Use Somebody

by Beck Anderson

  I trail behind, hands in pockets, as usual.

  I don’t feel like being the man in the white hat. I want to do black hat things to this girl.

  She tucks both the dogs into their beds and gives them the down stay command.

  Then she turns her attention to me.

  “Can you help me unzip this?” She comes closer to me.

  “Of course.” I take the zipper and start it, and the dress slips down her shoulders.

  And there it is.

  The bruise is green and blue and purple. It’s atrocious.

  “God, Macy, your side still looks awful. The bruising’s spread all the way up one side of your back.” I skim my fingers over it, and she winces faintly.

  “It’s gonna look worse before it looks better.” She turns around, holding the dress to her. “Can I tell you something?” She turns her toes in, looks bashful.

  “Always.”

  “I really want to kiss you more.” She smiles.

  “That’s good, because I want to kiss you more.”

  “But I need to ask a favor.” She’s keeping her distance.

  “Again, always.” My hands are back in my pockets.

  She sits back on the bed. “I need to go at my pace. I don’t really want to go into a lot of reasons why, but can you believe me that I want you?”

  “Yes.” I breathe in through my nose, trying to calm my pulse. I want her so badly I can’t see straight.

  “Okay, so if I get into yoga pants, and we watch TV for a while, and we sit on the couch together, you’ve gotta know that we’ll get around to where we both want to be eventually tonight.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “We’ll get around to it. Sounds fair. Not very sexy, but fair.”

  She looks hurt. Her eyes glisten up. “I’ve been seriously trashed on, Mr. King. You have no idea. I want to believe that you’re not that kind of guy, but I have to put this out there, protect myself.”

  I step to her. “Hey, hey. I’m not trying to make fun of you. I just love how you are, Macy Shea Summerlin.”

  “How I am?”

  “You put your own stamp on everything. And tonight, you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t care what we get around to. I want whatever you want, when you want it. It’s important to me that I am absolutely one hundred percent nothing remotely like those other guys whatsoever. Am I clear?”

  “You don’t want to be like the other guys. Clear.”

  “So I’m going to go raid the mini-bar for a beer if you don’t mind watching me drink, and I’ll find American Pickers on the TV, and you get on those yoga pants.” I lean over and kiss her.

  “I love you for this. Thank you.” Then her eyes go wide for a split second, I think when she realizes that she just said she loved me.

  “I’ll be out here waiting for you.”

  She comes out ten minutes later, her hair in braids, yoga pants on, make up off, brushing her teeth. “Did you find the show you wanted to watch?”

  I’m sitting on the couch with the remote and a beer. Suddenly I feel positively domestic. We could be an old married couple. “Come sit. I even made you a drink.” I hold it up.

  “You know I can’t drink.” She goes to the wet bar and spits, rinses her toothbrush.

  “It’s a Roy Rogers. I took the liberty of having the concierge bring some grenadine up while we were out tonight. And some maraschino cherries. After you showed me your ‘talent’ at dinner, I couldn’t help it.”

  “You want a re-enactment?” She sits down on the couch next to me and pulls her knees up under her.

  I hand her the drink. “Tonight’s your night. Let’s watch TV.”

  But I won’t lie that I’m not thinking about that cherry stem in her mouth.

  We watch a couple episodes and chat. I’m just trying to make a connection. She keeps pushing the conversation back to movies I’ve been involved with, actors I know, places I’ve been. She avoids personal questions and makes jokes to cover her tracks.

  It’s getting late when I switch off the TV.

  “Okay, Macy. Time to answer some questions.” I turn to face her on the couch.

  “Fire away.” She scoots towards me.

  “Why is your favorite color pink?” I ask.

  She leans forward and kisses me on the lips. “It’s pretty. I like it.”

  I shake my head. “Why are you afraid of the dark?”

  She puts her arms around my neck and pulls me in for another kiss, this one long and lingering. “It’s complicated.”

  I think I’m seeing stars. “Who cut your hand?”

  She crawls on to my lap and starts to unbutton my shirt. “Another long story.”

  She kisses me and runs her hands all over my chest, wrapping herself around me.

  “Jesus, Macy. This isn’t fair. You’re just trying to avoid this discussion.”

  She kisses me again and stands up. She points to the bedroom. “I am not. I’m just working my way around to what we both want. Are you coming?”

  She walks in to the bedroom.

  “Yes.”

  Thank God for question-dodging.

  The next morning, I’m up before Macy and before the dogs. I call down to the desk. We’ve got to go back this morning, catch back up to our fishing party.

  Last night was tender and passionate and amazing all wrapped up into one. I was careful with Macy, yes, because her body was still bruised, but also because it became more and more clear that she’s got bruises I can’t see.

  There were moments where I watched her almost open up to me, but then she would close herself back off. She’d be wrapped up in a moment of pleasure, vulnerable, and I could see the switch flick off, and she’d turn her attentions to me, to my pleasure, a way to regain control and deflect.

  The attention was mind-blowing, by the way. The cherry stem thing? Definitely a transferable skill. Still, her guard never came completely down.

  Now I pack our few things, and I can’t help but feel my shield going up, too.

  This whole thing has an expiration date.

  I’m due back in the real world, by way of Toronto, in two days.

  I pick up my cell and dial Tucker.

  “Tucker Caldwell.” He’s on the river, fishing, and he still sounds like the man that could snap my neck.

  “It’s Jeremy.”

  “The AWOL fisher in love! How’s the patient?”

  “She’s got the all clear to come home. How’s the crew?”

  I can hear voices in the background. “The natives are restless. Andrew misses Kelly and the kids. Todd’s been weird the whole time. I need you back here to balance everyone out.”

  I chuckle, but then I clear my throat. “Tucker, I need a favor. And if you don’t mind, I need you to not tell Andy about it.”

  “Tell me what it is, and we’ll see about it.” Tucker’s number one loyalty is to Andy. I’d never ask him to compromise that, but he doesn’t know that, and he won’t expose himself to the risk.

  “I need a background check on Macy.”

  “What?”

  “I need a deep check on her. She’s got secrets, and I’m worried about her.”

  I can hear him breathe out in disapproval. Almost a sigh of judgment. “You could ask her.”

  “I have. She won’t talk.”

  There’s a beat. “Fine. Give me her details. For the record—”

  “It’s a bad idea, I know. I need to know.”

  “All right. Text me her stuff, and I’ll put somebody back in LA on it.”

  “I owe you, Tucker. Thank you.”

  “I just want to say that I’m only doing this because Andrew thinks this Macy may actually have proof that you do, in fact, have a human heart beating somewhere in that ribcage of yours.”

  “I get it. I want to help her. This’ll help me help her.”

  “Whatever you say. We’ll see you back tonight?”

  “See you then.” I hang up.

&nb
sp; The details will come. Not from Macy, unfortunately, but at least I’ll know more.

  Macy comes out from the bedroom, showered and dressed. “Morning, sunshine.”

  Now, before anything else can happen, I want her to know that last night was the right thing, not a mistake. We may both have lives to go back to, but I don’t regret it for a minute.

  So I walk up to her and pull her into my arms. I kiss her hard and deep and weave my fingers through her wet hair.

  Then I pull away and look at her. “Good morning.”

  She smiles, traces a finger over my lips. “I could get used to that.”

  “Thank you for last night.”

  “No, thank you.” She unwinds herself out of my arms. She kisses me again. “It was exactly the opposite of the usual jerk encounters I have. I can’t even tell you how much that means to me.”

  “Mission accomplished, then. I wish the rest of my life was this easy—just be the opposite of what sucks. Easy enough.”

  She sits on the couch, and the dogs jump up on either side of her. “I wish life was that easy, too.” She pulls her knees up to her chest and looks like she’s defending herself from whatever in real life she’s thinking of right now.

  “We’ll all packed. Breakfast and then the airport, yes?”

  “Yes.” She fiddles with Pierre’s collar. Without looking up, she asks, “When do you leave the river?”

  “Tuesday first thing. Off to Toronto.” I can feel a lump forming in my throat.

  “That sucks.” She doesn’t look up.

  “Yes, it does.” I don’t have anything else. It just sucks.

  “You could come back for Fourth of July. It’s a huge party. You’d like it.” Her voice brightens with this idea.

  “I could do that. The production takes two days off for it.”

  “We’re making that our plan, then. This feels less dismal that way.”

  I have to admit, she and I think alike. “Good plan.” I grab our stuff and lean in for a quick kiss.

  She chats to another cabbie on the way to the airport, and she chats with the pilot on the plane. He’s a dog lover, damn it, so he fusses over the dogs, and Macy loves every second of it.

  I hate it, because I have no chance for a re-enactment of last night.

  We take off, and Macy dozes off, with the little Canadian dog-sausages (they were already so fat, and I think the Seattle pet sitter fed them treats non-stop) piled around her.

  All too soon we’re on the ground in Idaho Falls. I help Macy gather dogs and her bag and wince a little as I watch her gingerly descend the private jet’s stairs to the tarmac.

  “Still hurting?” I set both dogs on the ground and leash them up.

  “It’s been a big weekend. Maybe I should’ve taken it a little slower.” She takes the dogs and takes my arm.

  Just a little move like that, the way she circles her arm through the crook of mine, it makes my chest feel warm and wide and full. “Am I presuming too much if I say I’d like to spend this night, my second-to-last in Idaho, in your arms?”

  Her eyes go wide. “That’s extravagantly romantic of you, Mr. King.”

  I resist the urge to respond with sarcasm. “You make me capable of all kinds of extravagant gestures.”

  She pulls me closer to her. “I’d like to be in your arms tonight too. It’s a deal.”

  We return to her apartment, and Macy frets and worries. I bring all of her things inside, the dogs sniff every inch of the apartment for interlopers, and she checks and re-checks her phone.

  “What are you worried about?” I fight back all the thoughts I have about responsibilities I’ve blown off for the whole week, things which should be demanding my attention.

  “I texted Richard. He says I’ll be on light duty tomorrow.”

  “Makes sense. You need to heal.”

  “I need to work. I make tips on the river, and I make peanuts at the front desk.”

  “You’d just be fishing with Team Andy if you were on the river, and we’re going to tip you anyway.”

  She shakes her head. “Oh no, Mr. King. You’re not allowed to tip me at all.”

  “Why not?”

  “Um, for what? Services rendered? Thank you very not.”

  “I see your point. But I can have Andy tip you extra. Stop worrying.”

  She frowns at her phone again. “I just don’t want Richard mad at me again. He intimidates me when he’s mad.”

  As she says this, I can feel my blood pressure rising. “You don’t mean physically intimidates you?”

  She backs off immediately. “Slow the roll, alpha boy. He’ll say he’s ‘disappointed in me,’ and I cower. This is about me. He’s not an abuser. Trust me.”

  I let out a tense breath. “No one should do anything to intimidate you, period.”

  “Fine. I promise, I’ll rat them out if they do.” She sets her phone down and goes to the fridge. “I think we should have some lunch. Then we could hang out.”

  “What kind of hanging out are we going to do?” I can think of the kind I’m interested in.

  She smiles, and then stretches and yawns, her fingers tentatively poking at her immense bruise. “I’d love to be all suggestive, but I think the hanging out where you watch me sleep for most of the afternoon.”

  “I’m completely in support of that.” I walk up behind her and slip my arms around her waist.

  And Justin Trudeau growls at me.

  “Justin! Sit!” Macy snaps a finger, and the little dog rolls over on his belly.

  “Now he’s protective. He didn’t seem to care in Seattle when he was slobbering all over my shoes.”

  She untangles herself out of my arms and goes and sits on the couch. “Home turf. Don’t mess with his stuff.”

  “Including you.”

  “Yep.”

  I sigh and make lunch for Macy, eyed suspiciously the whole time by her Canadian security detail.

  Macy called the details of our afternoon. I relax and watch TV. Macy sleeps, sometimes curled up against me, and sometimes stretched out on the couch in the opposite direction.

  Jeremy King, super-agent, über power magnate, watching Judge Judy in a dinky little apartment in the middle of nowhere.

  And I couldn’t be happier.

  Okay, that night, when Macy wakes up and feels better and wants to “hang out” with me in an entirely different way?

  That makes me happier.

  We wake up the next day together.

  Okay, the dogs and I do. When I open my eyes, trying to remember why I’m not sleeping in my Hästens Vividus bed in LA, I hear Macy in the shower. Justin and Pierre have taken this opportunity to sleep tucked under either of my arms. I’m pinned down like Gulliver by the fat little pups.

  I extract myself from the covers and the dogs’ best wrestling moves and go make coffee in Macy’s shitty plastic coffee maker.

  “I’m getting you a new coffee maker. Heck, I’m getting you an espresso machine. This is crap.” I call to her in the bathroom, where she’s brushing her teeth.

  “Hold up, cowboy. You’re not buying me anything.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t do that. Same territory as the tip. It’s creepy.”

  I feel my frustration crawling up from my stomach, kind of a rumbling in my belly paired with a migraine. “No, no, I’m allowed to get you a gift once in a while. People do that for one another. It’s standard. It’s not creepy unless you decide it is.”

  “Fine. You’re capped at forty bucks.”

  “What?” Now I can feel the aggravation settling in the muscles of my back. I understand why Bruce Banner tears off all those t-shirts when he goes Hulk.

  “You can’t buy me anything worth more than forty dollars. End of discussion.”

  I take a deep cleansing breath in through my nose, out through my mouth. “New discussion, then. Are you driving to the lodge? And can I get a ride?”

  We took the Teton County shuttle from the airport, and thou
gh I hated every second of it, it didn’t make any sense to have yet another rental car at the lodge. And Macy knew the shuttle driver from her church, so we couldn’t turn down her ride, according to Macy.

  This is what I’ve been transformed into—a guy who takes public transportation from a woman with gray hair and a pink Cabela’s trucker hat.

  But right now, I’m also a guy asking a girl for a ride back to his place.

  Another thing Jeremy King has never, ever, had to do in recent memory.

  On the drive, I listen to her make 4th of July plans with my whole social circle.

  “And I don’t even want to tell you about the afternoon stuff. You’ll just make fun of us.”

  “Because?”

  “Because there’s a slippery pig contest, and I don’t need to hear from you about mutton busting.”

  “I don’t even know what that is to make fun of you for it.”

  “Good. I’m not telling you, then.”

  We pull into the parking lot of the lodge.

  “Okay. I’m on front desk duty.” She slides out of the car, and I watch her favor her bruised side. Someone who didn’t know what happened to her last Thursday probably wouldn’t even notice. I notice.

  “I’m going to go check in with the pack. It’s the last day. They might even already be out on the river.”

  “You better go catch up. I can meet you back at your lodge—I’m not even supposed to work a full shift today.” She takes my hand for a minute and holds it, squeezes it. “I need more time with you before I have to say good bye. I suck at good byes.”

  “No worries. I’ll see you later.” I try to sound as casual as I can, but I know that I’m not even prepared to say good bye. I’ve never cared enough to say it to a woman before, not in a way that didn’t signal “nice knowing you, now take a walk.”

  I take my things from the Seattle trip into the house, and I hear a noise from the bathroom.

  Everyone’s supposed to be out on the river.

  “Hello?” I wonder if I should be worried.

  “Hey.” Todd Ford comes out from the bathroom. He looks like shit.

  “You look like shit. What’s up?”

  “I’m sick. Tucker and Andrew are out on the river. They said to tell you to catch up. They’re fishing near the lodge all day.”