Undying Love

by Nelle L'Amour

  “Are you okay, baby?” I asked her, wishing I could take her in my arms. Unfortunately, she was seated across from me.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t feel well.” She excused herself from the table, asking Maria for the location of the nearest bathroom.

  My mother, on her God-knows-what-number glass of champagne, was oblivious to the strained atmosphere and blabbered on about her recent philanthropic endeavors and the latest society gossip. Among her coterie of friends, she had gained the nickname “Loose Lips Eleanor” whenever she drank too much. By the end of dinner, we knew the dirt on every Botoxed socialite in New York. She even made a cutting remark about my sister and her pregnancy. My father’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth pressed into an angry line. “That lesbian sister of yours is not fit to be a mother,” he growled.

  I cringed. He was not fit to be a father.

  Before coffee and dessert were served, my father coldly asked to see me in his study. He took his scotch with him. Fuming inside, I followed him.

  He sat down behind his antique desk and looked me straight in the eye.

  “Son, I’m going to get straight to the point. I want you stop seeing that low-life tramp.”

  My blood curdled. How dare he call her that? He spent all of one minute talking to her. I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

  “Don’t talk about her like that, sir.”

  “I’m your father and I can say what I want. She is not worthy of the Madewell name.”

  “Well, I think she is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to marry her.” The words shot of my mouth like bullets.

  A fury fell over my father like I’d never seen. His face hardened, and his fists clenched until they turned white.

  “Son, if you marry that woman, I will destroy your life. Starting by firing you from your job.”

  I met my father’s fiery gaze head on. “No need, Father. I quit.”

  I stormed out of his office, without looking back to see his expression, and stomped back to the dining room. Fortunately, Allee was returning at the same time. She still looked terribly pale. Faint, in fact.

  I grabbed her by the arm. “Baby, let’s get the fuck out of this hellhole.”

  “Darling, so soon?” slurred my mother in her drunken stupor. Maria, clearing the table, looked my way with compassion.

  Introducing Allee to my sicko parents was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Maybe we just should have eloped. And maybe that’s just what we were going to do.

  I cradled Allee in my arms in the backseat of the Escalade while Marcus drove us back to my loft downtown.

  There was silence on her part. Her eyes looked glazed, though I knew she wasn’t drunk; she hadn’t even touched her wine. “What’s the matter, baby?” I asked, stroking her silky hair.

  “I told you; I don’t feel good.”

  I pressed my lips to her forehead. It wasn’t hot. No fever. “Do you have your period?” I ventured. Charlotte was always sick when she had hers. I instantly regretted asking when I remembered she was infertile.

  She simply shook her head. Closing her eyes, she sank deeper into my chest. Once we were back in my loft, we got ready for bed. Allee lethargically put on a pair of my sweats, saying she was cold. I held her in my bare arms. The burning urge to make love to her spread like a wildfire inside me. I nuzzled her neck.

  “Not tonight, Madewell,” she murmured, pushing me away.

  This was the first time she had spurned my advances. I yearned to tell her about my decision to quit Arts & Smarts, but I couldn’t penetrate the thick wall she’d put up. She slept on the other side of the bed, not letting me even snuggle her. In the middle of the night, she woke up shaking and screaming, “Get off me,” over and over.

  “What’s the matter, baby?” I asked, comforting her in my arms.

  She was damp with cold sweat. “I had a terrible dream. Your father was in it. He was a monster. And your mother was in it too. She watched him eat me alive.”

  I got it. My parents had sickened her. I knew because they sickened me.

  I smoothed her hair and kissed her lightly on her head. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here. No one’s going to hurt you.” That bastard!

  Holding Allee in my arms, I thought about tomorrow, when I would tell my staff that I was leaving Arts & Smarts. Words didn’t sprint into my head, so I was going to have to wing it. Before I drifted off, the sleepy sandman from my childhood sprinkled me with sadness.

  THIRTEEN

  After a restless night of sleep, I woke up at the crack of dawn. Allee was not beside me. And the smell of a delicious breakfast was not wafting up the stairs. I staggered out of bed and did my normal morning routines. Pulling out my jeans and a tee from my walk-in closet, I noticed that Allee’s museum uniform was gone, along with her coat. Perhaps she had an early-morning meeting at the museum. I tried her on her cell. No answer. I left a message on her voice mail, asking to call me back right away. I desperately wanted to tell her that I was stepping down as Editor in Chief of Arts & Smarts. I needed her support. And I needed to hear her husky, sexy voice.

  I got dressed quickly and made myself some coffee. I was not looking forward to going to my office. Allee’s failure to return my calls didn’t help.

  Once I was there, I gathered my troops in the kitchen by the coffee machine.

  I sucked in a deep breath. This was beyond hard. I’d been at Arts & Smarts for over five years, nurturing and watching it grow like a child. The staffers and I had grown close. They were like family.

  “Guys, this is difficult.” I inhaled another deep, anxious breath. “For personal reasons, I’m stepping down as Editor in Chief of Arts & Smarts.” Gasps filled the room.

  Inhaling again, I continued. “In the transition period, until a new Editor in Chief is found, I’m appointing Duffy McDermitt as my successor. All of you know Duffy. He’s talented, passionate, and committed. He will lead the way, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he found his calling in this new role.”

  All eyes turned to Duffy. He was as humbled as he was shocked.

  “A ’n S’ers, you don’t know how hard this is for me.” My voice grew watery. “You’ve been like family. In fact, the best and most talented family I could ever have.”

  There were tears and sniffles all around. It took all I had to stifle mine; Madewells were not allowed to cry. “All I can say is that I will miss you all and look forward to every edition of Arts & Smarts.”

  Amidst tears and cheers, I humbly marched out of the room. Duffy followed me.

  When I reached my desk and started packing up my personal belongings, Duffy asked me why I was doing this.

  I answered with one word. “Allee.”

  He threw his arms around me. “Good luck, man.”

  “And good luck to you, Duffster.” He was now the one who had to deal with my father, the bastard.

  I was still in a state of shock when I returned to my loft. I had just stepped down as Editor in Chief of Arts & Smarts. I had never quit anything in my life. Madewells weren’t allowed to be quitters. In a way, I should chalk this up as a victory. I had defied my father for once in my life.

  I immediately tried calling Allee again on her cell; when she didn’t answer it, I called the museum. I desperately needed to talk to her; she would make me feel better, make everything feel right. The jovial operator promised to give her a message. Rather than waiting for her to return my call, I decided to go for a jog around my neighborhood. Maybe a run would give me some clarity as to what I was going to do with the rest of my life. Unfortunately, it didn’t help. My mind was too muddled with uncertainty, rage, and despair. Fuck my father.

  When I got back from my run, there was a text message from Allee on my cell phone.

  I can’t see u anymore. My heart hammered. Was she breaking up with me because of my parents?

  What do u mean? I immediately texted her back, hoping that she was on her lunch break and would reply.

 
; It can’t work.

  WTF?

  There was no further response. I tried calling her, but she wouldn’t pick up. I tried again, leaving her a message to please call me back. That it was important. No response. I tried one more time and then I called the Met again to have them give her an urgent message to call me. The day turned into night. I didn’t hear back from Allee. I was beginning to think it was futile. Fuck. I bet my father got to her. The fucking bastard. Not only was my career over; my relationship was over too.

  FOURTEEN

  I tossed and turned all night. Allee never called me nor did she come home. Unable to sleep, I tried calling her several times on her cell phone, but it went straight to her voice mail. I was so pissed I almost tossed my phone across the room.

  I finally drifted off, only to be awoken by the sound of my intercom buzzer. Who the hell could it be at eight o’clock in the morning? I knew it couldn’t be Allee, as she had a key to my loft. Groggy, I staggered out of bed and checked my surveillance camera. My half-shut eyes grew wide. It was Charlotte. What the hell was she doing here? I hadn’t seen or heard from her for over three months. And this early hour was a far cry from her usual ten o’clock wake-up time. Seriously, she was the last person I wanted to see, now or ever. With the exception of my father.

  I buzzed her in. She sprightly bounced out of the elevator, wearing one of her Chanel suits and carrying a chic, colorful plastic folder under her arm.

  “Hi,” she said seductively.

  “What’s up, Charlotte?” My tone was terse.

  “I thought you’d like to see these.” She handed me the folder. “Open it.”

  Her green eyes stayed glued on me as I unwound the string that fastened the folder. A proud smirk spread across her lips.

  “Your new girlfriend is a very hard worker.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

  I removed the contents and froze in shock when my eyes met the first photo. It was a shot of well-dressed man in his sixties kissing a beautiful, sexy young woman—Allee! The imprinted date on the picture indicated that it had been taken earlier in the week. The night Allee had to accommodate one of her massage clients. Nausea rose to my chest. I wanted to throw up.

  “Have a look-see at the rest of them at your leisure.”

  “Get the fuck out of here, Charlotte.”

  “Whatever. I’m off to the D&D building to meet a new client.” She flashed a smug, toothy smile. “Feel free to call me when you’re done.”

  She breezed over to the elevator and let herself out. I was shitting in my pants.

  My hands trembling, I flipped through the stack of photos. Obviously, my ex had hired a private investigator to follow and spy on Allee. Each photo was more shocking than the one before. Here were shots of Allee kissing, undressing, teasing, and, damn it, fucking well- dressed—and undressed—older men in all kinds of positions. Her wardrobe ranged from tight short, low-cut dresses and stilettos to lacy black pushup bras and skimpy black panties with garters to absolutely nothing. She had on lots of makeup and wore her hair loose. With each photo, I grew sicker and sicker. So, this was Allee’s real second job. God fucking damn it. She was a high-priced hooker.

  I finally got to the last photo. I recognized the dress immediately. It was identical to that tight blue dress I’d seen on the woman leaving the Four Seasons bar the night I’d had drinks with my father. It had been Allee! Quivering, I studied the photo. Allee’s back, draped with her long, dark hair, was to me, her body ensnarled in the arms of a man whose face I couldn’t see because he was obviously kissing her. There was something familiar about his suit. I examined the photo more closely, zeroing in on the monogrammed gold and diamond cufflinks he was wearing. The initials inscribed in them brought a rush of bile to my mouth. R.M. It was my father.

  Okay. I’ll admit it. I puked my guts out. Nothing had prepared me for the shock of this discovery. Did Charlotte recognize my father? I didn’t think so because she would have rubbed it in my face.

  After cleaning up the mess I made in the living room, I took a long, hot shower. I was still sick to my stomach. It was hopeless. No amount of water could flush the photos out of my head or wash away my disgust and hurt. Fighting another bout of nausea, I slid down the travertine wall and let the steaming water pound onto my bowed head. I didn’t know if I still loved Allee or despised her. Only one thing was for sure: I loathed my father.

  My father’s office building was located on the northeast corner of Park Avenue and Fifty-Eighth Street. I took the elevator to his thirty-fifth floor penthouse suite, my eyes focused on the panel of lit-up floor buttons. The passengers, who surrounded me, were a blur.

  The elevator doors parted, and I stomped straight past the receptionist to my father’s corner office. His attractive, blond secretary gazed up at me. “Ryan, do you have an appointment with Mr. Madewell?”

  My eyes burned into hers. “Hazel, I don’t need a fucking appointment. I’m his son.” I marched straight into his office.

  His office was enormous and furnished with the finest antiques money could buy. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city. One wall consisted solely of a bank of flat screen monitors that were streaming news channels from around the world. He was seated behind his imposing desk, on speakerphone.

  “Father, get off the phone.” My voice was authoritative. It was the first time in my life I had ever told my father to do anything. To my surprise, he ended the call.

  “What is it, son? Is there something urgent I should know about Arts & Smarts?” His voice was business-like and calm.

  “No. It’s something you should know about you.” I handed him the folder that was tucked under my arm. “Open it.”

  Fumbling, my father unwound the cord and pulled out the contents. His eyes grew wide and his hands shook. When he got to the last photo, his mouth dropped wide open with shock. He threw the contents onto his massive desk. All color drained from his face.

  “Listen to me, Ryan. She’s nothing to me. I only fucked her twice.”

  Twice? Once was too much. Rage was rushing through my bloodstream.

  “And Father, was she as good for you as she is for me?”

  My father lowered his head and didn’t answer. “Please don’t tell your mother.”

  Is that all he had to say? Didn’t he care one bit about the fact that I was—or had been—in love with this woman? That she was everything to me?

  With shaking hands, my father assembled the photos and put them back in the folder.

  “Take them and get out of here.” He rose and shoved the folder back into my hand.

  “Don’t you want to keep them, Father? You can publish them in one of your tabloids. I’m sure they’ll sell lots of copies and drive up the price of Madewell stock.”

  His eyes clashed with mine.

  “There’s something else I want to leave you with, Father.”

  With one seamless move, I did something I’d always wanted to do. I lifted my right hand, clenched my fist, and punched my father in the face. I hit him so hard, my knuckles stung.

  My father, stunned, put his hand to the large red welt I had left on his cheek and rubbed it. Blood flowed from his nose. He couldn’t get his mouth to close or spew a single a word.

  “Bastard!” Without looking back, I stormed out of his office.

  Instead of my father disowning me, I disowned him.

  My next stop: The Met. I had to confront Allee. Marcus expertly wove in and out of the mid-day traffic, making excellent time uptown. I glanced down at the folder on my lap. My stomach clenched. My emotions teetered between extreme rage and extreme dread, though they were tipping on the side of dread. I had no idea of how I was going to feel when I saw Allee. Or what I was going to say. For a writer, my command of words often failed me.

  The museum was bustling with visitors and tourists. I spotted the beautiful, blond, long-legged tour guide I had encountered when I first met Allee. I had learned from Allee that her name was Samantha, Sam for short, and
that she had become Allee’s best friend at the museum.

  “Do you know where I can find Allee?” I asked her.

  She gazed at me flirtatiously. She definitely was a looker, but I didn’t have time for small talk. My nerves were like little electrical impulses, ready to explode.

  “She’s conducting a VIP visitors’ tour of the Impressionist collection,” she replied.

  “What floor is that?”

  “Second.”

  I dashed off without thanking her.

  “Observe the way the colors dance in the light and…” Standing before a large painting of a Degas ballerina, a weary-looking Allee was giving a guided tour to a small group of well-dressed Japanese tourists. When she spotted me, she stopped in mid-sentence. Her jaw stayed open wide.

  I grabbed her by the elbow and jerked her away. Stunned expressions washed over the faces of the tourists.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Madewell?” The Asian tourists oohed at the word “fuck.”

  “We need to talk.” Clutching the folder with the photos, I dragged her over to a nearby observation bench. I shoved her down onto it. She defiantly stood up, only for me to shove her down again and hold her there forcefully with my free hand.

  “Didn’t you get my text? I don’t want to see you anymore.” She tried to squirm away from me, but it was futile.

  “Madewell, let go of me. You’re gonna make me lose my job.”

  “Then, we’ll be even.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “This.” I flung the folder onto her lap. “Open it.”

  Slowly, she undid the fastener and removed the contents. She gasped and her face turned white as a ghost. Her hands trembling, she leafed through the photos. When she got to the last one of my father all over her, her body shook.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “When were you going to tell me?” Fury fueled my words.