How I Learned to Love the Walrus

by Beth Orsoff

  I was still speechless when he pulled me upright and started swaying again. When my composure returned I said, "Did you just apologize to me?"

  He shrugged as he steered us toward the floor to ceiling windows at the far end of the dance floor. I think he was trying to distract me with the spectacular view of the city’s twinkling lights and Sausalito across the Bay. It worked, but only temporarily.

  "Ethan, you don’t believe in apologies," I reminded him a few minutes later. It was as if he considered them an act of faith instead of a social nicety.

  "True."

  "Then why did you apologize to me?"

  "Because you do."

  At first I was flattered, then I remembered who I was dancing with. "You’re just telling me what I want to hear, aren’t you?"

  He couldn’t quite suppress his grin. "Does it matter?"

  "Of course it matters! It doesn’t count if you don’t actually mean it."

  He leaned down and whispered in my ear. "What if I said I meant it?"

  Lightning shot through me, but before I recovered enough to ascertain his sincerity, Blake appeared at my side. "May I?" he asked, but didn’t wait for a reply before grabbing my hand and cutting in.

  "Apparently you haven’t read this script yet," Ethan said, pulling my hand back from Blake’s. "It’s not the gentleman’s choice, it’s the lady’s."

  They both turned to me. "Actually, Ethan, I need to talk to Blake anyway."

  Blake gave him a smug smile and Ethan walked away shaking his head.

  "What was that for?" I asked Blake, angrier than I intended.

  "Shouldn’t you be thanking me?" he said, as we shuffled in place, "Seeing as I just saved you?"

  "Saved me? From what?"

  "From that," he said, nodding in the general direction where Ethan had stormed off. "I know that look, Sydney. Walrus prick wants more than a dance."

  "So? Maybe I do too." To be honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about Ethan. One minute I was attracted to him and the next minute I wanted to wring his neck. Either way, it was my decision not Blake’s.

  He stopped shuffling. "You can’t possibly be interested in walrus prick."

  The bandleader announced they were taking a break, saving me from having to answer.

  The competition, however, was on.

  Chapter 62

  When we returned to the table, I noticed Ethan had rearranged our seats. He’d placed himself between me and Blake instead of on my other side. He’d also procured two shot glasses and a bottle of Grey Goose on ice.

  "It’s going to be a long evening," he said to Blake as we sat down. "I thought you might enjoy a game to pass the time."

  "Absolutely not," I said, and reached for the shot glasses.

  Blake smiled. "You think you can out-drink me, old man?"

  "Only one way to find out," Ethan replied.

  By the time Emily Corus took the microphone to present the evening’s awards, Blake and Ethan had consumed almost half the bottle. Ethan appeared unfazed. Blake, unfortunately, did not. He could still walk, but his glassy eyes and sloppy demeanor confirmed he was in no condition to give an acceptance speech.

  "Do something," I hissed at Ethan when Emily called Blake’s name and he stood up on wobbly feet. I considered walking with him to the microphone, but I thought that would only make it more obvious.

  "What do you expect me to do?"

  "I don’t know, but if he goes up there and makes a fool of himself I’ll be the one who ends up living on the street."

  Ethan sighed but stood up too. "You owe me for this," he said, as he buttoned his jacket.

  "I owe you? You’re the one who got him drunk!"

  He folded his arms across his chest and watched Blake attempt to make his way to the bandstand before he turned back to me. "Do you want my help or not?"

  At that moment I wanted to strangle him. "Yes. I’ll owe you one."

  "An appealing proposition."

  Before I could think of a snappy come-back, he already had his hand on Blake’s shoulder and was steering him through the maze of tables toward the front of the room. Emily Corus quickly sized up the situation (she’d seen Blake and Ethan drinking all through dinner) and as the two men approached, she announced Ethan’s Distinguished Service Award too.

  Ethan did all the talking. He thanked the crowd on both his and Blake’s behalf, then told them that although he’d initially had his doubts about a movie star who wanted to make a documentary about the plight of the Pacific walrus, "Once I met Blake, his true colors showed through."

  The guests applauded, and even Blake didn’t seem to realize Ethan hadn’t meant it as a compliment. He spoke passionately about the dangers the walruses faced and his hopes that events like this one would bring greater awareness to their cause. And just when I thought disaster had been averted, Blake reached for the microphone.

  "I would like to thank the Academy for this great honor."

  A hush fell over the room as Ethan grabbed the mic back and put his other arm around Blake’s shoulder. "He’s such a kidder, isn’t he?"

  Blake took a bow and everyone laughed.

  "Thank you for reminding me," Ethan continued. "We almost forgot to acknowledge the one person whose hopes, dreams, and single-minded determination really made this film a reality. I can assure you all that I would not be standing here with Blake McKinley if not for her. Sydney Green."

  Five hundred sets of eyes scanned the room until I stood for half a second, waved my hand, and sat back down.

  Ethan thanked everyone again for their continued support for the Arctic Preservation Society, then handed the microphone back to Emily. I watched in surprise as the two of them left the bandstand, looking more like old friends then new enemies as Ethan leaned over and whispered something in Blake’s ear. I was even more shocked when Blake smiled and whispered something back, and they both laughed.

  "What did you say to him?" I asked Ethan, as he set two Lucite globes down on the table. I would’ve asked Blake, but he bolted past me and rushed out into the hall.

  "Nothing," Ethan said, and poured himself another shot of vodka, which he downed in one gulp.

  "If it was nothing then why did he leave?"

  "Men’s room, I assume. He had a lot to drink."

  Fifteen minutes later when Blake still hadn’t returned, I got up to search for him.

  "Sydney, he’s fine. Leave him alone."

  "Ethan, no one takes that long to pee."

  Since I couldn’t go into the men’s room, I asked one of the bartenders to look for me. He came out shaking his head. After I handed him a twenty-dollar bill for his trouble he suggested I try the coatroom.

  "Why would he be in the coatroom?" Neither one of us had checked a coat.

  He merely shrugged and returned to his post behind the bar.

  Since I didn’t know where else to look, I took his advice. Someone had taped a handwritten Back in five minutes sign to the outside of the closed door. I was about to return to the ballroom when I heard the voices. I turned the doorknob, which no one had bothered to lock, and ventured inside.

  In hindsight, I should’ve waited.

  Chapter 63

  I found Blake and a blonde, who was partially dressed in a server’s uniform, pushed up against a wall of fur. Her plain white shirt was unbuttoned down to her waist, but she was still wearing her red push-up bra. Blake was fully clothed, except his fly was undone.

  "Tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing."

  They both froze. The blond was the first to speak. She removed her leg from where she’d wrapped it around Blake’s waist and said, "My break’s over anyway." Then pushed down her skirt, buttoned her blouse, and walked out of the room.

  Blake zipped up but was still tucking his shirt in when he turned around. "Syd, what are you doing here?"

  "Looking for you."

  He gave me a drunken smile. "Well, you found me. I could really use a drink." Then he slid past me without
another word or a backward glance.

  I sighed at the minks and the foxes, which I hoped were fake. I’d seen plenty of inappropriate behavior in the last five years, but this was a first. I prayed the girl was at least eighteen and the coatroom wasn’t equipped with a video camera. I was still searching for a hidden recording device when Ethan appeared with his Lucite globe in one hand, and my purse and wrap in the other. "You look like you could use a drink."

  "Or two or three." The buzz from the martini had worn off and all I had left was the headache.

  Ethan smiled. "As you wish. There’s a great jazz club a few blocks from here, or the bar downstairs if you prefer."

  "Maybe later. I’ve got to get Blake into bed first." I’d never leave him alone this drunk, even though at the moment I very much wanted to.

  "After what you just witnessed?"

  It took me a few seconds to realize what he meant. "Not with me, you idiot, alone!"

  Ethan helped me extricate Blake from his adoring fans and cajole him back to the suite. "Come find me when you’re done babysitting lover boy," he said. "I’ll be downstairs at the bar."

  I was about to shut the door behind him when I finally realized what had been gnawing at me since I’d discovered Blake and his latest paramour. "Ethan, how did you know where to find me?"

  He stopped in the doorway and turned around. "What are you talking about?"

  "You knew I was in the coatroom, and you knew Blake had been there too. You also knew what he’d been doing. How?"

  "I know lover boy."

  "Not that well," I said, when it hit me. "Oh my God, you set him up."

  He didn’t deny it.

  "Why would you do that? Ethan, do you know what could happen if that girl’s underage?"

  "She’s serving alcohol, Sydney. She’s at least twenty-one."

  "Really? You checked her I.D.?" Even a statutory rape charge could be overcome with time and an effective P.R. campaign, but it wasn’t easy.

  "Is she complaining? No. And neither is he. You’re the only one who’s upset about this."

  This was so wrong on so many levels, I didn’t even know where to begin. Nor did I want to. I just slammed the door shut in his face.

  I maneuvered Blake into the bedroom and laid down next to him while I waited for him to fall asleep. I heard the knock at the door to the suite but assumed it was Ethan, so I didn’t answer it. When the knocking turned to pounding and Blake started stirring again, I had no choice.

  "What the hell do—" Instead of Ethan I found myself face to face with the blonde from the coatroom, and she’d brought a friend.

  "Hi," the blonde said, and craned her neck so she could see around me. "We’re looking for Blake McKinley."

  "He’s sleeping." I started to close the door when the blonde’s brunette friend put her hand up and stopped me. Carrying heavy trays all night must give a person strong arms.

  "He told us to stop by," the brunette said.

  "I don’t care what he told you, you’re not—"

  "Ladies," Blake said, stumbling out of the bedroom with his shirt half unbuttoned and pulled out at the waist. "I’ve been waiting for you."

  The two women took that as their cue to push past me.

  "It’s cool, Syd," he said in response to my apparently not-so-withering gaze, then stage whispered, "you won’t even know they’re here."

  I couldn’t stop it from happening, so I resigned myself to checking their I.D. The brunette was twenty-three and the blonde was twenty-two. After I confiscated the brunette’s plastic baggy filled with little blue and white pills (she swore they weren’t hers, she was only holding them for a friend), I slammed the bedroom door shut behind them and turned on the TV. But no matter how high I set the volume, I couldn’t drown out their giggling voices, at least not from the inside of my head.

  Fuck Blake McKinley!

  I slumped in a comfortable wing chair in the hotel’s lobby, debating whether I should pay for my own room or wait an hour and hope by the time I returned to the suite Blake and his new friends will have fallen asleep, when I spotted Ethan leaving the bar. I considered moving—he had to pass me to get to the elevators—but it seemed like too much effort.

  Instead of walking past me, he sat down too. "Lover boy’s finally asleep?" he asked, as he unknotted his bow tie and stuffed it in his jacket pocket.

  "Not exactly." Compared to Blake’s latest escapade, Ethan’s behavior seemed almost harmless.

  "You left him alone?"

  "He has new babysitters. The blonde from the coatroom, and she brought a friend."

  "You’re kidding?"

  "I wish I were."

  Ethan smiled and shook his head. "In my next life I want to come back as a handsome young movie star."

  "Me too." I wasn’t smiling.

  "Well, you’re welcome to spend the night with me."

  I leveled my not-so-withering gaze at Ethan but this time it had the intended effect.

  "Sydney, we’ve shared a room before."

  "Never a bed. Or do you have a double?"

  "No, but I have a sofa."

  It was really more of a divan. It wasn’t large, but it was big enough to hold me I determined as I stared at it from where I’d laid down on the very edge of Ethan’s king-size bed.

  It hadn’t grown any larger overnight I discovered as I glanced at it the next morning from the very same spot. I was fully dressed, except for my shoes, which were laying on the carpet next to me. Ethan was laying next to me too, his face buried in my hair and his arm draped over my waist. He was fully dressed also, except for his jacket, tie, and shoes.

  I tried to get up without waking him, but as soon as I moved so did he.

  "You didn’t need to sleep in your clothes," I said, reaching for my strappy heels. "It’s not like I haven’t seen you shirtless before."

  His eyes were half-closed but he still smiled up at me. "And I’ve seen you in a lot less than that."

  I smiled back, remembering the day he’d caught me shaving my legs in the cabin’s kitchen sink. It was hard to believe that was only five months ago. It felt like another lifetime. "I suppose you have."

  He yawned and stretched his arms overhead. "What do you want to do today? The concierge recommended Alcatraz, but that sounds a little touristy to me."

  "Ethan, I’m not staying. I only came for the night."

  "Then change your plans."

  "I can’t, I’ve got work to do. I’m also booked on a one o’clock flight back to L.A."

  "Take a later one. If it’s the money you’re worried about, I’ll pay the fee."

  I leaned back against the pillow and closed my eyes. The money was the least of my concerns. As much as I knew I’d enjoy spending the day in San Francisco, I also knew it was a bad idea. "Ethan, it’s not that simple."

  "Of course it is," he said, and began stroking my bare arm, which he merely used as a gateway to more interesting body parts.

  "Seriously, Ethan," I said, and pushed his hand away before it reached my breast. "I don’t do friends with benefits."

  "Who said we were friends?"

  "You did. The day I left Wilde Island."

  "Oh that," he said, and smiled at the memory as his hand returned to my waist. "I only said that because I was trying to get you into bed."

  Chapter 64

  I’m sorry to report that it worked. Actually, I’m not sorry. The sex was great. Not as energetic as with Blake, but definitely more intimate. I left Ethan’s room only once that day—to retrieve my bag from Blake’s suite.

  In the two days we spent together we never overtly agreed not to talk about the future, we just didn’t. I didn’t see the point, and apparently neither did he. All I wanted was to enjoy a romantic weekend in San Francisco, even if it happened to be in the middle of the week.

  But we couldn’t avoid "the talk" forever. Ironically, it was Blake who prompted it. He called me on my cell our last night in San Francisco, just as Ethan and I were climbing into b
ed.

  "Finally," Blake said, when I picked up on the fourth ring. "I’ve been trying to reach you for days."

  Evidently answering all twelve of his text messages ranging in importance from had I seen his toothbrush to the brunette wanted to know when she could get her pills back didn’t count.

  "I told you I was taking a few days off."

  "Right," he said. "I forgot. When are you coming back again?"

  "Tomorrow."

  "Who is that?" Ethan mouthed.

  "Blake," I whispered, as he began to tell me about the call he’d received from an avant garde director who wanted him to star in his next film.

  "Who are you talking to?" Blake asked.

  "A friend."

  "Why won’t you tell him it’s me?" Ethan said, much louder than was necessary.

  "Who is that?" Blake demanded. "That voice sounds familiar."

  "No one you know," I replied, my angry tone meant more for Ethan than for Blake.

  "No one he knows," Ethan shouted.

  "Wait a minute," Blake said, "Is that the walrus prick?"

  I carried the cell phone into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, then explained to Blake that even if he didn’t like Ethan, obviously I did, so he needed to stop calling him "the walrus prick."

  "You prefer that asshole from the island?"

  "Blake!"

  "Okay, okay. Now do you want to hear my news or not?"

  "Of course I want to hear." I did, just not at that moment. But Blake wasn’t good with "no," so I spread a bath towel onto the cold marble floor and settled in. After Blake relayed his conversations with both the director and his agent, who told him to ignore the director and sign on for the big budget action movie instead, Blake’s call waiting beeped in and we hung up.

  I ventured back into the bedroom and found Ethan exactly where I’d left him—laying on top of the blanket shirtless, flipping through one of my "mind-numbing magazines."