Dirty Cops Next Door

by Summer Cooper

  3

  She had to admit, the ballroom always looked like another, more magical world for these events.

  She always felt like anything could happen on these nights, like someone might appear and sweep her away on a grand adventure. It was always these nights, where the staircase dividing the two floors of the ballroom were lit romantically with candles that were cradled in old antique lanterns, and the chandelier was alight and glittering, sending fractals of light shimmering on the dance floor below them, that she got the most creative inspiration for her games. The balconies on the second floor, wrapping around the space and showing off the gorgeous city lights were given their own lanterns, the tall French style doors pulled open to let the summer air in. Everything was awash in golden light, and felt like it was another time, and another place, and she practically felt like royalty as she stepped gracefully down the steps toward where most of the attendees were congregated, around the largely sparse dance floor.

  She hummed along with the quartet of strings that played in the corner, and relished in the thrum of the melody reverberating in her chest as she reached the first floor of the ballroom. Sharp amber eyes scanning the crowd for signs of her brother, she eventually saw him chatting amicably with another man their age, no doubt one of the friends he was referring to. The man was tall, almost taller than her brother, and had short, dark curls sat atop his head. His skin was a lovely olive color, and he had the loveliest topaz eyes that were glittering with laughter over something her brother had said. He must have noticed her before her brother did, as he nodded in her direction before her brother finally turned to notice her, and began waving her over. By the time she was beside the two men, Charles already had a delicate flute of champagne held in his hand for her, that she took with a soft, 'thank you,' and began to sip delicately on to delay her need to talk to this other man she didn't know.

  “Clara! So glad you could make it!” Charles said with a broad grin. “I was hoping you'd come soon! I want to introduce you to a dear friend of mine from university,” he gestured to the man she had seen him conversing with, and felt her heart flutter, just a little, at realizing that she was going to have to talk to this inarguably handsome man. Judging from the way he smirked at her, he knew he was handsome, and something in her flared in anger at his cockiness.

  “Daryl Marley, of Marley Medications,” he said, hand outstretched for her to shake. She took it in her own, but couldn't hold back the gasp of surprise when he bent and kissed her knuckles. In spite of his arrogance, she felt a vague fluttering in her chest. Curse this man for his wily ways! The nerve!

  “Clara Evans,” she said evenly, in a tone that she hoped harbored no misconceptions of attraction on her part; he was pretty, to be sure, but he already seemed far too arrogant for her liking. “You strike me as familiar – have we met before?”

  “A few times, briefly,” she found herself curious as to why the smile he shot at her hadn't quite reached his otherwise bright eyes. What was the story behind that? “But we've not necessarily spoken too much.”

  “I see,” was he disappointed that they hadn't talked before? It was so hard to say.

  “How has the business been, then? Thames Pharmaceuticals not giving you too much trouble, I hope?” Charles piped up, clearly eager to change the subject, and ensuring that her curiosity would not be sated for the night on the subject. She made a mental note to ask him about that later, after everyone had already left.

  “Of course not, no,” Daryl said, smoothly transitioning onto the clearly lighter subject. “They wouldn't dare make any form of medication that isn't name brand, for fear of, 'tainting the waters,' as it were,” he said with an eye roll. “Their loss. Thanks to their lack of competition in the market, our profits are the best they've been in a long time, and we're helping more people this way than if we didn't manufacture off brand medicines.” She sipped at her champagne, glad that at least he's partially interested in helping those in need of medicine over profits, even if the two weren't mutually exclusive. Perhaps she had been too judgmental? If she were honest, that was entirely likely. “So, Clara,” Daryl said, returning his attention to her. “What is it that you do?”

  The question was an innocent one, and likely one that he expected the usual answer to – 'oh, I run a portion of my parent's company and am incredibly successful,' or, 'oh, I'm an entrepreneur and I make a lot of money doing it,' not the answer she was going to give. But all the same, she owed it to herself to be honest about her career, to own up to what she was doing, and by God, she was going to be proud of it.

  “I, ah,” she said, already not starting off on the most confident foot. “I design video games,” she dove back into her flute of bubbly alcohol, hoping that she could just hide in it until everyone went away that she might not have to face another judgmental stare like the last time she boasted about her career at one of these soirées.

  “Oh?” Daryl said with a curious tilt of his head. “Is there a specialty that you're best at, in terms of making them, or are you a jack of all trades kind of developer?” She blinked owlishly at him, surprised that he was even remotely interested in what her career entailed.

  “I'm mostly a writer for games,” she said, feeling the flush on her face and not sure whether or not it was from embarrassment or from the champagne. Perhaps it was both, but it was hard to say at this point. “But I'm not with a studio right now, so I'm solo developing a game at the moment.”

  “By yourself?” Daryl said, clearly surprised. “That's incredible! I wouldn't have the foggiest idea where to even begin!” He smiled kindly to her. “You must be incredibly talented and creative.”

  “Flattery?” She heard herself say in a sarcastic droll. “And obvious flattery, but I appreciate the compliment all the same.” Oh, she was flirting – the exact opposite of what she wanted to do; he was indulging her need for acknowledgement in her career, and she was so starved for it that she was lapping it up, nothing more, she had to firmly remind herself.

  “And such a sharp wit!” Daryl threw his head back with a deep rumble of laughter, and she caught herself staring at the bob of his Adam's apple when his chuckling dissolved into another sip of champagne. She grimaced, realizing that while there was certainly more to him, he was certainly doing little to dissuade her from thinking him arrogant and cocksure. Charles excused himself from the conversation discreetly, being called upon by another of the patrons, no doubt to gush over the ball and how much this particular old bitty would donate, leaving her to converse with Daryl alone. “Join me on the balcony? I feel as though it's getting a little too crowded here.”

  “I suppose you're right,” the more intimate setting that the balcony provided wasn't lost on her, but even she could see that it was going to become harder to hear, both Daryl, and her brother. With a touch on her brother's arm, she informed him where they were going, and to meet them there when he was finished. With an affirmative nod from him before he returned to his conversation, she accepted Daryl's offered arm, and they wove their way through the crowd.

  4

  “Ah,” he breathed softly as the night air hit them. Even she took an appreciative deep breath, noticing how much fresher the air was out here, as opposed to the warm, stuffiness inside. “You know,” he said with a grin. “I think it started getting stuffy in there because of the snobs showing up.” She barked out a surprised laugh in spite of herself.

  “And you don't count yourself among them?” She asked, and even she had to admit, it came across far more snidely than she had intended.

  “A snob? Hardly,” he said with a dismissive hand wave.

  “Could have fooled me,” she grumbled. He turned to her, a surprised hurt in his eyes that wasn't quite masked.

  “I fear you have the wrong impression of me,” he said, all pretense of joking gone.

  “Perhaps,” she sighed. “You did express interest in my work, rather than the usual disdain these affairs garner for it. Even if it was just to appeal to me, it
was appreciated.” He flinched.

  “Well,” he said, finger skimming the rim of his champagne flute. “I wanted to catch your eye. Such a lovely woman would-”

  “You're wasting your time if that's all you're after,” she snapped, and he already looked like he realized too late that he said the wrong thing. “You may not see yourself as arrogant, but it's hard to see you as anything else when you think you're simply owed having someone like me on your arm, like it'll do me a favor.” She gave herself a mental pat on the back when she didn't raise her voice even the slightest, and didn't show the entirety of her anger, and kept her poise.

  “It's just that,” he was floundering, clearly, and she took no small amount of satisfaction in that fact. “I'm not used to communicating like this-”

  “Clearly.”

  “-but I want to learn how,” the honesty surprised her, but replaying the conversation, she could see him not really being socially savvy. Maybe he really hadn't thought he was coming across as arrogant?

  “I'm glad to hear it,” she said, but still kept her distance. “In the meantime, I would ask you to keep things cordial, not flirtatious.”

  “I can respect that,” he said with a nod, taking an extra step back from her to prove the point. “Consider me as cordial as a cherry,” she laughed without any bite behind it at the pun.

  “See? I already like you more,” they both grinned broadly. “No one in this crowd appreciates a good pun or a lame joke here or there.”

  “It was going to be my fall back plan if I couldn't tell if you liked my flirting, to be honest,” he said sheepishly, a smile tugging at his lips.

  “Putting on a front isn't the way to get someone to fall for you,” she said, sipping the last of her champagne and placing her empty flute on a tray of a passing waiter. “Then, if they do grow interested, they're interested in this person that you're not, and it'll just end in you both being hurt,” she flinched, and already wished she had another flute of champagne to down in a far less delicate manner than she had treated the last one; she was treading old territory, and reopening wounds that had been mostly healed.

  5

  “It sounds like you come from experience,” he said softly, leaning backwards against the railing of the balcony, still respecting her space. She appreciated that, if she were being honest.

  “It's a lesson learned the hard way, more often than not,” she sighed, remembering all of the boyfriends, the girlfriends, the almost and could have been that had come before, when she had still been eager to please her mother and had bought into the idea that she needed someone to be happy. “I used to think I was incomplete without someone,” she sighed. “I was wrong. I needed to be happy with myself, and what I had to offer myself, before I could even contemplate being with anyone else in any serious capacity.”

  “Sounds like an important lesson,” he said. “More champagne?” He asked, flagging down one of the waiters politely that was carrying a tray full of flutes.

  “Sure,” she said with a nod, glad that he was offering so it seemed less like she was too eager to drown out her feelings in liquor. He gently took two flutes of the bubbly liquor and said a quiet, 'thank you,' to the waiter before handing her one of the flutes. She took it with a flourish, already liking Daryl more and more now that he wasn't pretending to be someone that he wasn't.

  “Have you?” He asked, head tilted in curiosity. “Grown happy with yourself, I mean.”

  “I feel that I have,” she said with a nod. “Even if no one captures my heart, I'll at least be content with my own company.”

  “You're right,” he said quietly, turning to rest his forearms on the balcony ledge as he looked out over the city with its bright lights and glimmering stars. “You absolutely have to be alright with yourself, before you try anything with anyone,” he laughed without mirth and drank some of his fresh flute of champagne. “I had finally made peace with myself, and I thought...” he grimaced, as he floundered for words.

  “You thought that meant that you were ready to have someone by your side, and you rushed to find that someone.”

  “That's...” he blinked owlishly at her. “Not an unfair way of putting it. I hadn't realized that was how I felt about it, but there it is.” She noted that his speech was achingly formal, and wondered if he had been forced to take speech classes. As long as he kept talking in that soft English accent of his, she didn't mind in the slightest.

  6

  “You're from Charles' business school days, right?” She asked. “When he attended a school in Salisbury?”

  “The very same,” he said with a nod. “I have to admit, I was a bit surprised that he saw any point in going to a school so far away from his home, but I'm grateful for it; he's been one of my truest friends, and I feel as though I couldn't have asked for better council on matters.”

  “He's always been like that,” she said with a laugh. “The whole reason he's the one set to inherit the business is because I didn't want to. He's always looked out for me like that.”

  “He spoke of you before, mostly when you would have just hung up on a call with him back in college.” He laughed. “He was so pleasantly surprised that you sent him a care package of baked goods that he nearly cried into his brownies!”

  “Oh!” She tittered a laugh behind her hand. “I had no idea those meant so much to him!”

  “He insisted I try some of the things you made him,” Daryl said around another bout of chuckles. “I think it was so he wouldn't eat all of them.”

  “Sounds like him,” she let her laughter die down with a sigh. “I haven't really baked anything since I sent him that package. I've mostly just gone spelunking in my spare time.”

  “Spelunking?” He asked, eyes wide. “Like going to run down places and exploring?” She nodded. “That's incredible! But it must be dangerous!”

  “Eh,” she shrugged. “I like to live on the wild side,” Clara said simply, slipping beside him against the railing, closer than they were before. “'After all, 'one way to get the most out of life is to look upon it as an adventure,'” Daryl threw his head back and let out a surprised laugh.

  “Quoting William Feather on me? I was beginning to think no one else still read his work but me,” he chuckled again. “Consider me enamored,” his eyes widened. “I'm sorry, I didn't-”

  “That's alright,” she smiled, “I'm more open to discussion with the real Daryl.” He smiled so broadly his eyes crinkled at the corners, and they continued their discussion. She smiled, listening intently to him mention some of his favorite literary works. Many of which, she realized with a start, weren't far off, or were, in fact, some of her favorites as well. Something akin to a knot of tension she hadn't realized had built up eased when she saw that they had several things in common.

  “It's so refreshing to just talk about literature. I had no idea someone else enjoyed the deeper themes of the Hatter M series,” she said earnestly after she polished off her champagne. While she had been so adverse to speaking with him before, she found that she was steadily growing more relaxed with him, like they had known each other for years and could tell each other anything. The thought was as frightening as it was exhilarating, she had to admit.

  “Oh, likewise,” he said with a decisive nod. “Besides Charles, I'm often stuck listening to older people drone on about the stock market, or their numbers for the quarter.” They chuckled softly.

  “I'm so used to having to talk all business with my colleagues in the office, and when we aren't discussing business, I swear the only thing they want to talk about is how much they've been watching of the latest reality show! Why, it's enough that sometimes I just want to get away from it all,” she said with a sad, wistful smile.

  “I can sympathize. Sometimes, it's all I can do not to just pack my bags, delegate all of my work, and buy a plane ticket to anywhere that isn't my office.” His heartfelt confession startled her, but she knew she felt that way more often than not after a long day at work- especially no
w that she had no one to tie her down. She gasped when he laid a warm hand on her arm. He sighed softly, mostly to himself. “Somewhere, along the way, we forget to try and find happiness outside of our work. And then, our work is all we have,” he looked into her eyes, really looked into her eyes, and she felt her walls begin to crumble. Damn him for his charms, and his stupid sexy accent! “I don't want to become that. Yet, any other time I've tried to let another in, they never stay because they share my interests – they always try to stay because I have money, and I'm a safe option,” He scrubbed a hand over his face, and she saw how much such things positively wore on him. Something in the hollow of her chest ached for him in that moment.

  7

  “I'm...always reluctant to let anyone else in,” she admitted, much to her surprise. “It's only been about a year since my last relationship, but...” she struggled to find the words. Finally, she opted to just explain what always held her back, so that he might understand. “He was my high school sweetheart. We had been together for all of high school, and we had grown up together.” She sniffled. “I was so sure it was going to be him and me, forever, but when it came time for us to part ways for college, he decided that he didn't want to be tied down.” He offered her a handkerchief, which she took with a soft, 'thank you,' before dabbing at her eyes.