by Alyse, Jade
“Hmm.”
She started for the elevators, glancing back at him. “I’ll choose to ignore the judgmental tone in that response.”
He remained planted on that flat surface, ogling her. The fluorescent lighting above his head shielding his green eyes behind the glare of his smart glasses. “Dinner.”
She stopped. “Say what?”
“I was instructed to invite you to dinner at my father’s house two nights from now. Very low-key.”
She smiled, disbelieving, and pressed the elevator button to go down. “I’ll call Lamb in the morning to confirm.”
“Don’t bring your husband,” he called to her as she stepped onto the elevator.
“What?”
He didn’t repeat it.
“JUST SOMETHING AT DR. LAMBERT’S HOUSE. SOMETHING SMALL. DON’T WANT TO BORE YOU.”
And she walked out of the door. Just like that. Leaving her husband eyeballing her quizzically from his favorite chair in the living room. He was getting to that age she figured; where he had a favorite place in the house and stayed there the rest of the night with his beer.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” he’d said, as he watched her get dressed. “I can’t cook worth a damn, but I’ll figure something out.”
Sliding a black cocktail dress up her body, she glanced back at him. “Dear God, baby, how did you manage all of those years without me? You should be rewarded for your survival efforts.”
After helping her zip up the dress, he snaked his hands around her waist and kissed the nape of her neck. “No woman knows my stomach the way you do. Not even my own mother.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
He chuckled. “I’ll let you know upon your return.” He followed her into the closet, where she found a pair of suitable black pumps. “And how long will you be?”
“Shouldn’t you be studying some storyboards or something? Your flight is in a couple of days.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“No more than a couple of hours, I suspect. Dr. Lambert has to be in surgery at six tomorrow morning.”
Brandon winced. “Sheesh. No wonder he’s a millionaire.”
“Yes, aside from steady hands, a genius like IQ, and years worth of experience under his belt...getting up early is troublesome.”
Brandon folded his arms across his broad chest. “I see.”
“It’s just dinner, Brandy. Don’t get your nuts in a knot.”
“They’re well hung and loose, thank you. I’d just like to spend some time with my wife before I leave.”
She turned to face him, hooking her arms around his neck. She pecked his chin once and smiled. “You look so cute when you’re pouting.”
He kissed her lips once. “I’m not pouting. If you’re not home by ten, then I’ll show you pouting.”
She snickered. “Ten-thirty.”
He gave in so easily. “Fine.”
Then, she was out the door.
It was strange, really; leaving Brandon behind like that. Even after all of the years between them, she still have difficulty admitting to him that he, her husband and the love of her life, was her sole confidant. The assurance of his presence, provided her with an addiction that she couldn’t imagine weaning herself off of.
For what, exactly? What good would come of it? And didn’t it take her years to get to the point where she could even acknowledge that she felt this way?
Trudging her cell phone from her purse with ardency, she pecked a familiar series of numbers and waited for the line to pick up.
“What’d you forget, Tallie?”
She smiled at the sound of his voice. She hoped he heard the smile in her voice, too. “Nothing.”
“Okay, well now that I’ve got you on the line, don’t be mad at me. There’s a little burn mark on the stove where I tried to sauté the chicken the way you do. I’ll run to the store on my lunch and buy some shit to clean it up. Oh, and there are a couple of grease splotches on the wall by the oven...don’t ask, but I’ll...”
“Brandon!” She halted his trail of word vomit before he could continue, divulging anything else.
He exhaled. “Yes, baby?”
“I love you.”
He chuckled lowly. “God, I love you too, Natalie.”
“I’ll be back soon. Promise.”
“I’ll be waiting...naked.”
Rolling her eyes, she found it hard to keep her smile from growing. “Goodbye, my husband.”
SHE VAGUELY REMEMBERED THE ROUTE SHE’D TAKEN TO LAMB’S HOUSE A FEW WEEKS EARLIER.
Brandon, her dear husband, drew her a map, assuring her of the ease of the journey. Pressing the small sheet of paper to the steering wheel, she made record time, stalling in front of the good doctor’s wrought iron gate at the end of a long, serpentine driveway. Dialing the sequence of numbers to the security code, as Lamb had instructed, the gates parted slowly, almost dramatically, as a full ivory moon peered on from a sapphire-black sky. Killing the engine on her sedan at the end of the driveway, she exited slowly, gazing upward at a dwelling flanked in well-placed landscape lighting and verdant shrubbery. Pink and yellow-blooming hedges, and tall cypress trees guarded the perimeter of the home, and Natalie stood awestruck for a moment, as though she’d never seen such a house before. Now, however, Lamb’s place had character, had life; she was growing accustomed to the inhabitants of the house.
She needed to let it all sink in.
Just as she approached the door and rang the bell, her phone rang once more. Pressing the “talk” button and holding it to her ear, she heard footsteps approach and saw a silhouette manifest beyond the door.
“Did you make it there okay? Did my map work?”
“Yes, Brandy, you’re an excellent artist.”
“Okay, good. I’m going to take a shower and finish packing. You okay?”
“Perfectly fine.”
“Very well, I’ll stop bothering you now. I love you...again.”
The front door opened, and she languidly found her eyes well buried in Bellamy Lambert’s. “I love you more, Brandy. See you soon.”
Stowing her phone away almost clumsily, she felt her cheeks buzz with warmth. Casually flanked in a crisp blue buttoned-down shirt and dark jeans, she realized that she was staring far longer than she’d intended, and so was he, as if to wait for her voiced opinion of his appearance.
But she cleared her throat and fluttered her eyes. “Bellamy, I didn’t know you’d be here.”
He opened the door a little wider. “Neither did I. Disappointed?”
She bounced her shoulders indifferently. “I’m insouciant.”
He stepped aside to allow her to enter. “Whoa, big word.”
“I skimmed the dictionary on the drive over. Always keep a copy with me.”
“You’re funny.” He shut the door behind him and fussed with his glasses fleetingly. “Follow me, please.”
Although the smell of something cooking floated effortlessly above their heads, she inhaled his scent of fabric softener and spearmint, and closed her eyes. She had a half a mind to inquire into why he always smelled like that, but she kept her mouth closed. She only trailed behind him slowly, absorbing the sights of high ceilings, textured walls, tapestries and ornate oriental rugs, portraits and paintings and contemporary art structures.
Operatic music fluttered in her ears as she tailed Bellamy off of the main corridor and into an octagonal shaped dining room, with floor-to-ceiling windows, brown upholstered chairs and two lantern chandeliers suspending from a tray ceiling.
“Mon dieu!” Lamb, who had been seated at the head of the table, now stood with arms extended. “Ah, ma chère, you look absolutely beautiful.”
Grabbing one of her hands, he lightly pressed his lips onto the surface of her knuckles. “Please, come sit.” He held out the chair next to his at the table, and she took her seat quietly. “Bellamy, aller dans la cuisine et voir sur notre dîner...”
Bellamy nodded
once compliantly and disappeared out of the room, glancing transiently in Natalie’s direction.
“Thank you for coming, Natalie. I’m sorry I didn’t greet you myself but I was on the phone not too long ago. Bellamy was pleasant, I hope?”
Natalie smiled. She recalled a number of moments in recent history, where she’d looked into Bellamy’s eyes and had been struck by the impression of lethargy, swimming unabashedly in them. She imagined the sound of Thom Yorke’s mourning singing voice, lulling through his head all day with no one there to press the pause button. “Yes, he was fine.”
Lamb parted his lips as his expression softened. She knew that he intended to launch into an explanation of why Bellamy was...Bellamy. But someone else entered the room, interrupting his train of thought.
Dr. Celia Ross stood in the doorway, flanked in something that closely resembled a negligee. Natalie’s eyes fluttered as though she had been unwittingly thrust into a private moment. Then, Bellamy appeared behind her. “Father, I’m assuming this one’s for you.”
Lamb stood once more. “Celia, what a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting you till..”
Looking down at Natalie, he quickly amended his voice and countenance. “Please, have a seat. Dinner will be ready shortly.”
Gliding over to the chair directly across from Natalie, Celia was smirking. “Why, Natalie, you’re becoming a regular on the Lambert circuit, aren’t you?”
“Celia. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
The doctor took her seat. “Likewise. And where’s that delicious husband of yours?”
“At home. He’s enjoying not having me nag him for a few hours.”
Celia giggled. It was youthful and sensual. “Ah, marriage. An institution for the soft-hearted and affable. Wouldn’t you agree, Natalie?”
“I think your husband would agree, Dr. Ross.” Bellamy reentered the room, carrying a bottle of wine and three glasses. “Or is he your ex-husband? And is this husband number two or three?”
Lamb tugged the reading glasses from his face and glared at his son. “Bellamy, regarder sa bouche!” The biting, aggressive tone caused Bellamy to nod once, mutter, “My apologies, Dr. Lambert”, and exit the room again.
Peering at Lamb and Celia, almost ingloriously, Natalie pushed her chair out and stood to her feet. Clearing her throat, she murmured, “Excuse me, please,” then sauntered into the hallway.
Following the sound of clanging pots and pans, she pauses by the doorjamb and leans against it quietly. She watches for a few moments undisturbed. With the muscles in his back arched tensely, he sloshes sauces and spices into pans almost sloppily, becoming increasingly heavy-handed as his frustration ensues.
He flips something in one of the pans, then huffed. “Are you going to enter or just stand there staring at me like a voyeur?” He turned to face her. She lowered her eyes quickly to see his chest rise and fall in a panting fashion. She didn’t answer. The tension in his expression relented. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. I was just seeing about dinner. I’m starving.”
“Dinner is almost complete.”
“Where’s the cook? Lamb said something about a personal chef.”
“Yes, normally there is one. My father has a very restrictive diet.” He tossed a dish towel over his shoulder as he bent down to open the over. “But tonight, she’s sick. And...well...”
“You’re cooking dinner.”
He dumped a casserole dish on the stovetop, knocking the oven door closed with his knee. “Yes.”
“You can cook?” She voiced this more as a statement than an inquisition. She took once step forward.
He nodded slowly. “Yes. I’m French.”
“I’m black. That doesn’t mean all blacks can cook. Do you need a hand?”
He didn’t answer initially. Instead, he kept his back turned to her as though he hadn’t heard her offering. Then, he exhaled heavily. “Please.”
He instructed her to carry a couple of the dishes he’d prepared into the dining room, where Lamb and Celia sat, now placidly holding hands and speaking lowly. When she returned to the kitchen, Bellamy had her dicing green onions and garlic for a broth he’d prepared, as he put the finishing touches on the cuts seared halibut he’d devised.
Stirring the broth to creaminess, she glanced over at him. “This smells wonderful, Bellamy.”
“It’s nothing. I’ve cooked this meal a number of times. And it’s one of the very few things my father can eat that’s good for him, but filling.”
“Ah.”
“Here.” He handed her the dish of halibut. “Take this into the dining room, then meet me by the door that leads to the terrace out back.”
“I thought we were eating in the dining room?”
He shook his head vigorously. “No. I’m not. You are more than welcome to. But I’m offering you an alternative. A more...aesthetically pleasing alternative.”
She stared at him, but no thoughts coursed through her head. Sensations surfaced: sights, stringent scents, and sounds. And there was a fortuitous calm surrounding her, and a pull, transfixing her eyelids to heaviness. Her lips parted, and she exuded one short breath after the other, until she was able to murmur, “Okay.”
Lamb looked baffled, but did not question it. He simply watched her waltz out of the dining room and back down the corridor. He was still holding Celia’s hand.
Traipsing down the hall, her heart thumped. She realized quickly that she should have stayed at that table with Lamb. It would’ve been the most logical thing to do. But there was something about that damn house, with its winding hallways, shadowed corners, and eerie, opulent disposition that enthralled her. She was reeling once more.
She found Bellamy Lambert standing by the back door, with one hand casually shoved into his pocket and the other carrying a bag of sorts.
She arched an eyebrow. “What’s with all of the mystery?”
He grinned. “Not trying to create one, Natalie. Just wanted to eat somewhere a little bit more pleasant. It’s a nice night.”
“Like?”
He nodded his head in the direction of the back lawn. “Come.”
And she did. A light, tepid wind blew past her cheeks, as she tailed Bellamy outside, down a small flight of stone steps, past the fountain in the center, to a small screened-in gazebo on a gentle null in the distance.
He held the door open for her, and she entered compliantly, taking a seat on one of the cushioned benches. Quite cognizant of her expression, she scrutinized his every movement, from the moment he pulled two prepared plates out of the bag to the moment he sat them on a small table between them, to the moment he flicked on the lantern lights above her head. She embraced the silence between them, as she could not, and would not explain why she sat there with him.
Sitting down opposite her, he sighed. “I guess I should have asked you if you liked halibut.”
Clearing her throat, she placed a napkin in her lap. “Yes. I do. Thank you.”
The meal that Bellamy had prepared smelled wonderful. Taking a deep inhale, she picked up a fork and dove in with little hesitation.
“Good,” he said. “Just so you know, I derive very little pleasure in stealing my father’s dinner guest.”
“I would’ve thought otherwise.”
He gazed at her idly. “Then you must not think very highly of me.”
“No. I don’t.”
He lowered his eyes, stabbing at his fish with his fork. “Ah, I see.”
“I didn’t take you for someone who gets easily offended.”
“I don’t. I’m just used to hearing things secondhand. You know, rumors and such. No one’s every expressed it so...directly.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you always so succinct with your words?”
“I normally don’t have very much to say.” She shoveled a forkful of halibut into her mouth.
“I think you do.” A flicker of the breeze moved his wavy hair into his face, momentarily
diverting her eyes. “I think you possess a very good filter.”
Dropping her napkin and fork onto her plate, she rose to her feet, dusting off her lap. “I think I should go call my husband and check on him.”
“Brandy.” She imagined his lips and tongue, playing around with the word, absorbing it.
“Brandon,” she corrected.
“You love him.” His proffered this statement in a tone barely above a whisper.
“Yes, I do.”
“I see.”
She felt the direction the conversation was going in and she didn’t like it. Turning toward the door, she inhaled and replied, “I’ll see you in the house, Bellamy. Thank you for dinner.”
It wasn’t until she was back in the house and heading toward the dining room, that she realized her mistake. She no longer felt the need to call her husband. And she shuddered anyway.
She found Lamb and Celia sitting in a hearth room with ceilings so high, she could see a second set of windows on the next floor up. She saw the moon there, and exhaled.
Lamb was at his feet, swiftly reaching for her hands. For a moment, she gazed at him spellbound, unearthed at how much he looked like Bellamy.
“Come.” He pulled her toward one of the sofas. “Have a seat. We were just discussing boring, hospital business. Relieve us of our misery.”
But she didn’t want to sit there. She wondered what remained outside on Lamb’s back terrace. And she wanted to go back. Still, she sat cross-legged and pleasant, listening to Lamb voice an old memory from his days in Marseilles. He’d saunter in and out of French so much that Natalie soon lost interest in trying to understand. She figured he was talking to Celia anyway. Gazing outward, she took deep, long breaths, soon realizing that her place was not needed there. She rose to her feet again. Lamb and Celia both looked at her.
“Your bathroom, where is it?”
Lamb’s eyebrows furrowed together pensively. “Uh, we’re doing renovations on the one down here. Go up the stairs, down a couple of doors and it’s the third door on the right.”
“Thank you, Lamb.”
“Are you ill?”
She shook her head. “No, just feeling a bit lightheaded. Need to splash some water on my face. I’ll be back.”