I raise my eyebrows, lean back on my chair.
“Relax,” she says, “I’m not flirting with you...right now. Although, I can’t promise I won’t do it later, or not try and spike your drink again. But right now I’m...” She sighs, looks away. “I’m being...serious.”
She is. Her blue eyes quiver a little. Heck, this dangerous, feisty, cocky bad-girl is suddenly...afraid.
“It’s not a trick question. It’s...” She presses her fingers to her forehead. “Fuck me, this is so not like me.” She looks back at me. “It’s a...self-preservation thing. So, hit me with it. Factual answer. No jokes. You’ve got two seconds.”
“Yes,” I say.
“Yes what?”
“You didn’t need to get me drunk to get me interested in you.”
Something changes on her face, like something painful has just burst through her stomach. “Why?” she asks, and I’m not sure if her bottom lip is trembling.
“Why not?”
She looks away. “C’mon, Johnny, let’s be serious.” She faces me again. “I mean...” She pokes her head forward.
“Your weight,” I say, hoping I’m reading this right.
And now I’m sure her lip trembles. “Yeah,” she whispers.
“What’s the problem?”
“C’mon, Johnny, I mean...really?”
“You’re somehow alluring, Vanessa. What can I say? I’m not put off by a girl’s weight.”
“And this?” She pokes at her lip ring. “And these?” Her multitude of earrings. “This.” Nose-ring.
I shrug. They’re...different. But not unsightly. “You asked me if you needed to get me drunk to be interested in you, I answered No. I answered honestly. If you ask me to analyze it, I’m gonna get lost. The answer is Yes, I’d be interested in you. You know why I didn’t take it any further with you.”
“Well, I have my doubts.”
“I was hit on by at least three girls yesterday, all of them, technically, ‘beach babes.’ I turned them all down.”
“You lie.”
I shrug. “You asked me a question, I answered. I can’t convince you of my honesty.”
She taps her foot. “Fuck me, are there more like you? I mean, where you come from, is there like a factory where they turn you out? And...can I buy one?”
“I take it...” How to phrase this? “I take it...” I lower my voice. “...I wasn’t the first guy you fed hard liquor to in the interests of...”
She puts her hands up, makes a face of complete mortification. “Don’t go there, OK? I know how it looks.”
“I’m not judging.”
“Well, I am. I... It’s been a rough life, OK?”
I don’t comment.
“OK,” she says. “Enough mortification.” She picks up her magazines, pulls them to her chest again. “See you around, Johnny.”
She turns, takes two steps, then does an about-turn toward me.
She’s barely at my side when she spits, “Hey, you wanna go out sometime? I mean, nothing romantic. Hell, you got some serious fucking relationship issues. But, like, as...friends?”
“Friends.”
“Yeah, friends, or don’t you do that either?”
“I can do that.”
She stares at me, almost shocked.
“Vanessa?”
“Yeah, uhm, sorry, I...”
“You’re surprised.”
“No, I... I just realized I’ve never been out with a guy...as a friend. And I have no idea what we’d do.”
“We’d talk.”
“And I guess we wouldn’t end up screwing. That’s a bit of a bummer.”
My hand tightens on my own magazine. Vanessa has no idea that her complete openness is turning things in my head (and elsewhere) and that the lines are fading from black to gray. “I’ll go out with you on one condition, Vanessa.”
“What?”
“I’m buying the drinks, and I’m never letting mine out of my sight.”
~Cat~
-34-
Unlike Flesheaters, I had no one to hold on to when the praying mantis came out and ate the other one’s head.
Unlike Flesheaters, Tiago didn’t tell me to close my eyes during the bad parts.
Unlike Flesheaters, INFIDELIDADE was one hundred percent real.
I think.
It can’t be.
Ground glass in the soup? Torture? Making the husband watch while she goes down on his best friend...who is strapped to a machine that’ll poke his eyes out if he moves?
The lights in the conference room come on.
“This can’t be real,” I say.
Tiago shrugs. “Every story, verified.”
“But they’re the exceptions.”
“I chose extreme cases, yes, but what’s the difference between a bullet in the back and an ex-wife who takes her husband’s fortune because he cheated on her?”
“There’s a big difference.”
“But the message is the same. Don’t cheat. Not because it’s moralistic, not because it’s in the Bible or some other fucking bullshit. But because people are vengeful.”
“It’s depressing.”
“It’s real life.”
I cannot believe how much blood there was in that documentary...
“It changed me, Cat—I mean, Catherine.”
“Cat’s fine,” I say. Why be petty?
“It changed me. These were hardcore women, they were vicious, yes. But they hadn’t always been that way. You saw that.”
Yes, the scenes of before and after, how she was such a ‘loving wife.’ A woman scorned.
“Scary shit,” he says. “I realized I got off lucky with you. Hell, I got off lucky with a lot of women. And, well, it changed me. I’m a one-woman guy now, unless, of course, they agree to something...different.”
“Always the same Tiago.”
“No, I mean it. I still have my fun, but when I’m with someone, I’m with her.”
“And is there someone like that now?”
“No.”
“Has there been—since me?”
“Yes. She and I were together three months. She cheated on me. Poetic justice, I guess. But I was faithful, faithful to the end.”
I find it hard to believe. But it’s not my job to judge, it’s my job to take his photograph. “OK,” I say. “Let’s get started.”
Tiago puts a finger up. “In a few days, Catherine. We’re going to spend time together...if you wish, and then you can set up all the photo shoots you want, shoots which will portray the true me. As you see me.”
I know the true you, and I don’t need a few days to figure it out.
-35-
Tiago throws a party at the ballroom of the hotel. Every big name in the European Documentary scene is here, and a few others, a few local actors and actresses, producers. Turns out the reason he’s in Germany is they wanna pay him big bucks for a sequel, set in Europe.
The guests flock to him like flies, mostly the girls, but some of the guys, too.
He’s in a black sports coat, holding up a glass of wine.
A few girls come to me and ask me if I want to go ‘powder my nose’ in the back. I decline, and I see them sniffing when they come back out, and making a bee-line to Tiago.
He smiles at them, holding the flute of champagne in his hand. A tall blond runs her fingers over his shoulder, and Tiago’s eyes meet mine.
He takes a sip of his drink, then turns his attention to the duo in front of him. A third girl arrives, also extremely tall, a skirt so high she might as well not even be wearing one. She licks her lips, Tiago laughs.
And, again, his eyes meet mine.
Bill is at my side very suddenly. “This is a big opportunity, Catherine. Big. You see how he plays a crowd? He’s got a certain charm to him, don’t you think?” Bill looks over at me. “There was a spark there between you two, I could see it.”
I fight not to roll my eyes.
“Could be a big boost to your career, be
ing with a guy like that.”
“I don’t date for my career.” Besides, being with Tiago once was enough.
“I’m just saying.”
“And that’s why you’re my agent, and not my go-to relationship guy.”
The blond slips her arms through Tiago’s, the brunette through his other arm. And they drag him away.
One-girl man, my ass.
“He is popular with the ladies, no?” He iz popular wiss zhe ladies, no?
I turn my head to see an extremely tall and blue-eyed man in his late twenties. Broad shoulders, in a suit, hard jaw. “I’m Franz,” he says, extending a hand out to me.
“Catherine.”
“I know. You make people look good in the magazines.” In zhe maga-seens.
“No, they give me good-looking people, and I snap a button.”
Franz laughs. “Modest.”
“And what do you do?”
He takes a sip of his drink. “Well, if you ask any person on the street in Germany, they would know what I do. Also in the rest of Europe. But you are from America, so I can forgive you. I am a soccer player.”
“Oh, cool. What team?”
He smiles a broad, jock smile. “Well, during the year I play for Bayern München—oh, that is Munich, Bavaria, in English—but most people know me because I scored the winning goal for Germany against Argentina in the last world cup.”
Oh. I take a few gulps of my drink. “So you must be quite...popular here.”
“Well, in Europe, the real movie stars are the football players. Excuse me, the soccer players.” He sounds like Schwarzenegger. Hell, he looks like Schwarzenegger.
He turns his broad body toward me. “I was being serious,” he says. “You are in high demand. What does it take to get...chosen by you?”
“Chosen?”
And then his mood lightens, leaving me wondering if there are double meanings in his words or not. “For the photographs.”
“Oh, oh, right, uhm, Bill...” I point over Franz’s shoulder. “He deals with all of that.”
Franz gives Bill a casual glance. “And what would one need to do for a...private...shoot?”
My lips curl upwards. “That depends, Franz, on what you mean by private.”
“I think it is clear what I mean.”
Man, I hate ambiguity. Fuck it, what have I got to lose? “Franz, are you flirting with me?”
He grabs another drink from a server walking by, drains it quickly. Looks down at me. “Yes,” he says. “I am.”
I feel my cheeks go red.
-36-
When the drugs come out (which they always do at parties like these) I head out to the terrace. Soon things will get loud and I’ll head on home.
I’m staring down at Frankfurt when I feel a tall figure next to me. It’s Franz. “Beautiful city,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“You been here before?”
“I did a shoot here once, a few months back.”
“Inkubus,” he says.
I smile. “Yeah. You knew I’d been here before, didn’t you?”
He shrugs, sips his drink. “I was making conversation.”
“Why aren’t you inside?”
He leans back against the wall. “I can’t risk any powder falling on the ground and then landing in my system. I’d ruin my career.”
“Not a requirement for actors and producers, of course.”
“And bankers,” he says. He turns his big body to face mine. “Are you and Tiago...still a thing?”
I almost drop my glass. “Still a thing?”
“Well, it’s obvious.”
Fuck. “Wow. Uhm. Wow.” I keep my eyes on the skyline.
“It’s the way he looks at you,” Franz says. “And, well...” He takes a sip. “The way you look at him.”
“And how do I look at him?”
Franz shrugs. “Like...there are things unsaid.”
Yes. My eyes drop lower. “Could we...not talk about Tiago?”
Franz straightens, moves ever so slightly closer. “With pleasure.” His voice is deep and confident. “Are you seeing anyone else right now?”
“Uhm, no, no, I’m not. But I’m not—”
“—looking for anything. I assumed.”
“Oh.” I laugh, but it’s not entirely jovial. “And what made you assume?”
“A feeling. But you are not averse to male companionship, are you? A drive? Hands off, I promise.”
I look over at the party inside. People are screaming. One girl’s dancing on a table. Tiago is nowhere to be found. And aren’t I supposed to be getting to know the ‘real’ him? What, does he want me to go into the bedroom and watch him doing it with three girls at once?
Actually, yeah, that probably is what he wants me to do.
And take photographs of it.
“No,” I say, “I’m not averse to it. In fact...” A glass smashes inside. “I think that would be quite nice.”
Franz drains his drink, a sparkle in his eyes. He looks out over the city, inhales a deep breath into his massive chest. “Good.”
We end up in his limo. Franz sits on the other side, which makes me more comfortable.
It’s ironic that I dressed up for tonight’s party, on Tiago’s expense. There’s no point in letting a good dress go to waste, and I’m clad in red satin that shows off enough leg to get someone interested.
I’m not looking for empty sex. I had my fill of that with Nathan.
But it feels good to be looked at, to be admired, to be wanted.
Franz points out the scenery to me, the banking district, the Red Light District (unavoidable), the English Theater, the Starbucks, another Starbucks, another Starbucks.
We sip on wine, then more wine. Then more.
It strikes me that Franz has probably had many women in this very limo with him over the years. Soccer players are like movie stars in Europe. And I can just imagine it. They probably don’t waste a breath getting on their knees for him in here.
The thought almost makes me giggle, and I don’t know why.
He drops me off at my hotel, stands outside to wish me goodnight. “Could I see you again?” he asks. “Tomorrow night?”
“Don’t you have some big soccer match to play?”
“Not tomorrow.”
Something inside me is telling me No, telling me I shouldn’t lead him on. And I can’t even answer why.
I’m just not looking for anyone. Not right now.
I’m...
Fucking shit...
I think of Johnny. Oh, Christ, Cat. That’s...a horrible thought after what happened. “Uhm, could you check with me later?”
But, truly: Why not?
There’s only one reason Why Not.
And it’s no good reason at all.
-37-
I text Nic.
She doesn’t answer.
I text her again, just saying hi, seeing how she’s doing.
No answer.
I call.
No answer.
I call again.
Two rings—then voicemail.
I need to talk to her. I need closure on...something. I don’t know what. Johnny? Her?
It’s Nicole I need closure on, I realize. I need to know if it was all false between us.
I don’t care about her and Johnny, not anymore. I care about Johnny. I care if he’s hurting. The damage is done, there’s no going back.
She took something from him, something he’ll never get back.
And that’s not cool in my books.
I’m not oblivious to the fact that Johnny and I stand a chance again. That’s not selfish, it’s factual.
As for Nicole? Well...I used to care what she thinks, I used to care about her feelings, until she did what she did. I have to stop being ‘the caring one.’ It was OK when only I got hurt, it’s not OK when Johnny gets hurt.
Maybe he and I will get together. Maybe we won’t. That’s not the point.
But him and N
ic? It can’t happen. She’s not right for him. I’m not saying I’m right for him. I’m saying she’s not right for him.
I did not pine for Johnny or miss Johnny when he was with Nic. He and I were in the past, finished. I was OK with it. I think he was too.
It seems the only person who wasn’t, was Nicole herself. Ironic how one screws up one’s own life. Yeah, like I screwed things up between me and him by sending him away.
Ironic.
I’ll see Franz. I’ll see him tomorrow night, and I’ll see where it goes. And if Johnny and I stand a chance, I won’t sabotage it. I can’t live in the past, or in the maybe of the future. If I had to choose a man, right now, if I were given an actual choice, sure, I’d give me and Johnny a go. We had magic once, a spark. Christ, we had so much more than that.
I was never the type to spread my legs to get a man interested. It’s taken years for me to realize that it takes time for me to get close to someone, to let them touch me, to let them inside me, literally and metaphorically.
Nathan was a mistake. He was a rebound. An actual rebound. I won’t make that mistake again.
I loved Tiago. Loved him. Truly loved him, and he killed me.
I loved Johnny more.
But I won’t chase him. We’ll need that spark again. More than anything, I’ll need to know that he wants me, and not on a rebound, and that he wants me for me. If he’s looking for a hot, slutty, flirtatious chick, I’m not the one. It’s just not in my fiber.
I can’t be the sexual goddess for him that he maybe desires—that all guys desire? I’m just not like that. Nic is experienced in the ways of flirtation, of getting a man wrapped around her finger and making him think with his cock. I’m not saying she did that with Johnny, but seeing how things turned out, I’m not saying she didn’t either.
I think it’s easy for a girl to get a guy, to get his head reeling and thinking about sex so badly he mistakes it for love.
I’m unable to do that.
Me and Johnny? It would be great. It would be romantic. But it might also be naive. I see that. I see that clearly, which is why I won’t throw myself at him.
But I’m also not going to lay low.
We have a chance. A real chance. And if it’s a choice between me and Nicole, sorry sister, your time’s up. I’m claiming him now. You had your chance.
Claiming Johnny: A New-Adult Novel Page 9
