by M. Mabie
“Don't,” I said, and then I pressed the end button. I wanted to talk to her more, since it was one of the few times we actually talked about what was happening. But then I didn't want to hear what else she was going to say. I wasn't ready for her to say no. I wasn't ready for her to tell me that this wasn't going to pan out. That I was going to be the one left hanging.
But reality told me I was.
She was going to marry him. I had to figure out how to change that.
Christmas went by fast, and then it was 2009.
Troy didn't have much of a family, so he spent the holidays with us. Since Micah's family lived so far away, she was there, too.
New Year's Day found all four of us lounging around my apartment, watching movies and eating ourselves sick. Micah made every appetizer known to man, even though she could barely eat any of them, having a rather nasty case of morning sickness that seemed to last and last. Her doctor said it should phase itself out, and even though she didn't complain, we could all tell she hadn't felt that great.
“I fucking love these mushroom things, Micah. I think I've ate twenty of them.”
“That's funny. They're Bla—” Then she cut herself off. “Everyone loves them.” It was no mystery that she and Blake talked often. I'd witnessed it on both ends. Blake and I were together when Micah had called her excited about the first time she felt the baby kick.
When my brother called me on the other line about five minutes later, I left the room to hear the same news. Although baby Moore was a surprise, they both seemed very pleased and thrilled about it. It was interesting that neither of them felt rushed to get married because of it, though. Agreeing that the baby and the marriage, if there were to be one, would be totally separate—not a cause and effect type of thing.
“It's okay. You don't have to pretend like she doesn't exist. Not for my benefit anyway,” I stated. It wasn't as if I called Cory or Troy about what was going on with Blake and me, but when she came up, I talked about it. I never went into a lot of detail, probably because I didn't think Blake would feel comfortable with it, but I didn't have anything to hide.
Micah sat up a little straighter on the couch and leaned into the crook of Cory's arm, pausing the movie. That wasn't a good sign. Yeah, I didn't mind talking about it, but that was totally different than being interrogated about it and that's exactly what it looked like was happening.
“All right, then tell me. What's going on with you two?” she asked. There wasn’t any accusation in her voice, evidence of her neutrality.
I wasn't sure what Blake had said, if anything, but I didn't want to pretend like it was nothing either. Unsure of what to say, I replied to her question with one of my own.
“You talk to Blake, if you want to know what's going on you can ask her.”
Then my curiosity piqued. I tried to play off my interest by popping another heavenly stuffed mushroom into my mouth and talking despite it being full. I asked, “What does she say?”
Micah and Cory shared a knowing look between them and then Cory looked to Troy. It seemed that maybe they'd all had this conversation. Only it was the first time they'd had it with me.
“What?” I asked looking at all of them in sequence. None of them looked like they wanted to go first. “Jesus, what? If you have something to say, then say it. Or ask. Shit. Someone say something.”
“What are you really doing, Casey?” My brother spoke up. Trying not to rattle my cage, his voice was moderately toned. He was using caution. He straightened and leaned forward and steepled his hands in front of himself. “What do you guys have going on?”
I took a few calming breaths, suddenly feeling defensive, and finished the last mushroom on my small plate. I remember thinking that I wished I'd had a few more to buy myself more time.
“Listen, Blake and I are friends,” I said, hating that I used the one word that made me cringe when it came from her mouth. “I don't know why you guys are making such a big deal out of it.”
“Bullshit,” Troy said under his breath, but intentionally loud enough for all of us to hear it.
“Bullshit? What the hell? You don't know what you're talking about.”
I hated that I was denying anything more than friendship and I felt my pulse beginning to quicken. I was frustrated with them, but I was downright livid with myself more for making light of what I really felt.
Troy interjected, “Then why are you getting all shitty about it, dude? I was in Atlanta. I'm not stupid. If that was you two being friends, then I'm doing it all wrong.” He was being a dick. Someone needed to show him how a real friend would act in that very situation. Show him that friends didn't like it when their private business was being judged.
My brother butted in, “Casey, I've seen you on the phone with her, or when you get a text, we're not blind. Tell us what's going on so that we get it.” Micah leaned in toward me, too. It felt like a confess-your-sins kind of conversation.
“What? We talk, we message each other…”
“You hook up in different cities on business trips,” Troy spouted.
My head snapped and I stood, feeling like I needed to get at least a leg up on the scene playing out, but when I stood up I still didn't have it in me to totally lie about it.
“So?” I looked to the couch at my brother and Micah, and they waited patiently for me to go on. I saw concern on both of their faces, which mollified my growing anxiety. “So we meet up,” I said to them. “We see each other out on the road sometimes. It gets lonely out there and we get along.”
Troy, the prick, coughed. “So you’re just fucking?” he asked.
I turned my speech to him. He looked evil with the red filter through which I was seeing him.
“No were not just fucking! If it's any of your business, we talk almost every day. Does that sound like just fucking? We talk about how our days went. We eat. We drink. We talk about you guys. We make fun of each other. We fight. And, yes, sometimes we fuck. And it's awesome. But it's not just fucking, you asshole.”
“Okay, great,” Cory added. “Then you like her. Great. But there’s one little problem with that. She's engaged.” He looked to Micah for support. The nod of her head was permission enough for him to continue. “Where's that going to leave you in May when she gets married? I mean seriously, have you two talked about that? What then? You call it off?” He leaned back again and I sat back down in the recliner.
“I don't know.”
“I know she cares about you,” Micah said. “She does. But then when I ask her about the wedding she acts like everything is normal. Like she's just planning a wedding. I think she's really going to marry him, Casey.” She sounded apprehensive and like she was as worried for Blake’s sake as mine.
Hearing Micah say that Blake was going to marry him made me glad I'd stopped at twenty mushrooms. My stomach churned. She was going to marry him. Something I'd known was a fact, yet somehow never actually thought would happen. I supposed in a way, I'd told myself it was impossible.
Micah might as well have said that they'd found Hoffa's body. That he’d been beaten and murdered and brought up from the bottom of some river somewhere. Something everyone knew, but never actually expected would come to pass.
She said quietly, “We're worried about you.”
Worried about me? Feeling the room shift, I looked to Troy. His head was down, focused on the Mountain Bike magazine in front of him on the coffee table, but he nodded that he'd agreed with what Micah had said. So did my brother's expression.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said. “I love you guys, but I can take care of this. I'm fine. Maybe you were right and we are just fucking. If she gets married, then she gets married. I'm cool. Okay?” I said in triplicate making eye contact with them each individually.
“Okay,” they repeated back punctuating our conversation as finished.
I lied to them, but the truth hurt worse.
The reality of it hit like brass knuckles against my skull. Except it wasn't brass
knuckles, it was the truth. And it wasn’t my skull it pulverized. It was my stupid heart.
January’s known for being cold, and although I didn't feel cold toward Blake outwardly, the mercury inside me dropped in general. I was irritable. We hadn't seen each other since before Christmas and it made me antsy.
Every time I tried to arrange something for us, she was busy.
What Micah said started to peck away at me. So did what Troy had.
She is going to marry him.
You're just fucking.
Even though I didn't believe either of them, I couldn’t hide from the reality that it was anyone's game.
I went on a trip at the end of January to Lake Tahoe and it sucked.
I fucking missed her.
The meeting went well with the resort, they had actually been the ones to request it, and I sealed the deal on Friday night. With two days left in the cabin, I did a lot of thinking. A lot of coffee. A lot of Baileys and a lot of trying to figure out what the actual fuck was I going to do if she got married.
Honeybee: How's Tahoe. Touristville?
Me: I won't know. I haven’t left this hot tub in two days.
Honeybee: Sounds awful. You probably look like a California Raisin.
I was peacefully intoxicated and feeling bold upon receiving her upbeat text. She was right as rain and I was wallowing like a fool.
The clock read ten thirty. We were still in the same time zone.
Me: So Grant went home then?
The Baileys in me was a curious bastard.
Honeybee: No. And what's that supposed to mean?
Me: It doesn't mean anything. You text so I guess he left. You probably wore him out. You're good at that.
I should have deleted it, but I should have done a lot of things that I didn't. And way too fucking many things that I did.
Honeybee: Someone's drunk.
That's my Blake, fiery and fierce.
Me: Yeah I'm drunk. We're both doing things were good at.
Honeybee: I think I'll just talk to you tomorrow.
Me: No you won’t. We'll speak tomorrow probably. But we never say anything.
Honeybee: What do you want me to say? I feel like saying goodnight.
Me: Fine. Goodnight.
But she wouldn't let it end there. She hated giving me the last word.
Honeybee: Why don’t you drop the attitude? You're being mean.
Me: Sorry. What persona would you like, Betty?
Me: Angry likes to fuck hard? Or maybe it's easy-going, don't-give-a-fuck about anything? Take your pick.
Me: Well.
Me: Tell me. I'll be that one. Just. Tell. Me.
She didn't answer for a long time. I put my phone down feeling like I'd really pissed her off this time. She probably wouldn’t call the next day, probably not for a few days now. The exact opposite of what I'd wanted.
I dipped down below the water and screamed into the humming of the jets.
When I came back up I heard the sound of it ringing, but I slipped reaching for the towel and it went to voicemail. Almost immediately I heard the chime of a new recording.
It was Blake.
“Hey, it's me.” I heard a dog park in the background and knew she was outside her apartment, I'd heard the same dog bark his ass off many times. “Listen, I didn't want to fight with you tonight.” She paused and I looked at my phone to make sure that wasn't the end of the message.
Finally she started talking again.
“I'm sorry. And you're right. I'm not being fair. I want to meet up with you. Email me your next few weeks.” She sighed heavily. “I miss you. I hope you're all right. Take some ibuprofen and drink some water. Call me tomorrow if you want. ’Bye.”
Damn right she wasn't being fair. Fair would be breaking it off with that guy she likes to cheat on and giving this damn thing with me a real shot.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
THE WEEKEND WASN'T GOING to make anything better, but I had to give it a shot.
I was shaking. Running the razor up my soapy leg. I'd been nervous all day.
It had to be the last time, but I wanted to make it count. I knew how twisted that was. Finish on top, as they say. After tonight I'd go back to being the adoring fiancée.
I'd be faithful.
And if that was my last night with Casey, I'd need to make it count. I wanted to remember every second.
After my legs were smooth and everything else was in order. I put my face under the hot stream of water coming from the showerhead. I thought about the shower we took in Seattle. About how his hands roamed my body and touched me everywhere a man could touch a woman. My hand ran down to my core, feeling my trimmed hair.
God I want to feel you bare. I don't want anything in between us.
His words echoed through my mind and I reached for the soap and the razor. I'd gone down to naked skin before, but it was a very, very long time ago. I thought it was probably in college.
I took my time, doing a thorough job. When I was finished my skin felt new and sensitive. Like the hair had been hiding me from wondrous sensations. I ran my fingers over myself and anticipated Casey's doing the same.
After I had dried myself and applied his favorite-smelling lotion, I blow dried my hair, then stained my cheeks and lips and darkened my eyes and lashes.
I pulled a black garter up each leg. I wasn't going to be wearing much, but I wanted to enjoy him taking his time removing them. I pulled the black, thigh-high stocking up my calves and fastened them to the garters with the clips that hung from ice-blue bows. I slipped my legs through the black silk underwear and prepared myself for the icing on the cake. The set that I'd ordered, and was currently dressing in, came with a corset.
It was black with ice-blue ribbons matching the bows on the garters and panties. It laced up the front. I'd looked at the ones that laced from behind, but they looked like a nightmare. I'd already have a struggle getting into one I could watch myself lace.
When the last hook and eye was latched, I straightened it and pulled. Instantly my chest looked bigger, fuller and heaved from the already very low-cut fabric that held my breasts. I ran my hands up the sides, feeling the rigid and straight boning, and yet I felt so comfortable and held together.
I pulled on the blue silk robe that completed the ensemble and went out into the main room to find the shoes and start a fire. I plugged my phone into the suite's speakers and got out the champagne, putting it on ice in a bucket on the coffee table in the main room. I brought a plate of cheese and fruit to the table and then I went back to the kitchenette for the last piece.
The courage. The kind from a bottle. I had ordered a small decanter and placed it on the table as well. I was going to need a few shots if I ever had a prayer of pulling this off. Seduction wasn't my forte. But he deserved it.
I usually felt so awkward and clumsy during sex. Well. Not with Casey.
With him I felt worshiped and desired. He acted like he craved me in the way he moaned from kissing my neck sometimes. It made me feel special. Made me feel sexy and wanton.
I arranged the extra pillows and blankets, that I'd ordered up, and they looked so inviting there on the floor in the center of the room.
I'd given it some thought on my plane ride here this morning. I wanted the night to be unforgettable. It was already unforgivable.
I downed two shots. Back to back. The cognac tasted sweet and bold. The taste lingered on my tongue.
I left the robe on. I wanted him to open me like an expensive gift. I wanted to watch his eyes up close when he saw what I was hiding underneath.
I'd told him to be there at eight and it was five to when he knocked. I'd left him a key—as was customary for us at hotels then—knowing he would use it if I didn't answer.
I rose to my feet, with an extra four inches added from the Brian Atwood heels which Reggie bought me for Christmas. How was I to know they’d come in so handy when I'd sent him a joking picture in a text message version of a fair
y-tale princess's Christmas list?
As I stood there preparing myself, my heartbeat didn't exactly feel fast; it just felt strong. A powerful pulsing that reverberated throughout my whole body.
The door handle clicked.
I'd turned the lights out, only a few recessed lights over the bar area and the fireplace remained lighting the room. It was tastefully amber and dim. The backlighting behind his body from the bright hallway, when he opened the door, gave me a chill.
He wore a perfectly tailored suit and looked so masculine in profile. It fit to his tight body in magical ways. His hair was tamed back with that miracle product he used to make it look controlled, and in the light, I could see the front was beginning its rebellion, loosening and falling forward more than it should.
He looked like a king. King Casey.
He closed the door gently and pocketed his hand into his slacks making the fabric taught over his already visible bulge.
I licked my lips.
I wanted another shot, but I didn't dare move.
His blue eyes glittered from the lick of the flames behind me.
The song changed. I recognized it within the first few chords. The single guitar. The arpeggio. Slow Dancing in a Burning Room.
I swallowed. Eyeing him standing there, looking at me, the beautiful confusion of it all made my mouth water.
His eyes wandered over me like a search light, both warning and guiding my body home.
He walked toward me and I started forward to meet him halfway, but he held a hand up and stopped where he was when we were still feet apart.
“You look like my wildest dream.” His perfect hand still hung in the air. “Let me look you at you little more. This memory has to last me long time, honeybee.” He pandered his time. I watched him examine every detail of me. I thought I'd feel self-conscious, but the opposite happened.
I was proud, and having him take the time to look at every one of the things I'd done to get his attention felt so gratifying. I had prayed that at least one would capture his interest.
The corners of his lips quirked when his eyes shifted focus down toward my garter clips. He faked coolness by biting his bottom lip, but he didn't fool me.
