by Izzy Mason
“Venezuela.”
“A lot of smokers there?”
Celestina makes a disgusted humph sound. “A lot of Communists.” She looks out at the pool as well. I’m struck by how serious and gloomy she is. Not a barrel of monkeys. “Why are you standing all alone? You do not like to make little talk with strangers?”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. Little talk. It’s almost charming. “I do not. I’m mostly here to meet someone. Kind of a work connection.”
“Yes? Who is that?”
I’m so thrown by her question I blurt out the truth. “Cornell Cain.”
She sighs, though I don’t know why. “I know him.”
I’m nervous about a follow up question that will reveal my line of work, so I quickly change the subject.
“So, you’re not a party person either?”
“Not the boring ones. Denver is horrible. Don’t you think?”
I glance at her. “I don’t know. I haven’t traveled a lot.”
I can tell she’s getting bored of me, too. She falls silent and we stand awkwardly together facing the lonely, empty pool. After a moment, I realize that Celestina isn’t looking at the pool at all. Her eyes are fixed on my reflection in the window, which is clearer than I realized. Our eyes meet in the glass.
“You are familiar,” she says. “Why?”
I shrug and play dumb. “A lot of people say that to me. I guess I just have one of those common faces.”
Celestina’s eyes blaze. Then, abruptly, she turns to face me.
“Cornell is upstairs. I will get him for you. Come to the first room on the right in ten minutes.”
She glides off into the crowd, leaving me staring at my own reflection, befuddled. Did she recognize me? Would she even remember the two times we met? I can’t imagine it was that interesting for her.
I turn and scan the room anxiously, searching for Lazarus. There’s no sign of him anywhere. Another caterer appears and refills my wine glass again. I take a nervous sip and realize that my head is starting to swim. After a deep breath, I head into the massive room, weaving my way around the clusters of well-dressed guests, my eyes darting every which way.
My stomach is clenched and I realize that I’m holding my breath. The more I search, the more desperately I want to see him. Even if we can’t touch. Even if we can’t speak. I just want to rest my eyes on his beautiful face. To take in his hard, muscular body. I want to be in his presence and breathe the same air. It would at least shine a light into this terrible void inside me. But I don’t see Lazarus anywhere.
Maybe Celestina has come on her own. It’s not like they’re joined at the hip. After all, he found plenty of time to be alone with me. What the hell, I think. I might as well go meet my billionaire hotelier. At least it’ll be something positive that happens today.
I don’t see Devon anywhere either, so I head up the stairs on my own. They’re made of polished blond wood with an iron handrail that feels as cold as snow against my skin. It’s surreal that Celestina is actually doing me a favor. If only she knew who I was, she’d probably rip my hair out by the roots.
The upstairs hall is completely empty. Jocular laughter and the murmur of the crowd rise up from below, but the party has not spilled onto the second floor. It’s silent. I wonder what Cain was doing up here? I find the first door to the right. It is partially open, so I push the door quietly and peer into the room.
Inside, it’s nearly dark. Only a closet light illuminates the nearest corner of the room. The air seems to tumble and swim as my eyes adjust to the dimness. When they do, it still takes a moment to understand what I’m seeing.
It’s Lazarus. He’s dressed in a gorgeous suit without a tie, and the top buttons of his shirt have been rakishly undone. His back is pressed against the wall and his eyes are closed. His mouth is open in a way that I recognize immediately. And kneeling before him, her mouth gliding skillfully up and down his cock, is Celestina.
I freeze. My whole body explodes with strange flash bombs of pain unlike anything I’ve known. It’s everywhere; a stinging, stabbing sensation that sends goose bumps over my skin and ices my blood. I start to shiver.
Lazarus doesn’t know I’m there, but Celestina senses it. She turns her head slightly, his erect manhood in her hand, and gives me a cruel smile. With her eyes still fixed on mine, she runs her tongue along the length of him, making him groan. I stare.
Leave! What are you doing? Get out! This is horrible! Run away! Yet somehow, I can’t bring my legs to move.
Celestina decides to put on a show. She fondles his balls and slips him whole into her mouth again, sliding up and down, up and down, up and down. She slows only to occasionally suckle and lick the tip. Lazarus responds. His head tips back. His legs tremble. He makes ah, ah, ah, ah sounds, increasing in volume until…
I only catch a glimpse of the ecstasy on his face before turning and bolting through the door. Without looking back, I race down the stairs, push my way through the crowd, and burst through the front door. My heels go click clack along the pavement as I run into the night, away from the horrible sight.
I want to keep running forever and ever. To run away from all the rich people in their sterile world. To run away from this fucked up day. To run away from my mother yet again. To run away from this awful love I so desperately want to leave behind. To run away, to run away, to run away.
Chapter Twelve
I lie face down on the sofa in the dark listening to the muffled voices of drunk revelers in the street below. They sound a million miles away, as if their lives were playing out on some separate planet or parallel universe where people had fun and laughed. My world is this darkness. It’s this solitude. This pain.
My phone rings somewhere in the room, but I don’t care. I ignore it. Then the buzzer to the downstairs door sounds. It’s so loud it startles me out of my sulky stupor. It sounds again. And again. Long, angry buzzes that make me haul my ass off the sofa and push the intercom button.
“Who is it?” My voice is raspy and quiet.
“Jesus, Mickey!” Devon yells through the speaker. “What the fuck! I’ve been calling you!”
It’s true. I’ve been ignoring my phone for a while now. I need a break from everything and everyone. But poor Devon sounds scared to death.
“Sorry, Dev,” I mumble, pressing the door release button to let her inside.
I’m still wearing my evening dress, though my feet are bare and filthy from walking for over a mile along country roads before accepting a ride from a passing motorist. It was a nice old woman who was driving back to Denver after visiting her grandkids in Monument. She drove me all the way to my front door without even prying into what the hell had happened to me.
I open the front door and wait. Devon’s footsteps are sharp staccatos on the steps, getting louder and faster. When she appears at last, her eyes are crazy and exhausted. She locks eyes with me and though she looks furious, the first thing I detect in her expression is relief.
“You little shithead,” she grumbles, throwing her arms around me. “I thought you’d been slipped a funny pill and spirited out of the party in a box van or something. Stupid kid.”
When she pulls away and looks at me, I can see the dark circles under her eyes.
“I shouldn’t have left like that,” I say, my voice meek and contrite. “It wasn’t right.”
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
Her voice is loud in the hallway, so I gently take her arm and lead her inside. I close the door and lock it behind us, then turn on the lights for the first time that night.
“How about a glass of wine?” I ask, leading Devon to the sofa.
“How about you tell me what the fuck is going on? Who did you leave with?”
“No one,” I mutter.
With a sigh, I hold up my hand and head to the kitchen. I flip on the light, fish two glasses from the cabinet, and grab the bottle of Chardonnay from the fridge. When I return to the front room, Devon
is collapsed on the sofa, her head against the cushion. I know her well enough to pour her a glass of wine when she’s upset, whether she asks for it or not.
“You can tell me, you know,” she says wearily. “I’m your colleague, but I’m also your friend. If you hooked up with a guy and got spectacularly laid, you know I’d never judge you. I’d say Hallelujah!”
I put the glasses on the coffee table and fill them way too full. When I hand one to Devon she gives me a grateful half smile. I sit down beside her.
“I’m in love with Jude Lazarus.”
Devon stares at me in silence, her glass frozen on the cusp of her lips. Then she allows herself a long drink and puts her glass on the table.
“Jude Lazarus. The Jude Lazarus. Your old boss. Who fired you?”
I sigh again. “It’s complicated.”
She gets a faraway look in her eye and nods. “Hang on. I think I saw him at the party tonight. He was with the Ice Queen.” She flashes her eyes at me. It’s coming together. “That’s why you were asking about that bitch Celestina Marquez. They’re engaged, aren’t they?”
I frown and look into my glass. “Like I said, it’s complicated.”
I take a drink, feeling the chill emanate through my body, but relaxing a little. Devon cocks her head and stares at me. She looks sad.
“You poor kid. Hung up on that Lothario. Jude Lazarus has a crazy reputation, you know.”
“I don’t care.”
“He put the moves on you when you were his secretary, didn’t he? How cliché! And now you’re smitten with him.”
“I thought you weren’t going to judge me.” I knock back half the glass and lean heavily into the pillows.
Devon gives me a sheepish look. “Sorry. That did sound a little condescending. It’s just that when you’ve been around a little longer, there are some things you see coming from a mile away. For example, guys like Jude Lazarus mess around with their very young secretaries for fun, but they end up settling down with people like Celestina Marquez. They just do. And it’s just as well. You don’t want to get caught up with a gorgeous playboy for the rest of your life. He’ll dump you at home with his six rug rats and skip off to the clubs every night.”
I can feel my fingernails biting into the flesh of my palm as my hand unconsciously squeezes into a fist. What an idiot I am. Thinking Devon would understand me. She sees me as a brilliant but emotionally immature kid with a puppy dog crush on an older, unavailable guy.
“No offense, Dev,” I mumble into my glass, “but I’m not interested in what you think about this. You know nothing about him. Nothing that’s true. So I think we should stop talking about it.”
Devon watches me carefully as I fill my glass and take another long drink. “You’re right.” Her voice is quieter now. “It’s just that I’ve come to care about you, Mickey. I don’t like to see you hurt.”
I nod. I know she’s being nice and her feelings for me should mean more than the lies about Lazarus. But even the sweet chardonnay is leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I put the glass down for the last time, realizing that it’s only making me feel worse.
“I know, Dev.” I yawn and rub at my face, which is already ruddy from crying and smeared with makeup. “But right now I think I just need to get some sleep.”
“Yeah.” Devon stands up. But when I start to stand as well, she waves me back down. “You stay and rest. I can let myself out.” She heads for the door. “Back to the grind tomorrow, right?” When she opens the door and steps into the hall she hesitates. Then she turns and gives me a sad smile. “I don’t know what he did to you tonight. But I’d sure like to give the guy a swift kick in the balls.”
Chapter Thirteen
I know he’s there before I even see his car. It’s like I can sense him waiting for me. I can’t understand what he’s thinking or why he’s taking such a big risk, but Lazarus has staked out my workplace and is waiting for me. When I roll up on my bike our eyes lock and I feel my whole body go weak.
He’s across the street with the windows up, but his intense gaze sears through the distance. I can barely breathe. What is he doing? Has he gone crazy? As if to echo my question, the black town car rolls up to the curb behind me and shuts off the engine. It sits silent and menacing, inscrutable with its tinted windows. I wonder if they see Lazarus there.
Suddenly, I’m struck with the hideous memory of Lazarus in the throes of ecstasy in that dark room with Celestina. Jealousy and anger jolt me out of the daze. I look away from him and climb off my bike. My hands are trembling and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I have to get away from his gaze. I have to get away.
Instead of locking up my bike, as I usually do, I open the door to the firm and wheel it inside. The secretary isn’t at her desk but I see her jacket and purse slung over the back of her chair. I push my bike to the back and lean it against the wall beside my desk.
Devon is already at her desk thumbing through a book of leather upholstery samples. She looks up and gives me a weird, crooked smile. Her eyes look like a puppy’s after he’s chewed up all your shoes.
“Hey,” she calls.
I nod a little curtly, still pissed at her. What an idiot I was to open up to her like that. People will always disappoint you. I learned that long ago. Why did I think this time would be any different?
“Hey.” My voice is flat and clipped. I drop my bag on the floor by my bike and sit down at my desk. I turn on my computer, prepared to ignore her.
I can hear Devon push her chair back and get to her feet behind me. She comes over and leans against the side of my desk, forcing herself into my sight lines.
“Mick, I’m sorry,” she says, her voice low and sincere. “I was a little drunk and really riled up. Don’t believe a word I said to you, okay?”
I look at her and frown. “It doesn’t matter. I’m used to being judged. I don’t really care anymore.”
Devon sighs. “I’m not judging you, girl,” she mutters. “Hell, I think it makes all the sense in the world. And to tell you the truth, I’ve been there myself. I shouldn’t let my own experiences cloud my perspective. You’re you, not me. And I guess every woman in this industry has entertained a private fantasy about Jude Lazarus. Myself included.”
I stare at her in surprise. Is that possible? He’s not just my fantasy guy. He’s the fantasy guy. And he’s sitting outside the office right now because of me. He’s in love with me. Me. I’m suddenly struck with gratitude.
I give Devon a smile. “Thanks, Dev.”
For the rest of the morning, all I can think about is Lazarus outside in his car. Is he still there? I wonder. It takes all of my will power to stay at my desk and not creep to the front of the office to check the windows. But I can’t have Lazarus. He can’t have me. No matter how long or how often he sits outside watching my office, our love is forever doomed.
I’m struggling to keep my focus on the work at my drafting table when the receptionist comes back to my desk. She’s wearing an impossible leather dress full of zippers and snaps, and black Doc Martins. Her hair is piled high on her head. The moment I look up she scares the crap out of me.
“Sorry, hon,” she laughs. “Didn’t mean to sidle. There’s someone here to see you.”
I blink at her for a moment, feeling my stomach do a triple flip. Is it Lazarus? Has he braved the Marquez thug to come inside my office? Is it Celestina? Has she figured out where I work? There’s no good situation I can imagine here. I try to clear the fear from my throat with a little cough.
“Who is it?” My voice sounds small and uncertain.
She shrugs. “Some old guy in a nice suit. Something Cain…”
Relief floods through me. “Cornell Cain?”
“Right.”
I put down my drafting pencil and move to my desk. Still, the adrenaline is pulsing through me and I feel short of breath.
“He was asking for me specifically?”
“Yup.”
I give her an everything-is-fi
ne smile. “Send him back.”
As soon as she leaves I dash to the water cooler in the corner to fill up my empty coffee mug and drag a chair from the unoccupied desk beside me and arrange it as professionally as I can. Clear Lazarus from your brain. Clear Lazarus from your brain. Clear Lazarus from your brain.
I walk toward the front and meet Cornell Cain halfway. With an as-professional-as-I-can-make-it smile, I extend a hand toward him. “Mr. Cain! I heard that you called. But you left no number!”
Cain is a squat, round man with a mane of wild gray hair. He’s squeezed into a pinstripe suit with an actual handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket. It looks like he should be wearing a monocle.
“The young lady of the hour!” he exclaims in a gravely voice. “I decided to hell with the phone. I’m going to swing by and see this rising young star with my own eyes.”
We shake hands. His fingers are thick and fleshy and warm. He gives me a thick-lipped smile. Suddenly, Devon and Nate magically appear from thin air. The secretary must have notified them as well.
“Mr. Cain!” Nate gushes. “What a pleasure and a privilege! I’m Nathan Klein.”
“Of course, of course.” Cain shakes Nate’s hand and then turns to give Devon a polite kiss on the cheek. “The new darlings of Denver.”
Nate invites us all to his office and sends the secretary to bring coffee.
“I wish you’d told us you were coming, sir,” Nate says with a charming wink. “We could’ve had some pastries sent in. The new French bakery around the corner is…”
Cain waves a meaty hand at Nate. “Hush up now. Enough fussing. I just want to get down to soup and nuts.”
Nate nods eagerly and gestures to the only chair in his office that isn’t a funky designer piece—an armchair that is perfect for a portly fellow. “Yes, yes. Please.”
“It’s this young lady I’m most interested in, to be truthful,” Cain says, nodding my way. I feel myself blush. “We’ve held our annual shareholders meeting and have decided to take the chain in a new direction.”