Abandon All Hope

by M. J. Schiller

  “The camera crew gave up, didn’t they?”

  Hope followed his gaze below. “About twenty minutes ago, I think.”

  “So it’s just us two idiots up here, then.”

  “Yep.” She smiled.

  “I still think we need to get up top so we can find a safer way down.”

  “I agree.”

  “All right.” Chase began climbing to the right, carefully choosing his footholds and handholds. They were silent until they both stood on the ledge. Now, they were able to give their hands and toes and knees a rest, and lean with their backs against the wall, catching their breath. Hope peeked over the edge, but then threw herself back against the cliff, squeezing her eyes shut.

  “That’s right,” he said with a chuckle. “You’re afraid of heights. You’re an even bigger fool than I am, Hope Creswell.”

  When she opened her eyes to respond, she stared at the blood dripping down his leg. “You’re hurt!” she cried, zipping open her waist pack and seeming to forget her fear instantly.

  “Yeah,” he said absentmindedly, watching the blood drip toward his sock. He saw she was getting out first-aid supplies. “Hope, its okay. I don’t need that.”

  “No. You have to clean it. You don’t want to have to deal with infection.” She poured a generous amount of antiseptic spray on the abrasion, stopping the flow with a cotton ball.

  He winced, sucking in his breath through his teeth, feeling like a big baby. But that stuff stings!

  She grinned at him, applying a bandage. “There, that’s better.”

  “Okay,” he said hurriedly. “We can go now.”

  “Let me see your hands.”

  “What? No. They’re fine.”

  “Chase! Let me see them.”

  “All right, here. Are you happy now?” He turned over his hands to show her. They were scraped raw.

  “Oh my gosh! That must have hurt like hell.”

  “Not as much as that stuff hurts.”

  “I’ll blow on it first.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll blow on it. It’s supposed to help.”

  “Okay.”

  She held the back of his hands firmly. Bending her head, she gently began to blow over the surface of his hands. A tingle ran up his arms, which had little to do with his injury, and everything to do with the way she was puckering her lips and the way her warm breath felt on his palms. Thankfully, she was concentrating on her work and had not noticed how turned on he was. She poured a small amount of the liquid over his hands.

  “How’s that?”

  “Not bad,” he commented, surprised.

  “Good.” She smiled. “This will take care of the dirt that was imbedded when you slid, but I really can’t bandage these, and you’re bound to pick up more dirt, so we’ll have to wash them again when we get down to the bottom. But don’t worry; I’ll blow on them again.”

  “All right,” he agreed, showing more enthusiasm than he should have.

  They started off again. The rock to their right was practically stair-stepped and they reached the top in less than five minutes.

  “Whoooo!” he whooped, raising his hands in the air in victory and listening to his voice echo back from the surrounding hills. Instinctively, he put his arm around her and hugged her to his side. As they stood taking in deep breaths, they began to survey their surroundings. In front of them they could see all of Los Angeles, all the way out to the ocean and even Catalina Island. Behind them were the hills: Mt. Markham, Mt. Disappointment, and San Gabriel Peak. It was an interesting contrast between the man-made “mountainous” skyscrapers of downtown L.A., and the God-made, awe-inspiring canyons and valleys and hills that dwarfed them.

  She gazed out over the sweeping vistas. “It’s beautiful.”

  He peered down into her smudged face. “Yes it is,” he murmured. He battled his urge to kiss her, reminding himself she wore another man’s ring on her finger. “This is what I think the director wanted to capture, us overlooking some breathtaking vista. Not the sweaty, dirty, bloody couple we are now, though.”

  She laughed.

  He glanced ruefully at his cut up hands. “Hal is gonna be so pissed. What do you say we find a way down off this piece of rock?”

  “I say, lead the way.” She placed her hand in his.

  They had not gone far, Chase searching this way and that for a gentler slope, when he stepped on a rock, twisting his ankle. He lurched and lost his balance, stumbling, his feet sliding over the edge of the cliff. He grabbed desperately at some grass as he fell, which held him only for the briefest of moments, but it was enough time for Hope to lunge and catch his arms. She lay on her stomach, staring down into his shocked face.

  “Oh my God, Chase! Don’t let go!” she screamed, her face panic-stricken.

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” he replied. The ridge below him was too far to fall to without injuring himself. His sweaty hands began to slip.

  “Chase! Chase! Hold on!”

  “I’m trying to!” He had already decided if he were to start to fall, he would immediately let go. She would fall headfirst if she came over the edge and would no doubt be killed.

  The veins on both of their arms were taut, and Hope grunted as her muscles began to shake. “What I wouldn’t give right now…for Hal’s…cell phone.”

  As if in response to her statement, they suddenly heard, “Ms. Creswell? Ms. Creswell?”

  “Yes! Yes! Over here!”

  Seconds later the rotund face of a Mexican man peered over the ledge. Chase recognized him as part of the studio crew.

  “Oh my!” he said in a highly understated way. He got down on one knee and reached down to grab Chase’s arm. Using his weight and strength he leaned back, pulling him up a little. Chase’s feet hit something solid and he was able to take some weight off, allowing the two above to pull him up completely with one great heave. Hope and their Latino savior sat down as he rolled to his back, all three panting heavily.

  “That was not good,” the man said.

  Chase and Hope looked at each other and began laughing, relief fueling their amusement, making them nearly hysterical.

  “You two are loco,” the man commented, whirling his finger in circles by his temple, but smiling.

  Turning from him, Hope leaned her head down and kissed Chase. Her hands on either side of his face, she stayed close, whispering, “God, Chase, don’t ever do that again.”

  He smiled up at her. “Not in my game plan.”

  Within minutes the rest of the crew had found them, taking a Jeep most of the way up on the opposite side of the hill. The director, not to be defeated, had the pair cleaned up and took pictures of them standing on an overhang, Chase’s arms securely around Hope.

  “See,” the director said to Hal, “the day was not a waste.”

  Hal just rolled his eyes.

  Hope and Chase decided to ride in the Jeep on the way back to the studio. With the sun, just beginning its descent, and the wind blowing their hair, she leaned against him, laying her head on his chest and falling asleep as she had the previous night.

  * * *

  When they returned to the house, a late dinner was decided upon so everyone could rest and/or wash up. Later, Chase put some steaks Hope had marinated on the grill, along with baked potatoes and little packages of seasoned vegetables she had thrown together. Hal went to get wine out of the storage room/cellar, telling them he would be careful not to seal himself in.

  During dinner, Hal announced they wouldn’t need any more footage; he and the producer were sure they had enough to put the video together. With his statement the mood turned sober. Chase felt his stomach drop.

  “Do you have enough information for your article, Hope?”

  “Hmm?” she replied distractedly. “Oh yes. More than enough. I’ll email you a copy for your approval before I submit it.”

  “I’d appreciate that, Hope. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just I’ve been in the business long
enough to understand how something innocent can be turned into something ugly.”

  “Oh no, Hal, I want you to look it over. I would never want to write anything that could possibly hurt Chase.” She and Chase locked eyes.

  “Well,” Hal said, raising his glass, “it’s been a pleasure working with you.” He clinked glasses with her.

  Chase raised his glass as well, and she slowly brought her glass to meet his, again staring into his eyes.

  Hal cleared his throat. “I’ve been feeling like a third wheel for so long now, I figure my tire needs to be replaced.” He rose and waved off Hope, who seemed about to protest. “I think I’ll just excuse myself and go do some paperwork in my room. Good night, all. Leave the dishes. I’ll get them later.”

  Hal left, in his wake, an awkward silence. Chase twirled his wine glass on the table. “Hope, we need to talk.”

  “I know. Let me clear the table and we’ll talk on the deck.”

  Together they cleared the dishes. She suggested they just wash up the few dishes to save Hal the trouble. Chase wordlessly grabbed a towel, letting her know, in his own way, he knew she was stalling, and he could outlast her. The inevitable was going to happen. They were going to have to rehash things painful to her, and she probably dreaded the conflict it would bring between them.

  He chuckled quietly as he dried a plate and put it in the cabinet.

  “What?”

  “Do you remember our first date?”

  “At the golf course?”

  “Yeah. Boy, I sure was one smooth operator!”

  “Yes, you were,” she agreed with a smile.

  He set his towel down on the counter. “You know, you aren’t doing the dishes right.”

  “I’m not?” she said in surprise, looking down at the soapy dish in her hand.

  “You’re supposed to do it like this.” He stepped behind her and brought his arms around, sticking them in the water to grab her hands. He meant it as a joke at first. But when their bodies touched, and he could smell her sweet fragrance…

  She appeared caught off guard when he moved behind her. She froze in his arms at first. He manipulated her hands, simulating wiping the dishes with her. The feeling of his hands touching hers in the soapy water was unbelievably sensual.

  “Like this,” he whispered in an ear.

  “Chase,” she breathed. She turned in his arms. Her cell phone rang, disrupting the quiet. They reacted as if they’d been splashed with cold water. “Oh, I got you all wet.” She grabbed the towel off the counter and tried to dry him off.

  “Never mind.” He laughed. “Go. Answer your phone.”

  She ran into the living room, snatching up her phone. “Hello…Phillip? What? You did research on me, l-like I was some piece you were writing?” she sputtered with outrage. “Yes, I dated Chase in high school.” There was a pause. “Because it was irrelevant.” She tromped toward her bedroom, but her voice carried back to Chase. “Whatever is between me and Chase has nothing to do with you and me. No! I didn’t mean something was going on…you have no right to call me that!” Her voice sounded shocked. “Phillip, have you been drinking? NO! You are not coming over here. I’ll come to you, do you hear me? Don’t get in a car. Promise me. Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Stay put!”

  She came out of the bedroom, visibly upset.

  “Chase, can I borrow your car?”

  “Of course, you can. But do you really think you should be driving?” She was flinging stuff out of her purse. “Hope.” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Slow down, honey. What are you trying to do?”

  “Find the damn car keys!”

  “But sweetheart, I haven’t given them to you yet.”

  She collapsed into his arms, sobbing. He closed his arms around her, pulling her closer with one hand on her head. “I just can’t do this! He’s mad at me! You’re mad at me!”

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  “Well, not anymore.”

  “Hope.” He pushed her away so he could peer into her face. “You can’t let us influence you. You need to make a decision, but it has to be your decision.”

  “I know,” she replied, her voice small. “I’m better now.” She reached down and found a pack of tissues she had thrown onto the floor. She wiped her face and blew her nose.

  “Are you sure? I can drive you—”

  “No! That would be the worst thing that could happen. You two might end up in a fight.”

  “What if I promise to behave myself?”

  “No, Chase. This is something I have to do myself.”

  “Okay,” he said reluctantly, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He pulled her close one last time and kissed her head. “I’ll wait up for you.”

  She nodded and was gone.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Several hours later, as Chase watched, her headlights lit the driveway. He heard her enter below him and trudge up the steps.

  “Hey, babe,” he said softly so as not to startle her in the dark room.

  “Oh, gosh, Chase, have you been up this whole time?”

  “No, I snoozed on the couch. Come here.”

  She dropped her keys on the sofa table and plodded into his arms.

  He kissed her head as he had done before she left. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, but didn’t elaborate for a moment. “I calmed him down. He was traaashed! Then the concierge and I put him to bed.” Chase didn’t say anything, just continued to stroke her hair. “He’s not a bad guy, you know. I mean…he is a jerk sometimes, but underneath all the bullshit he has a good heart.”

  “I’ll have to take your word on it,” he said wryly. He was rewarded with a small chuckle.

  Her voice came, muffled, from his chest. “I have a raging headache.”

  “Come on. We’ll get you an aspirin.” He escorted her to her bedroom. “Just stay here and I’ll be back in a second.” He went back to his bedroom and rifled through the medicine cabinet. He went to the kitchen to get a clean glass for her water.

  When he returned he found her lying on the bed. She had changed into a white, linen, eyelet nightgown with wide straps, buttoned up the bodice, and simply flopped on top of the covers, falling fast asleep in minutes, her face turned away from the door. He knew immediately she had fallen asleep. He set the glass of water and the pain relievers on the bedside table. He went around to the other side of the bed and climbed up carefully, stretching out next to her. Resting on his elbow, he peered into her peaceful face. Poor thing! You’re exhausted! He brushed the hair back from her cheek and bent to feather a kiss along her lips, then laid his head down on the pillow, and watched her sleep.

  Around two in the morning, Hope awoke. Chase was lying beside her, asleep, fully clothed. She pulled up on one elbow and peered at him. She had to smile. Gazing into his face, she saw the boy with the model airplanes she had first met, the handsome teenager she had fallen in love with, the rock star whose face had been splashed across numerous magazine covers, and the friend who had been with her the last couple of days.

  Taking care not to jiggle the mattress, she rolled out of bed and reached to turn off the light. She circled around the end of the bed, pulling a thick, pale blue cardigan out of the top of her suitcase. Throwing it around her shoulders, she continued to watch him sleep peacefully. How could this be the same guy who lied to her and snuck around behind her back? It just didn’t jibe. She finally moved to the other side of the bed and switched off the lamp there. Some light still spilled in from the bathroom. She crossed to the door and opened it as quietly as she could, going out onto the deck.

  * * *

  When Chase woke, Hope was gone. For one irrational moment he thought Phillip had come and spirited her away. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat up. Ignoring the head rush this gave him, he checked the bathroom. Not finding her there, he was about to check the living room when he noticed the deck light was on. He opened the door and stepped out onto the gray planks. He leaned on the ra
iling and scanned the beach below where his shadow stretched out across the sand like a giant. He saw her sitting near the water, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. The reflection of the moon on the water gave her an ethereal glow, just around the edges, defining her shape.

  He reached her, and then stood beside her for several minutes, his hands dug into the pockets of the white shorts, his blue shirt fluttering in the breeze. In the full moon, the waves shined like a sequined evening gown.

  “What are you doing out here?” he said quietly, without looking at her.

  She didn’t answer immediately. The only sound to break the stillness was the constant roar and swish of the waves. It pleased him, the commanding thunder of the water, followed by the gentle murmur. He knew they were heading for the crest of the wave, and dreamed of the promised peaceful swish that always followed.

  “Just thinking.” She peered up at him and moved to stand. He reached down to lend her a hand. “I hope I didn’t wake you. You were sleeping so peacefully.”

  He shook his head. He clasped his hands behind his back and watched the waves rise and swell, full of power, and then crash onto the sand. They stood that way for several seconds. He wriggled his toes into the cool sand, watching the grains fall skittering down the slope he had created trying to cover his foot. “What were you thinking about?”

  She thought for what seemed like eternity before answering him. “You,” she said looking straight ahead.

  He stared at her for a minute in surprise, and then turned back to study the waves again as she was. He debated whether he should ask more, but he knew she would offer more if he waited patiently.

  As if on cue, she breathed out, “About you and me. Times we had in the past, good times.”

  He studied her profile, seemingly so serene. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, too.” She looked so beautiful as she hugged a sweater around her, the breeze pressing against the nightgown underneath, making it flap loudly, like a flag on a pole. Her skin was luminescent, her eyes reflecting the swirling motion of the waves. He knew then he would not back down, would not let her go without a fight. He stepped toward her, touching her arms.