by S. L. Naeole
I flinched at the reminder, but quickly tamped down the feelings of doubt that rose within me once more. “And you wanted me to tell Gladys about that, about you sleeping together.”
Shame burned brightly in Holly’s cheeks as she nodded. “I just wanted someone to back me up so that I didn’t look crazy if this all goes to shit and he chose to escalate things.”
“Holly, if you want to know if he’s going to, I—”
She shook her head and smiled at me. “No. No, Ria, that’s not what I’m doing. I...I called his California office and spoke to him and apologized for what I’d said. I told him the same thing I told you just now, that I see how the two of you are together and that I get it. I finally get it.”
“What did he say?” I heard myself ask.
Her head lowered. “He said he’d pull his complaint, that he doesn’t want there to be something like that hanging between us. I also told him that I won’t be going to any of the galas after this one since I know that he will be, because I know that my presence would only make the two of you uncomfortable.”
Scoffing at her declaration, I told her that was stupid. “You work there, Holls. You can’t not go to the galas just because he might be there.”
Holly’s head jerked back. “He’s at every gala, Ria. He’s a huge benefactor to MOAT, remember? He gets invited to every single event, including the soft openings. He’s been going to them for years.”
Like a mental slideshow, I try to remember if I’d ever seen him before. Of course, nothing appears because I haven’t. I’m not like Holly. I don’t go to any of the galas to meet people. I’m there for the art, and I’m there to work. The last three galas had been almost like hunting expeditions for me, a way to sniff out private collectors who had pieces they’d like restored. I hated it, hated having to talk to strange men and women, but it was how I eventually got the Degas.
Glancing at her watch Holly sighed and moved to stand. I stood with her and then smiled at her before she reached out to hug me once more. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go and get ready before the girls come back and monopolize all the hot water.”
“Go on,” I told her before hugging her one last time. “Thank you, Holly. I love you.”
“I love you, Ria,” she whispers in my ear before squeezing me tight against her. “And thank you.”
She left me then, and I closed my door and moved to my bed, picking up my phone and glancing at the notifications. I still had to check my text messages, which I did, and smiled sadly at the list of unanswered texts from Michael, each one growing more forlorn and full of dejection. The last one was from last night, where he’d simply said “good night”.
He was supposed to come back tonight and had insisted that I would be his plus one. My smile grew sadder as I realized that I couldn’t be his date tonight. I was never anyone’s date. Even if I didn’t have to hunt for more benefactors and art collectors with money to burn, I could never do anything to stand out at these events. I could never dress up, or just have fun like he would want. Like he would expect.
I dropped the phone onto the bed and fell back, my arms flung to my side limply as I stared at the ceiling, tears trickling down my cheeks. Holly might have given me her approval to date Michael, but my past never would.
The gala was a success if the sheer number of people walking through the ballroom entrance was any indication. The string quartet that played in the lobby of the museum sent gloriously angelic renditions of modern pop songs streaming down the corridors as the guests made their way inside. I stood off to the side, my ubiquitous khaki skirt and burgundy polo allowing me to disappear from eyes bent only on discovering the beautiful, the glamorous, the extraordinary.
The mayor had arrived, which was expected since one of his family’s pieces was on loan in the fourth-floor gallery. Two of the country’s top chefs had arrived as well, though I knew from the RSVP list that had been given to every employee in uniform tonight that they had not, in fact, RSVPed. It wasn’t my responsibility to make sure that they had a table set up for the chefs and their guests, but I made certain that those in the ballroom tasked with adjusting the seating were notified. Franco and Loriann, the event planners, were already turning prematurely gray just from the constantly shifting seating arrangements and didn’t need to be told that yet another surprise group had arrived.
The gala was scheduled to start at nine which was why the invitation said seven because New York time didn’t follow any clock but its own, and as half-past eight arrived, guests were still filing in. I stepped back into the shadows when I saw Del arrive with Reina, knowing that sooner or later I would have to speak to him about last night and hear him apologize for grabbing me. Later was preferable.
When the lobby doors were finally closed and Philippa posted outside for any late stragglers, I moved to the stairwell to head up to the second and third-floor gallery where the exhibits were being displayed. The dancers were already in place and the music that floated up a dreamy rendition of my favorite hip-hop song that made me smile in spite of myself at how melodious the refrain about making panties drop sounded.
Vonne had outdone herself in the music selection.
“You guys look good,” I told the dancers as they ran through their routine once more.
“Thanks, Ria,” Henrietta said with a wink.
“Break a leg,” I told them before moving to the back of the gallery floor to speak to Evelynn about the extra security that had been hired to guard each floor and exit. Loriann had given me the heads up and pointed them out before the guests had arrived.
“They’ll look like every other guest walking the gallery floor but they’ll all have golden ribbons on their lapel. If anything comes up, you find one of them and you let them know.”
Evelynn was a college student who’d worked at MOAT for the last two years giving tours of the gallery, so she knew better than I did the layout for each entrance and exit. She nodded, understanding the responsibility I was giving her. These weren’t school groups or tourists that she’d be watching now. These were people wealthier than God coming in. One wrong word and they could have her fired and sent back to remedial English class. It was a reality that every single gala host and hostess had to face when they worked on these nights: utter annihilation.
I gave her a wink to reassure her that that wasn’t gonna happen.
Repeating the same instructions to Tomas on the third floor, I moved back down to the first, heading to the ballroom to peek in and see how far into the evening they’d gotten yet. The president of MOAT, Bianca Chen, was speaking, her voice echoing down the corridor. According to the gala’s program, dinner would be served at the conclusion of her speech. The musicians had already left for their dinner break and so the lobby was quiet when I sat down on the staircase and pulled out a pathetic, smashed granola bar from my pocket.
The echo of footsteps sounded like an alert in my brain and I quickly shoveled the bar into my mouth, knowing that trying to hide it in my pocket would result in crumbs all over the freshly polished marble staircase. I turned around so that I could head back up to the second floor when a firm, authoritative voice froze my legs in place.
“Victoria.”
He hadn’t told me to stop. He hadn’t told me to wait. He hadn’t given any order at all, and yet I had obeyed the silent command. His shoes clicked softly on the steps, and I counted them, knowing exactly when he’d reach me and force me to turn around and face him.
One.
Hurry up and chew.
Two.
Goddammit, chew, Ria!
Three.
Fuck, too dry! I can’t swallow!
A large, firm hand fell on my shoulder, holding there. I worked my mouth vigorously to try and get all of the bar down my throat. He didn’t turn me and I said a silent prayer of thanks that he’d allowed me the chance to swipe my tongue over my teeth repeatedly to remove any trace of raisin and oatmeal.
“Victoria, please. Turn around.”
H
is hand lowered from my shoulder and traced down my arm. I shivered as his fingertips met the skin past the short sleeve of my shirt. The blunt ends of his fingernails just barely scraped over my elbow and down my forearm before grazing down my palm.
I shivered at the currents that soft touch sent flying through me. Every single nerve in my hand twitched, my fingers flexing to be stroked, to twine with his. And then, as if he’d heard my thoughts, felt my wants, his hand was in mine, his fingers slipping between mine and wrapping around them. My eyes flicked down to stare at our hands and I marveled at how tiny mine looked in his.
“Sweetheart.” His voice was a warm breeze across my ear and neck. The heat from his body moved through space and time into me even though all that touched me was his hand. I was shaking, physically shaking in the presence of him simply because it was him.
“I came here expecting to find my girlfriend waiting for me. Do you know where she could be?” he asked, each syllable a touch of sound and air on my skin.
Hitching my shoulders up, I shook my head. “I haven’t seen her. Check the ballroom.”
Chuckling, he moved around me and perched himself on the step above me, his hand moving under my chin to tip my head back. And back. And back. “There she is. Hello, my beauty.”
Air slipped past my teeth and coated my throat in cool silk at the compliment. He’d called me beauty. He’d only ever commented on my appearance once before and yet here, when there were dozens of women dressed to the nines just meters away and I’m out here wearing the exact same clothes he’d last seen me in, he had decided to say something knowing that there’d be every reason to doubt him, doubt myself? Anger slipped beneath my skin and I pulled my hand out of his, turned my face away from his finger.
“Why aren’t you inside?” I asked bitterly, hating my own lack of self-esteem for ruining a moment that could have been great but wasn’t, because I saw myself in the mirror every day and I’d seen all those beautiful women in their gowns and their coiffed hair, their make-up, and their jewels, and I simply did not compare. “You’re missing your dinner.”
A glint of stubbornness flashed in his eyes and he reached for my hand once again, this time his grip firm and with a slight squeeze warning me not to try and extricate myself from it again. “The only thing I’m missing is my plus one.”
With my free hand, I stroked down my shirt as if the obvious had yet to be revealed. “I’m not dressed to be anyone’s plus one, Michael.”
“Mal,” he corrected before taking my other hand and placing it on his chest. That was when I noticed what he was wearing and my heart thundered into a gallop, my jaw hinging open and my eyes feeding on the man in front of me in hungry licks of appreciation and disbelief.
“You’re…you’re wearing our uniform,” I squeaked, my eyes unable to keep from staring at the tight-fitting khakis stretching over his muscular thighs, or the burgundy polo that embraced his broad chest like a second skin. The sleeves strained against the bulge of his biceps and his collar lay open at his neck, the three buttons left undone so that I could see the V at his throat that dipped down, down, down.
He frowned. “Do I not look like a MOAT employee? Have I done the uniform a disservice? Should I remove it right now?” He let go of my hand and then moved to the waistband of his pants, his fingers fumbling with the buckle of his belt. He’d already slipped the tongue through the loop and removed the latch from one of its eyes. My eyes widened in shock at what he meant to do and I grabbed them, pressing them against the zipper of his khakis and bit back a squeal.
“You can’t strip here! Anyone could see!” I hissed, my head whipping to the corridor leading to the ballroom and then up the stairs where Evelynn and Tomas were waiting.
“But you do want me to strip.”
“Yes! I mean no!” I said, my composure disintegrating by the second. I slapped his hand away from his pants and began to fix his belt, which was exactly how Vonne and Tobias found us.
Tobias chuckled while Vonne winked at me. Neither said a word and I didn’t take a single breath until they disappeared down the corridor into the ballroom. Then I shoved at Michael who let out an “oof” before falling back onto the steps. Unfortunately, the force of my shove sent me flying backward as well and I knew that when I landed it was going to hurt.
But I didn’t land. Not backward, anyway. Instead, I was yanked forward, my behind landing almost violently in Michael’s lap as a grunt and then a groan was torn from both of us. My hands were on his chest while his found their way around my waist and beneath my thigh, and the memory of the last time I’d been his lap filled me with an overwhelming need that translated itself easily in the slight wiggle of my hips I couldn’t prevent.
“I missed you, too, sweetheart,” he said with a husky sigh before pressing his lips to my forehead in a tender kiss that belied the position of my body in relation to his groin.
I sighed and pressed my forehead against his mouth before allowing it to dip onto his shoulder, tucking my face into his neck and inhaling the citrus and spice that swirled with something that was purely him. “I’m sorry for not returning your messages or calls,” I said, feeling the tension in my body slowly drift away at the small confession.
He squeezed me against him gently, his hand moving from my waist to stroke against my hair. “Don’t apologize. I know that this is new to you.”
Lifting my head I looked at him with suspicion. “What do you mean, you know that this is new to me?”
“I spoke to Vonne. She filled me in.”
Pure, unadulterated fury twined with the icy sting of disloyalty burst through me and I leaped to my feet. “That wasn’t information she had any right to tell you,” I shouted, tears springing to my eyes at the betrayal I felt like a frozen brand to my heart. “And you had no right to ask. You had no fucking right!”
“Victoria!” Mal’s face was held immobile with shock as I leaped off the stairs and rushed out of the lobby. I heard him shouting, I heard him running after me, but he wouldn’t catch me. I knew MOAT better than he did, and I could get him lost in the gift shop if I wanted. Instead, I wound around the employee and HR department until his footsteps faded and I exited the museum into the employee parking lot.
I found my car, started it, and for the second night in a row, I fled.
Instead of driving home, however, I drove around, stopping at a drive-thru for a quick bite before I found myself parked at a spot that overlooked the lights of the city. I ate my fries and sipped at my milkshake, not bothering to wipe the tears that fell freely from my face as I hiccupped and sobbed, the betrayal of the woman I’d looked up to like a mother eating a deep, acidic hole in my heart.
My hands moved to my wrists, rubbing at them in a way I hadn’t done in at least three years. I stared at them, feeling them growing heavy as the invisible bands I felt there became solid, weighted things that pulled me down. My head rested against the steering wheel, my eyes closing in a desperate attempt to find peace in the darkness.
“I am not a victim. I am a survivor,” I whispered.
Tapping on the glass pulled out a scream from me as my head banged on the steering wheel and a blast of noise shot out from the horn. I twisted in my seat to the passenger side in a panic, the shadow peering in through the window menacingly large and wholly unwelcome.
“Sweetheart. Open the door.”
“Mal?” I breathed, taking in the beautiful face. “Wha…how?”
He couldn’t hear me. I knew he couldn’t hear me. He was leaning forward, his hands on his thighs, his face etched with both worry and relief. “Please, sweetheart. I’m out here all alone. I had Lyle drop me off. If you don’t let me in, I’ll freeze out here and it’ll be all your fault when I can’t father children due to frostbite of my nads.”
“I don’t care about the state of your nads,” I barked out but leaned over anyway to pull up the lock on the door. I pressed my back up against my own door as he opened his and climbed in, quickly shutting the door
behind him and then turning to face me, his hands rubbing together before pulling up to his mouth to trap the warmth of his breaths.
We sat there, him trying to warm up, me eating cooling fries and slurping a chocolate milkshake, my face drying even as another round of tears threatened to spill at the idea that another choice had been taken away from me by one of my most trusted friends. Sensing that I was about to crumple again, Mal moved forward with lightning speed, picking me up and pulling me into his lap as if I weighed nothing and the passenger seat of the Clam II was as large as a king-sized bed. I had to duck my head to keep from hitting it on the ceiling, but for a moment I believed in this alternate reality he’d created in my little car.
“Sweetheart, don’t cry. Don’t cry. Whatever it is, whatever happened, it won’t happen to you again. I won’t let it. I promise. Don’t cry,” he crooned, his hands stroking my back and my hair, his voice a deep rhythmic buzz moving through his chest and throat into me.
My sobs were squeaky and rattling, my tears and snot blending into a glaze over my face that I struggled to wipe with the hem of my shirt. “How can you say ‘whatever happened’. You know what happened. Vonne told you.”
He clucked at me in disapproval. “She didn’t tell me what happened, love. She said that was a secret for you to tell and that I shouldn’t pressure you about it, not that I would. All she told me was that you hadn’t found anyone to trust yourself with until me. She told me to be careful with you, to cherish you, because everything you give to me will be the first and last time it is ever given, including your trust.”
He tucked his finger under my chin and tipped my head back so that he could look at me. “So beautiful.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I croaked, knowing that what he saw—even in the dark of the cab—was nothing but a swollen, snotty mess.
