by Leanne Davis
Brittany Snow approached Joelle and Nick let his shoulders fall. He thought he could relax. Brittany was one of his favorite employees. She was always efficient, respectful and courteous; and at least, Joelle knew her. He turned his attention towards the reporter interviewing him for Sunday’s top story in the business section, hoping he might relax for a few moments.
He was worried about Joelle tonight; she seemed so tightly drawn. No doubt, she was already wound up by the visit from Rob, and now this evening, bringing with it everything she feared, and the lifestyle that so terrified her. All of this stuff made her feel insignificant, and convinced her she was wrong for him.
And she cut her hair off. He wasn’t so sure that was a good thing, or a good sign: the blonde hair, and the glamorous clothes, left him feeling very unsure at all.
Finally, with the interview at an end, he nearly elbowed his way through the throng of well-wishers. When he finally made it back to his table, he found Brittany there, but no Joelle. “Where did Joelle go?”
Brittany waved her hand in the air. “She took off. Ladiesh’ room, I guessh.”
Brittany was slurring badly. He headed to the foyer, where the restroom was and waited for a short time. He finally asked a lady near him to check the bathroom for Joelle and she came out, shaking her head and saying the bathroom was empty.
Where was Joelle? His phone vibrated, he answered it not recognizing the number.
“Mr. Lassiter?”
“Yeah?”
“This is Jim Costla, your limo driver, sir. I thought maybe I’d better let you know the young lady with you earlier, your date, left and asked me to take her to Club Ricana. I thought perhaps I’d made a mistake by taking her there.”
Shit! Christ! Fuck! Joelle took off! Something or someone must have spooked her. Like a drunken Brittany Snow. Not that Joelle wasn’t already spooked on her own. It didn’t take much to send her running.
“Thanks for calling. I’ll be right there.”
Nick left his own awards banquet without a second’s hesitation, or a word to anyone. He grabbed a taxi outside the hotel. It took only ten minutes to get across town to the club the chauffeur mentioned.
He found his limo only a block away. Inside were Joelle’s uncomfortable shoes. He took his jacket off, his tie, and his vest, and untucked his white shirt, letting the tails hang over his black pants. Then he went to Club Ricana.
After paying the admission fee, he found himself in a world far removed from the reception he just left. Ear splitting, pounding music, nearly shaking the walls, from a DJ; hot, current, rap song thumping and banging; kids jumping, dancing, yelling, laughing, migrating toward the center of the room under pulsating strobe lights, and flickering shadows. The fringes of the room, being darker, also seemed moodier, while thick with smoke and all kinds of people. Some looked like babies pounding the floor in their intricate moves, and other couples appeared to be nearly fucking on the dance floor.
He sighed… Well, damn! Could she have made her point any clearer? He was as out of place here as she was at the awards dinner. And for the first time, he truly understood how out of her comfort zone he’d been pushing her. And what a mistake it was. He obviously pushed her way too far, way too soon.
His head rang, and his eyes stung with the diverse colors, sounds, and movement overload, but finally, he found Joelle. She was caught in the throng of dancers. She had her once immaculate, classy, sedate dress, pulled up high, so her legs showed. Her sleeves were pushed up, and her hair was pulled back. She was dancing and sweating furiously, moving her hips, with her hands over her head, her eyes closed to the seductive beats. She was a good dancer to the music, and very sexy, managing to keep the beat unlike some of her drunker counterparts.
What was she thinking? What was she doing here? Why didn’t she just tell him she needed to leave the awards ceremony? Then he noticed who else was here. The real reason Joelle was here.
Rob.
Rob was behind her, dancing close to her, his hip movements following hers, close, and connected, almost. His arms came around Joelle’s waist, and moved up her back, rubbing her bare skin, and sliding into her hair. She tilted her head towards him as they moved in near unity, evidence of their practice and familiarity. They danced together like one person to the music.
Joelle, for the first time since Nick knew her, looked like she belonged with Rob Williams. Nick saw a part of Joelle he’d never seen. Someone young, hot, wild: a girl who idolized and followed a rock star.
“How come you’re here?”
He turned at the voice nearly shouting into his ear and found himself standing next to a man who was several inches taller than he. Looking up, he didn’t recognize the man, and thought he must have been mistaken and thought Nick was someone else.
The taller man thumped Nick’s shoulder in a friendly greeting. “Lassiter, man, don’t you recognize me?”
Nick looked again. Holy. Shit. It was Spike. Or at least, he thought it was Spike. The man beside him was as tall as he remembered Spike, but any resemblance stopped there. Spike’s once crazy, scary hair was gone. He was nearly bald, with just the trace of a sheen of dark hair. His face was clean, and manly. There was no distracting makeup. He was, much to Nick’s surprise, a good looking guy, with deep black eyes, a sharp nose and wide cheek bones. He wore normal clothes. Plain pants and a shirt. Nothing weird. Nothing freaky. Nothing vampirish. Nick was speechless, and drawn away momentarily from Joelle even.
“Spike?” Nick’s mouth dropped open.
Spike smiled, actually smiled, and answered, “Yeah. I’ve been trying out Spencer lately. Spencer Mattox, that’s my real name.”
“What happened to you?”
“I don’t know. Just thought I’d try out that getting-a-life thing. No one would hire a freak like Spike, but Spencer Mattox? They will. Got me a job. I’m a delivery man. Kind of lame. But they have health and dental plans. I plan to get my teeth fixed as soon as it kicks in.”
Nick didn’t know what to say. His shock was genuine. “You ah, wanted insurance?”
“Yes. A guy can only be a rebel for so long. I’m getting too old for this shit. Thought maybe I’d try my hand at some normalcy.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure. Makes sense, Spi–-I mean Spencer. You are almost unrecognizable.”
“Thanks. I didn’t think you’d be within ten miles of here after I saw Joelle come in.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Ah. So my initial reaction was right. Joelle wasn’t planning on this either.”
“What is this?”
“My birthday party. Rob invited Joelle. We used to hang out here a lot. Although Rob didn’t think she’d come. So imagine our surprise when she came wandering in, looking all wide-eyed and nervous and… well, blonde. Why is she blonde, Nick?”
“Got me. I don’t know what the hell is going on with her. Why exactly are you talking to me? Why don’t you try to kick my ass on Rob’s account? I’m pretty sure you could take me.”
Spencer shook his head. “Hell, Lassiter, I like you for some reason. You’ve been good to Joelle, better for her than Rob. Rob’s just now starting to get his head on straight. But still, I don’t think Joelle should come back. She seems better where she’s at. Well, except for tonight. Where were you?”
Nick looked back at Joelle. They switched, moved, and were now in the center of the crowd. Still together. “A really fancy, ballroom for an awards ceremony in my honor; although it didn’t go over so well with her.”
Spencer shrugged and waved towards Rob and Joelle. “Don’t take this too personally. Don’t give up on her. They, over there, don’t know it, but they’re just acting out the last few residual feelings of a dying affair.”
“So I should turn a blind eye to my married girlfriend dancing with her husband?”
“No, you should make sure she divorces her husband, and becomes your wife.”
He glanced at Spencer. The man was as strange as anyone he had ever met,
but he seemed to genuinely like Nick. And more importantly, seemed to sincerely care about Joelle.
“In case you haven’t figured it out yet, and what sweet, naive, little Joelle never figured out, is that Rob is completely wrong for her. And she was never really happy with Rob, or with us, much less our lifestyle.”
“She hates my lifestyle more.”
Spencer shrugged. “No, she’s intimidated by your lifestyle; big difference. And I saw her becoming happier, and more confident with you. She became Joelle again. And I liked seeing that. So wait her out.”
“Ah… thanks, I think.”
“Well, this isn’t my drama, so I’ll leave you three to it,” Spencer said, as he turned and blended into the crowd, for once, truly dissolving. Nick stared after him, somewhat startled, but also pleasantly surprised. He felt something people rarely succeeded at arousing in him.
The song changed again, and Nick had no idea who or what was singing it. It was a hot and invigorating, with heavy beats and rap, punctuated by startling vocals. Still bumping and grinding with the crowd, Rob and Joelle were near the edge of the vibrating throng of bodies. Now, her body appeared to be nearly plastered to his, and he was running his hands all over her. Nick felt his heart stopping. His blood began pumping furiously through his body, as jealousy’s black, ugly head arose from inside him.
All at once, he remembered: there was nothing he could do. They were still married. They were Rob and Joelle Williams; Rob was Joelle’s husband. And from day one, and every day he shared with her, Nick knew Joelle was apt to do just this: go back to Rob.
But watching her body, as she moved against the other man’s, in sensual gyrations, was going way too far, even for that. His fists clenched, and he had to consciously relax his mind. He forced himself to observe them, to take it all in. It was time to admit the truth that kept staring him in the face.
She was never his to keep.
Nick always succeeded at everything he ever wanted or attempted, and now he had lost the only thing that really mattered to him in his entire life: Joelle.
He started to turn when Rob suddenly looked up and their eyes met. A clash of surprise, hatred, and awkwardness passed between them. Rob was clearly sober, and he smiled a nasty mimic of a friendly hello. Rob knew exactly what he was doing, holding his little wife, feeling her up because he could.
Nick didn’t glare or turn. He stood there. Stoic. Cold. Rob finally broke his gaze, and stopped moving in the mass of sweating, gyrating bodies. He leaned down and spoke into Joelle’s ear, and her body stiffened. She stopped and turned around slowly.
Her eyes widened, flashing regret, hurt, and sorrow all at once. She walked over to him with huge eyes and pink, flushed cheeks, her mouth nearly quivering in tears.
“How did you–”
“Limo driver called; said he was concerned about you.”
“Nick, I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes pleading, and looking agonized. She dropped her head. “I–”
Rob came up behind her, and he and Nick stared each other down. Nick eventually sighed and shook his head; he was tired. He didn’t even know if he had any right to feel indignant. He was the other guy here, not Rob. Rob put a hand on Joelle’s back. Not possessively, as he once would have, but supporting her, as if reassuring her. Nick hated it. He hated that Rob seemed better. Somehow changed. Definitely different.
Nick reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his wallet. He took out Joelle’s driver’s license, her one spare key to her condo, and his own credit card. Handing it over to Rob, he said, “Her license, and house key.”
Rob looked down, surprised, then back up at Nick with a sudden visible respect, that verged on near embarrassment. “Ah, thanks. That was decent of you.”
“Yeah, well, see that she gets home safely this time. I mean it, Rob, don’t let anything happen to her.” And, oh yeah, fuck you.
“I deserve that. But things are different now.”
“Good. For her sake.”
Joelle followed their conversation, her eyes alternating from Nick to Rob and back again. She frowned as she saw what Rob took from Nick. It dawned on her then exactly what he was doing. Her eyes looked into Nick’s, and for the life of him, Nick didn’t know what she was trying to say.
“Nick–”
He gritted his teeth. She was about to thank him. Apologize to him. Well, fuck that. “Goodbye, Joelle,” he said, turning before he had to listen. And before he began to hope too hard that she’d suddenly run into his arms. Leave with him. Leave this life behind. Leave Rob.
****
What was the proper protocol after leaving the woman you love, so she could go home and fuck another guy, even if it was her husband? Nick had no clue. He sat in the limo, and drove around. After getting a buzz himself from imbibing in the vast assortment of alcohol the limo supplied, he finally stumbled out at his building. He threw her shoes, and what was left of his tuxedo down on the floor of his hallway. He fell onto his bed fully dressed and stared up at the ceiling as the unbearable weight of something made his chest tighten. What was this feeling? Anger, hurt, loneliness? What?
He always handled break-ups well; perhaps a little discontented. Or occasionally, pissed off. But never like this. Not this feeling of having his heart drowned before his tortured eyes. What a joke his life was! He could buy his own private jet tomorrow and pay cash if he wanted. He was about to be featured as a responsible, successful, even likeable CEO in tomorrow’s newspapers. He might even get national coverage.
And yet, he didn’t give a flying fuck about any of it.
What he wanted exclusively was the girl who resented his money most of all. He wanted a little four-foot-nothing who could hardly look him in the eye, who was much too young for him, too weird for him, too shy for him, and married for Christ’s sake. Still, all he could think about was her: Joelle. He’d fallen irretrievably in love with the one person he couldn’t have. The one person he couldn’t convince to love him.
He thumped the mattress with his feet in frustration, getting even more pissed off. Furious. Hurt. Aching. Suddenly, his doorbell chimed and he slowly sat up. He glanced out his bedroom door. Joelle? Did she leave Rob, and come to him? Adrenaline rushed through his body with a jolt. He jumped up and opened the door, but jerked to a halt when he saw who was standing there.
Brittany Snow, her dress, much too small and too tight, and spike-heeled, strappy shoes, with her hair piled on her head, stood there. Her eyes gobbled him up, and looked heavy with drink. He paused as he regarded her.
“Heard employeesh weren’t off limitsh anymore. Heard your lil’ Joelle flew the coop. Lookin’ for shome company, Mishter Lashiter?”
Nick hated how hard her eyes seemed. How cold and vindictive. How she slurred his name unashamedly, without a trace of shyness, or the slightest hint of reverence that Joelle showed to him.
His hand was still on the door, and he simply opened it wider, without a word. She smiled as she ducked under his arm. He slammed the door behind her, and she turned, coming over to him. Tall and long, she fit her body snugly against him. She pushed him back against his front door, and pinned him there; kissing him hard and hot, with her tongue and teeth as her fingernails dug into the flesh on his arm.
She suddenly pulled back and looked into his eyes, waiting. He nodded before leading her towards his bedroom.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The doorbell droned through the entire penthouse, seeming to echo and chime off every square foot. Nick groaned as he propped up and opened an eye to read the clock. It was only seven in the morning. His head hurt. He had way too much drink the previous night, and way too much emotional stress. Sunlight poured through his still open shades. It was blinding. And totally unwelcome. The chime blared again. He got up finally, and pulled on some sweats and a t-shirt, before stumbling to the door. Expecting whom? Whomever it might be, he never expected to see her.
Joelle. She was standing in his doorway in faded jeans, and a sweatshirt
zipped up, her hands jammed deep into the pockets. Her hair was still blonde, but twisted up around a rubber band in a messy knot. Nick let out a long, deep sigh.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his face to wake himself up.
“Can I come in?”
“I don’t think you need to. Your actions spoke pretty clearly last night. And I don’t see any need to rehash them. Just leave me alone.”
“Please, Nick,” she asked, her voice quiet, unsure. Her eyes looked big and black, gazing up at him. “Can I come in?”
Like he could ever refuse her? Not when she looked up through long lashes and sad-looking, doe eyes. Ever the small, repentant child seeking his forgiveness. God damn and watch if she wouldn’t succeed in getting that out of him. He let the door go, opening wider.
“I need some coffee,” he said as he strode into the kitchen, seemingly unconcerned if she came in or not, while knowing her innate self-loathing would have her apologizing to him in no time.
He set about finding coffee beans and water. Working through the haze in his brain, the anger made his movements sharp, and louder than necessary. The liquid began to drip. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest and his head cocked, waiting for whatever lame excuse and I’m sorry, Nick she’d come up with.
Joelle was looking everywhere, but at him. Her gaze bounced around the room, on him, off him, onto the floor, the window, the table, back to him. Nick finally sighed. “Quit looking like I’m going to yell at you. You woke me up at the crack of dawn to say something, so say it.”
