Liberating Mr. Gable

by Tuesday Embers

  Sarah’s shrill laugh rang out. “How can you tell something like that from the back of someone’s head?”

  “Because no one would dress like a homeschool kid if they’re on a date with Anson Gable. Simple math. She’s a charity case, or a friend, at best.”

  Etta wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear, but she still had her hair that was next on the list to be dealt with. Her unrefined wavy brown hair begged to be put up and put away so it did not serve as a distraction to her mundane life. She did not like that other women knew how big Anson was. Old lovers, sure. Women he had never slept with? It made her stomach turn. Her body was private; Anson’s was available for the price of a DVD rental.

  She listened to the women carry on about dresses and shoes and men until the faucet turned on to wash her hair. She welcomed the white noise that drowned out the lurid sex chatter. Then the dryer helped Etta maintain her sanity a little while longer. Etta was ten minutes ahead of the Chatty Cathys, so she was afforded a few moments of peace while her hairdresser chopped off slightly more than Etta was anticipating. Vera or Chloe always cut her hair. She had never set foot in a salon before. She never had her locks highlighted or colored before either, but the stylist began her work without seeking Etta’s consent. Upon Anson’s advice, Etta brought a picture of the dress to show the hairdresser. The woman’s name was Anne, and she took to the project Etta presented with vigor.

  “I can’t remember the last time I got to work on hair that wasn’t processed,” Anne commented lightly. “It’s so nice and thick!” She turned Etta around in the swivel chair and looked her dead in the eye. “Do you trust me?”

  Etta wanted to answer, “Do I have a choice?” But she thought that might be rude. Instead, she nodded.

  “I do Mr. Goldman’s assistant’s hair. He requested me specifically for you on her recommendation. Are you his niece or something?”

  It was the first time Etta had been asked an almost personal question there. “His friend.”

  “Oh,” Anne said knowingly. “Seems like your friend wants to keep you happy.”

  “What? No! Nothing like that. His actual friend.” Etta’s face soured. “Good gracious. He’s like, twice my age!”

  Anne shrugged, unconcerned at her misassumption. “Nice friend to have. How does your friend want you to look tonight?” She toyed with Etta’s hair as she spoke into the mirror. “Sexy chic? Or is he more into the young kitten look?”

  Etta was appalled. “Nothing like that! Just do my hair however it goes with the dress. Mr. Goldman is my friend. Like an uncle or a father. Young kitten? Sexy chic?” Etta blanched, finally communicating effectively. “I have a date to the ball. He was just doing something nice so I’d have a good time with my boyfriend.”

  “Ah.” Anne set to work, her tight black outfit hugging her as she moved like lightning around Etta’s head to stare at it from all angles. “So who’s the lucky guy?”

  Etta glanced over at Yva and Sarah, who were sitting a couple chairs down from her. “I’d rather not say.”

  Anne was confused at the girl-talk shutdown, but played it off coolly as she began twisting and curling Etta’s hair that now had streaks of lighter brown and auburn throughout it.

  The hairstyle was beautiful. Elegant, and not overstated. It was by far the fanciest Etta had ever looked, so she was shocked that there was yet another step in the total reconstruction.

  The makeup artist was quieter and made less horrifying assumptions on Etta’s personal life. She offered suggestions and gave Etta the option to choose a shade of blush.

  “Oh, I’ve never worn makeup before,” Etta admitted. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about picking something like that. Could you choose something?” Etta lowered her voice. “Something not too loud? I still want to look like myself.”

  The artist smiled in understanding. “Absolutely. Just a few subtle accents to bring out your already lovely features.”

  The “few subtle accents” took the woman half an hour to apply. The cosmetics were put in a bag and sent home with Etta, on Mr. Goldman’s open tab.

  Valentino and Louboutin

  Jordan picked her up from the salon with a kind smile of appreciation on his face. He opened the back door for her. “Well, don’t you look nice,” he complimented, starting up the car and pulling out into traffic.

  Etta nodded her thanks. “Jordan, can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.” He wore pressed pants and a dress shirt that had the sleeves rolled up to stave off discomfort from the heat.

  “How big a deal is it that I’m Anson’s girlfriend? Like, to strangers who will read about it in magazines and whatnot.”

  Jordan shifted to the next gear before answering. “Why do you ask?”

  “Some of the girls at the salon were talking about trying to take him home tonight after the ball. They saw that picture of us on the internet and guessed that I was his friend because someone like me couldn’t possibly have landed someone like Anson.” Etta shook her head. “They didn’t know it was me, of course.”

  Jordan thought over his words before speaking. “How much do you know about Anson’s life before you came along?”

  “Chase filled me in on the parts Anson glossed over.”

  “As someone who knows Anson better than most, I was shocked he was seeing anyone at all. The fact that it was you was surprising, sure. But the guy’s been celibate for a couple years now. Anyone would’ve been a shock.” He turned the corner before continuing. “But his fans don’t know him. They’ve seen him photographed with a variety of women because he works with them. They stir up speculation, and people run with the idea that whatever A-lister nearest him must be his fling of the month. Because of his… previous career, he has quite the reputation. His agent recently started to build on that because it steers people from the truth – that he was a recluse outside of work until you came along.”

  “A couple women were talking about his… previous career.” Etta’s voice grew quiet. “I don’t like that they know what he looks like naked.”

  Jordan nodded. “I can see how that would be uncomfortable. As much as Anson wishes he could change how he got his start, he can’t.” He turned down the long road that led to Anson’s house. “I can tell you that he’s a new man since you came into the picture. I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s letting Chase and me into the house without a fight. He’s showering. Shaving. Smiling.” He looked at Etta in the rearview mirror. “So whatever jealous women say, try to put it out of your head as best you can. Anson’s over the moon for you, and that’s what matters. Other women can try to take him home, but he knows what he wants. Try not to worry about the rest.”

  “Alright. Thanks, Jordan. You’re a good friend to him.”

  Jordan looked her dead in the eye after he parked the car in front of the house. “Tonight I want you to remember that you’re not beneath anyone there. Hold your head up high and give Anson something to look at. It’s his first public event in a long time, and he’s nervous, too. The better you handle tonight, the better he will.” He let her out of the car, taking care she did not mess up her hair on the way out. “Now let’s see the ‘I belong here’ smile.”

  Etta conjured up her best confident grin. “Convincing?”

  “Very.” He reached into the passenger’s side and grabbed a box. “From Anson for you to wear tonight.”

  Etta raised an eyebrow. “You bought this.”

  Jordan chuckled. “I picked them out, sure. But they’re from Anson. He wasn’t sure you had any.”

  Etta opened the fancy box and pulled out the most exquisite shoes she had ever seen. They were black with a tiny satin bow on the outside of the heel, and a height that did not seem too intimidating for a girl who had never worn heels before. Etta gasped. “They’re so pretty! I can’t believe something so fancy goes on your feet. Wow!” She fingered the satin in awe, wondering if it was okay to put something this delicate so close to the ground. “Jordan, these
weren’t expensive, were they? I don’t want Anson buying me pricey stuff. People will get the wrong idea.”

  Jordan shook his head to dismiss her concern. “Louboutin’s? Not even half the cost of the Valentino from Mr. Goldman. Not to worry. But maybe be extra good to these ones.” He helped her repackage the shoes with more care than Etta guessed one would treat a shoe from the store she frequented back home. “Let Anson buy things for you every now and then. You don’t have to prove you’re not a gold digger to anyone.”

  “I can’t decide if it’s weird or impressive that you know my shoe size.”

  “Impressive,” Jordan ruled, rubbing her back gently to lead her into the house.

  Nerves

  Etta’s confident smile was nowhere to be found as they rode in the back of the town car, despite the lengthy pep talk Chloe had given her over the phone. She was gripping Anson’s hand so tightly, he had to kiss it to ease the anxiety neither of them would admit to. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Of course,” Etta replied too quickly.

  “Do you want to go home? We don’t have to do this. You look so amazing, sweetheart. How about we get you out of this dress? You must be uncomfortable.”

  It was then Etta realized Jordan was right; Anson was every bit as nervous as she was. Only he was handling his distress like a champ. “Nice try. I’m starved.”

  “There’s a hot dog stand right there,” he pointed out.

  Etta stroked Anson’s arm. “I’m scared, too. But you have to go to a couple of these events because of your contract, right? Might as well bite the bullet and get it done, then.” She slapped her head. “Oh! I forgot to ask. How did golfing with Len go?”

  “I find it funny and weird that anyone calls him by his first name. It went fine. Great, actually. I never knew he could be like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Off the clock. Taught me a little bit about scotch at the club. Smoked a cigar. It was nice. He’ll be here tonight, representing the company, of course.” He shifted next to her. “We had a long talk. He gave me a lot to think about.”

  “Such as?”

  “Grownup stuff. I’m letting it all simmer for a while before I digest it.”

  As they neared the location, Etta’s anxiety grew. “Anson, just so you know, a couple women at the salon were talking about trying to sleep with you tonight.”

  Anson threw his head back and let out a guttural laugh that relaxed both of them. “That’s what you’re worried about? I’ll be sure to be on my guard. Stay close to me, and that’ll deter them.”

  “I’m not sure that will work. They’re the real pretty sort. And they seemed kinda determined.”

  “Have you seen yourself? They’ll need a new word to describe how you look. Pretty doesn’t begin to cover it.”

  “I’ve been avoiding mirrors,” Etta admitted. “Too scared to look.”

  Anson balked at her. “Are you serious? Well, objectively speaking, those airheads will take one look at you and back right down. You’re a queen.”

  “Objectively speaking,” Etta scoffed. “You’re my boyfriend.”

  “Then you should trust my opinion most.” He waited until the chauffeur came around and opened the door for him. “Get your smile ready,” he warned, flashing her his dazzling grin. Anson Gable was greeted by dozens of bulbs flashing to catch every nuance of his striking features. His face was enough of an attraction, but his perfect body wrapped up in a tuxedo? The lusty stares of the female reporters could not be masked. When the illusive Mr. Gable reached into the back of the car for Etta’s hand, the shouted questions doubled. Everyone wanted to know who she was, who she was wearing, and what was the nature of their relationship. Anson turned a deaf ear to the questions until they got to their photo stop, where they were to pose in front of the sponsor’s backdrop for the cameras. Anson smiled through Etta’s death grip on his fingers, reminding her to relax when he lifted the hand to his lips and gave it a gentlemanly kiss. She cozied into his side, determined not to embarrass him by falling to pieces in front of so many people. She beamed up at him, turning a blind eye to the cameras, and did her best to convey her utter confidence in him for the night.

  Anson’s anxiety ebbed as he took in her glow. She was so beautiful; there was no chance of parting from her for even a second. He chose a question at random from the frenzied reporters to answer. “This is my girlfriend, Etta.”

  And with that, Anson ignored the rest of the questions and led Etta into the building, where the atmosphere was considerably more tranquil.

  Ekaterina, Oksana and Sarah

  Harpists were scattered throughout the massive ballroom, each adding to the beautiful ambience. Corinthian pillars stood between the main hall and the outer rooms. Gold and cream-colored tapestries hung from the vaulted ceiling. Ice sculptures dotted the entryway to the grand ballroom. Etta could not stifle her gasp. She could scarcely take in all the details that made the great hall so impressive. “Anson, this is… I can’t believe you weren’t going to go to this.”

  Observing her amazement only increased his. He had been to so many of these events; they all sort of ran together after a while.

  They were shown to their table where Anson was greeted by his former fiancée and her partner. Ekaterina kissed his cheek amiably, and then demanded to be introduced to Etta.

  “Etta, we simply must be best friends,” she insisted, introducing her girlfriend to the couple. Oksana wore a cool smile. Etta could tell Oksana was more used to the cameras and unwelcome attention than she was, but the spotlight made her quieter than she otherwise might be. Ekaterina placed her hand on Etta’s, begging her to listen with an open mind. “Anson is such a dear, doing what he did before I was ready to come out with Oksana. It let us announce it on our own terms. I’m so glad we’re not stuck at the table with some slutty tart who thinks she hit her lucky jackpot with him. Jordan speaks so highly of you. I just had to make sure you were real!” Ekaterina laughed, her slight Russian accent making her easy to focus on.

  Even in the highbrow atmosphere, people were stealing glances and gossiping at a distance at the new girl on Anson’s arm. “Um, thank you. And, yes. Real as a caterpillar. It’s nice to meet you.”

  That was all Etta was able to squeeze out before Ekaterina absconded with the conversation. She would ask Etta a question, but then move on to the next topic before the answer came. Anson’s hand on the back of Etta’s chair relaxed her a little, and before long, she was endeared to Ekaterina, and even Oksana, who chimed in every now and then with an anecdote or correction when Ekaterina got carried away. Etta was grateful they required so little of her in the way of conversation. She was sure that when dinner was served, Ekaterina would slow down, but the Russian beauty was just as charming talking with her hand over her mouth to cover the sight of her food rolling around.

  “No, I haven’t seen it,” Etta admitted. “Anson got all squirmy when I told him I should watch some of his movies.”

  “I did not,” Anson protested. “Men don’t get squirmy. I would just rather you saw me as me, and not as me pretending to be someone else.”

  “See?” Etta motioned with her fork to her boyfriend. “Squirmy.”

  “Why, Anson Gable, I never thought I’d see the day you’d be bashful. Oh! I just want to pinch those little cheeks!”

  Anson kissed Etta’s hair before Ekaterina could do exactly that. “Of course. You have to make friends with the people who torture me.”

  “Hey, you were going to marry her. Only fair I get to know the competition.”

  “There was never any competition,” he assured her.

  Ekaterina chimed in. “But we sure fooled them! Didn’t we?” She held up her hand, which Anson high-fived.

  Etta was glad to see Anson relax a little out of the house. The more Ekaterina prattled on, the less tense he became. When the presentation began, he traced the slope of Etta’s wrist as they observed. When the lights dimmed to show a video, Anson brushed his lips to her ear
and whispered all the unspeakable things he was going to do to her once he got her home. The lights came up, revealing Etta’s expression of want and need to the ladies at the table, who sniggered at the cuteness.

  “Come on, Bambi,” Oksana said, inviting her to join them on a trip to the restroom.

  Ekaterina rolled her eyes at Anson’s crestfallen face. “Oh, relax, Anson. We’ll bring her back in one piece.” She looped her arm through Etta’s. “What shade of lipstick is that? It’s fantastic.”

  Etta tried to recall the name on the tube, and failed. “I have no idea. Sorry.”

  “Grab your purse. I’m totally taking that color for a spin.”

  Etta smiled kindly at the woman, grateful a female in LA was taking to her so easily. “I don’t have a purse. Lipstick’s in the car.”

  Oksana and Ekaterina stopped dead in their tracks. “What do you mean, you don’t have a purse?”

  Etta did not see the problem. “I just never bought one before. Not totally necessary where I come from.”

  “And where would that be, Mars?” Oksana joked. She turned around and stabbed her finger to the table in front of Anson. “Next time I see her, you better have taken care of this situation.”

  Etta shot the girls a simpering expression. “Jiminy Cricket, a woman without a purse isn’t exactly a ‘situation’.”

  They ignored her protest and steered her toward the bathroom, where they talked animatedly the entire time. On their way back, Etta glimpsed Mr. Goldman down the hall, where he was heading in from smoking his cigar on the deck. “Len?” She waved the girls off, promising them she would catch up in a second.