With my father. That would go over like a pregnant high jumper. “I'm staying with friends in Westwood, until I get my own place.”
“Westwood's cool. I live in Redondo Beach. What do you do?”
“What is this,” he joked, “Who Wants to Be a I millionaire?”
“Time is short,” she answered, “and so am I.” She laughed.
He laughed with her. This was easy, at least so far. “I'm a broker.” In case this went somewhere, his brother Will's life seemed more interesting than his own. Certainly more enticing.
“Neat. I'm a paralegal, O'Melveny and Myers. They're the biggest firm in L.A. I'll be starting law school next year. Nights, I can't give up my day gig.”
She's not an airhead, he thought. Normally that would be a bonus, but tonight, given the amount of time he would be in Los Angeles and the direction he hoped this might be going, intelligence could be a detriment.
“I want to go,” Rachel announced from behind them.
“Oh, come on,” Renee moaned. “Don't be a party-pooper.”
“This place sucks,” Rachel complained. “And I have to be at the office early tomorrow. You do, too, Renee,” she added. She picked up her purse. “Come on.”
Renee sighed. “Next time, I'm bringing my own car.” She smiled at Tom. “Do you want to exchange numbers?” she asked, digging into her purse.
The offer was out of his mouth before he had time to think. “I could take you home.”
She stopped. “Oh. Well …”
“Renee,” the other woman said darkly. “You don't want—”
“Oh, hush up,” Renee said, cutting her off. She put her hand on Tom's arm. “You sure? It's the opposite direction from where you're staying.”
“It's fine.”
She beamed. “See you in the morning,” she told Rachel in dismissal.
“You're being stupid. You don't even know this guy.”
“I do, too. His name is Tom.” She smiled at Tom.
“You're not some weirdo, are you?”
He shook his head. “I'm probably the most sane guy you'll ever meet.”
“Not completely sane, I hope.”
The other woman gave one last head shake of disapprobation and pushed her way out of the bar.
“Party-pooper,” Renee said to her back. She smiled at Tom again. “She's pissed because I got to you before she could.”
“That's … flattering.”
She put her hand on his. “Do you want to go some place less noisy, where we can actually talk without shouting in each other's ear? There's a coffeehouse not far from here.”
This was going faster and better than he had dared to I hope for. “Sure.”
He air-wrote for the bartender, who rang up his tab and brought it to him, along with his credit card. Ouch, he thought, looking at it. What the hell — he was on vacation, he was having fun, and with any luck at all, he was going to get some action. If nothing else, being with this woman had buoyed his spirits.
The cool night air almost knocked him over. Oh, man, he thought, I've had too much to drink. He swayed in place for a moment, until he got his sea legs under him.
“You okay?” Renee asked with concern.
“I'm fine.” He took a deep breath. That was better.
She took his arm. They turned the corner and walked down the deserted street toward where he had parked his car. Might as well go for it, he thought. “Why don't we go to your place now?” he suggested.
She stopped and looked at him for a moment. “Okay. But no promises.”
“Not to worry. There's my car, up there,” he pointed. Hastily, he added, “it's a rental.”
“It's cute. Like a toy car.”
“Renee!” A man's voice behind them, calling.
She froze. “Damn,” she said quietly.
“What?” Tom asked. It was dark out. The nearest streetlight was at the far end of the block. He turned in the direction of the voice.
“You stood me up again,” came the unseen voice. “It's the third time in a row.”
“What's going on?” Tom asked, feeling his chest tighten. He didn't like the sound of this. From out of the darkness the man emerged, walking toward them. He was dressed as if he had come from work—expensive-looking suit, white shirt, tie. He was a few years older than Tom, about Tom's size. His hairline was receding, but he looked like he was in good shape.
“Go away, Rudy!” Renee called to the man. She grabbed Tom's arm more tightly.
“I'd like an explanation,” the man called. From the tone of his voice he seemed more hurt than angry.
“Who is he?” Tom asked. This was getting uncomfortable.
She sighed. “A lawyer from the firm. I dated him a couple of times. Nothing serious, but he keeps bugging me, making dates I tell him I'm not accepting. He must've been lurking outside, stalking me. Poor bastard.”
She stood in the middle of the sidewalk, hands on hips glaring at the man, who was coming closer. “Rudy, please go away. You're embarrassing yourself. We can talk about this tomorrow, at the office.”
The man kept coming, until he was only a few feel away from them. “Who's he?” he asked Renee, staring at Tom.
“My date.” She regripped Tom's arm.
“We had a date,” the man said doggedly. He looked miserable.
Renee shook her head. “No, we didn't. I never accepted. I don't feel comfortable going out with anyone from the office, Rudy. It only leads to trouble. You know that as well as I do.”
“You stood me up,” the man said again. He was like dog who wouldn't let go of a bone.
“Why don't you work this out tomorrow, like the lad suggested?” Tom said, stepping between the two combatants. “She's with me tonight.”
The man called Rudy glared at him. “Who the hell are you?”
Tom glared back. The guy had pushed too hard.
“That's none of your business. Now take a hike.”
The man was breathing heavily. He looked away for a moment.
The sucker punch caught Tom square in his left eye. He went down in a heap.
“Rudy, you bastard!” Renee screamed at their assailant. She started pounding on his chest with her fists.
Tom staggered to his feet. He lunged at his assailant, but the man dodged him and rabbit-punched him across the back of the neck, at the same time putting a knee into his gut. Tom fell again, into the gutter.
Renee was screaming. “Rudy! Stop it! You'll hurt him.”
“He started it,” the man shouted back at her. “All I wanted was to talk to you.”
“Go away,” she yelled. “Get out of here!”
“Not without you,” the man told her.
Tom was on all fours in the street. He put his hand to his face. It came away bloody. As he started to push himself up again, he felt a discarded bottle, lodged against the curb.
He staggered to his feet. “Hey!” he called out.
His assailant turned toward him. “You want more?” he asked.
Tom swung the bottle like a haymaker. It caught the man flush across his nose, shattering in Tom's hand. Immediately, the man's face was full of blood. He fell to his knees, clutching his face with both hands.
“Jesus! You've blinded me!”
From a couple of blocks away came the wail of a lice siren.
“Someone from the club must've heard us and called in an alarm,” Renee yelled. She pushed Tom toward his car. “Get out of here!” she screamed.
“What about you?”
“I'll be all right. But you could get into trouble. Go!” she said, pushing him.
He ran to his car, unlocked it, found the ignition with the key. As he was driving away he could see the police lights in his rearview mirror. For a panicked moment he thought they were coming after him, but they stopped where Renee was standing over the recumbent Rudy. She was kicking him in his bloody head as hard as she could.
By the time he got back to the house it was after midnight. With luck, h
is father would have gone to bed and he wouldn't have to deal with him until morning—he'd had enough grief for one night. Walking down the drive-way, he looked in the windows. All the lights were out. Very quietly, he let himself in through the kitchen door with the key Emma had given him, and made his way to his room.
His face was a mess. His left eye was swollen half shut, beginning to turn dark. His right cheekbone was lacerated and bloody from where he'd fallen in the street. His lip, too, was bleeding, and his jaw hurt like hell. The entire left side of his face would be black-and-blue tomorrow.
He washed his face off with cold water. There were no ointments in his bathroom medicine cabinet, no alcohol or hydrogen peroxide. Holding a towel to his face, he quietly made his way through the dark house into the kitchen. He opened the freezer and took out a handful of ice, wrapped it in a dish towel, and pressed it to his aching cheek. Then he went back to his room, took his clothes off, dropping them in a heap on the floor, put on the running shorts he was using as pajamas, and lay on the bed.
His head was throbbing. He wouldn't be able to fall asleep. Coming out here had been a disaster, from start to finish.
He heard the sound of water, lapping rhythmically. He got up and went outside onto the dark, sheltering deck, where he could hide and watch.
The moon was a diffused spotlight on Emma as she swam. Once again, Tom stood in the shadows, breathing with her, stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, breathe.
He didn't know how long he stood there watching—five minutes, ten. Maybe longer. He didn't care. He didn't want this to end. He forgot the fight, the pain in his head. He was transfixed by the vision of her.
She finished swimming and got out, her hands wiping the excess water from her body, slicking back her hair. She toweled the rest off, rubbing vigorously, her legs, her ass, her back, the silky triangle. Then she put on her robe and walked across the lawn toward the house in her bare feet.
He didn't run away this time; he couldn't, he was frozen. Instead, he moved deeper into the shadows, hugging the far wall. Emma came up on the deck, hesitated for a moment as if she had forgotten something, then opened the French doors and started to go into the house.
And then she turned, came back onto the deck, and walked toward him.
“How long have you been here?” she asked. Her voice wasn't angry or accusatory; it was almost playful. She had an enigmatic smile on her face, as if they were playing hide-and-seek.
Then she saw him, saw his battered face. “My God!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “What happened to you?”
“Got in a fight,” he muttered. He turned to go back into the house.
“Wait.” She grabbed his arm and turned him around to face her. Carefully, she put a hand to his cheek. “Is anything broken?” she asked.
“I don't think so. No.”
“You should have this looked at.” Her fingers lightly probed his face. He forced himself not to wince. “I'll drive you to the emergency room at UCLA.”
“No,” he said quickly. “It'll be all right. It looks worse than it is.”
She turned his face so that the moonlight caught it. He could see the concern in her eyes. “This needs to be taken care of,” she said. “Go back to your room. I'll be there in a minute.”
He sat on the edge of his bed. She knelt in front of him as she dabbed at the cuts and abrasions with an alcohol soaked cotton swab.
“Ow!” He jerked.
“Try not to move. You don't want it to get infected.”
Very gently, she began rubbing aloe vera on the bruises. “How does this feel?” she asked.
“Better.” His face hurt like hell and he knew it would feel worse tomorrow, but her touch more than made up for the pain. She was very close to him, inches away.He could smell her breath, the aroma of mouthwash. His own breathing was slow and deep.
She finished attending to his bruises and stood up. The robe slid off her body to the floor. Her hands pulled his shorts down, pushed him down onto the bed on his back She turned the light off and got on top of him, her lips moving down the length of his body, her breasts caressing his chest, thighs, his aching cock. As she took him in her mouth she swung her body around so her knees were draped over his shoulders. He grabbed her ass and buried his face in her vagina.
She knelt above him and put him into her. Leaning down onto her elbows, she took his battered face in her hands and they kissed, her hands moving on his shoulders, his hands on her behind, her back, the backs of her things. When she could feel that he was about to come she held his penis at the root until he was able to hold back, then they fucked some more.
Her orgasm came in a silent scream and he erupted inside her.
She got up and went into his bathroom. He could hear the shower running. When she came out, she was wearing robe. He was sitting on the side of the bed. She sat next to him.
“This didn't happen, Tom.’
He nodded. He knew she was going to say that.
“I can't explain why I did it. I mean, I'm not going to. I have my reasons, but I can't tell you what they are. So please don't ask me.”
He nodded.
She smiled as she touched his face. “You're going to look hell in the morning.”
“I don't care. I feel great now, that's all that counts.”
Her fingers lingered on the battered cheek. “You're a beautiful man. I can see that, so clearly.” She stood up and gathered the robe around her. “It's so sad that your father can't.” She paused. “Or won't.”
Emma brought a plate of scones and a pitcher of orange juice into the breakfast nook. With her face clean, hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looked younger than he did. If anyone who didn't know walked in on the three of us, Tom thought with a wistful longing, they'd think she and I were the couple entertaining my menopausal father, rather than the other way around.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked Tom with a bland pleasantness. She poured coffee into his cup, then looked him full in the face. Her eyes were guileless, betraying, nothing. “You don't look very good, but it could have I been worse.”
“Thanks to you.” He stared back at her, forcing himself to hold her gaze.
She smiled. “You're leaving shortly?”
Tom picked up his mug. “Right after this.”
“I'm sorry your trip didn't work out.”
There was a delicate vein running down the side of her throat. Tom watched it pulsating. He could feel an electric curtain of tension between them. “It wasn't a complete bust, as you know,” he told her. “I learned some things I needed to know.”
Their conversation came to an abrupt halt as Walt came into the kitchen. “How's everybody this morning—” He stopped as he saw Tom's swollen face. “My God! What happened to you?”
“Ran into a buzzsaw.”
“Are you all right?” Walt asked with concern. “Did you see a doctor?”
Tom shook his head. He glanced quickly at Emma. “I had it taken care of. It looks worse than it is.”
“Jesus,” Walt exclaimed. “That's awful.”
“It doesn't feel that bad,” Tom assured him. “Really.”
“Good,” Walt answered. He sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee. Then he looked at Tom again. “Emma gave me a hell of a tongue-lashing after you left last night.”
A stinging retort popped into Tom's head, but he kept his mouth shut.
“Walt…” Emma stood with her back against the stove.
“Which I deserved. I don't know what got into me, Tom. I just …” He shook his head. “I want so much for you, for all of you. But I'm so inept at expressing it. I really apologize Tom.” He blew on his coffee. “We have to bury the hatchet. You can't go home with things as they are.”
Tom was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Bracing himself, he walked over and sat down opposite walt.
“I’ ll see you before you leave,” Emma said to Tom. “okay,” Tom said. “Thanks for everything.”
“it was my
pleasure.”
She left the room. He watched her go.
“What time's your flight?” Walt asked, oblivious to the electric storm raging above his head.
“Ten thirty.”
“You'll have to leave soon, then. Security at LAX is a hear. My last flight, it took over two hours to clear.” Walt shifted in his seat. “Listen, Tom …”
Here it comes, Tom thought. The opening of the vein.
I don't care what you do,” Walt said earnestly. “Drive a dump truck, play in a rock band, win the Nobel Prize, it does’t matter to me, it really doesn't. I only want you thing, and I mean this straight from the heart. I want you to be happy I want you to find love.”
You sure have a piss-poor way of expressing it, Tom thought. “That's what parents are supposed to want for their children, isn't it?”
His father's eyes flickered a moment. “Yes. But too often, as I did earlier, you forget that. It's so simple and basic you take it for granted. You get hung up in careers and goals and all the crap that in the long run doesn't mean a damn thing.” He paused for a moment. “Like I did.”
“You were happy. You found love.”
Walt nodded. “Yes, I did. I was amazingly lucky. They go together, happiness and love, because when you have love, you are happy. The rest, as the old rabbis are supposed to have said, is commentary. The trick, and this is the hard part, is to remember it, to not forget, to not take it for granted.”
He slumped back. ‘Too often I took your mother for granted. Everyone takes things for granted, but that's no excuse.” He pounded his open fist on the table. “You have to keep remembering it, remembering it, remembering it.”
The vehemence of Walt's expression and feeling knocked Tom off-stride. “Mom loved you, dad.” The words sounded trite in his ear, but he couldn't think of anything better to say.
“I know,” Walt said, almost in irritation, as if he needed to get this sentiment out as fast as he could, without interruption, or it would vanish. “That's not the point The same thing applies to you, how I feel toward you Getting your doctorate will be a great accomplishment but that's a thing, a credential, a compilation of knowledge. All admirable, yes. But that's not love.”
Fallen Idols Page 20
