by Tanith Morse
Lee went to the kitchen and came back with a box of tissues. He handed me one and I dabbed at my eyes with it.
“Are you are okay?” he whispered.
I nodded woodenly, my shoulders still trembling. “Yes, I think so.”
For a moment, he gazed down on me like some kind of benign giant, and secretly, I longed for him to take me in his arms. I longed to bury my head in his chest and breathe in his gorgeous scent. I wanted him to comfort me.
But he didn’t.
He stayed at a distance, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with me.
“You can’t go on blaming yourself, Sam,” he said, his voice soothing. “You were only seven years old! We all make mistakes, and you can’t spend the rest of your life beating yourself up over it. I’m sure Elliot doesn’t …” He corrected himself. “I’m sure Elliot wouldn’t want to see you so upset. I’m sure he’d want you to be happy.”
I blew loudly into the hanky. “Can I use your bathroom? I think I need to clean up.”
“Sure. It’s upstairs, first door to your right.”
Shakily, I raced through the living room to a staircase that led to the second level. Turning the first door knob to my right, I entered the bathroom. It was cool and white and spotlessly clean. Approaching the sink, I ran the cold tap and splashed some water on my face. My heart thudded in my ears. I glanced at my reflection in the mirrored tiles.
My eyes were all swollen from crying and my nose was redder than Santa Claus. Black streaks of mascara covered my cheeks, giving me a hollow, washed-out appearance.
As I bathed my face for a second time, I begged my fingers to stop trembling, but they wouldn’t. I was a slave to my emotions. I was furious with myself for allowing myself to break down like this in front of Lee, but I just couldn’t help it.
I peeked back at my reflection. Damn it. The mascara stains didn’t seem to want to go. Cupping a handful of water, I aggressively rubbed the skin under my eyes, but this only made it worse. Now it looked like somebody had punched me in the eye. The soap dish was empty. I need to find a bar of soap so I can wash my face properly.
Gingerly, I opened the medicine cabinet above the sink and peered inside. It contained the usual toiletries: mouthwash, aftershave, toothpaste. Then, at the far back, I spied a tube of apricot face scrub. Reaching for it, my gaze fell on a box of Just For Men hair color in ebony. My eyes narrowed.
So Lee dyed his hair. Interesting. Very interesting. Seemed like we had more in common than I thought.
And then I noticed something else: a small, white box with blue writing on the lid. Picking it up, I saw that it was a prescription for colored contact lenses.
Flipping up the lid, I found five pairs of saline-filled disposables. The iris color of each was a blackish-brown.
Frowning, I put the box back in the cabinet and took out the apricot face scrub. Then, running the hot tap, I massaged the sweet-smelling cream into my skin, dispelling the last remnants of mascara from my face.
So, Lee wore colored contacts. Big deal. Loads of teenagers wore them. It was a fashion statement, pure and simple. So what if I didn’t know what color his real eyes were?
No big deal at all.
Then why did it bug me so much?
Reaching for the towel, I blotted my skin dry and switched off the tap. I peered into the mirror to check out my reflection again, but it was too steamed up. Sighing heavily, I sat on the edge of the bath, thinking. The pieces of the puzzle were there, but somehow they weren’t fitting together.
And then it hit me.
Wearing colored contacts wasn’t unusual. But wearing colored contacts together with all of Lee’s other idiosyncrasies – his reluctance to take off his hat in public, his refusal to give out his phone number, dyeing his hair —all pointed to the same conclusion.
He was hiding something. But what? What could be so bad that he needed to disguise his appearance?
And then I remembered something else: that black Ford tailing us. Perhaps it hadn’t been me they were after. Perhaps it was Lee.
I slapped my hand across my forehead. Of course! Why hadn’t I seen this before? Maybe the police were tracking him. Or maybe he owed someone money and they’d sent one of their goons after him.
I chewed my lip, feeling perplexed. The idea of Lee being some sort a fugitive was actually quite a turn on.
Careful. Don’t get too carried away, you’re beginning to sound like Frasier.
By the time I came out the bathroom and went back downstairs, I found Lee in the process of packing up his art materials.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I asked, surprised.
“I’m taking you home,” he replied coolly.
“But I don’t understand. What about my portrait? Aren’t you going to finish it?” Fleetingly, my gaze fell on the canvas, but he’d already covered it with a cloth.
“We’ll have to do it another time. I’m not in the zone anymore.” He seemed distracted.
My muscles tensed. So he wasn’t in the zone anymore. That was pretty interesting, considering I was the one who’d just been reduced to a blubbering wreck. Resentment simmered through my veins. It was like he was punishing me for making him feel uncomfortable. But he was the one who’d started the grilling in the first place.
“I knew this was a bad idea,” he muttered, brushing past me into the hallway.
“What do you mean?” I asked, following him.
Handing me my jacket, he snatched up his car keys from the sideboard. “I’m sorry, Sam. I should never have brought you here.”
“Why?”
He picked up his cap from the table. “I’m such an idiot. I had no right to question you the way I did. Please forgive me. Sometimes I get too carried away.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighed. “When I paint a portrait, I strive to capture everything about the person; all their quirks, flaws, and imperfections.” He spread out his hands. “I thought that by getting you to open up about yourself, I’d get a truer interpretation of you on canvas. I guess I misjudged how badly you’d react.”
“Hold on. Are you telling me you put me through all of that just to get the perfect picture?”
“In a roundabout way … yes.”
“I can’t believe you did that!” I shouted. “It was so … so manipulative.”
“I know,” he agreed, “and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He placed his hand on my arm and I experienced the full force of his allure. Even through my sweater, I could feel the heat of his touch. Instantly, my fury was replaced by a wild rush of longing.
I hated the effect he had on me. I hated the fact that my body had no intention of following what I told it to do—because it was waiting for instructions from him.
Lee took a step closer. Now my head was almost level with his chest, which was making my heart do somersaults.
And then he smiled the most beautiful smile imaginable, and I couldn’t stay angry at him anymore.
“Am I forgiven?” he whispered.
I pretended to deliberate. “Yes, but don’t do it again, okay? I hate getting emotional.”
For a second, we held each other’s gazes. For once, it was he who looked away first. Then he cleared his throat and looked pointedly toward the door. “I don’t want your mum to think I’ve kidnapped you. Shall we get going?”
“Okay.”
He released my arm and placed the cap on his head as he moved toward the front door. Reluctantly, I trailed after him, purposefully slowing my footfalls to prolong our time together.
Before I knew it, we were back in his Lotus heading toward my neck of the woods. He played the Inagoul CD throughout, turning up the volume so loud it cancelled out any chance of us having a conversation.
By the time we pulled into Roseberry Avenue, my mind was a torrent of confusion. I just couldn’t figure this guy out. One minute he acted like he wanted us to be the best of friends, the next he was so stand-offish it was like he wanted me t
o hate him. I wasn’t used to such schizophrenic behavior.
Eventually, what little restraint I had evaporated and I decided to cut to the chase.
“Are you in some sort of trouble?” I asked bluntly.
“No. Why?”
“It’s just a feeling I get.”
“If this is anything to do with what Becky told you, then …”
“This has nothing to do with Becky,” I interjected. “I just get the vibe you’re running away from something.”
“Can you be more specific?”
I nibbled my thumbnail. “Well it’s different things, really. Things that don’t totally add up.”
“Such as?”
“That car that was following us. Are you a hundred per cent sure you don’t know who that was?”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh give me a break. Do you know how ludicrous you sound?”
“Just answer the question.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no. No one’s following me. I’m just as baffled about that as you are.”
“Do you swear on it?”
“Oh god, this is getting silly. Why do you always have to read into things? There’s nothing going on, I promise you.”
I tasted something coppery on my tongue and saw that my thumb was bleeding. Hastily, I folded my arms to hide the damage. “Okay, let’s say I believe you. Fine. But there’s other stuff, too.”
“Like what?”
I opened my mouth and closed it again. What was the point? I was fighting a losing battle. It was obvious he’d have an answer for every question I threw at him, so I decided to drop the subject.
“You know you can trust me, right?” I said quietly. “I mean, if you are in some sort of trouble, I’d like to help. I know how to keep a secret.”
“Thanks. I’ll bear that in mind.”
“Are you sure everything’s okay?” I asked again.
“Yes, everything’s fine,’ he said, no longer hiding his exasperation. “Like I said, if there was a problem I’d tell you.”
He flashed that devastating smile and made my stomach to flip. For a second, I thought I saw something that resembled tenderness in his eyes. Then he snapped back to his usual self. “Okay, I guess I’d better be going. I don’t know what the parking’s like around here and I don’t want to get a ticket.”
“All right,” I sighed, admitting defeat. Unclipping my seatbelt, I got out and took a couple of steps toward my gate. Then I backtracked, as a sudden thought struck me. “Hey, when do I see you again? You know, to finish off the portrait and stuff?”
“Not sure,” he replied, stroking his chin. “I’m kind of busy this week, so I might have to get back to you on that.”
I felt my face tighten. “Well don’t leave it too long. I mean, it’s not like I’m gonna be waiting around for you or anything. I’ve got a very busy schedule too, and it might not be convenient.”
“I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now please, go inside. It’s getting late.” Without another word, he revved up the engine and sped off, leaving me dumbfounded by his rudeness.
For a long while, I stalled by the road side, staring into space as hate erupted through me with breathtaking force.
Why, the patronizing little …
That was it. I was through with boys. I wouldn’t allow myself to be manipulated like this again. It is over. Kaput.
Cursing under my breath, I kicked at a stone and sent it flying through the neighbor’s window. There was a loud smash, followed by an eerie silence. Sheepishly, I scrambled into my house before anyone saw me and stood with my back to the door, catching my breath. I felt bad, but it wasn’t my fault. Lee had made me do it. He’d made me so mad that I’d behaved totally out of character.
Again.
I simply had to stay away from him. No matter how much my heart said otherwise, I had to get him out my system. He was unreliable, rude, and emphatically not good for me. Worst of all, he was a tease, and I hated teases.
No more mind games. No more jumping to his beck and call. I was going to take control of my life again.
NINE
Greg
“Hey Mum, is something burning?”
No answer.
“Jeez, do I have to do everything in this house?” I switched off the cross-trainer. Mopping the sweat from my brow, I glanced at the digital clock on the timer. Quarter to seven.
Forty-five minutes to go before the arrival of this Greg character.
Scraping my hair back into a ponytail, I wandered out into the corridor to investigate the source of the stench. I realized it was coming from the kitchen, but just before I reached it, Mum raced out of the bathroom wrapped in a dressing gown.
“Oh no, I think it’s the potatoes!” she shrieked.
Within seconds, the two of us were in the kitchen looking at the ruins of a dinner. Mum had left the food roasting for far too long. The beef was black as charcoal and crispy on top. “I think the roast can be saved,” I said. “But the potatoes are screwed.” The heat had turned them into rock hard, black pebbles.
Mum cupped her hands around a match and lit a cigarette. “Now what do we do? Greg’s going to be here soon and the whole place smells like a bomb wreck.”
“Calm down, Mother. We’ll figure something out.” I went around opening all the windows to let some air into the room.
“I know I said my fall-back plan was pizza,” she mumbled, “but I did promise him a home-cooked meal.”
“And he’ll get one, don’t you worry. Look, the meat’s still fine, so all we’ve got to do is find something to go with it. He’ll never know the difference.” I went over to the freezer and took out a packet of French fries.
“You’ve got to be joking,” she said, horrified. “Roast beef with French fries? Are you serious?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, Mum. Plus we don’t exactly have time to go shopping for anything else, do we? We’ll just have to make do with what there is.” She opened her mouth to speak but I cut her dead. “Just leave this to me, okay? Now go finish beautifying yourself before he gets here. I know how long it takes you to do your make-up.”
“Thanks darling, you’re such an angel.” She tossed the cigarette butt and hurried back to the bathroom, leaving me to salvage the wreckage of dinner. I couldn’t understand why she hadn’t just let me cook in the first place. If she hadn’t been so stubborn we could have avoided all of this hassle.
As I emptied the fries onto the baking tray, I felt relieved to at last be doing something. Anything is better than thinking about Lee all the time!
Twenty minutes later, the food was done, and I went to the living room to start setting the table. Mum had bought some silver candles with matching napkins, which added a touch of glamour to the otherwise Spartan set-up. Once I’d finished arranging everything, I had to admit the place looked pretty good.
As a final touch, I dimmed the lights and put some jazz on the stereo. Everything was perfect for a romantic evening. The only snag was that we didn’t have enough chairs, so I’d have to sit on the stool from my bedroom. Too bad we aren’t loaded like Lee’s family.
And anyway, if Greg really was serious about Mum, he should be able to see past our hovel of a home. Why am I even trying to impress him? This guy could destroy any chance of my parents have of getting back together. He can sit on the floor for all I care!
At seven twenty-five, Mum emerged from the bathroom looking stunning in a black skirt, white top, and a pearl necklace. When she saw me, she looked horrified. “Darling, is that what you’re wearing for dinner?”
I glanced down at my grubby tracksuit and shrugged. “Yeah. Why? Is there a problem?”
She sighed. “I thought you might want to make a bit more of an effort, Sam. First impressions and all that.”
“He’s not my boyfriend, Mum. He’s yours, remember? Since when did the daughter have to look sexy to meet her potential step-dad?”
“Step-dad?” She laughed gently. “
Let’s not get too carried away, darling. It’s still early. But I do see your point. Okay, so long as you’re comfortable, you can wear what you want, I suppose.”
“Thank you, your Majesty. Now please, can we stop fussing?”
The doorbell rang.
“Oh my god, he’s here!” Mum gasped, patting her hair and smoothing down her skirt. “Be a dear and put the kettle on, will you? Oh, and make sure you don’t use that blasted lion mug again. It looks so terrible. And make sure you …”
“Okay, okay, I get it. Just answer the door.”
She nodded and sprinted off. I’d never seen her so rattled before. She was acting like a lovesick teenager, which I found kind of disturbing. This guy really must be a big deal to make her behave this way.
I hid out in the kitchen and listened as a man’s voice filled the house. He sounded deep and slow and measured, like a newscaster. Then Mum called to me and, swallowing hard, I walked tentatively to the living room.
Within ten seconds of meeting Greg Hammer, I understood exactly what all the fuss was about. The man had a colossal presence, a magnetism that was not easy to describe.
He was about forty with a prominent nose, handle-bar moustache and short, dark hair flecked with gray. His extraordinarily large eyes were coal-black and he was dressed in a smart suit with beautifully crafted shoes. He wasn’t the best looking guy in the world, but there was something about him. Whatever the X-factor was, Greg Hammer had it in abundance. Now I knew why Mum was so enraptured.
As soon as he saw me, he flashed a megawatt smile. “Hello! You must be Samantha. I’m Greg. Lisa’s told me so much about you. It’s so great to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” I grinned, already captivated by him.
Greg slid his large hand into mine and held it there for a couple of seconds, his eyes almost hypnotizing me. “I hope my being here hasn’t put you to too much trouble,” he said. “I’m sure a pretty girl like you must have much better things to do on a Saturday night than hanging out with the old folks.”
