by C. L. Donley
I laugh as though the two can’t be compared, but I say nothing.
“You obviously want her, and you should.”
Say what?
“Obvious? Obvious, how?”
“The ballet schtick. You’re obviously trying to win her over, because you’ve never met a person you haven’t been able to win over, especially a woman.”
I had to give it to Grayson on that one. His powers of observation were occult.
“Fair enough, but I wouldn’t say that I like her, I don’t even know her. I don’t know that I wanna know her.”
Bel looks over at me. Again… probably too much.
“You ‘don’t wanna know her,’” Grayson flatly quotes me.
“He doth protest too much!” Bel says, taking a drink of his neglected chai tea.
“You do realize you’re pulling a Grayson right now,” Grayson says.
“No I’m not, because I’m not saying I’m not attracted to her because, unlike Bryan, my penis does work. I’m not scared of my feelings, okay,” I say in a mocking tone. “What I’m saying is, I don’t know her but she seems like kind of a bitch, she’s attracted to a married man, and pushing the issue is only going to make all our lives more difficult.”
“She’s not a bitch,” Grayson defends her, “just… wound up. Tight.”
The plane gives a silent air of agreement as we all contemplate a 27 year old virgin ballerina. I can only shake my head, blowing breath out of inflated cheeks. Bel snickers.
“I know for a fact that I need to keep my head above water, and not listen to you two clowns,” I finally say.
“So you’re going to avoid her for the rest of your life,” Grayson concludes glibly.
“Basically, yes. We’ve only met, what, three times in a year? How hard could it be? Unless there’s some other relationship milestone of yours that we both need to be present for, I doubt we’ll see even each other again after this weekend. ”
When we land it’s 1:18 in the morning, a balmy 89 degrees at night. We freshen up when we get to our respective suites and instantly go out for a nightcap on the rooftop terrace of the hotel. We probably won’t sleep well tonight but the only thing we have to do tomorrow is rehearsal and dinner, and that isn’t until noon.
When we get to the bar, the girls are still downstairs. While we’re waiting, I contemplate the deep, introspective conversation I had with my bros on the plane.
What did Grayson mean by “overthinking” it? I should “underthink” it?
Amara’s friends are young impressionable virgins, like Amara once was. If I give in to temptation, and it goes south, I’ll have to face the wrath of Amara and/or her best friends likely for the rest of my natural life. And that is out of the question.
They’re practically family. It would be like incest.
Hot, young, virginal, interracial incest.
Oh boy.
No. “Underthinking it” is not the way to go.
I’m about to be 35 and no closer to finding the love of my life than I was two years ago. I’ve lost my wingman and it’s been a devastating blow, one that I hadn’t anticipated. Now Grayson is spouting all kinds of ebony and ivory philosophy and patronizing me like I’m one of his groupie fans at a SPEC Conference.
Was he even at the same dinner? Mya obviously still despises us all for throwing money at her best friend and then stealing her away. Good for her, for not forgetting.
I suddenly see Grayson’s face soften to mush and I turn to see the two women rounding the corner.
Amara is donning a simple halter maxi knit dress with an aztec print and Mya’s wearing tight workout pants, and a grey shirt with a sports bra showing underneath that reads “eat, sleep, dance, repeat.” I recognize that same floating gait my mother had, the years of her training making the slightest of her movements poised and dramatic. Her dark skin commands the rest of the attention, leaving almost nothing for her beautiful features. Her clothes hug her petite, curvaceous body as if they love her. Very, very much.
“Where’s Sam?” Grayson asks as they get closer.
“Almost asleep,” Amara answers.
“You can’t bring a baby to a rooftop terrace bar,” I protest.
“I have to go see him,” Grayson hastily gets up from his chair.
“Do not, wake, him up, Grayson Davis,” Amara yells behind her as he passes.
When she whirls around to face us she’s all smiles.
“Gentleman!” she begins enthusiastically.
“Amara!” Bel says the loudest as he gets up to hug her. Bryan and I nod and smile.
“You ready, girl?” Bel says to her.
Amara laughs. “I don’t know, I’m having second thoughts, y’all.”
“Bryan will have the car running outside just in case, Amy,” I say.
“Bel, this is Mya, my maid of honor.”
I watch from my seat as Mya extends a slender, powerful arm to Bel. He shakes her hand. She smiles, a modest light in her eyes. Unconsciously I’m grinning. Obviously, Bel’s thawing her out effortlessly. Bastard.
“So nice to finally meet this Mya I’ve heard so much about,” he says.
Mya and Amara look at each other.
Shit. Fucking loud mouth Bel.
Amara makes a half hearted attempt to stifle a laugh.
“Really,” Mya asks, intrigued laughter in her voice.
“Bel you’re exaggerating again, bro,” I say flatly.
“No, you were telling me how beautiful she is and I said, ‘I can’t wait to meet her.’”
Two pairs of doe eyes fly to the direction of my seat. I can feel the heat filling my face.
I shake my head, “That’s not what I said.”
Bryan lets out a rare laugh. Mya furrows her brow, but Amara is looking at me with a suspiciously joyful gaze. Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I shake my head, backtracking. “That’s not… I just meant that’s not what we talked about.
“What did you talk about?” Mya blinks.
Fuuuuck!
“This is the best day of my life,” Amara exaggerates behind her as she gleefully leaves me hanging out to dry.
“We were just talking about the fact that you’re…wait, what did we talk about?”
“Good call dude, this is way better than what I said,” Bel says sarcastically.
Amara shrieks in laughter.
I turn my attention to Bel, who still has Mya by the hand.
“You can let go of her hand, bro,” I rib him.
Bel looks over at me as he raises Mya’s hand to his lips and kisses it before he lets it go.
Amara’s dying laughing as she claps her hands.
Mya shakes her head as she sits down at the small white bistro table opposite Bel. “I cannot believe that Grayson missed that entire exchange,” Amara exclaims.
Mya’s firm breasts do a hop as she scoots her chair forward and crosses her legs. Her locs are swept to one side and tumble forward messily. She tames them with a flick of her wrist, her sultry features lowered and expressive.
“I’m still not clear on what they talked about,” Mya shyly prompts.
“Me either,” Amara encourages her, sitting beside Mya with a single hand under her chin.
“If Grayson were here he could tell you verbatim,” I deflect.
“But you all were there,” Mya counters suspiciously.
“Bryan, what were they talking about?” Amara asks, knowing instinctively he wasn’t actively involved.
We all turn to Bryan, willing him to silence.
Bryan surveys the table before he simply answers, “I was working.”
I blow air out of my cheeks as the girls laugh.
“That’s right, Bryan, no snitches,” Bel praises him.
“Snitches get stitches,” I say matter of factly.
Mya is suddenly luminous as she turns to Amara, letting small dainty fingers cover her lips as she giggles. Bel gives me an elbow to the arm while the girls’ heads are turned toward ea
ch other.
For the first time, I see Mya laugh.
It’s gorgeous enough to stop my heart and entirely too short. Instantly I want more.
I’m suddenly transported back to high school, to freshman year when my friends would dare me to ask out one of the seniors at the pep rallies. My palms were sweaty, I was always in danger of shitting myself, but my mind was sharp. My friends all thought I was a skinny, big-headed wizard. Once I made a girl laugh I always knew it was a matter of time.
We order drinks, and I’m on my fourth relaying of the ballet story when Grayson suddenly returns.
Amara consciously keeps her hands to herself, eyeing Grayson as he joins the table.
Before anyone can brief him on the conversation, Amara begins.
“Sam’s sleeping?” Amara confirms.
“Yep.”
“Babe?” Amara blinks.
“Hm.”
“What did you guys talk about on the plane?” she asks innocently.
I’m already bobbing with laughter, knowing Grayson is going to drop a bomb like he usually does.
“Work stuff, mostly.”
Bel starts snickering against his will. Amara straightens her aim and tries again.
“Did you guys talk about Mya at all on the plane?”
“Mmhm,” Grayson easily gives up, “and Kim.”
The girls’ eyebrows shoot up hearing their best friend’s name out of Grayson’s mouth. Amara has hit pay dirt.
“Oh my God,” I shake my head, as if Grayson’s giving us up to the cops.
“Kim, what about Kim,” Amara abbreviates, anxious to get to the information.
“I just told them what you told me, that Kim wants to get pregnant by any one of us.”
Mya’s jaw drops as she turns to look at Amara, who’s eye to eye with her husband, each of them poker faced.
Bel collapses onto me, while I try to shield my face laughing. Bryan too is laughing and recovers with a cough.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t under the impression it was supposed to be a secret,” Grayson flatly says.
We were almost near recovery when Grayson’s clueless apology made us lose it again.
“It wasn’t,” Amara simply says.
“Friggin hyenas over here,” Mya volunteers. She tries to hide her giddy amusement at the sight of us reverting to 3rd grade.
Amara shakes her head.
“Nervous, guilty, laughter,” she chastises.
Bel is holding his left side trying to will himself to stop laughing. I’m covering my face with a cloth napkin.
Suddenly Grayson volunteers more information.
“Dale thinks that Mya’s attracted to me, but I told him that was impossible because I know for a fact that she hates me,” Grayson flatly confesses.
Amara’s eyes widen.
Mya’s entire body tenses. She doesn’t even look up from the table.
“Whooaa,” is all Bel can say.
“Grayson, what the fuck??” I drop the napkin from my face, floored. It’s not the first time Grayson’s ratted me out, but it’s probably the most awkward.
Grayson continues as though no one wants the horror to stop.
“And Dale essentially said that he thinks Mya can both hate me and also want to sleep with me.”
My stomach lurches. I feel like I’m going to be sick and need air. Any air but this air as I feel her energy, as though she’d been stripped naked and she’s clawing the atmosphere to cover herself with any dignity she can muster. I don’t know what reaction I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting to feel how correct I was.
The sound of Mya’s chair grating against the outdoor pavement careens through the conversation. She fluidly, soundlessly removes herself from the table.
Only Grayson looks up to watch her gracefully sachet around the corner, until she’s gone from view.
Twenty Three
Chapter 23
Dale
Once Mya is fully out of sight from the table, that it’s certain she’s gone and won’t be coming back, Amara is the first one to speak.
“You wanna walk me through your thought process here, babe?” she asks patiently.
The rest of the table is still reluctant to acknowledge that we’re even there.
“I was trying to find out if Dale’s suspicions were true. Seems that they were.”
“You didn’t think maybe to ask your wife first?”
Grayson gazes silently back at her, which inwardly makes me laugh.
He actually knows he’s on thin ice, but he still needs clarification.
“…Ask whether Mya was attracted to me, or permission to test the theory?”
“I know that Mya’s attracted to you,” Amara slowly blinks.
The table inaudibly gasps.
“This is some freaky deaky mess,” Bel mutters.
“It’s nothing like that,” she gives Bel a reprimanding look. “Mya tends to be attracted to unavailable men, that’s all. Like Bryan, for example.”
Bryan rolls his eyes as if tired of being picked on.
“Whaaaaaat…the hell,” I say.
“Yes, all of you are hang-up free, congratulations,” Amara glares sarcastically.
“Well then she should be cured of it now,” Grayson says.
“Why, because you’re an asshole?” Amara finishes.
“Yes,” he answers.
“So that was your reasoning?” Amara concludes.
“Yes.”
“Ah. Well as usual, that was oddly thoughtful babe, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Grayson smiles.
We look at each other in disbelief.
“Amara you are… a saint,” Bel says.
“Oh, I’m not finished,” Amara laughs chillingly.
We all get quiet.
“Which one of you brilliant minds are going to come up with a plan to make this up to her?”
No one speaks.
“We all will,” Grayson volunteers us.
“It’s gotta be good enough to make her forget that this ever happened, do you think you all can manage that?”
“We’re open to suggestions,” I venture.
Amara gives me a cold look of death. She looks back at Grayson.
“Figure it out, genius,” she says.
“We will,” Grayson answers, continuing to group us all into it together.
“Because Grayson… look at me.”
Grayson reluctantly meets her eyes.
“If you mess up my day, that I’ve been planning for a year— scratch that, for my entire life— I’m going to show up, smile and be all around a very pleasant, beautiful blushing bride. And then I’m going to call Bryan. And I’m going to have Bryan find me a very expensive, very powerful, very highly rated self-pleasuring device. He’s gonna pay thousands of dollars of your money, to have that thing delivered to me within the hour, and I will leave you out in the lurch for the duration of this honeymoon do you catch my drift?” Amara cooly threatens.
“Yes,” is all Grayson can say.
“I’m talking the fuckin’ Sahara desert, at night. Cold, dry, hopeless desolation do you hear me?” Amara reiterates.
“Loud and clear,” Grayson assures her.
“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go console my friend.”
Amara gets up from the table and heads down the terrace elevator back down to her room.
Bel is the first to break the silence.
“Bro… what are you gonna do.”
Grayson sighs.
“Fix it, I guess.”
“Personally I hope she calls Bryan,” I mutter.
“We should’ve just hired Amara to be the new CEO,” Grayson realizes.
“Dude, no, you had your shot!” Bel, Amara’s actual boss, retorts.
Grayson rests his elbows on the table and cradles his forehead in his hands, worriedly.
“I am in love with that woman,” Grayson suddenly says.
“You’re an asshole. You
know that?” I say.
“All too well,” Grayson sighs again.
Mya
As I make my way back to my hotel suite, I’m barely breathing. I’m torn between feelings of embarrassment and elation. Bel’s warm kiss is still cooling on the back of my hand.
Grayson thinks I hate him? I don’t hate him.
Did three billionaires and their assistant really sit on a jet ruminating about me and Kim’s vaginas?
That’s kind of amazing.
But also scary, because it meant I was being lumped into the thirsty and desperate camp with Kim. Granted I’m indeed both of those things, but still. I don’t want to be lumped.
But then again, I don’t have the um… advertising power that Kim has, so maybe I need the help. I’ve heard the word “frigid” far too many times.
I have to give it to Amara. If this was my life all the time then I would be probably be obnoxious too.
I can’t think about the implications of Dale talking shit about me on the way over, because I need all the good vibes I can muster to get through this fucking weekend. So I can’t. I can’t. I… can’t.
I don’t know him, and he doesn’t know me. Therefore, I don’t talk about him. So the fact that he has opinions about me at any length— that he apparently feels like he needs to share— is completely and utterly baffling to me. What do you say about someone you don’t know? “Nothing,” is the correct fucking answer.
Unless you happen to be a billionaire named Dale Abernathy, of course. And you literally have run out of the simplest of things to fucking do. But like I said, I cannot afford to dwell on this right now. I can’t.
I order room service. A spinach salad. Suddenly, I hear a knock on the hotel room door. Probably Amara, coming to check on me.
Amara didn’t speak right away. I get the impression she’s embarrassed for me, which is almost worse than my actual embarrassment. I decide to be the one to break the ice.
“You assured me they wouldn’t be dressed to the nines,” I jokingly complain, chewing.
“They weren’t,” she replies.
“Gotdamn,” I quietly exclaim.
“I know. You get used to it. Unfortunately,” Amara adds.
“What were you doing out there, after I left?”
“I was threatening Grayson with a sex free honeymoon if he didn’t find a way to make this up to you.”