by Willa Okati
Melissa made a noise of disapproval. “Quentin. You didn’t even familiarize yourself with the location?”
“I’m sorry, Melissa.”
She straightened the sharp collar of her blouse. “Perhaps you’d better call me Ms. Rife until we’re in the rooms.”
“Rooms?” Had she not heard him earlier, or paid attention when he’d specified a room for one and told her it had a queen-sized bed? “I…I only rented one, Melissa. Don’t you remember my saying so?”
“Ms. Rife. Why would you only rent one? What sort of sleeping arrangements did you have in mind?” Melissa looked oddly discomfited. “Quentin, you really shouldn’t assume things. I have studying to do, and I imagine you need to prepare course lectures.”
Quentin shook his head. “It’s a Friday night, Melissa.” He felt a shot of anger. “Ms. Rife. Honestly, do I have to call you that? We’re all but engaged.”
“Verbal agreements are in place, but nothing is concrete until I have the ring you promised. Unless the ring is in your possession at this moment and about to appear on my finger, we’re still only seeing one another. I won’t chance any slurs on my reputation.”
“That was your understanding of our arrangement?” Quentin was baffled and feeling a slow burn of—something—welling up inside of him. “I thought we’d discussed this.”
“Yes, we did. However, things change, Quentin. Dr. Whiteside.” Melissa took an impatient look around. “You should have done your research. What applies in academia applies in the real world. Ah-ha. You see?” She strode forward to a small bell sitting on a counter. One touch had a soft chime ringing. “A little deduction and we’re all set, Professor.”
A tall, thin woman with a slightly hooked nose appeared from a closed door off to one side. Her smile seemed a little tight and forced. Quentin had no idea how old she might be, but her skin bore the tell-tale signs of a facelift and other plastic surgeries. “Ah. Late-night arrivals. Whiteside and Rife? I had begun to give up on your putting in an appearance.”
“Professor Whiteside had some things to take care of, hence the delay.” Melissa seemed to have recognized either a worthy opponent or an ally. She took a firm stance and folded her arms over her chest, still holding Quentin’s coat. “If you’ll show us to our rooms?”
“One room,” the woman corrected. “I don’t have any other vacancies for the night.”
“I only saw three cars out in the parking lot.”
“Be that as it may, we’re full. Do you think I’d turn down the chance at payment for a second room? You’ll simply have to suffer through sharing accommodations for the night.”
Melissa sighed. “At least the room will have two beds, correct?”
“Incorrect. The room has one queen-sized bed, as per Dr. Whiteside’s request. There is a fairly comfortable couch, however, if one of you chooses to sleep there. Will you need an extra pillow and blankets?”
“No,” Quentin said, just as Melissa decisively put in, “Yes.”
The woman looked irritated. “Which will it be?”
Melissa glanced at Quentin, a stern look designed to put him in his place. “We’ll take the extra bedding.”
Quentin began to recognize the burning feeling inside his stomach. Fury. He tried to force it back down, but the stubborn sensation came back. Melissa wanted him to sleep on the couch of the room he’d splurged on for the both of them? He had no doubt that she’d appropriate the bed.
Hey, anyone else see the Ice Bitch who was just at the door? he heard Billy asking in his head. What a cunt, huh?
Quentin squashed his internal protest as Melissa finished dickering with their hostess about how many pillows, blankets and what the continental breakfast in the morning included. “I would prefer fruit and whole-grain toast,” she said firmly. “So would Dr. Whiteside. No eggs, no bacon, nothing greasy or fatty.”
Their hostess gave a thin smile. “I’ll be sure to convey your instructions to the chef. Which would be myself. Now, if you’ll follow me?”
“Dr. Whiteside, come.” Melissa snapped her fingers. “Carry my luggage if you don’t mind. Our room is upstairs and to the left.” She held a key in her other hand. “We may as well take a look before we decide if this is good enough for our needs.”
Snapping her fingers, as if I’m a dog that she’s bringing to heel. The insult stung. Quentin picked up Melissa’s suitcase and dress bag, managing to grab his own duffel, and followed in her wake. She smelled of a light, floral perfume that wafted back as he walked behind her, climbing a set of winding stairs. Despite his churning anger, Quentin inhaled and held on to the scent as long as he could.
It doesn’t matter what she says or does, he told himself. If I don’t have Melissa in my life, I’ll have no rock to cling to. If there’s no Melissa, then that leaves me alone. Wide open. And then Billy… No.
Quentin pulled up short as Melissa came to an abrupt stop. “This appears to be the room.” She thrust her key into the lock and made a small noise of satisfaction as the door opened. “Come in, Dr. Whiteside. We’ll take a look around.”
He followed her inside, dropping the heavy suitcase as soon as he could. His fingers ached from the weight. Melissa must have brought her entire course load of texts with her. Was there anything in there besides books?
Melissa turned on a lamp and stood for a moment in an attitude of thoughtful consideration. She made various noises of approval or disdain, depending on what she glanced at. Her preferences made no sense to Quentin, who couldn’t see anything that wasn’t cold, steel or white. He felt more as if he were in a hospital room than a bed-and-breakfast.
“I suppose it’ll do.” Melissa rendered her judgment at last. She handed Quentin’s coat to him. “Hang this up before it gets wrinkled. The closet is to your left. No, Quentin, your direct left. Honestly, do I have to do everything by myself? It’s a wonder you got through graduate school.” She snatched the coat back and pulled open a nearly invisible door flush with the wall. “Hang my dress bag. I’ll be wearing that outfit on the ride back tomorrow.”
Quentin obeyed. He took in a deep breath, finding his calm center, reminding himself of how much he needed her, how her strictness and stern direction kept him firmly in line, and then reached out for Melissa’s hand. He squeezed her cold fingers and, when she didn’t protest, pulled her into a careful hug. “It’s wonderful to see you again,” he said, and was relieved to find he meant it. “I’m glad you’re pleased with the room.”
“I didn’t say pleased,” was her arch answer as Melissa maneuvered herself out of Quentin’s arms. “Put my suitcase in the corner, if you will? By the table. I’ll need to access those books soon.”
Quentin wavered between the books and the bed. “I’d hoped we could spend a little time together before you got down to studying.”
“What else have we been doing?” Melissa tsked. “You’ve had plenty of opportunity to catch up on old times. I need to get this studying done. Amuse yourself around the room if you wish, but keep it down.” She put her pocketbook on top of the tables, then pulled out her PDA and cell phone.
The phone clicked open first, her finger hitting speed-dial again. “Charles? Oh, I see. You’re his wife. My apologies. Is Charles available? This is Melissa Rife. We’re in several classes together. I need to confer with him over an issue that’s arisen in part of our coursework. Yes, I’ll wait. Thank you.”
She glanced at Quentin. “Well, don’t just stand there. Unpack your things.”
Quentin hesitated. “You must know this Charles fairly well.”
“He’s my study partner,” Melissa said shortly. “We’ve spent a considerable amount of time together. Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Quentin. Honestly. Unpack your things and then make up the couch.”
“I’m not tired yet.”
“I certainly am. You’ve been nothing but a source of stress ever since you called me to come and visit. I need for you to be quiet now, do you understand?” Melissa returned her attention
to the phone. Quentin couldn’t help but notice that her voice warmed up to something approximating human pleasure as she spoke. “Charles, yes. Your wife seems very nice. Of course I didn’t say anything unwarranted by the situation. What do you take me for? Now, the McClark case. I think they could file a motion for injunction. What would be your opinion?”
As she talked away, Quentin tucked his tail between his legs and began to unpack. Melissa liked things just so. The dresser was easy enough to find. As he took out his meager change of clothing, refolded the articles and put them away, he fought down the anger that had risen back up and threatened to take him over.
Quentin didn’t like the feeling. It reminded him too much of days gone by, when he’d been far too quick to speak and take action.
Slow, Quentin, slow. Take your time. Melissa’s not going anywhere. Neither are you. Put the things away in their proper fashion, and hope she’ll approve. Perhaps she’ll consent to a little bit of romance in the evening.
The small Billy that seemed to have taken up residence inside Quentin’s head snorted. If she likes things arranged just so, why doesn’t she do it herself? Fuck knows she’s got everything else the way she wants it. Romance? Jesus, man, she made you call her Ms. Rife. And who’s this Charles she’s talking to? She’s a hell of a lot nicer to him than she is to you. Better watch out, friend. I smell trouble.
Quentin deliberately stopped thinking. It could only get him into hot water. With his clothes put away and his duffel neatly stowed, he made up the couch—which did not look comfortable in the least with its hard, flat pillows and chrome arms—then turned to the shining silver telephone. A discreet plate gave him a directory of numbers to call. Hoping it wasn’t too late in the evening, he dialed the main line in the hopes of room service.
No answer.
“Melissa, would you excuse me for a moment?” Quentin waited for her reply, but got only an impatient wave of her hand as she chatted on to Charles. “Are you hungry? I could go and get us something to eat.”
“Charles, excuse me.” Melissa covered the phone with her hand. “Have you lost your senses? Food this late at night? You’d be lucky to find an open drive-through, and you know I don’t eat fried foods at any time or take carbohydrates after seven p.m. You should have thought to bring a snack if you wanted to eat. Of course, I’m not going to stop you if you want to go and gorge yourself on whatever you please.”
She turned her attention back to the conversation on her cell phone. Quentin hesitated. His stomach rumbled, as he’d skipped dinner to be sure he was at the train station early enough. There was a fast-food restaurant within walking distance. He could put on his coat, travel a couple of blocks and eat a relatively light meal. They had salads. Melissa would likely still be talking when he returned.
Fuck that, Quentin’s internal Billy piped up. You know she’s only gonna bitch at you for eating this late at night. Now, if you were here with me, I’d fix you a double bacon cheeseburger and to hell with the calories. You’d work ‘em off pretty soon. Nothing like sexercise. Quentin could almost see Billy’s eyebrows waggling. Not that you’re likely to get any tonight. How’s that couch looking?
Quentin sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. He rubbed his temples, hoping to stave off the incipient headache he felt building. Aspirin. Did Melissa have any?
Standing, he crossed to the table and touched his fiancée’s shoulder lightly. She twitched irritably. “What now, Quentin?”
“Do you have any painkillers? I’ve got a bit of a—”
“All I have is Vicodin. You can’t have any. They were prescribed for me. I don’t carry anything else. Now, for the last time, stop interrupting my conversation. I can only continue to talk with Charles for a little while longer, and we need to cover these questions.”
“And after you’re done talking with Charles?” Quentin ventured.
“Then I’ll study.”
“I see.” Quentin stood simmering for a moment. “So you’re going to ignore the fact that I rented this room for a night with my fiancée, not ask why I wanted you to come up here, and deny me your company now that you are in town. Is that about it?”
Melissa’s face darkened and her lips thinned. “Excuse me, Charles,” she said tightly. “I have a personal situation to deal with. I’ll call you tomorrow from the train and we’ll finish this discussion then.”
She clicked off her phone, tossed it down on the table and stood with her hands on her hips. “How dare you?” she spat. “I have business to conduct, Quentin. Haven’t I told you not to interrupt me when I’m otherwise occupied?”
Quentin tried to hold back the words, but they refused to stop coming. “Melissa, you’ve been treating me as if I’m a stranger or, worse, a lech. You wouldn’t even hold my hand. I had thought we were more than friends. And friends, at least, are known for a simple ‘how are you doing’ when they meet after an extended time apart.”
“You’re saying that I haven’t treated you kindly? I came up here to see you, Quentin. That in itself should tell you that I’ve a vested interest in how you’re doing. I’ve seen for myself that you’ve made a shambles of the life I helped construct for you. No interest in bettering yourself, sharing accommodations with a rapscallion smoker, failure to procure adequate lodging… You’ve disappointed me. What else do I need to know?” Melissa tapped her foot. She still hadn’t taken off her heels. “Is there anything else you need to say?”
Quentin felt torn between a flood of angry words and the need to obey for the sake of trying to stay in Melissa’s good graces. In the end, he swallowed his irritation and bowed his head. “No, Melissa.”
“What did you expect, Quentin? I’d step off the train and we’d meet in slow-motion, arms open, with a violin playing in the background? You’ve always been far too much of a romantic. What we have is a business arrangement, not a case of hearts and flowers.” She sniffed as if she smelled something bad. “What do you want, Quentin? A cozy tête-à-tête over hot cocoa, in which we’ll share our deepest thoughts and come away all pink and fuzzy around the edges?”
Quentin bit back a hostile reply. “No, Melissa,” he lied stiffly. “I wouldn’t expect any such thing from you.” And that, at least, was honest.
The fault was his own. He knew what Melissa was like. To expect warmth and compassion from her was like pleading for rain in the desert. Melissa didn’t exude anything approaching the attitude of a confidante. She never had. But it hadn’t mattered until now.
He’d been…content…to let her rule his life.
Melissa didn’t seem willing to let this drop. “What do you want, Quentin?” she demanded. “Sex?” She heaved a sigh and sat on the bed. “If it’ll calm you down, then fine. But just a quick one. I don’t have time for anything protracted. Then again, you tend to finish quickly.”
Quentin stood very still, the implied insult smarting, as Melissa slipped out of her suit coat. She folded it precisely across one arm of the couch. “Quentin, do hurry,” she said, impatient. “You know what I like.”
“Of course.” Quentin’s heart began to speed up. Surely a quick session in Melissa’s arms would set his world back on course. He liked females, only females now, and this would reinforce his conviction. Glancing at Melissa’s trim legs and slender arms, he concentrated on enjoying the sight. Hasty but careful, he slipped his sweater off over his head, laid it neatly aside and began to work on the buttons of his undershirt.
“Let’s not take all night, Quentin,” Melissa scolded. She shimmied out of her skirt and draped it across a cold white chair, revealing a set of sheer thigh-high hose and a pair of black satin panties.
Quentin’s eyes were drawn directly between her legs. The female genitalia, he thought, pausing to appreciate the sight. Or try. I’m assuming she’ll want to be pleasured first.
Which wouldn’t be altogether a bad thing. His cock hung utterly limp within his trousers, one-hundred-percent unaffected by the sight of Melissa removing her clothes with busine
sslike efficiency.
She hesitated when she reached her shirt. “I’ll just keep this on,” was her decision. “My breasts are tender. I’m sure you don’t understand, but there is such a thing as premenstrual syndrome and I’m not up to having any fiddling around with my nipples tonight.” She sat on the bed, then lay down as if she were preparing for a doctor’s exam. Utterly asexual and uninspiring. “Take off your pants and come join me. Don’t be all night about it.”
Quentin frowned. Normally, Melissa enjoyed manipulating her breasts while he attended to her female center. She’d complained of the same syndrome before, but never disapproved of his looking, at least. “Why?” he asked slowly, heart beginning to beat in the back of his throat. “Can I at least see you?”
Melissa’s hand went to the securely fastened top button of her blouse. “I’d prefer that you didn’t, Quentin.”
She’s hiding something from you, his internal Billy warned. Get a look under that shirt. There’s only one reason a woman doesn’t want to show off her titties to her lover. What doesn’t she want you to see?
“Melissa, please remove your blouse.” Quentin stood firm, his pants still on. “I’d like you to.”
“And that’s your reason for why I should remove more than I’m comfortable with?”
“At least undo some buttons. I’ll feel like I’m making love to a nun.”
Melissa snorted. “Making love? Quentin, choose your words with more care. This is merely sex. You appear to be in need of some release, and I’m choosing to permit you to take liberties with my body. We are, however, running out of time.” She lay utterly still. “The offer is only on the table for a little while longer.”
Quentin drew closer. Hesitantly, he reached down to run his hand along the length of her arm. Goose bumps followed in his wake. She wasn’t entirely unresponsive, then.
Why he did what he did next, he would never know. Perhaps it was the way her lips automatically shaped a name, or the way she flinched. Whatever the reason, the result was the same. Quentin stared at the sheer white blouse covering Melissa’s chest, and saw it underneath. Strawberry red and blossoming on the curve of one trim breast.
