Her unexpected silence apprises me that my tongue in cheek confession was not just for her ears.
Sure enough, there behind me is the smirking Diego. His eyebrow is quirked up, but I can’t discern what this angle means. It might be because Mazzy has laughed herself into the hiccups…she very deliberately slurs out, “Need. More. Bub—,” she’s putting on quite the show, “bly.”
Thank you, Mazzy. While she’s distracted them with her antics, we won’t have to address what Diego overheard me say.
“Oh,” gasps Sebastian, “that can’t possibly be your best Drizzy.” Oh, good god, they’re going to turn this into a night of drunk Izzy: Drizzy.
“Oh, no, no, no, no…we’re not playing that game,” I assert with a pointed finger at Mazzy, however ineffective. The combination of my stilettos and the slick boat deck causes me to stumble and not so gracefully recover from my tantrum-threatening stomp.
Diego tugs on my shoulder and my less than stable standing position is snapped, I’m freefalling into his lap and waiting arms. I both love and hate that feeling. For a split second, it’s scary as all hell, time seems to stand still as you slip through the air terrified of what happens when you stop falling. But just as quickly, I’m reminded that Diego will always catch me. It’s freeing, like walking a tightrope with a safety net.
He quickly tangles my legs with his, wanting to avoid my giving Mazzy and Sebastian a peep show. When we’re settled and our laughing fits have dwindled to soft chuckles between even breaths, Sebastian deadpans, “So, the rules of Drizzy Charades, the Drizzades if you will…”
I lose track of Sebastian’s listing of the rules at the sight unfolding behind him: dessert is being carried out.
This is not the strawberries and champagne, I’d asked for. On the table in front of us, there is an assortment of desserts. It looks like everyone’s favorites from flowing chocolate fondue with graham cracker dusted cheesecake balls for me, flaming crème Brule for Mazzy and Diego to Sebastian’s divine creation of honey vanilla chamomile gelato with a walnut-orange glaze shell.
We take our time savoring each dessert, starting with the amazing gelato. With a mouthful of gelato, Sebastian stands up, as if he were making a toast.
“Herrhhe, herrhhe,” he jumbles up. “Time for a toast. To the voodoo pussy!!!”
Oh crap, we’re back to playing Drizzades.
“Oh my god, Izzy do you remember that yet?” Mazzy knows good and well I only “remember” what happened from their stories. It was at Mazzy’s birthday party, last year. I was trashed and someone handed me a microphone. So, I came up with that nugget of brilliance and elegance. “My parents are still so furious; I like to bring it up at family dinners for funzies.” She’s always pushing her conservative, elitist parents’ buttons. If they weren’t complete assholes, I’d defend them. Alas, they’re not.
“Please, tell the King and Queen of Smarmy I say hi the next time you see them.” I’m giving her my princess wave reserved for her parents, think Cinderella meets “fuck you.”
“With pleasure,” she chirps back. She hates seeing them more than anyone does, but her twin teenage brothers are more than worth enduring their wretchedness.
Diego takes the newfound break in the conversation to start with his impersonation. Crap! He’s got his shirt over his head and he’s dancing, correction, he’s thrashing his head around. Ozfest. 2002. He didn’t even know me then.
“Hey,” shouting as I stand up, “shouldn’t you have to be there for whatever incident you’re referencing?” Calling foul on Diego’s Drizzy moment.
He pokes my side, causing me to cave into him. Between the endless flow of champagne and the equally matched amount of desserts, there’s little resistance left in me. They all continue with their Drizzades, some of the less embarrassing ones were entertaining even to me. We went on with these for hours, occasionally stumbling into a Drizzy story that included one or more of the rest of them.
The playful banter and my impending dessert induced coma have a calming effect on my soul. My heart settles into the familiarity of my friends. My family.
Mazzy and Sebastian are in the middle of a debate on the validity of bisexuality, when Diego slips his hand halfway up my inner thigh.
He sprawls us out, positioning me out of sight to anyone else and shutting me off to the rest of the world. He continues to drag his fingernail over the top of my silk dress, careful not to snag the delicate fabric.
“Let’s go to bed, my love,” he breathes into my ear.
I get up without a second thought, quickly muttering my goodnights and wishes of sweet dreams to Mazzy and Sebastian. They’re so lost in their drunken conversation they hardly notice us announcing our departure.
Diego is leading us to our destination. It’s not apparent to me that we’re not going inside until we’ve passed the sliding doors to the interior. Diego’s direction has us ascending the stairs to the top deck.
As it comes into view, I see the sheer covered canopy framing a rather large mattress. A solo pillar candle hanging in the canopy, combined with the infinitesimally star-filled sky creates an ethereal glow of tonight’s accommodations.
The air in and around the canopy is unusually warm, a contrast to the crisp ocean air. With his hand at the small of my back, he guides me to the foot of the magnificently crafted low-rise four-post bed. Nudging me to take a seat, whether it’s the champagne and sugar or the heat of his stare, he gets no resistance from me.
I lay back on the bed; the pillow-top mattress makes it feel like I’m suspended by the clouds. Diego’s hand trails down my inner leg from the top of my knee to my ankle, grasping my foot and removing my stiletto. He repeats the process with the other leg, but this time, when he’s done, he presses soft, delicate kisses on the inside of my ankle dropping a series of them up to my knee across to the other and back down to the opposite ankle.
His tender kisses make my head fuzzy with lust. I’m flushed when I realize Diego’s ministrations have my ankles resting on his shoulders straddling his perfect face, baring my unencumbered sex to him. With a predatory look in his eyes, it’s clear that tonight, I’m the dessert.
Chapter Seven:
Knowing Me
I think saying goodbye is the hardest thing to do.
Attempting to avoid the sadness that’s threatening to consume me, I focus on Diego’s plane hurtling down the runway for takeoff. We’d fought about this, but ultimately, my need to see him off trumped his wanting to spare me any added grief. Our newfound marital status has bumped me up the ladder of public scrutiny, Diego isn’t crazy about it, but I knew what I was getting into before he became the superstar he is today.
Sadly, our final minutes before he boarded were awkward. He’d spent most of them on his phone. I tried to not let it bother me¸ but it did. However, with ten minutes to go, he turned to me and cupped my face. Rubbing our noses together, he whispered, “Mi bella preciosa. Eres la razón por la que me corazón late.” My precious beauty, you are the reason my heart beats. “Te quiero mucho. I love you so much, so much.”
He slid his hand to the back of my neck and pulled me closer for a goodbye kiss. He took his time and erased our sea of onlookers from my mind. So wrapped up in him, I’d forgotten my sadness and begged for more with my eager lips.
When he was done, and they called for the passengers to board he handed me a card with the words For my Izzy. Wait to open until you’re home, scribbled on the envelope. I looked at him quizzically. He just nodded and gave my one last chaste kiss.
I watched him board and sucked down the sob that would compromise my façade. The one that says this is not tearing me to shreds on the inside. Once he was out of sight, I contemplated opening the card right then and there, but self-preservation won out and I tucked it into my purse for the car ride home.
With his flight in the air, I made my way back through the airport. As I passed one of the shops, I recognized Blake Shelton’s version of Home playing over their speakers.
Fitting.
Back at the car we arranged for tonight, the driver snaps to attention to open the door for me. With my head in the clouds, I mindlessly thank him and take my seat. When he shuts my door, the quiet is a stark contrast to the hum of travelers crowding the sidewalk I just walked through. The aloneness is stifling, I find myself reaching for the button to crack the window open to abate the claustrophobia threatening to choke me.
As we’re passing traffic, I can hear the radio of a nearby car singing about loving “you” for a thousand years, and I’m reminded of the card Diego gave me.
Never one to follow directions very well where he’s concerned, I pull it out of my purse. I trace my fingers over his perfect penmanship. I love the way he writes everything in all caps, but scrolls out my name in a frilly script. Finished with my appraisal of the outside, I slide my finger through the crease and tear it open.
To my surprise, the card inside is hand-drawn by Diego with my name scrolled the same way as on the envelope framed by straight lines layered and crossed to create a heart-shaped opening. Careful inspection of the front reveals “ha ha” written in the bottom right corner. The oddity of this is intriguing, but I’m not left wondering for long.
On the inside cover, in bold caps Diego’s written, KNEW YOU WOULDN’T WAIT!!! Sheesh…am I really that predictable?
On the other side:
My Dearest Izzy,
I was counting on you not following the simple directions. LOL. I know these next few weeks are going to be tough being apart. It’s been awhile since we’ve been separated for this long, but I want you to know I’ll miss you more than you’ll miss me.
“Not possible,” I mutter to myself.
And since I know you better than you know yourself, I’ve arranged for a few things to keep you from going home and eating a pint of ice cream while watching some ridiculous chick flick.
I shake my head in denial.
Don’t shake your head.
“What the fuck?” fucker knows me that well. I can’t help the chuckle.
You may have noticed the driver isn’t driving towards our home. If not, you’re doing so now.
I look up, scouring the street signs for clues on our whereabouts. Sure enough, we’re headed in the opposite direction of home.
Now is the time to relax. Enjoy all the things you’ve got planned with the girls…please be sure that Baz knows I referred to him as one of the girls. I miss you already. I love you so much, so much.
Always yours,
Diego.
Chapter Eight:
Distracted
A blur. That’s what these last few weeks stateside have been like. As foretold, I had little time to focus on Diego’s absence. It all started with the surprise waiting for me after sending him off to London; it was crazy over the top. The memory distracts me from the grip the fear of flying has on my lungs.
***
Instead of home to our empty house, I’m at the WBW Hotel & Spa; a rather swank hotel known for its exquisite architecture, proximity to the beach, and its spa services. The door attendant is opening my door as my driver rounds the corner to the back of the car.
I’m awkwardly shocked to see the driver handing the now present bellhop a couple of bags, what appears to be my bags. The shock quickly passes. Diego is a think-of-everything kind of guy.
I’m quickly whisked through the revolving door into this grand lobby. With marble columns and aqua blue glass floor tiles, the silence of the rather hushed lobby is suddenly shattered when the elevators open up to reveal Mazzy who’s hollering and charging towards me with arms wide open.
It’s a bizarre sight to see, but I’m so ecstatic about her being here, I’m stunned still. I fail to register even a hand motion before she’s nearly tackle hugging me in this overtly posh hotel.
“IZZY!” she’s practically shouting this directly into my ear. This unusual public display is out of place even for Mazzy.
Pulling back from her embrace, I give her my “cut the shit” look with one word, “Talk.”
She leans in closer, I can feel her shake with a chuckle. “Don’t think they fancy us tattooed kind in here.” She’s drawling it out, I shake my head in bewilderment. Making eye contact with her, the only encouragement needed for her to continue. “Apparently, there were no vacancies. Lucky for us, your faaaaabulous husband booked our suite earlier.
“Miss Prim-and-Proper was not exactly thrilled with that tidbit.” She lets out a throaty laugh. Completely unnecessary and ridiculously synthetic, she’s about to make her point. “She informed me that only listed guests were allowed up to our suite and that they have a strict noise disturbance rule.”
We’re making our way back to from where she came.
“I hope you asked if all guests get reminded of those particular rules.”
In the elevator with the bellhop in tow, Mazzy continues her story. “Didn’t have to…the hotel manager walked in and started fawning all over me. Reminding me about our spa treatments and confirming the room was stocked with the requested items.”
Her wink when she delivered the word items has me a little nervous.
“The man rambled and snapped his fingers for little miss to quickly finish registering us and get me our keys.”
There’s only one reason a man of this stature would be fawning over Mazzy.
“Diego,” we deadpan simultaneously. Letting the reality of the situation to soak in we erupt in sidesplitting laughter.
“The man likes to throw around his power for me,” I state simply. I make no apologies for this. I’ve tried to curb it, it only seems to make him want to wield more for my benefit. It’s a bit embarrassing the amount of fawning he inspires.
“Ya think,” Mazzy states more than questions. “I’m pretty sure the reservation was flagged to notify the manager upon our arrival. I decided that while we’re here, I’m just daring Little Miss Judge-a-Book-by-Its-Cover AKA Miss PAP Smear to say something to me.”
That gets a choke out of the bellhop. His reaction startles us. We’d completely forgotten we weren’t the only ones in the elevator. She quickly answers the “what the fuck” look on my face.
“Prim,” she holds out a finger, “and,” she holds out another finger, “proper.” She holds out a third and final finger. She repeats the three words touching her outstretched fingers on the one hand with her pointer finger on the other hand. “P-A-P…pap…pap smear.”
Our poor bellhop. Whom am I kidding? The kid seems to be getting a real kick out of Mazzy. We’re down the hall and at our door, but before Mazzy can get her card key in the slot, it swings open and there is Sebastian in all his wonderment; think Scarlet O’Hara meets Tyler Durden.
He’s sporting a bottle of my favorite bubbly in one hand and three champagne glasses in the other. “Let’s get twisted bitches.”
Sebastian’s eyes sparkle with mischief. He’s caught the eye of our bellhop. Interesting. I didn’t guess that. Mazzy and I have become practically invisible. He barely steps out of the way for us to enter. While Baz is instructing his newest crush on what to do with my luggage, Mazzy sequestered the bottle of champagne and glasses from him, but Diego’s not here to open it for her.
My heart sinks a little. This is definitely going to be a challenge. Sure we’ve gone a week or so without seeing each other, but this was different. Right now, he’s flying through the air across the country toward the Atlantic Ocean. Right now, I miss the man that usually opens the champagne bottle.
I fight off the somberness trying to settle into my heart, grab the bottle from Mazzy, and as if this is commonplace, I deftly remove the wrapper and muselet. I wrap the small towel lying on the table, grab the cork, and with a slow twist of my hand, pop open tonight’s temperament-adjusting elixir.
I’m pouring the bubbly in the glasses clasped in Mazzy’s outstretched hands before I realize the room is deathly silent and all eyes are on me. I stop mid-pour of glass number two. The looks on the faces of those in the room
are priceless.
The burst of laughter leaping from my stomach puts annoyed looks on my besties’ faces and confuses the bellhop more. “Apparently,” directing my attention on and explanation to—I look at his badge—Brian, “my friends here had no idea that I was perfectly capable of opening my own bottle of champagne. It’s caused quite a silent ruckus from them.” Brian chuckles with me. I continue to fill the remaining glasses.
“I’ve never seen a chick open a bottle of champagne like that,” Brian blurts. “That was hot and I’m gay.”
“Ahh ha ha,” there’s a chorus of gut-wrenching laughter echoing off the walls back at us, as all of us process and ponder what the kid has said.
Baz is the first to say anything once we’ve all regained our breaths. “He’s right,” he confirms. “That was fucking hot, woman.”
Mazzy hands me one of the glasses and makes her way over to Baz with his. He takes the proffered glass and continues his pursuit of Brian. She reaches for hers as she takes the seat on the swank couch.
“The first order of business,” Mazzy declares, “is to get to the second bottle.” She points to the second bottle sitting on ice next to the first.
“Kidd,” I use her last name, “I’m liking tonight’s festivities already. It’s better than focusing on the fact that my husband is tens of thousands of miles up in the air in a tin box flying over the Atlantic.” I finish the first glass and reach for the bottle for a refill.
“Holy shit, Izzy. With all our traveling, how have I not seen this fear of flying? I thought you worked through that shit.”
“I did. I’m not really. It’s just,” I gulp down half the glass of bubbles. I love the tickle they create as they soothe the slightly broken parts. “It’s different. It’s across an ocean,” I take another sip of the bubbly numbing agent. I finish my thoughts, “Without me.”
“Then,” she surges with a clap of her hands, “I call bullshit. Snap out of it, finish that glass and let’s get ready.”
Love Takes Your Breath Away Page 6