“No, I’m fine. I have cash. But thank you.” She looked closely at him, a fleeting embarrassed look crossing his face. That was the last thing she wanted him to feel. But she didn’t know what to say to make it better.
Liam opened the cab door for her and she slipped inside.
“I’ll call.” He closed the door, giving her a wave.
As the cab pulled away, she turned, catching sight of him moving off through the crowd. He had an easy confident way of walking, but there seemed to be an equally aggressive quality to his walk, almost a dare to anyone to confront him.
The cab ride seemed to take forever. There was a nagging headache lingering in her temples that was asserting itself again. She attributed it to the effects of far more alcohol than she ever drank, the late night and the excitement. A long nap right now sounded like the best thing in the world.
The doorman held the lobby door, dashing ahead to call for the elevator for her. Sophie was in the kitchen when she let herself in to the apartment. The small woman turned, greeting Angela as she walked into the kitchen. Sophie’s accent always made Angela think of someone’s babushka, images from her Russian Lit classes popping into her head. But Sophie had long out-grown her Russian roots; she was as much a New Yorker now as Angela was. Except for the trace of a Russian accent that still lingered.
“Are my parents home, Sophie?”
“No, Miss Angela. Your father called. His flight was delayed; he may not be home till much later today. And your mother is still out.” Sophie gave her a pat on the shoulder and a slight smile.
“You look tired, Miss. Why don’t you lay down? I’ll bring you some tea?”
Sophie knew her better than her own parents did sometimes. Or at least she saw more of Sophie some days.
“I think I will lay down. And no, thank you, Sophie. No tea right now.”
Angela sighed, climbing the stairs to her room. She knew her parents loved her, if in a somewhat detached way. But once in a while she felt abandoned by them. Her mother had her charity work, something Angela was confused over. There seemed endless days when her mother was out, continually at some function or fundraiser or at some vague location early each morning.
Her father was a different story. If Angela wanted it and it could be bought, her father would find a way for her to have it. There were days when she was certain he had a column on a spreadsheet that totaled how much love he’d bought for her. There were also days when she longed to tell him that all she really wanted was him, for a day, just to be with him, do something together. Or just spend the day talking.
She remembered a day from her childhood; she’d been maybe four or five. Her dad had taken her to the Central Park Zoo, on a weekday, taking a day away from work to spend with her. She’d been obsessed with the monkeys and he’d patiently sat with her for hours as she watched their antics. He’d bought her every gooey sticky treat she could have possibly wanted, every toy or souvenir she had shown any interest it. For years, Angela was convinced he’d even tried to buy her a monkey.
But what she remembered most was just him being there with her, holding her hand as they walked from exhibit to exhibit, his big hand holding hers. When she’d grown tired, he’d carried her to the car, her head resting on his shoulder.
Angela pulled the drapes shut, blocking out the view of Central Park. She stripped out of her clothes, dropping them to the floor, pulling back the comforter and sheet on her bed. As she slid between the crisp linen, she thought about Liam, the worn sheets on his bed. She wondered again about this strange man she’d found, or who had found her. There were so many things she wanted to know, but didn’t know how to ask.
The scars for one thing.
Angela shuddered, remembering the deep gash on Liam’s chest, the thin white scars on his back. They didn’t look like scars from fighting, but she didn’t know enough to be sure. There were bruises too, but those looked fresh; she assumed they were from the gym.
Her head was throbbing again. She wished she’d taken Sophie’s offer of tea. Pulling a pillow to her chest, she rolled over, burrowing into the sheets. The scent of the shampoo from Liam’s shower was in her hair and she turned her face against her pillow, closing her eyes, inhaling the scent. It brought an instant image of Liam to her mind, of his body in the shower, what he’d done to her.
A shiver ran through Angela as she played it back, his body pressing her against the tiles, the sheer strength of his hands. She clutched the pillow, a thump of arousal hitting her low in her belly, a smile playing about her lips.
As she drifted off to sleep, she thought about Liam, the startling contrasts contained in that one person: the tough guy who beat up thugs in the street, the guy Laura called a punk. But a guy with the charming smile. The guy she’d thought was arrogant, who scared her at first with his aggression but ended up being so tender, seemingly so very vulnerable in her arms. The man who was generous enough to spend his money on her, when it was obvious he didn’t have any.
He was like no man she’d ever met.
The chirp of her cell phone woke her up. She was groggy, stumbling out of bed, searching through the pile of clothes on the floor for her purse.
“Hello?” Her voice was raspy with sleep.
“Angela? Oh, shit…I woke you up, didn’t I?”
She was instantly alert. “Oh, Liam. Yes…no, I mean. It’s okay. I’m glad you called.”
She crawled back in bed, sitting up against the headboard. There were noises in the background, yells and shouts, the unmistakable sounds of someone being punched. Liam’s voice was almost lost in the din.
“Where are you?”
“At the gym.”
She laughed. “That explains the noises…I thought for a minute you were in another fight.”
In the background she heard someone yelling Liam’s name.
“Listen, I gotta go in a minute. But I want to see you, soon.”
“Tonight?” Her heart did a little flip.
“I have something else to do tonight…tomorrow.”
“Oh…”
“Sorry. If I could, I’d change it, but it’s work.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll let you get away with that. Tomorrow then.”
There was a low laugh on the other end of the line. “Yeah…tomorrow. I’ll take you some place nice for dinner.”
The yelling in the background was louder, someone near the phone shouting Liam’s name. There was a muffled conversation and then Liam was back.
“I’m up next. Look, I’ll call you tomorrow with the time and place, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Angela…”
There was a pause. The noises on the other ended faded away for a moment. Liam’s voice was startlingly clear.
“I’m really looking forward to seeing you… I had a really great time last night.”
She could almost see Liam’s lips curving into that seductive grin, even though at the moment he sounded like a shy teenager thanking her for going to the movies.
“I had a…wonderful time too, Liam.” She cringed. ‘Wonderful’ didn’t quite describe how it had been.
The noises in the background started up again. She could barely hear Liam.
“I have to go.”
And the line went dead.
Angela lay back against the pillows, the phone in her hand. She thought about Liam, the contradictions in him. And she remembered the scars on his back, across his chest. She wondered if she’d ever know how he got them, if he’d ever confide in her.
She shook her head. You’re getting ahead of yourself here. Let’s have an actual date first.
An excited little shiver ran up her back. A date with Liam. She smiled. Laura would cringe, give her a lecture. And Rachel…she wasn’t sure what Rachel would say.
Impulsively she dialed Rachel’s number. Her reaction was immediate.
“You! You went home with him! How could you?”
Apparently Rachel wasn’t going to be happy to hear that A
ngela had accepted an actual date with Liam.
“Oh, well…it just happened.” That’s close enough to the truth.
There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “So…did you make out? Did you spend the night?”
“Make out? How old are you, Rachel? Twelve? And yes…” Angela hesitated. “I spent the night.” She wasn’t sure how much detail she wanted to give Rachel. Part of her wanted to go over every look, every word said, every move made, like she’d done with every other boyfriend. But part of her wanted to keep this private, to keep this…whatever it was…between her and Liam. Liam seemed like such a private person. The last thing she thought he’d want was her telling Rachel about their night together…or anything else about him, at this point.
“And? Details, please. You know it’s been a long time for me.”
Angela could almost picture Rachel, her eyes bright, waiting to hear every last thing that was said, every kiss…everything else.
“Rachel…I don’t think so. Not this time.”
“Oh, so he was really terrible in bed?”
“No…I mean, that’s not it.”
There was a beat of silence. “Are you ready to admit it was just a one-night stand and you made a mistake? That slumming with some Bronx punk who beat up some other guys really wasn’t all that you thought it would be?”
Angela frowned at the phone. Rachel wasn’t usually so catty.
“Um, no. I mean…it’s private. Why are you so upset over this?”
“I’m not.” There was a petulant note to her voice, something Angela recognized. She was jealous. Angela remembered going through this with Rachel in high school. You’d think she’d have outgrown this by now.
“Rachel, really. I think you’re jealous.” Angela tried for a teasing tone to her voice, not sure it would work.
“Me? Over that guy? Please…” there was the sound of a lighter; Rachel only smoked when she was upset.
Angela realized it was time to change the subject. “Okay. So what are you doing today?”
“Me? Well, Mark is coming by to take me out tonight, on a real date.” Angela heard the smug note in Rachel’s voice, thought about letting the comment pass, but couldn’t resist.
“Oh, so Mark is your boyfriend now? I thought you two were ‘just friends.’ Your parents don’t like him, do they?” Mark was a nice guy, a junior something at some firm. Rachel’s parents thought he wasn’t quite what they wanted for a future son-in-law.
“At least we’re going to a place where the floor isn’t sticky with spilled beer or worse…probably…vomit.”
“Well, as it happens, I have my own real date with Liam tomorrow.” Angela cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. Rachel took a deep breath. There was whoosh as she exhaled cigarette smoke and then a cough. Rachel wasn’t adept at smoking and talking at the same time. She was usually inhaling at the wrong moment. Angela suspected there was a scathing reply waiting to be uttered. But she cut her off.
“Listen, someone’s looking for me here. I’ll call you later.”
Angela flung the phone down on the bed. She’d known Rachel since primary school and she loved her dearly, most of the time. But lately, there’d been times when it was all Angela could do to not fly into a fury with the girl. This was just the latest example.
She realized she was hungry. No one had called her for dinner and she wondered if anyone was even home.
Sophie was in the kitchen, putting away dishes.
“Sophie, is anyone here besides me?”
“Oh, Miss Angela. You’re awake. No, your mother is out and your father called to say he was having dinner with a client. Would you like me to make you something? There’s salmon or I can make you a salad.”
Angela made a face. “Not salmon. I’ll have salad, please.”
She slid onto one of the kitchen island stools. “How long has my mother been out?”
Sophie was rummaging in the refrigerator and Angela waited while she piled ingredients for a salad on the counter.
“I don’t know, Miss Angela.” Sophie busied herself with the lettuce and tomatoes, not meeting Angela’s eyes.
“Did she say when she’d be back?” Angela reached for a slice of carrot, popping it into her mouth.
“No…you should probably ask your father. I…don’t know anything else.”
Angela frowned. Sophie was the eyes and ears of the household.
“Did my father say when he’d be home?”
“He said late, probably not until after ten o’clock.”
Sophie passed the plate of salad to Angela, setting out a glass of iced tea. Angela picked at the greens, wondering, not for the first time, where her mother was. Something wasn’t adding up, but she couldn’t really place her finger on what it was, aside from Sophie’s sudden lack of knowledge in household comings and goings.
After she’d finished dinner, she headed back upstairs, finding the novel she’d started reading. It was long past midnight when she heard someone coming down the hall. There was a brief knock and her father stuck his head into her room.
“You’re up late, Angel. Can’t sleep? Or just a good book?” He nodded at the novel she held in her hands.
“A little of both. I had a nap this afternoon, so I’m not tired. And the book is really good.”
“Well, I’m tired enough for both of us. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Dad. Sleep well.”
Angela slipped a bookmark between the pages, setting the book on her nightstand. It was a romance, a Scottish highlander in love with an English woman…a terrible combination, given the time and place. But they were in love and that was all that mattered. Angela thought about her parents, wondered if they’d ever been that much in love.
And she thought about Liam; wild Liam, unpredictable…maybe dangerous. But so very handsome and…well, the rest made her blush.
It was a long time before she fell asleep, images of Liam interwoven with dashing Scotsmen filling her head.
It was late the next day when she woke. Her father was already at work, her mother not back from wherever she’d gone. The rest of the day crawled by. She could barely sit still, waiting for Liam to call. Sophie was busy and didn’t have time to talk. Television was boring. Nothing seemed to make the time go faster, not even reading about her Scottish Highlander.
She finally dozed off on her bed, clutching her book to her chest.
Sounds from the hall woke her, voices trying to be quiet but not quite succeeding.
She let out a sigh, stretching, glancing at the clock on her bedside table. It was almost evening; she hoped her mother was home, or better yet, that her father was home from work.
As she came down the stairs, she heard voices in the study; she recognized her father’s deep voice, her mother’s higher pitched and seemingly continuous. By the sound, her mother had had a few drinks and had launched into her complaint list for the day.
Angela sighed, walking through the door.
“And I don’t understand why you can’t be…” Her mother broke off in mid-sentence, catching sight of Angela.
“Angela, darling. Why are you in those clothes? It’s almost time for dinner. You know I can’t abide you not being dressed for dinner.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Okay, mother. In a minute.”
“You don’t have a minute. The Preston’s are expected shortly. Please…you need to get dressed.” Her mother rose from her wing chair, all pearls and fluttering hands and clucking tongue.
“Oh, Celeste, leave her alone for a minute.” Her father rose from the loveseat, beaming at Angela. “Come here, Angel. Give your old man a kiss.”
Angela sidestepped her mother, walking into her father’s embrace. She loved the scent of his clothes: his cologne, starch from his shirt and sometimes tobacco from the pipe he occasionally smoked.
Her father hugged her hard, kissing the top of her head before holding her away from him, hands on her shoulders, looking down at her. He
sat back on the loveseat, picking up his glass.
“Did you sleep well?” Her father took a sip of his bourbon.
“Have you recovered from your wild night out on the town?” Her mother looked at Angela over the rim of her cocktail glass.
Angela’s father shot his wife a withering glance, then looked back at Angela.
“Angela?”
Before she could answer, her mother cut in again. “Sophie told me all about it, so there’s no denying it.”
Angela made a face, rolling her eyes before turning back to her father. “I wasn’t going to deny it. I was out with Rachel and Laura. I tried calling, but no one was home.”
Her father shook his head. “You know I don’t like you staying out all night, but if you were with Laura and Rachel, I guess it’s alright.”
“I’m not a little kid anymore, Dad. I survived college, you know.”
“I know,” her father replied with a grin.
“Why do I have to have dinner with you and the Preston’s? I have plans…” Her mother interrupted her. Angela slumped down on the loveseat next to her father.
“Because they’re bringing Adam and you two are dating. Why else?” Her mother had settled back into her wing chair, taking a delicate sip from her martini, a smug look on her face. Angela scowled at her mother.
“Mom, I told you last week Adam and I aren’t dating anymore. I don’t want to sit through a dinner with him. That’s going to be horrible.” She turned to her father.
“Dad, please?” Angela tilted her head at her father.
“I’m sorry, Angela. Your mother is right. It would be rude not to be there. You can always change your plans…I’m sure Rachel or Laura will understand.”
“But…it’s not…I have a date.” Angela didn’t want to explain who the date was with, but she certainly didn’t want to sit through dinner with someone she’d just broken up with.
“Angela, I’ll have no more arguments. I’m sure it’s just a silly disagreement between you and Adam.” Her mother consulted her watch, a faint frown creasing her forehead.
Fight For You Page 4