The Price Of Success (Fighting For Fireworks)

by Lee, Corri

  Of course, my choice of outfit hadn't gone unnoticed by Cole, and he spent the entire two hour journey with his eyes permanently fixed to my cleavage. "Reminiscing, are we?" I teased, looking up from my copy of my own book with a smirk. It amazed me how much I enjoyed reading my own words again without the pressure of having to isolate the flaws. I was swept up in the tragedy all over again, and followed my protagonist with a renewed empathy for having felt for myself what I had put her through. I wondered if my innate ability to write about heartbreak so convincingly came from some deep-set tendency to be my own prophet of doom, and that somehow, I had known that it would happen before I'd even started to write.

  Cole stuck his tongue out and caught it between his teeth with a boyish grin. "Maybe," he admitted, "but not in the way you're thinking. I'm holding out for another piece of Cornelia."

  "Honey trap," I mocked monotonously, "those Alexander's are all out for luring innocent and trusting young lovers into a false sense of security with dishonest interests in their boring lives and mind-blowing sex before they chew you up and spit you out and make sure the media catch it all on camera."

  "Wow, check out Miss Anthropology. Are you going to be in a shitty mood all night?"

  "No," I sighed apologetically and marked my page with a length of ribbon, "I'm sorry, you just have no idea what kind of residual ghosts Cornelia's place holds for me."

  I answered the pleas for elaboration with an in-depth tale of Wonderland- the night that had triggered all of the misery and confusion that I was now quietly infamous for. My friends listened with bated breath as I recalled the events with tears in my eyes, fascinated by the harrowing account of feeling like an unfaithful third wheel who was backed into a situation that would cause me so much anguish for so many weeks to come.

  Telling all felt like my own plea for penance, and when Cole told me that I was forgiven for my trespasses, all of the guilt that I had felt for being untrustworthy to him was absolved, and I was purged of just a small amount of the sin that had burdened me for what was now months. A little piece of me faded with my confessions- a small remaining part of me that still dangled hopelessly onto the fantasy of reconciliation with the man who ticked all of my boxes but was so far out of reach. I deluded myself with fabricated notions of him still brooding over me on the balcony of his bedroom, thinking that the London Eye was slightly less spectacular for not lighting me up while I slept peacefully. Deluded was right, I imagined that he most likely had a new strumpet to lavish his cash on already, but I was too scared to check the gossip columns to find out.

  The conclusion of my role as storyteller coincided perfectly with the arrival at Cornelia's manor, which looked more palatial than ever for the thick flakes of snow that fell and settled on its walls. It was no less spectacular for not being draped in banners and full of costumed waiters, but still entirely intimidating and awe-inspiring for its enormity.

  The five of us scurried up to the porch with our overnight bags in hand, brushing the frosting from our hair when the hot rush of heat hit us as boldly as Cornelia did, scooping us up into her arms one by one with overwhelming enthusiasm and thanks for travelling so far in the dire weather. She was as debonair as ever in her red fishtail gown that rustled when she moved, copper hair pinned up neatly into a Grecian updo that showcased the angelically sculpted features that were typical of her bloodline.

  The corridor filled with animated chatter as we strolled down to the reception area, which was devoid of a clever signing in system and instead boasted a magnificent pine Christmas tree that pissed all over the pathetic artificial sprig that stood in the bar. I presumed that it encompassed how Christmas was supposed to be- warm and cheerful and marked with splendour. But it did little more than leave a bad taste in my mouth, knowing that the last time I'd seen such an impressively dressed tree was the last happy memory I had of my parents before my father had been diagnosed with kidney failure. If I'd known that I'd be staring at those baubles with a heavy heart a week later, I probably would have focused more on the true meaning of Christmas with my family and gone carol singing like my mother had begged me to instead hogging the eggnog and isolating myself in a bubble of teenage misandria, deep in denial over my keenness on my new English Literature professor. Retrospect is a bitch.

  I decided to spare my friends of my sour mood and sloped off up the stairs to find the bedroom to which Bethany and I had been allocated to for the night. I wondered if I'd purposely been given the room with the perfect view of the fucking swimming pool.

  Dinner was a relaxed affair and took place in an intimate but still oversized dining room which I hadn't seen before. Great log fuelled fireplaces stood at either end and roared with a gentle crackle that thrust memories of lying across a bearskin rug back into my mind. My night was already ruined.

  Cornelia sat at the head of the table, obviously, Isaac to her left and Cole in place of preference as her 'right hand man'. I sat between Bethany and Aiden on the right, while Adam sat next to Isaac, and the two of them made eyes at the female guests who filed into the dining room and gossiped quietly between greetings with the host.

  "Are you alright?" Cornelia whispered to me on her journey to her seat. "You vanished earlier."

  "Cici doesn't really 'do' Christmas," Bethany explained on my behalf, "it holds some pretty harsh connotations with-..." she glanced at me grimly and mouthed 'death' guiltily at her plate.

  "Oh love," Cornelia crooned, reaching over to pat my hand, "I can't even to pretend to comprehend how you must feel, so I won't insult you by trying." I smiled at her weakly and fiddled with the corner of my napkin. I was pleased that she was on the same wavelength as Bethany with her lack of need for finer details. I didn't know if it was intuitive or if Bethany had just given her a vague idea of my inner workings, but either way, my gratitude was eternal.

  Aiden did his best to distract me with flirtatious tactics- groping my legs underneath the table and making me yelp loud enough to draw the attention of several strangers, which actually made me crack a smile. I shielded my mouth to whisper something suggestive in his ear that sparked a glint of carnal lust in his eye.

  "Here?" he gasped, grabbing my hands and begging me to behave.

  "There's a very nice room upstairs- two actually. Or a car. Take your pick. I remember you being quite good for Christmas cheer."

  "But it's not a classroom." I bit down on my fingertip cheekily and mouthed 'there's a sitting room' as I cocked my head and gave him my come-to-bed eyes. He grabbed my chin with a sneer and was about to make a bold move when Bethany knocked me forward with a slap around the arm.

  I turned to scold her and found her with her mouth wide open. "Ding dong," she announced, "who the hell is that?" I craned my neck to turn my attention to the doorway and clapped eyes on the delicious feast of a man who lingered for a moment to have a brief conversation with an elderly gentleman before gliding gracefully towards his seat. The room dipped to silence when he walked behind the rows of chairs- his omnipotent masculine beauty causing everyone, men and women, to draw breath.

  "Crap," I rasped as he made his way across the room in our direction. His unruly yet long and sleek hair brushed back off his face and framed his features, while skimming the edge of his collar and settling where his white shirt met the rim of his navy blue tie. The air thickened as he approached in way I could only associate with one man. I glared over at Isaac, who regarded me with a smirk and mouthed 'I lied' before the new arrival took his seat next to his sister and laid a chaste kiss on her cheek. I sank back into my seat, my heat for Aiden fizzling, but found that he kept a firm reassuring grasp on my hand, silently promising that he'd keep me close and avoid any awkward situations.

  "Mr Fiore, Bethany, Aiden," his eyes paused over me for a moment, "Cecelia."

  "Good evening, Nathaniel." I nodded cordially and strained a tight smile. The man who had cut me out sat across from me and looked so complacent and numb to me. My stomach knotted but I fought to maintain an impassi
ve façade by keeping my teeth bared down on the tip of my tongue under the cover of my lips and my eyes low. All I had to do was make it through dinner, and then I could isolate myself to my bed until the morning arrived. It was that simple.

  I leaned back against the protective arm that Aiden had trussed around the back of my chair and pushed my dessert bowl back across the table with a groan. I had used food as a means of escaping conversation and had overeaten horribly from the monstrously sized plates of roasted pheasant with all the trimmings and sickly rich Christmas puddings.

  "You look stuffed," Cornelia giggled across at me, "it's nice to see you back in a twelve."

  "It's still a little loose actually," I puffed, my forehead creasing into a pained frown of indigestion while I rubbed my engorged stomach, "or at least it was when I arrived."

  She smiled widely at me and tossed her napkin down into her bowl, "I'd hate to be the sucker who cooks your Christmas lunch. What are you doing for Christmas, by the way?"

  "Nothing," I muttered, leaning my head against Aiden's shoulder, "this bastard has family commitments and I've kindly refused the offer of a home town surrogate family reunion with Bethany." I wouldn't discuss my motives when it was sitting a few metres away. I didn't want to have to discuss at length my public misdemeanours with Bethany's less than jovial and annoyingly nosey father.

  Cornelia licked a fleck of custard from the corner of her mouth and jerked a shoulder casually. "You could come here." It was a kind offer, but I wanted to avoid further situations similar to these.

  "Thank you for the offer, but I really need some me time. I've not had much chance to be-..." I looked down at my hands and half laughed, "... chance be to slovenly for the past few months. I have a hot date with The Muppets and a bountiful supply of apple and cinnamon pastries firmly booked into my schedule." And as the soon as the food was gone, I would no doubt sob into my pillow until Bethany came home and I had to pretend to be a strong independent woman again.

  "Oh," Cornelia sighed, seemingly surprised by her own disappointment. "How about the New Year? Could I maybe tempt you with another trip to New York?" Now that was tempting, and a real challenge to refuse.

  "Oh Cornelia, I would love to, but Bethany and I fly out to Hollywood on the second and will really need to use the time to pack."

  "Hollywood?" She gaped at me, mouth slowly widening and hands clasping with merry fervour. "They're turning you into a film!"

  "Not me personally," I laughed, my mood brightening by her joy, "but yes, they're quite eager to talk casting." I found myself swept up by her zeal and threw my arms up with a crescendo. "I'm fucking huge!"

  "I told you so." My ardour dispelled at the sound of Nathaniel's voice, arms dropping to my sides limply.

  I battled to find my voice and answered him tersely. "That you did, Nathaniel. 'A film deal within months of it reaching shelves'- that's exactly what you said. You must get a great deal of satisfaction from knowing that you're always right." I lambasted myself for speaking so acerbically and excused myself from the table to find a dark rock under which I could crawl under. I was a poor example of a civil ex-lover and I disgusted myself with my acrimonious retort. I was acting in the way I had criticised many women for before- the manner in which they acted that I held responsible for my infrequent phases of friendships with women- and I had to snap out of it if I stood any chance of greeting the morning with a single remaining shred of self-respect.

  Isaac tracked me down to my room, where I stood at the window and stared out over the pool, torturing myself with the lingering snippets of memories from that night.

  “Nathaniel, if you throw me in the pool, your life won’t be worth living.”

  “I stated my terms.”

  “You state a lot of terms, you bloody megalomaniac.”

  “You’re going to start insulting me now?”

  “Well in for a penny, in for a-… You wouldn’t dare.”

  I felt the water hit me as it had done then, and wondered for a second if Isaac had attacked me with another hose pipe. "You're reliving it, aren't you?" I nodded at his reflection in the glass and slowly turned around with a sigh. I had said my goodbyes to this place once already and I was going to be forced to do it again in the morning. It was almost as painful as it had been the first time. "You're being missed downstairs. There's a drink waiting for you in the sitting room when you're ready."

  "I'm coming now." I knotted my fingers together as I followed him back through the house and found myself met by a round of applause when he held the door of the sitting room open. Not only applause, but a standing ovation for my rags to riches achievement of bar maid to best seller. "Thank you," I gushed, guarding my reddened cheeks while I hurried over to Bethany to employ her as a meat shield. I'd seen my fair share of polite applause from audiences during my book signing tour, but this was more personal and embarrassing in that it was in such an enclosed area and from people who knew more about the details of my rise to success. They knew what I had battled through to get to where I was and still applauded me, even though I'd made some poor decisions and been beaten to buggery in many physical and mental aspects. I had been through the mill, and I was a survivor, and I suppose that made me more worthy of their respect.

  I lounged across the couch which I'd passed out on the last time I was at Cornelia's manor, and consumed myself in polite conversation with anyone who approached me. The persisting presence of Nathaniel hung over me, and while I did my best to ignore it, I often found myself mentally scanning the room to see if I could pinpoint his location and checking to see if I was right. I was, invariably, and that unrequited connection I still felt was just another brick pulled from the crumbling wall of my brave face.

  Cornelia pushed my feet over to sit next to me on the couch and made a face that completely betrayed her wanting to look impartial. "Spit it out," I ordered, with my brow arched.

  "Cole," she muttered apprehensively, "how volatile is he really?"

  "You're interested?" She grunted and revealed an unmistakably self-conscious side of herself that nobody would ever suspect. "You could do worse, Cornelia. He's a great guy, he really is. Just don't hurt him the way I did. He deserves to be centre of someone's universe with no opposing forces."

  Her eyes rolled at me with teenage dreaminess and she caught his eye across the room with a white hot look of desire that I'd once owned myself. "Sold," she giggled, leaning over to kiss me on my forehead, "yours is coming, I promise." I waved her off and curled up with my head leaned back against the cushioned back of the couch, resisting the urge to lock myself away and ignore anyone who knocked on the door before the sun cracked over the horizon.

  When my legs started to stiffen and conversation waned, I found myself standing out in the doorway to the back garden, staring up at the frost obscured smear of a moon against the winter sky. Snow fell in front of it lightly and crunched under foot as I stepped out onto the grounds where the croquet match had been held, and spread my arms wide with my head thrown back and spun around until I fell down.

  “Wait. We didn’t finalise terms."

  “Get on with it then.”

  “One kiss.”

  You want me to kiss you both? That’s vulgar- this is for a children’s charity. Let me take my shot, Alexander"

  Feeling rather stupid, I retreated back to the doorway and resumed my aimless stare at the moon.

  "Anything interesting out there?" His voice snuck up on me like Nahash but, determined not to let him know that he still affected me, I let my expression remain neutral and kept my fists firmly clenched so that the knuckles blanched.

  "My universe."

  "How is it faring?"

  He stepped right up next to me, arm almost brushing mine, hands casually shoved into his pockets in the way they had been when I'd first laid eyes on him. But he was different now- stronger for his experiences and hardened by the harsh reality of cruel women. Plus his longer, wilder hair made him doubly as stunning. "Neither here nor
there really. Just when you think things are looking up, something happens that makes the very foundations of all that you've built crumble away underfoot. But no matter." I stepped back from the door way with the intention of making an exit while he occupied my place, staring at the moon.

  "Cornelia mentioned that you were writing again."

  I'd only taken a few steps before his voice stilled me again. "Did she now?"

  "I should like to read something of yours on a recreational basis, Cecelia. You're very talented." As much as I tried, I just couldn't detect any sarcasm in his words.

  I reluctantly turned back to him and leaned against the wall behind me, struggling to keep myself steady when he was talking to me so reservedly. I wanted nothing more than the many weeks of separation to reach a passionate conclusion in that very instant, but knew that my window of opportunity had passed. "The project was terminated, actually, I gave up on it. I'm not a writer anymore."

  He spun around to look at me, eyebrow raised over his almost luminous mercury eyes. "Don't you think that it'll eat away you if you don't finish it? That you'll spend the rest of your days wondering what could have come of it if you'd just dug a little deeper?"

  "You have no idea," I whispered, blinking to excess to battle tears. "You didn't cut your hair."

  "A very wise woman told me not to. She also told me to 'sort it out', but she shamefully won't take her own advice." He smiled only very slightly, but very softly, and made his way past me, stopping a step behind me with a small sigh. "You were right, you know. You can't control the people in your universe- but you can set down the groundwork to make them act in such a way. I've done my part- why don't you just finish that novel and see what divine intervention pulls out of the hat?"

  And with that cryptic remark he was gone, lost again in the faces that filled the building. I didn't see him again and I didn't know if I ever would, but when a man so breath-taking tells you to write, you damn well write.