Use Somebody

by Beck Anderson

  I should let her go.

  She packs all her random stuff, and I sit there and watch her. Then she calls the dogs and leashes them.

  “Stop.” I say it.

  “What?”

  “I can’t figure this out, except that you told me the truth, and you didn’t take it.”

  “But I did take it. I took it for a whole day. You just didn’t notice.”

  I stand up and go kneel with the dogs. I let them off leash. Justin Trudeau tries to bite my nose off, he’s so excited.

  “What are you doing?” She stands very still.

  “The dogs aren’t invited to dinner with us.”

  “We’re still—”

  “You don’t have a dress for dinner though. What’re we going to do about that? We only have half an hour before we have to leave.”

  “Please, I don’t know…”

  I put a hand up. “Let me work my brain around this. Right now, first instinct, I still want to take you to dinner. I don’t know what to think, but someone told me yesterday to trust my gut. My gut says we’re going to dinner, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s table the compulsive thief discussion until after dinner. Deal?”

  “Okay.”

  “Right now, I’m taking you to buy a dress. No arguments.”

  “Okay.”

  I stand up and take her by the hand. I lean in and kiss her firmly, pull her close.

  And then I lead her down the hall, to the elevator. And down the street, to Gucci. I buy a blue patterned dress that has a black beaded yoke and belt. It’s halter-style, shows Macy’s shoulders. She doesn’t say a word, but she nods when I ask her to try it on, and it fits her beautifully.

  She wears it out of the store. I watch her carefully as she pulls her hair up into a ponytail, then twists it and tucks it into a bun.

  “You look great. Thank you for letting me get that for you.”

  “It’s beautiful.” She takes a little breath. “Where are we eating?” Her voice is changed. Quiet. Shamed. It hurts, pinches in my throat, to hear her cowed.

  “The Brooklyn. Steaks and seafood.”

  “Okay.”

  I stop her, take her hand. “I’m here. I want you here with me. We’ll talk more about it later, but we’re here. Got it?”

  “Okay.”

  I snort. “One more ‘okay’, and you’re gonna drive me nuts. Smile. Please.”

  She closes her eyes for a moment, and then she opens them, and a broad smile spreads on her lips. “You’re getting all alpha. You know how I feel about that.”

  There’s a little sass. Good. “No spitting in Seattle. I don’t care what kind of mess we get into; we aren’t hocking any lugies.”

  We walk a short way to the restaurant. When she turns to go in the door that I hold for her, I notice that the bruise from her river accident peeks out over the dress in the back, creeps up to her smooth shoulder. Great. Someone will probably think I beat her up. But God, it hurts to look at it. Nothing, no harm should come to someone so delicate.

  As she stands, all tucked in, hands clasped in front of her and shoulders rounded in, I think about little girl Macy. Stealing food in first grade.

  Food. Kids I knew in school who stole food stole it because they were hungry.

  And she wouldn’t talk about her mom.

  “Gone,” that’s all she said.

  I don’t like any of this.

  We get seated in the back room in a quiet booth.

  “It’s nice back here. No one’s here.” She’s loosening up, looks around the restaurant while she smooths the napkin out in her lap.

  “No one’s here because we’re eating at senior citizen buffet time. Since Miss Bossy wants to go see the Space Needle.”

  She tilts her head. “You’ll still go do that?”

  “Yes, why wouldn’t I?” I look at her eyes. Her lashes are a mile long. And the gold flecks in her eyes, they glitter in the waning light.

  “Because I stole from you.”

  “Is it after dinner?”

  “No.”

  “We aren’t discussing this until after dinner. But I’m not mad.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No. Now I’m going to teach you about flights of oysters. These might be the best in the country.”

  “Flights?”

  “Pay attention.” I nod to a waiter.

  Now I might be just a little bit in Jeremy-impresses-the-girl-mode. Just a little. My insides are all upside down and screwed over with the whole watch business, but for whatever reason, now I want to seal the deal with this woman. I might be moving out of protector mode. I might be moving into seduction mode.

  The waiter comes over. “Sir?”

  “We’re not drinking tonight, but we are indulging. Bring us a baker’s dozen of oysters.”

  Macy thins her lips out. “I haven’t had oysters. I don’t know about thirteen of them.”

  “You’re not going to eat them all alone.” I look up at the waiter. “Do you have Wildcat Cove oysters tonight?”

  He nods. “We do. And can I get something to drink for the lady? Tea or coffee?”

  Macy nods. “I want a Roy Rogers. It’s Coke and grenadine syrup. Can you do that?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Why not? It’s celebratory, and it’s not alcoholic, so it fits.”

  The waiter looks at me. “For the gentleman?”

  “Pellegrino with a lemon.”

  He slips off and returns with Macy’s drink and my water.

  Macy pulls the cherry out of the drink. “Watch this. One of my few talents.” She pops the cherry in her mouth, stem and all.

  “What—”

  She pulls the stem back out of her mouth.

  It’s tied in a knot.

  God help me. Looks like I’m not the only one kicking it up a notch. If I think about the transferable areas for that skill, I might pass out. “Very impressive.”

  “I can wiggle my ears, too. That’s the extent of my bar tricks.”

  She seems to be relaxed for the time being. I don’t know what’s going to happen after dinner. I don’t know what to say to her about stealing the watch.

  It’s not normal. It’s not okay. But she told me. She didn’t actually take it. Really, I don’t know how to respond.

  I put it aside. I can stretch dinner out, I can think about the knot tied in the cherry stem, and I can avoid dealing with whatever dysfunction is under this girl’s surface.

  Troy. The deep gouge on her hand. The comment about her mom. The way she cowers like she’s been hurt.

  I want to peel all of this away and find what’s at the bottom of it. But this is not standard. I’ve never bothered to dig in with a woman before. I don’t know what to do if what’s at the bottom is more than I can handle. Maybe it’s more than Macy can handle.

  I wish I had a drink in my hand. It wouldn’t solve anything, but it sure as hell would take the edge off.

  The waiter brings the oysters to the table. “Enjoy.”

  I pick one up, and as I do, Macy puts up a hand.

  “Stop right there.” She turns her head away from me, grimaces as though I’m about to do something distasteful.

  “What?”

  “I’m just saving you from some stupid comment about aphrodisiacs.” She looks at me now, a sly smile on her face.

  “I’m not a cheeseball. Give me a little credit.” I take the oyster and suck it down. It’s delicate to the taste and just a bit salty. This really is the best restaurant for them.

  And yeah, I was maybe going to make the aphrodisiac comment. So shoot me (no, don’t).

  She points to them. “Which one is the Wildcat Cove?”

  I touch the shell. “This one. They’re my favorite.”

  She picks it up and tosses it back, like a shot of whiskey.

  “Well?”

  She shrugs. “That’s actually pretty good. I wouldn’t chew it, but it tastes way better than I wo
uld guess.”

  “You’ve never had one before.”

  “You should know by now that my scope is pretty narrow. But I bet you haven’t had a Rocky Mountain oyster, and I’ve had one of those.”

  I should have known. “No, I haven’t. I know what they are, though. Are they really good?”

  “Anything deep fried, even testicles, tastes kinda like chicken, to be honest.” She eyes the other oysters and picks a different shell, downs this one more slowly. “These are really good. I think I like oysters.”

  “I’m glad.”

  We finish the flight and order dinner. Both of us have steaks. As we wrap up the course, Macy starts fidgeting. Her left foot taps in a little nervous dance.

  “Macy.” I call her out as the waiter is clearing our dinner.

  “What?” She bites the inside of her cheek.

  “We’re not in a hurry. Slow it down.”

  She plops her napkin down. “I’m anxious. I don’t want to talk about this afternoon.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Just go see the butterflies and the Space Needle and be with you.”

  “Then let’s do that.” I touch her hand.

  “Really?” She tilts her head, a question in her posture. She doesn’t look like she believes me.

  “Look. Dinner’s over. Let’s talk about this and be done with it and then we can go do our thing and hang out.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “You told me the truth, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You take stuff without thinking. You want it, or you want to take it, like you have to take it.”

  “A compulsion. I feel like I have to. Like eating the last piece of chocolate cake that your grandma was saving for your little brother. I don’t want it until I can’t have it, then it’s all I can think about. I just want it, whatever the thing is, want it in my pocket. When I take it, the feeling’s over. Then mostly I just feel like shit. Shoot. Swear jar.”

  “How come you carried it around all day? How come you didn’t come clean sooner?”

  She stares at the floor. “I figured you’d put me on the next flight home, and I liked being with you, so I didn’t want it to end.”

  “Is there a way you can control the stealing?”

  “The less I think about it, the better I am. When I’m on the river, I’m happy and peaceful, and I don’t need or want for anything. I have everything I need. I’ve never taken anything from anyone when I’m out on the river.”

  I chew on that for a minute. “When you were little, were you always taken care of?” I don’t know if she’ll let me probe, but I want to know.

  Her eyes fill up with tears. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I wrap both my hands around hers. “I’m not going to push.”

  She doesn’t say anything, just nods.

  I sit up a little taller as the waiter comes over with the check. I send it back with a card before I say anything to Macy.

  “I think we’re done for now. But I can’t say that it feels good to have someone steal from me. It feels like I don’t know if I can trust you. I don’t know how to get to know you, the real you.”

  She takes in a deep breath, swallows hard. “I swear to you, I’m trying. I’ve never met anyone like you. The other guys I know, they’ve known me since I was little, or they’re bottom feeders. I want to get to know you. I want to let you see me. There’s just so much. I promise you right now, if I get the urge again, I’ll just come right out and say something.”

  I consider. “Let’s just see how it plays out. You lie to me again, though, I can’t abide by it.”

  She looks hurt. “I didn’t lie to you. I told you the truth.”

  “Taking something of mine, that’s a lie of omission. Taking without telling is lying. That’s the part that doesn’t sit right with me. You know I like honest.”

  She answers in a quiet voice, eyes down. “I know. I like honest, too. I just don’t seem like I do. I’m sorry.”

  I stand up and put out my hand, ready to be done with the uncomfortable feeling in my gut. “Let’s go ride up an elevator.”

  She puts her hand in mine. “Let’s.”

  The elevator ride proves to be fun. Macy stands close to me, and her hand brushes against the side of my thigh. She’s looking up at the floor display, pretending not to notice, but each time she grazes me, I feel it all over. I look over at her shoulder, examine the place where her collarbone slopes toward her neck, the hollow there, and think about how it would feel to brush my lips against that soft skin.

  I’d attack her right now, but I don’t know. I can still see her favoring her bruised side, protecting it when she sits, so she must still be hurting. I haven’t heard the cough since before dinner, but I’m cautious.

  Plus, we’ve kissed, but there’s some barrier up still between us. Hand-holding and conditional kissing, but I haven’t felt the permission come across, the “knock me down right here, right now” green light.

  I don’t want to hurt her, and I don’t want to scare her. And if my instincts are right, men haven’t been gentle with her before.

  But that doesn’t stop me from thinking about running my hand up under the hem of the dress she’s wearing, thinking how it would feel, as the elevator climbs the Space Needle.

  The observation deck comes too soon.

  The Space Needle is a tourist trap. On the observation deck, a large family with too many kids to corral chases them all over, and I mentally figure on which kid’s going to end up in the ER by the end of their visit to Seattle.

  “Hey! There’s the Great Wheel! It’s blue at night. I like that.” Macy takes long strides to the edge of the deck, taking it all in.

  “Next time we’re here we’ll ride that.” I come up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, gently.

  She shivers. I don’t know if it’s me, or if it’s the wind that licks its way around the Needle. Either way, those soft shoulders are covered in goose bumps.

  I slip off my suit jacket. “Should’ve gotten you a sweater when we were out shopping.”

  “I guess Seattle’s not LA.”

  LA. I’ve not had a single thought of my hometown in days. At some point I have to go back to real life. Hell, before that I have a movie shoot in Toronto to go to.

  “You should come to Toronto with me.” I whisper it into her ear.

  She turns away from the view to face me. I enjoy the feel of her frame so close to mine. “No passport, remember?” And trouble crosses over her face.

  “Well, next time, then.”

  She’s distant, turns her back to me. “Yeah, maybe next time.”

  She shivers again, even in my jacket.

  “We should go. Where are you taking me next?”

  She takes my hand. “Back down the elevator to the Science Center. Butterfly time.”

  I endure another agonizing ride in the elevator. This time I study the black beading on the neck of her dress and try not to think about unzipping the dress.

  We wander into the Science Center, and she takes me to the butterfly house.

  It’s humid, and I can feel the moisture in the air.

  Macy pulls her hair down and shakes it out. I make sure my mouth is closed. She’s absent-minded, not realizing what she’s doing is driving me crazy. She turns in a circle, looking at all the tropical trees and plants, and pulls her hair back up, twisting it back into a bun.

  I step closer to her. I’m going to say something. I need her.

  Now.

  A butterfly lands on her bare shoulder, and she hops sideways away from me. “Oh, that feels so weird.” She cranes her neck to see the butterfly.

  It sits on her and spreads its wings. It’s brownish, moth-like on the outside, but as its wings come open, cobalt blue flashes out.

  “Wow.” I hate insects, bugs, plants, flowers, pretty much anything nature, but the butterfly is cool.

  She puts a finger close to i
t, and it flits up and then lands on her finger. She’s Snow White of the butterflies, apparently. “Look at this!” She turns to me, a relaxed smile on her face. “Thanks for being worried about my lungs.”

  “What?”

  “It was a good reason for a trip. This has been amazing.”

  And my moment of need passes as I watch her wonder over the jewel-colored butterflies.

  We catch a cab back to the hotel. I hope for a chance to be close to her, but the cabbie chats to her for the five-minute ride about his daughter and the butterflies.

  Then we’re at the hotel.

  She takes my hand as we catch the elevator to the top floor.

  “Well?” She looks at my hand, weaves her fingers in and out of mine.

  “Well, what?”

  “Did you have fun?” She looks up at me.

  “Tonight? Sure. Of course I did.”

  She smiles. “I make a good tour guide.”

  “You make a better fishing guide, but yeah, you’ve done a good job ushering me around Seattle.”

  “For someone’s who’s never been, especially good, huh?” She takes a step closer to me.

  I lean in and touch her on the shoulder. “Yes, especially.” Then I kiss her on the spot I just touched.

  She turns to me and tips my chin up. She kisses me.

  At first it’s soft, and she brushes my lips tentatively.

  Then she opens her mouth to me and pulls me by the arm, closer to her.

  And the elevator arrives at our floor.

  She takes an abrupt step back.

  “We’re here.” She walks off in front of me.

  I consider screaming out loud in frustration.

  We get down the hall to the suite. I’m dying to touch her, to have her. She’s quiet as we open the door.

  Who is not quiet are the dogs who greet us on the other side of the door.

  Damn dogs.

  Justin Trudeau dances around my feet, for some reason, and Pierre cries and whines until Macy picks him up. She finds a note from the dog babysitter. “They just went out not five minutes ago. She just left.”

  “Then don’t feel guilty. They’re just happy to see you.” Justin Trudeau is resting his tongue on the toe of my five hundred dollar Prada driving shoe.

  Dog slobber will ruin the mood any day. This I promise you.

  “Okay pups, let’s put you in your beds.” Macy scoops both of them up and carries them into the bedroom.