The Price Of Success (Fighting For Fireworks)

by Lee, Corri

  My mind limped through the steps of him caressing and worshipping every inch of my skin, spreading me out like a snow angel and tracing his fingers across the contours of my ribs silently, his eyes fixed and steady. My thoughts began to wander and wane- if this was the price of fireworks, I’d take a lifetime of fast distasteful fucks in alleys with strangers any day. I had never considered boredom to be an accompanying emotion to love, but there again, I didn’t love Cole, and he looked far from bored.

  My breath and attention caught when his bare flesh touched mine, his beaming face hung overhead and kissed me. He was already breathless and swept up in ecstasy, and he kissed me like he fed an insatiable hunger. But then he made a fatal mistake. His hand glided down my body and beyond the fine lace of my underwear and he drew me into conversation.

  “Do you like this?” The ill-timed request for a compliment over-rode the pleasure of his fingers working into me and tracing tender circles against my sweet spot. My hand slid down over the solid muscles of his torso and came to rest on his hip. My eyes followed my hand and my brow jerked when I reached his waist. I hadn’t noticed him undress, but the jezebel in me was certainly glad that he had. Adonis, but no Romeo, my mind sniped before my gaze snapped up to meet his. “Is this what you want?” I want you to stop talking.

  “I want you to show me how you feel when you look at me, Cole. Stop trying to do what you think I want and do what you know I want.” I couldn’t have expressed the ‘fuck me immediately’ sentiment any more clearly if I’d tried. A primal grin crossed his face and his hand withdrew from my depths, his warm skin brushing across mine as he settled himself between my thighs and set to making me instantly regret terminating his foreplay and pillow talk.

  His intrusion into my poorly prepared and unwilling body came with a ripple of pain and my muscles clenched in protest- a reaction he took as a sign of approval. He possessed my body, his size both too full and too long to comfortably accommodate, and his weight crushed down on me as his head buried into the crook of my neck. I didn’t feel that instant rush of pleasure and completion that I had dearly hoped for- I felt stifled and over pushed.

  His guttural moan screamed that he was oblivious to my discomfort and lost to pure pleasure. I stood strong as he relentlessly bore his way into me in typical dominant jack rabbit style. There was no single aspect of the experience that I could enjoy. I was emotionally numb and felt nothing but the selfish pounding between my legs and his harsh ragged breath lancing at my neck.

  When he found his release, I shamed myself. I shamed him. I shamed womankind. My forged orgasm was convincing enough for him to look at me proudly, forehead beaded with sweat, and grin- but forced enough for me to be thoroughly embarrassed by my abysmal behaviour. I had always been of the theory that if it wasn’t good enough to cause a genuine reaction, then it wasn’t good enough to justify faking it, but I had betrayed myself.

  Cole rolled over onto his back and pulled me with him with the intention of me resting on his clammy chest. I declined, lifting myself up to sit supported by one arm. I looked down at my mostly naked form and flicked the elastic on my underwear. “Working around the thong, very impressive.” I was at a loss for anything more productive or complimentary to say.

  He brushed his fingers across my cheek and pulled me down to rest beside him. In the light of the candles with his face just-fucked flushed, he was truly a beautiful sight to behold- but a beautiful sight like the Venus De Milo, not a soul mate. “Did you feel it? Did I show you what you make me feel?”

  Oh I felt it alright. I was sure I’d be feeling it for days.

  I sneered at my less than remarkable revision of the love scene I’d reluctantly re-enacted and dipped a spoon into the half eaten remains of a tub of Ben and Jerry’s Karamel Sutra. As half melted and runny as it had become, it was far more satisfying than the recent addition to my sexual repertoire. I couldn’t pin point one particular flaw that had killed the experience- the whole thing had been one big disaster.

  Bethany stumbled in from work at around midnight and instantly narrowed her eyes at me. “Bad date? Good date. No…” She pulled my head back to force me to look at her and raised an eyebrow. “Mediocre date with hot unsatisfying sex?” Her perception amazed me. “Jewish?”

  “Not a single inch of him.” I scooped a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth and surrendered the tub to Bethany.

  She rolled her eyes at the worthless remains and marched into the kitchen. “And how many inches are we talking about?”

  “Too many.” I retired my efforts on the revision and attached it to an email to Nathaniel. “Too much in all dimensions.”

  “Is that why you’ve got a face like a smacked arse?” Smacked arse might have been better than the battered cervix. I may grow to enjoy spanking, I doubt I’d grow to enjoy the unskilful ramming of an overly-endowed selfish lover. Bethany slumped down next to me and wrapped my hand around a glass of wine. “Was he that bad?”

  “It wasn’t that he was bad, it was just-…” I ran my tongue across my teeth awkwardly, “he recreated the bed of orchids and did everything literally ‘by the book’, he tried to get me to talk dirty, he ploughed me like a fucking cornfield and it was just really hollow and soulless.”

  Bethany stared at me poker faced for a moment before she erupted into raucous laughter. “Ploughed you like a cornfield! Poor guy doesn’t stand a hope in hell of winning your heart. But-…” She held up a hand and regained her composure. “Potential credit where credit may be due. Did he make you come?” My face screwed up tightly with guilt. “Oh my god, you faked it!”

  “I had to, Bethy! He’s completely disgustingly in love with me. I’m his fireworks.” She whimpered in perplexity and threw an arm around my shoulders.

  “And he’s not yours. Oh, Cici.” She completely understood my quandary and, to her benefit, she terminated the conversation. I rested my head on her shoulder with a groan and surfed the internet to find yet more gossip articles with a host of pictures of my journey through Soho to Cole’s loft. Same old story, but portraying Cole as my obsessive fanatic who was overshadowed by Nathaniel. That notion wasn’t entirely inaccurate. “Cici, phone.”

  I rolled my eyes and made a mental note to start turning my phone off at night. “Hello.”

  “Cecelia.” That smile provoking voice again. Bethany raised an eyebrow at me and her nostrils flared. I mouthed ‘what?’ and turned my attention to my caller.

  “Nathaniel? It’s kind of late for business calls isn’t it?”

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” I frowned and pulled my phone from my ear to look at the screen. Definitely Nathaniel.

  “I’m sorry, I thought my dad died six years ago. Why would you think I wasn’t okay?”

  He laughed with marked nervousness. “Never mind, I don’t want to pry.”

  “Spit it out, Alexander.”

  “Well, I just read the revision you’ve emailed and…” He sighed heavily and cleared his throat, “well it’s just a bit shit, Cecelia.”

  Bethany snorted next to me and we both descended into a fit of childish giggles. “Story of my bloody life.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It went without saying that I was surprised when Lobke arrived on our doorstep at half past eight the next morning, just as we were preparing to leave for the Alexander Publishing House. It was even more of a surprise when she opened the door of the Chrysler to reveal Nathaniel casually munching on a McDonalds bagel. “Good morning ladies.” He patted the leather seats next to him and folded the copy of NME spread across his lap into a compartment just inside his door. “I was hoping to bother you for an explanation as to why I was subjected to such shoddy work from such an adept author.” My face heated defensively as Bethany wriggled into the seat next to me, forcing me into very close proximity with my worst critic.

  “Cole is a shit lay.” I gasped with a combination of disgust, embarrassment and amusement, and slapped her hand.

  “It is not
as simple as him being a shit lay!”

  “But he is a shit lay?” Nathaniel grinned at me cheekily as he stuffed the final bite of bagel into his mouth. His reaction worked to reinforce that the significant ‘she’ was a significant ‘he’, and that he felt more like one of the girls. That might have explained why he gelled so well with Lobke. She was a fag hag. “What did he do- play love songs, light candles, try to make you talk dirty or pound you like a hammer drill?” Bethany and I traded amazed and impressed glances, and suppressed our gushing proposals of marriage. There are men out there who realise that sex isn’t a race to the finish- there is a God.

  “All of the above.” He exhaled harshly and shook his head with a pained frown.

  “What an idiot. But something tells me there’s more. No fireworks?” I folded my arms across my body defiantly, completely unwilling to discuss the matter at such an early hour. “Come on, Cecelia. Don’t make me embarrass the information out of you.”

  “Try me.”

  “Your hips flex suggestively when you’re locked in an impassioned kiss and you give a little purr of approval you don’t think anyone notices.”

  “Oh my god!” I flung my arms over my head and prayed for something- anything to remove me from this situation.

  “I have more, Cecelia. That silk chemise is surprisingly transpa-…” I crammed a hand over Nathaniel’s mouth and squeezed my temples.

  “I think Cole is trying to compete with you, Nathaniel. He recreated the scene I rewrote and re-enacted it word for word, even down to the intimate utterances about my-…” I removed my hand from Nathaniel’s mouth and aimed to skirt past the next word as quickly as possible. “Fragrance.”

  Nathaniel stared at me grimly and scoffed. “Well he might want to consider leaving your seduction to the professionals in the future.” Lobke snickered up front and I was sure I caught a hint of a blush in Nathaniel’s cheeks. “What I mean is, where’s the romance in a direct copy? What fun do you get from knowing exactly what’s coming? You may as well just give the man a map to your erogenous zones.”

  “That novel is a map to her erogenous zones,” Bethany laughed, “you didn’t see her writing it.” Oh Jesus, she’d obviously spied on me while I was writing. I didn’t dare ask for elaboration

  “Wow, I didn’t get the memo that it was ‘Embarrass Cecelia’ Day.” Nathaniel patted my hand comfortingly and fiddled with the rotating disc on the thick Gucci ring I wore on the middle finger of my left hand.

  “There’s a reason why I gave you the pocket watch, Cecelia. Envy was a moot point, but sloth surprised you with its extravagance and greed wasn’t what you were expecting. The emotions those gifts evoked would never be appropriate to adjusting your novel if they hadn’t come with an element of surprise. If Cole thinks it’s as simple as a general simulation to recreate that kind of joy, confusion and flattery, then he’s right to be threatened by how much better I know your mind.” The almost clinical way he spoke about the inner workings of my mentality was refreshing, but the impression he gave that he was happy to be a rival? That didn’t sit well.

  I withdrew my hand from his reach and looked down at the silver tie he wore that, as always, unintentionally coordinated with the silver silk shirt I wore and made our irises glow. “Cole is insanely jealous of how much I see you and how close we are, Nathaniel. Please don’t make my life difficult by provoking him. I’m his fireworks.”

  “And he’s not yours?” Lobke glanced up at me in the rear view mirror and arched a blonde brow. I smiled weakly and shook my head uncertainly.

  “Not yet. It could happen.”

  “Uh, no. Fireworks are instant. You either see them in full bloom, hear them popping in the distance or not at all. If you don’t even feel a stirring- dump him.” There was a united murmur of agreement around me and I felt tremendously outnumbered and bullied.

  “He’s in love with me, I can’t just sack him off.”

  “So you’re going to stay with him to spare his feelings?” She hummed disapprovingly. I didn’t consider at the time how potentially damaging it could be to Cole’s psyche. “You could miss out on your real soul mate if you waste time trying to turn a wet squib into a roman candle.” I beamed with delight at her unexpected burst of witty word play as she pulled up outside the publishing house. But inside, my heart was heavy with all the contradicting opinions I’d gathered. Take calculated risks- don’t take calculated risks. Don’t compromise on love but compromise to find love. Fight for the fireworks that should be instant. And that last one had transpired with Nathaniel present. How confused must he be after receiving the advice I’d proven wasn’t viable? I was already feeling smothered by my own self-reproach for Cole’s recent lunacy- I had done little to make our relationship functional- and now I was riddled with guilt for pushing Nathaniel along a very futile and quite possibly lonely path.

  I kept my body language passive as we walked through the building, saw Bethany off at her desk under Eleanor’s satirical fleer, and made our way down to the office via the lift. She was harbouring some kind of negative opinion or snide insight, I could tell, but I had no idea what I could have done to deserve her ridicule.

  Nathaniel paused at the office door and turned to me, one elbow leaning on the thick silver handle. “I know what you’re thinking, Cecelia. She hears the popping- I have it on good authority from multiple sources.” I was instantly struck by relief and elated for him and, swallowing down my jealously, I focused on the fact that at least my friends were happy.

  “So everyone else sees it and she doesn’t? With all due respect, and I’m sure she’s a lovely woman, but she must be a bit soft in the old noggin.”

  Nathaniel snorted with a quick burst of laughter and turned to open the office door. “She’s just a little distracted.” He took my laptop bag from my hand and led me into the office, placing my bag on the chaise longue and nodding towards his desk.

  An elaborate dinner placement was laid across my usual side of the desk, complete with an assortment of cutlery, three glasses and napkins.

  “Sit down, Cecelia.” I gaped at him and hovered next to the desk. “Dinner etiquette.” He answered my unspoken question. Seriously? I was twenty-four, I knew how to hold a knife and fork.

  “You are joking? I’m not bloody feral- I know how to eat like a civilised human being. You’ve seen me do so in person.”

  “And you do so quite ably.” He smirked at me as I took my seat with a snarl. “But do you know your salad forks from your fish knives?” I confirmed my ignorance with a low growl. Obviously I knew the difference between a knife and a fork, but I had to admit that the difference between each type had always eluded me. “You’ll need to know for formal black tie events. So. Napkin?”

  My tedious lesson in dinner etiquette drew on until I was irate to the level of murderousness. I couldn’t even deliberate in peace- the moment I touched an object, he would snap a correction, even if I hadn’t intended on picking it up.

  “Stop eating your imaginary fish with a dinner fork. Pick up your fish fork.”

  “I’ll fucking fish fork you in a minute, Alexander.” Nathaniel rolled his eyes at me with a grunt.

  “Red wine glass. No, that’s white wine.” I shot him the death stare and placed the various pieces of the place setting back in order.

  “Is that right?” He nodded. “Right.” I pointed as I spat my words. “Napkin, across lap, folded in half, point towards body. Left hand, salad fork, fish fork, dinner fork. Right hand, soup spoon, salad knife, fish knife, dinner knife. Work from the outside in. Spoon soup away in outward motions with bowl tilted away from the body. Over plate- dessert fork, dessert spoon. Fork on left, spoon on right. Side plate, bread and butter plate, butter knife. Break bread off with fingers and butter chunks individually. Use bread on a fork to mop up gravy or sauce. Pass dishes to the right, jugs and gravy boats with handles towards the recipient, never reach across somebody for a dish. Don’t cut more than three bites in advance. Don’t mix food
on the plate. Never speak with your mouth full. Don’t blow on hot food or drinks. Finish the mouthful before you start the next. Place cutlery at twenty past four position on plate when the meal is finished, spoons on side plates not in bowls. Don’t stack plates. Water glass, red wine glass held at base of bowl, white wine glass held by stem. Don’t start to eat before the host and don’t use your napkin as a handkerchief. Are. You. Fucking. Happy?”

  Nathaniel leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed. “What about pizza?”

  “Why the fuck would they give me pizza at a black tie event?” He blinked for a moment, stunned.

  “That’s quite a good point actually.” Hah.

  I screwed my napkin up into a ball and threw it at him so it bounced off his head, very much bored and exhausted of his ridiculous game. “Can I please do some proper work now?”

  “No.” He grinned and rose from his seat. “It’s lunch time. We’re going to take Bethany and Eleanor for a three course meal to put your new manners into practice. And you’re going to do it sans underwear.” I was so busy seething over the inference that I was previously too ill-mannered to eat a three course meal that it took a moment to process the latter part of his sentence. “You heard me, Douglas. You never had a proper lesson in deviance.”

  I searched his face for any sign of humour and found none. “You’re serious.”

  “Deadly.” I faltered for a moment and turned towards the bathroom. “Ah, no. In here.”

  “What?” I squeaked, glancing down at the hem of my shift dress that only just reached the top of my knees.

  “I won’t know if you’ve actually removed the offending article if you go into the bathroom.”

  “I’m wearing tights!”

  “I’ll turn away.” He shot me a capricious grin and winked as he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned around with a whistle. I toed off my shoes and swore at myself, disgusted by what I would agree to if it meant getting published. Though secretly, I felt deliciously wicked. If I made it through this meal I would definitely have some cheeky feelings to siphon into my novel.