The Price Of Success (Fighting For Fireworks)

by Lee, Corri

  Nathaniel sighed behind me and leaned over to grab the camera from the cushion next to me. He hovered next to my ear for a moment and stammered awkwardly. “Have dinner with me on Sunday.” I frowned slightly and leaned back against the arm of the couch to look at him.

  “That’s not business hours.”

  “So?” His eyes scanned my features with another glimmer of something almost comparable to affection. “It’s not a business dinner.”

  “Oh.” I nodded slowly and involuntarily. “I start work at eight.” I gasped at myself in disbelief as they left through the door and craned my neck to look at Bethany, who stood in the kitchen looking completely stunned. “What the hell just happened?” It felt like I’d just agreed to a date.

  I squinted numbly at my laptop as my hangover sapped at my creativity like a leech. Like most, I vowed to never drink again, but did so without conviction. I knew that I’d end up drunk again that night. Bethany handed me a mug of coffee and flicked on the TV, finding her way to a celebrity gossip segment on a music channel.

  And last up- Hopeless romantic turned playboy Nathaniel Alexander was caught sharing a tender moment with an unknown female outside The Duplicate alternative night club in Soho last night-

  “Is that you?” Bethany glared at me and turned the volume up on the television. A short video clip of my brief encounter with Nathaniel blared across the screen. My fears of causing a media uproar had been realised.

  -Alexander refused to name his companion but when asked if she was the new significant woman in his life he said “I have four significant women in my life at present, which one in particular would you like to know about?” Apparently the fantasy of true love has passed for this Romeo and a new vigour for lust prevails.

  “Wow, I’m a pretty good actress. That almost looks like genuine affection.” The footage had indeed looked like we were intimate beyond anything platonic. Bethany’s head snapped around to me and she turned the volume back down without looking at the remote control.

  “It wasn’t?”

  I scoffed and turned my attention back to my laptop. “Get a grip, Bethy. He knew the cameras were there and I was more than drunk enough to play up to them, but I was making it perfectly clear it would take more than absinthe for me to start throwing myself at him for the sake of publicity.”

  “Huh, yeah. Apparently it takes a cherry bomb.”

  “Hah. I won’t be held responsible for anything I can’t remember doing.” I snapped shut the top of my laptop and rolled my eyes. Writing was clearly not on my agenda for the day, no matter how hard I willed it. Even if I had managed to look past the thick fog of my hangover, I was weighed down with disappointment over Nathaniel. I was more than a little disheartened that he’d abandoned his search for his ‘yin’ in favour of a quick fumble with four nameless women.

  “Earth to Cici.” Bethany prodded me in the side and roused me from my woe. “Your phone is ringing.”

  I glanced down at the screen of my phone and sneered. “Ugh, Fiore.” I had little to no desire to talk to the man who had so capably insulted me- luckily we had a system for dealing with situations like these. I tossed Bethany my phone and watched eagerly as she answered and turned on the speakerphone function.

  “Ah, Tybalt.” I snickered into my coffee and shook my head, thoroughly impressed by her quick wit.

  “What? Please let me speak to Cecelia.”

  “Funnily enough, I really don’t think she wants to talk to you.”

  “I know I screwed up, last night. That article was right- her novel makes you feel. I want to be the one who makes her weak at the knees, I don’t want to stand by while some other guy does it.” Bethany pouted at me helplessly, won over by his plea. “I want to take her out to dinner tonight to apologise.”

  It would have been so much easier to have said no, but something in his tone sparked an epiphany deep inside me- that maybe the lack of passion was my fault- that it pumped through his veins with every heartbeat and I just wasn’t reciprocating. “Ok,” I sighed, “I’ll meet you for dinner.”

  Bethany slammed out of the cellar as she hauled a crate of brand new tumblers onto the bar. We had missed yet another brawl while we had been at The Duplicate and appeared to have lost half our stock of glasses in the crossfire. It had been the usual case of our regular customers being aggressively territorial in response to loutish newcomers who stepped over invisible lines, and snapped in retaliation. I had seen some sights in my six years behind that bar, but not once had I ever felt at risk or intimidated- as hostile as they could be, the old coots who played dominos with their pension-thieving grandsons were extremely quick to jump to our defence. I couldn’t imagine that I would ever leave this bar.

  Old Joe and his brother Graham were interrogating me over my spa appointment and how extensively I’d been waxed when a smartly dressed aproned teen strolled in and placed a potted plant on the bar. I frowned at the shrub and turned to her. “Begonias?”

  “I know, right?” She put a hand on one hip with pure teenage arrogance and twisted a string of bubblegum around her fingertip. “After the orchids and the tulips we were thinking ‘where is he going with this?’. We have more orders so we’re guessing he’s not warning you off.” She shrugged and skipped out nonchalantly. I tried not to be perturbed by the notion of Nathaniel Alexander pre-booking these floral arrangements and reached between the stems of the scarlet begonias to retrieve the card.

  Taking hangovers to new realms of painful.

  Lobke will collect you tomorrow at ten o’clock.

  I look forward to dinner.

  N x

  The lack of an explanation about his choice of flower nagged at me almost as much as his unusual sign off. My head was still too fuzzy to contemplate harbouring my hackles for a day, so I resigned myself to drastic measures- sending a text message to the billionaire who saw me exhibit seven shades of disgraceful not twelve hours earlier.

  My message was short and to the point.

  Begonias?

  His reply was a little more verbally generous.

  Dark thoughts. How’s the hangover?

  While ‘dark thoughts’ made more sense than whimsy or warning, it posed a new question- what dark thoughts? He made me think too hard and too frequently and my brain was hard-pushed for answers, but I just brushed it off and decided to focus on the positive side of the situation. The begonias were not a warning and I wasn’t being given the brush off as an Alexander Publishing House client.

  Though in the spirit of ambiguous horticulture, my reply went down the path of whimsy.

  Hangover? What hangover? Celebrities don’t get hangovers.

  I wrinkled my nose at my phone and sighed- I still couldn’t get my head around the fact that he now had four women at his disposal. Regardless of his status and usual tendency towards soul searching, his actions were immoral and something I couldn’t condone.

  “I’ll bet it’s just wordplay,” mused Bethany, seemingly reading my thoughts, “he’s just throwing a cat among the pigeons.”

  “I doubt-…” she held up a hand to cut me off mid-sentence.

  “Ask him. After the way you were groping each other last night, I should say no topic is taboo now.” I glanced down at my phone as it vibrated on the bar, and groaned. I didn’t want to be seen to be prying, and I certainly hadn’t needed reminding about my cherry bomb antics.

  Ah, you’ve seen the video clip. Very cheeky but lacked enthusiasm. Seven out of ten for suggestion. Room for improvement. Should have spoken to Bruno earlier.

  “Just do it,” Bethany urged me, “he’s obviously feeling playful.”

  “Alright,” I sighed.

  So how are your significant women this afternoon?

  His response surprised me and set me partially at ease.

  Lobke is tired and my mother is quite possibly more hung over than I am. Significant women three and four give nothing away.

  “I told you it was wordplay.” I shook my head at Bethany
and stuffed my phone into the pocket of my tattered jeans.

  “He still has two mystery women on the go.”

  “Hypocrite.” Bethany stuck her tongue out at me and threw a towel at my face. “You have two men showering you with gifts, meals and flowers. You’re as bad as Nathaniel.”

  Chapter Ten

  I slunk down at the table opposite Cole and crossed my arms defensively. Before me sat an apparently broken and exhausted man- his eyes were red ringed and heavy with fatigue, and I was less than sympathetic. The man had pushed his luck and he would do well to pick his face up if he wanted me to stick around.

  He pushed a magazine towards me and my eyes fell on still images of the video clip I had seen on television that morning.

  I looked at him coldly and raised an eyebrow, daring him to start with an insult. “Yes?” I felt no responsibility or inclination to offer an explanation for the events that occurred after our verbal spar.

  “It isn’t how it looks, is it?” My ire faltered as he smiled at me apologetically.

  “Of course it’s not how it looks. What do you take me for?” He was visibly soothed by my confirmation and relief flooded his face, but his confidence was ill-placed. “Don’t even think about relaxing, Fiore- I’m still furious that you thought I would crawl into bed with a man to be a good student.”

  “Why wouldn’t you? He’s rich, intelligent, generous-…” Good on paper, bad in practice.

  “Because I’m taken?” I sighed and snatched up a glass of water. “Or at least I was until you called me ho.”

  Cole inhaled sharply between his teeth and leaned forward on the table. “That’s not what I said.”

  “It’s what you meant. And rather than find me to apologise, you abandoned us knowing that it’d be hard for us to get home.”

  “I knew Nathaniel would see you right. I stayed just long enough to see you standing on the bar singing Tenacious D- you looked way too far gone for a serious conversation.” I groaned and thanked my lucky stars that he hadn’t seen the pictures on the camera. If he’d seen any of those incriminating antics in person, he definitely wouldn’t be sat opposite me. “It’s hard not to feel inadequate around him, Cecelia.”

  I rolled my eyes and let my head fall back against the chair behind me. “Tell me about it. I had an entire spa of beautiful holistic specialists pinpoint every way in which I’m inadequate and there’s bound to be more to come.” I caught sight of his face harden and lips purse. He was far to quick to jump to negative conclusions and his poor judgment of my character was grating. “Pack it in, that doesn’t mean I’d jump into bed with him if I was his equal. If you’d paid the blindest bit of attention last night you’d have seen me making it perfectly clear that I didn’t want him around.”

  Cole’s forehead creased into a pained frown and he sighed heavily. “I am so sorry, I’ve handled this all wrong. Can we start over afresh?”

  I looked at him wearily- his sincerity shone through every pore in his olive skin and the fear of losing me glowed in his eyes. What he had said had stung, but nowhere near as much as sitting across from a man who’s heart was clearly breaking. He was asking a lot of me- but was it really that much? “Does this apology come with a kiss or are we going to be one of those couples?” His face split into a smile and in less than a second my face was cupped in his hands and his lips on mine. At that moment, I vowed to myself that I would be the catalyst for this relationship and find a way to make our flame burn long and hard, even if hadn’t exactly ignited yet.

  My fingers stroked the back of Cole’s hand as he fed me ice cream from a long handled silver spoon. I knew that I was fond of him, but I just couldn’t place the context of that affection. I felt comfortable in his company and wanted to make him happy but there was just something altruistic to our bond.

  He dug a cherry from the ice cream and held it to my mouth. “Ugh, no thanks,” I cringed, “me and cherries don’t make good bedfellows.”

  “Oh.” He took the cherry himself and looked at me cautiously, a question hurtling towards me like a freight train. “Will you come home with me tonight?” I raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. If anything could test the basis of our relationship, it would be a night together in the same bed. I was about to agree when my prior arrangements snuck up on me like a slap in the face.

  “I can’t,” I pinched my temples in frustration, “Nathaniel’s driver is picking me up at ten for dinner.”

  “Dinner at ten?” He scoffed incredulously and shook his head. There were no safe words to say where Nathaniel Alexander was involved- this situation was becoming impossible to negotiate.

  “You can pack that in right now. I’m sure he’s arranged for me to do something boring and bookish in the morning. He told me to take a chance on you, remember?” I looked down at my plate awkwardly and braced myself to make an uncharacteristically generous offer. “You could come back to mine.” The smile slowly returned to his face.

  “How could I refuse an offer like that?” He was right not to, because it wasn’t an invitation I extended to anyone ever.

  Bethany eyed me knowingly as Cole called good night on his way to my bedroom after an hour or two of cheap fizz and sickeningly complimentary sweet nothings whispered into my ear as we lay entangled across the couch under the light of the television on low volume. She combed her fingers into her hair and gave me a tight lipped smile, looking cautiously optimistic but none too enthusiastic. “Hoping for fireworks?”

  “Only every day of my life.” I leaned down and kissed the crown of her head gently. “Wish me luck, princess.” I knew that this would be a defining moment in our relationship and could make or break my interest, as soulless as that may have seemed. I felt positively ill with nerves- I wanted that connection with him, even if the motive behind who I wanted it for was blurred.

  I hovered in the doorway of my bedroom watching Cole disrobe and climb into my bed. The dim light from the hallway behind me reflected off every ripple of his surprisingly toned, almost herculean legs and forearms. Someone less callous than I could have argued that between his ample frame, kind nature and dashing good looks, he was the image of the perfect man. But his undressing ended at his t-shirt and underwear, and he crawled under the sheets and settled down to sleep like I wasn’t even present in the room. You promised to push this forward, I told myself, stripping down to my underwear and slipping into bed beside him, make your intentions clear.

  I wrapped an arm around his waist and set a trail of kisses across the small area of exposed skin around his collar. “Cole?” My teeth nipped his earlobe playfully and my hand crept along his muscular torso. “Cole… You have got to be kidding me.” My advances were met with a mumble and a gentle snore. I rolled onto my back in disbelief- struck dumb by the anti-climax of luring the Italian stallion into my bed. There had been nothing. No jungle sex, no foreplay, no heavy petting- not even a ‘good night, Cecelia’. And just to rub salt into my wounds I was even being deprived of essential skin on skin contact while I slept. If this wasn’t a bad omen, I didn’t know what was.

  “Nothing?” Bethany stared at me in a state of total shock the minute Cole stepped out of the front door onto the street at ten minutes to ten.

  I shook my head wistfully. “Not even a good night kiss.” I turned back into the house and sighed. I had awoken the same way I’d fallen asleep- curled up in the foetal position and back to back with the man who so relentlessly fought to be my partner in daylight hours. What had I done to deserve such a mercurial reception? “What’s so wrong with me?”

  “Nothing, Cici, bloody hell!” She pulled me into a hug and led me back into the warmth of the lounge before storming into the kitchen and snatching up her phone from the sideboard. “The problem is obviously his. What a muppet.” I peeked between the slats of the wooden venetian blinds that hung the large window alcove next to the front door and watched the sleek black Chrysler pull up at the kerb outside our house.

  “She’s early.” Bethany rus
hed to the door and greeted Lobke with a warm hug and an air kiss. The overtly girlish display of greeting made my skin crawl.

  Lobke turned to me and raised an eyebrow. “Uh oh. What has he done now?”

  “What?” I met her raised eyebrow with a less than enthused scowl.

  “Nate. Your face has ‘man troubles’ written all over it.” I frowned at her, annoyed at both my unintentionally readable sour expression and her assumption that Nathaniel was responsible.

  “Not Nathaniel.”

  “Ok…” Confusion was written all over her face as she unzipped a small pocket on the breast of her coat. “So are you two ready for Mr Magnifico Fabrio Bellissimo?” The three appointment cards that Lobke produced from her pocket were promptly snatched by Bethany, who looked to be on the brink of climax.

  “Shut up. He did not get us appointments with Fabrio Bellissimo.”

  “Ah, no. Cecelia has an appointment with Fabrio, we have appointments with his able henchmen.”

  “Uh, guys?” I waved a hand from my spot next to the window to remind them that I was there. Being excluded when I was a major subject in a conversation was a pet peeve. “Who or what is Fabrio Bellissimo?” Bethany sighed and threw a coat at me, exasperated by my insufficient knowledge of the big names of fashion.

  “Think King Midas, all the miracles of Christ and a multiple orgasm all rolled into one but pertaining to hair.”

  I wrinkled my nose at her and retrieved my phone from the mantelpiece. It didn’t sound like a particularly appealing concept, but I presumed that it meant he was some kind of highly sought after hairdresser. “What the fuck is an orgasm?”

  I was forced down into a seat in front of a large mirrored wall by an incredibly flamboyant Spanish gentleman whose moustache put me in mind of Vincent Price. His salon reminded me of a Hollywood dressing room- the dark fuchsia walls made the space seem smaller and more enclosed but the mass of fake diamond chandeliers and the rows of bulbs surrounded the mirrors readmitted the light that the dark paintwork cancelled. It seemed too feminine to be owned by a man, but look at the man in question, I suspected that he most likely wore more dresses than I did.