The queasiness morphed back into agitation. He refused to let Marisa see how her stoic, icy demeanor affected him, refused to let her know he felt anything but in control.
In fact, as he read through the press release, he could barely contain his anger. He concentrated on one word at a time, trying to make sense of it all, but the words fell into incomprehension. He gave it another pass, but once again, the words failed to coalesce.
Alex looked up at her. “This looks good to you?”
She didn’t even look up. “Yes.”
That simple word, so different in context and tone than a couple days ago when she said it breathlessly, made him grit his teeth to keep from lashing out in resentment. Not at her. But at himself.
“Good,” he said, getting to his feet. He picked up the document, forcing himself to smile. “Seems I could have just asked you to fax this over.”
She raised her head a bit, but once again looking like she shouldn’t show any emotion, Marisa kept her attention on the document before her. “I…guess so.”
“All right then. I’ll see you.”
“Bye.”
He took measured strides toward the door, knowing that he should respond to her frigid demeanor. And then Damon’s words came to him: Women test men…They have an inner contempt for men who are weak.
How did these statements relate to his current situation? He didn’t think Marisa was testing him. Not now. She was clearly upset. And unwilling to discuss why. And although she stated otherwise, he knew that she blamed him for the way she was treating him.
Just as he reached the door, Alex turned around. “Hey,” he said, lowering his voice and speaking from deep in his sternum.
Caught off guard by the interruption, Marisa instantly met his gaze.
“This whole thing,” he said, pointing to her, then to himself. “You’re acting like your mother. Cold. Distant. Unfeeling.”
Astonished, she held his gaze. Then her eyebrows knitted together and her lips formed a frown, making it obvious that she hated the comparison.
“Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one hiding from your feelings. And it pisses me off. Because you’re nothing like your mother.”
The way she looked at him, surprised yet thankful, brought to mind Damon’s comment about why Marisa never believed Alex when he complimented her. Now, seeing her face flicker with hope put things into perspective.
That glimmer of faith told him that she was beginning to trust him. And that slight change sent a rush of excitement flowing through him.
So he said, “The next time you’re pissed off at me, tell me why, because I’m done with this sulking thing you’ve got going on.”
Her demeanor changed. Rather than appearing offended, she now looked appreciative.
Unwilling to give her a chance to reply, he turned his back on her, opened the door and shut it behind him. He smiled at Esther, who wanted to corral him in conversation, but he shook his head, pointing at the press release. “Sorry, Esther. Got a lot of work ahead of me.”
A couple hours later, after working alongside his leadership team to ensure that his library shared the same message with its patrons as Bedford Falls did, Alex left Damon a voicemail about how he’d botched things with Marisa and hoped that he had time to meet him at Apocalyptica to discuss the situation. It would also give him a chance to salvage their relationship.
A short time later, when he stepped up to the bar, Alex was glad to find his friend already waiting there, a bottle of Miller Light a few inches from his fingers. He took that as a sign that Damon also wanted to make peace.
“Thanks for stopping by,” Alex said.
Damon nodded, looking at the mirror behind the bar to check out the action (women) in the room behind him.
“I didn’t mean to be such a…” Alex cocked his head to the side, unwilling to finish the sentence. “You’ve helped me more than I want to admit.”
A smirk lifted Damon’s lips. “Apology accepted.” He clapped Alex on the shoulder. “Now what’s this about messing up with Marisa?”
Alex recounted the details from earlier this week at Marisa’s house as well as this afternoon at Bedford Falls and waited for Damon’s analysis and suggestions.
“Dude,” he said, taking a swig from his bottle of beer. He lowered the bottle, looked at Alex, and shook his head, disappointed. “Dude…”
Alex hung his head. “I didn’t know if she was drunk. I was trying to be a gentleman.”
“Okay, there’s a time for being a gentleman—like opening a door for a lady. Lying beside her on a bed is not the time to be a gentleman. I’m not trying to make you feel bad here, but think about it: how does a gentleman act in that situation?
“Ask if it’s acceptable to remove her clothing like you’re in a Victorian novel? She’d lose all respect for you…and all that attraction you’ve built up between you.” He put the bottle of beer on the countertop, looking defeated. “And based on her reaction this afternoon, I hate to say it, but I think you have to throw in the towel.”
Filled with dread, Alex refused give up now, not after finally seeing Marisa respond to him in a romantic way. “There has to be something I can do.”
Damon gave it further thought but looked doubtful.
“What? You have an idea? Tell me.”
“It’s not gentlemanly,” he said, chuckling. “That’s for damn sure.”
“Try me.”
“Calling it sneaky is an understatement.” He gave it further consideration. “Nah, I don’t recommend it.”
“Can it give me a second chance?”
“How do you see your relationship with Marisa at this point? And where do you see it going in the future?”
“Right now? Awkward. I’m pretty sure we can recover. But it’s going to be a while before that happens.” He recalled her reluctance to meet his gaze this afternoon. “I don’t think I’ll get another shot at anything more than that.”
“So it’s time to pull out the bazooka. Is that what you’re telling me? Because if this doesn’t work, you won’t get another chance. And you can say goodbye to your friendship. If you do this, there’s no turning back. Ever. Are you sure you want to give this a shot?”
“I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
After finishing a hectic week brimming with inner turmoil and tremendous self-doubt, Marisa left work on Friday and felt a sensation similar to that of facing a two-day reprieve from middle school. Never before had she considered her career as actual work, but her new job became more pressure-filled than she could have ever imagined. But in a good way.
She felt like she was making an impact, like her contributions could transform lives and shape her community. And having only half of her leadership team working alongside her reinforced the uphill battle she faced, making each small success that much sweeter.
Just as she finished applying some blush to her cheeks to complete her Cleopatra costume, the doorbell rang. Excitement flashed through her. Marisa took a final look at the lone-shouldered red gown that emphasized the figure she worked so hard to attain. Then she adjusted the golden tiara that allowed a mass of curls to spill down her back.
When it came to Cleopatra, she didn’t want to rely on black and white drawings, so she turned to Hollywood for inspiration; she preferred Angelina Jolie’s elegant yet simple attire and modest make-up, compared to Elizabeth Taylor’s embroidered gowns, thick braids, and heavy cosmetics.
She hurried to the door, eager to see Brad, so she could finally figure out what they meant to each other. Not only that, but she couldn’t wait to see his costume, and she looked forward to seeing everyone’s reaction upon watching Cleopatra and Mark Antony enter the party. She opened the door…and saw Freddy Krueger standing before her.
“I’m your worst nightmare,” Brad said behind his burned facial mask, spreading his clawed hands at his sides. “It’s awesome, right?” He poked a few claws into a
soiled red and black sweater before plucking the dark hat off his head. “Check it out—no hair on top. Incredibly authentic, right?” His mangled mask curled into a grin.
Marisa’s smile faltered. Her hopes of having Lauren or Kelsey snapping a picture of her and Brad dressed as one of the most famous couples in history vanished.
“Please take off the mask.”
He removed it. “What’s wrong?” he asked, entering her home, placing both hands on her bare arms. “Don’t worry about the claws, they’re plastic.” He hunched over a bit, pretending to catch her eyes in a different light, angling to improve her mood. “I can carve a smile into your face if you’d like.”
“Not funny. At all. You promised to come as Mark Antony.”
“It looked all right, but when I tried this one on, I couldn’t pass it up. Check out these claws.” He slipped one under her right shoulder strap and slid it onto her upper arm. “Oops.” He giggled like a little boy peeping through the door of a girl’s locker room.
She spun around, placing a hand to her temples. But remembering how she lashed out at Brad the last time they were together, Marisa reigned in her temper. What did it matter if she couldn’t have that memory captured for posterity’s sake? They could have many other opportunities to dress as a famous couple in the future. Put in that context, now envisioning Freddy Krueger escorting Cleopatra around a party, she let out a chuckle.
Brad came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her neck, and said in her ear, “You have to admit, I look pretty kick-ass.”
“Pretty? No. Kick-ass? I’ll grant you that one.”
“Ha.” He pecked her cheek. “Let’s hit the road, babe.”
Half an hour later, after Lauren opened her front door dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, Marisa hugged her friend, hearing the stereo blasting the Beyonce song “Single Ladies,” in the background. Although she loved the song, the message behind it didn’t feel empowering – not when she’d only moments ago made up her mind to either devote her herself to Brad by the end of the night—or to let him go forever.
Marisa said, “Is Denny dressing as the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, or the Cowardly Lion?”
“None of the above.” She welcomed her inside. “Hi Brad,” she said with only a passing interest. “Come on in.” She turned back to Marisa. “I couldn’t dissuade him from…” She looked skyward. “He’s Gollum. From The Lord of the Rings.”
“Really?” Marisa said, laughing at the idea.
“Hey, it’s better than last year. Remember Yoda? Jesus! So yes, my better half is…hobbling around wearing only a brown cloth the size of a stamp to shield the family jewels.”
“A stamp, huh? Oooh, you’re a lucky girl.”
“Nice,” she said, un-amused. “He got these really atrocious ears.” She slapped a hand against her forehead.
Denny, a pale, flabby man wearing a bald rubber cap with only a few strings of hair plastered to either side of it, slipped in behind Lauren. “My precccioussss,” he snarled, revealing a set of fake corroded teeth.
“I’m not in Kansas anymore.”
Marisa laughed at the pair, feeling fortunate not to have her date dress as a disgusting troll. She dismissed her earlier annoyance as she took in Lauren and Denny’s decadent Halloween theatrics: the enormous black spider web hanging from the ceiling; a trio of skeletons, their arms and legs twisted in all directions, dangling from a far wall; a couple gravestones and a duo of gargoyles in opposing corners of the room. Various other trinkets adorned the walls, tables, and every inch of the dining room and beyond.
Neither Lauren nor Denny placed great importance on major holidays, but they went all out on Halloween, and they preferred indulgence to trivial dramatics. In fact, Lauren’s interest in Halloween-related memorabilia encouraged Kelsey to ask her for help in staging both floors of the Witching Hour.
The doorbell rang. As Denny in full-on Gollum antics tottered over to the door, Lauren turned to Marisa. “Kelsey’s walking around holding a wooden stake, wearing a tight tank top with the words, ‘Vampires Suck,’ telling everyone she’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I mean, if you have to tell people who you are – probably not a convincing costume. Am I right?”
Marisa had to give her that one.
“Take away the stake, the facial cuts and dark bruises, and she’s just Kelsey the Restaurateur. But I give her credit: she’s sticking with it.” Lauren grinned. “Did you get that?” she asked, pretending to brandish a stake, with a stabbing motion. “Sticking with it?”
Marisa shook her head at the appalling joke.
“Yeah, I should leave now.” Lauren excused herself to invite the newly arrived guests.
Marisa turned to Brad, but he’d vanished. She spotted him in another room, drinking beer with a cowboy wearing a beaten-up hat, suede boots with spurs, and a plastic gun attached to his holster. Beside them stood a doctor wearing a white lab coat with a stethoscope around his neck. Napoleon, dressed in a military uniform and wearing black leather boots up to his knees, waved an ornate hat at guests who passed by.
“Do you think that doctor is wondering how to fix up Freddy’s face?” Kelsey asked, stepping up to Marisa.
“Oh, hey,” she said, unsure where their friendship stood. “It can’t be that bad. How’ve you been?”
“Okay,” Kelsey said, raising her stake at a vampire who crept up on her. “I’ll dust you. And believe me: Mr. Pointy hurts.” She chuckled as the bloodsucker slinked away, cowering. “We’re good, right?”
Relieved that her friend was extending an Olive Branch, Marisa nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.” Unlike many women, who would hold a grudge or talk about their friends behind their backs, Kelsey never resorted to such appalling behavior. Her bluntness rendered those underhanded schemes unnecessary. Everyone always knew where they stood with her at all times.
“You’re here with Brad?”
Marisa didn’t hear an inflection of disgust in Kelsey’s voice, so she said, “Yeah, he’s discussing the benefits of a dermatologist-approved regiment with the good doctor,” she said, gesturing to Freddy Krueger.
“He’s such a babe magnet,” Kelsey said. “How do you beat the women away?”
“He lets me borrow the claws. No one would dare get into a cat-fight with me.” She checked out the action around them. “Any good-looking men here?”
“One guy dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow looked pretty hot. But I get the impression that wearing make-up was not a one-day occurrence for him. There was a zombie that might be good looking, but he smelled like decay, so again, not sure if it’s a costume-thing or the real deal. Overall, not a good night for hunting.”
“This is just a thought, but wielding a wooden stake might not be the most approachable accessory to attract men. Vampires looking for a fight? Definitely. Humans? Not so much.”
“Buffy sure makes it look hot.”
Intrigued by the gay innuendo, Marisa said, “Maybe I should have asked if there were any good-looking women here.”
“Funny,” Kelsey said with a straight face. “But some guys get turned on by a forceful woman. Maybe I’ll meet one tonight.”
A redhead with lustrous wavy hair under an enormous purple hat with a big bow on top brushed by. She wore an elegant white suit with blue pin-stripes and a pendant just below the knot in her tie. Drawn by Kelsey, she stopped by her. “Are you here with Angel or Spike?”
Kelsey cracked a smile. “I left the boys at home to banter about who loved me more.”
“Wise choice. I’m an Angel girl myself. You?”
“He’s all yours. Spike is picking me up later.”
“Unbelievable!” Marisa said, amazed that a show people laughed at could draw such devoted fans.
“I know,” Kelsey said, choosing to acknowledge the comment as a compliment on how well this visitor managed to steal the look of Kate Winslet from the movie, Titanic. “Everything looks so…perfect. It must have cost a fortune.” She raised her hand. “Put her there, sister.�
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The redhead gave Kelsey a high-five then drew near. “The truth is: I wear this every year. I just hit different parties. But I can’t help it. I adore her character. My name’s Cassandra.”
“Hi, I’m Kelsey.”
Marisa stood in awe of how easily Kelsey made friends. She had only met Cassandra, and they carried on as if they’d known each other for years. “Hi, Cassandra. I’ve got to say, you put Kate Winslet to shame.”
“Why, thank you, Miss Cleopatra. Wait, are you married at this point? And to whom: Mark Antony or Julius Caesar? Oh, but I’m guessing they didn’t call each other Mr. and Mrs. back then. So how should I refer to you?”
“Marisa will do just fine.” Okay, Alex had a point: she’d forgotten to introduce herself. How embarrassing!
“Whoa,” said Cassandra, removing a fan and fluttering it near her cheek as she gestured toward the front door. “Now he looks hot in a suit. Even if it’s a Batman suit. Still hot.”
“Yeah, what is that, synthetic?” asked Kelsey with a knowing smile. “Rubber? It must get pretty warm in there.”
“He looks like Alex,” Marisa said, “but his favorite super-hero is Daredevil, so—”
“Cassandra,” Kelsey said, interrupting her. “I can introduce you, if you’d like.”
“Yes, I think I’d…wait a minute. Those eyes: I remember them from…” Her cheeks blazed red. “No, I’d rather not.”
“Is everything, all right?” asked Marisa, catching the complete reversal in Cassandra’s demeanor.
She turned her back on Batman, let out a long sigh, and faced Marisa and Kelsey. “I met him a few weeks ago. He has magic lips, I swear to God. No guy made me that horny in…I just met him, but he was so hot that I brought him back to my place. But once we got inside, I grabbed him toward the living room, and then out of nowhere: he tells me he’s in love with someone else.” Her face couldn’t hide the sting of rejection. “I kicked him out.”
“That’s terrible,” Marisa said, wanting to lift Cassandra’s spirits. “But he could have lied. Most men probably would have. You’re probably better off.”
One Step Away (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 1) Page 20
