At Your Beck & Call

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  I felt the raw power of the car’s V8 engine as I accelerated down the street.

  “See any cops?”

  She looked behind us then glanced across at me, her forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.

  “No. Why?”

  I put my foot down and the Maserati leapt forward.

  Véro let out a squeak as we were pressed back in our seats, then she laughed loudly.

  “I hope my mom factored in a speeding ticket.”

  “Let’s find out!”

  “Let’s not,” she said, resting her hand on my thigh.

  My eyes slid over to hers as I felt the warmth of her hand seep through the material. Her look was bold, almost challenging, and I shifted in my seat, excitement and anticipation threatening to boil my blood.

  Christ, this woman was going to kill me.

  As we neared our destination, I felt Véro’s tension increase. Her hands had tightened into fists, and her plump lips were mashed into a tight grimace. By the time we joined the line of cars and limos outside the Casa Del Mar, she was practically hyperventilating.

  “Hey,” I said, reaching out for her left hand. “It’ll be fine.” And I leaned over to place a kiss against her hair.

  It was so soft and silky and I had an image of it falling over my stomach as she took my cock in her mouth, staining my skin with her deep red lipstick.

  Her cheeks pinked up slightly even though she couldn’t read my mind. At least I hoped not, because otherwise I was about to get my face slapped. I rearranged my thoughts quickly, reminding myself that this was about her.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Véro, and you look sensational today. I can’t wait to get out there and show you off.” And get you out of that dress, my dick muttered impatiently.

  She smiled sadly. “You’re very sweet, Hallen. Thank you.”

  I’d been called a lot of things by girls—by women—since I’d started dating, but I don’t think I’d ever been called ‘sweet’ before. Not even my mum had ever called me that. Turned out to be a bankable commodity.

  As we reached the head of the slow-moving line of vehicles, two valets opened our doors simultaneously, and reluctantly I passed over the car keys.

  “Look after her,” I growled, unable to hide my jealousy.

  Véro gave a little giggle.

  “I wish guys looked at me the way you look at that car.”

  I leaned down and whispered in her ear. “They will today, baby,” and was rewarded with another blush. Then she swatted my arm.

  “Stop being so charming! It’s embarrassing. I can’t help thinking you were in elementary school when I graduated from college.”

  I grinned at her. “Yeah? And you’re still hot.”

  “Still?” She raised her eyebrows, but smiled anyway.

  As we walked into the hotel’s entrance a thought occurred to me.

  “What do you do, Véro? I guess I should know if I’m supposed to be your date.”

  She gave an exasperated huff, as if she realized she should have thought of this sooner.

  “I’m an antiques dealer. My work takes me abroad often,” and she smiled at me. “Although I’ve never been to Sweden.”

  I shrugged. “Neither have I, but I’d like to go one day.”

  “Do you speak any of the language?”

  “Yeah, some. I haven’t spoken it for a few years—I’m probably pretty rusty.”

  “How come?”

  I looked away. “I haven’t had the chance … since my dad died.”

  There was an awkward pause as we both avoided eye contact.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t realize.”

  “Yeah, well, Dad was 55 when I was born, so…”

  I didn’t bother to finish the sentence, knowing she could work out the rest for herself.

  Mum said I was a lot like my father, and I sure as shit was nothing like her. I missed him every day.

  Before Véro had a chance to try and get me to share any other personal details, we both heard someone calling her name.

  “Véro! Oh my God, Véro! You look amazing!”

  A thin, hatchet-faced woman of about Véro’s age stalked across the room. Her mouth was smiling, but her eyes were hard, gray pebbles. She looked as though her glassy exterior would shatter if she expressed a genuine emotion. I felt Véro’s hand clutch me a little more tightly. I automatically wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her into me, enjoying the way her body molded against mine a little too much.

  “Heidi, you too. How are you?”

  “Oh you know me, I’m always good.”

  Heidi’s eyes flicked up and down me, her face brimming with curiosity.

  “This is my date, Hallen Jansen.”

  “Heidi Korngerd.”

  We shook hands and her grip lingered just a fraction longer than was polite, the pressure on my hand suggestive, knowing. I extracted my hand and placed it firmly around Véro’s waist again. She smiled up at me and leaned into my side, resting her palm on my chest. Heidi got the message and backed off, a taunting smile hovering around her artificially plump lips.

  She spouted some social inanities while we both listened politely, then she scented fresh prey, and swept away, moving fast and efficiently on five inch heels.

  “God, I never liked her,” Véro snorted. “She’s one of Oliver’s friends. She always resented me for dating him. She probably hates me even more now. If only she knew!”

  She stroked my forearm possessively and I felt … I wasn’t sure how I felt: amused, turned on, cheap.

  Every time I started to get comfortable, I’d be reminded that this wasn’t a real date. It was confusing as all fuck.

  After Heidi, it was a flurry of faces and names that I instantly forgot, until Véro tensed suddenly.

  “There’s Oliver,” she hissed.

  I glanced over and saw a man in his forties, shorter than me, but a lot heavier with a paunch that his expensive jacket couldn’t hide.

  Show time.

  I wrapped my arms around Véro’s waist and pulled her tightly into my chest, leaning down to kiss her neck. For a moment, her rigid posture fought me, then her body melted into mine and she reached up to stroke the back of my head.

  “Is he looking?” I whispered in her ear.

  “Yes!” she murmured back, her eyes half closed—fuck-me eyes.

  I let my hands drift down, until they were resting just above the cheeks of her ass, then I ran my tongue up the side of her neck and felt her shiver.

  Her hands tightened around me for a second and then she pushed away, laughing and breathless.

  “Enough for now,” she said, with a smile.

  I straightened up and looked down at her. “Was that okay?”

  “Very okay, Hallen. If I were a betting woman, I’d say you’ve done that before.”

  I winked, and she laughed.

  As I glanced over toward Oliver, his face was dark with anger. I met his gaze, wondering what kind of bastard dumped his woman days before her friend’s wedding then turned up with someone else.

  The ‘someone else’ was a girl who looked as if she might have just finished high school. Maybe. She wobbled on bambi legs, and I wondered if she was drunk or just had vertigo from her uncomfortable looking shoes. Oliver didn’t even notice, instead glaring at Véro. I guess she’d upset him showing up looking hot—and with a date. Yeah, my heart was breaking over that. I really didn’t like him, and from the look on his face, the feeling was mutual.

  “Hey,” said Véro, softly pulling on my jacket. “Acting, remember?”

  I was surprised by the rush of possessiveness I felt as she twined her fingers with mine, and we moved away.

  The actual ceremony was mercifully brief, and we stood up and sat down as the priest said the traditional words. As far as I was concerned, the only things weddings were good for was to fill the pockets of divorce lawyers. Véro looked alternately happy then tearful—I was just glad when it was all over and the
dinner was announced. My stomach growled loudly. I hoped it would be real food and not just that canapés crap.

  Véro took my arm as we strolled toward the long tables set out beneath the wide branches of a gnarled and time stooped fig tree.

  I was fascinated by the green and purple colors, the unique form of the trunk and its branches. I wanted to paint that tree, to lay bare the secrets of a hundred years as I attempted to transfer its magic onto canvas. I realized I was staring when Véro tugged impatiently on my arm, smiling as she nodded at people she knew.

  The hot sun and overpowering scent of summer flowers left me feeling intoxicated and sleepy. I stood up straighter, reminding myself I was working. As we made our way toward the swathes of white linen tablecloths, Véro stopped several times to chat, introducing me each time as her date. The men shook my hand while their greedy eyes feasted on Véro’s curves; the women licked their lips and gazed at me through mascaraed lashes.

  It wasn’t so bad. I was amused by the obvious way some of them undressed me with their eyes, but most were overtly polite—it was okay. I came to think of those looks as ‘enjoying the scenery’—they looked, but they didn’t touch. I think Véro was enjoying it, too, if the satisfied expression on her face was anything to go by. This escort shit was easier than I’d expected. Jeez, if I’d known this, I could have done it all through college. But maybe women preferred older guys for this sort of gig? Or not … judging by the looks I was getting.

  But when Véro checked the seating arrangement inside, her face tightened.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We’re at the same table as Oliver,” she shuddered. “I’ll get indigestion trying to eat with that jerk looking at me. He was always going on about the size of my thighs.”

  I glanced down at her curvy hips. Her thighs looked good to me. Guy was obviously a dick.

  “Wait here,” I said, and walked over to one of the waiters.

  “May I help you?”

  “Yes. I need to change two of the placements.”

  “That’s not possible,” he said, dismissively. “The seating plan was designed by the bride’s mother.”

  His attitude made my skin hot, and I felt a pulse of anger and dislike.

  “Listen, pencil neck,” I growled out. “I am not going to have my date seated at the same table as her asswipe ex. So if you don’t move us right now, I’ll end up laying out the guy on your nice little buffet table. Got it?”

  He blinked rapidly. “I’ll see what I can do, sir.”

  “Good call.”

  He hurried over to talk to another staff member, this one dressed in a suit. He turned around, frowning, but smiled when he saw me and strode toward us.

  “What the hell are you doing here, man?”

  “Hey, Carl!” I said, shaking his hand. “Good to see you, brother. Um, this is my … friend Véro. Véro, this clown was my roommate all through college.”

  Carl’s eyes brightened with appreciation as he took her hand.

  “You didn’t tell me you were dating,” he said, his voice slightly accusing.

  “This is fairly new,” Véro smiled, throwing me a conspiratorial glance.

  “I can see we’re going to have some catchin’ up to do, buddy,” replied Carl, still gazing at Véro.

  My eyes narrowed, and Carl dropped her hand, smirking at me.

  Two minutes later, we were switched to a different table, and Carl had to hurry away to put out another fire.

  I knew Carl would be sweating like a girl on prom night, wanting to know what the deal was between me and Véro. He’d mostly only met my occasional dates as they left the apartment the next morning.

  “Thank you for taking care of that,” Véro said, kissing me on the cheek and bringing me back to the here and now. Then she brushed both hands down my lapels and pretended to straighten my tie. “What a coincidence that your friend works here.”

  “Yeah,” I frowned. “He’ll want to know all about you. I’ll have to think of something to tell him.”

  “Tell him the truth.”

  “What?”

  She laughed quietly. “Why not? He’ll be impressed. It’s a man’s dream job, isn’t it?”

  I hesitated, uncertain.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “I’m glad he managed to move us to another table. Normally these things are practically carved in stone. You must have some smooth moves.”

  I didn’t think that threatening to punch another guest was one of the smooth moves she had in mind, so I just smiled and pulled out her chair.

  I was relieved that there was wine on the table—I felt the need for a drink for sure. Then I wondered what the protocol was of drinking on the job. Ah, to hell with it—I needed a drink.

  I poured us each a glass of chilled white wine, guzzling it thirstily while Véro watched with amusement. I’d have preferred beer.

  We were seated at a table with an older couple, and several friends of the bride who flirted with me shamelessly the more they drank. I wasn’t in the mood to humor them, so turned toward Véro who was talking about art with the older guy.

  “I always think Expressionism is so unnecessarily suggestive of angst,” he said, pedantically.

  “True, but you have to admit that El Greco could be called an early Expressionist,” said his wife, as if announcing that the world was still round. “His View of Toledo is just divine. Do you like art, Hallen?” she asked turning to me, and politely including me in the conversation when she saw that I was listening.

  Beside me, Véro tensed, and I got the impression she didn’t want me to talk to these people. She probably assumed that I’d say something stupid that would reflect badly on her. I’d gotten used to people assuming I was just a dumb jock in college, but it pissed me off that Véro thought that, too. Then I had to remind myself that this was just a job—to her as well as me. But the woman was still waiting for an answer, so I risked a short sentence.

  “Expressionism isn’t really my thing.”

  She smiled in a rather patronizing way, raising an amused eyebrow at Véro. “What is your … thing?”

  Véro flushed, embarrassed by the obvious condescension in the older woman’s voice.

  I rested my arm on the back of Véro’s chair, not having to think about my answer. Any first year art major could have taken on that conversation.

  “Well, for Expressionist influences, I like Matthias Grünewald. And Albrecht Dürer especially, because of the way he portrayed movement and light. They were really ahead of their time.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s an interesting view. Did you study Art History?”

  “Yeah, a bit. I took a class in it when I was at UCLA.”

  “And what was your major, dear?”

  “Fine art.”

  “You’re an artist?”

  I shook my head. “Not really.”

  Véro looked at me with surprise and said quietly so no one else could hear, “I thought you were a bartender; you didn’t tell me you were an artist.”

  I shrugged. She hadn’t asked.

  “Like I said—not really. Bartending pays the bills.”

  She laid her hand on my knee and squeezed gently, an apology in her gaze.

  I noticed that Oliver was looking over at us, watching, so I placed my hand over Véro’s, and slid it up my thigh then leaned over to kiss her cheek. But she moved her head toward me and I felt my lips brush against hers. I didn’t know if it was accidental or deliberate. We stared at each other for a moment then her mouth curved up in a smile.

  The sound of a swing band warming up pulled us apart, and when I leaned back her eyes were dark and I could feel my body reacting to the lust I saw there.

  She shook her head as if to clear it and smiled. “Can you dance?”

  “Sure. You want to?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “I want to get my money’s worth out of you.”

  She must have seen something in my expression because her cheeks flushed red, and she was ob
viously flustered.

  “I’m so sorry, Hallen. That was crass of me. Completely unwarranted. I didn’t mean it...”

  I nodded, but she’d solved the problem of my semi. The lines were getting blurred and it was hard to keep my head straight.

  Knowing I had a job to do, I stood up and led her onto the dance floor. It was soon clear from the way she clung to me that Véro had drunk more than I’d realized. Luckily, she was a pretty good dancer and we had some fun until I noticed the asswipe strolling over, acting like he owned the place—or owned Véro—which immediately grated on my already raw nerves.

  “Do you mind if I cut in?” he asked, laying his paw on her.

  She looked shocked and upset, so I pulled her away immediately.

  “Yes, I mind,” I said, sharply.

  “I wasn’t talking to you, kid,” he scoffed.

  I dropped Véro’s arm and stepped in front of her, getting up close and personal so that he’d know I wasn’t joking. I had a good five inches on him and he had to look up at me.

  “The lady doesn’t want to dance with you.”

  My voice was quiet but he could see that I was serious. Several other people turned to watch the altercation.

  He hesitated, and I could tell he was considering his chances. I knew I could look pretty damn intimidating if I wanted to.

  He looked down first.

  “I’ll speak to you later, Véro,” he muttered, and walked away.

  “Thank you, Hallen,” she said, shakily. “I really didn’t want to talk to him. Thank you.”

  She slipped her arms around my neck and pulled my head down toward her. “Thank you,” she whispered again.

  This time her mouth opened slightly and I felt her warm breath, tinged with champagne, wash over me. She moved closer, pressing the thin silk of her dress against my chest. I could feel the heat of her body and the softness of her breasts.

  She kissed me hungrily and I didn’t try to stop her. This day was turning out even stranger than I’d expected.

  “I want you,” she whispered. “Can I have you?”

  I nodded as adrenaline pumped through me, and she smiled.

  She took my hand and we left the wedding tent.

  Behind the sprawling fig tree, the sky was velvet soft, scattered with bright pinpoints of light swimming above the ocean.