Four Play: A Collection of Novellas

by Silver, Amalie

  I brushed a hand through my hair and straightened my glasses.

  Lauren and I stifled a laugh, and I grabbed her hand to pull her out the doors.

  “Excuse us, sir,” I said, moving past him.

  I walked her to her door, and once we reached it I stared at the glow of our heated encounter alive on her flushed skin. “Sorry about that. It was… I got caught up in the moment.” I shook my head. “Never mind. I’m really not sorry at all.”

  She flashed her bright smile, and yet again it surprised me when I was the one to make it happen. For the first time in my life, I must’ve been doing something right.

  “I’m going to head to my room and change clothes. I can still feel sand in my underpants,” I said, and she laughed again. “I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes,” she mimicked. “I’ll be ready.”

  Cliché Nine:

  The bet’s off.

  I brushed my teeth, changed my clothes, and stood a little bit taller when I checked my reflection.

  I wish I could’ve said that I was an ego-maniac like Jack, knowing how Lauren had felt about me the moment I laid eyes on her, but I’d never had that kind of confidence, or insight. And it would take a conversation like the one we’d just had in the elevator to slap me upside the head and take notice. Subtlety was not my thing. I didn’t think I’d ever have women pegged like I wanted.

  But Lauren had been thinking about me like I’d been thinking about her. The anticipation about what tonight would hold for us ignited in my gut. I felt alive; the rush of adrenaline washed through me and set my body on fire. It felt damn good to feel so sure of myself.

  I grabbed my phone – which I’d inconveniently left in the room that morning—and texted Martin to tell him I’d be out for the evening. I had a few missed calls, but they were unknown numbers so I didn’t bother to call them back. With two more stops on the agenda for Lauren that night, I wasn’t about to let my time left in Seattle to go to waste.

  Striding confidently, I walked through the hallway with a renewed vigor I hadn’t felt in years. I was living in the here and now; my mind wasn’t plagued with regrets of yesterday or worries for tomorrow. I had a beautiful woman who wanted to spend time with me, and when a cliché popped into my head, all I could do was laugh.

  The girl made me feel like a million bucks.

  I approached her door, plucking a fresh yellow flower from the vase near the elevator, and checked myself one last time in the mirror.

  But when I pulled up my fist to knock on her door, I heard voices on the other side. I double-checked the room number, and indeed, I had the right one. One of the voices was Lauren’s, I knew that by now, but the other sounded hushed, and less irritated than hers.

  I knocked once and called her name. “Everything okay?”

  “I’ll be out in a second!” she called.

  My shoulders relaxed when I heard her response, but her voice held aggravation.

  Who could be in there with her? It didn’t sound like Monica. In fact, it didn’t sound feminine at all.

  Shit!

  Jack.

  I knocked again, this time louder, and threw the flower to the floor. With both hands on the doorframe, I leaned in and put my ear against the door. The silence killed me, and the fact that someone—especially Jack—could be in her room only served to fuel my sudden rage.

  “Open the door, Lauren, or I’m calling security.”

  I heard the muffled sounds of a struggle, and Lauren screamed my name. I jiggled the knob and then looked around the hallway for something to break down the door. My heart wildly raced, and the only thing in the area around me was a soda machine.

  “Dammit!” Fighting the shaking in my hands, I got the hotel’s number up on my phone as quickly as I could and dialed it.

  But before it could ring, Lauren’s door flew open and Jack came tumbling out holding his nose. “You fucking bitch!” he spat, losing his balance and falling to the floor.

  I jumped over him and hurried to Lauren.

  Her hair was disheveled, and she held her fist gently in the palm of her hand. “Ouch,” she whispered.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. My eyes frantically searched her entire body. No scrapes. No bruises. And I noted that her jean shorts looked untouched. Thank God.

  “My knuckles hurt, but other than that, I’m fine.”

  “What was he doing in your room?” I asked.

  “He knocked, and I thought it was you. When I opened the door, he barged in.”

  The adrenaline kicked in, and my arms ballooned like an angry ape’s. I ground my teeth, set my jaw, and turned toward Jack who was still lying helplessly in the hall.

  I took three steps toward him and cinched a handful of his collar, pulling him up to a standing position. “What the fuck did you do to her, asshole?”

  “She broke my nose!”

  “And I’m going to break your fucking legs if you laid a hand on her,” I growled.

  “Oh, give me a break,” Jack said, slapping my arm away. “You can pretend all you want like you’re the hero here, but you and I know the truth,” he argued, smearing blood across his cheek.

  I shook my head, imagining how exhilarating it would feel to punch his greasy face. “Oh! But you’re the hero—the one who tries to take advantage of a woman who has clearly shown she has no interest in you whatsoever?”

  He chuckled. “At least she’s not a game for me.”

  Lauren approached us from behind and sniffed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Did you really think Mike was interested in you? I don’t know what kind of angle he’s trying to pull here, but you and your friend Monica are nothing but a bet. I told him I’d get him an entry level position at my Seattle firm if he—”

  “That’s not true!” I shouted, and turned to Lauren.

  She took a step back, her eyes widened in shock and she held her breath.

  “It’s not true,” I repeated. “The bet wasn’t about you. It was about Monica. He told me that he’d help me get the job if I had sex with her this weekend.”

  Her hands shook and contempt crossed her face. “That somehow makes it better? How old are you? Seven? Monica is my best friend, and regardless of what you might think of her, she has feelings. What did you think? Did you think that by getting closer to me, you could—?”

  “No! I didn’t want to take his stupid bet! And I would never do something like that to you, Lauren. Never.”

  Her eyes glossed over and she shook her head. For all the times I’d seen her beautiful smile this weekend, and for how elated it had made me feel knowing I’d helped put it there, seeing her frown just then maimed a place deep inside of me. My chest twisted and sank, and I knew nothing I could say would repair her confidence in me.

  “I want both of you to leave. Now,” she said, her chin quivering.

  Jack was already halfway to the elevator, snickering, and Lauren stood in her doorway staring at the floor.

  I found it hard to believe that she would think I’d be capable of something like that. Not because things like that couldn’t happen, but that I would be smart enough—and sick enough—to use her to get to Monica. But that was the problem: she didn’t really know me. And from how she talked about living in Monica’s shadows, I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me that she might come to that conclusion.

  But that wasn’t me. I was a good guy—at least I tried to be. But none of that was relevant anymore. If she didn’t already realize it by now, there wasn’t enough time left in the day to convince her otherwise.

  That was it. Our time was through.

  Not only had Jack beaten me twice that weekend, but most importantly, Lauren was going to walk away thinking I was jerk. Or worse yet, that I looked at her as a prop for Jack’s ludicrous proposition.

  And I couldn’t let that happen.

  “Please, Lauren,” I begged. “You don’t have to believe me now, but I have to say this if it’s the las
t thing you hear from me.”

  She glanced up, holding the door open. Her posture stiffened and tears threatened to escape from her eyes.

  “Everything I’ve said to you, everything we’ve done this weekend, the connection we’ve made—it’s all been real for me. I haven’t lied to you at all. Everything about what we’ve felt this weekend has been true. Honest. Awakening.” I took a breath. “I can’t let you leave this weekend thinking that this was all a game for me. If anything, my life has been a game up until now. Up until you.”

  She set her jaw and swallowed. “It’s fine,” she whispered. “It doesn’t matter, does it? It was fun while it lasted.”

  My mind raced, trying to find the right words. What would make her come back to me? Was there a magic phrase or should I have offered her more of an explanation? I thought about spouting a cliché—anything to make that smile return.

  But we both knew it was too late. Nothing but time and consideration would repair the thoughts that cluttered her mind. And time was something we didn’t have.

  It was over.

  And it had only just begun.

  The corners of her mouth lifted momentarily and she rolled her eyes at her emotions. With a robotic voice and heavy eyes, she said, “It was nice meeting you, Michael Rourke. Good luck.”

  And that was it.

  She closed the door.

  ***

  It was almost dinnertime. I’d spent the past hour in the hotel bar, and four shots of vodka had brought me to my current state: one part lethargic, one part blurred, and wholly fucked.

  I tried convincing myself that I wouldn’t give a shit in a week. It was all just some misunderstanding that took place, and that Lauren would forget all about this ridiculous weekend.

  But she was the sensitive kind. For as spirited as she liked to portray herself, I knew I’d added another layer of doubt to her overall self-esteem—one that might stick with her for a long time. She deserved to know that she was beautiful, worthy, and that respectable men never act the way that Jack and I had.

  Fucking Jack. What a piece of shit.

  He was lucky I hadn’t seen him. In my inebriated state, I was fairly certain I wouldn’t hold back. He’d be lucky to escape the weekend alive.

  I chuckled to myself thinking about what it must have looked like when Lauren punched him in the nose. Nothing pleased me more than knowing she could take care of herself; if I’d take nothing more away from that weekend, I’d take comfort in knowing that much.

  My head tilted to my right. The only people in the bar with me were the bartender and a couple making out in a back corner booth. Quite vigorously, too, I might add. For fuck’s sake, we’re in a hotel. Get a room.

  I watched as people came and went from the lobby, all carrying on with their normal lives as if they hadn’t just been a part of the kind of a catastrophe like I had. Their excitable smiles made me frown, greeting their partners with hugs and kisses.

  Even if Lauren found it in her heart to forgive me, then what? We couldn’t stay locked in a time warp repeating the weekend over and over again. Tomorrow would come. Our goodbyes were already hovering in the space between us. Our distances in real life wouldn’t make for a plausible outcome. What I longed for was just a few more hours with the beautiful girl I’d grown so fond of over the past twenty-four hours. I was selfish; I knew I was.

  But dammit, I wanted her. I wanted her even knowing that it would only be short-lived. Because something inside of me came alive when I was around her. Every nerve ending sparked, every inch of my skin smoldered. With every minute that passed, I was consumed with the knowledge that if we hadn’t stopped to get a sweater, we could’ve spent those few hours we had left together.

  But it was crazy. The whole idea of feeling so compelled to be with someone in such a short amount of time. The notion that I, Michael Rourke, was a part of this unbelievable, brief fling—that opened my eyes, and made me gravitate toward someone so easily—blew my mind.

  It was a paradox at its best. Satirical, almost.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about her long dark hair, her silky skin, and the way the light danced over her at the park. Then I laughed out loud, thinking about how cliché my current situation was: a man, wallowing at the bar, drinking himself into oblivion over the thoughts of his losing his girl.

  And it hit me—I was living inside of a romance novel. The anti-cliché became the cliché, because no one would’ve ever been able to say it better than I could at that minute.

  God, I was pathetic.

  I hit my head on the table and let out a sort of laugh-cry that I would imagine was only reserved for the desperate.

  A light tap on my shoulder made my head snap up—a bit too quickly, making my world spin—and my eyes slowly focused on the man beside me.

  My features smoothed. “Hey, Marty,” I slurred.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, eyeing the four empty shot glasses on my table.

  “Not much! You know, just staking my claim in a newfound commiseration gold mine.” I looked past his shoulder, seeing Monica’s face, and my brow furrowed. She wrapped her arms around Marty’s waist and rested her chin on his shoulder. Glancing back at the booth, I came to the conclusion from Martin’s stained lips and crazy hair that he and Monica were the couple that had just been groping each other in the corner.

  “I’ll be damned,” I gargled. The man doesn’t speak two words the whole weekend, and he has Monica on his arm.

  There really was no hope for me.

  I made an effort to stand, but Martin pushed down on my shoulder, sending me back to my seat. “I’m going to order you a sandwich and a glass of water. You’re going to sit here and sober up a little.”

  I laughed. “What’s the point? I’d like to go home and forget this weekend ever happened.”

  “That’s fine, but first, water.” Martin walked over to the bar and Monica took a step closer to me.

  “What happened?” Monica asked. “I spoke to Lauren last night and she said things were going great.”

  “You talked to her?” With a rod suddenly propelling my spine straight, I asked, “What did she say?”

  “When I told her about our…encounter, I could tell something was wrong. We stayed up until two o’clock talking it out. Let’s just say that my instinct was that you weren’t really the domineering type. You weren’t really my type at all. No offense.” She laughed. “And after the way Lauren spoke about you, I knew to back off.”

  “I’m not.” I slouched. “The domineering type, I mean. And no offense, but you weren’t really my type either.”

  “What happened today? She was so excited when I talked to her. And she was gone before I woke.”

  “Nothing, Monica. And absolutely everything.” I sighed. “But Jack is an ass, I’m a moron, and she should just go back to Vancouver without having to bother with me ever again.” I looked at her briefly, then down again, shaking my head. “I messed up.”

  “You didn’t hurt her, did you?”

  “Not physically, no. But I’m sure she’s pretty upset. She was crying when I left.”

  “Asshole! What did you do?”

  After taking a deep breath, I explained the entire situation to Monica and Martin. I don’t know how much of the story I got straight, because to be quite frank, I barely remembered how I’d started each sentence, let alone how I finished them. But by the end of my explanation, she seemed to be content that I hadn’t hurt Lauren intentionally, and that the entire thing was a huge misunderstanding.

  There could’ve been some pleading on my part, but in the end Monica gave me a hug and told me not to worry about it. But with that, I merely scowled.

  “I’m going to go upstairs and have a chat with Lauren,” she said. “And if I see Jack, I’m going to squeeze his balls until they pop,” she whispered. “I’ll pry the peanut butter M&Ms from her hands and explain it to her.” She gave me a tap on the back and a wink. “I’ll put in a good word for you. Sober up, lik
e Marty said, and don’t come back to your room for about…” Marty walked back to the table, and her eyes raked up and down his body. “….four hours.”

  With a hearty laugh, I said, “I just want to make sure she’s okay. She doesn’t want to speak to me, and that’s fine.” I frowned. “Just don’t let her believe any of this was done to purposely upset her. I didn’t intend for this to happen.”

  “I believe you, Mike.” Monica nodded. “Lauren might take some convincing, though.”

  Cliché Ten:

  The crowd parts, the two are reunited, and insta-love ensues.

  A little over an hour later, and relatively sober, I was able to look at the situation a little clearer.

  Jack’s intentions were cruel and nasty. I’d fought with my conscience the whole weekend over it; I wasn’t a bad guy, and I hoped Monica had some luck convincing Lauren of that fact as well.

  Martin and Monica had left the bar to find Lauren, and a crowd had gathered now that the convention had ended. The service staff, the patrons, and the management all scurried around me like ballroom dancers, and it was difficult to see anyone entering the lounge from where I sat.

  I didn’t know what I was doing, still sitting there alone like a loser. But I knew that if Monica had been successful in her chat with Lauren, this would be the first place she’d come to look for me.

  I didn’t have a plan of what I’d say to her if she appeared. Everything with Lauren had been unscripted. She liked me for who I was, not for anyone I could’ve tried to be. To me, that meant something. It might have been a simple idea, but it was too farfetched in the beginning for me to consider it.

  There was at least one woman in the world that I didn’t have to pretend with.

  I glanced up, and the crowd dissipated around her. She stood in a yellow sundress, her skin flushed pink from the sun on the beach that morning, enhancing the small freckles on her nose. Her radiance emanated—even with her squinted eyes—and I swallowed thickly, taking her in.