“Sorry,” she offered, just as calm and collected as her gaze. “Normally I wouldn’t interrupt your session, but we need to talk.”
I wished I knew her well enough to venture guesses as to what was going on in her mind. But I didn’t. All I knew was that her presence moved me, caused my body to react in ways I understood but did not necessarily approve of.
Alex’s gaze wandered over to the model, who sat patiently waiting for me to continue, and I searched desperately for a sign of raw attraction from her but saw none. It was rumored that she was gay and seriously involved, but I didn’t know for sure. We never really talked. We just watched one another. I looked to her left hand and found the simple gold band on her ring finger. I felt my face flush and glanced down to my own similarly decorated ring finger. I didn’t know what it meant anymore. I knew what I wanted it to mean, but it wasn’t totally up to me.
I knew why Alex and Cal were there and readied to defend myself. I gave a nod to my girl on the chair and set down my camera. “Take a break, Danny.”
The young model rose hesitantly, her expression one of cautious concern for me as the two executives folded their arms. Alex spoke first.
“What’s going on here?”
The color of her eyes fooled me, wanting me to believe that she was warm and passionate. Her tone, however, left me feeling chilled to the bone.
“Cal tells me that you fired Isabelle.”
I eased a hand down into one of the numerous pockets of my cargo shorts and let the ocean breeze play with my hair. Even though I was shook up, I had to remain calm. “Cal was mistaken.” I glanced over at him and gave him an eat-shit-and-die grin. “I don’t have the authority to fire models.”
“Then exactly what is it that happened? Where is Isabelle?”
I shrugged, inwardly cursing at the mention of the high-maintenance, snotty model.
“I have no idea where she is.”
Of course, in reality, I had a few good ideas of where I wanted her to be. But they weren’t nearly polite enough to mention.
“Why isn’t she here, Gina?” Alex asked, her voice lowering with frustration at my evasiveness.
I swallowed, strangely aroused at her sultry voice. My body and mind continued to conflict over the effect she had on me. I cleared my throat and forced myself to speak. “Because I refuse to shoot her.”
I saw Alex’s face lighten a little, glad, it seemed, to be getting an honest answer. Her reaction caused more stirring inside. An elation of sorts. My eyes skimmed over her pressed white polo blouse and khaki shorts as I waited for her to respond.
“Why?”
An eyebrow rose over an amorous eye. She had caught me looking. Oh shit.
I answered quickly, trying to sound as strong as I wished I were. “She’s not right for this cover.”
I heard Cal scoff next to her.
“It’s not your call,” he spat at me. “We decide who’s right—”
I took a step toward him and cut him off, my anger growing. “It is my call. I’m the photographer; it’s my ass on the line.??? I was no longer concerned about keeping my cool. “I’m doing what I was told—taking this underwear account and making it appealing to the gay market.”
I paused and felt a throbbing in my temple. He stood staring me down and I felt like a pit bull, ready and raring to fight but chained back just out of reach.
“What’s your point, Gina?” Alex asked.
“As a gay woman, I know what’s hot. And Isabelle isn’t it.”
“She’s the hottest model in the country!” Cal let out as if I were unbelievably stupid.
“I don’t care who she is,” I shot back. “She looks like a fucking skeleton and her attitude sucks.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “She doesn’t look gay.”
Alex watched me carefully while Cal threw up his hands and began to pace. “Show me what you’ve done.”
I opened my mouth, expecting to have to explain myself, but then snapped it shut in surprise. Instead, I moved to the monitor that rested on the table behind me. I touched the screen and brought up the recent photos. First were the ones of Tony, the lean-looking Italian with a strong jaw and body. He was beautiful and more than enough to get the gay men drooling. Next were the few photos I had taken of Isabelle just before she and I both exploded into temper tantrums. I grimaced at her pale body and Easter egg–colored clothing and eagerly brought up the photos of Danny, the athletic-looking young model I had personally called in to replace Isabelle.
Alex studied the photos in silence. Cal came to stand directly beside me and began making more dramatic noises as he looked over the shots.
“These, they look, she looks…”
“Gay?” I questioned, this time with a tone that left him sounding completely stupid.
“Yes!” he cried out, before he could stop himself. I laughed at him and his face became livid with anger. “She’s wearing men’s underwear, for God’s sake! This isn’t what I wanted!”
I narrowed my eyes and shouted, “Lesbians aren’t what straight men and the media want them to be. We aren’t all skinny, we aren’t all femmes. Isabelle isn’t right for this shoot, and I refuse to waste my time with her.”
Since Alex had no response, I began to pack up my equipment. The asshole corporate suits would once again get their way, and I wasn’t about to go through it again. Too many times, too many shoots, I had rolled over and obeyed against my art. I was fed up, sick and tired of the way gay women in America were being represented on television and in magazines.
Alex spoke as I worked, ignoring the fact that I was taking apart my camera. “I like what you’ve done. I’ll show all of the photos at the meeting with the client. It’ll be up to them.” She eyed me matter-of-factly, then left with Cal nipping at her heels.
I finished the shoot in a daze, thankful that at least for the time being, I still had a job. I covered my lenses when the sun went down and dragged myself back to my hotel, ready for a long hot shower and a good meal. Reverberating throughout the lobby were the unmistakable sounds of steel drums and Caribbean song. I let the music soothe my mind as I waited for the elevator. The doors opened, I stepped in and pushed the button for the fifth floor. I was alone, but just as the doors began to slide shut, Alex slipped in. She stood next to me, offering me a slight smile. The elevator rose and hummed, and we stood and stared at the ground. Inwardly, my heart increased to a maddening pace. I caught her scent, which I unconsciously compared to her eyes. Warm and fiery.
“You did great work today,” she said, startling me.
I raised my eyes to find hers resting on me. My skin tingled at the softness of their caress. The sun had kissed her cheeks and arms and there appeared to be sparks in her eyes. Golden sparks. She smiled again. Easy and relaxed, a bit crooked.
“Thanks.” I fought off the stutters and, strangely nervous, kept talking. “The whole Isabelle thing…”
She raised a hand and cut me off. “No need to explain. I couldn’t agree with you more.”
Shocked, I felt my jaw fall open. “Really?”
“Yes.” The elevator stopped and the doors opened. “This your floor?”
“Yes.”
She motioned with her hand, allowing me to exit first. Surprisingly, she walked next to me and continued to talk as we made our way down the hall.
“I really like what you did. I think every lesbian who sees those ads will agree. They’re hot.”
“You think the head honchos will go for them?”
She gave me another easy grin. “I know what they’ll choose because it’s my job to know. Your work is hot, tempting, edgy. They would be crazy not to run those photos of Danny in every gay magazine and newspaper there is.”
I felt my face flush in response to her praise. The fact that she was older than me and was my boss only seemed to heighten my attraction to her.
She stopped and pulled out her key card. Her room was right next to mine. Again, heat rushed to my skin as that realization s
ettled in my mind.
“Thanks,” I managed, reaching in my back pocket for my own room key.
“Don’t mention it. Keep up the good work.”
She left me with another smile and a lingering look that skimmed over my mouth before returning to my eyes. Her door closed, and I was alone and breathless with her fading scent. I stared after her for what felt like an eternity, feeling like a fool with a mad crush—tempted to tell her but wanting to run from her.
When I finally went in, my room was dark and cool, the steady drone of the air conditioner the only sound. I made my way to my bed and sank down. Resisting the urge to let sleep wash away all my thoughts, I switched on the bedside lamp and reached for the phone. I kicked off my sandals and rested one foot over the other. I could still feel some remnants of sand, grains that were like the shards in my mind, still sticking to me, rough reminders.
I dreaded the phone call to her and hated myself for dreading it. I had lost more than just weight the past couple of months. I had lost faith and knew deep down that I had lost her. Her line rang five times before she picked up. And when she did, she sounded like she had the day before. And the day before that.
Beaten, sad, distant.
“Hello.” She knew it was me. I could tell by her tone. I could also tell that she had been drinking. Had it been anyone else on the line, she would’ve sounded more her usual self. She always seemed to play it up for me.
“Hi.” I spoke softly and lightly, already on guard and wary of her state of mind.
“Hello,” she repeated, this time in a sullen greeting.
“How are you?”
“Fine.” Her voice raised a pitch as she slurred.
“You don’t sound fine.”
Silence.
I hated this. Hated this goddamned game she always seemed to want to play.
“I miss you,” I confessed, hoping it would help to open her up a bit.
“No, you don’t, but that’s okay.”
I clenched the receiver tightly, frustrated. Here we go again. She was going to tell me how it was that I felt.
“I do miss you. More than you know.” I missed us. The way we used to be.
She laughed. “It’s okay; you don’t have to do this. I know you don’t miss me.”
God damn it. I wanted to hurl the phone across the room. I was so sick and tired of this. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”
She paused a moment, sighing. “Look, you need to just forget about me. Just stop thinking about me.”
“Baby, listen to me, please. I love you. Can’t you just accept that?” My voice quaked with emotion. She was killing me inside. Slowly and surely.
“I don’t disbelieve that you think that you love me.”
That was it. That was her response.
Oh God. I collapsed against the bed, the phone clutched to my chest. My body shook with quiet sobs. I couldn’t do this anymore. I just couldn’t. I heard her continuing on from the receiver, oblivious that I wasn’t listening. I didn’t know what to do. How to feel. I only knew that I could no longer bang my head against the wall just to convince her that I loved her. Not when she wasn’t willing to accept it. It was useless.
I rose up and tentatively placed the phone to my ear. She seemed to hear my shaky breaths, the hitching in my throat.
“I don’t know what to do,” I confessed.
“Yes, you do.”
She didn’t slur those last few words; in fact, she sounded assured and calm. I hung up. It hurt. Hurt so badly. I stood and hastily wiped the wetness from my face, angry and torn. It was the first time I had allowed these feelings to manifest. I was finally ready to let them out after weeks of pushing them down, trying desperately to convince her.
I walked into the bathroom and stripped off my clothes. I turned the water on as hot as I could stand it. I stepped in and let it assault my skin, punishing the sand and sun from my body but doing little to erase her words, her final surrender. It beat down on me, just like her mood, steady and hard and painful. And I let it. Let it until it turned icy and cold.
When I emerged I grabbed a towel and patted my tender skin dry, eyeing myself in the mirror. The woman there appeared wounded, her eyes deep and lost. My throat tightened and I knew I had to get out of there. I couldn’t stand to look at her.
I dressed quickly, jeans and a tank top. I said fuck it to the bra and headed out with my nipples hard little stones under the tight cotton. The air outside felt cool and fresh and I welcomed it as I hailed a cab. I rode in silence and paid the driver extra for allowing me to. The sea breeze kicked up as I made my way to the door. I could already hear the music, loud, thumping, wild. Several laughing men lingered around the entrance and they openly eyed me as I went inside. The bartender glanced at me and then did a double take as he poured a shot of whiskey for someone else. Sensing but ignoring the questions in his eyes, I ordered.
“Give me two of those.”
Slowly he retrieved two more shot glasses and turned them right side up. “You know where you are?”
“Yes.”
My answer wasn’t good enough, though. After handing another patron and me our drinks, he motioned with his hands.
“These are all men here.”
I downed the burning liquid. “You’re very observant.”
He wasn’t impressed. “There’s no women here, honey.”
I downed the other shot, squeezed my eyes shut at its strength, and said, “There is now.”
I left him and his gender problem behind and walked right onto the crowded dance floor. I stood and stared up into the searching lights, allowing the warm, muggy air to lull me. Slowly, I began to move. The bass shook me to my bones and the thump rattled in my chest. It moved me. In every way possible. And then, like a miracle, I began to feel free.
I melted into the music and into those around me. We were all one, a slave to the beat, pulsing and gyrating, hips brushing hips, breath kissing breath. I raised my arms and felt strong hands on my waist. A man moved in front of me, facing me with a grin. He was smaller than me and shirtless, with a playfulness in his eyes.
“I spy something different.”
Then the hands from behind gave way and another voice, this one in my ear, said, “Something with tits.”
I felt him move and watched as he rounded me to join his shirtless companion, tossing an arm around him.
“You are hot, though,” he continued, stroking his chin as he looked me up and down. “Okay, you can stay!”
The song changed, mixing slowly but surely into a new rhythm. The guys continued to dance around me and we moved together, like a well-oiled machine. They touched me and I touched them. It wasn’t sexual. It was the beast of the beat. Our bodies glistened and pumped. I felt connected, I felt wanted, I felt good. My eyes drifted closed as my arms raised over my head. I felt hands on my torso, inching up under my tank top but stopping below my breasts. I was sexy, yet I was safe. It was wonderful. I opened my eyes and focused through the thick haze of grinding, pulsing bodies. I blinked. Once, then twice.
I stopped moving. My breath hissed from my chest. Alex. She was there. Standing along the back wall. Watching me. My body tensed at her stare, my heart pounded with sudden need. Oh God. I wanted her, wanted her not only to watch, but to touch, to put her mouth on me. I swallowed hard and did the only thing I could do. I danced.
With my eyes fastened to hers, I slithered and pulsed, lacing my hands over my partner’s as he glided his over my exposed torso. I pretended he was her and I showed her what it would be like if he were. I tilted my head back in pleasure and writhed beneath his touch. I saw her jaw clench with intent and, wanting more of that from her, I reached out and pulled the small man in front of me closer. I ran my hands deliberately over his moist chest and abdomen, stroking him as if he were her. They moved into me, one from behind, one in front. We rubbed and touched and breathed. I watched her watching me. I saw her eyes flash with a molten amber desire. She was turned on. Dangerously so.
She pushed off from the wall and strode closer, skirting the dance floor. She stalked slowly, like a deliberate predator, watching me as she moved, a sleek black huntress in dark jeans and black sleeveless shirt. She circled us from a distance and I followed her, turning, drawn to her eyes, drawn to her desire. She neared the waving chain wall that led to another room. She stood staring at me. Waiting for me.
Hypnotized, I left my partners and headed for her. I made my way through scores of dancers, my sights trained firmly ahead, holding her to me like the force field of a magnet. People around us parted ways, the music grew foggy and distant, time seemed to slow. I reached for her as I drew closer. I cupped her fiercely warm face and slid into her. My mouth found hers with a hunger I had never experienced before. I plunged into her, over and over, claiming all that she gave me. She felt hot and slick and hungry. Her fingers tangled in my hair, holding me to her. Her tongue swirled around mine aggressively and I heard her groan with an insatiable desire. Her body rubbed up against mine and she tugged my head back. When our lips parted, mine tingled, full with excited blood.
“This way,” she breathed, her eyes flashing with yearning.
She pulled me along after her, her free arm shoving back the dangling chains. We hurried, passing numerous shadowy figures, all of them locked in various shapes of embrace. We reached the far wall and she turned, yanking me to her. Immediately, I grabbed her hands and pressed them up against the wall. I kissed her just as aggressively, hard and fast, long and wet. She groaned again as I pressed into her, holding her captive. Desperate for more of her, I tore my mouth from hers and attacked her neck. I felt her flinch under my teeth and she whispered raggedly in my ear.
“Don’t leave any marks.”
The fire inside me flared dangerously. The fact that she belonged to another only heightened my desire. The rage and hurt from my own relationship pounded through me, turning me into a hungry, ravenous being. I needed her, needed this. I kissed her again, determined and driven to have her. She kissed me back, battling for dominance. I was stronger and hell-bent on getting my way. I craved her skin and assaulted her neck like a thirsty creature of the night. She squirmed beneath me and freed her hands from mine. She pulled on my head, breathing again about marks. But I refused to hear her and kept on, again sucking her.
Lessons in Love Page 31