by J. Kenner
She chuckles, amused at her own joke, then waves at someone who's caught her attention. I glance toward Damien, looking for evidence of the wounded child that Evelyn has recalled, but all I see is unerring strength and self-confidence. Am I seeing a mask? Or am I really looking at the man?
"What I'm trying to say," Evelyn continues, "is that you shouldn't take it personally. The way he acted, I mean. I doubt he meant to be rude. He was probably just off in his head and didn't even realize what he was doing."
I, of course, have moved past the snub at our meeting, but Evelyn doesn't realize that. My current issues with Damien Stark are wide and varied--ranging from the simple problem of a ride home to more complicated emotions that I'm not inclined to analyze.
"You were right about Rip and Lyle," I say, because she keeps looking in Stark's direction, and I want to head off any suggestion that we edge our way into that conversation. "My roommate is in awe that I'm in the same room with them."
"Well, come on, then. I'll introduce you."
The two stars--both polished and shined within an inch of their lives--are perfectly polite and perfectly dull. I have nothing to say to them. I don't even know what their show is about. Evelyn can't seem to wrap her head around the possibility that anyone could either not care or not know about all things Hollywood. She seems to think I'm merely being coy and is about to leave me alone with these two.
Social Nikki would smile and make polite small talk. But Social Nikki is getting a bit frayed around the edges, and instead, I reach out, snagging a bit of Evelyn's sleeve before she escapes too far. She looks back at me, her brows raised in question. I have nothing to say. Panic bubbles in me; Social Nikki has completely left the building.
And then I see it--my excuse. My salvation. It's so unexpected--so completely out of place--that I half wonder if I'm not hallucinating. "That man," I say, pointing to a skinny twenty-something with long, wavy hair and wire-framed glasses. He looks like he belongs at Woodstock, not an art show, and I hold my breath, expecting the apparition to vanish. "Is that Orlando McKee?"
"You know Orlando?" she asks, then answers her own question. "Of course. The friend who works for Charles. But where did you two meet?" She nods goodbye to Lyle and Rip, who could care less about our departure; they're back to arguing between themselves and smiling brightly at the women who sidle in close for a snapshot.
"We grew up together," I explain as Evelyn steers me through the throng.
The truth is our families lived next door to each other until Ollie went off to college, and even though he's two years older than me, we were inseparable until Ollie turned twelve and was shipped off to boarding school in Austin. I had been beside myself with envy.
I haven't seen Ollie for years, but he's the kind of friend that you don't need to talk to every day. Months can go by, and then he'll call me out of the blue, and we pick up the conversation like it had never stopped. He and Jamie are my closest friends in the world and I am beyond giddy that he's here, right when I need him so desperately.
We're close now, but he hasn't noticed us. He's talking about some television show with another guy, this one in jeans and a sport coat over a pale pink button-down. Very California. Ollie's hands are moving, because that's the way he talks, and when he flails one hand my direction, he glances that way out of reflex. I see the moment that realization hits him. He freezes, his hand drops, and he turns to face me, his arms going out wide.
"Nikki? My God, you look amazing." He pulls me into a tight Ollie hug, then pushes me back, his hands on my shoulders as he looks me up and down.
"Do I pass inspection?"
"When have you not?"
"Why aren't you in New York?"
"The firm transferred me back last week. I was going to call you this weekend. I couldn't remember when you were moving out here." He pulls me into another spontaneous hug, and I'm grinning so wide my mouth is starting to hurt. "Damn, it's good to see you."
"I take it you two know each other," the guy in jeans says drolly.
"Sorry," Ollie says. "Nikki, this is Jeff. We work together at Bender, Twain & McGuire."
"What he means is that I work for him," Jeff says. "I'm a summer associate. Orlando is a third year now, and they love him there. I think Maynard's about ready to make him a partner."
"Very funny," Ollie says, but he looks pleased.
"Look at you," I say. "My little guppy's grown into a full-fledged shark."
"Ah-ah. You know the rules. For every lawyer joke you make, I get to make two dumb blonde jokes."
"I take it back."
"Come on, Jeff," Evelyn says. "Let's let these two catch up. We'll go find our own trouble to get into."
It would be polite to tell them not to bother, but neither one of us does. We're too wrapped up in reminiscing, and I'm too happy to have Ollie beside me.
We talk about everything and nothing as we head for the door, taking our conversation outside by silent agreement. I'm completely absorbed, warmed by memories and Ollie's familiar face. But as we reach the door, I turn back and look at the room. I'm not sure why I do. Maybe it's just a reflex, but I think it's something more. I think I'm looking for someone. For him.
Sure enough, my eyes find Damien Stark right away. He's no longer with Audrey Hepburn. Now he's talking with a short, balding man. He's focused and attentive. But his head lifts and his eyes find me.
And in that singular moment, I know that if he asked me to blow off my friend and stay in the room with him, I would do it.
Damn him, and damn me, but I would stay with Damien Stark.
5
I wear Ollie's jacket and hold my shoes by the straps as we walk along the private beach behind Evelyn's house. I'm certain we're not supposed to be out here, but I don't care. I swing my foot through the water gaily, sending a spray of sea drops scattering. It feels mischievous. It feels good.
"How's Courtney?" I ask. "Is she glad you're back?" That's a dangerous question where Ollie is concerned. Courtney is his on-again/off-again girlfriend. "On again" because she's amazing and Ollie would be an idiot to do something stupid and screw it up. "Off again" because Ollie has crossed that idiot line more than once.
"She's engaged," he says.
"Oh." I can't keep the disappointment out of my voice. I should be consoling and tell Ollie he'll find someone else amazing, but all I can think is that he's screwed up.
Suddenly, he's laughing. "To me, doofus."
"Oh, thank God!" I bump him playfully with my shoulder. "I thought you'd blown it."
His expression turns serious. "I almost did. New York was hard. Being away from her. Being tempted. But no more. She's the only woman for me. Damn, Nik. How did I manage to get her?"
"Because you're a great guy."
"I'm fucked up, and you know it."
"Everyone's a little fucked up, but Courtney sees the guy underneath. And she loves you."
"She does," he says with a grin. "It amazes me every day, but it's true. She really does." He eyes me sideways. "Speaking of fucked up, how are you really doing?"
I pull his jacket tighter around me. "I'm great. I already told you." I stop walking and dig my toes into the sand. The waves come in and swoosh over my bare feet before rushing out again, leaving me sinking a bit, the ground shifting under me.
Beside me, Ollie just gives me that look. Like he knows all my secrets, and I frown because it's true.
I shrug. "It's easier now. College was fucked up for a while, but it got better." I shoot him a smile because he'd been a big part of making it get better. "And now, I don't know. But it feels good being away from Texas. Really, I'm doing fine." I shrug again. I don't want to talk right now.
I turn around and start walking. "We should get back."
He nods and falls in step beside me. We walk silently for a while, the lights of Evelyn's house growing closer. The sound of the ocean fills the space between us. It's deep and rhythmic and I feel like I could get lost in it. Like maybe I already am a
little lost.
We walk about fifty more yards, then he pauses. "So how do you feel about tuxedos?" he asks, as if it's the most normal question in the world.
"I feel good about them," I say. "Tuxedos are a time-honored tradition in the world of formal wear. I have to take points off for practicality, though. Hard to surf in a tux. Doable, but hard."
He laughs. "I want you to be my best man," he says, and I get a little lump in my throat. "Courtney's cool with it," he continues, "but she thinks the pictures will look better if you wear a tux. You know, the guy side in penguin suits, the girl side in silk and satin. What do you say?"
I hug myself and blink back tears. "I love you. You know that, right?"
"That's why I'm asking. It was either that or marry you, and I think the second option would piss Courtney off." He watches me, obviously expecting me to laugh. When I don't, his expression softens. "Thanks."
"For what?"
"For being happy for me."
"I am," I say, but I'm talking from behind my Social Nikki smile. The truth is that things are changing fast, and I don't want Ollie changing, too. He's been my rock for too long. What will happen to me if that rock suddenly shifts?
But I'm not being fair and I know it.
I start walking again.
"Nik?"
I wipe away an errant tear. "Ignore me. I'm just being emotional and weird. Girls and weddings, right?"
"Nothing's changing, Nik," he says, because he's tagged the hormonal excuse for the bullshit it is. "Anything you need, anytime. Courtney won't mind."
Fear knifes through me. "She doesn't know about--"
"Of course not. I mean, she knows about Ashley," he says, but that's fair. He and Courtney had been dating when my sister's unexpected suicide had completely shattered me. She'd been more than a sister to me--she'd been my escape from the life my mother molded for me, and even though she'd already gotten married and moved away when she died, the loss had sent me spiraling down. Jamie and Ollie had been my life rafts, so of course he'd talked about it with Courtney.
"I only told Courtney that she'd died and you were grieving," Ollie says urgently. "You know I'd never share your secrets."
My relief is so intense I don't even feel guilty for thinking that Ollie would betray my confidence.
"Looks like we're not the only ones who wanted to escape the hoopla." He's looking toward Evelyn's house. There are people clustered on the balcony, backlit by the light bursting through the window. But they're not the subject of Ollie's comment, and it takes me a second to realize what he sees. When I do, I gasp.
A darkened spiral staircase leads down from the balcony to the weathered boardwalk, and there is a man sitting on the bottom step. I can't see his face--I can't see more than a dark shape. But somehow I'm certain who it is.
We approach, and he stands, and I see that I am right.
"Ms. Fairchild," Stark says, walking forward to meet us. He doesn't look at Ollie at all. His eyes are wholly on me--burning amber and deep, dangerous black. "I was looking for you."
"Oh?" I try to sound cool, but I'm anything but. "Why?"
"You're my responsibility."
I exhale a bubble of laughter. "I hardly see how. I barely even know you, Mr. Stark."
"I promised your boss I'd see you safely home."
Beside me, Ollie steps closer. He clasps my shoulder in a protective gesture. His fingers tighten, and I can feel the pressure even through the thick material of his jacket. "I'm about to head home. I'll be happy to give Nikki a lift. You can consider your responsibility absolved."
Without a word, Stark reaches out to me and takes the lapel of Ollie's jacket between two fingers, as if testing the quality of the material. His hand hovers briefly over the swell of my breast, and I am suddenly aware of how intimate the moment must appear, Ollie and I walking alone on the beach, me wearing his jacket ...
I feel an inexplicable need to explain that there's nothing romantic or sexual between Ollie and me, and it takes a great effort to keep my mouth shut. I tilt my head up to look at Ollie. "That would be great. Are you sure it's not inconvenient?"
"It's no problem at all," he says. His hand is still on my shoulder and he increases the pressure as if urging me on. But there's nowhere to go, Stark is right there, larger than life, and the air between us is charged. If I move, I think ridiculously, I'll end up caught in his web. The thought isn't entirely unpleasant.
"I'm not looking for absolution," Stark says to Ollie. "But I do need Ms. Fairchild to stay. We have business to discuss."
I consider arguing, but I also remember his earlier comment--that if I was trying to find investors for Carl, I was doing a craptastic job of it. I tilt my head and nod to Ollie. "It's okay."
"You're sure?" His voice is tight. Concerned.
"Seriously," I say. "Go on home."
He hesitates, then nods. "I'll call you tomorrow," he says, but he's looking at Stark as he says it. He's gone into full big-brother mode, and I hear the message under the words. And she better be there and fine or there's going to be trouble.
My imagination, I realize, is running wild.
He kisses my cheek and starts to head up the spiral staircase.
"Wait," Stark calls, and Ollie pauses.
I hold my breath, wondering if I'm about to witness some testosterone-laden ritual. But all Stark does is reach out for the shoes that I'm still holding in my right hand. I hand them to him, confused until he steps closer and starts to gently ease me out of Ollie's jacket.
"It's okay," Ollie says. "I'll get it later."
But I am already out of the jacket, having moved quickly so that I can recover the distance between me and Stark.
"No need," Stark says, and his smile is bright and friendly as he hands Ollie the jacket.
Ollie hesitates a nanosecond, then takes it. He slips it on, keeping his eyes on me. "Be careful," he says, then disappears up the dark, twisting stairs.
Careful? What the fuck?
I glance at Stark to see if he is as bemused as I am, but it's clear that his thoughts have not lingered on Ollie at all. No, he's completely focused on me.
I snatch my shoes back. "Do we actually have any business to discuss? Because it seems to me that my business is downtown. With Carl. Preparing for a meeting I'll be attending in just over sixteen hours."
"The paintings," he says easily. "I believe you were going to help me?"
"Your belief system is all screwed up. I recall quite clearly declining your request for help."
"My mistake. I thought you'd changed your mind after I pointed out that I valued your opinion."
"You thought I'd changed my mind?" I repeat. "And on what did you base that hypothesis? The way I walked away from you? The way I ignored you?"
He merely quirks a brow, letting me know that all my surreptitious glances toward him and Audrey Hepburn weren't so surreptitious, after all.
He watches me, probably expecting a pithy comeback, but I'm not going to provide one. At this moment, silence is most definitely the best policy.
I tilt my head up to look at his face. The minimal illumination filtering down from Evelyn's balcony casts his features in shadows. His eyes, however, seem to absorb the light. The amber one, fiery and hot. The other one black and ringed with molten lava, so dark and deep I feel as though I could fall in and get lost. Windows to the soul, I think and then shiver.
"You're cold," he says, then trails a finger down my bare arm. "You have goose bumps."
Well if I didn't before, I surely do now....
"I was fine when I had a coat," I say, and he bursts out laughing. I like the sound of it, so free and easy and always unexpected.
He slips out of his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders, ignoring my protests.
"We're going back inside," I say, shrugging it off and holding it out. "I'm fine, really."
He takes my shoes from me, but ignores the coat. "Put it on. I don't want you catching cold."
"Oh, f
or Christ's sake," I snap, shoving my arms into the sleeves. "Do you always get what you want?"
His eyes widen, and I realize I've surprised him. "Yes," he says.
Gotta give the guy points for honesty.
"Fine. Let's go inside. Look at some paintings. I'll tell you what I like, and then you'll do whatever you want."
He's looking at me with a somewhat baffled expression. "Excuse me?"
"You just don't seem like the kind of guy who actually takes anybody's advice."
"You're wrong, Nikki," he says, my name sounding like milk chocolate in his mouth. "I consider very carefully any opinion I value."
The heat coming off him is palpable. I no longer need the jacket. Hell, the damn jacket is stifling.
I look away, at the sand, at the ocean, at the sky. Anywhere but at this man. I'm twisted up in knots, but that's not the problem. The problem is, I like the feeling.
"Nikki," he says gently. "Look at me."
I look without thinking, and there's no Social Nikki between us. I'm as naked as if I'd stripped off my dress.
"That man you were with. Who is he to you?"
Blam! Social Nikki is back on duty. I feel my face harden, my eyes grow cold. Damien Stark is like a spider, and I'm the foolish insect he's going to devour.
I look away, but only for a second. When I turn back, I'm flashing the very same plastic smile that he saw on a stage six years ago. I should turn the wattage up and tell him that Ollie is none of his business.
But I don't.
I'm not certain I understand the instinct that brings the answer to my lips, but it's the one that I go with, and as soon as I've spoken, I turn my back to him and begin the walk up the stairs, my words lingering in the air behind me.
"Him? That's Orlando McKee. We used to sleep together."
6
This isn't exactly true, but it's close enough. It's a story that I can spin and weave without losing the thread of reality.
It's another layer of armor, and where Damien Stark is concerned, I need as much protection as I can get.
He is right behind me on the stairs, but they are too narrow for us to stand side by side.