by Portia Moore
He leans down slowly and whispers, “I work for the mob.”
I sigh and gently push him away, seeing his wide smile. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop asking. But it is legal, right?”
He shrugs with a slight smirk. “Maybe, maybe not,” he says even more cryptically.
I roll my eyes at him. Suddenly, his jacket pocket buzzes, and he pulls out his phone.
“This will only be a minute,” he promises and I nod, excusing him. I hear him say, “Hello?” as he walks a little ways down the hall.
A voice at my side interrupts my enjoyment of the view walking away from me.
“Hi, I’m Darrell Comings, a photographer from the Journal. Do you mind if I take a picture of you looking at this painting?” he asks, already prepping his camera. I don’t even know where this guy came from.
“Um… sure,” I say, but when I look back down the hall, Cal is nowhere to be seen. I could have sworn he was just there.
The cameraman ushers me in front of a painting. “Just look up at the painting naturally.”
I look at the painting, seeing it for the first time. “Is that good?”
“Perfect, stay still.” I hear the quiet click of the camera, followed by, “You’re done.
Thank you.” He and his companion walk away.
I look through the crowd, trying to spot Cal. Walking out to the main hall of the museum, I observe the crowd of impeccably dressed people and servers carrying trays of expensive champagne. The comforting quiet of the other section is replaced with a low hum of chattering, clicking heels, and soft piano music playing overhead.
I make my way through the crowd, trying to spot my handsome, six-foot-something companion, and I feel someone lightly grab my arm. I let out a sigh of relief until I see that’s it’s Jason.
“Lauren, I thought it was you,” he says happily.
“Hi,” I say, trying to match his enthusiasm. God, I don’t want to get stuck talking to him all night. I continue to glance around, hoping to spot Cal somewhere.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, oblivious to my anxiousness.
“I… I was invited.”
“Really?” he asks, stepping forward, a little too close for my liking. I step back, trying to reclaim my comfort zone, but he continues to move in on me. “I’m really sorry about dinner. My boss called.”
Too busy to call and see if I made it home safely, hmm? “It’s fine. I understand.” God, why am I so nice all the time?
“Yeah, well, I know this was the second time. I really just want to apologize. It won’t happen again,” he assures me.
I know it won’t happen again because we’ll never be on a date again. We both stand around awkwardly, and I scan the crowd for Cal.
“Would you like some champagne or something?” he asks.
“No, I’m fine,” I say weakly. “Your eye looks better.” It’s still a bit swollen, but the makeup over it is doing its best job to hide it.
“Oh yeah. It feels a little better,” he says, running his hand across it. He smiles at me. “Y-you look beautiful.” His eyes drift from my legs upward.
I wrap my arms around myself out of irritation. I feel as if he can see through my clothes, and it’s creepy. “Thank you. I like your suit,” I reply mechanically.
“Thanks, I just bought it,” he says, tracing the rim of it proudly. “Umm, are you doing anything after this?” He moves closer to me again.
“Actually…” I say, starting to excuse myself from another date of boring torture, when I feel a strong arm wrap around my waist.
Cal is back at my side, looking down at me with an arched brow and a sexy smirk. “I lost you for a minute.”
“It was more like I lost you,” I retort, thankful for his return. For a moment I forget Jason is even standing here. I glance over to see him looking annoyed but more confused. I should feel awkward about this, but I’m more amused than anything. “Jason, this is Cal. Cal, Jason.”
Jason sticks out his hand, and Cal takes it. For a moment, a look of anger crosses Jason’s face.
“The infamous Cal.” He laughs tightly and runs his hand across the bruise over his eye.
I then remember that Cal is the reason he has that bruise. I glance at Cal and see his expression is still calm—and a little smug, if I’m reading it right.
“Lauren, I thought you would keep our midnight escapades a secret,” he says, pulling me closer.
I look at Jason, who is turning red from either anger or embarrassment; I’m not sure which. I feel a little sorry for him, but I’m unwilling to pull away from my comfortable position in Cal’s arms.
“Well, I better get going. I have a lot to write for the paper,” he bumbles, already walking away.
“It was nice seeing you.” I give him a slight wave.
“Oh, Jason, you may want to get that looked at,” Cal says, gesturing to the cut above Jason’s eye.
Jason presses his lips together tightly and walks away in a huff. I let out a much-needed sigh of relief.
“So let me know if I’m wrong, but you seem to have lot of options here?” He laughs.
“Are you implying something, sir?” I say, hoping my sarcasm covers my embarrassment.
“Oh no. It’s just I thought I was on a playing field all my own,” he says, crossing his arms with a smug grin.
“You don’t seem to be the type that’s easily intimidated,” I retort, playing along.
“Oh, I’m not.” He laughs haughtily. “I guess I’m going to have to do something to make myself more memorable.”
He leaves me with a seductive smile that I can’t help but follow.
May 9th 2011
May 9th, 2011
I’ve been tiptoeing around the house for the past few hours, admittedly trying to avoid Raven. I haven’t faced her since the most embarrassing moment of my life. I suspect she left quite soon after she found Cal and me in the pantry. We’ve run the poor woman out of her own house. How terrible is that?
I’ve been trying to think of where I can go to use a Wi-Fi connection in Saginaw. My mind has been all over the place, coming up with ideas and dreams about opening my gallery. I don’t know why I never thought of it myself. I smile, thinking about the epiphany Cal had this morning. He can be distant, aloof, and distracted most of the time, but however far away his mind is, it doesn’t change the fact that he knows me and what makes me happy. And at this point, he should know what makes me sad too—what can hurt me deep down to the core.
I head downstairs to see that Cal has fallen asleep on the couch watching SportsCenter. I snuggle in beside him. I inhale his scent. After all these years, I still can’t believe how good he smells all the time. He adjusts his position to let me climb up beside him. I reach for the remote resting on his chest, but he grabs it.
“You’re sleeping,” I whine.
“But I’m still listening to it,” he retorts, his eyes still closed.
“You’re so selfish,” I pout, snuggling closer and enjoying his warmth.
“No, you were just too chicken to come downstairs first.”
“How did that go… with Raven?”
“It went fine. I apologized and told her it was my fault.”
“How did she take it?”
“She said she was young once and for you not to worry about it. I told you she’s gotten pantry action before.” He snickers.
I swat him playfully. “Have you talked to Dexter yet?”
“No, he’s in Ireland. Why?”
“Well, you said coming back here could have messed up a business deal for him. I wanted to make sure everything was okay between you two.”
“Yeah, it’s something I was working on—on my own. I wasn’t going to tell Dex until it was secured. It’s not a big deal.”
“Well, what was it you were…” I trail off as his phone rings. I can see the caller ID from here. It’s him.
“Speak of the devil.” He laughs before picking it up, a wide smile on his face. “Dex! How’s t
he whiskey over there?”
I hear Dexter’s voice on the other end, but it’s not loud and joking as he usually is with Cal. After a few moments, Cal’s smile fades into something more serious.
“Cal, what’s wrong?” I ask, noticing his demeanor change. His face shows something I’ve never seen before.
“Yeah, I’m still here,” he says, almost absentmindedly. His face is drawn into a look of concern, but his eyes are almost glazed over. He slowly sits up, forcing me to sit up as well. “When did they get that information? How bad is it? …Yeah, she’s here. We’re in Saginaw, at her aunt’s.”
He stands and walks to the other side of the room. I stand too, following him.
He puts the phone down to his side. “I need a minute, okay?” His voice is unsteady, and it makes my heart beat faster. I’ve never seen him this way before.
“Babe, what’s wrong?” Instinct is screaming at me not to leave him alone.
“I need a minute.” His voice is cold and stern.
Against my better judgment, I nod and step back to let him walk out the front door. From the window, I watch him pace as he continues to talk on the phone. I’ve never seen him distraught before—angry, yes, but not this. I’d give anything to hear what is being said. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach—the same one I get when I see the familiar bag he takes on his overnight trips, except this is worse.
Raven’s car pulls up, and she passes Cal on her way into the house. He acknowledges her but continues pacing and talking. I meet her at the door.
“Honey, is everything okay with Cal? He seems upset,” she asks, closing the door. “Are you okay?” She touches my shoulder.
“I-I don’t know. He got a phone call from Dexter, and whatever he’s saying, it-it’s not good,” I explain, folding my arms around myself.
We both stand there, watching him through the window.
“Is it something going on back home?” she asks.
“I don’t know. It could be, but I think it’s something more than that. Did he look angry to you?”
“No, more like worried or alarmed,” she says, confirming my fears.
In three years, I’ve never seen him afraid or alarmed about anything. “Cal doesn’t get like that over work,” I say aloud, but more to myself.
Cal is good at what he does, and I would say he’s dedicated, but it doesn’t affect him like this. There has only been one other time I’ve seen him emotional about work, and well, that was right before things started to change between Cal and me. Still, this is different. He finally puts the phone down and runs his hands through his hair in frustration. I head toward the door, and Raven gently grasps my arm.
“Honey, maybe you should give him a minute,” she says.
I watch him kick the dust as if it’s someone’s head. “I can’t.” Maybe he does need a moment, but I can’t help it. I have to know what’s going on, and if he’s okay. I quickly run out the door and down the stairs. “Cal, what’s wrong? What happened?”
He glances at me briefly and turns his attention back to the ground.
“What’s wrong? Talk to me,” I plead.
I move closer to him and hold his face. For a second, he’s vulnerable, and the gray eyes that engulf me are the seldom-appearing faint green. He opens his mouth to speak, and I imagine he’s about to tell me what’s wrong. He’s finally going to let me in on whatever it is that’s bothering him. The thing that keeps slipping between him and me, pulling us apart, is about to be revealed. And then, just as quickly as the moment came, it passes—it’s gone. His expression turns cold, and he takes my hand off of his face and walks away from me, heading toward the house.
“Cal, talk to me!” I yell, following close behind him as he enters the house. “What did Dexter say? Is this about the deal?”
I follow him up the stairs and into my room. He grabs his wallet and keys.
“You’re leaving? What’s happened?”
He walks out of the room without saying a word, quickly heading back down the stairs.
“Where are you going? Can you say something?”
I grab his arm, and he snatches it away from me and walks out the front door. Following him out of the house, I swallow my anger. I know something’s wrong. He hits the alarm on his Porsche and walks to the driver’s side. I open the passenger door, get in, and buckle my seat belt.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m coming with you,” I tell him.
“No, you’re not,” he says shortly.
“Yes, I am. Something is wrong, and you won’t tell me what. I won’t let you leave here like this.” I fold my arms across my chest and look forward, avoiding his heated glare. I cross my feet over each other, feeling a little ridiculous. I don’t even have any shoes on, but if I leave this car, he’s pulling off without me.
“Lauren, get out of the car,” he says, his voice rising.
“No, I’m going with you,” I say adamantly.
“Lauren, get out of the fucking car! I don’t have time for this!” he yells.
“No!” I shout back at him.
In an instant, he’s out of the car, walking over to my side. He opens the door, and I stare him down.
“Don’t make me pull you out of the car,” he says quietly, and I ignore his intense glare.
In a second, he’s reaching over me, undoing my seat belt. I push him away, and he wraps his arms around my waist, lifting me out of the seat.
“I’m not getting out!”
I grab the steering wheel, holding on for dear life, but he somehow manages to loosen my grip. I hit the horn somehow in the process. So much for not attracting any attention.
“Stop it, Cal!” I scream at him as he carries me toward the house. I struggle to get out of his arms.
One of Raven’s neighbors has stepped out of their house and is watching us. Cal must have noticed also, and he puts me down. I start to head back to the car, and he steps in my way.
“Lauren, fuck! Go in the house. You’re not coming with me!”
“Why? Why can’t I go with you?” I scream, and he covers his face in frustration.
“You just can’t, okay! You’re wasting my time making me do this with you!” he shouts. “Just… just go in the house.” I burst into tears, and he shakes his head. “Please!” he says, his tone still loud but softer.
“What is going on!” Raven shouts frantically from the porch, obviously having heard the commotion we’ve caused. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass her with all our drama here on the front lawn.
“Fine, just go,” I say, swallowing my remaining tears and gesturing toward the car.
“I’ll be back,” is his only reply as he heads back to the car.
I don’t notice Raven beside me for a few seconds. She says something, but I don’t really know what. My attention is on the black Porsche zooming out of her driveway, taking with it all of the progress we made over the past few days, and I realize our time here was just a bandage on an open wound that’s not even close to healing.
Chapter 7
May 10th, 2008
“Here we are,” he says as we step toward one of only two doors on the entire floor. He opens it, standing aside to allow me to enter first.
In the car, coming up to his apartment alone seemed like a good idea, but now I’m second-guessing myself. After leaving the museum, I said I’d never seen the Chicago skyline before from anywhere other than the club, and he said he had a great view of it.
I look up to see he’s still waiting for me to go in. I bite my lip. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I don’t know what he may think this implies. Maybe I should just say I’m feeling sick and go home. I look up again and see an amused grin on his face. I smile back at him, ignoring his humorous demeanor at my indecisiveness, and walk past him.
“Thank you,” I say quietly as I enter the apartment… or more like penthouse.
The butterflies in my stomach triple. The click of my heels on the chocolate
-colored hardwood echoes throughout the house. I let out a small gasp as I take in the tall vaulted ceilings that reveal a second floor being introduced by a long, wraparound staircase.
The next thing that catches my attention is the open-concept kitchen with all stainless steel appliances, separated from the living area by an island, which I can bet is granite. There isn’t much furniture in the living room—just a white chaise and a matching sectional that stretches for miles in front of what has to be at least a seventy-inch television. A circular glass table separates the two. But what stops me in my tracks, making me wonder what took me so long to notice them, are the beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows that surround the entire left side of the apartment, revealing a breathtaking view of Chicago.
“This—this is amazing,” I quietly say. I feel Cal touch my shoulders, and my nerves make me jump out of my skin.
“Can I take your coat?” he asks, gesturing toward it.
God, Lauren! Calm down! “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” I joke, allowing him to remove my small jacket, if the thin material I’m wearing can even be classified as such.
“I’ll remember that,” he says whimsically, taking what would better be described as my shawl and disappearing into another part of the house.
I rub my arms, suddenly feeling vulnerable with just this thin piece of clingy material on me. I run my hands through my now-fallen curls as I walk over to the large island and take a seat on one of the white chair-like barstools. I slip off my stilettos, hoping my throbbing feet won’t develop any blisters. I look up as Cal reappears and heads over to the stereo.
“This is really beautiful,” I tell him, taking in the scenery once again.
“Thanks.”
Music begins to fill the house, a song that is haunting and hypnotizing at once.
“I love this song,” I tell him, taking in the slow, sensual rhythms.
“It’s one of my favorites,” he replies, removing a glass pitcher from the gigantic stainless steel refrigerator. He pours cold water into two glasses.
