The Everlasting Chapel

by Marilyn Cruise

  “I used to work in…the entertainment industry…” I decide is a safe thing to say, “…but it wasn’t really what I wanted to do.”

  “You’re an artist?” he asks.

  The waitress brings us our drinks.

  “Well…yes,” I say. “But I’m not sure I have what it takes to go the distance, you know. And my job at the museum and my waitressing job at Ophelia’s is just a temporary solution so I can cover my bills.”

  “I’m sure you’re a great artist,” he says, squeezing the juice of his lemon wedge into his tea.

  “You haven’t even seen my work.”

  “But your father spoke highly of you, and I can imagine your standards are rather high, having graduated from Harvard,” he says.

  I narrow my eyes. “Somehow I get the sneaky suspicion you know me better than I know you.”

  “Your father told me everything about you.” He smiles.

  I raise my right eyebrow. “Everything?”

  He leans back into his seat and clasps his hands behind his head, causing his very pronounced biceps to bulge. I wonder how he stays in such great shape and finds the time to work out being a doctor.

  “Well, not everything,” he says. “Just how proud he is of you and how hard you have worked to keep it all together over the past few years. You are a wonderful daughter, you know…?” He gives me a stunning smile, revealing his pearly white teeth.

  I shrink where I sit. Dr. Jamison already has this ideal image of me branded into his brain. I’ll never live up to her, and in the end, if we even manage to become friends or friends with benefits, I’ll only let him down.

  “Well, just so you know, I keep many secrets from my father. He thinks I’m an angel, but trust me, I’m not,” I say with a grimace.

  “Are you trying to downplay how wonderful you are? Just like you did with your paintings?” He huffs. “You don’t need to do that around me. I’m not threatened by a successful or powerful woman.”

  Okay, Mr. I-can-handle-anything-you-throw-at-me. You asked for it, so here it comes. I glance around the room to make sure no one is listening. Then I lean forward and stare him in the eyes, making sure I get his full and undivided attention.

  “I used to work as a stripper so I could pay the bills,” I whisper. “My father doesn’t know, hence he thinks I’m, well, an angel like you said.”

  Spencer lowers his arms onto the table, but doesn’t break eye contact with me for a second. He leans forward, and smirks as if he’s tickled pink. What, does he think it’s sexy? Does he think I’ll be an easy fuck just because he now knows about my sordid past?

  He says, “To get through college, I worked at Hunk-O-Mazing.”

  Time stands still for a second. I blink once. Wait…did he just say he worked at Hunk-O-Mazing? It takes me another moment to realize what he just said, but when I do, my jaw literally drops open. Holy shit. Hunk-O-Mazing is, well, the male version of The Black Chapel. I’ve never been, but Anne has frequented it several times, and says that just by looking at you, the male dancers can make you reach full-on orgasm.

  I shouldn’t be as shocked as I am, but I just didn’t see it coming. At all. My lips widen into a grin, and then I start to laugh way too loudly for a small lunch place like this. I collapse over the table as uncontrolled cackles roll on and on.

  I laugh because his confession helps ease the guilt I‘ve been carrying ever since I took that job as a stripper. Somehow his admittance makes it so I can finally see the humor in it all. And after having believed I was doomed to a life of misery and hell, I realize I can just let the guilt sail away into the sunset. Because here he is, a doctor—a man whose sole duty is to save lives, to heal the sick—revealing to me that he did exactly the same. Thank God I met this man. I think I love him.

  “That amusing, huh?” he asks, his eyebrows crinkling, his lips twisting into an amused smile.

  I sit up straight and take a few deep breaths. “I just…I just never thought…” For some reason, I can’t manage to produce a coherent sentence. “I’m sorry, I just…wow! That actually makes me feel a whole lot better about my situation. You have no idea.” I wipe the happy tears off my cheeks.

  “Better…?” He sits back and is twiddling his thumbs, still grinning from ear to ear.

  “More normal, I suppose. I mean, you have no idea how guilty I have felt about this job. I still feel guilty, and I just wanted to tell you because I’m sick and tired of hiding what I did, you know? Sick and tired of being judged by everyone, myself included,” I admit.

  He leans forward again, and brushes my hand lightly with his. “You did it because you had to, Scarlett. I don’t think you would have chosen to do it had you not been so financially strained.”

  “True, but I still felt super guilty. I mean, it’s not who I am. It’s just what I did to get by, and even though I only worked there for six months, I hated it.”

  “I’m glad you told me,” he says. “I just did it to get by, too. My parents still don’t know what I did. I haven’t been able to get myself to tell them.”

  I can’t help but keep smiling—so much that my cheeks cramp. Finally I have someone who understands me completely, and his life turned out pretty good. I mean, he’s a doctor for crying out loud! Suddenly, I find him a whole lot more attractive. Not in a sexual sense, although he is plenty sexy, just in an ‘I really, really like this guy’ kind of a way.

  “Did you like working as a stripper?” I ask, sipping my diet soda.

  “There were parts of it I enjoyed,” he says.

  “Like what?” My ears are pinned.

  “Don’t judge me if I tell you,” he smiles, and sticks the tip of his tongue between his teeth.

  “Trust me, I won’t. I just want to see if we have more things in common.”

  The waitress brings us our food and I start to eat.

  “I liked the sexual freedom that came with it,” he says. “Being able to connect with that part of me, and the part women don’t usually allow themselves to express. Growing up, I always felt I was sexually repressed, as if that side of me was sordid and filthy—a taboo. You see, my parents are very religious, and we never discussed such matters at home. My father couldn’t even watch a show that had kissing in it. He’d immediately turn the channel to something else. And my mother, bless her heart, I’m sure she never even had an orgasm in her entire life, poor woman.”

  I laugh.

  “I’m surprised they even managed to have three kids.”

  I can’t believe we’re actually having this conversation over lunch, but I absolutely love it. “Do you have brothers? Sisters?”

  “Two sisters,” he says. “Both are younger than me.”

  “So are you like the big over-protective brother?” I ask.

  “Yes, very over-protective.”

  “That’s sweet,” I say, taking another bite of my salad.

  “They’re both attending the University of Texas at the moment. What about you?”

  I give him a questioning look.

  “Did you like any part of the job?” he asks.

  I think for a moment. “Well, I did enjoy connecting with that part of me, but at the same time I hated being objectified. Most men were respectful, but in the end, I felt they just came for a show and a sexy woman they could imagine fucking when they went home.”

  “Did you ever do private parties?”

  Should I tell him? Sure, what the hell. “I did, and I don’t know if you’ve heard about Michael Manning and that whole fiasco.” I roll my eyes.

  “Vaguely on the news. I don’t listen to the news much. There are too many depressing things and just a bunch of gossip.”

  “I don’t blame you. Anyway, it’s a long story. I did a few private sessions with him, and…well, it’s really complicated.” I still don’t feel comfortable enough yet around Spencer to discuss it in detail. And this is not the right setting. I might break down, and that’s not something I want to do at the moment.

  “I
’ve had one of those complicated relationships myself,” he says. “Unfortunately, it didn’t work out.”

  Great, just what I didn’t want to hear. But then again, it’s not something I don’t know already.

  “So you dated, and then…?” he prods.

  “In brief, I just broke it off with him.” I already feel my chest tightening. Trying to take my mind off it before I lose it, I look at the time. “Shit. I have to be back at work in five minutes.”

  “You should complain about a measly thirty minute lunch break,” he says.

  “Well, I kind of set it up that way so I could get to my other job on time.” I scarf down a few more bites of my salad. Spencer graciously pays the bill, and walks me back over to the museum.

  “Well, I had a great time,” I say. “Thank you for lunch.”

  “Want to catch lunch again tomorrow? Same time, same place?” He gives me a gorgeous smile. Now how can I resist that?

  “Sure,” I say, genuinely excited to find someone I connect with, and someone I can be completely open with. He reaches his arm around me, and presses his warm cheek to mine. My stomach doesn’t flutter like it does when that other guy touches me. Maybe that’s a good thing.

  “There’s just something I have to tell you,” I say, feeling the need to be completely honest with him so there aren’t any misunderstandings or misplaced expectations.

  “There’s more?” he says with a jovial tone. “You are very intriguing.”

  “Not like that,” I say. “Since I just recently broke it off with Michael, I’m not quite ready to move on yet.” I hope I’m not presuming too much. He hasn’t declared his intentions, but asking a girl out two days in a row makes me think he is looking for more than friendship.

  “Oh, well…I wasn’t going to force myself on you. I just thought we had a good time, and I don’t really like eating alone. There’s no pressure. I’d still love to eat and talk with you if that’s okay, though.”

  His comment brings out a laugh in me. “Fine. I really enjoyed our lunch together. And yes, we do have lots to talk about.”

  He winks at me and turns on his heels, waving as he walks away down the street. “See you tomorrow.”

  4

  When I get back to work, Michael is waiting for me with a bouquet of red roses. As soon as I see him, my heart goes into overdrive. He’s wearing loose faded jeans and a thin, white linen shirt. The top button of the shirt is undone, and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows so I can see his strong forearms. A sudden spark of desire ignites between my legs. Okay, body, why don’t you try being on my side for once?

  I give him an evil eye, and walk right past him. When I don’t approach him, but go in the back office to drop off my purse, he has the audacity to follow me.

  “You’re not supposed to be back here,” I say without turning around. “It’s for personnel only.”

  “I already spoke with your boss, and he said it was fine if I took you out to lunch,” he says.

  “Well, of course you did,” I mutter angrily, making a mental note that I need to have a word with my boss if he’s so easily persuaded by Michael. I glare at him. “I already had lunch with Dr. Spencer Jamison so I’m not hungry. Good-bye.”

  His eyes flinch just a tad, and that makes me feel guilty. But then I remind myself that I don’t want to keep living these lies anymore. It felt so good to be with Spencer. With Michael everything is complicated, and it is impossible to keep the lies separated from what’s true.

  “Don’t make me beg,” he says.

  “I’m not making you beg. I just don’t want to go out with you, that’s all.” I continue to glare at him.

  He gets down on his knees.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I hiss. “Get up! You’re going to get me fired for breaking all the rules.”

  “No, I already told you…”

  Just then, Staci, my nineteen-year old clerk walks in. “Uh…sorry,” she says, looking from Michael to me.

  “Michael was just leaving,” I say. I tear the flowers out of his hand and throw them into the trash on the way out to the store. Staci trails after me.

  “Rob said I should take over for you. Aren’t you going?” she asks.

  “No,” I snap.

  “But he was so romantic down on one knee and with the flowers,” she says.

  “Then maybe you should go out with him.” The second the words fall out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Both because, for whatever crazy reason, I don’t want him to go out with her, and as her supervisor, I shouldn’t be saying those kinds of things.

  I stop walking. “Sorry. That was inappropriate.”

  Michael stands by the exit. Dammit! Why am I still attracted to him? Because he’s sexy as hell, my alter-ego reminds me. Yeah, but he is a compulsive liar, I retort. And amazing in bed, my alter-ego snaps back. I glare at him a while longer, which I really shouldn’t do considering my past and what happens when I do glare at him too long.

  I step behind the counter and pretend to be busy, while Staci takes care of the three customers that are in here.

  After a few minutes, Michael approaches me. “Listen, it’s just lunch. That’s all. Or coffee. Or dessert, I suppose, since you already ate with the doctor.”

  He stares at me from across the counter, and I do everything in my power to make sure he doesn’t affect me in any way. But then when he picks up one of the feather pens and starts to blow on it, I can’t help but remember the plane ride and how he used a feather to taunt me, tease me, and drive me absolutely crazy. Suddenly, goosebumps speckle my arms and thighs. And then my inner muscles clench.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, although I know exactly what the sexy scoundrel is up to. No good, that’s what he’s up to.

  “You don’t remember?” he asks, a teasing smile at his lips.

  “Remember what?” I ask nonchalantly, peering at him in all innocence. But then heat rushes to my cheeks and I have to look away so he won’t notice.

  He grins, making his wickedly sexy dimples come out. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember,” he says in a low, gruff voice, peering at me from underneath his lashes. “Listen, I promise I won’t make a move on you.”

  I give him a ‘really?’ look.

  “I’m not a teenage boy who can’t control myself, Scar,” he says.

  “I—”

  “I just want to talk,” he continues.

  “I—”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Will you just shut up and listen?” I yell. All three customers turn around and glare at me.

  I huff and lower my head. “Fine. Wait here. I’ll get my purse.”

  “You don’t need it,” he says.

  “Yes, I do.” I stomp back to the office and snatch it. “You have thirty minutes,” I say, storming past Michael. He runs after me, a wide, boyish grin on his triumphant face.

  And against all the reasonableness and resolve I have managed to muster over the past two weeks, my stomach has the nerve to turn into a swarm of butterflies.

  * * *

  Michael takes me to Sierra’s, one of Portland’s most expensive restaurants. He doesn’t say anything on the way over, but is a perfect gentleman, opening all the doors for me. We sit down across from each other by a window table. Not a second later, the waiter is there taking our order.

  “Just coffee for me,” I say. “Three sugars, one cream.”

  “I’ll have the ahi tuna salad,” Michael says. “And a glass of chardonnay.” The waiter smiles, and vanishes to the back.

  “So, what is it?” I snap.

  “Scar…”

  “As far as I’m concerned, we have nothing more to talk about.”

  He leans in. “You know that’s a lie.”

  Damn him and his holier than thou attitude right now. “Okay. I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “Can you? Because you sure as hell don’t know everything there is to kn
ow about me and what has happened over the past two weeks.” I think about the letter and check Diane sent me. I should tell him about that, although if I do, I lose all the money. This is just messed up, and what’s worse is, it’s never-ending! I don’t want to be the one who keeps him from his inheritance, and the letter specifically stated that if he didn’t propose within a year, his portion would be donated to charity.

  His upper lip tenses just a tad. “Well, I’m all ears.”

  “I’ve started dating again,” I say point blank.

  “Well, you’re a smart and beautiful woman. I’m sure many guys would love to date you.”

  “Spencer and I have a lot in common,” I say. My wall is growing taller. Stronger. Hell, I can fend him off all day long if I need to.

  “Really? Tell me about him,” he says.

  I hadn’t expected him to say that. Suddenly I’m lost and have nothing relevant to say.

  “That much in common, huh?” He smiles.

  “I’m not discussing our relationship with you.”

  He doesn’t say anything, but just sits there quietly and stares at me.

  “Stop staring,” I hiss.

  “I can’t stop staring. You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re mad.”

  My heart misses a beat, and my jaw wants to fall to the table, but I clamp it shut. Shit! Even his cheesy smooth-talk, which should be a huge turn off, turns me on.

  “When you’re done with the fling, I’ll still be here,” he says.

  “It’s not a fling.” Suddenly, I wish my relationship with Spencer had progressed much further, because then I could throw it in Michael’s face. Wow, how in the world did I become so mean and shallow? Hell, Spencer and I don’t even have a relationship, and there’s no fling there either. And if I were completely rational right now, I would realize that I don’t want to use Spencer to get back at Michael in that way. It just isn’t right.

  “You know just as well as I do that we belong together,” he says. “When the sun comes up, we should be together. When the sun goes down we should be in each other’s arms making sweet love. I should be worshipping your body, making you come over and over, licking, sucking on, and fucking that sweet pussy of yours. But it’s not just that, Scarlett. I love you. I don’t know when I started loving you, but what I do know is that I will never stop.”