“I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to crash your mood.”
“Party pooper.”
“Sorry.” I seem to apologize more than anything. I dig through my brain for something funny. Lucas came here to feel good and have a good time. He dances with me when he could’ve spent the night in the arms of any woman in this room, having real fun. “Pink looks good on you.”
Lucas laughs. “This is nothing. I once shot a commercial for pink underwear. Fuchsia pink.”
“Oh no, were you embarrassed?”
“Why would I be? I was paid to do it. I’ll wear nothing if that’s what they want.”
“I’d rather die than let anyone take a photo of me naked.” My cheeks burn at saying the word “naked” in front of Lucas.
Lucas arches an eyebrow. “Why not? Everyone does it. Everyone’s picture is out there on Facebook.”
“I don’t have a Facebook account.”
“I know you don’t, but how are people supposed to find you, Jane Sullivan writing as Jane O’Malley? You’re an author. People need to find you and your books. Connect with them, chat with them. The more personable you are, the more fans you get. And fans mean sales and sales mean money.”
“I’m not an author. An author is someone published. We talked about it. I’m just a writer, and even this term sounds foreign to me. My brain hurts thinking about all that involves, all that it takes to become an author. It’s scary and overwhelming and—” I sound terribly whiny. I take a deep breath and start in a neutral voice, “The truth is . . . I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. It’s not the work that scares me, but putting myself out there in the spotlight.”
“Baby steps,” Lucas says. “Like this,” he takes tiny steps, one to the left, two to the right. Repeat. “You’ll learn the ropes. You’ll gain confidence. I’ll show you how.” He winks and twirls me once.
“You think you can do something I can’t do for myself?”
“Yup. First,” he twirls me again, speeding the pace for the new song’s upbeat tempo. “You’ll present your books to your family and friends.” Another twirl, one step back then I’m back in his arms. “Then,” he lets go and we both take steps away before returning into each other’s arms. “Next you’ll do this in front of people with whom you interact, but not too much. And lastly,” I’m again let go for a twirl then back in Lucas’s arms, “You’ll do a presentation in front of total strangers. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks by the fifth time you’ll enjoy that spotlight like you’ve been born for it.”
Not expecting two twirls, I stumble. Laughing, he catches me but my heel lands on his toes.
“Is that how you thank me?” Lucas chuckles, limping and holding onto my arm. “Dang, those shoes of yours are killer.”
“I’m so, so sorry!” Not only sorry, but also embarrassed. I haven’t seen anyone clumsier on the dance floor tonight.
“You could’ve just said you don’t like me, not try to cut off the blood supply to my hand and now break my toes.” He walks around then comes and puts his arms around me, two wrinkles forming between his eyebrows while his lips can barely contain a smile.
“I’m sorry,” I say for the umpteenth time tonight. “Go dance with someone else.” I say it but don’t mean it. Lucas is a good dancer and tonight I truly enjoy the attention, his attention. I know it’s nothing for him, but it is for me. Not that I’d ever admit to it.
We dance slowly, unlike everyone around us, but Lucas doesn’t seem to mind that we are out of sync, nor do I.
“That’s an option, dancing with someone else,” he says.
I stop. A pang of jealousy jabs at my heart.
“But it won’t be as fun. You’ve been so serious tonight, I haven’t had the chance to use my—as you call it—cheap and cheesy broken record on you yet. I’ve a daily quota I need to reach.”
“As special as you make me feel,” my hand relaxes on his shoulder. “I’ll take a rain check tonight, thank you very much. Besides, you know it’s not working on me. Keep it for the bimbos.”
“You’re definitely a party pooper.”
“What can I say?” I sigh theatrically. “It’s one of my weapons.”
“Since we are at it, what ticks you off? So that I know what to tease you about next.”
“You mean aside from you? Nothing.”
“Oh, come on, Jane. You can’t resist my charms when I’m a conceited jerk. Can you imagine what would happen if I use my full arsenal?”
I laugh. “You’re delusional.”
Over the next hour or so we continue dancing. Lucas brings out ageless dance moves, from the moonwalk to pushing the cart, the running man, and even the sprinkler. I’d be mortified to perform them in a room full of people, but not him. People form a circle around us, but luckily for me, all eyes are on Lucas, so I take my place among them, cheering and clapping. Other guests try their best moves, too. Then the band plays “The Birdie Song” and everyone seems to know the chicken dance. Every so often Lucas searches for me and winks. “Macarena” is the next song choice and we align in rows and move the mob from one side of the room to the other.
We must’ve been way too loud. Tiny faces appear in the doorway, some rubbing their faces, some chipper, joining us. I kicked my shoes off a few dances ago and when Ella joins me, I gather her in my arms and keep dancing, but it’s not long before Lucas shows up next to us. He no longer wears his jacket, the pink bowtie untied around his neck. He looks disheveled, but that just enhances his sex appeal.
“There you are, princess,” he stretches his arms toward Ella. “May I have a dance?”
Without fuss she goes to him, cradling his waist and placing her head atop his shoulder. When he faces me again I show him one finger and mouth, “One dance.” He nods.
I retrieve my shoes, clutch, my furry bolero and Lucas’s tuxedo jacket. Picking up Ella’s coat I say goodbye to Madame V and thank her for the wonderful party then meet Lucas at the door. Ella sleeps in his arms. Within minutes we arrive at the guesthouse.
“I can’t feel my feet,” I say, turning the lamp on Ella’s nightstand off before following Lucas into the hallway. It’s been a long day, but nevertheless I had a lot of fun.
“Tell me about it.” He pretends to limp then leans against the wall and bends to remove his sock.
“Hey, that’s nasty,” I laugh.
“What?” He looks sideways at me, half a black sock pulled off his foot.
“That.” I point at his sock, grimacing in disgust and holding my nose. “Take it off when you’re in your room, not in front of me!”
“What, you don’t like Mr. Smellies?” He stretches the sock over his arm, making a puppet face out of it.
I manage to avoid him, rushing to the kitchen as he comes with the puppet face at me. “Help me, help me!” He talks in a nasally, pitchy voice. “A witch’s curse turned me into this ugly thing. You must kiss my owner to lift the curse. Help me, help me!”
The table becomes my ally, protecting me from Lucas. I run one way as he tries to catch me, while I laugh wholeheartedly.
“Not in a million years. Get away from me. You’re disgusting!”
“I’m not a frog, I’m a poor puppet.”
“A stinky puppet, which is as bad as a frog.” Because of running and laughing at the same time, I’m soon out of breath. I know it’s only a matter of time until he catches me, and I dash for the hallway toward my room. I can lock the door if I make it there.
If.
But I don’t.
Lucas lunges for me, laughing as hard as I am. His stinky puppet is ridiculous and cheesy, but darn funny.
“Don’t—touch me—with that thing,” I manage between laughs.
“The curse,” Lucas catches his breath, holding and tickling me.
“Okay, okay—stop. Please, stop.” I stand on my toes and brush his cheek with my lips. “Happy now?”
Lucas stops tickling me, scrunches his eyebrows and smacks his lips. “Nah. That made the curse even w
orse. The witch asks for human sacrifice.”
Everything happens so fast I’ve no time to react. He hauls me over his shoulder and carries me down the hallway. Blood rushes to my brain and half my body dangles literally over his shoulder. I kick him, but it doesn’t faze him.
“Come on—” Hiccup. “Put me down—” Hiccup.
He flips the lights on as he makes his way to the Jacuzzi’s edge. When he releases me I slide down the front of his body as he walks into the tub, my dress turning into a thirsty sponge. I stumble and fall on my butt, but jump up to try to save my poor dress, which doesn’t even belong to me.
“Oh, my God—” Hiccup. “You’re freaking crazy—” Hiccup. “I’ve ruined the dress—” Hiccup.
Lucas removes his belt and shirt, then splashes me. “That’ll teach you to fake kiss.” Splash again.
Forget about clothes. And forget about makeup. Mascara stings my eyes, but Lucas continues splashing me. Laughing, I splash back. He tackles me. Laughing under the water is impossible, I should’ve known better. Water fills my mouth and I pound Lucas to free me.
We come up above the surface and a violent attack of coughing shakes me.
“You’re an idiot,” I mumble when I catch my breath.
Lucas stands. “And you look like a clown. I should take pictures of you.”
“That’s beyond charming. You had me at ‘clown.’” Dipping my hands in water I try to remove some of the mascara and make myself look somewhat presentable.
“You’re welcome.” Pushing both hands through his hair then over his face, his rock-hard body turns to shiny bronze. He unbuttons his pants and bends to remove them.
I’m mortified. I turn to get out, but he catches me from behind, a strong arm tight around my middle. “Oh, please. I told you, you aren’t my type. I’m only taking my pants off.” I hear a zipper, my zipper which Lucas unzips in one swift move. My wet—and ruined dress pools around my waist while I try to cover myself. I wear a strapless bra and undies, but nevertheless I’m in a tub with a man.
“Are you crazy?” I drop under the water pulling the dress around me.
“Relax, Jane.” Lucas removes his pants, wringing them before throwing them on the tile. “Your virtue is safe with me. The jets will do wonders to your body. Watch this.” He walks across the tub, presses a few buttons then pulls me to a built-in seat, showing me to stretch my legs to a certain point on the tub’s bottom.
The water bubbles and rumbles, but indeed the jets feel good. It’s hot and humid, and I realize how tired and sore I am. The balls of my feet are so tight and painful I could scream, but the jet makes it tolerable.
“Mmmm, this is heaven.” I rest my head on the tub’s edge, rolling my feet above the jets, my back receiving the same pressure from other streams. I still hold my dress around me. Not that the piece of wet fabric would stop Lucas from nearing me, but since I enjoy the Jacuzzi so much, at least it gives me a sense of protection.
“Don’t you fall asleep,” Lucas kicks my foot under the water. “I’ll have to give you mouth-to-mouth.”
I splash him. “You wish.”
Chapter 15
“Oh, good God, Jane, just go.” Lucas walks next to me outside the guesthouse. “She’ll be fine, I promise.”
“What if she’s contagious and gets you guys sick, too?”
“We’ll be fine. Besides I haven’t been sick in ages.”
A chauffeur waits to take me to downtown Paris for Madame V’s TV appearance. I’ll be gone the whole night. Originally Ella was coming with me and so was Lucas. She came to my bed sometime early this morning and said her throat hurts. We slept in until close to noon. Later she came down with fever, vomiting and coughing. I always bring along meds for her just in case. She’s been out for most of the day, napping or cuddling. Lucas left for a few hours and upon his return we played games and watched cartoons.
I can’t risk getting someone on the set sick. I can’t tell Madame V I’m not coming either. Zoé had plans to celebrate New Year’s Eve with friends but offered to come and stay with Ella. Lucas too offered to stay home with them and, although I refused at first, he convinced me. I don’t want to impose more than I already do, but he claims he’d rather stay home than stay up another night.
“Okay,” I drag my boots through the snow. “Promise to call me if her fever goes up. Or just call me no matter what. I’ll call, too.”
“Are you sure? Last time I gave you my phone number it landed in the trash.”
“This time I need you.”
Lucas holds the car’s door open until I get in. “You’re lucky I like your daughter. You on the other hand,” he grimaces, “not so much.”
Buckled in, I dig in my pocket for coins. Placing a quarter in his hand I say, “Here, call someone who cares.”
He chuckles. “Newsflash. Phone calls are fifty cents, smarty pants.” He closes the car door, takes a step away from the car and waves.
I wave back as the driver takes off. God, how I want to stay home with Ella! My stomach contracts, and so does my throat. I’ll be among people celebrating the arrival of a new year, pretending I’m okay when I’m not. Ella is rarely sick, and when she is, she’s very quiet and cuddly. We laze and read one fairytale after another, watch movies and read some more. As much as I love having her so snuggly, I hate seeing her in pain.
For the first two hours after leaving the house, I don’t even have time for a potty break. Madame V’s skin broke out in a rash she blames on the oysters she ate at the party. Her doctor prescribed a medicated lotion that seems to interact with my products, her skin either itching or burning. She’s not in a good mood. Me neither, but somehow I make it through the tedious process of getting her camera-ready.
As soon as she’s out the door I call Lucas. I’m a nervous wreck when I see the two photos he sent me: one of Ella with a moustache made of yogurt and one with the three of them with yogurt moustaches, smiling to the camera. The text reads:
Piggies having fun.
Midnight comes and goes and I don’t know if time has ever gone by so slowly. Ever. Madame V needs touchup during the commercials. She forgets her makeup gets messed up each time she scratches her face. Lucas sends me updated photos of Ella and short texts. Her fever boosts around 2:10 A.M. and I’m frantic. Madame V doesn’t let me go, but sends her personal doctor to the guesthouse.
At 4:30 A.M. Lucas has new meds for Ella and texts me:
Fever down. She’s sleeping.
The rest of the night drags, but without any drama. Madame V’s medication kicks in as well and she no longer itches. By 6:45 A.M. the driver takes both of us home. They drop me off at the guesthouse. I shouldn’t see Madame V for the remainder of our stay in Paris, but she tells me Bernard will be in touch with the details of her next trip to the States. I thank her for this experience, excited to finally see Paris from a tourist’s point of view.
I remove my coat as I go up the outside stairs, sneaking in the house. The image in front of me will forever warm my heart. Sprawled on a ton of blankets on the floor, Ella sleeps between Zoé and Lucas, her back to him. Lucas sleeps on his back, one arm stretched out and used by Ella as her pillow.
Zoé sees me and gets up. Rubbing her eyes she whispers, “She’s slept since we gave her the new medication. I’ll call you guys later. Happy New Year, Jane.”
“Thank you so much, Zoé. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. Sorry we ruined your plans.”
“Don’t worry,” Zoé grabs her purse and coat and opens the door. “I’ll party another time. Bye.” With a smile she waves goodbye and leaves.
After locking the door, I kneel next to Ella and touch her face. She’s borderline feverish. I’m a complete mush, tears welling up in my eyes and exhaustion taking over.
Lucas opens his eyes, sees me and lifts one thumb up. “She didn’t want to sleep by herself,” he whispers. “It’s the best I could do.”
I lean over Ella and kiss his temple. “It’s perfect. Tha
nk you.”
Lucas blinks quickly, a mischievous smirk plastered on his lips. “It’s a nice way to start a new year. With a kiss, I mean.”
I stretch next to Ella, using Lucas’s arm as a pillow as well. “Don’t get use to it.” My eyes close almost instantly.
Lucas’s chuckle is the last thing I hear before falling asleep. It feels as if I’ve only slept a fraction of a second, but the clock atop the fireplace shows 12:20 P.M. Ella coughs but continues playing with her dolls close by. Lucas is nowhere in sight.
“Hi, sugar pea, feeling any better?” I pull Ella to me.
“Mm hmm,” she nods. She coughs then opens her mouth widely, showing me her red tongue. “I like these candies, Mommy. They taste like cinnamon.”
“They should help with your sore throat.”
Interrupted now and then by coughing she tells me all the fun she had with Lucas and Zoé while I was gone. The games they played, the stories he read to her, the movies they watched. She asks to watch cartoons.
It’s time for me to get up and get things done. Without Madame V needing me anymore, I’m free to get a room in town. I’m glad Bernard got my ticket open ended, allowing me to leave when I want. I think a week should be plenty for my wandering, if Ella’s fever doesn’t return. If it does, I’ll stay one more night in Paris.
I don’t see Lucas anywhere in the house and I must admit I’m a bit disappointed. I resist the temptation to call him. I’ve no right to question his agenda nor do I want him to feel like I keep tabs on him.
In between loads of laundry—including a few of Lucas’s clothes left in a bag atop the washing machine—I finish cleaning and begin packing. Ella interrupts me, bored of dolls and cartoons.
“How about we make a thank you card for Lucas?”
I take her jumping up and down and clapping as a yes. “Calm down, sweetie. You’re still sick.”
Since our craft supplies are limited, I steal some paper from Lucas’s printer. Then we get busy. My daughter’s imagination is quite vivid for her age. She uses nail polish instead of glue. One of her dolls has a plastic necklace with a red heart as a pendant. She wants the red heart glued on one side of a folded piece of paper. She writes THANK YOU in capital letters. On the other side of the paper she draws herself as a bunch of sticks with a circle for her head, and lots of yellow curls around her face. Next to her she draws a man reading. It takes her longer to write ELLA and LUCAS above the stick-figures’ heads.
Me Tarzan, You Jane Page 12