.
“Oh, come on, I’ve seen the man. You’ll need them,” she winks. I playfully snatch my bag from her.
“..and you remember what almost happened last time,” says Angela in a sing songy voice as she flops on my bed.
I ignore them both, trying unsuccessfully to make this little black dress a few inches longer.
“Hey, stop that,” Hillary swats my hand.
“So what does he do? Is he in school?” asks Angela.
“She doesn’t know,” Hillary laughs mockingly.
“You don’t know? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” asks Angela, confused. I open my mouth to defend myself, but Hillary jumps in.
“That’s what lust will do to you…” teases Hillary. Angela starts to laugh.
The phone rings, and my heart skips a beat. Angela’s closest, so she picks it up. “Hello? She’ll be right down.” She gives me a wide smile.
“The limo is hereeee,” she says in a singsong tone. I take a deep breath and glance at myself in the mirror once more.
“You look fine!” they yell in unison. I grab my purse and we all head out the door. Once we get downstairs, there is a beautiful black town car and the driver waiting by the door.
“Damn!” says Angela, taking in its appearance.
“Which one of you lovely ladies is Lauren Brooks?” he asks in a friendly tone.
“She is,” they both point to me.
“Good evening, Miss Brooks. I’m Byron, and I’ll be your driver for tonight,” he smiles. I give them both a hug and head over to the car.
“Have a good time,” calls Angela.
“Too good of a time,” yells Hillary with a wink as I step into the town car. I wave back at them before Byron shuts the door. I look around at the plush leather interior that surrounds me. There’s a TV with a remote and champagne surrounded by ice, nestled in its own station.
“Wow!” is the only thing I can say. I hear the phone ringing next to me. I look around as if there’s someone else in here with me. I reluctantly pick it up.
“Hello?” I say hesitantly.
“Hey, gorgeous. I can’t wait to see you tonight. Has everything gone ok so far?”
I let my breath out; relieved it’s him and not someone calling for him. That would have been embarrassing. “Yes, everything is fine…” I drift off, still wowed by the inside
of this thing.
“If you need anything, just tell Byron, he’ll take care of it.”
I want to ask him if this is rented or his, but that would be rude, wouldn’t it? “I will, but I really don’t think I’ll need anything; it all seems to be right here…” I say, still astonished.
He laughs a little. “Well, I’ll see you in about an hour.”
“I look forward to it,” I smile and hang up. I let the wide grin I’ve been keeping hidden spread across my face. This should be fun. I sing along to my favorite song. I think I feel the car stop, even though it’s a little hard to tell since the ride has been so smooth. Butterflies start to play in my stomach. The phone rings again, so I pick it up.
“Miss Brooks, we’ve arrived at Mr. Scott,” Byron tells me.
“Thank you, Byron,” I say and hang up. I step out and the cold air whips around me, causing my dress and shawl to flow in the wind. I look up to see a huge plane—or jet?—fifty feet away from me. I mean, what was I expecting, really? Not this. Cal steps off with a phone in hand. I survey his appearance as he gets closer. He has on a black suit, with a silver button up underneath it, no tie. What really shocks me is that he’s wearing glasses, something I’ve not seen before, and it’s extremely sexy. When he nears me, he hangs up the phone.
“You look…” he says with a dazzling smile on his face, his eyes trailing from my five inch pumps upward. “You’ve got to do a spin for me,” he says, licking those lips that I’m really starting to crave.
“Actually, hold that thought,” he says biting his lip and he begins to circle around me, his gaze predatory. Once he’s fully made his way behind me, his arms cross over my stomach and he kisses me softly on my neck. My whole body tingles.
“I’m glad you could make it,” he whispers in my ear, and I hope to regain my composure before he sees my face. Luckily, he takes my hand, and in an instant he’s leading me in the opposite direction of the town car. I’m confused, but try to keep up with him in the five inch stilettos while mentally scolding my hormones to control themselves.
“Where are we going?” I finally manage to speak out.
“I thought we’d arrive in something a little more personal for the night,” he smiles back at me. He pulls a pair of keys out of his pocket, and when we stop at a car parked right next to the hangar, my jaw drops on the floor. In front of me sits a magnificent all-black Aston Martin.
“This-this can’t be yours?” I say in disbelief. I've never been one to fawn over cars and make a big deal about expensive things, but this is an Aston Martin, for crying out loud. I remember what a big deal Steven and Angela made at the car show they dragged me to, and here I am about to get in one.
“It’s not mine. It’s a company perk,” he explains opening the door for me with a playful glint in his eye.
***
I can’t help but appreciate the car’s warmth contrasting with the cold wind outside and of course, the pure luxury that I’m smack in the middle of. The Aston reminds me of a plane, it’s so futuristic; I feel like I stepped out of this year and fell into another decade. Cal is watching me, amused.
“You must be an extremely valuable asset to your company,” I chuckle, still in awe.
“I’m a hard worker. At all things,” he says and I wonder if that’s an innuendo, or if my brain is just in the gutter. Stop it brain!
“What is it that you do again?” I say “again,” but he never told me the first time. Now that I’m riding in this car, I’m a lot more curious than I was.
“I work for Crest Field Corporation,” he replies, turning on the radio. Ok. Not quite what I asked, but I’ll take a where instead of a what.
“How old are you?” I ask, trying to figure out if he’s a lot older than he looks. He must be in an invaluable position to receive a perk like this.
“Two decades, and some change,” he retorts playfully.
“Why do you wear glasses?” I ask curiously. He seems like a guy who would wear contacts if he had the choice.
“To make people think I’m smart,” he smiles slyly and takes them off. They’re sexy on him, but I’m glad when he removes them so I can see those mesmerizing eyes of his. “You’re excited about the opening?” he asks changing the subject.
“Very excited, actually. I still can’t believe I’m going.”
“Well at least one of us is,” he groans.
“You’re not interested in art, I take it?”
“Someone once told me everything is art, so I wouldn’t have to go to a museum to see it.”
I frown a little; it would have been nice to go with someone who shared my interest in art, but I’m too thrilled to be brought down.
“So, I decided I should at least have something beautiful to look at,” he says, throwing me a flirtatious grin. I can’t help but smile; so far, the night is starting extremely well. I can’t wait to see what other surprises Cal may have in store.
May 9th 2011
I love the spring breeze in Saginaw. I close my eyes as the cool breeze passes leaving tingles from the temperature change. I look at my watch and see that its 3:00 am. We’ve been in Saginaw for four days. Four days those have passed like moments.
He’s stayed—a small gesture, but one that means so much. It’s been a long time since we’ve been like this, just with one another, no pretensions or agendas; having him the entire day and not dreading the phone call he’ll get that will pull him away.
I’ve been able to let the ice melt and Cal has shown me a side of him I haven’t seen in a long time. I know we have a long way to go, but his being here is a step in the right direction. Still, there are moments when he seems lost in his own thoughts, where he’ll go off to be alone, leaving Raven and me to ourselves.
Those are the times my heart reaches out to him; I feel like he’s struggling with something he won’t share with me. I don’t bother him about it, though I hope he’ll eventually learn to lean on me the way I have on him.
I’ve been sitting here on the balcony since one am. I really should try to get some sleep. I walk back into the room where Cal is sprawled out on the bed. I can’t help but smile; he always looks like a little boy when he sleeps, so innocent and peaceful. I tiptoe to the other side, slip out of my robe, and climb in.
I settle under the covers and lay my head on his chest. It’s been months since I’ve done this, and I tentatively put my arm around him. I’ve missed this so much. When things started going wrong, I hated my desire to be near him. I resented my longing for the touch of someone who didn’t seem to need mine, so I pulled back.
I turn toward him now and watch his breathing pattern; it’s never deep, but subtle—almost as if he isn’t breathing at all. He’s always quiet; he never snores, and most of the time his expression is calm. But then there are the moments his breathing is faster, as if he has a million things going on in his head at once. I try to enjoy this moment and not think about anything else, but he’s so unpredictable it wouldn’t surprise me if he jumped up all of a sudden and said he was going back to Chicago.
He must have heard my last thought. He’s up now, observing me, possibly attempting to read my mind. I would say he’s given me his attention, but it’s more like he has mine.
“You think too much,” he whispers massaging the small of my back.
I sigh. “So do you.” I put my hand on his. He smiles for a minute, and gets out of bed. I watch him as he grabs the bag he brought with him and disappears into the bathroom. I hear the water start to run; the walls are so thin here. I shift in the bed, trying to get comfortable. It’s no use; I’m utterly restless. I know I can’t sleep now; once I’m up, it’s so hard for me to get tired again.
The crickets are singing; it’s been a while since I’ve heard them. When you live in a high rise, you miss out on the luxury of hearing their lulling, albeit sometimes annoying, song.
I get out of bed and turn on the radio that’s sitting on the dresser. The smooth sounds pour out of the speakers, the onl
y thing Raven listens to. I’ve learned to appreciate it more than I did in my younger years, when I found it beyond boring. But now the music hypnotizes my mind into forgetting the stresses that burden most of my thoughts.
My eyes drift to the alarm clock sitting comfortably between three books and an old photo of me in high school. The light green numbers tell me it’s 3:20; I really need to be asleep. I cover my mouth trying to hide the yawn that sneaks out. I’m not tired. Well, my mind isn’t, but my body disagrees.
I flop back on the bed and lay across it, resting my face on the mattress, absorbing the remnants of Cal’s warmth that remains on the bed. I close my eyes, hoping that the music works as a lullaby to put me to sleep. I start to hum along with the song, catching on to it after a minute. I feel the light shining in from the hall, but it soon disappears. I recognize his scent and open my eyes. I love his cologne but the truth is he doesn’t need any, his own scent is so intoxicating.
“I’m hungry,” he says standing at the foot of the bed.
“You want to go get something?” I ask, getting out of the bed searching for something within my reach to throw on, even though we'll be driving a while to find something open around here. I grab his black button up on the floor and put it on; it, of course, engulfs me.
“Come make me something,” he says, leaving the room.
“You must really be hungry if you’re going to eat what I cook,” I snicker, and we both head down the stairs and into the kitchen. He turns on the light and sits down at the table. I look at him curiously.
“Are you going to stand there and look at me all day? My stomach’s kind of growling,” he says teasingly while rubbing his stomach, and then he rests his head in one of his hands. I playfully roll my eyes at him.
“Excuse me,” I touch my chest indignantly and make my way to the cabinets. I pull out a loaf of bread and open the fridge and pull out a packet of ham.
“Nuh uh,” he says. I look back at him with my brow arched.
