Strip Me Bare

by M. Never

  “And you’re right back to your old bullshit!” Ryan unloads.

  “It’s one little pill, it’s harmless.”

  “It’s not the one little pill I’m worried about, it’s the bag of little pills I’m sure you have stuffed in your pocket,” Ryan accuses. “And keep that crap away from Alana! What the fuck are you thinking?”

  He’s not.

  “She wasn’t going to take it, she’s too good for that.”

  Oh, dig. I’m not offended.

  “You’re goddamn right she’s too good, she’s too good for any of this,” Ryan fumes.

  “Don’t you mean she’s too good for you?” Sean gets in Ryan’s face, provoking him. “Finally seeing the forest for the trees, brother?”

  I hear the whack before I even realize Ryan’s fist is flying through the air. He clocks Sean right in the mouth, putting him on his ass, and then he goes down after him.

  Holy shit!

  Sean and Ryan brawl right there on the floor, throwing one vicious punch after the other, blood splattering all over the shiny square table, white leather couch, and poor comatose Jill. It looks like a crime scene. In one great rush every guy in the room swarms them, eventually pulling them apart. Sean’s lip is bleeding and so is Ryan’s eye.

  “Get him out of here!” Ryan roars, and it doesn’t even sound like him. His voice is hoarse and hostile, and I finally get a glimpse of Ryan from the past, the one who had to fight for his life every day for three long years.

  Ryan rips his arms free from the two dancers holding him back, as Sean is dragged out of the room. Everyone is staring with wide eyes and gaping mouths. Ryan snatches my hand under the scrutiny and hauls me outside, dragging me down the dark hallway until we reach two steps that lead to another camouflaged door. Geez, there are secret entrances all over this building. He tows me inside then slams the door behind us, squeezing the shit out of my hand the whole time.

  “Ryan,” I call his name as he bangs the back of his head against the door. “Ryan, please, calm down.” I place my hands on his shoulders, but he ignores me, instead standing there with clenched fists and a tense body.

  “I can’t, Alana,” he forces out through gritted teeth. “He just makes me so fucking angry!”

  “I know, but he’s gone, and I’m here.” I grip his shoulders. It’s scary to see him like this, but I know the only way to calm him down is to be cool and collected myself.

  “Alana, just talk to me,” Ryan squeezes his eyes shut. “I just need to hear the sound of your voice.”

  “Okay, if that’s what you want,” I speak soothingly, as I rack my brain for something to say. I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind: “I want that bed.”

  Ryan opens his eyes confused. “What bed?”

  “The bed in the B and B. I love it.”

  Ryan gapes at me. “What?”

  “Yes, I love it, and I want one.”

  “Okay,” he blinks blankly. I think my distraction may be working. I think. I wipe some of the blood away from his eye then slip my arms around his neck and hug him tightly. “Are you okay?”

  “No.” He heaves a heavy sigh, then slides his hands around my waist. “Shit.” He drops his head into the crook of my neck morosely. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For losing my shit. I never wanted you to see that side of me.” His voice is a tad calmer now.

  “The badass side? Why not?”

  “For the same reason I didn’t want you knowing I was in jail.”

  “You’re ashamed of it?”

  He nods, his silence oppressive.

  “Ryan, it’s okay,” I reassure him.

  “It’s not okay.” He snaps his head up, his stare suddenly juiced with electricity.

  “Why isn’t it okay? You got angry. It happens.”

  Ryan turns his head, breathing through his nose heavily.

  I stare blatantly at him, but he refuses to look me in the eye.

  “Ryan . . . ?” What’s really bothering him? The fact he lost his shit or is it something more? “You don’t believe what Sean said, do you?” I probe.

  He frowns. “Sometimes, I wonder.”

  “Ryan.” I grab his face and force him to look at me. “You are good enough. Don’t let Sean get in your head.”

  “I’m a stripper, Alana.”

  “That’s not who you are, and we both know it,” I argue sternly. “Nothing’s changed, not the way I see you, and not the way I feel about you. And Sean deserved that punch in the face, he’s been playing mind games all night. With me and with you.”

  “What? Why didn’t you say something, Alana?”

  “Because I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself. Besides, you have enough shit to deal with when it comes to him. You don’t need to add me to the rotation.”

  “Fucking Sean,” Ryan gripes, dropping his head against the door. Bang. Bang. Bang. Once again. He better stop that or he’s going to give himself a concussion.

  Ryan doesn’t speak, or move, or rip his eyes away from the ceiling. By the looks of it, we could be standing here ’til sunrise.

  “I’m sorry I ruined Jill’s party,” he finally mutters after some time has passed.

  “You didn’t ruin it. She was unconscious. She’ll never be the wiser. And if I know Jill, she’s going to be pissed she missed the action. I’m pretty sure she would’ve been the first one taking bets if she had been awake.”

  Ryan snickers and hugs me tighter. I love that feeling. I love being close. I love no boundaries.

  “Alana?” Ryan murmurs.

  “Mmm?” I rest my head on his shoulder, content.

  “You didn’t give me a straight answer.”

  “A straight answer to what, Ryan?”

  “To marrying me.”

  “You’re right, because I don’t recall you ever formally asking me to marry you.”

  I STARE OUT over Manhattan from my uncle’s office in the sky, wondering what it will be like to look at the bright lights of Vegas instead of New York.

  I’ve interned at Remington, Lincoln, Anderson, and Steele for the last two and a half years during every semester break and every summer vacation. To call it an enlightening experience would be a dramatic understatement. My on-the-job training at one of the most prestigious law firms in New York City has put me light years ahead of my classmates. Two years ago I was looking for an edge; today I have one.

  “There’s one of my favorite girls,” my uncle hums happily from behind me, spurring me to turn around.

  “Afternoon, Uncle John,” I giggle sweetly as he sits down and shuffles the papers on his desk. “Can I help you find something?”

  “Nope.” He casually picks up a piece of paper and smiles. “What’s on your agenda today?”

  “Legal research. I’m assisting some of the associates on the Ericson case.”

  “The wrongful termination suit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, good.” My uncle is pleased. “Alana?” He swivels purposefully in his chair.

  “Yes?” I lean on the edge of his desk facing the window.

  “Have you started applying for first-year positions yet?”

  “Um, yes, I sent out a few applications last week.”

  Before I knew I was moving to Las Vegas.

  “I see. Is there a firm you have your heart set on?” He steeples his fingers and rests them on his lips thoughtfully.

  Yes, yours.

  “I have a few in mind, why?” I bat my eyelashes.

  “Would you consider taking a job here?” He fishes.

  “Here?” I squeak.

  “Yes, you’ve impressed every partner at this firm. There’s no challenge you haven’t risen to, and when I approached them with this request, they agreed unanimously.”

  I stare at my uncle in disbelief. A week ago I would have jumped through the window to accept his offer. But now? Everything’s different.

  Worst. Timing. Ever.

  I dr
op my head and sigh. “Uncle John, you have no idea how badly I want to say yes—”

  “But,” he interrupts.

  “But . . . Ryan was offered a huge job opportunity in Las Vegas.”

  “Las Vegas?” he grunts. “I take it it’s not for graphic design.”

  “No,” I snicker.

  “Is that what you want, Alana? To go to Vegas?”

  I look down at him timidly and shrug. “I want Ryan.”

  “I see.” He peers out the window contemplatively.

  “Do you think that’s a bad decision? To go with him?” I’m not looking for anyone’s approval, but it would be nice to have some support. Even if it’s just a little. A minuscule amount.

  “I can’t answer that, Alana. Only you can.” His chair squeaks a little as he rocks back in it.

  “I don’t think it is,” I conclude. “It may not have been part of my master plan, but life throws curve balls, right? And I don’t want to look back one day and think what if. And I don’t want Ryan to, either. He’s not asking me to give up anything, I can still practice in Las Vegas,” I argue with a hint of disenchantment in my voice.

  “But it’s not New York.” My uncle immediately picks up on the lack of the enthusiasm in my voice.

  “Nothing’s New York, but it won’t be permanent. We’ll move back eventually.”

  “Well.” One corner of my uncle’s mouth curves up. “You’ve certainly convinced me. I have a law school buddy out there. I’ll see if he’s in the market for a stellar first year who’s way too smart to be practicing in Vegas.”

  I smile slyly.

  “What’s that look for?” He takes out his pocket watch and glances at the time.

  “Ryan thought you might have a friend who could help me out with a job.”

  “Did he now?”

  “He’s not just a pretty face,” I hum.

  “Neither are you.” My Uncle John stands and kisses my forehead. “I have a lunch date to get to.”

  “Anyone I know?” I joke as I start to organize his desk.

  My uncle pauses as he slips on his jacket, a twinkle in his eye.

  I regard him quizzically. “Now what’s that look for?”

  He just pouts his bottom lip and shakes his head. “What look?”

  “Uncle John—” I raise my eyebrows fully aware he’s playing me.

  “Goodbye, Alana,” he responds lightheartedly and heads for the door.

  “Bye, Uncle John.” I shake my head. That man, I love him.

  “Oh, by the way.” He taps on the door frame. “The job will be waiting for you when you get back.” He winks before disappearing.

  I smile. Christmas just came two days early this year.

  “I feel terrible leaving you.” I pout as I slip on my jacket.

  “It’s only for a few hours, and then you’ll be back in my clutches.” Ryan clutches my hips, digging his fingertips into my waist.

  “If it were up to me, I’d let you hold me for ransom.”

  “Hey, your father is rich enough, he could pay,” Ryan jests.

  Every year my family has Christmas dinner at the Waldorf Astoria. My uncle and his partners rent out a small ballroom for the entire firm and their families. It’s been a tradition for as long as I can remember. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of Emily and me all dolled up in beautiful Christmas dresses, running around an extravagant ballroom decorated with twinkling lights, elegant trees, and lavishly wrapped presents. They’re also the nights I remember my mom most vividly. She was so striking, big, blue eyes and long, blonde hair just like mine. And when she smiled it felt like an embrace. The love just wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

  “Hey?” Ryan rubs my cheek. “Where’d you go?”

  I look up at him, not even realizing I was daydreaming. “I was just thinking about my mom,” I admit wistfully.

  “You miss her?”

  “Tonight, I do.”

  “I know how you feel,” Ryan sighs.

  “Then why don’t you go see your mother, Ryan? It is Christmas, after all.”

  Ryan shakes his head sternly. “I’ll call her. I’d much rather be alone with your pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree.”

  “Can you stop hating on the tree?”

  “I can’t, it looks like the Grinch stole Christmas in here.” He curls his lip.

  I roll my eyes. “What can I say? I’m no Martha Stewart.”

  “Clearly not.” He delivers a swift, loving kiss on my lips, and then off I go.

  I hop in the cab and stare out the window as it heads toward the Waldorf. I’m dressed in a long, dark blue, formal party dress, with a five-point crisscross back. It’s elegant with just a hint of flash. My hair is down and wavy, and my makeup is only slightly dramatic; too over-the-top and my father will be displeased. And nobody wants that, especially me. I think about Ryan as the lights on the crosswalks flash and people walk by. He’s only seen his mother a handful of times over the last few years. Her birthday, a holiday here and there, but for the most part, he avoids her. He still holds so much resentment. I know what she did was wrong, begging him to take Sean’s place, but he has the one thing I would give almost anything for . . . a mother who’s living, breathing, flesh and blood.

  I live in the city, and I’m the last one of my family to arrive, go figure. My Uncle John and Aunt Caroline, Emily, Alex, and my father are all seated around a gorgeously set table in the middle of a small ballroom. Waitstaff, donned in white gloves carrying silver trays are floating around the room serving hors d’oeuvres and pouring drinks, while Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas” plays in the background.

  I sit down to four warm smiles and one brooding face.

  “Nice of you to join us, Alana,” my father comments coolly.

  “There was traffic, I’ll leave earlier next time,” I apologize.

  My uncle shoots me a clandestine look, no doubt thinking that I won’t be seeing my father next Christmas, or any other Christmas, after he finds out I’m running off to Vegas with a male stripper.

  To each their own, right? My father will never see it that way. Our time as a family is limited. It breaks my heart as much as it sets me free.

  The night breezes by as we dine on an extravagant dinner. As the first course is served—baked pear and roasted beet salad—the conversation at the table flows steadily. By the time the main course arrives, Beef Wellington atop whipped mashed potatoes with a side of Brussels sprouts and candied cranberries in a sweet brandy glaze, my father has gone in-depth about his latest courtroom endeavors and newest investments. Emily feigns a yawn. My father is not the most social of butterflies, and casual conversation is sometimes difficult for him. Sports Center and reality TV don’t rank high on his DVR list. He is brilliant, though, and along with being a judge, he’s a shrewd businessman who loves to dabble in the stock market.

  When dessert arrives, it’s a holy experience on a plate—decadent chocolate cake topped with peppermint drizzle and a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream.

  I almost can’t believe how fast the night has come and gone. And before I know it I’m saying my goodbyes. My father helps me slip on my coat before we officially depart the hotel.

  We walk silently, side by side, through the extravagant lobby that’s all high ceilings and beautiful white marble.

  “Alana.” My father stops me, just before we stride outside into the cold city air. “I’ve secured you a job after you graduate,” he announces in his businesslike demeanor.

  “A job?” I question.

  “Yes, in the prosecutor’s office.”

  “The prosecutor’s office?” I repeat, watching my tone. “I barely know anything about criminal law.”

  “You’ll learn, you’re smart and on-the-job training is the most informative classroom.”

  “But, Daddy—”

  “Alana,” he silences me with sharp breath. “You will accept this job I went out on a limb to get you. It will be a stepping stone into a judi
cial position.”

  “A judge?” I almost choke. I’ve never even considered the possibility. My dream is to litigate big cases for huge corporations and high-profile clients. I don’t want to try criminals, carry a huge caseload or be pigeonholed. “Daddy, I don’t think—”

  He interrupts me again, “Alana, I don’t think I was clear. You will take this job, otherwise you may find yourself in the bursar’s office explaining to them why a tuition check never materialized.”

  I shut my mouth immediately. This is my father, truly and fundamentally. My way or the highway. I see red as I look at him, but I keep my emotions in check.

  “Yes, Daddy,” I submit, dying inside, as I turn to walk out of the building.

  “Alana,” he calls before I make it to the door. I turn slowly to look at him, battling to keep my breathing even. He digs around the inside pocket of his long, formal dress coat before pulling out a small box. “Merry Christmas.” He holds the present out in the palm of his hand, it’s wrapped in shiny silver paper with a glittery gold bow. There’s not one ounce of emotion on his face as I stand there staring at his offering. I finally take the gift and open it right there on the spot. Inside, is a pair of large, square, sparkling diamond studs. They’re absolutely flawless and reflect off every light in the room.

  “They’re beautiful, thank you,” I force out, because they are, and I love them, even though I hate him right now.

  “They were your mother’s,” he adds aloofly, and then walks right past me and out the door.

  My heart aches, I miss her so much.

  I stand there in the middle of one of the world’s most renowned hotels, and watch solemnly as my father slips into his town car. I’m nothing but utterly numb, emotionally segregated, and physically dismissed as dozens of people drunk on holiday spirit come and go around me. I stare down at the little piece of my mother I’m holding in my hand, and wonder how in the hell did a woman like her ever love a man like him.

  I walk into my dark apartment. It’s only 11:30, I didn’t expect Ryan to be sleeping. “Ryan,” I call as I unbutton my coat without receiving a response. Suddenly, lights pop on- Christmas tree lights. Gleaming in the middle of my living room is a six-foot tall, fully decorated tree.