by Dara Girard
There was that strange word again 'we' and she liked being in his arms. He held her longer than he needed to. She didn't mind. She didn't want him to let go. Then he clapped his hands together then stood and lifted her to her feet.
"You can't stay here," he said. "Pack your things. You can stay at my place. Don't worry, I'm hardly there. I'm usually at Sylvie's."
"But--"
He gently shoved her towards her room. "Go on, I want to look around some more."
Greta was in no mood to argue. She went directly to her bedroom and quickly packed. He was helping her. He wanted to help her. It was an odd feeling. She was used to doing things by herself. It felt nice to have some of the weight lifted, at least for a while. She would stay at his place for a day or two, just to get her thoughts in order, and then figure out how she could fix up her place. It would take time, but she'd do it. She came into the living room and saw Vance standing in the center with a notepad.
"You're going to need a lot of work," Vance said.
"I know."
"But it's doable. Come on, let's get out of here."
Greta followed, happy to escape.
Chapter Nine
She shouldn't have slapped her. Rita took a long drag of her cigarette, wishing her hand would stop shaking. The shock of the impact still amazed her. Damn, she'd even drawn blood. She regretted that. Rita stubbed out her cigarette then walked into the bathroom of the motel where she was staying. She looked at herself in the mirror and scowled. She looked like crap and it was all Greta's fault. She'd had a miserable time after Greta had thrown her out. She'd gone to a couple of bars and gotten plastered and then spent the next day hugging a toilet bowl before her head stop hurting and her stomach settled.
She felt bad about the police bust. She wished Greta had just taken her at her word. Why did she always push her? She'd given her life, for God’s sake, she deserved more respect. She'd carried her for nine months and popped her out after hours of agony. Making her had been a helluva lot more fun. The bitch wouldn't even be alive if it hadn't been for her. Yet she treated her like dirt. Telling her that she'd acted like the parent. She was just abnormal. She didn't understand a woman's needs. She was too much like her grandmother, dressed like her, too. She thought she was so smart, but she was just a stuck up prude.
She didn't need Greta anymore. Fortunately, she had another daughter.
***
He had forgotten his place was a mess, but he hadn't been expecting any visitors. Vance rushed in front of Greta and picked up the jacket he'd tossed over the sofa and the different books he'd left on the coffee table. It gave him an excuse to keep busy, to maintain a distance from her. He still remembered the tears in her eyes when she'd look at her ruined clarinet case, and how good it felt holding her in his arms. He'd had to use the excuse of checking the rest of the house because he wanted to do a lot more than hold her.
"You don't have to clean up," Greta said.
"It's not the best first impression."
"You don't know mess until you let my mother stay with you a few days." She pushed an old newspaper away and sat as if she owned the place. "Relax."
He laughed. "Well make yourself at home."
She rested her arms the length of the couch. "I plan to."
Strangely, with Greta he felt most like himself. With Sylvie and his mother he always felt as if he had a role to play, but not with Greta. She accepted him as he was. She knew his past and didn't use it against him. He didn't feel as if he had to measure up to some other ideal. By showing up at his office, she'd given him a second chance. He thought he'd never see her again.
Intuitively, he knew that his true fear was that he wasn’t so different than he’d once been. That Tera didn’t have a reason to trust him. That he wasn’t as wonderful as he’d made himself out to be. What if there was more to it? That Tera saw the real him and that wasn’t good enough?
But he was, and he’d prove it. He’d show her, just as he’d wanted to in the past. She’d seen through him in the past too. He remembered one of his basketball buddies bouncing his ball off her head, knocking her glasses off. One side of the frame snapped off and they’d all laughed. He had too, because he thought he was being cool. She hadn’t looked at them. She just bent down and picked up her glasses and walked away. The next day, he saw her wearing the same glasses. She had taped it together with duck tape. They’d called her the ‘Gremlin’. He now knew how expensive glasses could be, and his callous behavior back then made him sick. He remembered she’d looked at him. Not at the others, and said nothing. But her disdain hit him like a fist. She knew he was a coward. She was the one who was strong. The one who was herself, no matter how others mocked her.
Vance remembered that Greta had once played a solo clarinet piece, by some obscure composer, for the school’s Talent Show. She’d been booed throughout, but still finished playing the entire score. They had put her performance between a high, pulsating rap artist and a group of dancers. She’d taken her bow, in spite of the boos, and just walked off the stage. He never understood why the taunts didn’t stop her. Why didn’t she hide away? Their classmates, at the time, didn’t know the difference between Mozart and Bad Bulldog, the popular rap artist at the time. All they knew was that one was dull and dead; the other rich. Being rich was all that mattered. Being cool was your currency. And to him, and everyone else, Greta was broke.
Vance looked at her now. She was successful in her field. So was he, but he was still hiding. Still trying to be cool. Still worried about what she and others thought. He wasn’t like her. He still felt some disdain for his father. Just like Greta, he saw how others saw him. He loved his father, but it tore at him how his father was perceived. It was his father who had forced him to grow up.
They had had lots of fun having the picnic at the fountain. Greta had teased him as if they were old friends. He didn't have to forget or pretend who he used to be. And that allowed him to be who he was now. Many times he wondered who that was. He wondered if he'd somehow slip up again, which is why he felt having someone like Sylvie in his life would keep him straight. But Greta treated him as if he already had it inside him. She trusted him.
* * *
"It's a simple layout. Living room. Bedroom over there. Kitchen and Dining. Bathroom." Vance took Greta’s bag and headed for the bedroom.
"Are you sure I won't be putting you out?" Greta asked as he set her bag on his King size bed.
"I told you, I rarely use it. I'm paying enough, so somebody should. I just have three rules. Don't answer the phone. Don't answer the door. And don't sleep naked."
"What?"
Vance grinned he was only half joking. The thought of her sleeping naked in his bed was too much of a distraction. "Just making sure you were paying attention."
"Are you hungry? Can I make you something?"
"What?"
"I want to do something for you. You let me cry on your shoulder and stay at your place and I want to do something for you."
Vance gripped his hands. He had to leave and he had to leave now. The more she talked the more he wanted to stay. The more he wanted her. He headed for the door. "You don't have to do anything. Just stay safe," he said, then left.
Damn he was in trouble. Vance got into his car then looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror, wishing he could feel differently. He wanted Greta and he hadn't been able to talk himself out of it. Maybe, he was being reckless again. Maybe, he was just trying to rebel because he wasn't ready to settle down yet. Maybe he was sabotaging a good thing. Sylvie was good for him. Cordell wanted to see a ring on her finger, and he didn't blame him. Sylvie wanted the same things he did. His family liked her. Greta's mother had dated a drug dealer and used to be a drug addict. He wouldn't hold that against her, but he knew his family probably would. That was, if they became serious. And they would make fun of the way she looked. There would be so much to protect her from.
Vance started the car ignition. He was a coward. That was th
e problem. He wanted to be with her, but he was scared. He'd lose everything. And the worst part was that he didn't even know if she felt the same way about him. Maybe if he made things more official with Sylvie the feeling would pass.
***
Don't sleep naked. Greta smiled as she recalled Vance's words. She was tempted to do exactly that. To lie wrapped in his sheets completely bare. He'd never know and if he did it wouldn't matter anyway since he was just teasing her. He saw her as a friend, not as a woman, but unfortunately she could only see him as a man. An attractive, sexy man. She envied Sylvie. She envied every woman he'd been interested in. They had seen another side of him she'd never see. A man filled with desire and passion. She’d caught a glimpse of it when they were at the fountain and when he was shopping for Sylvie’s ring.
But they were friends and she wouldn't jeopardize that. Just as she had felt about Drake all those years ago, she ached for his attention and kindness, but she didn't just want to be some damsel he always had to rescue. She wanted him to see her as self reliant. First she'd clean up his place. She had to have something to do. She wouldn't organize it, just freshen and tidy it up a bit.
She always took pride in her surroundings and his place would be no different. Strangely, Vance’s apartment didn't feel like a home. He didn't have any pictures of family or friends. It had a stark, neglected quality. She was dusting the living room when she noticed a plant shoved into the corner. She looked closer and realized it was the large potted plant she'd given him.
An acute sense of hurt pierced her. Why hadn't he kept her gift in his office? Why had he shoved it in the corner in an apartment he hardly used? Didn't he want to see it? Clearly not. She had a wild urge to throw it out and leave, the words of her mother echoing in her ears No man wants you. She didn't want to feel like an obligation or a duty. She'd wanted a wakeup call and she'd gotten it. She stared at the plant and uprooted the desires and feelings she'd let settle in her heart. No matter how kind he was, she had to realize she was still on her own.
The following day, Greta stared at the window trying to know what to do next. She'd slept on the couch, because she didn't want to get too comfortable. She'd taken a week off of work and knew she'd have to return soon and she still didn't know how she was going to fix the damage to her house. She couldn't stay at Vance's place indefinitely, and she hadn't heard from him for a couple of days, except a brief call to check in and see how she was doing.
Greta was clearing up her lunch when she heard someone open the door. She steeled herself against the joy of seeing him again. She came out of the kitchen and saw an attractive young woman come through the door. Obviously Vance's girlfriend, Sylvie. She was younger than Greta had expected, she looked barely out of college. She was model tall and thin with almond shaped eyes and skin like cocoa butter, and looked stunning in a cream silk blouse and designer jeans.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"Greta. A friend of Vance. He's just letting me stay here for a few days."
"Vance?" the young woman said, with a teasing gleam in her eye. "He lets you call him Vance?"
"He doesn't let me," Greta said, confused why Sylvie found the fact so amusing. "He prefers it."
"Oh I see," she said, but it was clear that she didn't.
"He's not here. Do you need to call him? Would you like me to make you something while you wait?" Greta struck her forehead. "Listen to me treating you like a guest when you probably know this place better than I do."
The young woman dropped her purse and keys on a side table and walked into the living room. "You have no idea." She inhaled. "You've been cleaning. It smells so fresh in here like lemons."
Greta shrugged. "I had nothing better to do."
The woman spun around and pointed at her. "What did you say your name was again?"
"Greta, but he likes to call me, Tera. I know he probably told you about the drug bust."
She sat down her eyes wide. "No."
Greta sat down beside the young woman and told her everything. It surprised her how much she wanted to share. She usually kept her chaotic family life a secret, but for some odd reason, being around Vance, his help and understanding, was helping her heal, and she no longer wanted to pretend about her family or her situation. "He's really been a great help."
"That's the kind of man he is. He's always been there for me. I'm just glad you're all right," she said with shock and dismay. Her gaze dropped to Greta's outfit and her eyes mirrored her sense of pity. "Did they damage your clothes too?"
"No, I grabbed what I could."
"Oh."
Greta looked down at her top and trousers. "I know, they’re not the height of fashion but they work for me. So what do you do?"
"I'm a graphic designer."
"You and Vance make a handsome pair, Sylvie."
The young woman blinked, opened her mouth, then closed it and bit her lip. She jumped to her feet. "I'd better run."
"Didn't you want something?" Greta said, surprised by her sudden change.
"No, I just wanted to bug him." She grabbed her purse and keys and opened the door. "It was nice to meet you, Tera."
"You too."
Greta closed the door then kicked it. What was it about her that made Vance and Sylvie want to get up and run? As expected, his girlfriend was just as wonderful as he was. Warm, funny, beautiful. All the men from her past had it made. Drake had Cassie. The woman she'd seen Eric with was probably perfect for him too. And Vance had Sylvie. No wonder he'd wanted them to meet. She had to get over him.
***
He couldn't do it. Twice Vance had rehearsed asking Sylvie to marry him and imagined sliding the ring on her finger, but every time he had a chance, he froze. It had been two days since he'd seen Greta's place and he couldn't stop thinking about her. He'd stopped himself from visiting her, but that hadn't helped. Vance lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't pretend anymore. He couldn't pretend that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Sylvie. He knew what his decision would mean. He'd lose his job, and Cordell's respect. But he'd coasted by most of his life. It had become a pattern. Just like getting different girlfriends to do his homework in high school, he'd allowed a woman to get him a promotion. He'd gotten all that he had around him because he planned to marry into the right family, by dating the right girl. Only a couple of months ago he felt he'd had it all and now he wasn't so sure.
Seeing all that Greta had accomplished on her own made him feel small. He didn't feel worthy. He no longer liked the man he saw in the mirror. The man who drove an expensive car and wore tailored suits. Who was he? How different was he from the boy of his past? He needed to find out. He needed to see what he was made of. He needed to find out what he could accomplish on his own. He might fail, but he had to try. He hardly slept that night and didn't eat much the next morning. He pushed his food around on his plate. Sylvie chatted but he barely listened. He knew the words would hurt her, but he had to say them.
He put his fork down. "Sylvie I can't--"
"Shut up."
He looked at her surprised. "What?"
"Just shut up. Whatever you were about to say you'll regret it so you might as well not say it at all."
"Even though I have to?"
Her lower lip trembled. "Do you have to?"
"Yes. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep pretending--"
"That there isn't someone else?"
He released a heavy sigh. "It's not--"
"Who is she?"
"I'm not--"
"Who?" she shouted. Sylvie pushed back her chair and stood. She struck him on the shoulder. "You damn bastard, at least tell me who! Who have you been sleeping with behind my back?"
He stood, grabbing her wrist. "Sylvie--"
Tears streamed down her face. She pounded his chest. "I gave you four years of my life. I waited for you, and now you're just going to leave me? For some woman you're screwing--"
"I'm not screwing anybody," Vance said, wishing the words
made it feel better. He only felt worse. He wished it were that simple. "It's not like that. I've always been faithful to you. I'm not leaving you for someone else. I don't even know if she'd have me anyway. It' just--"
Sylvie spun away and returned to her chair as if her outburst hadn't happened. "It's just a phase and it will past," she said with a careless wave of her hand. "I forgive you for having feelings, it happens."
"I can't marry you."
She held up her hands, as if blocking his words from reaching her. "And I told you to shut up. I don't want to hear it."
Vance turned and went into the bedroom. He grabbed his overnight bag and opened a drawer.
Sylvie came from behind him. She shoved it closed. "I'm not going to let you throw away what we have because of some infatuation."
He gently moved her aside and began to pack.
"I made you. You were nothing before me and my father treats you like a son. It was his connections that helped you grow the business. Don't fool yourself and think you did it all on your own."
"I know."
"You really want to give all that up because little Vanny is bored?" She grabbed his crotch and stroked him. "I know how to please you."
Vance pushed her hand away. "It's not about that."
"It usually is with you. Is she prettier than me? Younger maybe?"
He zipped up his bag. "You're every man's desire."
"Just not yours?"
He walked to the open door.
Sylvie frantically seized his arm and stopped him. "I love you, Van."
Vance shook his head and met her gaze, his heart heavy. "You don't love me. You love the man you want me to be. The man your father wants me to be. Not me."
"Don't I stroke your ego enough? Is that what she does for you? Maybe I'm no longer an interesting challenge to you. Is she playing hard to get?"
"You're not listening to me."
"Because you're not making any sense! Of course I love you. But I should have known I couldn't keep you."
Vance briefly closed his eyes. "You're right. I can't blame you. It's me. I'm all wrong." He swallowed. "You deserve better. You deserve a man who loves you."