by Teddy Hester
“There’s no room for it. You’ve used up all the extra space here.”
“Exactly! The room’s off-balance. This display is going in that corner.” She points to the conference table area.
“There’s no room there, either, Cleo. Tell the delivery man to take all this back out of my office.”
“Oh, open up your mind, money-man. You’re going to love it when it’s all set up. Help me move this table before Denny and Carl get back with the trees.”
I stand locked in paralysis, grappling with the irritation coursing through me.
“Linda?” she calls, “Come take Tony for some coffee while I finish up here. I’ll text you when it’s safe to come back.”
I could stop it. It wouldn’t take any effort to have the men haul everything back out. On the other hand, I can’t deny some curiosity about her vision. She hasn’t been wrong so far. It’s the way she goes about it that has to change. Starting now.
“Cleo.”
She continues to pull chairs away from the conference table.
“Clementine.”
The delivery men arrive. “Where do you want this?” one asks.
“In here, Denny,” Cleo calls.
I hold up a finger. “Wait a minute, guys,” I tell the movers. “I need a minute, please.”
“We’re on the clock,” Denny says.
I nod. “Understood. But I need a minute first. So, it’s either sit here and let Linda get you a cup of coffee while you wait, or load the truck and take everything back to wherever it came from. I’ll leave the choice to you while I talk to Cleo. Excuse me.” I close the door.
“Tony, none of us has time to chit-chat. Let the men do their job. The quicker they finish, the sooner we can get on with more important things.”
Nothing is more important right now than this. This is critical to our future. I don’t understand why she’s not getting that.
“Cleo, I need to talk about this situation. Are you willing to do that?”
Tread carefully, beauty.
She sighs, plops into a chair, and crosses one leg over the other. Her arms she crosses below her bust. The dangling foot beats a furious rhythm in the air.
“This isn’t about trees or art. This is about trust,” I say, taking the seat closest to her.
She doesn’t say anything, but her brow furrows.
“This display is important to you?
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s pretty. It enhances the space.”
“Are you planning on starting an interior design business and want me as your first client?”
“No!”
“Then why is setting up this display important to you?”
“I don’t know. Your office should have more personality, be more colorful. That’s what I do. In the advertising world, in Scanties, in life.”
I chuckle. “It is what you do. And you do it well. You bring warmth wherever you go, even without the art or undies. So, it’s part of your identity, is that what you’re saying?”
She shrugs. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”
Slapping a hand on my thigh, I stand and stride to the window. Watching the sea has always been a help to me. It frees my mind, lets it flow.
Bringing color into people’s lives is what she does. Making their lives more colorful. Helping them inject personality into whatever they’re doing. It’s a form of nurturing.
Nurturing. It’s the way she shows she cares about someone. This sassy woman who runs companies by herself, lives by herself, even dances by herself, doesn’t know how to let others near. Now that I’m thinking about it, when we’re in bed, we’ve shared little to no emotion.
So, even in the most intimate moments with others, she’s by herself.
But she builds little worlds around others, decorates their space, wraps herself around their area, imprinting herself on their lives.
Women are nesters. That’s what Mick said. Is that what transforming my office is all about? She’s nesting?
“Did you ever decorate Rodney’s office?”
“What? No, of course not. Why are you bringing him up?”
I grin out the window. But I make sure I’m not grinning when I come back to sit in the chair near her and take her hand. “Cleo, I’m fine with the sculpture. I’ll let the guys in to finish the set-up in a minute.” She looks relieved, and I kiss her palm. “Don’t get too excited. There’s more.
“When you pop these surprises on me, you’re manipulating me and using feminine wiles and the force of your personality to get away with things you shouldn’t. It makes me feel like a sucker. Worse, it makes it hard to trust you. It makes me worry about what you’re doing on this project and how you’ll handle Tom’s money.”
Her face contorts like she’s fighting tears. It grabs at my gut, but I know I have to finish what I started.
“Bottom line, Cleo, surprises that alter people’s world—something you hate for others to do to you—aren’t pleasant surprises. They’re manipulations, and that’s disrespectful. From now on, if you do that to me, I’ll get rid of them. And if you continue to do it, I’ll take you off this project for Tom’s protection.”
I reach out and smooth her hair, run a knuckle down the side of her face. “Bring me surprise gifts. Ones that aren’t intended to change my world. And if you want to redecorate my spaces, let’s talk about it first. That’s all I’m asking. Talk to me first. Come at me like an adult.”
She catches my hand and holds it to her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
I stand and pull her into my arms. “Me, too. I try hard, but I’m not perfect.”
“That’s exactly what your mom said.”
A hoot of laughter escapes me. “A-a-a-a-nd we’re back, ladies and gentlemen!” I hug her hard.
“Skedaddle now, Tony. You have a coffee date with your secretary.”
I just got a face full of tough love. Can’t say I particularly enjoyed it. On the other hand, it sorta filled in a missing piece of my complicated jigsaw life.
There is a difference between manipulation and negotiation. I don’t manipulate consciously, and I haven’t agreed yet with Tony’s assertion that I do it at all. But I know I need to work on negotiation. What was it he said the other day? That things aren’t about him or me anymore, they’re about us and the relationship we’re in.
It sank in when he said I make him feel like a sucker sometimes. Decorating his office was not so much for him, but for me, I realize now. I just forced it on him. I mean, how hard would it have been to say, “Tony, I have an idea I’d like to run past you, can we talk?” And when he balked—as he of course always will to anything new, and different, and out of his comfort zone—then we could have a lively discussion about it until I win. That old “ask for forgiveness rather than permission” stuff is bullshit. Passive-aggressive bullshit, to boot, and that’s not any kind of relationship I want.
I shove the last chair in place, tip the delivery guys who stayed to help me stage the room, and text a message to Tony that it’s safe to come back.
*****
“Okay, so we got pictures of Tom on campus and his family portrait. We stopped by Juliette’s and got a few shots of her planning parties and making people happy. Thanks for meeting me at Tony’s to snap him in his newly-decorated office. Now, we need the rest to be of the Regal. That’s what donors and interested citizens will really want to see.”
We’re pulling into the Regal’s parking lot situated behind the theater. When she’s open for business again, the lot will be restricted to performers and Regal employees. Attendees will have to arrive by Uber or private limo.
The back entrance is typical of the genre. Long, narrow hallways with nondescript paint and mediocre lighting. But once you make it to the front and meander into the lobby, it’s a different story. You’re in Fantasyland, swimming in opulence.
Except for the contractor in jeans and a yellow hardhat.
“Hey, Eldon! Thanks fo
r letting us come today.”
“Sure, Cleo. So you need some pictures?”
Janelle holds out her hand. “I’m the photographer, Janelle Overstreet. How are you?”
His fist engulfs her hand and gives it a single shake. “We’re moving along, thanks. Any idea where you want to start?”
I have to chuckle. Good ol’ cut-to-the-chase Eldon. “Well, we’ll definitely want electricians and their work. Do you have any other crews here?”
“I might be able to find an engineer or two. And there’s a team of HVAC people assessing the system.”
“Sounds good. The lobby looks good. I’m glad we’re going to be able to hold the fund-raising gala here next week. Even in her faded glory, she’s still impressive.”
Janelle steps aside and snaps some pictures from different angles. I’m glad to have her practiced eye capturing things that will work well in our handouts for the event.
“Where will you be setting up the screen for the virtual tour?” I ask.
“I’ve already installed it. Got it in place after the electricians finished this part of the building. Let me show you.”
He and I discuss logistics while Janelle continues taking pictures. When she has all she needs, Eldon says, “I forgot to mention that sculptor’s here today, up on the roof, taking measurements and pictures. I don’t know how long he’s planning to stay, so why don’t I take you there first.”
We trail after Eldon through the complex to the service elevator that takes us to the roof. Janelle starts snapping the minute the door opens. She snaps one of each of the statues crouched in the roof’s crenellations. She surprises herself by capturing a picture of a man taking a photo of her. Laughing, they turn off their cameras and introduce themselves to each other. Eldon and I join them near the building’s edge, beside a playful-looking concrete demon.
“Avery, hi! I can’t wait to see that picture!”
He pecks my cheek and winks at Janelle. “It should be a good one for your brochure. I’ll send you a copy of the one I took of Janelle here. You can label them ‘Artists at work.’”
I drag wide eyes toward my photographer. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“I like it,” she says. “Show me what you’re doing with the gargoyles, Avery.”
Eldon gives Janelle his phone number and tells her to text him when she’s finished taking pictures up here. With a thousand things to do for the gala, I abandon them to do their thing and take my leave with Eldon.
“How’s progress? Will you be able to finish the electrical in time to meet the city’s deadline?”
“If the money doesn’t run out.”
“The fund-raiser should take care of that.”
“I sure hope so, Cleo. There’s an awful lot riding on that party.”
*****
I fall forward onto Tony’s chest, and he rolls us on our sides, facing each other. “We oughta try that in my bed someday.”
“Whenever you like. Don’t you sleep better listening to the surf, though?”
He has a fine dusting of chest hair I like to snuggle up to. It’s enough to remind me I have a boy in my bed, but not enough to think King Kong’s invaded the boudoir. Although, come to think of it, King Kong might not be much competition for King Cock. In fact, King Kong might envy King Cock. Wonder how big a gorilla’s dick is? That would be an interesting comparison study! I snort.
“What are you laughing about, little hummingbird? It’s time to rest.” I hear the quiet words rumble through his chest rather than in my ears. I love it when his chest rumbles at me.
I snuggle deeper. “Your cock.” I bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.
He grows so still moss could grow on him. He even stops breathing. “No one laughs at a man’s penis.”
So serious. My shoulders shake with my stifled chuckles. “King Kong was there, too.”
“Where?”
“In the line-up.”
“My cock was in a line-up? Oh. Wait.”
“Yup.”
“Dare I ask?”
“Let’s just say he threw a tantrum and tore the place apart.”
Tony inhales deeply and hug-rocks me gently. “Okay, that’s different, then.”
I kiss his chest and let the mighty cock master rock us to sleep.
CHAPTER 12
The woman on my arm at the Regal Theater stands out amongst all the black and white. Her gown is the color of dragon fruit, and an almost neon version stains her full, pouty lips. When she turns her gaze on me, her Fremen eyes pierce my soul. The last time we were together in this concert hall, she was with another man.
Tonight, she’s mine.
And she’s as nervous as a new parent. Why wouldn’t she be? This gala is like her baby, as much as she has invested in it.
If that weren’t enough, we decided to make this event our debut as a couple. I’m amazed we’ve kept it private this long, though I think Linda suspects, and I caught Eldon glancing between Cleo and me over the conference table, a knowing gleam in his eye.
“You look beautiful. I want to kiss you,” I whisper out the side of my mouth.
She slaps my forearm. “Remember your parents are here.”
“You say that like it’s a deterrent. You didn’t hear Dad’s lecture on keeping my woman satisfied.”
That snags her attention. “Omigod, you told me he needed your financial advice.”
“He did. And he repaid it with some advice of his own.”
Now she’s the one leaning in closer. “Tell me.”
“Never. Men have to keep a little advantage over their women.”
She does the sideways peep through her lashes she knows makes me wild for her. “I’ll just have to torture you for your secrets.”
I stare off in the distance, pretending to ignore her. “Humph. There’s no way.”
“Wanna bet? How about if I unzip your pants with my teeth?”
“Big deal.”
“And bury my nose in your silk boxers.”
I shrug. “Eh.”
“Breathe in your man-smell. Draw that musk into my lungs. Let it fill my senses ‘til there’s nothing but you.”
Damn. Think of your fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Calthorp. A female Ichabod Crane. Hair slicked back into a tight little bun. Oooh, that’s no good, I love tight buns.
“And when you begin to outgrow your silk boxers, and push above the waistband like always, my mouth will be waiting. Hot. Wet. Ravenous.”
“Okay, stop. This tux is too tight to hide a big boner.”
She giggles, and I know she has her confidence back, and that she’ll make it through the evening.
I, on the other hand…may have to drag her into a dark closet someplace. Five minutes. That’s all I’ll need. Just five, quick minutes.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says in a sing-song voice.
I use my deepest, manliest voice back to her. “Do you now?”
She shivers all over. We may need ten minutes in that closet.
“Hey, you two.”
We break apart like guilty kids, then grin at each other, total nerds.
“Hi, Tom, how ya holdin’ up?” I ask. He looks pasty, like maybe he had some bad sushi.
“Fine, fine. Doin’ fine.” His focus hasn’t lit on any one object or person yet. “Yep, just fine. You?”
Cleo looks as concerned as I. “Are you Sally?” she asks the woman keeping Tom from becoming a floor puddle. Tom’s wife looks like a school teacher—round cheeks, happy smile, presentable but not flashy, a nice person you’d trust your kid with.
“Yes, and it’s my family’s theater that’s giving us all angina, sorry.”
“It’s a normal reaction at a fund-raiser,” I say. “Is it your first?”
She nods.
“It won’t be our last. Pace yourself. Pretend you’re a guest and just have fun.”
“Can I get you a bottle of water?” Cleo asks and dashes away before receiving an answer.
&nbs
p; Sally blinks. I think she should probably sit down. But as the “hostess” of the event, she and Tom have to keep mingling.
“That’s a very pretty woman. Is she working on the project, or is she your wife?”
My wife. It’s the first time I’ve heard those words referring to Cleo. People keep trying to push us down the aisle, when I’m not even sure how we’re getting to the church. “We’re not married. Cleo Waiteberry handles the project’s advertising.”
It feels strange to put that much distance between Cleo and me. Say she’s the advertising agent, nothing more personal. It’s almost a lie. It is a lie. Why didn’t we discuss what to say to questions like that?
“Well, you look good together. Maybe you should step up to the plate.”
Oh, yes, there’s the schoolteacher. Making sure everyone gets along and is playing nicely together. “Ms. Waiteberry and I are involved, but we just met on this project.”
“Oh! So early days yet. I understand. I hope it works out. If you can survive the stresses of a project like this, you should do fine with most anything else. Thank you, Cleo,” Sally says, taking the tumblers of ice water and lime from her and handing one to Tom, who’s lost in his own thoughts, scrutinizing the woodwork rather than glad-handing potential donors. “Tony says this project brought the two of you together?”
Cleo looks as stunned as if she’d been slapped. “Uh, yes, yes, that’s right.” I slide a hand around her waist for moral support.
Tom sees my move and suddenly focuses. “Wait. You two are dating? Were you dating before I approached you for the project?”
Poor guy, he’s really out of it. “Would you ladies be all right if Tom and I schmoozed some other guests? I know my parents are here and dying to meet the man of the hour.”
Sally looks relieved. “Thank you, Tony. We’ll be fine.”
“Good. I’ll deliver him to you before the presentation.” I tuck the professor under my comradely arm and steer him into the throng. I should have thought to prep him for tonight. But I honestly thought a professor, who’s used to public speaking, wouldn’t need coaching. Wrong.
“I can’t do this, Tony,” Tom says under his breath. “I have no idea how to do this.”
