Liberating Mr. Gable

by Tuesday Embers

  Mr. Goldman parted from the men and met Etta halfway, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. “Etta, how good to see you, dear. You are stunning.”

  “Thank you, Len. I didn’t notice you come in. Where’s your table?”

  He motioned toward the back section with his glass of scotch. “A man in a suit can blend in wherever he goes. A woman who looks like you do tonight? No chance of not standing out.”

  “This was far too generous.” She ran her hand down her elegant gown. “Did you get my thank you note?”

  “Of course. I’m glad you like the dress. It certainly suits you. And how was your morning at the salon?”

  “You tell me.” She blinked at him, giving her best fake smile. “No traces of blinding fear?”

  “None at all. They must’ve buffed it right out. You are lovely.” When he spoke next, he gestured with the drink in his hand, taking a paternal glint to his tone. “I had a nice afternoon out with your gentleman friend.”

  “He said you gave him some man-type advice on a few things. Very decent of you.”

  “Well, he is my son, after all.” The crinkles at the corners of his eyes increased when he smiled at her. “He mentioned a few things Serena clued me in on about his behavior before you came along. I must say, I like the change you bring out in him. Expect another dress once he takes me up on my advice.”

  Etta shook her head. “No, no. This was generous enough for a lifetime. Thank you for guiding us a little. I don’t totally know what I’m doing.”

  “Ah, see? You’re already ahead of the game. Most people won’t admit they don’t have a clue. Then they run off and make all sorts of regrettable decisions. And I don’t think you realize how flattering it is to an old man like me to be asked for advice. I don’t have any children, so I’ll admit, I’ve been enjoying this probably a little too much.”

  Etta adjusted the strap of her dress and lowered her voice. “Well, I don’t have any parents, so it’s a perfect fit. Thank you.”

  “May I escort you back to your table?” He proffered his elbow to her.

  “Thank you, Len.” Etta took his arm, feeling like she was walking next to the King of Siam in The King and I. She stood straighter, wishing she had enough memories of her own father to picture the situation with him leading her forward.

  Mr. Goldman leaned over and spoke quietly to her as they walked together, like they were the best of friends. “Len is too stodgy. How about Uncle Len?”

  “I’d like that.” Etta grinned up at him, taking in his kind smile that seemed to appear only when she was around. “And who did you bring this evening? My new aunt?” she teased.

  “No. Afraid not.” He pointed to his table where a lovely woman was sitting by herself, taking notes. “Kendra’s my assistant. She’s always my companion to these things. Helps me keep names straight.”

  “She’s a little dressed up for a non-date.”

  “Between you and me?” he said in a lowered voice. “If it had been me she dressed up for, I would have been quite pleased. But I’m a bit old for her.”

  “Is thirty-seven considered old in California?”

  Len laughed, the motion doing him worlds of good. “Oh, you are too kind.”

  He brought her to Anson’s table, where Sarah was sitting in her chair. Ekaterina and Oksana were socializing elsewhere, and Anson looked like he wished he could disappear. He downed his cocktail, trying to be polite, but wanting to be rude.

  “Anson, how are you?” Len asked, clamping down hard on Anson’s shoulder. He smiled kindly at Sarah. “If you’ll excuse us, I think you’re in my niece’s seat.”

  Etta wanted to melt into the floor. She was so embarrassed, she did not have the will to look defiant when Sarah stood and stared her down. “Oh, my mistake,” Sarah simpered. “I kept looking over at poor Anson, but all I saw was nobody sitting next to him. A size eight nobody.”

  Etta was not accustomed to cattiness, so the abrupt nature of it shocked her speechless.

  Anson stood on shaking legs, saying nothing, but staring Sarah down in a way that made her visibly recoil.

  Sarah straightened her dress, taking a moment to lean in to whisper her threat to Etta. “Real nice bringing Mr. Goldman over to stand up to the big girls. Some advice? Don’t wear sleeveless gowns when you have eyesores like these screaming out at everyone.” She looked to Etta’s scar on her bicep. “Anson’s likely to see your level inside the week, and when he does, I’ll be waiting.”

  “You and every other girl in the country,” Etta responded, wishing she had kept her mouth shut. If there was one thing she learned from her Papa on dealing with rudeness, it was to not engage. He taught Etta to set the tone for kindness, and let the world rise to the occasion, or fall beneath you in its misery, staying clear of the wreckage.

  Sarah slammed against Etta’s shoulder hard as she left, jolting Etta’s nerves and her stance. Len lowered her to the chair carefully, taking in her attempts not to fall to pieces. He sat down in Ekaterina’s seat, taking Etta’s hand. “This is just someone trying to attach herself to Anson. Do you want that?”

  “N-no.”

  “This is part of the job. Being with Anson is going to invite a lot of females like that. Do your best to ignore them. They’d say those things to a supermodel. You should have heard the nasty things women posted about Ekaterina when they got engaged. It just means you really are above them. They wouldn’t bother if you weren’t someone to be reckoned with.” He tapped her under her chin. “Look at me.” He waited patiently for Etta to wrestle with her insecurities and look him in the eye. “Say ‘I am someone to be reckoned with.’”

  Etta repeated the mantra until she was sitting straighter. “Thank you.”

  “And you,” Len pointed his finger at Anson, “get rid of the hang-ons quicker. There’s diplomacy, and there’s making your girlfriend nervous.”

  “Yes, sir.” Anson shook Mr. Goldman’s hand, willing his grip not to reveal his trembling. No one had screamed his name, yet the unwelcome attention set him back.

  Len stood, taking a moment to kiss Etta’s forehead. “I’ll see that she doesn’t bother you again tonight, dear.”

  “Thank you,” Etta breathed. For some reason, when Len was overly kind to her, it did not feel patronizing as it had when her friends in the mountain checked in with her.

  Anson was scratching the back of his neck in concern. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. But you don’t look so great. You’re all flushed.” Her hand went over her scar to give it a place to hide its shame.

  Swallowing, Anson shot her an apologetic look before pushing his chair back abruptly and standing from the table. “I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”

  Gunning for Etta

  Etta sat patiently in her seat for ten minutes before Ekaterina and Oksana rejoined her, giggling at something hilarious one of Ekaterina’s old friends said. “Where’s Anson?” Oksana inquired.

  “Bathroom.” Etta played the active listener while Ekaterina and Oksana told her all about something “super funny” that Etta could simply not force herself to properly pay attention to. Ten more minutes passed, and finally Etta excused herself. She moved to the hallway down to the bathrooms, hoping she would not find Anson where she was sure he would be. After waiting a couple minutes to make sure no one was coming in or going out, she hesitantly pressed the door open.

  There was the love of her life, scrubbing the things he could not control from his hands. Judging by the red skin, the water was too hot, and he had been doing this for too long. His tuxedo jacket was thrown over a chair and his shirt sleeves were rolled up past his elbows.

  Sadness engulfed Etta at the state he was reduced to. She picked up a few towels and came to his side, turning the water off once the umpteenth round of suds were washed away. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Anson whispered over and over as she dried him.

  Etta shushed him as she rolled his sleeves back down and fastened the cufflinks for him. “Nothing to be sor
ry about. It’s okay to have a few minutes of feeling overwhelmed.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” he asked forlornly, resting his chin on Etta’s dainty shoulder. “I thought I was doing so well.”

  “You are!” Etta insisted, running her fingers through his hair. “This was your first big thing in a long time, right? Your first big appearance?” She felt him nod. “The first hill’s always the hardest to get over. Just the way it is. Can’t change the butter churn.”

  “I still don’t know what that means,” he admitted, pressing his lips to her neck.

  “Don’t you start that business here.” She closed her eyes when his lips trailed down to her cleavage. “I’m serious,” she said, coming to her senses enough to pull away. “This is a men’s bathroom. We cannot make out in here.” She was grateful the bathroom was empty, but knew it would not stay that way for long.

  “Now, that’s just not true,” he argued, tapping the counter. “Right here. This would be the perfect spot.”

  Despite her firm no, a chill ran up her spine at the suggestion as he pulled down the strap on her gown. “Anson, when we get home, I will personally see to it that you kiss every square inch this dress doesn’t cover. But this is my first time being so dressed up. I want to feel like a lady, not like your whore.”

  The blunt term smacked Anson upside the head, reintroducing sense to his desperate state. “You’re right. I’m sorry. You’re just so good at calming me down. I was being selfish.”

  Etta kissed his cheek. “We’ll get through the evening just fine together. It’ll be okay.” She helped him put his jacket back on, and then laced her fingers through his. They walked out of the restroom together, and Anson pressed a kiss to Etta’s neck before the door shut behind them.

  When they reentered the ballroom, Etta noticed a security guard posted right next to Sarah’s table. She guessed that was Len’s doing, and was grateful for the help. As rattled as Sarah made her feel, she did not like the effect the brazen woman had on Anson’s neurosis. She stroked the inside of Anson’s bicep lazily as they chatted with Ekaterina and Oksana, calming her boyfriend with every sweeping caress.

  Over the course of the night, several women tried their luck with Anson, deeming Etta as a friend of his, or a date picked by his publicist. This did not bother Etta, but it did ruffle Anson after the eighteenth woman gave him the glad eye in front of his girlfriend. “I’m sorry,” he said again after a brunette in stilettos who tried to slip him her number left the table. “I would say it’ll get better, but this is pretty normal.”

  Ekaterina shot him her best sympathetic expression. “Oh, poor Anson Gable. Every woman in the world wants a piece of the superstar.” She took a drink of her cocktail and nudged Etta. “She can handle it. Right, Etta?”

  Etta nodded and realized that the more women approached Anson, the less shocked she became about it all. It was their big exciting moment to tell their girlfriend, and she could not begrudge them that. She did not even mind that she registered as zero competition on their radars. It was Anson’s arm around her or introduction of her to the women as his girlfriend that stayed her insecurities.

  Yva was another story. She did not bother with pretense. She was focused on one thing: taking out the competition and inserting herself in Etta’s role.

  It began with a slip of her vodka tonic as she passed by their table, sending the cold liquid straight down Etta’s back. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed to Etta’s yelp of surprise. Her feigned concern was almost believable, but Etta knew better.

  “That’s alright. Anson, could you help me?” Etta did not stand to tend to her dress in the restroom. It was actually more ice than liquid, so the chair was not soaked.

  Yva’s finger traced down her cleavage, as if that was a natural hand gesture to have when speaking. “Oh, you should go to the restroom and clean that up. I’ll send someone in right away. I’m so sorry! Such a klutz.” Yva gripped Etta’s arm, lifting her halfway out of her seat.

  “No, I’m fine right here. Thank you.” When Yva’s nails dug so deep, Etta was sure they would leave marks, she tapped into the rarely accessed anger she tried never to acknowledge. “Let go of my arm.”

  Yva obliged when Anson’s hand wrapped around her wrist and started choking it as he dabbed off Etta’s back. His words came out in a growl. “You should leave. Try that trick on someone else.”

  Instead of leaving, Yva leaned down and seethed in Etta’s ear. “Look, you hick cow, the sooner you get out of my way, the better.”

  Ekaterina intervened by taking her fork and jabbing it into Yva’s juicy rear end. “Oh, I’m sorry!” Ekaterina said in phony concern. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” She stabbed at her again, this time catching Yva’s thigh. “You’ll have to forgive me. I haven’t eaten much today. I was starving for some crazed bitch.”

  Anson took Yva’s arm and jerked her away from the table, taking her straight to a security guard, who promptly escorted her out of the building.

  Ekaterina dabbed at Etta’s back with her napkin. “It’s not ruined,” she assured her, as if the dress were the real upset. “It’s just a little wet.” She placed her hand over Etta’s. “You should have seen the things posted about me. One blogger said I had chunky thighs, and it caught on. Pictures of me in my bikini flooded the web. One magazine even had a plastic surgeon circle the cellulite spots on my thighs.”

  Etta gasped, taking in the ribs visible through Ekaterina’s low-cut neckline. “That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard! Are people going to do that to me? Because I’m a far sight bigger than you.”

  Ekaterina shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, I know who I am. I’m happy with my body, and I’ve got someone in my bed telling me the exact same.” She placed her hand on Oksana’s knee and gave her an adoring smile. “I’m just saying, jealous people will reach for anything. You are not a ‘hick cow’. You’re a dead knockout, and everyone can see it. Anson loves you. That whore was just pouting because she couldn’t rub her fake boobs all over him.”

  Etta tried to keep her emotions from taking over. “You think?”

  “I know.”

  Anson came back with a permanent frown etched in place. “I’ve fulfilled my obligation for the night. Stayed long enough. You want to get out of here?”

  Etta looked up at Anson, no longer able to access her brave smile. She was now wet, cold, and feeling like a cow stuffed into a Valentino dress. The Cinderella charade was over, and she wanted to go home to her bed.

  No, not my bed. We’re going to the mansion to sleep in Anson’s bed. My bed is thousands of miles away.

  “Can we? I just want to go home.” She said “home”, but she meant her cottage in the mountain.

  Then Len Goldman came sidling up to their table, his kind smile tight with tension. The faked pleasant expression stayed in place as he pulled up a website on his phone and showed it to Anson. “Mel just sent me this.”

  It was not the picture that made her gasp. While a kiss from Anson was not something she wanted publicized, it was not the end of the world that someone caught them being a couple. It was not even that the photo was taken just an hour ago when she and Anson were emerging from the men’s room. No, it was the caption beneath the photo that made her choke on her newly acquired confidence. Etta read the words aloud, trying to force her brain to process the incredulity. Anson Gable and mystery woman love a little public afternoon delight near the urinals.

  “Who took this?” Etta demanded. “And it’s not true!”

  “Smile,” Len reminded her. “You don’t want another photo taken labeled ‘Anson Gable and mystery woman have public fight’, do you?”

  “I… I…” Etta stammered for a few seconds before her fake smile registered on her face. “This didn’t happen, Len. We didn’t… I wouldn’t… not in a men’s restroom!”

  Len held his hand up to stave off her plea for absolution. “People will say what they will. Mel just wanted Ans
on to know before you leave. Reporters are outside, and he didn’t want you blindsided.”

  “Thanks,” muttered Anson. He said nothing more on the subject, but internalized the fallout that would come to him and Etta when this had time to circulate.

  Etta’s voice grew quiet. “People are going to think I do that kind of thing. They’re going to think I’m cheap, and that we’re not real.” She ironed out the quiver in her lower lip before it could take over. “My dress is all wet. That girl spilled her drink on me so I’d get up and she could sit with Anson.”

  Len’s hazel eyes hardened, and then he made a show of sitting up straight, so she would mimic it. He tapped under her chin, forcing her to raise her head. “Say ‘I am someone to be reckoned with.’”

  Without feeling or conviction, Etta repeated the mantra. “Why would someone take that picture? And then send it in? Who would do something so mean?”

  Len sat back in the chair as if he had not a care in the world. “Any number of people trying to cash in on Anson’s image. Any number of women trying to rip you away from him or wear you down. Trust me, this is nothing unusual.”

  Anson’s reassuring grip on her knee under the table brought relief. She was not alone in this. As upset as she was, she knew Anson was a pro at handling this sort of situation, and he would not hang her out to dry. “LA is different than back home,” she observed quietly.

  Anson’s shoulders sank. “Etta, LA is your home now. It might not feel like it all the time, but it is.” He held onto her hand. “I am.”

  “You’re right. Sorry.” Etta straightened, willing Len’s confidence to swell in her also. “Well, I could use something to drink. I’ve just had sex in a men’s room, so I’m parched.”

  “Go grab her something,” Ekaterina said to Anson, holding her fork threateningly. “I can keep a lookout until you get back. Oh, and I’d like a Manhattan.”

  Anson immediately stood, going to the bar to refresh the drinks. When he returned, he saw Len speaking more serenity into Etta, coaching her on what to say and do when confronted about the photo. Anson waited for Etta to finish her drink, and then suggested they leave the second her empty glass hit the table.