by S. L. Scott
“She’s vexing me.”
“Okay, Commodus, you’re not Joaquin Phoenix and this isn’t Gladiator. So nothing should be ‘vexing’ you.”
“If only this was a Ridley Scott movie. We could fight evil. Victory and the woman would be ours.”
“And then you die at the end. I’m more of a Gus Van Sant guy myself, and since when did you have girl trouble?”
“Once. But it’s made its way back around.”
He’s shaking his head at me. There’s not much he can say and I sound like I’m whining, so I drink my beer, then call to the bartender, “Can you turn up the TV?”
The pitcher is empty and we have a second half-full one in front of us. The channel is changed to a kung fu movie from the seventies, so I get up to check out the jukebox. Flipping through the old albums loaded on there, Guns N’ Roses, Metallica, or The Rolling Stones would be great. I need music that drowns out my thoughts. Instead I have music from the fifties like Sam Cooke to The Carpenters of the seventies. I’ve already stuck my money in, so I pick Aaron Neville’s “Tell It Like It Is,” knowing nothing on that jukebox is going to make me forget about Reese.
When I sit back down, Luke is judging. “Really, dude?”
“Whatever.” I’m judging myself too. Feeling defensive, I do what any good friend would do. I throw it back at him. “Talk to Jane?”
He bites. Hook, line, and sinker. “No. Do you think I should?”
“I don’t think I’m in any position to give advice right now.”
“I almost called her. I just kept thinking what if she was just having momentary doubts. She went home to him, so how much can she really be thinking about me?”
“I think you call her out on her shit.” He looks stunned by my harsh reaction, but I shrug. “Sorry, man, but she told you all that and then went back to him. Is she fucking with you, leaving you dangling out here until she wants you?”
“Fuck, you don’t have to lay it out so blatantly. Haven’t you heard of ‘breaking it’ to someone lightly?”
“Sorry. I just have a lot on my mind. I don’t even know if Reese is dating someone. What if she is?”
He double snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Hey! Focus. We’re talking about me. We’ll get to you next.”
I laugh, because I can’t not laugh at him. He’s ridiculous. I take a deep breath and pretend to be serious. “Okay, let’s talk this through because that’s what two dudes do. They talk through all their girl problems.” I side-eye him.
“Your sarcasm isn’t appreciated.”
“Actually, it’s appreciated quite often. But seriously, let’s go through the pros and cons.”
He nods, eager to work out this riddle. “Pro. We were together for eight years.”
“Con. You never sealed the deal. Why not?”
“I don’t remember anymore.” He leans his head down on his hand, the thought weighing him down. “Little things that didn’t matter.”
“Pro. You’ve been broken up over a year or more now, and no one has managed to replace her.”
“That’s a big pro,” he adds. “Con. She’s in a relationship. She lives with him. That’s pretty damn serious.”
“Pro. She lives with another guy and she still came to see you.”
“Pro. She lives with another guy and I don’t care. I would do anything to have one more day, one more chance to show her I’m the better man.”
I smile. C’mon, I’m not heartless. The poor sap is tugging at my heartstrings. “What are you waiting for then?”
“A sign.”
I thump him on the head. “Will that work?”
“Fuck. That hurt,” he complains. I laugh, because he knows he won’t get me. I’m too quick, even after drinking. “Watch your back,” he threatens, but is laughing.
His phone is on the table, so I push it toward him. “What can you lose at this point?”
“Nothing. I already lost the only thing that mattered.”
“I know the feeling.”
“It’s our time, Dan Man. We’re not getting younger or more attractive. It’s now or never.”
“Speak for yourself.” I pop my collar. Braggy move, I know.
He pushes my phone toward me. “Stop wasting time on the ones that don’t matter. Spend it on the one that does.”
Fuck it, I’m typing.
Me: Three days. You’re all mine. See you in Marfa.
I could stress that I’ll freak her out being that direct, but like I said, fuck it. She doesn’t keep me waiting. I take that as a good sign. I’m just glad she can’t see what an imbecile I look like right now with this big goofy grin taking up prime real estate on my face.
Reese: See you in Marfa, Danny.
CHAPTER 15
~Danny~
THE DESERT IS hot. Not exactly a newsflash but just wanted to get that off my chest, along with my shirt. I leave it on since I’m in public representing Vittori and being paid. I’m classy like that. But if it gets any hotter, all bets are off.
The driver shows up and thank God he has the air conditioning jacked up when I get inside.
Marfa is in the middle of nowhere West Texas. I did some research and other than the Prada installation and the Chinati Foundation, there’s not much else to see. As we drive into town I’m told we’re taking the scenic route and pass Ballroom, another hotspot of featured artists. We head down the main street and are dropped off at Hotel Paisano. The landmark hotel harkens to its roots from the 1930s—Spanish influences and historic tiles. I pass through the hall and pass an ode to the days when the cast of Giant stayed here—James Dean, Elizabeth Taylor, and Rock Hudson photos hang proudly.
In the lobby, I see Reese standing at the large window overlooking the courtyard. She’s on the phone, too lost in a conversation to notice me. I sit in the leather wingback chair behind her and wait. I’m not trying to eavesdrop but the distress in her voice draws me in to listen, and I narrow my eyes on the tile floor taking on her tension.
She says, “I’ll be back in two days.” A heavy sigh is released. “I’m not having this conversation over the phone. You can’t force—” She’s cut off and as I sit there, I realize she’s angry, sparking my own anger on her behalf. The asshat on the other end of the line has upset her. When he or she stops talking, she adds, “You need to do what you need to do, Keaton.” Keaton? Who is this dick? “I’m not stopping you. I’m not holding you back. You’re holding yourself back. Don’t wait for me because I’m not going to be there.”
I clear my throat. When she whips around and finds me sitting there, her face heats and she panics. “I need to go. Vittori’s here.” She hangs up and tries to recover by asking, “When did you sneak in? I was hoping to greet you.”
“No sneaking.” I stand, my body moving closer to hers. She falters, her breath deepening and I want to kiss her. I don’t, but I want to. “I walked in and saw you.”
“Did you have a nice drive in?”
Keeping it conversational, I reply, “I did. Did you?”
A slow smile spreads across her face and she blushes, I hope for me, this time. “I did.” She pauses, her body relaxing as she sighs happily. “It’s good to see you, Danny.”
Now I kiss her. Taking my time, I lean closer, giving her ample warning that I’m coming in. Taking her by the arms, her hands hold me tentatively, but she stays. I kiss her cheek slowly, appreciatively, wishing it were her lips. I take a deep breath and press my cheek to hers. With my eyes closed it’s as if we were never apart, as if we didn’t let ten years escape us. This is what I’ve been missing. Reese. My Reese.
Soon. Not now, but right then I make her a silent promise to kiss her mouth the way she deserves to be kissed. Reverently. By how her hands are squeezing me she makes me a promise in return that it’s not out of the realm for her to reciprocate. Even when my lips leave her skin, she remains there with her eyes closed. I stare at her, amazed by her beauty. When her eyes open, her hands slowly return her sides and that just
feels wrong.
A shrill of excitement from behind me makes me jump. “Model Danny is here!”
Vittori is coming down the stairs in all his fervor. Decked out in purple from head to toe, I’m sure West Texas has never seen the likes of him. On second thought, this place is an art community so maybe they have.
Hurrying toward me, I’m not sure if he’s coming in for a hug or a handshake. I prepare for either.
Hug, it is.
He’s lucky I like him. Not like that, dirty bird.
Reese is too busy to help a fella out. I pat his back before putting a foot or two between us. “Good to see you.”
“Is this place not divine in the most unaffected way? I love its non-New York City vibe.”
“It definitely is nothing like Manhattan. When did you arrive?”
Reese says, “We got in around lunch. Enough time to settle in and refresh.” She looks at my suitcase. “They don’t have a bellhop. And no elevator.”
Vittori adds, “No room service or spa either.”
“That’s okay. I can carry my suitcase and I guess we can rough it together,” I reply sarcastically with a chuckle.
Reese holds a brass key for me. “You’re in room 223. The James Dean room. I thought it was fitting.”
“More than you know.” I take the key and try the same look from the Vargo shoot on her, but she doesn’t react so I stop, which is probably for the best. “We have dinner reservations at six. Is that too soon? We’re starving, so we thought we’d eat early, then go explore.”
“That works for me.”
“Claudia is upstairs sleeping. She might join us. She’s undecided.”
Another woman that will only pale in comparison to the woman standing in front of me.
Reese says, “She says you know each other?” She poses the statement as a question and I briefly wonder if that’s jealousy I hear in her voice.
“We’ve met a few times.”
“Oh.” Her tone falls as if she wants to ask more, but doesn’t.
Vittori’s phone rings and he takes it outside, leaving us alone. I look at Reese. “Guess I should take this upstairs.”
“Yeah. Good idea.” She’s all business, the mention of Claudia, souring her. “If you need anything, I’ll be down the hall from you in room 233 and you have my cell, so feel free to use it.”
“Okay.” I swallow harder than I want. There’s no way she didn’t notice. I just lay it out to ease her mind. I want the Reese I had before business Reese showed up. “I never slept with her. I’ve truly only met her at parties. Nothing more.”
Her hands go up. “Oh, no. No. You don’t have to explain anything to me. That’s your business, Danny.”
Taking her flailing hands, I still them between us. “I want to explain. I want you to know my business, Reese.”
When the tension leaves her and her fingers curl around mine, she lowers her voice and says, “I shouldn’t want to know.”
“I feel the same way about you.”
She takes a step back, stepping away from the cliff that’s between us before she falls… before either of us falls. “I can’t,” she says, her voice shaking, “please. I can’t. Not again. My heart can’t handle it.” She walks away, heading for the stairs.
“Reese?”
She stops, keeping her back to me. With her hand reaching for the wall, bracing herself, her voice is barely heard when she answers, “Yes?”
The desk attendant is watching me as I make a heartfelt plea to the one woman who severed it ten years earlier. “I missed you.” I loved you.
She remains silent and I’m tempted to go to her, but I resist, knowing she needs the time to herself. “Me too,” she replies glancing back, and then continuing up the stairs, disappearing. I’m left with a suitcase at my feet and an audience.
With the awkwardness swarming the lobby, the attendant looks down, suddenly busy with the registry log in front of her. I squeeze the keychain in my hand and grab my suitcase. “Room 223?”
“Up the stairs, sir.”
“Thank you.”
My room is at the top of the stairs and around the railing. There’s about an inch gap at the bottom and light peeks out from inside the room. I unlock the door and take my luggage inside. The hotel is old and the doors seem antique like the furniture. The door stays open until I close it. There are no automatic close or locks here. I sit on the bed and then lie back with my arms under my head. Staring at the ceiling, the day starts sinking in and my body relaxes on the mattress.
A light knock on the door breaks the silence. “Come in.”
Vittori walks in and shuts the door as if we’re breaking some imaginary rules. I sit up. He walks with purpose to the balcony. Opening the door, he slips out, inspects the view, then looks back in. “James Dean had a bad view.”
“Doubt it was the same view back then.”
“True.” He flops onto his stomach at the bottom of the bed.
I sit up, putting my back against the pillows propped against the headboard. I’m not sure if I need to remind him he’s not my type or if he’s always this playful with people he barely knows. “Whoa there, big guy.”
He rolls onto his back dramatically. “Why are you and Reese fighting this so much?”
“Fighting what?” I ask, curious to what he knows.
His hands are in the air, waving around. “There was so much sexual tension in that lobby I almost put on a condom so I didn’t get knocked up.”
“That’s not exactly how condoms work.”
He flips onto his stomach and props his chin on his hands. “Pfft. You know what I mean, Model Danny.”
“I know every major fashion house designer and I have to say, you are one of a kind, Designer Vittori.”
Amusement sparks in his eyes. “Call me, Vinnie. My friends do, and Model Danny, I’ve decided we’re friends.”
“And how did you come to that conclusion?”
“Because Reese likes you, and if she likes someone, I know I will.”
“Doesn’t seem like she does.”
“She just feels too much.”
“Too much?”
“Too much for you. I see how she looks at you, but she doesn’t know what to do with all those emotions. I thought about making her a purse for them, so they’d be easier to carry around.”
I smile because this man is nuts, but his heart is in the right place. “And what changed your mind?”
“I decided it was better for her to deal with them, with you, instead of hiding them away, even in a designer, custom-made bag.”
“Should you be telling me this?” I chuckle that I’ve found an ally in the form a purple-loving fashion designer. “Don’t get me wrong. I like having this insider’s perspective, but would she want you sharing her secrets?”
He stands as if he can’t sit still any longer, his zeal is too powerful to contain. “She’s fearless and creative, intelligent, and has great titties. But she’s also guarded to the point of closing herself off.”
“Okay, slow up here. You’ve seen her tits?”
He waves me off. “Of course. Half of New York has, but that’s beside the point.”
“How can that be beside the point? That seems like the main point in this discussion,” I say, bothered by the direction this chat has taken. Half of New York? What the fuck?
“Model Danny, focus. The point I’m trying to make is that she’s protective of her heart.”
“Why?”
“Why is anyone protective of their heart?”
“Because they’ve been hurt.”
“Gooooooal!”
I overlook the crazy and do as he told me. I focus on the point, wanting more information. “Who hurt her?”
His gaze lands on me and he seems to be debating, then he says, “She was in a bad relationship. She got out of it.”
Is he talking about me and Reese or her and someone else? I probe deeper. “In New York?”
His eyes brows arch. “Yes. Wher
e else? Nebraska?” He’s throws that out there like he’s joking, but my instincts make me think he’s not.
Now I level my eyes on him. “Nebraska? What do you know about Nebraska?”
“I know it’s the home of the Cornhuskers. Well, I didn’t know that, but I looked it up when Reese said she went to school there.”
I don’t say anything, fearing anything I do will incriminate us. But he’s good. Very good. He challenges me with his own silence.
Ending the standoff, I ask, “They have a great football team. Do you watch college sports?”
“No, though I’ve always appreciated a tight end.”
Laughing, I say, “So you do follow football.”
“Not at all, but I’ve picked up a few key things. Things like offensive, defensive, tackle, you and Reese used to date, sidelined, Super Bowl—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Back up.”
“To Tackle?”
“After that.”
“Sidelined?”
“Before that?”
“You and Reese used to date?”
“Touchdown. What do you know about that?”
“About touchdowns? Nothing. About you and Reese, not enough,” he says, eager for more. “Why don’t you fill me in?”
I’m not sure what to say. She told him. She told him about us. Doesn’t that go against what we were doing, keeping our past a secret so it didn’t affect our present? “I need a minute.” Standing and going to the balcony, I open the door and stand outside on the recently replaced wood flooring. I lean on the railing, unsure what to think or how to process that he knows and I had no say in the matter.
His voice is calmer, more cautious when he says, “I want what’s best for her.”
I turn around and through the open door, I ask, “And you think I’m best for her?”
“I think you’re better than her last boyfriend.”
“That’s not exactly a compliment, especially since I don’t know anything about her ex.” Though I like that it sounds like there’s not a current boyfriend in the picture.