by Mary Frame
I shrug. “Do whatever makes you happy because you never know how long it’s going to last.”
“Thank you,” Bethany says.
“That wasn’t necessarily an agreement to your argument and why are we having this conversation?” I ask.
Ted shrugs. “Bethany can’t keep a man.”
A carrot flies through the air and hits him on the arm.
“I’m the only single person left and it sucks,” Bethany explains. “Everyone is all married or coupled up, and I can’t even get past a first date.”
Freya snorts. “Well maybe if you stopped screwing them on the first date . . .”
“You know, I don’t always screw them. Some of them we just sleep. Or you know, other things, but regardless, it shouldn’t matter what I’m doing or not doing. Why bother waiting? That’s the fun part. And it’s the easiest way to know if you’re compatible with someone.”
Lucy and Gemma come into the room, their arms loaded with soda and popcorn and snacks.
Freya continues the argument while grabbing a soda from Lucy. “Compatibility is about more than sleeping with someone. Lucy, back me up.”
“Actually, determining whether coitus will be satisfactory is a legitimate concern.”
Freya groans. “Lucy! For God’s sake would you quit referring to it as coitus?”
“What else would I call it?”
“Sex?”
“The word sex is derived from the Latin word sexus, which refers to males and females collectively, whereas coitus describes the action of sexual union.”
There’s silence for a few long seconds.
Then Freya speaks. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”
“Are we going to watch a movie?” Gemma asks.
There’s a bit of shuffling as someone puts the movie in, and people grab snacks and drinks and Ted hands me a bag of M&M’s.
Apparently we’re screening nineties chick flicks, because the opening credits to Clueless come up on the flat screen. But the general silence doesn’t last long. Cher is lamenting the reasons she doesn’t date high school boys and the chatter and debate in the room around me ignites again.
I listen, enjoying the banter, until the focus turns on me.
“So, Gwen, what brought you back into town?” Freya asks.
Bethany elbows her in the side.
“Nothing important,” I say.
Shared glances dance around the room.
Dammit. They know.
“You can tell us,” Ted says, patting my head.
“We need for you to give us the dirt. We have no drama,” Freya adds. “We need someone to live through vicariously. We’re all in serious committed relationships.”
“Not all of us,” Bethany says.
“You don’t count, trollop.”
“Hey!”
“Well it’s your own fault you’re alone. You make terrible choices.”
“She’s not wrong,” says Ted.
Lucy interjects. “Bethany’s choices are not terrible. We all have to learn from our past mistakes. It’s how we grow.”
“Pft, so you say.” Freya rolls her eyes.
Lucy shakes her head. “I don’t say, I know. We discussed it at length the other day. She’s going to focus on her career and working through the inner turmoil sustained from her upbringing.”
“Oh here we go with the Freud bullshit.”
“Freud is not bullshit.”
Freya snorts out a laugh. “You’re so funny when you curse. You sound like a prissy school marm trying to be tough. Anyway, Gwen, tell us about this hot football player guy and don’t leave anything out. We want to hear all the details, including what his junk looks like.”
“I never saw his junk.”
“Boring,” Ted intones.
“I saw his brother’s junk.”
“Slightly better,” Ted says. “Spill it.”
I sigh and consider it. Why not?
I go through the whole story. Again. When I’m done, the entire room is watching me with wide eyes.
Bethany is the first to speak. “So, what you’re telling us is that Brent Crawford, the Brent Crawford, the guy on the TV with the tight pants and the hot face and the bajillions of dollars, he wanted you, and you ran away?”
Ted answers for me. “Were you even listening? It’s not really about Brent, it’s about Marc, his brother.”
“She loves Marc,” Gemma interjects.
“This is really a problem we have to solve?” Freya asks. “Oh, no, two men love me and they’re both gorgeous and successful. My wallet’s too small for my fifties, and my diamond shoes are too tight!”
“You totally stole that from Chandler Bing,” Bethany says.
“Um, excuse me, that’s Ms. Chanandler Bong, to you, slut-face.”
Their bickering is interrupted when someone upstairs starts yelling.
“What is that?” Lucy presses mute on the remote and then we can hear it.
“Gemma,” Sam hollers from somewhere upstairs, “put on channel four!”
“What? Why?” She calls back.
“Just do it!”
She looks at Lucy, who shrugs and clicks the remote a few times.
There’s some stomping going on upstairs and I barely notice Sam and Jensen entering the room behind us because Brent is on the TV.
He’s standing in front of a crowd, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. There’s a bunch of press in front of him, all lined up with microphones and cameras. White flashes snap on his face as he speaks.
“Turn it up,” Sam says.
Lucy pushes a button and the volume comes up.
“. . . so Marissa Reeves attempted to kill you?”
“Holy shit,” I breathe, dropping my security blankets on the couch and moving closer to the TV.
“That’s correct. She received some correspondence from my lawyer and didn’t take it well. She came to my apartment and she had a gun. Luckily, it was only a graze and on my left arm.” He lifts the sleeve of his shirt to show his arm, which is indeed wrapped in white gauze. “Marissa is now facing multiple charges of harassment, stalking, attempted murder, and illegally firing a weapon within city limits, but that’s not why I’m here today. She hurt people that I love with her false allegations and I want to set the record straight.”
He takes a breath.
“Oh my God he’s going to tell the world he loves you!” Freya shoves popcorn in her mouth. “This is the best girls’ night ever.”
“What Marissa said about me, that I harassed and attacked her, was a lie. I knew no one would believe me if I just denied it, and that’s when my agent decided it would be best for me to be in a relationship. A fake relationship, with Gwen McDougall.”
There’s a swell of voices, and questions are thrown at him, but he raises his hands. “Please, let me finish. None of it really matters. It was a bad decision from my agent and from me. I’m looking for a new agent now, so if any of you know anyone . . .” The assembled crowd shuffles and laughs obligingly. “In the end, Gwen was the one who got hurt all because she tried to help me and in the meantime fell in love with my brother. None of this is her fault and she shouldn’t suffer for it. She’s a great photographer, and she’ll make a great sister-in-law someday.”
Gemma hits me in the arm. “Are you getting married?”
“What? No!”
Then Brent looks straight into the camera. “Gwen, if you’re watching this, Marc has been trying to reach you. Will you please turn on your phone and take his call?”
The entire living room turns to gape at me.
I’m as stunned as they are.
“Where the hell is your phone?” Gemma asks.
“I . . . shit, it’s in my purse. I had to turn it off when I was on the plane and I never turned it back on.”
The doorbell rings.
Everyone freezes. We’re all looking at each other, dumbfounded, and then in a burst of motion, we all race for the front door.
Sam
makes it there first and swings it open, everyone crowded behind him trying to see. I, of course, end up in the back behind Ted and Jensen and I can’t see anything.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“Is Gwen here?”
My heart stops in my chest and then restarts in double time.
I would know that voice anywhere.
It’s Marc.
He’s here?
“Yeah, man, come on in.” He steps back and runs into Gemma. “Jesus, you guys are ridiculous. Would you back up and let a guy in?”
They all part right down the middle and I have the insane urge to laugh.
It’s like a movie.
A really weird movie with the most absurd people who couldn’t possibly exist in real life, but the thought is short-lived because he’s here.
He came.
He flew all the way across the country because my phone was off.
Our eyes meet and everyone else fades into the background. He looks terrible. Exhausted. A bit grey around the eyes and he obviously hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, but there’s a sheen of hope on his face.
His gaze flicks to our audience and then back to me. “Gwen, I’m so sorry about what I said. You were right about everything. I’m the biggest moron in the world for letting you walk out my door without stopping you. I have no excuse but I love you so much. Please, come home with me?”
There’s a collective sigh from the peanut gallery.
“Nice apology, dude.” Sam holds up his hand for a high five.
Gemma grabs his wrist and pulls it down. “Shhhhhh! You’re ruining their moment.”
I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing and turn toward the crowd. “Will you guys give us a minute?”
There are nods and yeah sures and they start filtering back into the main part of the house.
“You’re not getting married, right?” Bethany whispers as she passes me.
“Stop being so bitter about everyone having a relationship but you,” Freya says. “It’s your own fault.”
Ted groans. “Not this again.”
They disappear back to the living room, and when we’re finally alone I turn back to Marc.
“Do you think that any part of you wants me purely because of Brent? Because you want to outdo him or salve your own insecurities?”
His mouth pops open. “What? No. Absolutely not.”
“You said you love me . . .”
“I do.”
“What do you love about me then?”
There’s no hesitation. “I love the way you treat people. Like they’re important. You treat everyone the same, no matter who they are. Whether it’s a famous footballer and his scarred brother, or some guys from Jersey at a football game.” He takes a step toward me. “I love the way you aren’t afraid to be yourself, and you never let adversity stop you from chasing your dreams.” He takes another step. “I love the way you dance when you’re happy, like you don’t care who’s watching, and I love how you shimmy a little when you eat really good food.” He chuckles and takes one last step. There’s only a thin strip of air between us. “Mostly, I love how you make me feel unafraid to take chances. Knowing that you believe in me makes me believe it, too.”
My heart is almost too full to speak.
“Do you believe me?” He takes both of my hands in his, searching my eyes.
“I do.” I take a deep breath. “And I love you, too.”
The tension falls away from his body. “Thank God.” And then his arms are around me, he’s grabbing me up, and we’re hugging and he peppers my face with kisses.
There’s cheering and catcalls from somewhere down the hall.
I wipe away happy tears and laugh and Marc kisses me again. A real, long, satisfying kiss that makes me want to rip off my clothes and do him against the wall right now.
“They’re very interesting.” He pulls back for a second to speak.
“That’s putting it mildly.”
He pulls back a little further and grabs my hands. “So I quit my job.”
“You did?”
“And I talked to Starlee and you have another shot at your presentation if you can make it back to New York next week.”
“I do?”
He kisses my fingertips. “And if you get it, which I believe you will because you’re talented and amazing, you might benefit from having an assistant.”
I see where he is going with this, but I play along. “I might?”
“And since I’m looking for a new job, I was thinking maybe I could apply?”
“You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”
His smile is everything. “I do.”
“There’s only one thing I have to ask.”
“What’s that?”
“Are there any stipulations about boning my assistant?”
He laughs. “Nope. No stipulations at all. Boning is encouraged in my contract.”
And then we’re laughing together, in between kisses. His lips pepper over my face.
In between laughs I manage to say, “That sounds perfect.”
Epilogue
Life rarely presents fully finished photographs. An image evolves, often from a single strand of visual interest—a distant horizon, a moment of light, a held expression.
–Sam Abell
MARC
GWEN STANDS IN THE center of the empty living room. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her back is to me as she gazes out the small window.
“The truck is packed up and ready to go.”
She turns and smiles. “Okay.” Then she resumes her stance. Her eyes are tired.
We’re both sweaty and dirty from moving all day. Her face is free of makeup and she’s wearing old jeans that have a hole in the knee.
She’s still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life.
I wrap my arms around her from behind, propping my head on her shoulder. “Are you all right? Regretting your decision yet?”
She chuckles and relaxes back against me. “Nope. You can’t get rid of me that easy. It’s just weird to be leaving the one place I’ve lived in the city.”
“You can come back and visit sometime. I’m sure Bethany won’t mind.” We sublet Gwen’s place to one of her sister’s friends since her lease isn’t up for another year.
“I’m sure she won’t mind me visiting but she might mind working for your father.”
In a series of fortuitous events, my father’s assistant Alex quit not so unexpectedly. I needed a new employee. Bethany needed a change of scenery. Now she’s moving to the city and has a new job and a place to get her started. Plus she’ll be checking our mail and watering our plants while we’re gone. Smiles all around. “It will be okay. She might actually be able to handle him. Being a pretty blonde won’t hurt. I tried to scare her off, but she didn’t seem concerned.”
We’re silent for a moment, standing by the window in the remains of the day, gazing at the view. It’s not much to look at, a brick building across the way and the street below where the occasional pedestrian or vehicle passes by. But I would stand here with her for hours if it made her feel better.
“Have you talked to Brent?” she asks.
“Just a text.”
She rubs gentle hands down my tense arms and I try to relax. I haven’t seen Brent since the morning in the hospital. By the time Gwen and I came back to New York a week later, he had left.
It’s been two months. At first, he had the excuse of playoffs and team stuff, but now he’s finished out the season and I have yet to see him. All I’ve gotten is a few random texts to let me know he’s okay. If it wasn’t for the occasional paparazzi shot and his meager attempts at contact, I might have thought he was dead. He must be staying in hotels or with other friends.
“He’ll come around,” Gwen says.
“I hope so. I would like to see him before we leave the country.”
We’re flying out in less than a month. Gwen’s proposal to Warren at News Weekly w
ent amazingly well. They gave her the green light within a week. We were a little surprised—not that they would want to run her idea, she’s brilliant and amazing—but since Brent fired Starlee, we weren’t sure if that would affect her chances. Apparently not.
We stand there for a few more minutes in comfortable silence, gazing out at nothing but content all the same. Mostly content. There’s something going on with Brent, more than the Gwen stuff. Something he hasn’t been sharing. It’s not like him to keep things from me, but I can’t force him. I can just hope he’ll let me in, eventually.
“Are you ready to go home?” I ask finally.
We have to drop off most of her belongings in storage. We’re only taking the essentials back to my place. Our place. We’ve basically been living in each other’s pockets anyway for the last two months, so it’s not a huge change, but it feels important, meshing our earthly possessions together.
She turns in my arms. “You’re my home.”
I gasp. “That was so cheesy.”
She grins. “Yes! I win the cheeseball award today.”
“You do not. I had that line earlier, about how you mean more to me than the entire sun and universe and galaxy, remember?”
“That was so not as good as my home comment.”
“Puh-lease.” I totally win.
“I think I can change your mind.” She unzips my pants and reaches inside.
I suck a breath in between my teeth. “I’m listening.”
“We never did it in the kitchen.” Her grasp is firm and she strokes me once. Twice.
What were we talking about? I pick her up, jarring her hand out of my jeans and lifting her by the ass. Her legs straddle me, her arms looping around my neck, her lips close enough to taste.
Oh right, the kitchen. “That’s because one full-grown person can’t fit in here, let alone two.”
“I disagree.”
“Let’s test that theory, shall we?” I walk with her still wrapped around me the couple of paces it takes to get to the microscopic kitchen. I set her on the counter and glance around. “I guess we do fit.”
She kisses me then, her hands sliding against my scalp, sending goose bumps down my arms, and then she speaks against my mouth. “We fit perfectly.”