by Izzy Mason
I realize I’m holding my breath and let out a long, quiet exhalation. He drives to a far side of town filled with old growth trees and big houses. At first I think maybe he’s taking me to his house and my stomach does crazy summersaults. But then he stops at a beautiful park of rolling green grass and a shimmering pond. The sun is high and the yellow light dances on the water. He pulls out the key and for a moment we just sit there listening to the ticking of the cooling engine. Finally, he turns to me.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
He climbs out of the car and heads down the slope of grass toward the pond. I follow him, both curious and scared of what he’s going to say. There’s something about the setting that suggests a very grownup moment is coming, the kind where one person breaks another’s heart. Of course, that’s inevitable when you fall for someone who doesn’t love you back.
The park is nearly empty, except for a jogger and an old woman walking her dog in the distance. Lazarus sits down on a park bench and stares blankly at the pond. I settle in next to him and wait. I watch his strong, smooth hands clasping and unclasping in his lap, and flash to the memory of them squeezing my nipple. The thought makes me shiver.
“I hope you realize,” he begins, his eyes still locked on the water, “you’re far from just a secretary.” He gives my legs and knee high boots a side-glance, then looks at the water again. “You’re a bright young woman. Every day you amaze me.”
Even though I’m trying to play it cool, I can feel the smile creep onto my face. “Thanks.”
The sound of my voice makes him turn toward me. He squints at me, as if seeing my face for the first time. “I just had no idea you were so beautiful.”
I blush and look down at my hands. It’s like my dream is playing out in real life. The compliments. The sweetness. Except that I can sense a but on the way. In order to stave it off, I meet his gaze and smile. His beautiful, amber eyes look like honey in the sunlight, and they hold mine for a long time. We are locked in a gaze like two people about to kiss. Except, of course, we don’t.
“You didn’t need to change your looks,” he practically whispers. “I kind of liked the way you didn’t fuss about those things. It was nice. I felt comfortable with you.”
“And now…?” I realize with surprise that there’s a teasing, almost flirtatious tone in my voice.
Lazarus smiles, allowing his eyes to roam over my face and down my body. The sensation of being admired is still so strange; it makes my skin feel like it’s buzzing. “Now,” he says, turning his eyes away from me, resting them safely on the water again. “Now it’s not so comfortable. At all.”
“Don’t you want an attractive assistant?” I ask. “I mean, you didn’t even want me on screen with the Skype call last week…”
“What are you talking about?” He turns back to me again, confused.
“The English guy,” I go on, suddenly feeling foolish. “I figured you were embarrassed to be seen with such an ugly assistant.”
Lazarus winces. “What a terrible thing to think. Michaela…” He puts a hand on my knee. It sends an instant flash of heat through my body. “Please don’t think that. You’re the best assistant I’ve had,” he says quietly. “You’re smart. You’re disciplined. You’re funny.” He gives me a wan smile. “And you’re damned charming when you want to be.” He takes his hand back and I feel the new cold on my knee. “I don’t want to lose you.”
I’m suddenly overwhelmed with restlessness. I stand up and cross my arms over my chest. “Why would you lose me?”
Lazarus freezes on the bench unable to look at me. “It’s hard to explain. A long story. There’s something about my assistants…something that happens to me. It’s like Jekyll and Hyde. It’s powerful… overwhelming, really.”
I nod as if I understand, but I don’t. “But only the attractive ones…”
Lazarus stands up quickly and shoves his hands into his pockets. I can tell he’s embarrassed. He takes a step away from me and shakes his head. “It’s dysfunctional,” he mutters. “It’s…” he glances at me, his jaw tense, “sexual. Well, obviously.”
It’s ridiculous. Just hearing Lazarus say the word sexual turns me on. I don’t know how to explain to him that I don’t care if it’s dysfunctional, as long as it’s dysfunctional with me.
I take a deep breath, trying to conjure up enough courage to tell Lazarus how I feel. I step close to him and put a hesitant hand on his back. It’s ridiculously solid, which makes me want to strip off his coat and shirt and feel his hard muscles and smooth skin. He tenses at my touch.
“You know,” I say, my voice quiet and low, “I kinda liked it.”
At first I glimpse the flicker of a smile. Then Lazarus’s face darkens. “You don’t understand. It’s not nice. I’m not nice.” He turns fully toward me and grips my shoulders, like he wants to shake some sense into me. “But I like you. A lot. I have to protect you from that. Otherwise, I could never live with myself…”
I want to shout, I don’t care if you’re nice! Just do it again! Do whatever you want to do to me! I just want to feel your hands on me again! But, of course, I don’t. “What about Celestina?” I ask quietly.
Lazarus shoves his hands in his coat pockets again. “What do you mean?”
“Are you…dysfunctional with her, too?”
Lazarus shakes his head, flustered. “No, no. Celestina is my fiancée. Our relationship is…normal.”
Fiancée. The word stings like a slap to the face. Lazarus is going to marry Celestina? My mouth opens, but no words come out. The breath strangles in my throat and I feel dizzy. I sit down on the bench again. A pair of mallards splash-lands into the pond, and I focus on them, fighting back the tears burning behind my eyes. This is stupid, I think. You’re coming unhinged. He doesn’t love you back. He will never love you back.
“Michaela,” he says earnestly. “This is all wrong. I need us to get back on a professional footing here. I’m sorry for what I did. I do regret it. I need everything to go back to how it was before. You are not like the other women in your position.”
“How am I not like them?”
He looks at me, his beautiful face strained with anxiety. “You are not expendable.”
Chapter Five
On the drive back to the office we get stuck in bottleneck traffic. I can tell that Lazarus is antsy. Nothing between us is resolved. Instead, we’ve both resorted to an uncomfortable silence, both tacitly agreeing not to talk about it anymore. Now I know that Lazarus has a weird sexual kink for his assistants. And he knows that I’m more than happy to have him feel me up and slam me into doors. But he has too much respect for me. Now we both just want to get back to the office so we can get away from each other and regroup.
Lazarus pulls abruptly off the main route and tries to find clearer back roads. But the traffic is bad everywhere. He gets farther and farther from the main streets until we’re in the industrial zone. I wonder if he’s lost.
I look at him. “Do you know this part of town?”
He frowns. “It’s the only way to get around the traffic.”
It’s weird to drive through this neighborhood with Lazarus; like two very distant sides of my life coming uncomfortably close together. But I just act normal and stare out the passenger window, just wanting this weird day to end.
That’s when I see it. There’s a scuffle along the side of a warehouse on a dead end street. Two big men are kicking a figure that’s hunched on the ground. They look like junkies and their energy is relentless. With a surge of panic, I recognize the red and black ski jacket of the man on the ground. It’s Captain.
“Stop!” I yell. “Stop! Pull over!”
Lazarus slams on the brakes. “What the hell…?”
But I’m already gone. I’ve thrown open the door and am hauling ass toward the fight. I’m a small, unarmed woman and I have no idea what I’m going to do. All I know is that I have to stop them before it’s too late. I see a pile of
decaying wood outside a closed, corrugated door. Without thinking, I grab the most solid plank I see and charge at the men.
“Get away from him, you motherfuckers!” I shout.
The men turn in surprise. But when they see me, they only laugh. Captain lets out a weak groan. There’s blood all over his face and in his beard. He’s curled up in a ball, barely moving. I wield the plank like a baseball bat, but before I can swing it at one of the junkie’s heads, he kicks me hard in the stomach.
I fall backward and the plank of wood skitters from my hands. At first I can’t breathe; the wind is knocked out of me. Flashes of white light burst before my eyes and I feel nausea swell inside me. I’m waiting for the junkies to come after me, but they don’t. I hear muted shouts and thuds. Cursing.
With effort, I push myself up, and turn to look. One of the junkies is laid out on the ground, unconscious. The other is staggering frantically down the street. Lazarus stands panting, watching him go. His lip is bleeding and his fists are balled. His eyes are narrow and fierce. He turns quickly and rushes to me, kneeling on the grease-stained concrete and putting a gentle hand on my back.
“Let’s go. We have to have a doctor check you out.”
But I shake my head and push him away. “No. Not me.” I manage to get to my feet and stumble over to where Captain lay, unmoving. I put a hand on his shoulder and gently shake him. “Captain! Captain! Hey!”
His eyes flutter open and he squints up at me. “Mickey?” Lazarus watches us, baffled. I turn to him, eyes full of panic and fear. “We have to get him to a hospital. Please. Help me get him up.”
Without a word, Lazarus bends low and easily lifts bony old Captain off the ground. “Open the back door,” he calls. He’s serious but very calm. I race to the car and throw open the back door. Lazarus gently places Captain inside, not blinking at the blood smeared on his expensive sports coat. In fact, he slips it off, folds it up, and places it under Captain’s head.
Lazarus races through the empty streets, throwing mystified glances my way. “How do you know him?” he says at last.
“Long story,” I mumble.
Suddenly, my brain does an epic shift. Ten minutes ago all I wanted was Lazarus. Now the only thing that matters it that Captain is okay. I turn around in my seat and study him carefully. His eyes are closed but his lips move continuously in some silent monologue. I watch the weak rise and fall of his scrawny chest beneath the tattered ski jacket.
Lazarus doesn’t press me. When we get to the hospital, he screeches into the emergency dock and throws open his door.
“This man needs immediate attention!” he shouts at the small group of nurses smoking outside. They snap into action.
I watch with tears in my eyes as they pull Captain’s broken old man body from the back seat and onto a gurney. A nurse whips an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, and they whisk him away. I run along behind, but one of the nurses stops me.
“You need to wait here, honey. We’ll do everything we can to help your granddaddy. I promise.”
They disappear down the hall and around the corner. Out of sight. My granddaddy. Tears flood my eyes. Captain might as well be my granddaddy. I never had a real one. Not one who cared to call or visit, anyway. My parents had long run off any caring soul in the entire extended family. No one wanted to be anywhere near that pair of fuckups and their sad, weird little girl.
There’s a hand on my shoulder, but I barely notice it. Lazarus steps around to face me and lifts my chin with his fingers.
“It’s going to be okay, Mickey,” he whispers.
His gentle words bring the tears on fast. I press my face into his chest and sob. He puts an uncertain hand on my back and stands very still, waiting. His cell phone rings, and he ignores it. But it brings me back to earth and I push away from him. I realize that it’s only pity. And there’s nothing that kills me more than pity. I turn and drift down the hall in a daze until I see a waiting room filled with ugly plastic chairs and somber people. I settle into one of the chairs and wipe at my face. Lazarus is right behind me.
“Do you mind if I wait here for him?” I ask tearfully. “I’ll be back in the office tomorrow.”
Lazarus sits down beside me. His cell phone rings again, but he still doesn’t answer. “He’s not your real grandfather, is he?” I don’t look at him. And I don’t know what to say. If Lazarus ever found out about my own situation, I would die of humiliation.
“He looks homeless, Mickey.”
I nod. “He is,” I say faintly. “He doesn’t have anyone else. But he’s like family to me.”
Lazarus leans forward to study my face, as if searching for something there. His cell phone rings again. Shut the fuck up! I think, irritably. Take a hint! Call him later! I look at Lazarus with exasperation. That’s when I register that his face is scuffed and his lip is split. I hadn’t even taken the time to notice.
Without thinking, I reach out and touch his cheek just below the abrasion. “Your face,” I whisper. “They hit you…” Guilt floods through me. Without any concern for himself, Lazarus rushed into the action and saved my impulsive ass. “God, Jude. I’m so sorry I dragged you into that. I just reacted. I wasn’t thinking…”
But he just looks at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to figure out.
“What’s wrong?” I sniff, self-consciously wiping at the smeared makeup under my eyes.
“You are a very strange and mysterious girl, do you know that?” Lazarus shakes his head. “I just realized, I know almost nothing about you.”
I shrug, trying to hide the nervousness I feel whenever someone wants to pry into my fucked up personal life.
“What’s there to know?”
“I have a feeling quite a bit.” He rubs at his whiskers, looking mystified. “I’ll admit, you have me rather…fascinated. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
I smile sheepishly. Lazarus holds my eyes. He’s different in this moment. It’s hard to describe. He seems entirely grounded and present, which makes me think that the rest of the time he’s either playing the famous architect part or relenting to his weird, sexual kinks. My eyes unconsciously flick down to his mouth. His lips look so soft behind the sexy, rough stubble on his face.
“Thank you,” I say. “For being there for me. You were amazing.”
Lazarus reaches out and pushes a stray strand of hair behind my ear. It’s such an intimate gesture, it takes my breath away.
Then, of course—fuck my life—his stupid cell phone rings. Again. This time he fishes it from his inside pocket, looks at the screen, and sighs. I glance over and catch the name, too. Celestina.
“Will you excuse me?” he mumbles as he gets to his feet and crosses the room before answering.
I watch him pace a few times back and forth behind a row of chairs, his brow furrowed and unhappy. With a groan, I rub my face and try to wipe the mascara smears from under my eyes. I wonder about what kinds of problems Celestina has in her life. Accidentally corking a bottle of wine? Snagging her new two thousand dollar sweater on her ten thousand dollar purse? Her Uber driver turning up five minutes late? Whatever. Like Lazarus, she happened to be born in a crystal palace. And I was born in the shitter.
One of the nurses who took Captain in appears.
She crouches beside me with a gentle smile. “Sweetie, he’s going to be okay.”
Tears flood my eyes again and I before I know it, I’ve thrown my arms around her neck. She pats my back, and I can’t help wondering how many strangers she hugs every day. All that reassuring. And consoling.
“Oh, thank God!” I mutter.
“He’s a tough cookie,” she goes on. “We still have some tests to run, and then we’re going to keep him sedated for the night. You won’t be able to see him until tomorrow, so there’s no reason to hang around here, really.”
I nod and wipe at my eyes. “Thank you so much.”
Lazarus appears, tucking the phone back into the inside pocket of his coat. I smile up at him.
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“She says Captain is going to be okay!”
He looks genuinely relieved. “I’m so glad to hear it. Are you staying, Mickey, or do you want me to drive you home? You’ve been through enough today.”
Before I can answer, the nurse blurts out, “Take her home. She won’t be able to visit until tomorrow, so…”
Lazarus nods. “Where do you live, Mickey? I’ll drop you off.”
I blink at him. Oh, sure. Take me home. My car is parked behind a Walgreens not too far from here. I’ll invite you in for tea!
“I’d rather go back to the office,” I blurt out. “I have a lot to do.”
When we get to the car, Lazarus pops the trunk and digs a clean shirt from a small valise.
“If you change your mind later,” he says, unbuttoning his shirt as if we were siblings sharing a room, “let me know, and I’ll call you a cab.”
I’m too mesmerized to speak, my eyes fixed on the flash of bare flesh peeking through. Without a thought, he slips off the shirt and tosses it into the open trunk. My jaw drops. His skin is tan and smooth over the strong, prominent pecks, the rippling abs, and defined musculature of his shoulders. My fingers twitch, overwhelmed with a desire to touch him. I want it so much I can almost feel the heat of his skin beneath my hands.
That’s when I realize he’s watching me with a half smile on his face. His eyes twinkle with mischief. He’s doing it on purpose. Enjoying it. Our eyes lock and I can feel the electricity power through me. Then he slips on the clean shirt and quietly buttons it, not taking his eyes off me once. He closes the trunk and gives me a wink.
“Well,” he says, still smiling. “Back to work.”
Chapter Six
