by Robin Leaf
No picture captured the slutty gold digger, which was probably a good thing. Vanessa felt that if she had a visual on the tramp, she would search for her with the right front fender of her Honda. It was best left not knowing what model-esque ho-bag had victimized poor Riley. Best for all concerned.
She flew off her couch realizing she had a mere hour to get herself prettied up for her very public date with Riley Tate. She decided to look every bit the part of an actor’s potential girlfriend, so preparation was methodical. Dress? Trendy, curve-hugging, royal blue wrap dress (No, Nessa, the color doesn’t have anything to do with Riley’s comment yesterday about it bringing out your eyes.) hitting just above the knee and just sexy enough to keep them guessing. Shoes? Black strappy heels. Hair? Down and naturally curly. Makeup? Not overpowering, but more eye shadow and liner than she usually wore and a touch of rose-colored lipstick. Looking good, Dr. Taylor.
After a bite of cookie dough for courage, she drove to Riley’s with a new confidence inspired by her appearance. She would gently coerce an answer out of him tonight. Will she treat him or not? Done deal.
***
“Hi. Remember me?” She asked the older Hispanic gentleman when he answered the door; he simply nodded. “I’m Doctor Taylor, and you are?”
“Javier.” He waved her in the door. Javier was not interested in any other conversation. He motioned to the couch to her left and disappeared.
She walked to the mantle and looked at Riley’s pictures, ones she didn’t notice yesterday. One was of an older couple, and judging from the clothes, it was taken a long while ago. The man had the same eyes as Riley and the woman had Riley’s dimples, his parents. An attractive couple, all smiles and warmth. The other picture contained a family, a forty-something female and a bald husband with two blonde girls, twins, in their early twenties. Judging by the dimples on the woman, it had to be Riley’s sister’s family.
“Wow.” Riley’s voice came from behind startling her. She turned around to see the same dimples in the pictures. “You look…” She waited as he searched for words, dragging his eyes up and down her small frame, then locking on her eyes. Intense, electrified silence filled the air for a long moment. His dimples emerged with his smirk. He cleared his throat. “…very nice.” Really? That’s the best you can do, dumb ass? Actions speak louder than words, and your eyes bugging out tell me you could say something nicer than that!
She took in Riley’s attire for the evening. Button-down long-sleeved maroon shirt tucked into belted black slacks. He looked lickable, but she tried to hide her attraction behind narrowed eyes. She nodded. “Thank you. You look decent, too.” She downplayed on purpose, hoping her unenthusiastic compliment stung him like his stung her.
Riley narrowed his eyes right back, as if he didn’t believe her either. He smiled. “That color really does bring out your eyes.” He nodded toward the door. “We should go,” he urged. “If we leave now, we will just make our reservation.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, walking toward the door.
He reached around her to open the door, his heat causing those goosebumps to erupt on her skin again. He leaned toward her ear and murmured, “Bastille.”
Oh, jeez. I think I need to change my panties now. Get it together, Nessa. Concentrate on what you need to do. That restaurant? What the fuck is Bastille? It sounds very expensive, posh and French. Great. Pretentious, upper-crusty L.A. atmosphere with snooty waiters and indecipherable menus. Where is a Chili’s when you need one?
SEVEN
“This is not the car I would expect Riley Tate to drive,” Vanessa said, and reddened when she did, not expecting her thoughts to burst out of her mouth again. She really needed to get her superego fixed.
“And what did you expect?”
“Maserati? Ferrari? Lotus? Something super cool and futuristic. Definitely not a hybrid SUV. How very practical of you.”
“I never have been the sports-car type. I’m actually more the pickup truck guy.” He smiled shyly, as if he had revealed a huge no-tell secret.
“So the country music? That goes with the whole pickup truck mystique?” she teased.
“No, actually, that is for you. I figured, being from Texas, you might like a little taste of home.”
She reeled in her irritation. It made her very angry when people assumed that just because she was from Texas, she enjoyed country music, rodeos, ranch-living and cowboy hats. He probably even thinks I rode a horse to school or had a cow living in my backyard and say “howdy” all the time. Idiot.
She had to unclench her teeth before she spoke. “Actually, Mr. Tate, I’m more of a rock lover, Five Finger Death Punch, Red, Korn, Papa Roach, the kind of stuff my older brother…”
“Oh thank God. I thought I would have to shoot myself if I had to listen to this anymore.” He reached over and plugged in his iPhone. “Is this better?”
She nodded and vaguely recognized what played; it was older and kind of bluesy. She was irritated when she realized that he had just very cleverly tricked her into revealing a personal like. She decided that it was too well played to have been on purpose, so she let it go.
“How much do you use that thing?” she asked, pointing to his phone. “I really hate all these smart phones and what they are doing to our society.”
“Not a lot, phone calls and music. I decided to join this century since I got tired of carrying my brick phone and my Sony disk player.” He smiled, and she knew he was teasing her.
She returned his smile. “I guess I deserved that. I do sound like my grandmother when I say that kind of stuff.”
“And what do you mean you hate them?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.
“They’re destroying our society as a whole.” He glanced at her, confusion on his face. She thought for a moment to see if she could explain what she meant. “I want you to notice when you walk into the restaurant. So many people keep looking at screens of phones and worrying about what is on them that we seem to be losing real human connections.” She clenched her fists. “People get so wrapped up in the latest score or games or texts, missing out on what’s actually in front of them. I’ve walked out on dates because of those stupid things. Guy was wrapped up in a game he played rather than pay attention to me. I just got up and left him to his angry birding or temple running or candy crushing, or whatever game he played. If a guy asks me out, he better show me that I’m more important than his damn phone. If his phone, or worse, sexting his ex-girlfriend, yeah,” she pounded her fist on her knee, “it happened once. If that thing is more important, he’s dead to me. Done. Over. Forget it.” By the end of her tirade, she was breathing heavily from her impassioned response. She glanced over at Riley to measure his reaction. A stifled smile played around his eyes and lips. He, again, was trying to hide his amusement at her expense.
He cleared his throat and regained composure. “I agree with you, just not quite so vehemently. I don’t understand why anyone needs the whole world at his fingertips, figuratively speaking of course. With that capability, where’s the need to learn anything? You don’t need the brain in your head if you can hold one in your hand.” He glanced her direction and made eye contact briefly, just long enough to shoot a thrill through her insides.
“Wow. That’s…” she swallowed, searching for the right word. “That’s pretty astute, Mr. Tate.”
“You mean for an actor?” he asked rather snarkily, and she expected for him to tell her off for offending him. Instead, he smiled again. “I have my moments.” He turned his attention to the road. “Don’t let the muscles fool you, Dr. Taylor. I have a brain. A pretty big one. I actually went to college and everything. I even have a degree. An impressive one, if I do say so myself.”
“Really?” She tried to hide the shock in her voice. “What degree does an actor get?”
“One in Bioinformatics from UCSD.”
Holy Shit, Riley Tate is a big, sexy nerd!
Her mouth had very obviously dropped open, so she couldn
’t speak for a full minute. “Are you serious?” she asked, hoping the incredulous tone did not come through in her question.
He turned to her, piercing eyes telling the truth, and simply nodded his head.
“What did you plan to do with your degree?” she asked, genuinely interested.
“I planned to get a PhD, but that didn’t exactly pan out. I was interested mostly in research in cell regeneration, but I was open to stem cell research and genetic coding. During my time there, I researched advancements in organ and tissue repair.” Oh. My. God. This man is perfect.
Her panties immediately dampened, more than they did when they were at his house, at the mention of stem cell research and genetic coding, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Wow.” She stared at him as if he told her the earth had reversed polarity and the sun would now be coming up in the west. Her world seemed to have shifted on its axis. She shook her head and found her voice. “Wait, then how did you get into acting? It’s a far cry from bioinformatics.”
“Totally by chance. I took an acting class as my elective. Got a part in a play. Big director’s daughter was in the play with me. He saw the play. I got offered a part in a movie. The rest kind of snowballed.”
“What biotech student takes an acting class?”
“The kind who has a girlfriend who is an acting major.”
Panic arose and her heart squeezed in her chest. She turned and looked out the window. “Ah. The things we do for love.” She took a deep breath. “What happened to the girlfriend?” she asked, hoping she sounded breezy.
“She stayed with me until I got my third role in a movie. She had a hard time hiding her, well, I guess jealousy is as good a word as any, at how I achieved my career. She was a freakin’ theater major and couldn’t get a call back for commercials. And here I was, not even trying, and had roles handed to me. She dumped me. If she hadn’t insisted I take this class with her…”
“Well, I can see her point. It is frustrating when you work so hard for something and not be successful, then for someone to have it handed to him without even trying. Her resentment is understandable.” She paused. “But that just means she wasn’t ‘the one.’”
“Eight years ago, I would have disagreed with you. I thought we were perfect together. Six years ago, after the ridiculous fights and back and forth, I had to admit it. We weren’t.”
“So, you initially tried to fight for her?” Her soothing, tell-me-anything tone seeped forth into the question.
He smiled. “Yes. And I believe you just entered psychologist zone with me, didn’t you? Remember, I haven’t agreed to it yet.”
Dammit. How does he know? Gotta work on it, Nessa. Why do you want this so badly all of a sudden? You need to make up your mind and stick to it.
“What if I did? Why is that so bad?”
He smiled and glanced her direction, refusing to answer her question.
“How far is this restaurant?” she asked, breaking the silence. “We’ve been in the car for thirty minutes.”
“About five more minutes.”
“I’ve never been here. Is it French?”
“Yes, the Chef knows me. He makes a special chicken dish for me that I think you will like. Do you trust me?”
About food? Maybe. With where this is going? Not so sure.
She smiled nervously.
He adjusted in his seat to sit taller. “Ok, Dr. Taylor.” His tone had changed; this was all-business Riley Tate. “We are about to be there. I don’t know if there will be any vultures here…”
“Vultures?”
“Paparazzi. But either way, I need to appear to be on a date with you. That means I might have to get close to you or something. I didn’t want you to be surprised if I do. And you need to call me Riley in the restaurant.” He looked at her sideways. “Okay, Doctor?”
“It’s in my agreement with Charles.” Heart, slow down. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the head rest. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Keep breathing, Nessa.
“Do I make you that nervous, Dr. Taylor?” he asked, again hiding amusement.
“No, sir.” She did not change her position or breathing.
“Well, okay. We’re here.”
Her door opened, and life became a blur. Somehow she made it out of the car and was guided into the restaurant by a hand at her back, which was all she could notice because of the heat it inspired, except that she didn’t trip or knock anything over. They sat, and she resumed her closed-eyed breathing.
“Hello?” Riley gently urged. She focused on his face. “What do you want to drink?”
“Oh,” she smiled at the waiter. “Just water, please.”
The waiter smiled, nodded and left the table.
“Please tell me you are not one of those girls,” Riley asserted.
“One of what girls?”
“One of the California-influenced, water-only, ‘Oh-I’ll-just-have-lettuce’ kind of girls. If so, it didn’t take you long to get sucked into the lifestyle.”
“No. I’m not. Texas-sized appetite fully intact.” She had to think quickly to come up with a good excuse. “I just didn’t want to risk drinking with my nice reminder of our fiasco yesterday.” She moved her bangs to reveal her purplish bruise on her forehead.
“Understandable.” He smiled devilishly. “Not to mention you can’t risk relaxing around me?”
Damn that man.
EIGHT
“So, what got you so interested in psychology?” Riley asked over his imported beer.
She narrowed her eyes at the personal question, annoyed that Riley was breaking her rule, but she decided to answer it to maintain the date pretense. “I’m sure it sounds cliché, but I wanted to see if I could make a difference.”
“Make a difference? In what? Because if you say the whole world, that sounds a little ambitious, even for you.” He took another sip of beer, never taking his eyes off of her. “What, specifically, made you want to do this?” He stared intently across the table, as if his gaze was searching the reaches of her brain for the truth.
Vanessa shifted in her seat feeling the weight of his gaze. Usually she prided herself on not falling victim to probing questions, but since this was not necessarily a doctor-client session, she felt herself waiver. Plus, something about the way he looked at her, like she was the most interesting person who held all the secrets of the universe, made her want to tell him. Just about on the brink of sharing, she shook off the feeling.
“No,” she said firmly. “This is unethical. We must maintain the previously discussed agreement.”
His brow furrowed. “Look,” he said, after a short pause accompanied by what looked to be his death stare. “I think it’s only fair. We are here in this obnoxiously expensive restaurant, trying to pretend to the real world that we are on a date.” She raised her hand to begin her protest, but he interrupted. “I know it’s not a real date, but you are planning to convince me to allow you to dive into the deepest chasms of my psyche, so I think it only fair for you to answer my question. It’s not even that personal, really. It’s not like I’m asking your bra size or the name of your favorite porno or anything.” His smirk was back. “It’s simple, really. I told you mine, now you tell me yours.” His voice lowered, almost to a growl. “Quid pro quo, Ms. Taylor.”
“It’s DOCTOR Taylor,” she quickly corrected, then grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Habit.” She took a deep breath to reduce the flush in her cheeks. “And I don’t know of any pornos.”
He smiled, and a hint of a wicked glint sparkled in his eye. “So then, DOCTOR Taylor, what, specifically, made you want to study psychology?”
She took another deep breath while sipping her water, concentrating on not inhaling an ice cube, the whole time trying to come up with a viable explanation for her need to follow the psychological path. She tried to think of anything rather than reveal the incredibly embarrassing and emotionally scarring truth. Instinct took over.
“Well, I
became fascinated by the power of the stage-mom subculture,” she threw out there, hoping that would be enough of the truth without revealing the whole thing.
“Stage moms?” he asked, eyes hinting at amusement.
“Yes, stage moms.” She waved her hand in a circle. “What better place to study them?” She averted her eyes to study her fork.
“What got you interested in stage moms?” he asked with genuine interest.
Again she resorted to her water glass for pause, wishing the waiter would bring their food already. The water glass was getting dangerously close to empty and would not be available much longer as a delay tactic. They had already ordered, so that distraction removed itself. Only thing left was either leaving for the restroom or talking until the dinner came. She proceeded with great caution.
“Growing up, I was in a position to witness many stage moms… pushy mothers who drove their kids to the brink of insanity, all under the guise of trying to be supportive or do what is best for their kids. In actuality, all they are really doing is trying to live vicariously through their children’s successes and taking credit for them. I feel it is a severe form of child abuse.”
“For just trying to support their kids to do their best?”
“No, the type of stage mom I mean goes beyond supportive parenting. I’m talking the ones who go too far. I believe it’s closely related to Munchausen by proxy, since these parents manically push their kids for their personal need to have attention, or at the very least it should be considered a personality disorder.”
He sat back in his chair, surprised at her revelation. “Jeez, that’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”
“You don’t know,” Vanessa spat, bringing her fist down on the table, which made Riley jump. “You don’t know what it’s like to be on the receiving end. To never get to rest or play with your friends or do normal things. To always be practicing. To never be allowed to stop until it’s, air quote, ‘perfect.’ To be punished for being lazy when you’re really just exhausted. To have your mother push and push and push,” she stopped because she felt the panic rising in her throat at the memory. She looked around the restaurant for the waiter or for the water boy or for any sort of distraction that would take his curious eyes off her. She knew that excusing herself to the restroom would give too much away, so, taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down and get control of her voice. “Sorry, I just feel pretty passionate about it. I came across a lot in my research. I wanted to do my dissertation on the topic of the moms, but I switched my focus to how this aggressive parenting affects the kids.”
