In the Eyes of Love

by Sheri Livingston

  After tossing her keys on top of the TV, she made her way to the phone sitting on the floor and pushed the button on the answering machine.

  Only a recording of a telemarketer occupied the tape’s space. She punched the delete button and grabbed the phone, speed dialing Morgan, getting the sexy recorded voice instead of the real one she needed to hear.

  Dawn left the thousandth brief message, cut the phone off and threw it onto the couch.

  She walked across the lifeless room and into her bedroom, stopping long enough to envision Morgan sprawled across her bed, naked and waiting. She could see her long blonde hair billowing across the sheets, calling for Dawn’s fingers to yank their way through every wave.

  Shaking the images from her mind, she went into the bathroom. Determination was strong this evening. She wouldn’t give up without seeing, hearing, or feeling Morgan tonight.

  Dawn kicked off her shoes, skimmed out of her clothes, and left them on the floor. She stepped into the shower stall and turned the handle. Scalding water sluiced over her skin. She closed her eyes and let the water slick down her hair, visions of Morgan’s body invading the blackness behind her lids with lightening speed.

  “Tonight, Morgan. Tonight’s my night. No more running and no more hiding. Your time is up.”

  An hour later she posed in the jeans and shirt Morgan had bought her a year ago. The jeans Morgan had told her a hundred times how sexy her ass looked in them. She sat down on the couch, re-dialed Morgan’s number, then heard the click of a phone, and not an answering machine.

  She felt her breath catch and smiled at the sweet sound of Morgan … the real Morgan.

  Chapter Four

  Morgan turned the key to her apartment, and heard the phone’s shrill. She left the door ajar and ran, almost knocking over the crystal vase sitting on the computer desk beside the phone. Without looking at the display box, she grabbed the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  There was no response, only the sound of breathing. Her heart somersaulted in her chest.

  “Hello?” she asked again.

  “Why won’t you take my calls?”

  Dawn’s voice sounded calm and relaxed on the other end. Morgan’s heart climbed to the base of her throat, throbbing, and pumping wildly. She gritted her teeth and tightened her jaw. Her body would never forget trembling beneath Dawn’s power. Her voice alone had that much control over Morgan.

  “I can’t believe you have the nerve to call here.” She forced the words through her aching throat. “Dawn, please don’t call here again.”

  Dredging up the last of her willpower Morgan hung up and listened to the dial tone. Outside the window, the early evening sun dipped below the trees. Morgan’s shadow reached across the wine-colored carpet to the hutch filled with her grandmother’s precious china. Her hands trembling, she laid the phone back in the cradle, knowing Dawn would call again. She cut the ringer off so she wouldn’t hear that demanding cry.

  Morgan dropped her purse with a thump by the desk and flopped into the brown plush couch. The cushions folded around her. She stared ahead of her at the loving faces of her parents that adorned the entertainment center in their silver frames. She ached for them sometimes. She yearned to talk to her father, to tell him how her heart hurt and have him kiss away the pain.

  But he wasn’t here, and he couldn’t kiss away this hurt. She was destined to hold that terrible empty feeling inside her forever. With a sigh, she leaned forward and shoved off the couch, catching the paisley throw pillow before it landed on the floor.

  As she walked the endless distance back to the open door, Morgan felt like she was standing still while the room whooshed by her. She left the apartment, pulled the key from the lock and then shut the door behind her. She walked back down the stairs to Jay and Phil’s apartment. The tempting aroma of garlic and herbs met her as she approached their door. Her tongue automatically dripped with saliva.

  Phil was the master chef in their household while Jay did all the cleaning and decorating. Phil wouldn’t let Jay anywhere near his kitchen and Jay wouldn’t let Phil shop for any furniture, curtains, knickknacks, or pictures. They made a perfect couple. Morgan loved them both dearly.

  “Hey, baby doll. Good day at work?” Phil yelled from the kitchen as Morgan barged through the unlocked door, leaving thoughts of Dawn in the hall since she was not liked here.

  “It was great. How was your day?” She strolled into the kitchen to see what he was cooking. “Mmm. Something smells delicious in here.” She took a deliberate whiff of the sauce simmering in a pot.

  “I sold three paintings.” His excitement rose in the air as he stuck his hand over the pot to keep her from dipping her finger in for a taste.

  Aside from owning a pet store that Jay managed, Phil was also an artist, drawing unusual abstracts. Strut had featured his artwork a few times.

  “That’s wonderful!” Morgan hugged him quickly and planted a kiss on his naturally red lips, “I have some exciting news too. We got the Shamrock contract. Signed, sealed, and delivered as we speak.” Morgan added, doing a victory dance.

  “Oh, honey. That’s awesome. Now we have three reasons to celebrate tonight.”

  “Three? Your paintings, my contract, where did number three come from?” Morgan wondered how such wonderful things were going on around her without her knowledge. As gentle as a lamb, he placed a single well-manicured finger on her chest.

  “That is number one. All the rest pales in comparison. That heart, on the mend, healing every day, is what I’m celebrating tonight.”

  His words made a lump rise in her throat. Hot tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

  “Don’t get all sappy sweet on me,” she said, pushing his finger away. She turned her head as well so he couldn’t see the traitorous tears glistening in her eyes. “I want you to tell me all the gossip you’ve managed to collect on our famous new gallery owner, Ms. Oglesby.” Keeping her drippy eyes under control, Morgan escaped his food bar and walked to the round dining table covered with a white lace runner and plates set out for display. She pulled a chair out and plopped into the padded seat with a grateful sigh.

  “What makes you think I know anything about her?” His smile deepened, hiding information.

  “You’re an artist. She’s an artist. You should know something about her.” Morgan looked back.

  Phil pursed his lips. “Well, rumor says her partner died under mysterious circumstances, possibly a brutal murder. I’ve never seen her, but a friend of mine said he had and that she’s young and beautiful.” He rolled his eyes, and then shrugged. “But, my so called friend is crazy as a loon, so I don’t believe anything he says. She’s probably an old ugly hag.”

  Morgan rearranged the knife and fork by the plate simply to occupy her hands. “All I know is she’s from California and has preserved her father’s dreams by opening Shamrock Gallery. The other thing is, she can’t stand me now, and I have no idea why. But hell, who cares? Rachel’s on her way to snag our mystery lady’s John Hancock and that’s all that matters.” Morgan sniffed the air. “What the hell are you cooking over there that’s making my taste buds go crazy?”

  “Oh! Just something I threw together for tomorrow’s dinner with my mom.” He beamed over his masterpiece, happy she noticed. “Just some mushrooms and sautéed onions over skinless, boneless chicken fried in garlic butter, served over linguini noodles.”

  Morgan said the dreaded the words before she could change her mind, “By the way, Dawn called again.”

  Phil straightened. His face reddened with rage. “Why in the hell is that cunt calling you again? I can’t believe she’d start calling you after all this time. Who does she think she is anyway? Just come and get me the next time she calls. I’ll put that bitch right in her place.” He strode back and forth with fingers snapping and hips swinging. He stopped, took one good look at her, and blurted out, “No! Morgan, tell me no. I can tell by the look on your face that you still want to talk to her. Did you
talk to her? What did you say to her? I can’t believe you. Morgan, why? What she did to you was horrible and unforgivable. She cheated on you. Not once, but twice. How many times does she have to screw around on you before you get it through your thick skull that she doesn’t love you?”

  Morgan picked up the napkin, crumpled it between her fingers, and then smoothed the fabric out again. “No I didn’t talk to her. I told her to stop calling and hung up on her. Are you happy? Where’s Jay by the way?” She quickly changed the subject.

  “He’s still primping in there.” He nodded in the direction of their huge guest bathroom. “I have no idea what he does in there. He doesn’t look any different when he goes in than he does when he comes out. And he won’t ever let me in. I swear he has some man shoved down the drain and pulls him out once a day to use and abuse him. Lucky dog!”

  “I heard that.” Jay’s muffled voice came through the door. “You wish you were the lucky man in the drain. You’re just jealous that you can’t look this beautiful all the time like me. Just get over it, honey. Ain’t no man alive as gorgeous as me. Others have tried but have never achieved it. Just face it … you have the best looking man alive.”

  Phil and Morgan rolled their eyes at each other.

  “And don’t you dare roll those eyes!”

  Phil and Morgan laughed. These men were the loves of her life.

  As if reading her mind Phil walked over, pulled Morgan out of the chair and put his arm around her shoulder. “Come here, baby doll.” He drew her to him and squished her face in his apron top. “I know you miss her, and I know you wanted so badly for things to work out. She just wasn’t for you. Accept defeat and walk away. She doesn’t want you back for the right reasons. Has she ever said she was sorry? Has she ever shown any type of remorse? Please believe me, baby, you’re so much better off without her.”

  “I miss her so much, Phil. I can’t believe she tore our relationship apart like that. I can’t believe that I let her do it again. Why do I still love her so damn much? What am I supposed to do?” She begged for answers feeling a lump rise in her throat again.

  “Honey, I can’t give you those answers. I can just be here for you and talk you through it the best way I know how. All I know is that it’ll get better whether you think it will or not. Every time she calls, you have my shoulder and every time you think of her, I have a bat for your head!” He giggled.

  “I love you so much,” She squeezed back, “Thank you so much for being my friend, and thank you even more for being the fool who’s in love with my bestest gay friend.” Morgan pulled away from his embrace and winked at him with somber eyes.

  “Someone had to do it. Might as well be me.” He shrugged, winked, and walked back to the aromas wafting from the kitchen.

  Jay honored them with his presence. He sauntered over and put his arm around Morgan’s shoulder, then pushed his hips out in that feminine way he had. “I love you too, and I’m honored to be your bestest gay friend in the world, honey, but Phil’s right. She doesn’t deserve you.” He kissed Morgan square on the mouth, then turned to Phil, slowly closing the distance between himself and his lover. “As for you, if you ever cheat on me, I’ll burn every item that you own. Then I’ll get a voodoo doll and torture you for the rest of your life,” he said, snapping his fingers in a Z formation.

  He wrapped his hands around Phil’s waist and pulled him close. Their sweet, lingering kiss brought forth an image of Dawn again. “You know guys? I think its time for me to get on with my life. I think it’s time I find someone to help me get over this broken heart of mine.” The words were out of her mouth before she could change her mind, whether she meant them or not.

  “Oh, honey! I think it’s a great idea. Let’s go find you a butch stud that’ll put the likes of that floozy bitch to shame.” He beamed just thinking about it, then looked down at his paint-splattered T-shirt and jeans, “Oh, I’m a mess! I have to look my best tonight. Oh! And would you just look at this kitchen!” He gave a terribly exaggerated squeal and ran from the table into the kitchen. He was never as good at the squealing as Jay was.

  Phil chanted words and phrases, what sounded like Greek, while Jay walked Morgan to the door.

  ———

  Morgan saw the light blinking on the answering machine as soon as she started across the living room. It was a habit she couldn’t seem to break. Waiting and watching, she’d willed the phone to ring for six months after their break up. It took her even longer to actually change the greeting from Dawn’s voice to hers in a stupid effort to hold on to any part of Dawn that she could.

  Morgan wanted to run to the answering machine but guilt from Phil and Jay’s conversation kept her at a steady pace. She reached for the phone with clumsy fingers.

  “Dear God. Please don’t let it be that sexy voice.” She prayed and pushed the button.

  Dawn’s voice was seductive as ever.

  “Please talk to me, Morgan. I really need to see you. I’m begging you …”

  Morgan slammed her finger down on the stop button. How dare Dawn ask to see her? How dare she keep my heart twisted like this? Why can’t she just leave me alone? But Morgan knew she didn’t want that either. Having Dawn still want her gave her a sick thrill.

  The red glow of the ringer fluttered beside her, indicating another call was coming through. She warily, yet willingly, reached for the phone.

  “What do you want, Dawn?”

  “Thank you for picking up. Morgan, please don’t hang up on me. I just wanted to hear your voice, that’s all.”

  “You’ve already heard my voice on the answering machine. Please stop calling here.”

  “Can I see you? Tonight? Now? Please, I need to see you. I miss you.” The husky sweet voice echoed through Morgan’s ears and down her spine, leaving a trail of heated goose bumps in their wake. Dawn knew all the words Morgan longed to hear. Visions of spitting on her, or scratching her eyes out, blossomed in crystal clear shards in her mind.

  Taking those words to heart would only cause more misery for her. Run, Morgan, Run!! Run away. Run from that sexy voice that’s behind those sweet brown eyes that you are so damn in love with. Eyes that burned a hole right through your soul. Run Morgan! Her brain screamed Phil’s warnings back at her.

  “Dawn, I can’t, and besides, we’re going out tonight.”

  “Please, don’t go. Stay at home. I’ll rent a movie and order some take-out. I can’t bear to think of you in the arms of another woman.”

  An image of Dawn’s betrayal flooded Morgan’s thoughts, “Neither could I, Dawn. Neither could I.” Morgan slammed the phone down.

  She willed her body to walk down the narrow hall. Painted palm trees arched across the walls, a present from Phil. She strode into the tiny bathroom. The bright pink of the shaggy rug and walls should have lifted her spirits, but instead, only dragged her down deeper into a blue funk.

  She kicked off her shoes and undressed, throwing each garment into the lighthouse hamper standing by the sliding shower doors. She slipped into the empty porcelain surroundings without bothering to cut the water on. She twisted the clear knobs. Cold, refreshing water sluiced over her fever-hot skin. She shivered, then turned the knobs and added more hot to mingle, backing into the water and letting the stinging stream flow over her head, into her face, and pull the weariness away.

  Chapter Five

  Shane glanced up to see the familiar face of Morgan’s co-worker, Rachel, pass in front of her office window. She quickly yanked the sheet back over her framed princess and made her way to the lobby just as Rachel entered the gallery.

  Rachel had called within an hour of leaving the restaurant, ecstatic about Shane’s message. Shane wanted those contracts signed as quickly as possible, so she made arrangements to meet with Rachel at the gallery.

  The office was quiet since Scott had left for the weekend.

  “Rachel Watkins?” she asked, surveying the bright-eyed woman.

  “Yes. Ms. Oglesby?” Rachel exten
ded her hand.

  “So nice to meet you. Come on in.” Shane moved back and allowed Rachel into the office. Once inside, she eased the door shut behind them out of habit.

  “We’re so excited you finally called us back. We were beginning to wonder if you’d been kidnapped or something. Morgan, um, Ms. Rhinehart, has called so many times, unable to contact you.”

  The mention of Morgan’s name sent a jolt through Shane. She sucked in her breath, blew it out in a steady stream, and turned back to her guest.

  “I’m sorry about that. I’ve been extremely busy. Let’s get this contract signed.” An image of sky-blue eyes looking past the craziness of this world, played across Shane’s mind. How she wanted to caress away the stress in those tight slender shoulders. She dreamed of pressing a kiss against those pert pink lips; to watch them part in heated pleasure.

  She shook away the images and concentrated on the documents before her. She grabbed a pen from the canister by the phone, scanned the more important legalities of the contract, and signed her name as quickly as possible.

  She looked back up into the caring eyes of Rachel, and pushed the papers back across the table.

  “Thank you,” Rachel said, gathering up the papers. She looked around the room at each piece on the walls. “Your artwork is out of this world. I’d like to see more if you have time.”

  Shane watched Rachel’s eyes scan the room, desperately hoping she wouldn’t ask about the one covered. That wasn’t a picture she was ready to show the world, but rather a desperate plea from an emotionless painter, ready to put her past to bed and awaken the future. Her courage to do so wasn’t as easy as painting the portrait had been.

  Shane rose from her chair, a smile spreading across her face, “With pleasure.” She extended her hand toward the door, gesturing for Rachel to stand and lead the way.

  She explained each frame as they strolled down the white walls covered in art.

  “What about this one?” Rachel asked, pointing to a picture of a little girl. The child was crying while she stood in the midst of rubble.