The Story of Lansing Lotte

by L. B. Dunbar

  Will had been methodically rubbing his thumb over my clasped hands, and I couldn’t wipe the tear that spilled from my eyes.

  “Lansing might get women, but he doesn’t always understand them. But you? He understood you, Lila. He understood that you needed more than a rock star living the good life and playing around. You needed a man who was solid and committed, and willing to love you and Fleur. He was ready to do that, Lila. He wanted to do that. He just needed a bit more time to get there. He’s basically a good guy, despite his failings along the way. His intentions are in the right place, even if his actions aren’t always.”

  “I don’t need some hero to save me,” I said softly. “I’m fine alone with Fleur.”

  “You might be, but why be alone when you don’t have to be? And as for a hero? Lansing isn’t meant to be your hero, Lila, you’re meant to be his.”

  Will let go of my hands and sat back to reach for his beer. He guzzled the remainder of the bottle and I watched his large Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed. It was a strange thing to concentrate on, but it was a good distraction from what he’d said. I almost laughed when I realized that sometimes staying focused on a distraction is better than accepting what’s going on outside of it. I wasn’t sure I could accept his words, understand his words, but I realized that I hadn’t given Lansing enough of a chance to explain himself. I was too busy shielding myself and closing off my heart. I had accepted that it was too late.

  I paced back and forth in the side room off the main area. On the second floor of the building was a reception area, appropriately named the community room, for events involving the entire building. Not everyone in the building would be attending that evening. I wasn’t concerned about everyone. My thoughts were only on one person.

  I was wearing a path through the rug, which Will warned me I’d have to replace if I did make a hole. The whole celebration gala had me on edge. In the six weeks since I’d seen Lila, so many things had happened. I wanted to share them with her, but I also needed to face some of those things on my own. I needed to get myself straightened out before I could go back to her.

  The first issue had been the band. We waited until after the first of the year to make a decision on the album, like Leo DeGrance had wanted back in September. As one of the three controlling partners of Camelot Records, he was confident that we could still produce the record with or without Arturo. He felt the songs with Arturo were solid, while any additional songs by our own voices would seem post-traumatic and fans would adore them knowing of Arturo’s precarious disappearance. I felt strange trying to capitalize on Arturo’s missing person, but Leo had a personal connection to our band as Arturo was to be his future son-in-law. He was professional at all times, re-assuring us the album would sell.

  We hadn’t come to much of a conclusion, other than we had the ten tracks, and we wanted three more. Without Arturo as our songwriter and leader, it was going to be up to us to decide if we wanted to hire someone else to write lyrics, which Kaye adamantly desired. I immediately disagreed. The other option was to write the songs ourselves. Perkins voted for another six months.

  As I had shared with the band that Arturo had been seen and spoken to Lila outside the building the night of the Boxing Day party, Perkins felt that we needed to give Arturo more time. He then admitted he’d seen him, too. He explained in his typical good guy manner that he thought Arturo was trying to make his way back to us, but was holding out for some reason. Whatever that reason might be, Perk was convinced that Arturo would return to us on his own, but he needed more time. I was losing my patience with Arturo. I was running out of time in my opinion. I wanted my life back, so I could concentrate on Lila.

  Tristan and I exchanged a look, knowing that one additional item keeping Arturo away might be any suspicion on his part about Guinevere and myself. I had finally come clean with Tristan about everything. How I knew Guinie. How I was obsessed with my loss of her, and how we finally consummated that separation, only for me to feel less complete than I thought I would feel. I needed Arturo to return so I could confess my sins to him and move on with my future. I was tired of looking back.

  Which led to the second thing I needed to sort out, and that was Guinevere. I needed a clean break from her. We talked briefly about what happened the night of the party, and then agreed to not talk about it again. I couldn’t admit that it had been a mistake. In hindsight, it needed to happen for me. If anything else had been different for me, if history could repeat itself, I might have continued to pursue a relationship, but it would have been all for naught. Guinevere DeGrance loved Arturo King. She might be attracted to me. We might have craved a physical connection, but it wasn’t going to be more than that, and I did want more than just unfulfilling desire. Too much physical attention had led to the pregnancy of Elaine, the misinterpretation of Layne, and the poor judgment with Guinevere. Too much physical had also destroyed Lila.

  I realized I might have moved too far, too fast with Lila. She didn’t trust me and for good reason. I hadn’t been completely open. I didn’t want to talk about everything outside of Lila, Fleur and I, because I wanted to stay wrapped up in our little bubble. I didn’t want to bring the outside in, and it caused confusion for Lila. She wasn’t my distraction in a negative way. She was my everything, and I was trying to keep the other out. I didn’t have one regret about Lila and I being together, like I had regrets about the other three women. As a matter of fact, I craved Lila and the month separation was getting harder and harder for me.

  “If you don’t sit down…” Will warned, but when I looked up at him, something stopped him.

  “She’s going to be here,” he added.

  Will was a terrible actor and I didn’t think he could pull it off. I needed him to convince Lila to attend the party, knowing she would resist if I were to ask her directly. I didn’t want Will to tell her why I wanted her there, although he thought that would be easier. I tried to explain that with Lila, it was all about action. I couldn’t tell her I needed her. I needed to show her I needed her. I wasn’t the words man in our group, but I took the risk, which Tristan encouraged.

  The party was already in full swing, with stuffy older men and women in the building associating with some of the celebrities. It was strange because it wasn’t a fundraiser or charity event, but people showed up en mass. They had been promised live entertainment, the likes of which they’d never seen, from someone within the building. I’m not sure that Will should have billed the single performance in such a manner, but he was sometimes over the top.

  Will warned me again about the pacing, and then told me I had five minutes. My heart raced like it did before a show when that five-minute warning was given. It was the time when the band would be slapping each other on the back, praising each other, and cheering one another forward as we walked toward a stage. It would be the time that the crowd would carry us home with their encouraging screams of excitement and we’d be drawn to the stage to appease them. But that night, I walked alone to a rather silent crowd, who were about to get a rare treat, as Will praised it, which they might not have expected. But again, I didn’t care about the group. I only cared about one individual. I hoped she was there.

  I hadn’t seen Lansing Lotte, but I had only just arrived. I finally gave in to Will’s constant begging when the long violet colored silk dress arrived, and I knew I couldn’t turn him down. It was gorgeous with spaghetti straps and a straight fit that hugged my curves, in just the right way. I had to wear a bra as I was too big, but I had just the push up to help me, and it accentuated me further. I liked the silky feel against my skin, almost a bit too much. I ached in places that hadn’t been touched in over a month.

  “One hour,” I warned Will. “That’s all I’m giving you,” I laughed into the phone.

  “Fine. But make it nine o’clock, okay?”

  I was definitely suspicious, as the party was supposed to start at seven, but he explained that if I was only going to the reception for
an hour, he wanted it to be his hour. He had been a bit secretive with me. I knew he had some entertainment planned as I heard other residents mentioning it in the elevator. Clare wasn’t going, so she was willing to watch Fleur for me. She claimed she’d had enough of the rich and famous in her younger years as a struggling actress, and she was perfectly happy to hear of the entertainment second hand. She was comfortable in her own skin and in her small house productions. She didn’t feel the need to impress others.

  I didn’t feel the need to impress either, despite Will’s encouragement that some wealthy connections could be made and photo opportunities born if I went that evening. I wasn’t sure that I wanted photography as a career. Taking pictures of the rich and famous had only led to trouble. It wasn’t artistic work, which was what I desired. I still wanted that art therapy degree. Will felt that getting commissions for artistic photography would be a step in the right direction; earning the money I needed to continue my education.

  I entered the large community room to find a much different crowd than the party I attended at Tristan Lyons’ place. People in formal attire stood in small groups sipping champagne and eating appetizers. The conversation was muted, as music played subtly from a piano man in one corner of the room that had floor to ceiling windows, with an amazing view of the Park behind him. I was drawn to the dark glass reflecting the candle light that lit the room and imagined the photo opportunities of the snowy park down the block. As I stood facing my reflection in the window, Will cleared his throat, a bit too loudly, into the microphone next to the piano.

  “Good evening, everyone,” he sounded like a school principal. Conversations dulled a bit as I turned to look at Will. In his tuxedo, he looked like a little kid stuffed into his Sunday school clothing. He looked uncomfortable in his own skin and a bit overdressed.

  “For tonight’s special entertainment, I’d like to introduce a good friend of mine, as well as a hero to the building. Not only did he save sweet Fleur Tucker from the fire months ago, but his family’s construction company, Logres Construction, made all the repairs structurally and internally to the building, keeping the same traditional look, as well as, updating a few items.”

  Here some people chuckled as Will lifted his hand in the air symbolizing the elevator.

  “He’s going to be performing for us, an individual song, he wrote for someone else in our building, who’s very special to him. Introducing, Lansing Lotte.”

  A collective gasp filled the large room as people started to clap politely. Then, a few whistled their approval from the back as Lansing Lotte entered the room, through doors toward the entrance, in a tailored suit complete with dress shirt and tie. He looked like a rock star on his way to the Grammys. I wanted to rip those clothes off of him he looked so heavenly.

  My body betrayed me immediately as a flight of butterflies fluttered low in my belly. I had to squeeze my thighs to ease the excitement of looking at him. His floppy hair was in contrast to the clean lines of his polished suit, and he looked delicious in juxtaposition. A hint of the rock star crept out as a leather band around his wrist peeked out from his long cuff. He reached for his guitar and sat on a stool. The sleeve pulled higher and my heart dropped. He was wearing a moon and star bracelet. My moon and star bracelet. I had left it behind when I had Will help me return all of Lansing’s things to his apartment. I hadn’t left it anywhere obvious, just slipped it inside his top dresser drawer.

  Lansing was almost shy, as he balanced his guitar on his lap, and then scanned the room. He didn’t see me off to the side by the windows. I ducked behind a taller man, peeking out at Lansing around the man’s shoulders. His face fell a little as he looked at Will, who smiled broadly as if he was goading a child to perform. Will gave Lansing a double thumbs-up and Lansing smiled weakly with a single head nod.

  “So, I’m Lansing Lotte. I don’t know about being a hero and all that like Will said, but it was my pleasure to save Fleur and restore the building. This is our home and I want it to be safe for everyone.”

  A few people politely applauded again.

  “I’ve never done a solo act, but I wrote a song. I guess you’re my test audience. See if you like it” He smiled down at his guitar as he adjusted his strings.

  “I wrote it for someone really special to me. More than special. I want to let her know that she was more than just a distraction. She is my everything.”

  He twisted his lips and shrugged his shoulders as he began to play a melodic tone. His voice deepened as he sang and he closed his eyes in concentration.

  Beautiful Distraction,

  unknowing attraction

  everything I wanted

  didn’t know that I’d need.

  Sparks of desire,

  Building on fire,

  The house needs to burn

  Before it can see.

  Out of the ashes

  Came such a passion

  For all that I needed

  Waited for me.

  Stars light the sky,

  The moon’s so alone,

  But beautiful distraction,

  You guide me home.

  It was sung as an acoustic ballad. Several women were dabbing their eyes as Lansing sang the chorus of, “stars light the sky, the moon’s so alone…” I was cold, but sweating with nerves as I listened to the lyrics. My heart raced in panic. Lansing’s voice was so pained as he sang; it touched my soul. I wanted to go to him, but I forced myself to remain hidden. His eyes finally found me, despite the man in front of me. He held onto me with those bright blues as his voice faltered and he whispered, “You guide me home.”

  The song ended and a soft cheer went up, appraising the music without sounding like a rock concert of approval. People whistled and clapped enthusiastically, while Lansing set down the guitar. He was suddenly swarmed with people trying to shake his hand and pat him on the back. I slowly stepped backward into the crowd. I saw his head searching, but I let myself dissolve into the mass of people as he shook hands and answered questions.

  I was almost to the exit when a hand wrapped around my bare arm.

  “He wrote that for you,” said a gruff voice I didn’t recognize. I turned to come face to face with Tristan Lyons. He was breathtakingly beautiful. Not like Lansing, who was almost pretty, but literally take your breath away gorgeous. I did suck in a breath as my mind wandered briefly to think he could be a model.

  “I…I need to go,” I said, trying to tug my arm away from his grasp.

  “You know, women would give their right arm for him to write them a song. They’d give more than their right arm.” He raised an eyebrow at me as his lips smirked with his sexual innuendo.

  “I’m sure they would,” I bit, “but I’m not other women.”

  “No, apparently to him, you’re not. He worked hard on that piece. He was worried you wouldn’t like it and that was what he cared about. And you can’t even face him to tell him it was good?”

  “It was good. It was beautiful,” my voice faltered on my second statement. I searched behind me with a brief glance for Lansing. He seemed to have disappeared into the crowd and I added, “but I can’t stay with his fans. I’m not a groupie. I don’t just come and go.”

  “Oh, I bet you’re good at the come-and-go, but…”

  “You shouldn’t go,” another voice interrupted us. I twisted in Tristan’s grip to see Lansing standing behind me.

  “Release her, Tristan,” Lansing demanded in a tone I hadn’t heard before. Tristan let go of me quickly, hoisting his hands up in an I-give-up way. Palms up, his face looked disgusted as he stepped back.

  “You’re bed, man,” he said, then brushed past Lansing. “You did good,” he added before he melted into the crowd. While Lansing followed the direction of his band member, I took the opportunity to slip through the door and into the empty hall. I was headed for the elevator when he caught up to me.

  “Lila, wait.”

  I stopped before the elevator doors, banging on the up arrow, a
s if it would speed up the elevator’s arrival. I needed to get away from him before I gave into him. I knew I would. My body wanted to be close to him, but my head was fighting me.

  He came toward me with such determination. I hadn’t predicted what happened next. His hands touched my cheeks and slid into my hair, tugging me forward to kiss him. His mouth took mine slowly, sucking at my lips, encouraging me to give into him. He continued in his tortuous feast of my mouth before pulling his own body against mine and devouring me further. His hands slipped further into my hair and he pressed me against him. My own hands gripped his lapel and tugged him toward me. We kissed like that for several moments, until I heard the ping of the lift.

  I pulled back quickly and entered the elevator, repeating my beating of the button labeled 3. Lansing slipped into the lift with me and the door closed. I stepped back and he reached for the panel of numbers before he turned to me.

  “Lila,” he said softly.

  “I can’t,” my voice said weakly.

  “Can’t what, Lila?”

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?” He was standing in front of me. His hand dragged down my arm, not breaking physical contact with me. He clasped his fingers through mine. He pulled me toward him and then pressed me back into the elevator wall. Time seemed to be moving slowly as the lift crept to the third floor. His body covered mine as he held my hand, while his other arm pinned me in when he braced it on the wall beside my head.

  Our eyes met and danced in circles. I couldn’t look at him. My body was on fire. My skin prickled with his nearness. I couldn’t think clearly, like smoke was fogging my brain.

  “We need to talk.” He winced after he said the words.