by S. L. Naeole
A wave of dizziness slammed into me as the second shot settled into my stomach and I gripped the table to keep my body upright. “I think I’ve reached my limit,” I said, remembering too late that there was no food left in my belly to help stem the effects of the alcohol.
“Fuck that!” Holly said with a slap of the table. “Until one of us is on the floor, bitch. Drink!”
Another full shot glass found its way in front of me and as if compelled by some outside force, my hand lifted it and brought it to my lips as I tipped my head back. I could smell apples and butterscotch, two of my favorite scents. It was as the cool liquid slid down my throat and I righted my head that I saw him.
Them.
Michael was here, his hands braced against the backs of two women.
He was still wearing the same dark gray suit, still carrying that air of confidence that had left me decimated just hours earlier. Tearing my gaze away from him, I turned my attention to the women. Both were tall, curvy in all the right ways, and moved as though being at his side was their occupation in life. I watched, the shot glass still poised at my mouth as he ushered the first woman into a booth across the bar from us. The woman sat gracefully, her legs crossing sensually. The other woman followed, taking the seat directly opposite of the first before he took his seat beside her Even in the dim light, and despite the distance, I could see that both women were gloriously beautiful and immaculately made up and dressed.
The first woman had her dark hair pulled tight against her face, while the other woman’s blonde hair was left to fall loosely around her shoulders. The first woman wore a slinky black top that hung off one shoulder, while black skintight jeans clung to her hips and black stilettos made her legs look dangerous and sexy. The other woman was in a blood-red bandage dress that hugged her body like a second skin, nude pumps on her feet lengthening her already long legs. They didn’t shrink away from his touch, didn’t avoid his gaze. They laughed adoringly at whatever it was he’d just said, and the one in all black him pressed her hand against his chest, leaning in to smell him.
A strange sensation coiled in my gut, one that I didn’t recognize but hated almost immediately. I hated it even as it spread through me like a disease, infecting me with each smile those women were gifted with, each inch of his body they pressed against. Each exhale they took into their bodies.
“Ria, what’s wrong?” Holly shouted at me across the table before turning her gaze to where mine had been drawn to. “Shit. What a fucking slutbag asshole,” she barked, her voice so loud and full of venom I flinched.
Lara turned to look as well and then whipped her head back to face me. “Well, at least we know that his grandmother’s fine, his dog is healthy, and his kids are done with their homework.”
“Huh?” I was confused.
My friend rolled her eyes and then waved her hand carelessly in the air as she explained. “He didn’t call to cancel your date—just stood you up—and since he’s here then at least you know that he can’t tell you that his grandmother’s dying, his dog’s sick, or his kids have homework. It shortens the list of lies he can tell you.”
“Wait, he’s got kids, too?” Holly bellowed, her voice thick with an alcohol-induced slur.
I felt my body sinking into the seat, trying to disappear as my friends continued to tear into him, but there was no hiding when the entire right side of my body was exposed by the glass and pipe railing.
Lara’s voice, loud and remarkably slur-free, carried over our booth as if she’d been wearing a mic. “No. I googled him. No ex-wife and no kids. Some women have tried to say he got them pregnant but none of it ever panned out. Shit, it’s possible he’s got kids, though, since he’s such a manwhore. Fuck. What if he has kids, Ria? You dodged the step-mom bullet, too!”
Holly nodded enthusiastically, though her head wobbled in circles rather than in a straight up and down motion. “Yeah. Just think of how many ex-girlfriends he must have. And you know the crazy to hot ratio, right? The one where the hotter they are the crazier they are? Well, he’s hot—really fucking hot from where I’m sitting, and that’s not just the alcohol talking—so you know he only dates really hot women which means he must have, like, loads of crazy exes. Like, totally fucking psycho. So you totally dodged the crazy-ex bullet, too, Ria.”
Vonne snorted. “You two are ridiculous. And drunk.”
Laughing, Holly pulled her hair back and twisted it into a knot before taking the shot glass out of my hands and tossing back the liquid down her own throat. “I’m not being ridiculous. I’m just saying that Ria’s not losing anything by that asshole Michael Lachlan standing her up. Who knows what kind of baggage that fucker has? Ria’s got enough of her own to be worrying about someone else’s.” She was shouting at the top of her lungs now.
A gasp ricocheted around the table and Holly slammed into the plush chenille booth as Vonne yanked her down by her arm, her voice pushing through her teeth. “Sit your drunk ass down. You’re embarrassing yourself and, more importantly, you’re embarrassing Ria.”
Lara growled. “The only person who should be embarrassed is that lying asshole Michael Lachlan.” She grabbed another shot glass and tossed its contents down the back of her throat, her hand lowering quickly onto the table to slam the bottom onto the table.
Instead, it hit a hand.
In unison, our heads turned to stare at the man who stood at the front of our booth, his palm now clutching the empty shot glass still sticky with whatever concoction Lara had ordered from the bar.
“A complaint has been made that you’re creating a disturbance and annoying some of our other guests so I’m going to kindly ask you ladies—” this was said through gritted teeth “—to grab your things and leave quietly so that we don’t create a scene.”
The bouncer was massive, a bear of a man with a barrel-sized chest and arms that rivaled trees in girth. He wore a simple black shirt that buttoned down, with black pants, a black belt, and black shoes that reflected no light. There was no decoration, no flash of color, nothing on his body, except right where a pocket would be were the letters “ML” embroidered in glossy black. Alcohol and my brain came to a stunningly brilliant deduction at that moment.
“A complaint? You’re kicking us out because of a complaint? You work for Michael Lachlan, don’t you? That’s what this is about. He hates the fact that he got busted standing me up.” I said, the liquid courage finally making its way to my mouth.
The bear shook his head. “No, ma’am. I work for Missing Link. Now, if you would gather your things, I’ll help escort you to the nearest exit. I won’t ask again.”
Anger roiled through me and I threw my head back in the direction of the occupied booth I knew the complaint had come from. The two ladies there were laughing prettily, their gazes cast across the bar. Across to mine. Their eyes saying what their laughter did not that neither I or my Michael Lachlan-bashing friends were welcome anywhere near them or him.
I grabbed my purse and nudged at Lara, who sat at the end of the booth. She grumbled but grabbed her own tiny bag and slid out of her seat, allowing me to follow. Directly across from us, Vonne and Holly followed. The bouncer waited until we were all out of the booth before ushering us past filled booths and tables until we were at the end of the last set of steps that took us to the first level of the bar.
Lara gripped onto the short rail for dear life while Holly hung onto Vonne’s arm. I walked behind them all, seething with anger, the bouncer at my back. I hadn’t felt this angry in such a long time that I didn’t know what to do with it, with the energy it fed me. A part of me wanted to slide my body onto the dance floor and shake and grind myself into oblivion, but that would mean touching and being touched by the myriad of men currently gyrating there among their drunken female companions, and that wasn’t going to happen. That would never happen.
A hand reached out to grab mine and for a panicked moment I felt my entire body freeze, but then I registered the size of it and turned to see Kara
looking at me with confusion. Her face was shiny with sweat, Rob panting behind her as he watched the others walk away.
“Why are you guys leaving?” she shouted over the pounding EDM the DJ had switched to.
“Someone lodged a complaint and now this Hulk-wannabe is kicking us out,” I shouted back before a large, firm hand placed itself at the small of my back and pushed me forward.
Instantly the panic returned and I screamed, jolting forward and taking Kara with me. Behind me, I could hear Rob shouting, “She doesn’t like to be touched, you fucking moron!”
The six of us exited Missing Link and as Rob went to the valet to get his car, the girls stood around me, their faces filled with anger and confusion. “What the fuck was that all about?” Kara grumbled.
Vonne quickly explained with Kara shaking her head at each word. “What an asshole. Seriously, Ria, good fucking riddance. What he did today, what he did just now? That’s the shit you do when you’re a dick of the highest caliber. God, how fucking dumb am I? I called him your white knight. Virgin baby Jesus, look at your face. He shattered you, didn’t he? That’s it. You’ve been shattered. Fuck.”
Her voice faded as I kept picturing the women and their gazes, their smirks, their smiles of pleasure at seeing us leave. That pleasure which stemmed from the blatant and obvious desire to please Michael. That’s when I truly understood why he hadn’t called me, why he’d just gotten up and left me in the catacombs without another word. Why everything had shifted the moment I’d given in and agreed to go out on a date with him, something he’d been able to glean was not a feat so easily done.
My gut twisted and fell, and I rushed away from my friends to find an empty corner where, for the second time that night, I threw up all over my shoes. It was quick, less brutal than before, and as I stood up, taking a napkin Vonne offered me to wipe my mouth, I said what had been in my head, what had repeated itself silently from the moment I’d seen him in the club but hadn’t yet found a way to voice itself.
“I’ve been handled.”
I walked into my office on Wednesday, biting back the nervousness that ate at my still raw stomach and throat. A pile of mail sat in my inbox and a package sat on my desk from Montreal. I went through the mail, tossing most of it since they were solicitations for donations. Every department received these letters so answering them was redundant and I wouldn’t have been able to give them a response anyway since I wasn’t authorized to do so.
One letter was for Delmonico regarding the AITTIA exhibit’s press release, while another was one of the catalogs that listed the freelancers available for work. I threw that away since we already had a full house. Finally, I got to the package, smiling at my name written in Del’s slanted, shaky handwriting.
I pulled open a drawer and took out my box cutter, then got to work slicing at the tape that sealed the small box shut. When I pulled the flaps back and then peeled away the paper inside, I couldn’t help but smile. Against white tissue paper sat a pile of maple leaf coasters and a red t-shirt, the words “I love Canada so much. Don’t make me leaf!” emblazoned over a negative of a maple leaf.
Reaching into my purse, I unlocked my phone and quickly dialed Del’s number. He answered on the second ring.
“Ri! How is my favorite assistant director doing?”
If he still thinks of me as his assistant director then I haven’t been fired. Yet.
“Good. Good. I just got your box.”
I could almost hear him smile on the other end, he was so obvious. “That was quick! Do you like the t-shirt?”
Nodding, knowing he couldn’t see me, and told him that I did. “Are you having fun? Staying busy?”
We spent the next ten minutes talking before the conversation grew stunted, my exuberance at hearing his voice fading as dread began to eat at me with each minute ticking by. I contemplated telling him about Michael and what had happened on Monday, but he sounded like he was having so much fun I didn’t want to ruin it for him.
“Well, I guess I should get back to work.”
“Don’t work too hard eh, Ri?”
Again, I shook my head as if he could see it. “I won’t.”
“I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”
I whispered a bye to him and then hung up, feeling tears prick at my eyes as I realized that the next time he saw me, I’d probably be fired.
“Suck it up, woman,” I scolded myself. “Until they make you sign papers, you’ve still got a job to do.”
Shoving my phone back in my purse, I turned on the computer and began to sift through my emails and the ones forwarded to me from Del’s account. I answered what I could, forwarded what needed addressing from different departments, and then started filling out assignment sheets for the paintings for the Arizona exhibit. I called in restorers into my office one by one over the rest of the day for updates on their own AITTIA projects and to run the timeline for Arizona with them. I then called and emailed our freelancers for the backlog pieces, wanting to clear out as much as I could before Del returned. By the time I was done it was late and I had skipped lunch.
I shut off my computer, turned off the light, and then headed out of the museum. The security gate shut behind me with a secure click as I left the stairwell. I waved goodbye the night security guard Greg as I walked through the lobby to the front entrance. Holly had told me in the morning that she would be spending all day in the garment district and would be an hour late picking me up, and as I stepped out of the door and checked my phone I saw that I still had ten minutes before she showed up.
“Shit,” I groaned as I saw at least fifteen text messages from my friends all asking whether or not I’d been canned. I typed a quick group message and sighed at the confirmation.
Me: still gainfully employed. Don’t know how long that’ll last but I’m not going to worry about it too much.
Immediately the phone dinged.
Kara: yes!
Lara: sweet!
Vonne: told you! Have faith!
Holly was driving so I hoped she wouldn’t text back, and as I hit the back button my heart lurched at the unread text in the queue. I’d changed the name when we’d arrived at home after the club, so there was no mistaking whom it was from.
Asshole: can we talk?
Furious fingers began typing on the glass screen as paragraphs of thoughts and feelings poured out of me in tiny black letters. I read and reread what I’d written, an entire essay on why we couldn’t talk and why we would never talk and why I was going to delete his contact info from my phone and block his number so that he could never contact me ever again. Maybe even visit one of those street vendors and buy a hex to curse him with severe arthritis to make sure of it.
Then I deleted every single word and typed a one-word reply before hitting send.
Me: no
I pressed the power button on my phone, putting it to sleep and had my hand in my purse to put the phone away when it vibrated in my hand. I knew I shouldn’t have, but I pulled it out and unlocked it again, the screen opening up to the message that I’d just received.
Asshole: Please.
“Please?” I shouted at my phone, jumping at the way my voice echoed in the empty portico that covered the driveway past the museum’s entrance. “Fuck your niceties.”
Me: Go fuck yourself. Or whoever it is you’re with right now. There. I hope I’ve got a permanent place on your shit list.
This time I turned my phone completely off and threw it in my bag. My right arm was itchy from the cast, and my stomach was an angry beast desperate for food, both exacerbating my irritability. Philippa, the other night security guard rounded the corner from the side of the driveway and gave me a nod before she walked behind me to trade places with Greg for his turn to walk around the grounds.
The soft whoosh of the door closing muffled the sound of crickets chirping off in the distance. The night air was cool against my skin and I sighed.
“Victoria.”
The sigh was barely
out of my mouth before it turned into a squeak and I nearly stumbled back on my chunky loafers. As usual, he was dressed immaculately, his suit wrinkle free, his dark hair neat and freshly clipped around his ears and neck. And he was close. So close that I could feel his heat penetrating the cool air around me, a swirl of warmth moving around my knees and barely kissing the hem of my skirt.
“Why…why are you here?” I managed to get out in a calm, steady voice before anger took over. “Didn’t I make myself clear to you on the phone?”
His features remained steady, absolutely no reaction betraying what my words did to him—if they did anything to him at all. Even his voice was a smooth stream of emotionless chatter. “I’d like to explain—”
Explain? Why do assholes think they can just be assholes and then, when they’re ready, think we’ll just let them explain? I wasn’t having it. “Save your explanations for someone who cares,” I told him, cutting him off before turning my head, eyeing the driveway hopelessly for headlights that would announce Holly’s arrival.
“You care,” he said, his voice raspy as it blew hotly past my ear.
My head spun to give him the full brunt of my glare but just like last time he was close. So close.
Too close.
He’d closed the distance between us again, the edges of his jacket brushing up against the cotton of my polo shirt. Without explanation, a rush of sensation seemed to concentrate deep within my middle, and I found myself pushing my thighs together as I felt his heat almost barreling into me through our clothes. My eyes lifted to his, instantly mesmerized at the ever-shifting swirl of colors that greeted me in his sultry gaze.
“I don’t,” I whispered, my heart lurching in my chest as his eyes lowered to my mouth, the expression in that hazel gaze undeniably one of hunger. Hunger? For my mouth? Inexplicably I licked my lips, my stomach following my heart in a stuttering flip as I heard the sharp intake of breath, felt the air being sucked out from between us, trapping me in a vacuum of nameless sensation.
