Please

by Hazel Hughes

  “You’re Elizabeth Holmes,” she said, extending her hand.

  Elizabeth stood up and shook it. “Yes. You read my chair?” She tilted the chair so Susan could see the back.

  Susan laughed. “I read your book.” A beat. This was where people usually said they loved it or related to one of the characters, but Susan just said, “I’m Susan.”

  “Yes, I know,” Elizabeth said, hearing and hating the fawning tone that crept into her voice. “Of course, I know. I loved you in White Heat and that one about the two women who love the same man, but one of them is dying ...”

  “Bird in the Hand,” Susan supplied, smiling coolly. “Thanks. That was one of my favorite parts to play. Such a rich mine of emotion.” Another pause.

  “Um, how do you like the role of Cassandra?” Elizabeth asked. Cassandra was her favorite character in Habibi Baby, the one she was proudest of having created.

  “Oh, she’s great,” Susan effused. “I mean, she’s just your standard tough nut on the outside, marshmallow on the inside. Not much in the way of complexity. Doesn’t require a lot of me as an actress, which is just perfect after the hell I went through playing Verushka in Roman’s latest.” Susan leaned in conspiratorially. “Russian mafia kingpin’s mother whose own mother was a Romanoff and whose father was a Jew killed in the pogroms, made a name for herself as a high-class commie whore and somewhere along the way managed to raise the most dangerous and powerful man in Russia. We’re talking layers. It is so nice to play someone simple like Cassandra after that.” She wrinkled her nose when she said ‘nice.’

  Elizabeth was stung. Her smile faltered, but she pinned it back on, with effort.

  “I would have introduced myself earlier,” Susan continued, “but I haven’t seen you around much since the first couple of days.” Susan looked at her steadily, a knowing smile on her lips. “Been doing a bit of sightseeing?”

  “Mm-hm,” Elizabeth answered, feeling herself flush.

  “Well, well, well,” a male voice said behind her. “If it isn’t Elizabeth Holmes, author and script consultant for Habibi Baby.” It was Cullen.

  “Ah, Cullen. The great auteur.” Elizabeth hoped that hadn’t come out as sarcastically as it sounded in her head. “You haven’t been missing me, have you?” She tried to inject a kittenish tone into her voice.

  Cullen frowned. “Oh, we’ve managed to get by along here without you, haven’t we, Suze?”

  A wicked smile spread across Susan’s face. “Somehow.”

  Elizabeth felt a panic attack coming on. She had never had one before, but panic seemed like the appropriate word to use for the sudden quickening of her pulse and squirmy feeling in her chest preventing her from forming lucid thoughts.

  “I guess I wasn’t clear on how much time I should be spending on set ...” she began, but Cullen interrupted her, putting an over-familiar arm around her waist.

  He winked, his frown splitting into a wide grin. “Hey, I told you to get out and see the city, didn’t I? But stick around for a couple of hours today. I’m not feeling the way Matt’s written the next scene with Cassandra and Eugene. We’ll try a take with it as is, but I might ask for your help with a rewrite if it doesn’t play.”

  Elizabeth glanced at her watch. It was 10:30.

  Susan watched her, a knowing look in her amber eyes. She put a hand on Cullen’s forearm. “Now Cullen, that’s awfully rude of you. What if Elizabeth has plans?”

  Cullen looked at Elizabeth, his eyebrows rising above his turquoise glasses.

  “Um, well, I was supposed to meet someone at one, but ...”

  Cullen spread his hands expansively. “Come on. Suze and Bob,” he gestured to the veteran character actor who was playing Eugene, “are pros. We should be able to nail this in no time, right?”

  Susan murmured and smiled noncommittally. Elizabeth’s heart beat faster.

  “Oh shit,” Cullen said, his attention drawn to something on the other side of the set. “Vince!” he yelled, striding toward the offense. “Not the fucking blue gels again! We discussed this.”

  Elizabeth stood with her arms crossed under her breasts, uncomfortably aware of Susan’s presence beside her.

  “Meeting a friend?” Susan asked, her tone all sly insinuation.

  Elizabeth didn’t look at the actress when she answered. “Uh-huh.” What was this woman’s problem?

  “New York is a fabulous place for ... friendships.” Elizabeth glanced over at Susan, who was looking straight ahead, idly stirring her cup of chai, the suggestion of a smile on her lips. “Of course,” she said, casting Elizabeth a sidelong glance, “they never last.”

  Elizabeth made an ambiguous sound, but a shiver ran through her. She knows about Sebastian, Elizabeth thought. And what was more, she cared. Elizabeth had to wonder why.

  “Mmm!” Susan said with exaggerated enthusiasm. “The chai is divine, Charles.”

  “Thanks Ms. Solstein,” Charles answered, his entire being virtually radiating she noticed me!

  Susan started walking away, languorously, her hips swaying. “It’s just what I need to keep me going,” she said, winking at Elizabeth over her shoulder. “I have the feeling this scene is going to take ages to get right.”

  *

  It was two o’clock by the time Elizabeth got on the A train heading uptown. She leaned her head back against the window, taking deep breaths and trying to quiet the panic that hadn’t subsided since her encounter with Susan.

  She had rewritten the two-minute scene between Cassandra and Eugene at least five times, and they had done countless takes before Susan and Cullen managed to agree on one that worked. Susan kept flubbing her lines and asking for makeup touch-ups and arguing with Cullen about how the scene should be played, acting every inch the diva.

  While they were shooting, Elizabeth had dumped her bag out, looking for her phone before she remembered that she didn’t have Sebastian’s number anyhow. They had barely left each other’s sides since that first night. It hadn’t been an issue.

  But as Elizabeth took the exit steps at Union Square two at a time and walked down 14th street, her eyes frantically rolling over the signs on the shops and restaurants, her panic mounted.

  She found the restaurant at last, a fifties style dinner with burnt orange and turquoise banquets and Formica tables. Sebastian was sitting at a table in the back, tapping at his phone with his thumbs. Elizabeth thought she could see the anger and frustration pulsing in the vein in his neck, but when she called his name, he looked up at her with expressionless eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, sliding into the banquet across from him, an apologetic smile on her face. Sebastian didn’t say anything, signaling to a waitress behind her for the check. “Cullen wanted my help with a scene and that prima donna Susan was doing everything in her power to stall things. She knew I had an appointment at one and she wanted me to be late. I swear that woman has a hate-on for me the size of the Empire State Building, but I have no idea why.”

  Sebastian blinked when she said Susan’s name, a strange look crystallizing in his dark eyes as Elizabeth babbled.

  The waitress brought the check and Sebastian slapped some money on the table, stood up and grabbed Elizabeth’s upper arm. “Come on,” he said. If he hadn’t been angry before, he definitely was now. He held her hand but walked just that little bit too fast for Elizabeth so that she had to scurry to keep up with him.

  “Sebastian, do you know Susan?” Elizabeth asked. Her heart was beating faster than her trotting to keep up with Sebastian warranted.

  “Of course.” His voice was terse.

  “I mean, do you ‘know her’ know her? I guess what I mean is, are her initials part of your tattoo?”

  He didn’t respond, as if he hadn’t heard her, but she could tell by the stiffening of his shoulders and the doubling of his pace that he had.

  Elizabeth continued, panting slightly, “Because she seemed to know about me. About us. At least, that’s how it seemed. She made some c
omments that felt like insinuations.”

  Sebastian remained mute. They were walking beside a tall cast-iron fence, beyond which was a beautiful compound of weathered limestone buildings, at the center of which was a church, its pale spire piercing the gray sky.

  Sebastian opened a gate to the left of the main entrance and walked through, staying close to the church. Elizabeth followed, hesitating for a moment to listen to the singing she heard coming from inside, the voices high and angelic. Sebastian grabbed her hand again, and leading her around to a door at the side of the building, opened it, pulling her into the darkened cove of the entrance.

  The voices were much clearer here, their pure tones weaving a tapestry of sound that was at once melancholy and joyous. Sebastian stood in front of her now, looking into her eyes. Whatever anger had been there before was gone. He put his fingers lightly on her lips, and then her eyelids, closing them. He whispered, “Forget Cullen and Susan. Just listen. And feel.”

  Her back was against the wall. She could feel the icy touch of the stone through the wool of the single skirt she had brought with her. Sebastian kissed her. His lips and breath were hot in the fading warmth of a cool March afternoon. His kiss was light, delicate, teasing. He lifted up the hem of her skirt and put his hands on her bare thighs. Her eyes snapped open.

  “Sebastian,” she said, her voice reluctant, uncertain.

  “Shhh,” he whispered into her ear, running his hands around to the backs of her thighs then up to the crease of her buttocks. “And close your eyes or I’ll have to blindfold you.” He took a step back from her and unwound the thin cashmere scarf from his neck.

  She closed her eyes, but she felt him tie it around her head anyway.

  “But Sebastian ...” Elizabeth began, only to feel his open mouth pressing softly but insistently against hers. His tongue filled her mouth, then retreated. He pulled her tongue into his mouth, holding it gently with his teeth. His hands explored the backs of her thighs and cheeks, his touch warm and feather-light. Elizabeth forgot what she had wanted to say.

  Sebastian released her tongue and kissed her mouth closed. He ran his tongue along her jaw to her ear, and Elizabeth shivered, remembering the first time he had done that, in the stairwell at the hotel. He sucked gently on her ear before whispering hoarsely, “Lift up your skirt and don’t make a sound.”

  When Elizabeth hesitated, he pulled the woolen skirt up for her. She held onto the coarse fabric as he pulled away from her, briefly. Then she felt his hands on her buttocks, gripping them fiercely, and his tongue sliding into the slit between her legs. She gasped.

  He found her clitoris and licked it gently at first, then harder, faster, burrowing himself into her with the ferocity of a wild animal tearing into its prey, sucking and biting, his hands clenched on her buttocks, separating them. She came without warning, letting her skirt drop, grabbing Sebastian’s head, pushing her pelvis against him. She bit her lip to stop from crying out, but a moan escaped her mouth despite her best intentions.

  Sebastian let go of her and, disentangling himself from her skirt, rose and tore the blindfold from her eyes. He held her face and looked into her eyes, intently. His chin and cheeks were still glossy with her juices, which he wiped on the front of his t-shirt, lifting it up to expose his six pack and the tip of his firm penis poking above his low-slung jeans.

  He saw where she was looking and smiled, that long, slow, sexy grin.

  “Turn around,” he said, his voice low and hoarse.

  Elizabeth obeyed, pressing her hot cheek against the musty, cold stone of the church. The ethereal voices of the choir floated around them as Sebastian rolled her skirt up over her hips and plunged into her still slippery and throbbing hole. She could smell herself on him, a smell both feral and marine. The air nipped at her exposed flesh and the rough stone abraded her thighs as Sebastian pumped his hips against her. He came, fast and hard, crushing her hipbones against the wall, his fingers digging into her. With his face buried in her hair, he murmured her name and the choir sang hallelujah.

  Chapter 8

  The moment Elizabeth swiped the key to her room, her phone started ringing. Fortunately, Sebastian had gone to Duane Reade to get more condoms.

  “Hello?”

  “Elizabeth! Finally! Has your phone been off?”

  It was her mother. Next to her kids, Connie McCanna was the one person capable of making Elizabeth feel guilty about pretty much anything. Definitely not what she needed right now.

  “Yeah, sorry, Ma. The battery was dead,” Elizabeth lied. “I told you I was staying at the Mercer. You could have called the hotel.”

  “I did, dear,” her mother answered, managing to make the word ‘dear’ sound like a bitter reproach. “I left several messages.”

  Elizabeth glanced at the phone on the desk, her eye homing in on the tiny blinking red light. “Oh. Well. I’ve been out all day, so ... Ma, is something wrong? Is one of the kids sick? Or is the satellite TV on the fritz again? I told you to call the company if that happened again, remember?” Elizabeth wasn’t worried that it was anything serious. If it was, her mother would have contacted Steve, who would have had the hotel staff hunt her down to deliver the message personally. If there was one thing Steve was good at, it was crisis management.

  “Keenan broke his arm,” her mother stated, flatly, nothing to cushion the blow.

  Elizabeth felt like she had the day after the big ice storm last January when she’d slipped on the ice and fallen flat on her back, the wind knocked out of her. “Oh my God, Ma. Is he okay? What happened? Does Steve know? I’ll rebook my flight. I can probably be home by tonight.” Elizabeth’s mind was racing. Call Abbie back and cancel. Leave a message for Cullen. Sebastian. Oh, God, she thought, her heart sinking. Sebastian.

  “Get a hold of yourself, girl,” her mother said, sternly. “Keenan’s fine. There’s no reason to panic, and certainly no reason to take the name of the Lord in vain!”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes and inhaled deeply, both relieved and annoyed. “What happened, Ma?” she said, slowly, her emotions tightly reined in.

  “He got tripped at soccer practice yesterday,” her mother began.

  “Yesterday!” Elizabeth interrupted.

  “Now, don’t you take that tone with me, Elizabeth. I tried to get a hold of you! Remember?”

  “Right, right. I’m sorry, Ma. Go on.” Elizabeth winced, imagining the sickening crunch as her baby hit the ground, tripped by some thug, probably that Taylor Swensen, the ugly little troll.

  “It’s just a minor mid-fibular fracture. The cast will come off in a few weeks. Keenan cried more when he found out he’ll be spending the rest of the season on the bench than when the injury actually happened!” A little note of pride had crept into her mother’s voice.

  “Aw, poor sweetie,” Elizabeth’s eyes misted up. Soccer was Keenan’s life. “Will he be okay by the time the outdoor season starts?”

  “No reason why he shouldn’t.”

  “Good.” Physical activity was so important for Keenan and most other kids with ADHD. It was one area where their excess of energy was actually an advantage.

  “Now, Steve got called away on business just hours before this all happened, so I had to drag poor little Gwen along to Emergency with me. She was an absolute star while we were waiting, but she was up way past her bedtime, and my goodness but she’s a misery today.” Her mother said this in a way that let Elizabeth know that Gwen was nearby, listening. Sure enough, she heard Gwen’s tired whine in the background.

  “I’ll let you talk to your mother in a minute,” Connie snapped. “Sweet as sunshine most of the time, but she loses a few hours of sleep and that child would try the patience of a saint.”

  “Wait, you said Steve’s away?”

  “Mm-hm. Tucson, I think.”

  “But he knows about Keenan?”

  Yep. He’ll be back Friday night.”

  “Oh.” Elizabeth hesitated. “Do you want me to come back early?” Part o
f her wanted to rush home to comfort her injured son, but another, extremely selfish part of her did not want to leave Sebastian one minute sooner than she had to.

  “Oh, no dear.” Her mother dismissed the idea. “We’re fine here, now the crisis is over. You’re coming home in a couple of days, anyway.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure.” Elizabeth’s heart did a funny little leap. Just a couple of days, she thought.

  “I’m sure. But keep that darn phone charged up!”

  “I will,” Elizabeth said, hoping she didn’t sound as guilty as she felt. “Can I talk to Keenan?”

  “He’s over at Toby’s playing the x-box whosits.”

  “Oh. Good.” Elizabeth tamped down her disappointment. Of course, he had a life too.

  “But there’s a certain little miss on the verge of another conniption fit who would certainly like to talk to you,” Connie continued.

  “Oh, put her on,” Elizabeth insisted, her heart swelling with emotion.

  “Mommy?” Gwen’s croaky voice was so loud, Elizabeth had to hold the phone away from her ear.

  “Hi, sweetie. It’s me.”

  “Mommy, when are you coming home?” Gwen continued, her tone becoming accusatory. Elizabeth pictured her with one tiny fist on her hip. “Grammy won’t let me watch Disney or play with my finger paints. And she made me eat five carrots for lunch. She doesn’t know I’m only four.”

  Elizabeth repressed a laugh. The problems of a four year old, she thought. “Soon, honey,” she said, her feelings conflicted at the thought of leaving Sebastian and returning to Iowa. “Mommy’s coming home soon.”

  *

  “Lizzie!” Abbie called from her table in the corner, standing up and waving. Elizabeth felt the eyes of all the other patrons in the restaurant swivel from the source of the noise to her. Fortunately, this was New York, and since she wasn’t anybody, their glances barely flickered across her long enough to register this fact before returning to their plates of buffalo meatloaf and baby aubergines.