by Kat Ransom
“Oh shit. There’s no time to find a gown and have it altered. Wait, is Lennox coming?” Her eyes perk up and gleam at the possibility.
I rip the phone out of my pocket and call him but it goes straight to voicemail. Oh god, he’s on a plane. I text him instead.
Mallory: WHERE ARE YOU?
Lennox: So eager, I like it.
Mallory: TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE RIGHT NOW!
Lennox: Somewhere over the Atlantic, I suppose. Would you like me to ask the pilot for exact coordinates?
“He’s on his way here!” I run my hands through my hair and start pacing in a frantic mess.
“Yes! I get to meet him!” Aria squeals and claps her hands.
“This is not funny! What am I going to do?”
“There is only one thing to do. We need to raid Lydia’s closet,” Aria nods.
“No!” I whine.
“Yes, it’s the only way. Come on, I’ll get everything to be your personal glam squad. I’ll do your makeup and hair, you deal with Lydia.” Aria runs off and I can hear her tearing apart the bathroom gathering up supplies.
Damn it to hell, Aria is right. Lydia Mitchell and I could not be more different inside, but on the outside, she and I are a perfect match and she has an entire walk-in devoted to ball gowns and Louboutins. This is going to kill me, but I pick up my phone again.
“Oh, thank goodness, you’ve come to your senses,” Mom answers, not even saying hello.
“Mother, Aria and I are coming over. I need an emergency ball gown.” My stomach is rolling from having to ask her for anything after today’s fiasco.
“For the UG Gala? Your father and I are attending, obviously. But why would you need a gown?”
“I need to attend for work and just found out. There’s no time to get a dress. I need one of yours.” If I bite my tongue any harder I am going to draw blood.
“Mallory, unless you are planning to attend with David and as our daughter who has regained her sense of dignity, I most certainly will not be lending you a gown.” The righteousness in her tone, being able to hold something over my head, I can almost see her phony Upper East Side smirk from here in Morningside Heights.
“Mother, so help me god, you will lend me the gown and shoes of my choice or I swear to god, I will drive to Screaming Mimi’s and pick out the most fabulous drag queen gown I can find, six-inch studded heels, and I will show up at that gala announcing myself to every patron as Mallory Mitchell, daughter of Robert and Lydia!”
My mother gasps, “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, I would! Just imagine what all the ladies from the club will say, mother!” I roar as Aria comes back into the room with a laundry basket stuffed with makeup, hairdryers, flat irons, and every bottle of product that lives in the bathroom.
“Very well, Mallory,” my mother finally concedes and I push disconnect. Nothing is more important than appearances, after all.
“We need to move, honey, time is ticking,” Aria balances the laundry basket on her hip and grabs her keys from a hook by the front door.
Fourteen
“When guys see her comin’, they start spendin’ their money. She’s a knockout. But don’t you know I’m the only one to call her honey.” - Social Distortion - Knockout
Lennox
The sun is low in the sky as we land in New York City. I haven’t been here in years and wasn’t Sandra the Dragon Lady surprised when I was only too happy to jump on a jet and fly here for whatever pointless event she’d found so important. My cooperation will keep her guessing for weeks or maybe she thinks Mallory has me by the balls.
Which maybe she does, given that I just flew six hours to see her.
I’ve changed into my tux on the plane, the lame bow tie is tucked into my pocket waiting to be put on at the last possible second, and Sandra has a black limo waiting as I step off the jet at the airport.
“What’s the address, love? I’m on my way,” I call Mallory and she answers on the fifth ring, sounding panicked.
“Already? Oh my god, Lennox, this is a nightmare.”
“I think you’ll find I clean up pretty well,” I tease her, climbing into the back of the limo and giving the driver the universal sign for ‘one minute’ so I can get the address out of Mallory.
“I’m at my parent’s house but you don’t understand. They’re awful,” she whispers the last statement.
“It’ll be fine, I’m quite good with Mums. They find me charming. Give me the address.” It’s true, never met a Mum who didn’t like me.
Mallory gives me the address and we take off into the Manhattan traffic. Twenty-five minutes later we’ve picked up two flower bouquets at the first florist shop we passed, and have rolled up to a pretentious little neighborhood, the kind where people think buildings that are 100 years old are historic. When a building is 1,000 years old, like half of them in Europe, then it might be historic.
I knock on the door and can hear a little dog yipping at me from inside. It opens and a tall blond with a huge nest of hair piled on top of her head drops her jaw and stares at me like I’ve just parted the Red Sea. “Jesus Christ,” she mumbles and looks me up and down.
“Am I in the right place,” I lean back to find a house number on the building exterior, “Mitchell residence?”
“Forget her,” the blond grabs my arm and pulls me in the door, “I want to have your babies. All of them.”
“Thank you?” I smirk at the quirky blond and look around the foyer we’re inside. It looks like a Girl Scout Thin Mint threw up all over. There’s antique gold mirrors everywhere and a huge, hideous orange steel circle sculpture against a wall. I know less than nothing about interior design but this place makes my head hurt just looking at it.
“Aria, is that him?” I hear Mallory yell from somewhere in the annals of this funhouse.
“Nope, just the UPS man!” Aria yells back and takes the bouquets from my arm.
“Ah, you’re Aria,” I smile at her. The one who’s been asking Mallory for nudes of me. Well, this should be fun. “I’m here to pick up a special package,” I wink at her.
“Speaking of packages,” her eyes drop to my pants.
I laugh and put my hands in my front pockets. I can see why Mallory likes this girl, she’s bold and hilarious.
“Aria, do not attack him!” Mallory calls from another room and then she rushes into the foyer.
Holy god, she’s the most stunning creature I’ve ever seen. Underneath a slinky champaign-pink velvet gown is every tight curve on display, her porcelain shoulders bare, some sort of ruffle wrapping around her chest and arms, and a slit in the floor-length dress up to her mid thigh. My mind is already imagining sliding my hands up that slit and licking her long neck, totally exposed with her hair up in a fancy bun at the base of her head.
“Tha thu brèagha,” I breathe and take a step closer to her.
“Wait, what did you say? What was that?” Aria snaps her head back and forth between Mallory and me, but I can’t look away from the vision in front of me, her eyes sparkling with matching eyeshadow and her lips glossy with tint.
“It means you’re beautiful,” I explain but keep my eyes locked on Mallory and I can see blush creeping up her smooth chest.
“In, like, Scottish?” Aria fans her chest.
“Aye, Gaelic.”
“Oh my god, he says ‘aye’? Aria gushes.
“Stop it!” Mallory swats her.
“Mallory, aren’t you going to introduce us?” An older woman appears in the entryway. As soon as she enters the room, Mallory stiffens and she seems uncomfortable all of a sudden. There’s a physical resemblance to Mallory, sort of, but the woman I assume is her Mum is different altogether. Her face is cold and stiff, her pursed lips are overfilled and caked in dark red lipstick. She looks like she’s been nipped and tucked within an inch of her life.
“Mom, this is Lennox Gibbes. Lennox, this is my mother, Lydia Mitchell.”
“Mrs. Mitchell, a pleasure to meet you. You lo
ok radiant this evening,” I lie and take her fingers she has outreached to me like I should kiss her ring. She’s wearing a much more conservative blood-red gown. “Are you attending the gala this evening, as well?”
“Yes, of course. Robert and I have attended every year since this event’s conception.” She says like it’s some sort of competition.
“I hope Mr. Mitchell won’t mind if I steal you for a dance this evening, what lucky men we are to escort two stunning ladies.” I lay it on thick. I’d rather dance with Digby than this woman.
“Well,” Lydia pips and tries to fuss at Mallory’s hair but Mallory smacks her hand away. “Mallory is wearing a gown I just wore last season so that’s unfortunate.”
What the hell? “You must have good taste, Mallory is a vision.” I bite my tongue and force a smile.
“I told her to wear her hair down,” she tries fussing with it again and Mallory steps away. “It would look much more… feminine down, Mallory.”
“You are gorgeous, love,” I reach for Mallory’s hand, my patience running thin within seconds of being here.
“Mr. Gibbes,” Lydia interrupts, “you will be wearing a proper bow tie this evening, will you not?” She scowls and waves at my neck, the top button of my shirt still undone because I don’t want to be choked to death a moment sooner than I need to be.
“Mother!” Mallory scolds.
“What? I’m only being kind so Mr. Gibbes does not feel out of place this evening. Lord knows we don’t need anymore gossip about you.”
What sort of mum talks to her daughter like this? Mallory is absolutely horrified, her face reddening and her jaw clenching. Aria’s eyes are about to roll into the back of her head.
This is the worst mum experience I’ve ever had.
“Mal, the limo is waiting. Shall we?” I gesture to the door. Please be ready to go, I can’t keep my mouth shut much longer.
“Oh, wouldn’t you like a tour of the home before you leave, Mr. Gibbes?” The old bat questions. “It’s original 19th century,” she adds, like I should be impressed with this gaudy nightmare factory.
“How… quaint,” I smile, knowing exactly how to play this game. Aria tries to silence a snort behind me. “Please, enjoy the flowers and again, lovely to meet you, Mrs. Mitchell.”
I put my hand on the small of Mallory’s back to escort her out the door and World’s Worst Mom, Lydia, turns and shuffles out of the foyer in a tissy. Aria chases behind us onto the front step outside.
“Holy shit, that was amazing! ‘Quaint’!” Aria is nearly jumping up and down in excitement.
“Thank you so much for everything,” Mallory hugs her.
“Aria,” I take her hand and kiss the back of her fingers, “pleasure.” I deliberately smolder at her, in good fun.
I help Mallory into the limo as the driver closes our door and rounds the car.
“I am so sorry!” She puts her hand on my knee apologizing for her snooty mum’s abhorrent behavior. And people call me an asshole.
“Were you adopted or something, love?”
“No,” she laughs.
“You could not be more different from that woman.”
Mallory leans in and kisses my cheek softly, “That’s the best compliment you could have given me.”
The privacy window between the driver is down and I need to get through this event before defiling Mallory anyway, so I settle for slipping my hand on her bare thigh for the ride, as she warns me that her father, Robert, will be at this gala tonight and I can expect more of the same from him. I pour two fingers of whatever swill whiskey is in the decanter in the back of the limo and suck it down in preparation.
◆◆◆
This gala is everything I hate.
Phony people telling fake stories, putting on aires trying to impress people they don’t even know, everyone looking down their nose at everyone else. This is supposed to be about charity, children’s cancer research, but no one is here to help kids.
The suits from UG Petroleum are, surprisingly, the most tolerable folks I’ve met tonight. I wouldn’t dream of embarrassing Mallory in front of her patronizing, condescending parents so I am on my best behavior. In fact, the more nasty glares and snide comments they whisper to her as the evening goes on, the more hellbent I am on being a model guest, someone she can be proud to be here with.
Plus, it’s fun fucking with Lydia and Robert.
Mallory’s been hitting the champagne pretty hard, but I can’t blame her. Her father, a rotund and angry little man, spots us and Mallory slams the rest of her champs as he barrels toward us. “Oh no,” she mumbles beneath the rim of her glass. I take her hand in mine in solidarity against miserable pricks everywhere.
“Mr. Gibbes, we have not been formally introduced yet,” he shakes my hand and squeezes hard.
I squeeze his harder.
“Dad, Lennox. Lennox, Dad,” Mallory waves back and forth between us with her empty champagne flute, her patience clearly long gone. For once, I may be the more civilized person, between the two of us.
“Mr. Mitchell, pleasure. Mallory tells me you are in print media. Newspaper man?”
“Yes, yes,” he puffs his chest out. “Traditional media, old fashioned, respectable newspapers, magazines, radio. You get it.” He leers at Mallory, his passive-aggressive dig at her career.
I get it, alright. “Of course, how wonderful that you’re preserving those antediluvian arts.”
“Anti-what?” His face crinkles and Mallory squeezes my hand.
“Indulge a young man, Mr. Mitchell, years ago my advisor switched my print holdings to digital. They’ve been doing quite well but, tell me, where do you see stocks going as subscription rates continue to plummet?”
“Plummet?” He bellows. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Forgive me, sir. I must be mistaken. I just drive a car around in circles.”
Mallory grabs another champagne off the tray of a passing server while I keep a deliberately innocent, stupid look on my face, staring at the pompous blowhard in front of me.
“Listen here boy, I don’t know what kind of stunt you’re pulling with my daughter…”
I do my best to ignore the fact that this asshat just called me ‘boy’ and interrupt him, “Yes, your daughter. You must be so proud of her. What a job you and Mrs. Mitchell have done as parents to raise such a strong, smart woman with the courage to follow her dreams. Cheers to you, sir.” I tip my glass at him.
Mallory wraps one arm around my waist under my tuxedo jacket and Father Time’s eyes go wide before he shakes his head at her in disgust and turns to storm off.
“You were raised by wolves,” I whisper to Mallory and take another sip of the top shelf scotch that’s available, thank god.
“Wolves would have been an improvement. Have I told you how handsome you look tonight?”
“Aye, but you can tell me again.”
“Did you really have print holdings?” She asks.
“I dunno, probably.”
Mallory laughs and the sight of her smiling despite everything Lydia and Robert have thrown at her tonight is everything. She’s impressive. And goddamn gorgeous.
“Dance with me?” She whispers in my ear.
Even in the States where F1 is not as popular, there have been people photographing us together all night, all the couples, but Celeritas instructed Mallory to accompany me so, fuck it. I deposit our drink glasses on an empty table and lead Mallory to an open spot on the dance floor. The instrumental band is playing a slow, bluesy tune, Etta James, maybe.
Mallory wraps her arms around my neck and I pull her against me, just this side of keeping it decent in public. She’s stumbling a little but I have a firm hand on her hips, arguing with my fingers not to dip lower and grab her ass no matter how much they want to.
“Say something else to me in Gaelic,” she looks up at me, a mischievous grin emerging.
“I am not a piece of meat, Mallory,” I twirl her and pull he
r back against my chest.
“It gets me so hot.”
We’re gonna need to wrap this event up if she’s going to start this. My tuxedo is not equipped to hide an erection very well and I wouldn’t want to scare any of these old bitties looking down their nose at me all night.
“How about French, all women like French?”
“No one’s ever spoken to me in French,” she purrs.
“Je vais te baiser si fort que tu ne pourras pas marcher pendant une semaine.” She waits for me to translate for her, her fingers stroking my neck. “I’m a little rusty, but essentially, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week.”
“So romantic,” she laughs. “More.”
“Uhh, how about German? Du wirst heute nacht auf meine zunge kommen.” I bend my head down and whisper in her ear, “You’re going to come on my tongue tonight.”
“You speak French and German and look like this? How is that fair to other men?”
“A little Finnish, too, but that sounds like shit no matter what words you say.”
“Mallory Mitchell?” A man in a tux interrupts us just as I’m about to whisper more filth into her ear. “Max Cooper, from Cooper Media.”
“Oh, Mr. Cooper! How nice to see you!” Mallory separates from me and the loss of her body contact makes me want to send this Mr. Cooper through the wall.
“Lennox, this is Maxwell Copper, CEO and Founder of Cooper Media. He offered me a job when I was a junior in college but it didn’t work out.”
“Nice to meet you,” I shake his hand. “Guess I should be happy it didn’t work out or I wouldn’t have her in my corner now.” I nod at Mallory, happy to keep heaping praise her way to minimize the emotional fallout from tonight I know she must be internalizing.
“Yes, actually that’s why I had to stop and see you. Lennox, we’re huge fans and Mallory, my buddies at UG have been raving about you all night. I have to say, we’d love to be involved.”
