by Lucy Gage
If her room at The Debussy was a luxury bedroom, the penthouse was a sophisticated, grand apartment. From where she sat, she saw the entrance to a full kitchen and doors to what she suspected were the three bedroom suites. Like her own room, all the furnishings were in cream and burgundy, comfortable but elegant, and abundantly appointed with pillows.
The walls sported real chair rails, a tasteful burgundy paint, and art work that looked like they were originals or at the very least, high-end giclee prints. The ceilings were vaulted, comprising at least two stories, with murals painted in the coves, most of which were pastoral scenes. She supposed they were intended to mimic great European chateaus, but given that it was constructed this century, the owners had opted for secular, rather than religious. themes.
Emily was staring at the ceiling, trying to determine the artist's influence, when Rob returned. He held a bottle of champagne and two glasses in his hands, and had a t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants tossed over his shoulder. It was a contradiction if ever she'd seen one – the champagne looked like it belonged with the striking brunette man in the perfectly tailored jeans and cashmere sweater, but the relaxed look on his face said that the clothes over his shoulder were the ones he really loved. They appeared well-worn but still wearable.
“They're actually regional landscapes,” he said, gesturing with his chin toward the ceiling as his gaze shot briefly upward. “One of the things I love about staying here is that I get to look up at scenes from some of my best childhood memories every time I stay. The works on the wall are all originals, too. It's a local artist, Christin Willow, who got the commission for all this work. You'll probably meet her at the gala. She's a big patron of the Walker and a local celebrity.”
“So all this is original?” Emily rose from her spot on the plush, cream sofa to look at the works on the wall. As an art history major, she loved every chance to see the real deal, and it wasn't often that she saw it outside a museum or a gallery. She had not been born of privilege. Though she knew many artists in Portland, most of them had day jobs and were not self-supporting, so they sold everything they created.
“Not only original, but it was all commissioned specifically for this suite. When they built the hotel, the owners made a lot of effort to use local talent in every facet of the project. It's a real testament to the fact that talented artists and craftspeople live in the Midwest, too.”
Emily smiled at him and kept looking at the paintings. She admired the brushstrokes and the fact that the work had a completely different feel when it was observed up close versus from 10 or even 20 feet away. “She's very talented. I can see she has a good sense of both the big picture and the importance of detail. I really hope she'll be at the gala. I'd love to discuss her work with her.”
Rob gave her the grin she had started to feel was just for her. Her expression must have said, What? because he laughed softly and said, “I keep finding more layers I like under the ones I've already seen. You're like a great work of art yourself, do you know that?”
Emily blushed for what she thought must have been the hundredth time that night. “You certainly know how to flatter a girl.”
“I'm not trying to flatter you.” He walked up behind her and put his arms around her waist. “I meant every word I've said. I keep shaking my head and wondering how I got so lucky as to run into you earlier today.”
The last part he said into her ear as he kissed her neck. She began to melt into him and he turned her around, kissing her gently and pushing her hair away from her face. “If you'd like to keep looking at the art, I'll give you some time for that, but I promise that as long as I'm staying in the suite, you're welcome to come back and look more later.”
Emily chuckled. “Are you trying to get me to make out with you again instead of wandering through your suite like it's a gallery?”
“Guilty. Maybe I can entice you to the bedroom by telling you there are original photographs by Mitchom St. Clair in there.”
“Ah, is that a trick?”
“No, it's true. Each of the bedroom suites in the penthouse has original photographs by local artists. Mitch is originally from St. Paul, even though he lives in L.A. now.”
“Mitch? What, do you know him?” She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to hanging around famous people. Rob was so normal in so many ways, he just didn't seem like he was famous himself, let alone that he moved in those type of circles.
“Yeah, actually, he's my neighbor in L.A. We had the same real estate agent and that's how we met. He's a great guy. A little bit of a hippie, but I'm sure you knew that, right? You might not have known anything about me, but I'm sure you studied Mitch in school.”
Slightly embarrassed that her pop culture knowledge made her seem a little more elitist than she really was, Emily blushed again, but this time, it wasn't due to flattery. She felt like she should explain herself, though she hadn't thought he was insulting her.
“You have to understand, my life for the past seven years has been all about art, except the parts that were about Josh and my family. And since Josh is not all that interested in pop culture of any sort unless it involves nature or machines that drive through it, I wouldn't have absorbed by osmosis anything about movies or celebrity. What little I've heard or seen has been brief glimpses on TV or from my sister, Charlie, who is a closet tabloid junkie. It's one of the habits she shares with my mom, and over the years, I've learned to tune them out when they discuss who is sleeping with whom and who is having a baby or going to rehab or having a baby in rehab. So, no offense, but that world just wasn't a priority unless it impacted my career.”
Rob laughed. “Believe me, I'm the last person to be offended that someone doesn't care about the lies and half-truths those so-called magazines print. I have an assistant whose job is to keep on top of that stuff so I'm not blindsided in interviews or on the street by some made-up story or conveniently-edited comment.”
He took her hand and led her to the door farthest from the living room. “And I'm actually glad to meet someone who helps me feel like a real person again and who can appreciate the stuff on these walls as much as I do. It's been years since I met anyone who wasn't awed by my job or celebrity or didn't seem like they were trying to get something from me. You have been a refreshing breath of clean air in the L.A. smog that is most of my life.”
He reached in and turned on a light, then gestured for her to enter the bedroom first. “This is your room for as long as I'm here, if that's what you want. Why don't you get changed and check out the photos – the ones in this room are Dina Hemingway – and then you can meet me back in the living room and we'll open that champagne.” He handed her the clothes – his clothes – kissed her forehead, then shut the door.
Emily was in awe of the work on the wall. Larger-than-life images of the tiniest details, which gave the photos a modernist look, could be recognized as some of the pieces of everyday life if pondered for a moment. There was one particularly striking image of a tree full of flowers as seen through the tines of a fork so close that they seemed like a jail cell. It hung over the bed, and the stark decor of the room (all cream, with no burgundy in sight), gave it the sterile feeling of a prison cell, until you realized what the image was, and then it felt like floating on a cloud as you looked through your fork during the perfect summer picnic.
It reminded Emily why she loved art so much – it could provoke such powerful and conflicting emotions.
She undressed slowly as she observed the other photos in the room, taking her time, not just to view the work, but to think about the conflicting feelings she was having about Rob. Should she really just jump right into something, however brief, with a practical stranger, when things were so unsettled with Josh?
On the other hand, she had never felt this visceral a connection to someone in such a short period of time. And while things were not officially over with Josh, she realized now that they had been over in her mind for a while. Otherwise, she knew she could not have kissed Rob tonig
ht without feeling guilty.
Until today, she hadn't even wanted to kiss another man in all the time she had been with Josh. That seemed to speak volumes about the man halfway across the country and the one in the other room, waiting for her to change her mind. She felt like she already knew what she needed to say to them both.
Only one of them would be happy to hear it.
Rob was a big man and Emily swam in his clothes. She had to roll the sweat pants at the waist a couple times so they wouldn't fall off her, and they still sank to her hips. The t-shirt was so long that it fit her like a mini-dress, albeit not one she'd ever wear in public. She had to laugh at the X-Men logo on the shirt. It had seen a lot of real wear, and she thought he must have had it for a long time. He was a closet geek, she realized, and that made Emily like Rob even more.
She'd always had a soft spot for geeks.
She opened the door and walked back into the living room, but didn't see Rob. One of the other doors was closed and she debated whether or not she should see if he was in the bedroom that must be his own. What would she do if he told her to come inside and he was sprawled on the bed naked? Would she run away screaming or would she jump him? Even the thought made her blush.
Just as she hesitated at the door to knock, he opened the door casually and jumped when he saw her there. “Sorry. I, um...”
He laughed. “Were you afraid I was naked in here and weren't sure if you should open the door or not?” When she didn't respond and her mouth dropped open, he said, “Your face, remember. You're very transparent. I like that. It means you'll always have a hard time lying to me. That's another refreshing thing. Usually, I only feel that certain with my family. Almost everyone in my business will tell you what you want to hear if they have to do it. I've got very few friends I can truly trust. Come on. Let's go have that champagne while it's still cold.”
They spent the next hour or so sipping a delicious champagne and talking about the galleries they had seen. Emily told him about her summer in Italy junior year and she was shocked to hear how little he had seen on his travels. Though he had been all over the world, he was so busy when he was away that it was rare for Rob to get a chance to actually see the place where he was staying. He was either on a movie set, attending a film festival, or promoting a project.
Eventually, Emily stifled a yawn and Rob noticed.
“I'm sorry. I don't mean to keep you awake. You must be exhausted,” Rob apologized.
Emily nodded. “I'm still on Eastern time, so it's nearly 2 a.m. for me. I don't usually stay up this late on a work night.”
“Well, let's get you to bed, then.” He stood, hugged her, kissed her sweetly, took her hand and walked her to her room.
“I can't wait to see you in the morning. Any idea what you want for breakfast? Or should I surprise you?” he asked.
She didn't want to leave him and a part of her wished she could just tell him to come to bed with her. But a bigger part knew that it was too soon for that, not to mention the conversation she needed to have with Josh. It was a small consolation to know he was nearby and that she would certainly see him for breakfast.
“Why don't you surprise me. I'll need to eat pretty early, though. I have to be at the museum at 9 a.m. so I have to leave when Rick gets here at eight.”
“Will seven be early enough?” She nodded. “Good. I'll see you then.”
He kissed her again, and for a moment, it was sweet and gentle. But then, at the same time, they both leaned into the kiss. Their hands wandered and caressed, their tongues searched. Rob pulled away and Em was flustered. He breathed heavily.
“I need to go. Now. Or else I won't let you sleep alone.”
He turned and walked toward his room, saying goodnight over his shoulder with a look that said he wished he was still kissing her. She watched him leave until he closed his door.
Em had a feeling neither of them would sleep well that night, but she had to try. Her career was on the line, and no matter how amazing and sexy Rob might be, she couldn't jeopardize that. She had worked too long and too hard to blow this opportunity.
For anyone.
Minneapolis, Minnesota, two days before Christmas Eve...
Emily woke to the sound of Itsty Bitsy Spider, the ring tone for her sister Annie, whose childhood nickname had been Itsy after the song she sang incessantly as a toddler. She looked at the clock as she felt for her phone on the nightstand. When she answered, she said with a groggy voice, slightly hoarse from all the talking she had done the night before, “Annie, this better be important. It's only 6 a.m. in Minneapolis.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Annie shouted.
“Well, that's a nice way to greet someone you've just woke up. And how are you this fine, very early morning?”
“This is not time for games, Em. What on God's green Earth were you thinking?”
Emily couldn't fathom what her sister meant. “What are you talking about, Annie? Maybe you can spell it out for me. I just woke up and I can't read your mind across the country.”
“Why would you do that to Josh? You've barely been gone for two days and you're already sleeping with someone else? Don't you have any shame, Em?”
“I'll repeat myself, Annie, what are you talking about? I didn't sleep with anyone but myself!”
“Really? Because the video on YouTube of you making out with Deac Roberts at The Glass Door last night sure looks like it ended up that way.”
“What video? Where did you see something like that?” Emily quickly pulled herself to a sitting position. She had kissed Rob and she did want to sleep with him, but she hadn't, primarily because of Josh.
“I got an email from Charlie five minutes ago. She found a link in her Twitter feed this morning. You know how hot Charlie thinks Deac is, so she clicks on every single link she finds about him. She couldn't resist something that said, 'Deac and new mystery woman hot and heavy at The Glass Door.' Imagine her surprise when she finds that the mystery woman is none other than her sister, who, until a couple of days ago, was living with her boyfriend of five years!”
Emily didn't know what to say. She had thought they were safe at the club – wasn't that one of the reasons he went there? It didn't occur to her that they might be seen, that word of her being with Rob would get back to her family. Being with him felt so normal in so many ways, it wasn't any different than meeting any other guy.
Except, he wasn't any other guy, he was someone famous – not just a local, but an international, celebrity. And one who, by his accounts, didn't date often. Of course him being out with someone, anyone, would be news for the gossip hounds.
“Aren't you going to say anything for yourself?”
“I don't know what to say. Yes, I kissed him. That was me with him last night. But I didn't sleep with Rob...I mean, Deac.” It was the truth, and that was all she had at the moment.
“Then where are you right now? Because I tried you at the hotel first and you didn't answer your room phone.”
“Um, well, I'm...in his penthouse suite.” When she heard Annie scoff, she added, “But I'm sleeping in my own room. There are three bedrooms here and he's in another room. We came back here to escape the photographers last night and I stayed because it was easier.”
“Sure, and I bet nothing happened after you left the club, right? The person who took that video got the only kiss between the two of you?”
Emily didn't respond. Either she would have to lie or else she'd have to excuse something that she couldn't explain.
The passion between her and Rob in that limo was beyond her comprehension at the moment, and that had nothing to do with waking up minutes ago. In fact, it was something she refused to justify to her sister. Annie was the one person she had always been able to tell anything and yet, Em felt she just couldn't adequately describe what had happened between her and Rob without it sounding defensive.
“Your silence tells me all I need to know. It doesn't really matter, what's done is done. But you be
tter call Josh right now and tell him yourself that it's over, because he deserves better than to hear it from anyone else.” Without waiting for a reply, her sister hung up the phone.
Emily didn't have even a minute to think about what she would say to Josh when the phone chirped, 'Hello, Mr. Ranger, sir!' at her, the Yogi Bear ring that was for only Josh.
She clicked answer, but before she could utter a word, Josh said, “How could you, Em? How could you do that to me after five years together? When you left, I had the impression that we were still going to try to make it. If you really wanted things to be over, you could have just been honest with me! Instead, you had to cheat on me with some bozo actor for all the world to see? I thought you'd have more respect for me than that! I thought you had more respect for yourself!”
“Josh...”
“No. Don't make excuses, Emily. It's over. I see that now. Even if you wanted to try and work it out, I can't forgive this. It would be bad enough if you'd kissed someone else while we're on a break. Maybe that I could forgive and forget. But sleeping with another guy when you knew I thought we were still together? No. I can't forgive you for that. Goodbye.” And then he hung up.
Emily tried to call him back, but his phone was off and he would have already left for work, so she didn't bother try the apartment.
Frustrated that he wouldn't let her explain the truth of what he saw, but also relieved that things were finally over between them, Emily was just getting ready to swing her legs off the bed when her phone rang yet again. This time, it was the classic Nokia tune she'd set for her mother's cell phone. Sighing, Emily answered this time ready for a tongue- lashing.
“Yes, Mom,” she said, trying to sound less annoyed than she felt.
