“Let's dance.” Mark held out his hand.
I walked with him and avoided all eye contact with the other guests. A waiter stopped us with a tray of champagne. I took two glasses and swallowed them down before Mark could toast me with his first one. I knew it took plenty of alcohol to awaken the vixen and the pillager inside me. The music was helping shake loose my very tight nerves. I swiveled my hips a few times to the beat and smiled devilishly at him. He smiled happily. Possibly because this was the type of girl he was more used to spending time with.
“I'm having a good time.” I yelled into his ear to be heard over the music.
While we danced, I transformed into a new person. My foot suddenly stopped hurting at that moment. I wasn't even self-conscious about the way I danced. Mark had great moves—dancing like a professional. Not like that awkward guy everyone pointed and laughed at, at the senior prom. His body rubbed against me a few times, and I prayed my deodorant was holding strong. My hormone levels were shifting inside like glaciers. If I didn't stop this bodily contact sport soon, I'd melt. Right into his body.
When the song finished, I went to the bar and ordered a cape cod, but only after a mystery shot of alcohol that the cute bartender suggested I drink. Mark ordered a glass of whiskey and drank it slowly. I felt him watching me. If only I knew what was behind those serious eyes. It didn't matter. In a few hours, the deal would be over and I'd be better off for not knowing what Mark thought about when he looked at me.
“I'll be back. I need to get some air.” He excused himself and walked past the tables into the darkness of the night. Whatever was on his mind, he felt he needed to take it for a walk. I wasn't sure if I should follow him. The question didn't have time to linger long in my thoughts. I felt someone touch my arm and turned around.
A tall, rather debonair man in a tuxedo stood smiling at me. He seemed a little older than me, but his body language carried ageless charm. “May I have the next dance?”
At first I looked behind me to make sure he wasn't speaking to someone else. The six-foot-one, very attractive man grinned at my innocence. His mustache drew my eyes to his lips.
“Yes, I was asking you for the next dance.”
The attention made me feel invincible and euphorically happy. I hadn't been to a dance, let alone slow-danced, in years. Now, to be asked by two great looking men? Wesley who? “Yes, I'd love to.” My alcohol level played a part in my easy acceptance.
The striking man took my hand and kissed it. I liked his short brown hair—and his chocolate eyes didn't make him too easy to turn away from either. His maturity gave him the confidence and ease to sweep any girl off her feet. Had I been sweepable. Which I wasn't. I was married. Twice in fact. My first husband was in a coma, and the second one was out back doing who knows what.
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tom McTavish. I'm the bride's uncle.” He touched his lapel. “Ew, that makes me sound old, doesn't it?” I smiled at him. “And you are?”
I swore there was the sound of crickets in my ears, as no answer came easily to my mouth. Who was I? Where was I? Wedding Crasher Number One and my accomplice is somewhere in the back pasture?
“I'm Amy Whitfield. I'm a friend of the groom. And you're not old, merely more distinguished than most.” I hoped the compliment would distract him from more questions about my sketchy identity.
The song changed to something slower, chasing most of the younger couples from the dance floor. Equal numbers got up from their chairs and joined Tom and me as we slow-danced to “Lady in Red.” I kept a friendly distance from my new partner, holding his rather large hand and the back of his left shoulder. I looked for Mark, hoping he was all right, as I danced in slow circles around the floor. Tom proved to be light on his feet, never once fumbling or stepping on my shoes.
“Are you looking for someone?” he asked. As he got closer to my face, I could smell his aftershave. My sensory glands were on overload. I was seriously going to invest in some cologne for Wesley.
“Yes, but I don't see him.” I stopped standing on my tiptoes and tried to enjoy the song. It felt weird dancing with a total stranger. His smell was unfamiliar, yet appealing. His height was new, yet likeable. And his hold was supportive and strong.
The song ended, morphing into a fast one. Some of the newcomer dancers retreated back to their tables, while others rejoined the floor. Using his eyes, Tom asked me to stay. Why not? No one would accuse me of pooping out at parties. I danced like no one was watching. He was actually pretty good at fast dancing. Some men, let alone older ones, couldn't pull it off, but he had the moves for both speeds. Could fun kill a person?
Tom didn't take his eyes off me. It gave me a chance to sum him up. By his tailor-made suit, I could tell he was well-to-do. Silver cufflinks peeked out from his sleeves and his shoes were shiny enough to be officer material. His maturity and charisma made me feel like he had sampled a few women in his life, and I seemed to be someone who piqued an interest in him. Oh, the feeling of being desired. How you've hidden from me my whole life. Why are you playing with me now?
The third song began and I shook my head not to stay, barely able to catch my breath. I whispered, “Thanks for the dance,” into his ear and turned to try and find Mark. Tom held his chest, as though an arrow had just pierced his heart. I laughed and lightly touched his hand before disappearing in the crowd.
I found Mark sitting alone at our table, apart from the others. I sat down and poured myself a glass of water from a nearby pitcher. I was genuinely worn out from the day's activities. If dancing seemed to be stealing my breath, I wondered what an aerobic workout at the gym was going to do to me. I propped my feet up on the empty chair next to me, looking closely at the side of my foot. The strap had worn a groove into my skin, but I didn't feel the full effect of it yet. I supposed the next day I would be limping like Flo from work.
“So, where did you disappear to?” I asked Mark. He looked as though he'd just lost his best friend. His face was void of any expression. Where had my co-wedding crasher gone?
A group of people began gathering in the middle of the dance floor, waiting to toast the new couple. Little kids stood at the back, trying to tunnel their way in between long legs and dresses. The photographer stood on a chair, focusing his camera on the newlyweds.
“Nowhere. You want to get out of here?” Mark seemed to be ready to leave the party that he suggested coming to.
I hadn't had this much fun in years. I had managed to pretend Wesley was home sleeping, in order to shake the guilt-monkey off my back. Why did it have to end? This was the reception I never got to have. But, like always, I agreed to something I really didn't want.
“Sure, but I need to find a bathroom first.” Those drinks I had were giving my bladder an uncomfortable stretch.
We snuck past the well-wishers and ducked inside the imposing country club. It was huge. Bigger than Mrs. Willis's winery. The center stone fireplace ran all the way up the wall, probably fifteen feet high. All the windows were dark, but I was sure you could see miles of sky in the daylight, from every vantage point in the room. Ornamental rugs covered the hardwood floor. There were large seating areas with massive leather chairs and glass globe lights. People were congregated in there too. It relieved me to know that no one was frisking us at the door, asking for driver's licenses and proof of relationship to the bride or groom. “I'll just be a minute. I can meet you in the front if you want.”
“Sure,” he said, absent-mindedly.
After I finished, I examined myself in the full-length mirror, pinching my cheeks for added color. They even had cloth napkins for drying your hands, displayed on a center basket on the shiny, black vanity. I think I'd have passed out if they had a sofa for lounging, equipped with a man holding a fan, ready to serve me at my beck and call. They didn't, but the size of the room could have accommodated such a fantasy come true.
A lady held the door as I stepped out to the two-story, vaulted recreation room. I hesitated when I sa
w Tom waiting outside the bathroom door. “Hello.”
“Are you coming back to the party?”
He looked different in this light. More sophisticated, more grown up, older. Only by fifteen years, I thought. But still as good looking as he looked in the moonlight. He had a little Alec Baldwin to his look. Stylish and devilishly handsome.
“I'm actually on my way out. My friend is waiting for me.” I bit the corner of my lip. Had someone flipped a switch inside me and managed to turn on a light that had been off for the past ten years of my life? I never got this much attention before now. So, is this what Ashley felt like all the time?
“That's a shame. I was hoping to have another dance with you.” He flashed me his best puppy-dog eyes. “What if I gave you a ride home?”
Before I could answer Mark came around the corner. He must have heard the last part of Tom's question to me. “Amy, are you ready?”
I looked at the two guys, one and then the other. “I appreciate it, but I have to go. I don't live close by.”
“That's okay. If your friend is all right with it, I can manage to get you home safely.” He looked away from Mark and back toward me. “I think we could have a good time. They haven't cut the cake yet. You can't leave before trying the cake.”
“I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be all right with it. I can take her home just fine,” Mark said, interrupting him.
The match was struck. I felt a hot wind blow across me. This was what it felt to be the prom queen. It's better than a roller coaster ride.
“Thank you though.” I interceded before any further male lingo was slung. The testosterone levels were reaching knee-deep. I had to find a way to clear the drain and walk out of there without any problems. Mark was stamping his ownership and I didn't seem to mind.
Tom hesitated before saying anything else. My eyes told him to please let it go. “Let me give you my card. Call me when you don't already have a chauffeur. I'd like to take you out sometime.”
I took the card and pleasantly smiled at him. I knew I'd never see him again, but still, he was a good dancer and frightfully refined. Mark held out his arm and waited to escort me out. I suddenly felt like I was five-years-old and being punished for bad behavior. His silence led me to a million conclusions. “Are you all right?”
He didn't break stride to his car. I was having a hard time keeping up with his pace. I was walking on an impaired foot after all. I pulled him back a little, attempting to slow his angry walk. “Mark, did I do something to make you mad?”
He wouldn't look at me. It was useless. Finally, he stopped walking and looked up at the night sky. The protrusion of his Adam's apple silhouetted against the lights of the clubhouse. I waited for him to say something. “It's just that when I saw that guy talking to you, I didn't like it.”
I laughed. Was that his problem? He didn't seem amused. I covered my mouth, remorseful of being tickled from his confession. It wasn't intended to be malicious. It's just that no one had ever been jealous when it came to me.
“I'm sorry, Mark.”
He took off from me, walking faster, leaving me behind. “No, you're right. It is funny. Almost comical. Kind of like karma. For all the girls I went out with and then refused to hear them say how much they wanted to go out again. Refused to even call them again. I became numb to their feelings. I'm getting a good helping of what I dished out.”
I had to jog in order to catch up and hear his rambling. “How are you getting karma served back to you? You and I aren't even dating. I'm not not listening to you. I didn't stay with that guy. I'm married, for goodness’ sakes. Didn't he see my ring?” I held up my finger that was wearing the small diamond.
Mark turned around abruptly, forcing me to collide into him. “Oops, sorry.”
He stroked my hair and studied my eyes. “Don't you get it? I didn't like seeing you with him, dancing together. Then when he wanted to take you home? I wanted to take you away and punch that guy out. Yell at him for touching you. I haven't been jealous in a long time. It's not a good thing for me to be, Amy. You're not mine to protect.”
Was this parking lot running out of air? Was I teetering on becoming asthmatic? I couldn't breathe. Why did I feel like I was coming undone? All Mark had to do was step into my personal space, and I became on-the-fence about everything I was fighting desperately to save. He made me question every feeling I had. He turned around and continued the pilgrimage to the car. I took my time to catch up, leaving space between us.
When I caught up, he had unlocked my door and was holding it open for me. “Didn't Wesley leave a note? Doesn't he want to...” He didn't finish asking his question.
I needed some time to heal from that puncture wound. Did he not know by now that I was trying to save my marriage? Sure, it had taken a few detours, but the intention was there.
I pushed him aside and got into the car on my own. “Thank you for reminding me that I suck at being a wife. Have you forgotten that I'm trying to salvage my marriage?”
He shut my door and got in on his side. “You're right. Why wouldn't you want to salvage a marriage in which you can't even remember the last time you were kissed the way you should be? The last time he held a door for you, or held your hand? You don't think I believed that he still did that, do you?”
He started the car, paused for a second, then turned to me with steadfast conviction. Sparks were flying, as his mount on the soapbox continued. “Amy, tell me to stop my feelings. Tell me to stop wanting you.”
The notion, the possibility, the opportunity was unleashed into the universe. Holy cow, he wanted me! He wanted me? I tried to rewind what he said, hoping my recall still worked. What did it matter? He was a skirt-chaser, a non-committer, a one-night stand, at best, albeit probably a fantastic one-night stand. My brain had to scream to be heard over my hormones. All of the chanting, “Take me, now, Mark,” could probably be detected by service animals within a one-mile radius. I had to think and fast.
Mark was monogamously challenged. Something I rated very high on my “must be able to do” list. After parking a flag on top of me, having won the quest, he would be on to the next. I couldn't fool myself into thinking I was any different than the other girls who were still scratching their heads wondering why he wasn't calling. And I was still married. Wesley had written the letter before the accident. This bump on the head would make him realize he had no one to take care of him if he left. Ours might not be perfect, but we took vows. I was no quitter. We could do marriage counseling. I had a grip on a new outlook. I would be more fun. I had seen the opposite side of complacency, and I liked it.
I tucked my chin and spoke quietly into the front of my dress. “Mark, you only know how to be a bachelor. You don't live in a world where commitment is a standard practice. That's all my world can consist of, and I can't just give up on the last four years of my marriage.”
He pushed the gas pedal a little harder. “Thanks for straightening me out on that. I won't have to bother you again. Especially since our deal is over. You can go to sleep. We have another thirty minutes before we get home. I'll wake you up when we get there.”
Did this mean not to talk anymore? Just sleep the last thirty minutes I have to spend with you? “All right.”
I complied and didn't say a word, but I didn't sleep either. It would be a while before I could sleep again. If it managed to get too quiet in my mind, I might have to consider his proposition.
Chapter Nine
He pulled up to my house and turned off the ignition. I looked out the window and back at him. Who was going to say something first?
“You've fooled yourself into thinking that a few pieces of clothes, or not, is going to improve your happiness. You're smarter than that, Amy.”
Maybe I should have said something first.
That was not a pretty way of saying my name. Attached to a snotty remark? “At least I'm trying. Wesley is all that I have left, Mark. My parents are gone and I haven't seen my sister in three years. I can work on myse
lf, and maybe it'll work. Maybe it won't. What have you done to help yourself? When is the last time you went out with the same girl twice? Or went on a date because you wanted to get to know someone and not because you were lonely? And cared if she came to your house, or woke up beside you the next morning? What's your problem with commitment?”
Ha! How does that shoe fit, buddy? I backed up against the window and waited for the retaliation. Instead, he pulled the lever on his car door and got out. He walked to my side and opened the door. Suspicious of what thoughts lay behind those needful eyes, I walked to the door keeping watch for some type of response. His silence succeeded in making me feel like the schoolyard bully. I was too hard on him. I, of all people, should know what it feels like to lose someone. So what if he was handling his fiancée’s death with endless women, unhealthy solitude, and double shifts at the hospital? Obviously, he didn't have anyone to help him to get back on track. When we reached the door, he took my hand before I placed my key inside the lock. With a piercing look, he began his rebuttal.
“Commitment isn't all that you think it is, Amy. It's a lot of putting yourself out there for someone, with the hope that it ends up good, and not, instead, with you alone, in an over-decorated townhouse, where you've only used two of the five appliances after living there for three years. It's finding that person who accepts you even if you're a screw up and haven't held their hand or kissed them with the passion they deserve. Someone who is able to wait patiently for you to stop freaking out every time they're out of your sight. Someone willing to accept the million calls to check if they're all right and not dead in an automobile accident. Because if something happened to them, I might not ever recover the next time around. Do you know anyone who is brave enough to be that to me?”
He was standing entirely too close to me. Too close for me to lie without being detected, as my eyes always gave me away. I couldn't be that brave. To go out on a limb with a guy who hadn't had a relationship in the last five years? Maybe he'd discover he missed three different women a week. To give up the only life I knew and the guy I vowed to love and cherish for better or worse? To disgrace my parents' legacy? I was too insecure and lacked a gambler's bone in my body. It didn't matter that all I wanted to do was fix him. To invite him inside my house, take off his clothes, and feel his skin against mine. Experience how good I knew he'd be, because I had caught myself imagining it before. It was fool's gold. Sure to tarnish in the light, when morning came and our real lives awaited us. “I don't know anyone that brave, Mark.”
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