by Maria Benson
“I appreciated seeing that, actually.” She pivots away, forcing me to move just enough that I can still hear her without it looking like a terribly private conversation. “You’re doing a kick-ass job at work, but you’re really keeping me at arm’s length. It seems a bit ungrateful.”
“We’ve discussed this,” I say. That’s when I see Aimee and Ava heading toward us, dozens of yards away.
It’s game time.
Calculating that the duo has yet to quite look in our direction, I pull a 360-degree pivot, bringing Beverly along with me. “Beverly, I really need to scoot–”
“I know who she is,” she replies, smiling broadly. “The women heading this way? I saw you enter with the one who’s your official date. She’s beautiful, Michael. I’m guessing this is the one you would marry tomorrow if you were confident she’d take you?”
Feeling like Beverly’s taken a sword and sliced me of out my tux, I remind myself of bigger worries. “Did you get a room here for the night? I’d love to see it, especially if you sprang for a suite.”
I tug gently on her wrist, intent on escaping to the nearest corner or adjacent hallway, but Beverly resists. “Oh, you’re not going to introduce me to the girlfriend? I think I’m offended.”
“Michael!” The sound of Aimee’s voice freezes me in my tracks, and I hear a rush of air, a whooshing sound not unlike a freight train. The jig is up, and I am about to fail Scott’s exam miserably.
Resisting the urge to wipe at my forehead sweat beads, I smile wide while whispering a request of Beverly. “This is going to be a smooth introduction, right? My date and my boss get to meet, make a few minutes of innocent small talk?”
“Of course,” she says, nodding pleasantly toward Aimee and Ava, who are now a dozen steps away, if that. “We’ll all make nice, then I disappear upstairs to Suite 4006. I don’t care what time you come by, but make sure you see me before you leave.” She smiles as if for a camera, eyes fixed on Aimee. “I’ll make it worth your while. You can get a quick shower afterwards, be right back with your lovely date in less than an hour.”
Then, they are right there with us, Aimee and Ms. Ava herself. I do my best impression of a conversationalist while dodging the laser-like scans occurring between three attractive, competitive women. Playing happy warrior, I slip an arm unashamedly around Aimee. “I hope you and Ava have made some good business contacts tonight. Got someone I want you to meet.” After I make the obligatory introductions, I give Beverly a 50,000-foot overview of Aimee’s and Ava’s professional pursuits.
Not surprisingly, once she connects the dots my boss is quickly up to speed. “My God, you’re the Aimee Chase.” She leans in, nearly punching Aimee’s arm with enthusiasm. “Good for you, I say. The public loves to judge women who do anything besides marry a guy, drop five babies and chain themselves to the home front. Don’t go out and accomplish anything, or get into a relationship that happens to work for you if no one else. It’s like they want to burn you at the stake.”
From there, the women get to chatting as if best friends, allowing me to indulge in my first mental rest of the evening. They say women speak 13,000 more words per day than men; I am happy to let these ladies prove that for the rest of the night.
When our impromptu group conversation wraps, I take Aimee by one arm, eager to finally spin her around the dance floor and enjoy the company of my favorite person in Chicago. That anticipation fills me with joy, dares me to envision this as my future, but it is tempered by intrusive realities.
I will put a stake in the ground tonight–if Beverly rattles the headboard in her hotel suite tonight, it won’t be with me. Aimee and I haven’t signed on any dotted line yet, but even if she dumps me tomorrow I can do better than a woman who would so brazenly flex her power to manipulate me like some sort of marionette.
As we head to the dance floor, Scott swoops Ava up and leans in toward me. “Bobby and I will compare notes tomorrow and give you a full report soon after,” he says. “But generally, you handled your biz. I’m proud of you!”
Leaning away from Aimee, I pull him closer and get in his ear. “Mari, man? Really?”
Scott stares back, unperturbed. “Hell yeah,” he whispers back. “You oughta thank me– we both know she’s not your only jilted conquest. I could have had three or four of your stalkers join those rendezvous you just survived.”
“Enough.” Aimee literally yanks me away from Scott. “Scott, may I have my date back, please? You two have been whispering and slinking around this place all night, like two teenage goofs up to no good.”
I gladly follow Aimee’s tug and draw her close. “I’m all yours.” I use a pointer finger to draw her mouth toward mine, get a quick but jolting kiss. “You have my full attention.”
As we melt into the crowded dance floor, the insanity of my exam in the rear view mirror, an elemental truth hits home: I want my promise to Aimee to apply not just to tonight, but every night. Scott’s and Bobby’s warnings notwithstanding, I am kidding myself the longer I run from this.
How do I know? Because of the determination that rises within as Aimee and I entertain one another with our rusty attempts at following along with the “Electric Slide.” As we bump hips, hold hands and swing one another around, I decide that nothing–inconvenient news from Olive, Beverly’s hold over my career, the looming wrath of the women represented by the Maris of the world–will stand in our way. No, within the hour we will thank everyone for their company tonight, hail a cab and spend the rest of the night together on our own terms.
While Scott shakes a few more hands and Aimee and Ava hit the ladies’ room one more time, I step outside to await the arrival of our limo. Glad for once to not find myself surrounded by a bevy of jilted lovers and regretful sexual partners, I retrieve my phone to ingest a few seconds of news. I am grinning at a headline about Donald Trump’s nascent presidential campaign when something in my peripheral vision draws my eyes from my phone screen.
Looking up, I see a woman dart past two valets who are informally directing traffic and protecting passing pedestrians as they enter and exit the hotel. I see only her stylish beige trench coat, her long legs and gleaming black high heels, but something propels me to follow her path. Her movements are jerky, even reckless, as she shakes off the valets and narrowly crosses the driveway before an airport shuttle cruises through. As the shuttle passes by, I hear the valets complain to one another. “I don’t need some uppity babe gettin’ killed on my watch,” one says.
My concern for the woman’s well-being escalates unexplainably, and I dart across the drive, my height advantage and longer strides quickly paying off. When I close the distance between us to two steps, my concern for her well-being is matched only by the stomach-lurching realization of her identity.
I am chasing Olive.
“Hey, hey,” I say, sounding deceptively calm as I reach a hand toward her shoulder. “It’s me.”
At first, she keeps moving, her eyes glaring straight ahead. “Just pretend you didn’t see me, Michael.”
I whip around in front of her, my hands in the air to show I mean no harm. “Olive, what’s going on? You didn’t tell me you were coming to this ball. I th-thought you’d be packing for London.”
She glances right, then left, seemingly calculating whether causing a scene for onlookers would be to her advantage or mine. “I’ve been packing, Michael, no question. My orchestra company was given a few last-minute tickets to this, though. I figured I’d come hang out with some friends from work, maybe people-watch a little bit. Get away from weighty things on my mind, you know?” A half-hearted shove accompanies that last line.
Every last Rule, every second of training I’ve received from Scott and Bobby, has vanished from my system. “Olive, look, I don’t know what you saw here tonight–”
She cringes as if she has cause to fear me, then covers her face. “I saw all I needed to see, Michael.” When she pulls her hands from her face, her perfect features are wrinkled in pain. “I mean, Jesus. Wh
ich are you–the whore who’s obviously slept with half the women here, or the guy who’s clearly in love with the woman you were just dancing with?”
I know better than to lay a hand on her, but I gesture gently in her direction. “So, this isn’t really the place to have this conversation.” I glance back toward the hotel’s main entrance, curious whether Aimee has already emerged. The only familiar face just across the lane is Scott, who is staring at us with an ashen face. “Olive, can we just go back inside the hotel? I’ll explain everything.”
She grits her teeth and steps deep into my personal space. “Explain everything to your girlfriend in there,” she says, her perfume wafting pleasantly. “You don’t owe me anything. As far as you’re concerned, I’m not pregnant and never will be.”
As she pivots away, guilt drives me to reach for her. “Olive, what are you saying–”
“Don’t call me, don’t text me, do not show up at my apartment.” When I take a step toward her, she stabs at the air with a finger. “I’ll get a restraining order!”
Everyone nearby freezes where they are for a second, save for Scott, who arrives as Olive runs off into the distance.
My head feels like it’s about to pop off as Scott turns toward me. “Mike, I swear, I didn’t invite her here.”
I stare at my friend, my brain struggling to process his words, and know instantly they won’t stop me from knocking him flat on his ass.
CHAPTER 38
Aimee
As we stood in line at the Navy Pier station of Bike and Roll, preparing to rent the cycles that would carry us along the Chicago Lakefront Trail, Michael surprised me. One minute we were separated by a slight gap, discussing the latest twists and turns in Scott’s and Ava’s negotiations over whether to submit to the paternity test her parents wanted on the baby; the next, he pressed one of his hips against me as he slipped his hand into mine.
Though my eyes were covered by sunglasses, I glanced up at him, our intertwined hands swinging like a pendulum. “You know this is getting dangerously close to a PDA.”
He smiled down, his baby blues radiating joy. “You act like we’ve never held hands before.”
“Only behind closed doors,” I said, scanning the diverse crowd milling about us. It was nearing five on Sunday evening, so we had just enough daylight to get in a decent workout mixed with some quality time. He could deny it all he wanted, but the Mayor’s ball had pretty much been the first time Michael and I had behaved romantically in public. Before that, everything meaningful between us had occurred in the privacy of his place or mine.
I stroked his chin, coaxing him to lean down for a quick kiss. “See? I don’t know whose fault it is, but I think that’s a first too.”
Smirking, Michael shrugged. “I guess we have been relatively incognito out in public.” The smile in his eyes dimmed as he said, “We both know the game, right, Aimee?”
I let my smile shine. “Oh young un, I was a veteran back when you were on the sidelines.”
He dropped my hand, then pulled me close to his side. After kissing the top of my head, he sighed. “I’d like to think I caught up pretty quickly once I suited up. I’m tired, though. Ready to hang up the cleats. How about you?”
As we advanced a step closer to the front of the line, I laid my head against his shoulder. “Talk to me after we get the first leg in. I’m ready to stop torturing the sports metaphors and be real.”
We were good and ready for a break around quarter to six, when we stopped off at a park with a great view of a nearby marina. After locking up the bikes, we rolled out a towel I had packed and a light picnic lunch–prepared sandwiches from Whole Foods and a couple of nearly-out-of-season Leinenkugel summer Shandys–and sat in true PDA style, me in front with Michael as my human lounge chair. “I know this is getting serious,” I said, “when I feel no shame about sitting this close to you, funky sweat and all.”
“I know this is getting serious,” he said, “when the smell of your sweat is this sweet to me. You know how particular my nostrils are.”
I stayed enveloped in his arms, kept my eyes on the rows of docked boats before us. “Michael, are we looking at getting exclusive?” I winced at the sound of my own question. Had it really been that long since I had been with a man who had both stirred me enough to ask the question, and been “free” enough for the query to even make sense?
The sound of a dry chuckle surprised me a bit, enough that I pivoted in his arms so I could see his face. “Don’t be mad,” he said as I completed my rotation and sat opposite him, Indian style. “Do you realize I used to fantasize about you asking me that question?”
I placed my hands on his knees, nodding. “I’d rather not walk down the more tortured paths on our memory lane. Where are you right now, Michael?”
“With you,” he said without hesitation. “My answer is yes, Aimee. I am ready to be exclusive if you are.”
I found myself replaying each word, assessing him with both my heart and head now. “I’m not real fond of the last prepositional phrase you added there. I wouldn’t have asked the question if I wasn’t ready to be exclusive. You may as well know, I have been exclusive with you since the night you took me to Gary.”
Michael’s eyes brightened suddenly with what looked like relief, and I felt my heart leap in my chest. “Wow,” he said. “I mean, I hoped that was the case, Aimee, but I never wanted to assume.”
I let a beat pass. “Yeah. Look, I’m obviously grown enough to know the same hasn’t been true for you–”
“Well, slow down,” he said, stroking my wrist. “Not to say it’s been easy, but the same is true for me.”
“I-I don’t believe you,” I said, but I didn’t mean it. I knew instantly it was true; what else would explain the look on Michael’s face? The mutual emotions were so raw, though, that I started picking at blades of grass as a distraction. “Michael, even if you haven’t hooked up with anyone else, I know I’m still in competition with other women who want you. You’ve got competition, too.”
His shoulders hiked defensively, but his face remained calm, peaceful. “I couldn’t begin to guess who. A woman like you gets better offers daily.”
“Stop,” I said, flicking my handful of grass toward him. “This is nobody new.”
His eyes grew wide before he recovered a more Zen-like front. “The Commissioner?”
I nodded, then opened up about Ian’s additional efforts to woo me since first revealing Nadine’s role in the blackmail threat I helped him put down. “I think he’s sincere,” I said after sharing Ian’s suggestion that we run away together. “Compared to other guys I’ve been with, I think I could do a lot worse.”
Michael took a pull on his Shandy, then peered deep into my eyes, allowing his ears and mine to fill with our respective breaths and the surrounding noise of the boats, passing joggers and bikers, and band music emanating from a nearby festival.
Just before I lost my nerve and filled the void, he spoke. “When you’re with him, you feel safe.”
I blinked in muted surprise, nodded. “That’s true.”
He reached for my right hand. “When you’re with me,” he said, “you feel energized. Am I close?”
I inhaled slowly to manage the jolt of electricity that shot through my body, confirming his theory. “Go on.”
“Aimee, Wallace is probably being real with you. Considering his wife’s attempt to get him fired and all, and the fact you’re you, I believe he’s ready to commit to you. What I don’t believe is that he can give you what I can–the chance to have an equal partner, someone who can stand beside you as we make our way in this world, in this life.
“Ian Wallace? The guy’s already been to the top of the mountain, already achieved more than he could have dreamed of. No matter what you do in the coming years–whether you become a long-term presence as a self-help expert or go back to corporate marketing–Wallace won’t really be able to relate. You’ll either resent him for always trying to bigfoot and do everythi
ng for you, or frankly you might lose your ambition when you realize that you’re financially set for life. He can’t–”
I placed a hand to his lips, then leaned in for a long kiss. When he pulled me on top of him, we attacked each other for a minute before I sat up. “You see us as equal partners, don’t you? Partners on an adventure?”
He looked up at me longingly, but let me play at keeping him pinned to the ground. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before we plateau. I want to experience those years and beyond with you, help you achieve your potential. I know you can help me go for mine–”
I slid off of Michael, hopped next to him and laid down myself. “You can stop your sales pitch,” I said, grabbing one of his hands and applying a gentle squeeze. “What you’re saying, I’ve been thinking.”
He shifted his gaze from the sky over to me. “So you’ll call Wallace and tell him to get lost?”
“Is that really necessary?” In my mind, ignoring Ian’s interest was equivalent to saying “no.”
Michael cleared his throat. “Frankly, I think you owe the both of us a clear answer.”
“Fine,” I replied, trying not to feel insulted. “I’ll tell him to keep his job, stay with his family.” I knew Michael was right, but while I doubted I could be happy long-term with Ian, I still cared about him as a person. I was determined to do a better job of turning him down than I had once done with Michael.
I took one of Michael’s hands between both of mine, rubbing affectionately to soften my next words. “As I send Ian packing, I need to know you’re doing the same on your side.”
He sat up, leaned on an elbow so he could gaze at me more directly. “I have cleaned house,” he said, gently removing strands of hair from in front of my eyes. “Do you want to hear about the last? This is fresh news, just happened this afternoon.”
“Let me guess,” I said, ready to rock his world. “It had to be one of your floozies from the ball.”
That got a good scowl out of him. “From the ball?”