Arsen

by Mia Asher

  “I thought you knew. Ben and I got serious sometime around his birthday. It depends who’s telling the story, really.”

  “No, you hadn’t told me that. How many years now? I know you’ve been married for six years, right?”

  “Right. Six years married, but eleven together.”

  “That’s a long time to be with one person. In the past eleven years, I’ve been married twice and who knows how many men I’ve slept with in between and after. But if I were married to your hunk of a husband, I would probably still be married. I mean, I remember how amazing he looked in swim trunks when we went to Turks and Caicos to celebrate your birthday. Cathy, no joke. He was built better than my gym instructor and my instructor was rocking a pretty lickable six-pack, just saying.”

  I can’t help laughing. If I didn’t know Amy so well, I would totally think she had the hots for Ben. I couldn’t blame her if she did, though. Beautiful women, young or old, are always hitting on him, even when he’s with me.

  “Well, don’t waste your time. He only has eyes for me, or so he tells me every time some young intern hits on him.” I lean back in my chair and watch as Amy grins at me, acknowledging my comment.

  “You’re a very lucky woman. That man never, ever looks at another woman when you’re in the same room. It’s quite depressing actually. I mean, the way he looks at you even after all the years you’ve been together is as if you are the only person with a pair of breasts in the room. Hot and sweet.”

  “Mine are very small sadly,” I say, laughing.

  “I want what you have, though. Every woman wants that, a man who looks at her as if she were the only woman in the room. You’re so lucky to still have that.”

  As Amy tells me how fortunate I am, all I can do is smile because I am lucky. A week ago, I thought Ben and I were going through a very rough patch in our marriage, and then I took the pregnancy test that changed everything. The results brought hope into my life again, hope that we will be okay after all, hope that we can grow closer again, bridging the space between us, and hope that we will finally get a chance to have that family.

  Smiling, I realize that our future doesn’t look bleak. Yes, I may be scared shitless of the what ifs, but as I glance around the restaurant full of people, my hands go to my stomach. My body is not empty anymore. There is magic growing inside of me. There is life.

  However, I’m afraid that such hope won’t last forever. Cruel reality has a way of always catching up to you, no matter how fast or how far you run; reality has a way to destroy one’s hopes and dreams. Reality doesn’t caress your cheek, letting you know what’s to come. No, reality slaps you across the face harshly, reminding you that a dream is just that…a dream.

  The naïve part of me wants to believe that those feelings are gone, gone since I found out we are expecting again, and that the love we feel for each other is enough. But the logical voice inside my head, the cynical one, tells me to stop fooling myself. It tells me that just because I’m pregnant, those issues, our issues, my issues, aren’t going anywhere. They’re still there, will always be there until I address them. They just happen to be concealed by a blanket made of happy feelings at the moment. A blanket that allows me to ignore the nagging sentiment that not everything is as it should be.

  After lunch, I drop Amy off at the office and drive to SoHo to pick up Charles Parker. He’s one of the most exclusive and expensive interior designers in the world. His clientele includes many people with famous last names, Hollywood A-listers, and members of the European Jet-Set. Charles has also been featured in every magazine geared for high-end homeowners and the very, very wealthy.

  Curious as to what kind of man he really is, I’m excited to finally meet him in person and take him to the future Radcliff residence. Based on the estimates he gave me for his services, I hope he’s amazing because I almost fell out of my chair when the numbers came out of his assistant’s mouth.

  “Yes, how may I help you today?” A very chic receptionist asks upon seeing me approach her desk.

  “Hi. My name is Cathy Stanwood. I believe Mr. Parker is expecting me,” I tell the drop-dead gorgeous brunette girl with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. She looks to be no older than twenty.

  “Mrs. Stanwood. What a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Natalie, we’ve spoken on the phone before.” I notice that Sexy Natalie speaks with a slight Russian accent that only makes her more attractive in my opinion.

  I smile. “Hi, Natalie. It’s great to finally meet you.”

  Her red lips smile back. “Yes. Would you like to have a seat for a moment while I let him know that you are here? Charles has been waiting for you.”

  “Of course.” I make my way to sit on a posh white leather couch that reminds me of one I saw not too long ago in Architectural Digest. As my hands caress the smooth texture of the leather, my eyes spot a newspaper on the coffee table in front of me. I open it and go straight to Page six, the gossip column.

  I feel like the wind has been knocked out of my lungs. I stare at the headline of the article and the profligate beauty of the man whose face is plastered on the front of the page. A defiant Arsen is looking directly at the camera as a sexy smirk plays around the corners of his lips.

  He’s so beautiful.

  The picture shows Arsen, drunk and exiting an exclusive nightclub with a famous model wrapped around each arm, and a third one on his back, piggyback riding him. He looks like a kid in a candy store. The hand of one of the girls is inside his pants, wrapped around his huge erection no doubt, and a thong is wrapped around his neck. I know how his night ended. Disgusted by his behavior, and with myself for not being able to look away, I read the banner of the article.

  Arsen=Arson? Manhattan’s new favorite bad boy.

  That’s an understatement.

  Curiosity gets the best of me, so I read the article about him. According to the columnist, the photographers asked Arsen his secret to staying in such good shape.

  “I fuck a lot.”

  When they asked him if it was true he banged the newest Hollywood “it” girl, he answered, “No comment. I’m a gentleman. I don’t fuck and tell…unless they want me to.”

  “Handsome devil, isn’t he?”

  Lifting my eyes, I see a very attractive man in his mid-forties smiling at me. I blush because I’ve been caught reading trash about his clients, and my boss’ son. I close the newspaper and place it on the table as quickly as possible and stand up to extend my hand.

  “Hi, Mr. Parker. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Cathy Stanwood, your chauffeur for the day.”

  He takes my hand and shakes it. “Hi, Cathy. What a lovely surprise. Let’s just say that I’ve never been so glad to be driven around as I am today.”

  “Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Parker.”

  “You’re as beautiful as your voice is over the phone. And please, call me Charles.” We’ve stopped shaking hands, but he hasn’t let go of mine yet. “I love when pretty women like you call me by my name.”

  I can’t help smiling into his grey eyes as he flirts with me. “Sure.” Taking in his appearance, I note that he’s wearing dark denim fitted jeans with a light blue button down shirt and a cream-colored sports jacket. His longish brown hair is parted to the side, lending his handsome face a very preppy and boyish look.

  “You flatter me, but I feel obligated to let you know that I’m not that good of a driver. Anyway, should we go? Driving to Westchester is quite a hike at this time of the day.”

  “Of course. Please lead the way.” He moves to the side to let me pass and walk in front of him.

  “Well, what a gentleman,” I tease as I grab my bag and move past him.

  “Always, Darling. Always,” he teases back.

  Somehow he beats me to the door, opening it for me. “After you.”

  Laughing, the two of us get in my car. I turn to look at him as I start the engine. “About before…the newspaper isn’t mine. It was just sitting there and…”
>
  Charles shrugs as his gray eyes land on mine. “I was just teasing you. I’ve known that kid for a very long time. I’m what you could call a longtime family friend. Arsen definitely likes to have his fun in his own wild ways, but don’t believe everything you read. They make a living on selling lies. But there is no denying he’s guilty of at least half of those stories. If I have ever met a kid who knows how to use his pretty face and money, it’s got to be him. He never hurts the women, though. He’s always very forward and up front with what he’s looking for and what he expects before getting involved with someone.”

  As I fight the Manhattan traffic, I say, “Yes, there is no denying he knows how to have fun and that women love him.”

  “Yes, the kid is so good looking that women throw themselves at him. I still remember Victoria complaining back when he was a boy how kids would tease him saying that he looked like a girl because he was so pretty.”

  “Well, he definitely doesn’t look like a girl anymore. I don’t think people tease him either,” I say, smirking.

  “No. I don’t think so.” We both laugh at the joke.

  “I’m curious though…is his life always reported and scrutinized like that by gossip columnists? I can’t imagine living under the microscope like that,” I ask.

  “He can go quite unnoticed by them when he’s out and about and they leave him alone for the most part. It’s only when he dates someone famous that he can’t escape the rumors or paparazzi.”

  Dropping the subject of Arsen, we continue the car ride to the suburbs talking about everything else that strangers who like each other talk about upon meeting.

  As we approach the impressive Radcliff residence, I decide that Charles Parker is a great catch. He is likeable, wealthy, and would be perfect for Amy. They both ooze sex from the pores of their perfect skin and would probably screw like bunnies. My mind goes back to Arsen, and for a brief second I wonder if I will ever see him again.

  I want to.

  Yes, even after what happened, or didn’t happen, between us.

  After the elderly housekeeper lets us in, Charles and I make our way to the kitchen. Charles has been to the house with Victoria plenty of times before, so he knows his way around the massive mansion just fine. When we walk into the kitchen, I’m surprised by how extensive the area is. Everything is made out of maple wood and black marble. It boggles my mind that Victoria would like to change the décor of the kitchen because the room is already breathtaking.

  I follow Charles to the expansive black marble top island. Upon reaching him, I notice he has all sorts of designs, fabrics, and floor plans spread across the top. Charles studies the organized mess in front of him as if he’s solving an algebra problem.

  “This is a beautiful home. I hope it’s finished soon so Victoria and Bruno can move in.”

  “I agree, but living at the Plaza is not a shabby thing either.”

  We laugh.

  “Hey, Charles, would you mind if I step away? I need to make some phone calls to the office,” I ask, wanting to give him some space to do his work.

  Looking up from his study of the floor plans, he smiles at me. “Take your time. I’m going over some last minute changes that need to be addressed.”

  As I walk around the palatial mansion admiring its beauty, I realize for the first time that the Radcliff’s and I will kind of be neighbors since Ben and I live in Greenwich, not even fifteen minutes away from here.

  When I think about our home, I decide to give Ben a call. I haven’t spoken to him since this morning and I miss him. Lately, I’ve made a conscious effort to seek him out, to reach out to him and it seems to be working. A couple of weeks ago I could go a whole day without speaking to him, but now I’m rediscovering how much fun it is to talk to him. Yes, his voice is making me feel things again.

  About to press send, I hear extremely loud metal music coming from somewhere. My interest piqued, I forget about the phone call and decide to find the source of the music.

  I follow the noise and make my way down the hall to where the song sounds loudest. I stand outside of a room left with its door ajar and watch the paintings on the wall shake in time to the bass. I wonder who could be listening to such an atrocity.

  Thinking that I should do something, I walk through the threshold of the room as the answer to my earlier question is staring me right in the eye like a bulls eye target.

  Well, Cathy. You wanted to know…

  Stopping dead in my tracks, I see a naked Arsen going down on a dark haired woman on top of what I assume is his dad’s oak desk. His muscular back and the woman’s long tanned legs wrapped around his neck are all I can see from where I am standing. However, there’s a large mirror sitting on the mantelpiece above the fireplace behind the desk that reflects everything.

  As the loud thumping of the music surrounds me, drowning my own thoughts in the aggressive melody, I can see the reflection of Arsen’s blond head in between her legs. The woman lying on the table is holding her ankles, spreading her legs open and offering herself to Arsen. Shocked, I want to move…I want to get out of this room as fast as my legs will allow, but I can’t. Metal music continues to blast in my ears as I watch Arsen lick his lips and stand up, his hungry eyes landing on the woman’s face. I can see him smiling as he fists his dick in his hand, pumping it up and down. Letting go of himself, he reaches for his jeans and takes a condom out of the back pocket. I watch as he rips the foil package open with his teeth. After rolling it over his length, he grabs the woman’s ass in his large hands and pulls her closer to him. Remaining in her split position, the woman lifts her head to look at him. Her back is facing the mirror, so I can’t see the expression on her face, but I see Arsen’s half cocky smile…the barest lift of his lips…as he places the tip of his dick against her entrance. The woman throws her head back, exposing her long and elegant neck just as Arsen pushes all the way in, fully penetrating her. She appears to say something that pleases Arsen because, shaking his head, a short lived smile appears and disappears on his lips, a smile that is replaced with lust and want.

  Looking down at his dick inside her sex, he begins to slowly slide out, then slam right back in her, each thrust harder and faster than the last, every slam of his hips pushing her body further across the top of the desk. I can hear her screams breaking now through the music, begging him for more.

  Arsen lifts his eyes and notices me.

  He notices the transfixed blonde woman standing on the threshold of the office watching their every move. Not stopping, Arsen keeps slamming his body into hers as I see his reflection smile into mine. He watches me as he lowers his smiling lips to kiss the dark haired woman. As their tongues connect with one another, he continues to watch me as he fucks her with his mouth.

  It’s his shameful smile that I feel slowly brandishing itself in my memory that finally brings me back to reality. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be watching him, watching them.

  Appalled at myself, I turn around, leaving the study as fast as my stiletto clad feet will allow. I trip on my feet not once, but twice in my lame attempt at running.

  Damn it! Stupid Louboutins and their lack of traction.

  Feeling like I’m burning from the inside out, I make my way to an empty room. It looks like a sunroom with all its windows and the sunlight streaming in. With no furniture in sight, I lean my body against a wall. As I try to catch my breath and calm my beating heart, I close my eyes and attempt to expunge the image of Arsen and that woman out of my mind.

  It isn’t working.

  The scene I just walked in on keeps playing over and over in my head. I can still see the way Arsen smiled at me as he had sex with her on the desk as if daring me to stop him…or join him. I can still see his blond head in between her legs. I can still hear her screams through the music, asking him for more.

  Calmer, I open my eyes and realize I didn’t feel anything when I saw him other than shock. Not one thing. I want to scream with happiness.

 
My infatuation, if you could even call it that, is over!

  I obviously find him attractive, but who wouldn’t. He’s sex on legs. But I know that thoughts of him sabotaging my mind when I least expect it are gone. And funny enough, seeing him with her has helped to exorcise him from my mind.

  Completely.

  My hands go to my stomach as I feel a smile tugging at my lips. This time, brown eyes pop into my head and not aqua.

  I am free.

  Free.

  My body feels light as a feather, and my conscience guilt free for the first time in a very long time as I leave the room in search of Charles. I need to get out of here, and fast, before I run into Arsen and Miss Spread Eagle again.

  When I step into the kitchen, I find Charles talking to a bare chested Arsen. What the hell? How did he get here?

  Arsen is the first one to notice me as I walk towards the granite island where floor plans and magazines remain scattered all over the countertop. His eyes scrutinizing me as he smiles.

  I avoid making eye contact with him. It’s a big mistake because my gaze lands on his very perfect and sweaty chest where his six-pack glistens with the moisture of sex.

  Feeling an embarrassed blush cover my face, I turn to address Charles. “There you are. Are you ready to head back into the city?” I look down at my watch, noticing that it’s already close to 4:00 p.m. “If we leave now, we could beat the rush hour traffic, but even then I can’t guarantee that we won’t be stuck in it. Shall we leave now?”

  Someone clears his throat, making me lift my eyes.

  Arsen.

  Why is it always him?

  His hair shines like gold in the sunlight, and there is a blush on his cheeks that wasn’t there before. We stare at each other for a moment before he turns to face and address Charles.

  “Charles, Catherine...Why don’t you join my friend Amanda and me for drinks and dinner? I’ve made a reservation for 6:30 p.m. at Le Provencal in Greenwich.”

  Really? Just friends?

  I take advantage of the fact that he’s looking at Charles and not at me to steal a quick glance, admiring all of him again. It’s not like I can shut his beauty out of my mind; he is gorgeous and there is no denying that. He’ll always be a pleasure to look at, but what has changed is that he doesn’t make me feel curiosity, temptation, or yearning anymore. Those feelings are gone.