Obsessed

by Deborah Bladon

  Chapter 2

  A can of tuna and a glass of Merlot do not make a dinner. They do, however, qualify as a late night snack when your best friend bails on you. They also managed to keep me up most of the night tossing and turning with an uneasy stomach. Food shopping is definitely on my to-do list this Saturday morning.

  Before I do that, I need to check on Liz. I reach for my phone perched on the pillow next to me, and dial her number. No answer. I leave a short voicemail telling her to call me when she pulls herself out of bed.

  I decide it's time to rally my body as well. Just as I place my left foot on the floor, there's a faint knock on the door. The clock on the stand next to my bed reads eight fifteen. I mutter under my breath about who could be at my door this early on a Saturday and how did they get past the doorman.

  I pull a short robe around my body, covering up the red lace bra and matching panties I'm still wearing from last night. Hunger overtook practicality.

  The person knocking is bolder now. The rat-a-tat-tat is loud enough to wake the neighbors who share the third floor with me.

  I look cautiously through the peephole. It's Mrs. Adams, the self-proclaimed, one woman, building security patrol. She's just shy of ninety-years-old, meddlesome, overly curious but vaguely endearing.

  I swing open the door. "Good morning, Mrs. Adams."

  She gives me the once over, a disapproving look taking over her face. "Dear, have you combed your hair today?"

  My hand jumps to my hair in reflex. I work to flatten it. "I just woke up." I continue, "come in please, Mrs. Adams." I step back from the threshold of the door to make way for her.

  She strides into the room her cane tapping out a rhythmic beat on the hardwood floor. "Oh, this just won't do." She walks directly to the vase of flowers sitting atop the antique table in my foyer. She picks it up and starts in the direction of the kitchen. "These are dead, Ivy. You should have thrown them out days ago."

  "I've been busy," I say, re-adjusting the sash on my robe.

  She tosses the flowers in the trash, placing the now empty vase on the counter. "Yes, I've noticed. You've been out every night this week."

  The words ready to leave my lips are, "I'm twenty-three-years-old, single and aching to do things with a man that would make you blush." But I keep my attitude out of the conversation with my conservative, widowed neighbor.

  It's obviously time to change the subject. "I'm going shopping this morning. If you put a list together, I'll stop by before I leave and pick up what you need."

  Her demeanor softens. "You're such an angel, Ivy. I'm not sure what I'd do without you."

  I start walking towards the door, hopeful that she'll take the not-so-subtle hint and follow me. She doesn't.

  "Your mail was delivered to me by mistake again." She hesitates briefly before continuing, "There's another letter for Mark, dear. I'm sorry. "

  I feel an instant heaviness in my chest. "I'll get it from you when I pick up your shopping list." I avoid making eye contact with her. The pity that's always present in her gaze isn't welcome.

  She moves towards the door, stopping to touch my cheek. "Time will help, dear."

  I smile meekly, knowing she means well. "I know it will. I'll be by within the hour."

  ***

  "I'm tired of this." I toss the white envelope addressed to Mark on the table as I take my seat across from Liz in a busy mid-town bistro.

  "It's about time you got here." She glances at the gold watch on her left wrist. "You're late again."

  "Not today." I wave my index finger at her as the waitress approaches. "Just don't, Liz."

  She picks up the envelope as the friendly woman asks for my drink order. "Iced tea," I say as I iron my hands across my lap, smoothing the blue cotton fabric of the dress I'm wearing.

  "He's doing this on purpose." She pushes the envelope back to me. "Mark wants you to get his mail so he has an excuse to see you again."

  "Why? We have been over this so many times I've lost track." I slip the letter into my purse. "I just want this to be over. It's been six months."

  Liz takes a long sip of the water in front of her. "He feels bad for what happened. I think he just wants you to forgive him."

  "You're kidding, right?" My voice is slightly raised. "Don't side with him, Liz. He was the one who cheated on me."

  "I'm not, sugar." She reaches across the table to cradle my hand in hers. "I'm really not. I just hate seeing you like this."

  "I'll handle it." I motion to her that the waitress is once again approaching. "What are you having?"

  We eat lunch in silence. The uncomfortable subject of Mark, my ex fiancée, clouds the air. It isn't surprising given the fact that Mark and Liz had been friends well before I'd fallen head over heels for him. Even if she didn't want to admit it, I knew that she always felt torn when we talked about him. As the waitress clears our plates I decide to touch on Liz's focus of the moment. "Did you see Brighton after I left last night?"

  Her face brightens instantly. "We went for a drink."

  "Do tell." I lean in anxious to hear if her encounter with the infamous artist was anything like my awkward curb side exchange with him.

  "It was rushed. He had to get home. I'm seeing him again tonight or rather we are." She motions towards me and then herself.

  "We?" I say cautiously, unsure of where this is heading.

  "Brighton's having a small dinner party tonight." There's some trepidation in her voice. "He insisted I bring you, Ivy. We both know this could mean that he's going to give me one of the placements in the program."

  "Or it may mean he's going to give you something else." I raise my eyebrows playfully.

  "Ivy!" She giggles. "I don't think he likes me that way."

  "Likes you that way?" I tease. "Gosh, Liz, maybe you could pass him a note in second period and tell him you have a crush on him."

  She pulls her hand to her mouth in mock surprise.

  "You're twenty-seven- years-old. If you want him, tell him." I press on, "you haven't been on a date in months. Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time you were really interested in a man."

  She sighs. "I'm not sure I want him and besides he doesn't see me that way."

  "You won't know until you try." With that I pull some cash out of my wallet. "What time is this dinner party I don't want to go to?"

  A smile returns to her face. "A car will pick you up at eight o'clock. Be ready, Ivy. Don't be late."

  "I'll be ready." I turn to leave.

  "It's black tie so wear something appropriate." Her voice calls after me.

  Chapter 3

  The car arrives precisely at eight. I peer down from my bedroom window and see Liz emerge dressed to the nines in a tight black cocktail dress, her hair tumbling in waves down her back. I take one last look at myself in the mirror. Presentable enough I decide and I grab my clutch and race for my apartment door. I want to be in the elevator before Liz buzzes.

  I make it. I step into the elevator breathless and anxious. Brighton Beck may be a world renowned artist but I'm much more curious about Jax. The man who had literally breathed down my neck at the exhibition opening last night has been dancing through my thoughts all day. Hopefully I can probe Brighton this evening into sharing more information about the mysterious Jax and how serious things are with him and the woman he left the gallery with.

  The elevator reaches the lobby with a jerk and I brace myself for Liz's reaction to my non-traditional, black tie ensemble.

  I step out to the grinning face of Oliver, one of the building's doormen. "Ms. Marlow, you look lovely."

  "Thank you, Oliver." I reach to kiss him on his cheek. "How is your wife feeling today?" I can see Liz standing a few feet behind Oliver, her face twisted in panic.

  "She's fine, Ms. Marlow. I'll tell her you asked about her."

  As Oliver moves to open the front door of the building, Liz steps up beside me. "I said black tie. Why are you wearing that?"

  I look down
at the red, knee length, halter dress I'm wearing, my left leg peeking out beneath the curiously high slit. Strappy black heels complete my outfit. "I think I look fabulous."

  I can hear her grumble something under her breath as the driver opens the car door for us. "After you." I smile at my disgruntled friend.

  "Fine," she says with a huff as she slides in.

  The driver winds his way through traffic as Liz briefs me on what she's hoping to accomplish this evening. "I want to impress him." She absentmindedly plays with the silver bangle on her left wrist. "This placement could make all the difference in my career."

  I grab Liz's hand to steady it. "You'll do fine. Your work speaks for itself." I try to reassure her although I know it's doing little good. When Liz feels apprehensive about anything, her body language always gives it away.

  She pulls away from my touch to continue twisting her bracelet. "If it was all about my work, he would have given me the spot already. He's offered placements to two others, there's only one left."

  I nod. "I understand."

  "Your hair." Liz reaches to tame the loose tendrils from the quick upsweep I've pinned my hair into. "It's everywhere."

  I follow her lead, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind my ears. "Is that better?"

  She looks at me momentarily, then her gaze shifts to the buildings we're passing as the driver maneuvers the car up Fifth Avenue.

  I pull a small mirror from my clutch along with my lipstick. My reflection speaks of someone who wasn't all that interested in putting on her dinner party best for a man she's not sure she ever wants to lay eyes on again. I apply the dark red color to my lips, take one last fleeting glance and ready myself as the car comes to a halt in front of a high rise on Park Avenue.

  ***

  We step into a lavish, open concept space, filled with classical music, the fragrance of fresh flowers and an eclectic mix of artwork and furnishings.

  Brighton rushes over. "Liz, Ivy, I'm so delighted you're here."

  "I'm so excited." Liz's voice has taken on a higher pitch.

  I give her a glare, trying to silently warn her to calm down. She ignores me, her eyes fixated on Brighton who is dressed in a black suit, white shirt and a red tie that is the same hue as my dress.

  "Great minds think alike, Ivy," he says as he lifts the tie and playfully nods towards my dress.

  "I agree, Brighton." I smile. "Your apartment is wonderful."

  Liz interjects, "This is a penthouse."

  "Whatever," I say as I watch Brighton's reaction.

  He grins, obviously entertained by our mindless banter about his living quarters.

  "Please, ladies, come in." He motions towards a small group of people gathered across the room. I don't recognize any of them which isn’t surprising. The world of New York art is not where I spend my time. This is Liz's element.

  Liz leads the way with Brighton right behind her. I study the surroundings, not particularly enthralled with the idea of meeting a bunch of people I have nothing in common with, who I'll likely never see again.

  "Ivy." Jax's voice is in my ear the moment his hand touches my back.

  I close my eyes, relishing in the sound. It's soft, the tone strong and vibrant.

  "You look beautiful." His index finger is slowing circling a small spot on my back.

  "Thank you." I turn around and look up. His face is even more arresting in this light. He has a small mole above the left corner of his lip that I didn't notice last night. I find myself staring at it.

  His hand trailed my body when I turned, never losing contact with the silk of my dress. It's now resting very gently on my waist.

  "You look..." I glide my eyes over the black suit, soft blue shirt and bold patterned tie he's wearing. "You look formal."

  "Formal?" The mole shifts slightly as a small grin takes over his mouth.

  "Formal," I repeat with a smirk.

  "I'll take formal." His hand starts a path from my waist to my arm, moving sensuously and slowly up its entire length until it's resting on my exposed shoulder. "I didn't expect to see you here."

  "I could say the same for you." I take a deep breath. I desperately try to change the mood, certain that the thin fabric of my dress is doing little to veil my arousal. My nipples are hardening just from the gentle touch of his fingers on my skin. "Or are you a Brighton Beck fanboy?"

  "A fanboy?" He cracks a wide smile. "I'm not familiar. What's a fanboy?"

  "If you have to ask, you're not one," I tease, grateful for the reprieve from his seriousness.

  "I take it that's a good thing?" His hand jumps from my shoulder to my chin, tilting it slightly upward so I'm looking directly into his face. The curtain of intensity that was in his eyes when I first turned is now replaced by playfulness.

  I perch myself on my tiptoes, resting my hand lightly against the center of his chest. "It is a good thing," I whisper quietly. "Did you see the price of some of his paintings? Someone should tell him he's no Leonardo da Vinci."

  I'm greeted with a hearty laugh. "Indeed, they should."

  "Jax. Ivy." Brighton appears out of the corner of my eye, rushing towards us. "I didn't realize you knew each other." He casts a disapproving glare at my hand on Jax's chest.

  "We met last night." Jax pulls back, straightening his tie.

  "Isn't that nice?" Subtle sarcasm is obviously not a part of Brighton's repertoire. "Dinner is served."

  Chapter 4

  Dinner is delicious and the constant lull of mingled voices keeps me occupied. Jax is seated on the same side of the table as I am. The problem of the three people dividing us has been enough to quash any chance I had of engaging him in idle dinner chatter. Assigned seating is not working in my favor this evening. The only promise I can see right now is that the brunette with the Louboutins from last night is nowhere in sight.

  "I said, y'all haven't seen nothing yet." Liz's voice carries above the noise. I look across the table to where she's seated next to Brighton. Her cheeks are flushed. It's no wonder given the fact that she's on her third glass of wine. Everyone around her bursts out in laughter. I smile knowing this is her realm and she's taking full advantage of the spotlight she's honed in on herself.

  "What about you, Ivy?" Brighton directs his attention to me. "Any fun stories of your childhood you'd care to share?"

  Liz cuts me a look. I know her well enough to realize she doesn't want any of this man's attention diverted.

  "Not any like Liz's." I continue, "Liz, tell Brighton about the time you chased the man who stole your purse."

  Liz launches into an embellished description of a night four years ago when she was mugged in Alphabet City. My recollection was that of a man demanding her purse which she readily handed over along with mine before she took three or four steps in his direction as he raced off on foot. Liz's memory involves some serious ninja moves on her part, half the NYPD and a very battered and bruised mugger.

  "Excuse me," I say quietly as I rise from the table.

  Brighton throws me a quizzed look.

  "The powder room," I mouth under my breath, not wanting to interrupt Liz's tale which now includes a heat seeking helicopter and tear gas.

  Brighton motions for a man standing near the hallway entrance. He comes over to guide me towards a much needed, temporary break from the evening.

  I close the heavy door of the restroom behind me. I look at myself in the mirror. My hair is a bit less controlled than it was when I left my apartment. I wet my fingertips lightly and comb them through the stray ends. After applying a fresh coat of mascara I gingerly re-apply my lipstick. I look down at my phone to gauge how much time I can spend in here hiding just as there's a gentle knock on the door.

  "Dammit," I whisper under my breath, certain that another woman has taken my lead and removed herself from that awful dinner chatter.

  I take one last look at myself in the mirror. I adjust the front of my dress, smooth my hands over the skirt and open the door.

  Jax
is blocking the doorway. He takes a step in. I take a step back. He closes the door behind him, locking it.

  "I decided to come looking for you, Ivy." His breath is peppered with the aroma of wine.

  "I was trying to escape."

  "From me?"

  "No." I shake my head slowly. "Not from you."

  "Good." He moves closer to me, forcing me to retreat until my back is against the wall.

  I can feel his entire body pressed against mine. I struggle to catch my breath.

  "Where's Mark?" His question rattles me.

  "Mark?" I can barely form the word.

  "Your fiancée? You said he was your inspiration in The Dialogue piece."

  I'm speechless. This is the last person in the world I want to discuss Mark with. The room feels claustrophobic. I've been wary of discussing Mark with anyone. It's too raw and too painful.

  "You're not wearing his ring." Jax has obviously indulged in just as much wine as Liz, if not more. "Is it over?"

  "I'd rather not talk about him." I try to sound determined.

  "Why not?" He leans down, his forehead grazing mine.

  "It's personal." I try in vain to push him away from me. He swiftly grabs my wrists, holding them tightly against the wall. I don't struggle, my body betraying my mind's desire to break free.

  "Answer the question, Ivy."

  "It's none of your business." I spit back.

  'You're wrong. It's more my business than you know." I feel his lips barely graze mine as I struggle to absorb his words.

  "How the hell is my relationship with Mark your business?" I fight the desire to push myself into him. The nearness of his lips is tempting me even though his words are incensing me.

  "I don't like complications." His breath caresses my cheek. "Mark is a complication."

  "A complication? What does that mean?"

  "You belong in my bed," he says it with purpose as if it's already fact.

  I take a deep breath. My mind is telling me that he's a stranger yet my body is agreeing with his bold declaration. "I don't even know you," I whisper.