by Liana Key
"Marc Jacobs?"
"Go for it," he smiled. And I had to laugh, wrapped myself around him, kissed him generously on the mouth. He walked me to my car, it seemed unusual that I barely made it to his shoulder, then he made me promise I wouldn't drink and drive.
"Absolutely not," I declared. "And anyway I won't be there long enough to drink much. Remember I just want to check out her house."
He kissed me long and hard, leaving me with a silly grin on my face, as he said, "Don't enjoy yourself too much."
Helene and David were an attractive couple, both successful in the world of banking. Ironic that we both had the same education, yet she was dealing with multi million dollar businesses, while I ran my father's restaurant. As I entered her palatial home, I had a feeling of inadequacy, and cursed Cassian and his insistence that I wear low pumps. I felt like a midget amongst these statuesque women in their four inch heels. Damn him, damn him to hell.
"Paola," Helene greeted me warmly, towering over me, even though in bare feet I was taller than her. It felt like tall people seemed to have a sense of superiority when they bent down to shorter folk. She double kissed me like I was a country bumpkin.
I texted Cassian: I feel like a hobbit :(
Him: lmao
Me: fuck u
I quickly put my phone in my clutch as Helene lead me through to the outdoor pool area. It was stunning. Palms, hanging flower baskets, beautiful tiles, like I was in the Mediterranean. I recognized several women from the hen party and as I joined them, David introduced some men to our group. Even though I knew David was a few years older than Helene, he couldn't have been more than thirty five, and as I glanced around I had to admit there wasn't a grey hair in sight. Mind you I hadn't seen any Porsches in the driveway either.
I chatted easily with the girls, positioning myself next to Simone who was two inches shorter than me in her high heels. Yes height did make one feel supercilious. She moved to look at the view; I followed her. Taking my phone out, I clicked a photo, the view of the city really was outstanding.
I checked a text from Cassian: come back and u can.
I had to reread my previous text before I let out a laugh. Simone looked at me with an uneasiness, started walking back towards the doors. To follow now would seem suspicious, so I took a few more photos, varying my angles as if I knew what I was doing. I tried to seamlessly return to the fold of the group, but with no one recognizable around I looked to the bar, not needing the alcohol, but just something to occupy my hands.
I asked for a Black Russian, thinking I needed to get into the Caribbean mood for Helene's honeymoon tales and set out to catch up with a tour of the house. I tried to walk with purpose, as if I knew the layout but ended up in the kitchen where several caterers were working so then pushed on through to a dining conservatory area, which was just wonderful. The view was over an outdoor jacuzzi and garden and I was gobsmacked by the opulence and intimacy of the place. Imagine if Cassian and I lived in such a place. I sipped away at my drink.
"Paola?" It was David's voice. "Are you okay?"
I turned to see David with a wine bottle in his hand. I was surprised that he knew my name.
"Oh I was just looking for the sightseeing tour. What a wonderful room," I gushed, embarrassed at being caught. "This is just beautiful."
"Isn't it just? Helene loves to have breakfast out here."
"The views are stunning," I praised, pausing to take a drink. "You must love living here."
"It certainly feels like home," he said. "Please," he gestured me through, "come let me introduce you to some people."
"Oh no, I'm fine really," I spluttered. "Please see to your guests. Don't mind me." I wondered if the alcohol was already stunning my brain cells. How many shots were in this drink? I looked at my glass, had I spilt some? Already it was close to empty.
"No I'd like you to meet some friends." He ushered me in front as if I were a school girl, his lofty six foot frame towering over me. "And let me top you up? What are you drinking?"
"Black Russian." The words came out too quickly. I mentally told myself to find a drink of water.
David returned with a drink and lead me back out to the pool area. There were more people assembled in small cliques. I scouted around for Helene, Tara or Simone, seeing none of them. A waitress stopped with a tray of canapés, and I chose the closest one to me, not knowing what it was. I popped it into my mouth, the strong pepper taste causing me to cough. I swallowed it in one gulp, feeling my eyes water as I tried to suppress consequent coughs. I took a long sip of my drink, clearing my throat, but now causing my head to spin. I could hear David saying my name. I smiled and dutifully walked closer to him, my brain as foggy as Chicago in winter. Names were said, hands shaken, nodding, smiling. It was a mystery how quickly I'd lost control. I needed to sober up. Restaurant. Italian. Beverly Hills. Fragments of conversation stirred through my brain. I continued to nod, fake laughter.
I excused myself and went to the bar, depositing my empty glass on the counter and asking for a large glass of water. I then found another waitress and had to follow her through the crowd before she stopped and offered me the tray. I took two pieces and downed them one after the other.
"Someone's hungry," a voice said, a light jest to it. I wiped my mouth with a paper napkin, in case of crumbs and I found myself looking into a pair of brown eyes, as dark as my own. I quickly took a swig of water. "Oh and thirsty too," he said cheerfully. His eyes scanned my legs casually, his lopsided smile slightly haughty. His face was covered in a sexy amount of stubble, and he pursed his lips together as if to kiss me, and then laughed. The insolence of the man.
"Excuse me," I said, dismissing myself and I made to walk off, but his hand reached out, grabbing my elbow. I tried to shrug myself from his hold, but he laughed again and said, "Sorry babe, but you look irresistible."
"I don't believe I am your babe," I said, retreating to my manager's voice, already feeling that I was regaining some of my sobriety.
"Okay, okay," he pacified. "I'm sorry. Please. Let me start again." And he smiled that lopsided grin again, a dimple appearing amongst the stubble. Why the hell was I noticing a dimple, I wondered. Perhaps I was still drunk. "Marcus Haynes." He offered his hand. I looked at it for a moment, noticing the smoothness of his palm. He raised his eyebrows expectantly, and I took his hand. His eyebrows stayed raised, like he was waiting for more, but I was noticing the slight red blotch beneath his left eye, a birthmark perhaps? Or had he been in a recent fight? Our hands were still clasped. He prompted, "And you are?" Definitely a birthmark, almost in the shape of Italy. It amused me.
"What's the joke?" he asked, the smile even more crooked now, the dimple deeper. He brought his left hand up, wrapped it around my still shaking hand, stroking it. I suddenly pulled my hand away, stunned by own reaction to him. I felt a slight shiver down my spine, unexpected, unwanted.
"Paola Carson," I said, all business like, as if I was conducting a meeting.
"Paola?" He grinned. "We must share some common Italian ancestry then."
I raised my eyebrows, "Like about 45 percent of the rest of LA?" I said with a false expertise, though who knows where I'd plucked that statistic from.
His smile expressed he accepted my superior witticism, but he didn't falter. "I'm sure we have common ground in other areas," he mused. "Favorite movie?"
"The Notebook," I said unhesitatingly. No man would admit to having seen it, yet alone like it.
"Cried like a baby," he said smoothly. "Favorite singer?"
"Celine Dion." Again a sharp reply, though I could only think of the Titanic song she sung and even then that title evaded me.
"Would love to see her Vegas show," he shot back. Then seductively, "Shall we go?"
I coughed into my paper napkin. "Favorite color?"
"Red."
"Yet you're wearing a dress of orange, yellow and black?" His eyes cast over my body appraisingly and I thought of Cassian saying how sexy it was. Damn, th
is man was infuriating. "Favorite food?
"Pasta. Of course."
"You don't look like you eat enough of it," he again cast his eyes over me, letting them linger on my thighs. I shifted position, placing my right foot in front of my left, trying to limit his view to only one leg. He smirked, "I personally love ravioli, with a rich meat sauce."
"Assisi does the best ravioli," my rampant mouth said without thought.
"I heard you manage the place," he said, sounding impressed, and it made me wonder who had told him and why. "Is that an invitation to dine there?" he queried, but before my smart-ass mouth could reply, he asked, "Favorite dessert?"
"Tira -"
"Masu," he finished for me, with a satisfied grin. "Favorite sport?"
I took a quick sip of water. "To play or watch?" I asked.
"Oh, the lady plays sport?" The eyebrows raised again. They were impressive eyebrows, nicely shaped and tidy. Shallow as it may seem, I was quick to judge a man by his eyebrows. Cassian's were perfect, naturally arched, not too thick and not too dark. Marcus too scored highly in that department, his arched nicely and there were no strays across the bridge of his nose. Perhaps a few stragglers below, but nothing a pair of tweezers or waxing couldn't fix. I detested brows that were linear, horizontal, or that furrowed at a thirty five degree angle. Yes, picky, I know.
Of course I didn't play sport, so quickly said, "I love to watch tennis." Well, watch Cassian play tennis.
"Mmmm? Do you play as well?"
"If only I had the time," I said with a touch of regret. "And you?" I asked, forcing the question away from me. I didn't want to have to lie about my non-existent tennis skills.
"Baseball fan," he said and I nodded approvingly, "and I like to cycle."
"Oh," I commented, "you don't have a car?"
He laughed heartily, sounding eerily like my father. "Yes, I have a car. An Audi S5, if you must know," he said with unnecessary pride. I did know, but pretended I had no clue by narrowing my eyes and shrugging my shoulders. "I do a bit of road cycling, races of fifty to one hundred miles," he said, with too much pomp for my liking. Again I gave a dismissive shrug, showing I wasn't easily impressed. He smiled, his gaze now lingering on my lips. I wondered if there were food particles around my mouth and brought my napkin up to wipe, swirling my tongue across my teeth at the same time, in case something was stuck there. He seemed to guess my dilemma.
"I was just admiring your luscious lips," he drawled. "Don't worry there's no food caught in your teeth." Oh the impertinence of the man. I felt my cheeks heat up.
Helene seemed to manifest from nowhere. "Marcus, sweetheart," she said in an exaggerated greeting. She air kissed him. "Oh great, I see you've met Paola." She squeezed my arm like a school friend would, and smiled at me cheekily. She then turned back to Marcus. "This lady is a workaholic. You couldn't try to loosen her up a bit, could you?" She gave an obvious wink and strutted off in nude Maniola Blakniks, which I coveted.
"A workaholic?" Marcus tilted his head slightly, his gaze unnerving me as his eyes wandered to the opening at my cleavage. It wasn't low enough to reveal anything, but the mounds beneath the fabric gave a good idea of my D size cups, my natural D size cups I'll have you know.
"Hardly," I said casually. "I have my share of fun." Thinking of my twice weekly catch ups with Cassian. I looked at my wrist, even though I wasn't wearing a watch, and said, "I should be off now."
"What's this?" he laughed mockingly, mimicking my watch gesture, "and it is only quarter to nine."
"Yes, but it's a cocktail party, not a fully fledged party night," I said, somewhat awkwardly, not sure if my lingo was correct. Fully fledged party night? Did those words have any meaning?
"The night is young," Marcus proclaimed. "At least another drink before we get kicked out?"
I was enticed into a wine, something I tended not to drink as quickly as cocktails, determined I didn't want to lose my faculties again, just as they were returning. The crowd dwindled and before I knew it I was onto my second glass and being lead astray by Marcus, David and Helene, and two other couples, on our way in a taxi to a nightclub. I hadn't clubbed in months, years, but someone had the clout to get us straight through while a queue of people gaped at us. How cool, I thought, is this how celebrities feel walking on the red carpet? I swung my hips, my hair, for the first time all night grateful that I was in my low pumps and walking with crisp precision. Helene, I noted, stuttered and swayed in her heels, clinging to David for support.
One more wine inside, and I was up on that dance floor with no inhibitions. I'd always loved dancing, never shy about my moves. Over twelve years of dancing classes in ballet, jazz and modern had proven worthwhile. Marcus was a willing partner. I flirted rather blatantly with him at times, my body moving close to his, but always maintaining a slight distance, though it was all in rhythm to the beat. Perhaps it was Cassian's influence that made me able to sing out loud to many of the songs, or maybe it was the alcohol and my words were totally wrong. Who knew, who cared? I was having a normal night out. And loving it!
A slow song came on, I could feel myself sweating, so saw it as a good time to take a break. I nodded that I would return to our seats, but Marcus pulled me in close and before I could protest his arms were around my waist, our bodies swaying together. I didn't pull away, didn't even try to. Was I that drunk? Was I not thinking straight? Why was I letting this man touch me, hold me? My head was resting sideways on his chest, focused on his shirt collar. Good quality shirt, I was thinking, yet I realized I didn't even know what he did for a living. One hand went lower, I felt it caress the curves of my ass. I should have pulled away, but I didn't. If anything my heart raced, in anticipation, in trepidation? I didn't know. I was sure of nothing. Only that I was slow dancing with someone who wasn't Cassian.
The slow song ended, and the beat picked up again. It triggered something deep in my brain and I pulled away abruptly, walking to our seats, Marcus two steps behind. There was no water on the table, so I finished my wine to try to rehydrate. Helene was leaning on David's shoulder, far gone, but still coherent enough to say, "You two are so cute together. I predict a wedding." I looked at my watchless wrist and said I really should be going. David agreed it was time to make a move. Marcus guided me out, his hand on my lower back, again I did nothing to indicate it shouldn't be there. Taxis were called and plans made to pick up cars the following day. Marcus lead me to a taxi. His hand remained on my back. He smiled and looked down at me, his lips descending. I had no resolve to pull away, to even turn my face and his lips pressed against mine for several moments. I pulled away, aware, but not aware of what I'd just done. I quickly jumped into the taxi, giving him a courteous wave, but my mind blank, stunned. And it wasn't until I climbed into my own bed thirty minutes later that I felt a twinge of guilt, of shame, but sleep came rapidly and erased those thoughts.
CASSIAN
Paola hadn't responded to any of my texts last night, but I wasn't worried about it. I didn't expect her to be checking her phone every five minutes. But the fact that she wasn't at work when I arrived to start at eleven was slightly concerning. She had never been late. I wondered if something untoward had happened, an accident, or something worse. I checked with Jenny, who said she had some errands to run and would be in a little later. There were no texts on my phone. I sent a quick one: r u ok? But received no reply and ended up dressing myself. First time ever.
The restaurant was fully booked, so it was after one thirty before I even paused for a moment and had a chance to look around for Paola. Then while waiting at the kitchen I overheard someone say she was in her office. A relief came over me that she was obviously all right, but I wondered if perhaps she'd had car trouble. Caroline queried her whereabouts and I had to get Jenny to offer an explanation seeing I had nothing. Caroline then imagined a hot date, a swanky party, a hangover, or all three. I wondered if she was perhaps right.
After the shift I loitered, fixing myself a plate of risotto and
sitting next to one of the other waiters to eat it. Still there was no sign of her. I ate a piece of cheesecake just to delay myself. There were still staff floating around, so I didn't want to go directly into her office. She still didn't respond to my texts. A kind of dread set in. She was ignoring me. Deliberately. Had to be. I casually asked Jenny again where she was, pretending I needed to discuss a roster issue. She said she thought she was on an important phone call. I wasn't completely stupid. It was obvious she didn't want to see me. The feeling in my stomach was sickening. I left.
I went home, waited for her call. None came. I texted several more times, no reply. I took Damon and Dominique around to see Magdala and the baby. They were spending the week at Flynn's house. We all took Cassidy for a walk, bought ice creams, still nothing.
Something in my gut knew that something must have happened at her cocktail party. There was no reason that she would snub me otherwise. No reason in the world. My worst nightmare was coming to fruition. That Paola had met someone her own age.
PAOLA
Even before I'd lifted my head off the pillow I knew it was aching. I reached and turned my phone alarm off, but lay completely still, trying to analyze the source of the throbbing. Okay, I got it. All over my fucking head. I groaned. It served me right. It was no less than I deserved, a hangover. Yet I still tried to convince myself I hadn't drunk that much. I checked my phone, still lying flat on my back, holding my phone up high. Shit, four texts from Cassian last night. How's the tour. R they all old and fat? Bet your feet aren't hurting. Try standing on a stool? I smiled. And then I didn't. Marcus Haynes. That kiss. Didn't matter how short it was, I'd let his lips touch mine. Willingly. Why had I done it? Could the alcohol be blamed? Should I just confess to Cassian that I got rolling drunk and couldn't remember anything.
My phone startled me by ringing while I was holding it. "Hello?"
"Paola? You're alive and kicking?" The voice was full of cheeriness. "It's Marcus."
Even in my poorly state I knew that. Marcus.