“Sure as long as you don’t jump out of the car and yell at me.”
“Deal.”
That night as I lie in bed, I remember the charge I felt just seeing her again, and I’m pretty sure she was feeling the same. She looked stressed out and depressed when I saw her from a distance in the yard, and once we’d talked things out and got past that stupid argument, her real smile returned.
It feels like there’s some of Elle now in every part of me . . . she’s on the edge of every thought . . . her laugh, the teasing look in her eyes, and the way she curls into me whenever we’re on the couch together. Tonight she laid her head on my chest as we watched some show. It could have been anything on TV, but all I cared about was that I was there with her and how weirdly perfect that felt.
Now that she’s pregnant I know I shouldn’t be thinking of sex with her, but I do . . . all the time. She’s always turned me on but now it’s different. There’s something primitive about it, like I’m a freaking tiger desperate to mate her. Is this some crazy male hormone thing? I should Google that shit.
Everything that I’m attracted to in a woman is accentuated now, her curves and full breasts make me wild. Then her vulnerability, which belies her fierce inner strength, makes me protective of her. I don’t want to just claim her as mine, but I want the baby to be mine, too. I feel attached to that kid already. Is that wrong?
I want it all and I have to face that I may never be satisfied until I get it. I also have to face that I could also end up with nothing. It’s in fate’s hands now.
The visit to the baby-stuff store on Sunday ends up being a kick-ass idea on my part. Our salesperson, Naomi, is so amped up to have a baby newbie that she goes above and beyond. By the time we leave the store Elle has a priority list of purchases and although I find the whole thing anxiety producing, Naomi seems to make Elle calm.
She has a big smile on her face when we finally get in the car to go home and see the game.
“That was the best idea ever, Paul,” she says as she squeezes my arm.
“Yeah, I’m a genius.”
“Can you believe how nice that Naomi was? All that time she spent with us and we didn’t even buy anything.”
“Yeah, she reminded me of my mom. Some women are just ga-ga over babies—not just theirs . . . anyone’s.”
“So did it bother you that she kept referring to you as the dad?”
My chest swells but I don’t want her to know how not only did it not bother me, but I liked it—a lot.
“I noticed you didn’t correct her.” I glance over and see her sly smile.
“Well, it’s not her business. We don’t have to explain anything.”
“Did it bother you?” I ask.
“No, I liked it. Believe me, I wish you were the dad.” My heart practically explodes in my chest. I could be.
If I only had the courage to say those words. Still stunned from her honest confession I finally respond, “Really?”
“Of course. You’re awesome. You’ll be a great dad one day.”
“Thanks. I plan to be a great uncle, too.”
Her expression falls a little when I say ‘uncle’. It gives me hope that one day I really can be the dad.
It’s no surprise that Elle passes out curled up next to me in the fourth quarter of the game. The Trojans are kicking Arizona’s ass, and after a while I’m just embarrassed for the Wildcats. I’m starting to doze off myself when Elle suddenly wakes with a start and sits up. Her eyes are wide.
I rub her back. “Hey, you okay?”
She nods but she still looks startled. “Yeah, just really weird dreams.” She points to the television. “Did SC win?”
I nod. “They slaughtered them. I’m glad you missed it. Honestly it was painful to watch.”
She lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay, good.” She settles back against me.
“So what kind of dreams did you have?”
“Disturbing. I’d rather not relive them. Okay?”
“Sure.”
She’s pulling on the ends of her hair and I know her well enough that something I’m not going to like will soon follow out of her mouth.
“So I want to ask you something,” she says in a serious tone.
“Okay.”
“Will you do me a favor and go out with that girl Melanie?”
My head drops down so I can go eye to eye with her. What the fuck is this about?
“Because?”
“Because I want you to find your happiness. And right now you’re putting a lot of your time into helping me. Don’t get me wrong—I’m so grateful for all that you’ve done. I don’t know what state I’d be in right now without you. But I can’t be selfish. I want all the good things for you.”
“What makes you think that Melanie will be all that good for me?”
“I don’t know that she will be, but you were crazy about her. Right?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“But I could tell when her name came up at dinner that she’s still in your thoughts. Just the mention of her visibly got to you.”
I shrug. “We all hold onto all kinds of stuff. Who knows? Maybe it would’ve been great or maybe we would’ve been all wrong for each other. She could be an epic bitch in a relationship.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m just asking you to find out for once and for all.”
“Is this a crazy hormonally inspired idea?”
She smiles. “No. I feel very calm right now.”
As we stare at each other I wonder if she’s right. Maybe I should just do it so I can let go of the teen-angst curiosity that has stayed with me all these years.
“Please,” she says.
“Okay,” I huff.
“I have rules though.”
“You do, huh?” I ask with an arched brow. “That’s rich, Ms. Bossy Pants. What are your rules?”
“If you sleep with her right away I don’t want to hear about it.”
My eyes narrow as I watch her fold her arms over her chest.
“Well, I would’ve thought you’d want to hear all about it. So why not?”
“I’d be jealous, of course. Think about how hard I tried to get you to sleep with me before I gave up.”
“Gotta say, I feel like I’m being set up here for some major girl drama.”
“No, I’ll be good, I promise. Just no hot sex talk. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to hear it.”
I shake my head. “You’re crazy Elle.”
She smiles and winks. “But you like me enough to put up with me.”
“Yeah, I suppose I do.”
Chapter Thirteen
WOMAN ON TOP
I decide to call Melanie Monday afternoon. That seems like a neutral time. It’s not a sexy time, and it can’t come off as anxious since my mom gave me her number over a week ago. I get her voicemail.
Hey, Melanie, it’s Paul McNeill.
Mom gave me your number after you guys ran into each other. She said you’ve moved back to L.A. Let me know if you’d like to meet for coffee or drinks. It’d be cool to catch up.
I leave her my number and realize that my heart is thundering after I end the call. Damn. I’m really not in the mood to get ignored by her again. But she made the gesture, so she sure as hell better return my call. The text arrives ten minutes later.
Hi Paul
How about drinks tomorrow night at Osteria Mozza. 7pm.
As I reply that I’ll see her there, I realize all the implications that her choice suggests: her choice of restaurant is on trend, in sophisticated and hip Hancock Park, highly ranked food, and expensive as all hell for a plate of spaghetti. That’s Melanie. She’s probably never eaten at In-N-Out.
I arrive early to the restaurant so I can pick our seating and have my bearings before she arrives. I’m swirling the Jamisons whiskey in my glass when a feeling comes over me. I just know under my skin that she’s here. Sure enough I turn and it’s as if there is a beam of light just above her as she
gracefully works her way through the crowded bar. I’d forgotten how tall she is, and between the long platinum-blonde hair, and her sleek ivory dress, she stands out in a crowd—not just stands out, she fucking glows. All she needs is a long flute of champagne to finish the picture of how the better half lives.
She gives me a quiet smile as she approaches, and slides into the chair next to me before I have a chance to pull it out for her. She looks amazing. Not that I expected anything less but every gesture seems perfect. Like the way she sweeps her sheet of satin hair over her shoulder so it cascades down her back.
I smile at her. “Good to see you, Melanie.”
“And you,” she says with a nod as the bartender approaches. “Martini, extra dry, extra olives on the side.”
The essence of the Melanie I remember is still there, but now just more polished and confident if that’s even possible . . . more of everything, really.
“New York was good to you, I take it. You look great.”
“Thanks, New York was amazing. It was hard to leave since I found I’m really more of a New York kind of girl. Believe me, it had to be a huge opportunity to get me back here.”
“I’m sure. So where are you now? Mom couldn’t remember.”
“Christopher, Roth, and Reiss. They were especially interested in me because they’ve just landed two huge corporate identity projects. It’s all very exciting. We have meetings in China week after next.”
“Did you do a lot of traveling in your last job?”
She nods before taking a long sip of her martini. “Quite a bit, especially to Australia. Our partner agency was there.”
“Cool. I’ve always wanted to go there.”
We order small plates from the bar and feast on mussels, octopus, and several exotic cheese presentations as she tells me about her favorite projects. I realize when we order our second round of drinks that she hasn’t asked me a single thing about myself. I also haven’t smiled other than those fake smiles you give when you want people to think you’re interested in what they’re saying even though you’re not.
“Do you travel much for work?” she asks, and I have to regroup to realize that she’s actually addressed me.
“Not really unless you call trekking down to Orange County traveling. We mainly do projects in this region, although the partners are doing a big project in Dallas.”
“So how did you end up in landscape architecture as opposed to building architecture? Wouldn’t that be more lucrative?”
“I suppose, but I’ve loved trees and working the earth since I was a boy from hanging out with my dad on jobs. Besides, there’s lots of cutting edge design happening in landscaping. A good design enhances the building.”
“Your dad’s a gardener, isn’t he?” she asks, her gaze wandering off to some people at the bar.
Her tone is condescending like there’s something wrong with what he does.
“He’s an irrigation specialist,” I reply.
“Irrigation. Right,” she says nodding with an intent look on her face. “So do you think you’ll stay in L.A.?”
“I imagine so. My family is here, and I like L.A. It suits me.”
“Hmm, interesting.” She waves the bartender over for a third round. I really feel that two was plenty but before I can say anything the bartender has turned away and starts preparing our order.
She’s a few sips into her fresh martini when I finally see her loosening up. Up until now this tall drink of water has had quite a tolerance for gin. I’m hoping the conversation gets more interesting now that she’s getting a little more relaxed.
“So did you have to leave a boyfriend in New York?” I ask taking the final bite of burrata from the plate of cheeses.
She’s fishing the rogue olive out of the bottom of her glass. “He’s one of the reasons I came out here. I was tired of waiting for him.”
“Waiting?”
“He’s married, and kept telling me he was leaving his pathetic wife.”
I feel a wave of disgust. “Oh, that kind of waiting.”
“And I’m sure she suspected us . . . I mean, all those late nights we ‘worked’ together on projects. I think she just didn’t want to let him go.”
“You worked together?” I have to focus to keep my expression neutral, as much as my stomach is turning. The illusion I had that Melanie is perfect has just faded like a photograph left in a sunny window. Every edge to her is now faded and undefined.
“He was one of the partners. I got spoiled with those long trips to Australia and having him all to myself.”
“Wow. That’s quite a story.”
“And I know he wanted me. I’m sure of it. But he just was afraid of the divorce and how it would affect his kids.”
Oh Jesus. She’s unbelievable.
“Right. So he has kids?”
“Four kids! Can you believe it! One’s just a year old. She got knocked up with that one when I was on a business trip without him. It was just another one of her desperate attempts to hold onto him.”
Wow. So now a man having sex with his wife is cheating on her? The wife did not impregnate herself. He would’ve had to want to have sex with his wife. I guess she can’t accept that.
“So that must have pissed you off.”
“You have no idea. I broke up with him for almost a month that time.”
“Why did you get back with him?”
“He needs me. I’m who he should be with—he’s an incredible, dynamic man and she’s just a housewife.”
“Actually, she’s a mom, and that’s a big job . . . with four kids that’s a really big one, I bet.”
“Whose side are you on?” she asks with a stern expression. I suddenly notice that up close her skin isn’t so smooth after all.
“Side?”
“Oh, let me guess you want kids, too.”
“I do. So I take it you don’t.”
She purses her lips as she shakes her head. “No, I don’t.”
As I watch her sip the last of her drink I marvel that I was once so crazy for this woman. She just seemed so intriguing compared to the other girls in high school. She projected the feeling that she had important things ahead of her and the talent and confidence to get her there. And I have to admit that she was the only girl I ever wanted who didn’t succumb to my charms, so that made her all the more desirable in my eyes. Now that I’ve got her full attention she’s a two dimensional woman with apparently no soul, and not the slightest bit interesting to me.
She looks up at me with one eyebrow arched like she knows a secret. “So I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Paul.”
Wait . . . did she just bat her eyelashes at me? Oh hell no.
“Yeah, what did you hear?”
“That you’re quite the beast in bed.”
I almost spit out the ice cube that’s been rolling around on my tongue.
She leans toward me and speaks in a soft voice. “It is true that you partake in orgies?”
I watch the flush of what I sure as hell hope isn’t arousal crawl up her long neck as she bites her lip, waiting for my answer. “Why do you want to know?”
She chews on the tip of her olive pick. “Because I’d like to try that.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’ve been with women before. My college roommate turned me onto the wonders of that scene, but I’ve only ever done one-on-one.”
I’m speechless. Melanie is bi. That’d be really hot if I liked her a lot more than I do right now.
“My boyfriend that I just mentioned really likes to watch me with another woman.”
“Really? How modern of him.” I gesture to the bartender for the check.
“What’s the most women you’ve done in one orgie?” she asks, leaning even closer.
“I think the stories about me have been exaggerated.” I hand the bartender my credit card without taking time to open the folder to check the bill.
“Well, I’ve heard straight from the source about your many t
alents.” I feel the tips of her fingers graze my knee as I slide the credit card back in my wallet.
So is this why she wanted to see me? I’m not even sure in my craziest times that I would have fucked her after hearing all that I did tonight. I may have screwed women I didn’t have anything in common with during my sex fiend days, but I never screwed someone I didn’t like.
I manage to get her outside claiming a really early morning at work. We’re standing next to the building at the valet station—waiting for my car and her Uber—when she suddenly turns and leans into me, pressing me against the building.
“Why don’t you come for a drink at my place?”
If I push my disappointment with her aside, I can’t deny that it feels really good to have a beautiful woman this close to me after two dry years, but there’s no way I’m going to her place.
I choose a vague reply. “Tonight’s not the night.”
She leans her face into my neck and skins her teeth along my stubble while she slips her hand into the back pocket of my jeans. She moans as she squeezes my ass and pulls me against her. “We could have such a good time,” she whispers.
My head starts swimming, it’s been so damn long since anyone has rubbed against me like I was the flint to their flame. I shouldn’t be surprised when she kisses me. Honestly, I’m trying so hard to focus on her home wrecker ways, and not her naked with another woman, that I don’t see her next move coming as her tongue slides in my mouth and tries to take control of mine. She’s moving over me like hot lava and with the resulting roar in my head I barely hear the valet clearing his throat and jingling the car keys.
Holy hell.
My eyes pop open and I peel her off me so I can hand the guy a ten and get my keys.
“You sure?” she asks as the Uber driver tries to get her attention.
I do what I did so many times back in the day and it makes me feel dirty but I do it anyway—the McNeill brush-off. It’s all in the presentation. I take her chin in my hand and run my thumb back and forth along her jaw, while looking in her eyes like I’m peering into her soul. “I’ll call you,” I say just loud enough for her to think she heard me right but can’t be sure.
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