by Tracy Ellen
Bucky clung to Daniel with her arm hung up around his neck. She didn’t let that stop her from stroking Luke’s arm and ego, and unabashedly eyeing James. The woman took multi-tasking to new heights. I swore her eyelashes moved faster than hummingbird wings. Once she stopped singing Luke’s praises, she worried her bottom lip with those big front teeth. It proved my theory they could be used as feminine weapons.
She spit prettily at James, “I would love a personal tour of your beautiful home,” her tongue licked her glistening lips in a suggestive move I have to say she pulled off rather nicely, “if you have the time.”
Apparently, the giggling Bucky was a closet architect--her words, not mine.
James’ amused black eyes met mine briefly before he replied, “No, I don’t have the time.”
Daniel snorted slightly and took another swig off his flask.
The abruptness of James’ answer penetrated Priscilla’s fog of alcohol. She glared over at me with her phony-baloney smile pasted in place, as if I was to blame for his disinterest.
Another perk of having a smexy superstud as a new friend was that it took more than a big pair of teeth to bring him to heel. James had women of every shape, size, and color chasing his museum-quality butt. I suppose some men may be flattered if a drunken woman hanging on another man’s arm practically licked her own lips off to send out overtures she was available, but I applauded James’ indifferent dismissal of Pussy Galore.
The same waiter hovered near us, balancing a full tray of champagne. At his subtle questioning smile, I nabbed a slender stem.
Careful not to snap it in two, I sipped slowly while I surveyed Priscilla over the rim of the crystal flute. My return smile was reptilian. “James just got done giving me the mini-grand tour,” It wasn’t a total lie, since that was his intention and I had seen a couple of rooms, “so he probably has host duties.” I glanced up at him. “You know, bring out the dancing naked men, that sort of thing.”
“What is it with you and the dancing naked men tonight?” James asked, laughing softly.
“Me?” I responded, a hand to my chest. I was startled to feel so much exposed curvy, bare skin, but refrained from looking down at my own cleavage. James didn’t refrain. Demi-bras were an awesome invention. “It’s your party.”
I was conscious of Luke’s eyes on James and I as we bantered, but I kept my gaze averted and didn’t look in his direction.
Emma took a wobbly step forward and pointed a shaking finger at my chest. She could have a mouth full of marbles, her speech was so garbled. “You’re Anabel, aren’t you?” She frowned at me, watery pale gray eyes slightly crossed and extremely earnest. I was tempted to deny it, but she went on mumbling before I could, “I wanna ask you a question. Just what do you have against babies, anyway? What did they ever do to you, huh?” The finger turned and tapped her own breastbone rather hard in time with her next few words. “I’m a Christian woman. Are you a Christian, that’s what I wanna know?” She muttered under her breath, “Children are God’s gift to a woman, aren’t they Priscilla?”
Priscilla nodded emphatically and reached over to pat Emma’s arm. “They most certainly are a gift, Emma, honey. They’re sent directly from Heaven.” She smiled brightly at me in challenge. “Wouldn’t you agree, Anabel?”
Delaying in the hopes of avoiding a showdown with the Baby Crusaders, I took another leisurely sip of my champagne.
I almost snorted bubbles up my nose when Jazy walked up to my other side and said, “Oh, Jesus H., Mary, and Joseph, not these two again!”
Unluckily for me, the Baby Crusaders weren’t going away. Both women ignored Jazy like she didn’t exist, other than Emma waving her off as she would an irritating fly buzzing her ear.
They were Luke’s fervent supporters out to protect his God-given right to bear children--one rocked on her feet and stared at me relentlessly, the other kept her bright, sadistic smile pinned in place, brows raised in polite inquiry.
“Still sure you don’t need or want my protection?” James whispered in a stage-voice. At my response he chided, “Bel, for shame. Friends do not give friends the finger.”
‘James has a lot to learn about friendship,’ the mean mommy voice smirked, and I smirked back, taking one more delaying sip of the bubbly in the fruitless wish for Divine intervention.
I put a restraining hand on Jazy’s arm. I didn’t look at James for fear I’d burst out laughing at any amusement I saw over this bizarre situation, and I most certainly didn’t look at Mr. Twinkle Toes Drake. I blamed him for this entire fiasco.
I replied in a careful, neutral voice, “Well, Priscilla, Emma, here’s the deal. I don’t discuss God or politics in mixed company.”
In confusion, Bucky glanced quickly at Emma, but that scary little woman was staring at me as if she wanted to see inside my head--after she cracked it open like a nut with her bare hands.
Bucky blinked and then inspiration struck. “Oh, you mean between men and women?”
“No,” I shook my head. “I mean between me and human beings.”
Amid the general laughter, John Smith’s yip was the loudest.
He said, “They think you’re kidding, Anabel.”
Pam was grinning on his arm, happily slurping something chocolate and creamy.
Seeing everyone else enjoying the moment, Bucky tossed her long blonde hair and laughed along with the crowd.
“What’s so funny? What’s John mean about her kidding? Was that terrible woman making fun of pregnant women again?” Emma’s raised voice was sharply demanding.
Sober, the little commando probably had uptight Dan dancing on her strings. Drunk, her questions ran together in a continuous and nearly undecipherable jumble while she swung around and stumbled back against her husband.
Dan steadied the small woman in his arms. The grimace he sent me over her head could be described as an apologetic smile by someone in a mood more generous than mine.
“Please don’t take what my wife says seriously, Anabel. We’ve had a couple of rough weeks and we’ve all had too much to drink tonight.” He flashed his weak smile again that showed no teeth. “She will be completely embarrassed that she harassed you and want to apologize tomorrow.”
I shuddered at the thought. Dan should be the one taking what his wife said seriously. Drunks often speak the truth they can’t say when sober. The problem was they rarely made sense to the casual listener and their rambling soliloquies were easy to dismiss. Generally speaking, I have no beef against women who passionately love pregnant women, children, or their God--or any combo of the three. But my plan was to avoid his wife like the plague. The last thing I wanted was a forced apology from a hung over and obviously disturbed individual.
“Please, I insist, no apology necessary. It’s already forgotten.” I tipped the last drop of the scrumptious champagne and set the glass down with a tiny clink on a granite topped ledge. “You’ll have to excuse us now,” I said and put my arm through Jazy’s, “but we’re going to do what James suggested and go dance.” For the second time tonight, I sent out a generic goodbye into the air above their heads, only meeting James’ eyes to give him a brief grin of apology.
He smiled slightly and turned to speak to John and Pam.
Luke reached out to hold my arm when my sister and I started to walk past his group.
“Hey, Anabel we need to talk.”
“Seriously? You want to talk right now?” I asked, narrow-eyed. Luke dropped my arm like it burned him, but motioned with his chin over to the side of the wide hallway.
He was indicating an area against the wall relatively free of people, but only a few yards away from his friends. I raised my brows at this choice of public venue. Luke’s face was slack with drinking for hours, but the green eyes glittered. He wasn’t going to take no for answer.
I shrugged over at Jazy, holding up a finger that she give me a minute. The glance she sent Luke was chilling, but without a word, she joined the group around James, John, and Pam.
I wasn’t going to make a scene with everybody watching us closely, so I went over in the direction Luke had indicated.
Daniel put a restraining hand on Luke’s shoulder. He spoke in a low voice; unaware that one of my superpowers was excellent hearing.
“Rakester, maybe you should wait and talk to Anabel tomorrow. You’re shit-faced.”
‘Rakester?’ the mean mommy voice scoffed in disbelief.
‘The man was single for his entire adult life,’ the detective voice reminded gently.
Daniel was a big man in his late thirties. He had an attractive, craggy face and soft blue eyes that were friendly and open. Pam had him pegged when she held her belly and acted jovial.
Everything about Daniel Boynton’s appearance pointed to a man that excessively lived life to its fullest. He had the florid complexion of a man that drank too much, and although he carried the extra pounds well on his large frame, he was considerably overweight. His belly was straining the buttons of his shirt and his double chin was on the way to becoming jowls. His choice in girlfriends was over the top, too. I understood the flask, though a psychiatrist might be a bigger help.
Luke shrugged off Daniel’s hand. “Nah, I’m cool. We’re talking now.”
Daniel held up both hands and backed off. “Okay, brah, you do what you gotta do. We got your back, as always.”
“Yes, Luke,” Priscilla said softly, stepping close to stroke Luke’s arm, his biceps to be precise. Again. “Your friends are behind you.”
‘Yeah, she’s not a friend I’d want behind me,’ the mean mommy voice huffed.
‘Poor Daniel. Not unless you want a knife in your back,’ the sex kitten voice indignantly agreed.
I stared down at my clenched hands, feeling a flush overtake my body that Luke’s friends would say comments like that in reference to him speaking with me.
I had Luke’s back. I was the woman behind him. I was his partner. I had the tattoo on my ass to prove it.
Luke leaned a shoulder against the wall where I stood.
He was silent, so I looked up.
My eyes searched his closed face for a clue while I said in a low voice, “Luke, what’s wrong?” I wanted to hug him close, but his posture did not invite affection. “This is me, Anabel, not the enemy. Talk to me. Why are they here and what do they,” I spit out the word, “have to say about anything?”
“I know you’re not the enemy.” He waved a dismissive hand. “They don’t have anything to say, they’ve just been good friends of mine for a long time.”
He stirred restlessly, and then ran a hand over the black stubble on his chin. It made a rasping noise, and I closed my eyes briefly at the image of us in bed. I felt those stiff whiskers abrading my soft skin when he buried his face in my breasts. When he kissed my nipples, the stubble sometimes caused stinging pain before his lips and tongue soothed them in delirious pleasure.
My eyes sprang open when Luke said, “I’m sorry for not talking to you earlier tonight, and I’m still sort of wasted,” his sardonic grin was lop-sided when I rolled my eyes in acknowledgment, “but I owe you the truth.”
“I always want the truth,” I stated softly, while all my voices moaned that they definitely did not want to hear what was coming.
“I’ve dreaded telling you this, which is why I’ve been fuckin’ wasted for three days,” Luke laughed shortly and looked away to gaze out the glass before he faced me again, “but the truth is, Anabel, I want out.”
“You want out.” I parroted, feeling a numb tingling overtake my face as the flush deepened from my body to my head.
Right that second, I started to walk away with my chin held high. If Luke wanted out, he could have out--I didn’t need to know the reasons, not when I’d already heard the end result. But my soul pleaded for me to stay because this was Luke talking, the man who had brought my heart to life and caused me to believe in love. My soul begged me not to allow my pride to stop me from listening closely and getting answers.
Luke met my eyes with a direct look then and his were sad, but resolved. It was like the parking lot at Porterhouse restaurant all over again, except this time Luke was dumping me, it wasn’t imagined. I swallowed painfully over the building lump in my throat. The man I loved was callously breaking up with me in a hallway at a party surrounded by milling, curious people, not to mention his new posse.
I wasn’t buying it. Drunk or not, Luke would never do this to me and mean it. Not after proposing a few days ago.
I whispered, “I don’t believe you don’t love me anymore. What’s really going on here?”
Luke’s lips curved slightly when he murmured, “Oh, Anabel, always such confidence. I didn’t say I didn’t love you anymore.” His face tightened and his next words were as cruel as his lush mouth, “The problem is, I’ve come to realize I don’t love you enough.” He shrugged and stated simply, “I want kids.”
“You’re lying,” I said flatly. “Why are you doing this?” I whispered again, but furiously. “Something’s happened since Wednesday night and you think this is the way to handle the problem. It’s Svettie and you’re protecting me.”
“Nothing new has happened in the Svettie investigation,” he answered patiently on a small sigh.
If he had gotten angry or arrogant at my accusation and argued to defend his position, I might have continued to not believe him. Instead, everything about him was distantly regretful, as if he was already a stranger and our intimacy was in the distant past. There was no heat in his voice, only the calm, slightly pained tone of a man determined to get through an ordeal, and be tolerant of my questions to smooth the way. I’ve never heard a more horrible tone of voice.
“Anabel, I’ve had a lot of fun with you and the two of us were awesome together in many ways, but I want more than just the two of us for the rest of my life. I want children. I want a family. I didn’t know how much this meant to me until I proposed and we talked about the family legend. I had to face the truth then that you absolutely did not want a family. I’ve thought of little else this past week. It wasn’t easy coming to this decision, but I need to be honest or we’ll just be fucked anyway.” Blurry as his eyes were, his gaze felt painfully sharp as it probed my face. “I’m not wrong about this, am I?”
Lowering my eyes, I realized that if there was even the smallest particle of a chance that I could someday want a child with Luke, it was killed by his statement that he loved me, but not above his desire to have a family--even if that family meant some unknown future with some fictitious woman other than me.
It was weird. Luke was leaving me. It was the worst thing that has ever happened to me in my life, yet I was emotionally frozen, depleted of energy, and unable to dredge up any feelings other than the growing tingling and numbness in my face.
For a fleeting moment, I won’t deny it was tempting to take that slight wedge of hope Luke offered by asking me if he was wrong, and open that door wide to hold onto him. If nothing else, I would never scoff again when women on soap operas took desperate measures to keep their man at any cost, whether they lied, cheated, or killed, but that would never be my way with a man wanting out.
Dully, I concluded, ‘What good was a love that was not good enough?’
The tingling, numb feeling grew and I felt a far off twinge of slight panic.
Abstractedly, I wondered if I was experiencing an ischemic stroke.
As the prickling of pins and needles spread to the back of my head, I tried to remember what Mac said to do if there was a question whether an old person was stroking out in my bookstore.
‘Call 9-1-1!’ the accountant voice screamed shrilly.
‘No phone,’ the mean mommy voice reminded in dulcet tones, and I was amazed she could be so sarcastic when my brain was bleeding out and I could end up permanently paralyzed, if not dead.
‘Paralyzed!’ the sex kitten voice screeched in terror.
‘Move your body parts,’ the detective voice calmly coached.
I rais
ed one arm and then the other. I moved my lips from side to side. I blinked and focused, blinked and focused. I pushed my tongue out of my mouth, but then thought that wasn’t as important as being able to laugh.
‘Wasn’t it true people stroking couldn’t laugh?’ I thought, even as I shook my head hard and let loose with a laugh. When the sound of my second fake laugh was perfectly clear, the panic eased a little. I took a deep breath and was able to look at Luke.
He was watching me with what I used to call his fascinated gaze, but it was more likely wariness that I would throw a scene, or a brain embolism, in front of them, his good friends from Chicago.
“No, you’re not wrong,” I answered softly, shoulders slumping, “but we never went dancing.”
“Okay…” He replied, drawing the word out and shaking his head a little. “Thanks for your honesty.” He squeezed my hands and bent his head to see my face. “You’re an amazing woman, Anabel, maybe the most amazing woman I’ll ever meet, but breaking up now is best for both of us.” His deep voice was caressing, which made the yada-yada of his words that much more unbearable. “We’re going to miss the hell out of each other for a while, but this is the right thing to do.” He glanced past my shoulder and nodded slightly. “My friends are ready to go. It looks like Emma is about to pass out. I’m sorry for the hard time she gave you tonight, but having kids means more than anything to her.” He pressed my hands again and said softly, “Hey, please don’t hate me, but I’m moving on and I want you to move on, too.”
Frowning, I stared down at the warm, large hands holding mine for the last time while my mind tried to process what Luke was saying through the churning of the champagne in my empty stomach. The bubbles weren’t near so fun coming back up in my throat as they had been going down.
Slipping my hands free, I said flatly, “Goodbye, Luke.”
My whole head still uncomfortably tingling, I stood with chin held high and marched in place to prove I could, as I watched Luke’s back while he walked away with his friends down the hallway and disappeared into the crowd.
Inside, I cried, ‘That was it? No fanfare or fireworks, we’re done?’
