This Tangled Thing Called Love: A Contemporary Romance Novel

by Marie Astor

  David slapped himself on the forehead. “I completely forgot about that. I’m so sorry, baby, but work is crazy right now. I’ll call you tomorrow, all right? My chauffeur will drive you home.”

  “Fine. I can get a cab. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” But as she watched David leave, Claire had a distinct feeling that her relationship with David was anything but fine. Something was amiss, and the unpleasant sensation inside her stomach told her that she had better find out what it was.

  Chapter 16

  David’s feet rushed him down Madison Avenue to the Four Seasons hotel – the rendezvous spot that Claudia had picked for their tryst. Previously, it had been the Plaza, the Mandarin, the Carlyle, some upscale, secluded B&B on the Upper East Side, the name of which David could not remember, etcetera. So far, Claudia had picked a different spot for every encounter, but David was beginning to think that pretty soon they would run out of places to hide. He frowned in impotent vexation. He hated hiding Claudia, and, yet he was powerless to do otherwise. Soon, too soon to contemplate it, he would have to leave her forever, never again to feel the electrifying touch of her body against his, never again to kiss her curved lips, trace his finger along her doll-like cheekbones or inhale the inebriating scent of her golden hair. There was not a hint of gray in that hair, but David had never wondered if Claudia colored it. He would not think about the inevitable hurt that lay in wait; instead, he would concentrate on the pleasure that awaited him tonight.

  The past three weeks had been heavenly. The usually clingy Claire had relented, consumed by her work, giving David much needed space and relieving him of the need to come up with constant excuses. David had never paid much attention to Claire’s occupation. He expected that once they were married, Claire would stay home. Being Mrs. David Lawson would be a full-time job in itself. There would be parties to organize, lists to review, commitments to maintain. For the first time during their acquaintance, David had actually come to think of Claire’s job as useful. Not only did it free him from Claire’s demands on his time, it also stalled construction on Leonard Street – a development owned by Ryan Fink, Jr., one of David’s most pesky competitors. Ryan Fink, Sr. had been a major foe of David’s father until the former had passed away three years ago. The Fink Corporation owned some of the best real estate in Manhattan, property that Allan Lawson had had his eyes on for a long time.

  At first it had seemed that the Fink Corporation was going to disappear from the business map, as Ryan Fink, Jr. only seemed to care for booze, parties, and extreme sports. But just as Allan Lawson rubbed his hands in anticipation of buying up Fink’s real estate at bottom prices, Ryan Fink, Jr. came to his senses, and after an extended stint in rehab, assumed the position of president. David had assured his father that there was nothing to worry about, that a former adrenaline junkie could not possibly present much competition. Allan Lawson only shook his head wearily, muttering that David still had much to learn about business. And then, as if to mock David, the Fink Corporation announced an ambitious condo conversion plan for several of its Tribeca properties that used to collect dust as warehouses – the very warehouses that David’s father had hoped to buy up. The Leonard Street condo conversation was to be the first in line, and it delighted David to know that now, thanks to his fiancée, the project would be delayed indefinitely.

  On Fifty-First Street, David stopped by the florist. He had called ahead of time to ensure that they had his order: two dozen yellow roses – Claudia’s favorite flowers. Not red, or white, but yellow – a color as enigmatic and rare as the woman herself. David had found out about Claudia’s penchant for the flowers by accident. At first, he had sent her crimson roses, hoping that the red petals would convey the emotions that raged in his heart, but lacked the courage to leave his lips. Noticing Claudia’s indifference, he moved on to orchids and calla lilies, but those too had earned nothing more than a bored nod. Then, one day, as they met in yet another anonymous hotel suite, Claudia gushed at a single yellow rose that adorned the table. Since then, David could never look at yellow roses without thinking of Claudia. It had become their ritual, one of the few traditions that they could permit themselves. Whenever he went to see Claudia, David never failed to bring a bouquet of two dozen yellow roses, and Claudia never failed to exclaim with delight at the sight of it.

  Claudia dismissed the obsequious hotel clerk with a twenty-dollar bill. The Four Seasons suite she had selected would do. It would have to do. Thank you, ma’am, the clerk’s heels clicked deferentially as he scurried into the hallway. Just for that phrase alone, she wanted to wring back her twenty. God, she hated being called ma’am, and lately, in fact, for far longer than she cared to admit, the dreadful honorific had stuck like glue. Ma’am – the mere sound of the word was synonymous with old age and all the unflattering things that came with it: wrinkles, flab, reading glasses... But Claudia fought hard to retain her youth, and for a long time she had almost managed to convince herself that she had won the battle or at least earned a reprieve. After all, how many ma’ams could boast fucking a man eighteen years their junior? And not some sniveling weakling either, but a handsome, smart, perfectly capable young man who worshipped the ground she walked on.

  When Claudia thought about the age difference between her and David, eighteen years sounded like an eternity, but when she thought back on her life, eighteen years felt like a mere blink. Just eighteen years ago, she had been David’s age, and before that, another eighteen years ago, she had been a mere girl of fifteen. No one had called her ma’am then. Back then, when she was young and fresh, she used to rush time, waiting for her body to change: her breasts to grow, her hips to widen. The world of adulthood had seemed so alluring, so forbidden. At long last, the door that had barred her entrance to all the exciting things was beginning to slowly come ajar, and Claudia could not wait to walk through it. She had burst it open a year later. At sixteen, she had a woman’s body that made grown men wild with desire. Finally, it has begun, she had thought. She was never going to be shut out of anything ever again.

  At sixteen, Claudia ran away from home - an obscure suburb of Philadelphia where she had grown up in a depressing duplex with caved floors and paper-thin walls – the only place that her widowed mother could afford on her cleaning lady salary. With her savings from her babysitting jobs, Claudia headed for New York, the only place where life was worth living. By sheer luck, she landed a job at a big name apparel designer store. A few months later, she was invited to model at several photo shoots for the fashion label she worked for. Back then – Claudia shook her head, smiling bitterly at the absurd words – to her, it was only moments ago, but to the young of today, it was in a different lifetime. Well, back then, being a model had none of today’s glamor. You were nothing but a human hanger, a walking mannequin. Yet Claudia had turned this precarious beginning into a first-class career. In less than a year, she had gotten her first movie role. Of course, that feat did not come by a good work ethic alone. It just so happened that a movie studio bigwig stopped by the store where Claudia worked to shop for his wife who needed a gown for a black tie affair. The store manager asked Claudia to model dresses for the prominent customer. Claudia still remembered the disgust she had felt at the fat, shapeless bag of the woman fingering the fabric when Claudia showcased the dress, as though Claudia were invisible, as though she were not even a human being. Well, Evan had noticed her. Unlike his wife, he was tall and willowy, and boyish. His hair was almost entirely gray, but his eyes were young, as young as they had been when he first met his wife, when she used to wear a size two dress. When Evan’s wife had finally made her selection, the order was put in to custom make the dress in her size. The order made the store manager, who was a portly, groveling creature, ecstatic with the sale and even earned Claudia a bonus. But Claudia had other reasons to be happy. During that torturous demonstration, she and Evan had locked eyes, and she knew that he would be back.

  The next day, a huge bouquet of yellow roses arrived with a note fr
om Evan asking her to dinner that night. The entire day, sensing the watchful eyes of her employer upon her, Claudia had prayed for time to pass quickly. Be careful, the store manager’s warning had been accompanied by a pat on her buttocks – a gesture he availed himself whenever he pleased. Claudia merely smiled. Soon, I’ll be out of here, she thought. Just you wait and see.

  After Evan had made love to her, they lay together silently for a long time. Claudia was afraid to speak, afraid to scare him off. She had gone out on a limb by letting him have her on their first night, and now, she had no way of knowing whether he would come back for seconds. Back then she was still discovering her effect on men. Back then, she still did not know just how addictive she could be.

  I could never offer you love, Evan had murmured, but I can offer you friendship.

  Claudia’s eyes were burning. She had gambled and lost. Next time, she would be more careful.

  “Is that why you sent me yellow roses?”

  As a teenager, during one of her babysitting jobs, Claudia had found a book about flowers in her employer’s library and memorized the meaning of every flower, hoping that one day this knowledge would help her seem more sophisticated. Yellow roses stood for friendship.

  “Shhh.” Evan placed his finger on her lips. “And protection. A girl like you should not be wasting her time showcasing rags to women who can’t hold a candle to her beauty. Such beauty should be shown for all the world to see.”

  “I’d like that.” Claudia brightened.

  “I promise. I will make you a star, baby. That’s the least I could do to pay you back for taking up with an old bag like me.”

  Evan had kept his word. In less than a year, Claudia’s name was plastered on billboards all over the country. There were publicity tours, interviews, and photo shoots. An endless succession of hotel rooms became her home. Evan was there through it all, to coach her, to protect her, and she clung to him, trusting him completely. It did not matter that he was married, that he would never leave his wife for her, that he would never give her children. In some perverse way, it made her respect him even more, even love him for the fact that Evan stayed with his fat, ugly wife, bound by obligation to the young, beautiful version of the woman he had married some thirty years ago. That meant that he could be trusted. Besides, Claudia did not want marriage or children. She saw what these coveted attributes of womanly achievement had done to her mother. What she did want was success, and Evan was there to give it to her.

  We’re just gearing up, baby, Evan would whisper, as he undressed her. Just wait and see. A year from now, everyone in America will know your name. And Evan would have kept his word, had it not been for the circumstances beyond his control. At the age of fifty, he died peacefully in his bed from what was determined to be a stroke. His posture might have been perfectly straight, his stomach trim, and his eyes lively, but inside him, in wicked secrecy, his heart had been rotting away. At least Evan had died with dignity, in his marital bed. It could have been much worse. He could have conked out next to Claudia, or worse, on top of her. Despite the horrible scandal such a departure would have caused, Claudia would have preferred for Evan to go this way. At least, his last hours on Earth would have been happy ones. Claudia could not bear the thought of Evan dying next to that hideous wife of his. She had always believed that the true cause of Evan’s death was suffocation. She had mourned for him privately, afraid of voicing her grief, even abstaining from going to the funeral, fearful that Evan’s wife might find her red-rimmed eyes suspicious. Later, when the pompous affair was over, Claudia came to Evan’s grave alone and wept. The anguish she felt was more piercing than that of losing a father. She had never known her father - a man of mousy demeanor she had met only in photographs. A machinery operator at a mill, he had died in a ghastly factory accident when Claudia was just two years old. Dear, sweet Evan. He’d been dead for over thirty years.

  Claudia shook her head. She had not thought of her benefactor in years. That’s what old age did to you. It made you think of places that were long gone and people who were long dead.

  Evan’s death brought on a fierce struggle. One successful picture was barely enough to secure one’s hold in Hollywood. If she were not careful, Claudia would become yesterday’s news overnight. This time, Claudia decided to go in for the kill. If she were going to sell her youth, she would sell it to the highest bidder. For almost ten years, she was the girlfriend of Roy Masterson, the studio head, and the rest, as they said, was history. At sixty, Roy was twice a widower. On numerous occasions, he had proposed to Claudia, but she refused him repeatedly, fearing that if she accepted, the fate of Roy’s former wives would befall her as well. At seventy, Roy finally joined his spouses in the world beyond, wherever that might be. At times, Claudia wondered whether both of Roy’s wives had waited for him patiently, whether the three of them were reunited in blissful harmony in the afterlife, if such a thing existed.

  After Roy’s death, Claudia was finally free to choose her own lovers, and boy, did she enjoy them. Not even thirty yet, she was stunningly beautiful, and men went absolutely gaga for her. And then, out of nowhere, came of the age of ma’am. It had snuck up on her like a thief in the dark – a wrinkle here and there, a subtle softening of the flesh, a slight drooping of the lips. There were fixes, of course – if not to restore her body to its previous glory, then to at least stall its demise. For a while, she had thought she had succeeded. What a rouse! Alas, she had failed. Her last lover had left her for a younger woman. The worst part of it all was that Greg was twelve years her senior, but apparently, fifty-one was too old for a sixty-three-year-old man who dated twenty-eight-year-olds. This had been Claudia’s first defeat, and she was still reeling from the blow.

  There was David, of course. Such a sweet, lovely boy. How he adored her! It was pure ambrosia for her bruised self-esteem. And Claudia could not deny it – she did enjoy her time with him. But she dared not allow herself anything more serious than enjoyment. She had entered an age when it was best to take things one day at a time.

  Chapter 17

  Claire woke up and rolled over on the other side of the bed – the side where David usually slept when he spent a night at her place. It was Friday morning. She had taken the day off to spend it with David, but after his abrupt departure last night, the day loomed before her with its emptiness.

  With a sigh, Claire got up and headed for the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker. When David and she first had started dating, they would often stay in bed until noon when spending a day together. Afterwards, they would have breakfast and browse through the morning papers. Claire felt something inside her tighten as she thought of those simple, quiet mornings. She loved the sense of dependability and safety that David projected. One could always be sure that David Lawson would make no crazy moves.

  So why was it that she was getting a hollow feeling in her stomach now? Could it be that her relationship with David had gotten too routine? Claire frowned, as she realized that she and David had not made love since their engagement. More than three weeks had passed since. Granted, some of it was her own fault. She had been so busy at work that she had not given David much thought in the past few weeks. But David was equally culpable. At times it almost felt that their relationship had become another item on David’s daily agenda, somewhere between morning meetings and client dinners.

  In the quietness of the empty kitchen, Claire could hear faint sounds of tango coming from upstairs. The sound of the music was barely audible, but Claire could still discern it. No doubt, if David were here with her, she would not have even noticed. But as it was, she heard every whisper of a sound. Claire strained her ears, trying to make out the additional sound she thought she’d heard. There it was – the tapping of dancing feet. Two pairs of feet, to be precise.

  The image of Alec and his rail-thin, blond girlfriend flashed in Claire’s mind with razor-sharp vividness. What was the girl’s name? Sabina Peskova or Freskova. Some exotic Eastern European name. In any
case, it did not really matter.

  Alec took a deep breath. The stifling heat of the apartment was turning the dance practice into an excruciating torture.

  “Concentrate, Sabina! Your timing is completely off.” Alec immediately regretted losing his temper. Criticism was not his method; rather, he always preferred to encourage his students by pointing out what they were doing right instead of focusing on what they were missing. But today it seemed that Sabina was doing everything wrong.

  “I’m sorry, Alec.” Sabina’s shoulders drooped. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

  “It’s all right. Let’s just take a break and cool down, okay?”

  Alec fidgeted with the newly installed air conditioner. The contraption had cost a small fortune, and the sales clerk had assured him that the machine would be powerful enough for the entire apartment, but unless one stood within a foot of the blasted thing, it provided no relief whatsoever. And Alec needed cooled air to dance. How was one supposed to follow the rhythm of tango in sweaty, sticky heat? Perhaps he should have thought twice before renting an apartment on the top floor. Heated by the June sun, the roof turned Alec’s loft into an oven.

  “How about some lemonade?” Alec opened the fridge and reached for the pitcher.

  “Sure.” Sabina moved to get the glasses.

  “I got it. You just sit down and relax.” Alec poured the lemonade and added extra ice. He definitely needed extra ice to keep his temper in check.

  “So, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” He handed Sabina her glass.

  “It’s nothing. I’m just tired. I worked late last night…”

  Alec simply stared back, refusing to dignify Sabina’s lame explanation with an answer. If he knew anything about Sabina, he knew that she never missed a beat when it came to tango. But today, she had been stumbling like a first-year novice, and her timing was all off. Even the hellish heat could not account for such lapses.