by Lara Hunter
“Well we might not want to go that far,” I sputtered, adding with a weak shrug, “Maybe we could just cool things off a bit for a while… just take a step back and stick to a more casual dating plan.”
Lily arched her eyebrows.
“Everything has to involve a plan, doesn’t it Oliver? And do you really believe that things could get cooler than they presently stand?” she asked, tone very cold indeed.
I looked at her for a long moment, then shook my head.
“No, I suppose not,” I agreed, tone soft and sad.
Meeting my words with another curt nod, Lily turned with a flourish for her office, in the process managing to slam the door that separated the work spaces and, today more than ever, the space between us.
For a moment I sat still and quiet in my seat; trying to process in my mind the events of the last few moments. Or, more truthfully, the events of the last few weeks.
Lily and I had been working together for so long; she was my support system, my chief assistant, my right hand woman.
I guess this is what happens when you have both of your hands all over your right hand woman, I snorted, burying my forehead in my hands.
Something told me that things never would be the same between Lily and me and this thought filled me with so much sadness and regret. What was happening to us?
What was happening to me?
Heaving a long sigh, I shook my head briskly to clear it of a sad, very confused haze, finally turning my attention to the pile of messages that lay unread on my desk.
I cringed all over again as I saw the name scribbled at the bottom of the first message; one that belonged to my father, the ever honorable Harry. R. Clark.
‘Call my office right away Son,’ the message read.
Picking up the receiver of my nearby office phone, I dialed my father’s office number and cringed as he answered in his eternally officious tone, “Good morning, Harry Clark.”
“Hi, Dad,” I mumbled. “What’s up?”
“Oliver!” he bellowed out, voice loud and booming. “It’s about time you returned my call. Listen, I hope you haven’t forgotten about the Chamber of Commerce banquet we have scheduled next Friday.”
“Oh of course not!” I chuckled. “We go every year to represent Clark Industries, it’s always fun.”
Dad snorted.
“Well I know it’s always a fun for you,” he said with a sigh. “You usually manage to get drunk by mid-evening, offering loud and inappropriate commentaries on all of the speeches as your bimbo date for the evening, and it’s a different one every year, giggles along in agreement and accord, in the meantime not beginning to understand or take anything away from the content or messages of any of the speeches. But since you’ll be bringing Lily this year, I have every confidence that things will be different.”
I froze.
“You want me to bring Lily this year?” I queried, eyebrows arched as I tapped some nervous fingers across the surface of my desk.
Harry sighed.
“No, I want you to bring the queen of England, or if she’s not available, that cute ol’ gal who does those insurance ads on TV,” my father deadpanned. I hate it when he does that. “Of course I want you to bring your girlfriend, my loveably knuckleheaded son. Connecting up with that woman is the smartest thing you’ve ever done, both for yourself and our company. I have no doubt in my mind that she will represent us beautifully, as she always does.”
“I know she would…” I release on a sigh. “The only problem is…”
“There is no problem that can’t be solved before Friday night,” Harry told me, tone hardening. “I’m sure you realize how important this event is for our company and, consequently, for you and your position at the company. I want our beloved Lily to be there, not only so she can represent our company, but so she can keep an eye on you.”
It was my turn to sigh.
“OK, message received,” I relented. “Lily and I will both be in attendance at the banquet next Friday.”
Dad paused.
“Good, just make sure of it,” he said finally, tone low and grave. “Don’t mess things up with Lily, Son. She’s the best.”
Chapter Eleven
~
Lily
For all intents and purposes, I should have been having the time of my life.
I sat like a queen at a central table in a lovely banquet hall; a room bedecked with plush tables covered with cloths of scarlet and topped with exquisite crockery and velvety red linens. Above me were glittery crystal chandeliers that hung from a vaulted ceiling. Before me was a glorious mural depicting a garden of roses in radiant bloom. Beside me was a painfully gorgeous man bedecked in a pressed black tuxedo, his hair slicked back to glamorous effect and his bronzed skin and cocoa eyes shining in the lights above us.
Of course, I reminded myself, I didn’t look half bad myself. Rejecting Oliver’s offer to take me shopping; spending my own money on a beautiful teal green frock that fell to my feet; a sleek satin number that came with a matching hat and a chapeau that set off my brushed, coiffed dark hair to lovely effect, if I do say so myself. This was a gown of my own style and choosing, purchased with my own hard earned money.
In a way the dress reminded me of the one that my favorite literary character, Scarlett O’Hara, wore at a pivotal point in the famous novel ‘Gone with the Wind.’ Scarlett wears the dress to prove a point; to show the world—and that pesky if undeniably hot Rhett Butler, that scoundrel—that she is both prosperous and strong.
OK, so I didn’t make this blasted dress from my own, seriously altered curtains but I did drop a sizable amount of dough on this reasonable facsimile. And I wore it with pride, drawing the attention of my handsome date.
“You look beautiful, Lily,” he praised me, regarding me with a good, long look before retraining his gaze ahead of him. “That dress is ravishing.”
“Thank you,” I assented, nodding stiffly as I took a seat across from him at the table, the farthest I could possibly sit from him without escaping to another table altogether.
It pained me to think that, if this event had taken place one month or even two weeks earlier, we would be thoroughly enjoying ourselves right now; talking and laughing as we snuck kisses and shared private jokes. We’d be having the time of our lives, clutching hands beneath the table as we enjoyed intimate conversations about… well, about everything.
Now we sat as far apart as possible avoiding each other’s gazes and directing our attention to the moderator who now announced the commencement of the chamber of commerce dinner.
Immediately I slipped into a personality mode that could only be called mechanical; smiling, laughing and nodding at all the appropriate places as the moderator and the keynote speaker delivered their speeches. I chewed and made complimentary noises as we ate a gourmet dinner; a meal of succulent lamb, seasoned mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables and a rich chocolate fondant that, on an ordinary basis, I would have enjoyed very much.
Tonight, though, I just didn’t seem to have much of an appetite. I was grateful for the presence of the food, as it gave Oliver and me something to talk about—a little bit, at least.
“Great eats,” I said at one point.
“The best,” he agreed, daring to look at me, and only briefly, for the second time that evening. “I know the chef who caters all of the chamber events, and he’s a great guy. He could make a hamburger taste like filet mignon.”
“Well he certainly delivered on this meal. I’m not getting on the scales for a week,” I followed up, diving headfirst into my beloved chocolate fondant.
“Me neither,” he agreed, seeming to study his own dessert with unusually intent eyes. “Nope, not for a week. At the very least.”
All too sadly, this fascinating conversation was disrupted by the formidable presence of Harry Clark, who suddenly appeared before our table as he slapped me on the back.
“Hello Lily! So glad you made it this evening,” he winked, standing t
o his full, formidable height and straightening the bow tie on his classic tuxedo. “You look beautiful this evening. Doesn’t she just look radiant, Oliver?”
“She does,” Oliver confirmed, adding with a faint smile, “By the way, Dad—hi.”
“Hi,” Harry greeted him, finally turning his attention to his smirking son. “You cleaned up pretty well yourself tonight, Son and I see you’re drinking water with your dinner. Lily is having a great influence on you.”
I shifted my gaze to my dinner plate as Oliver replied, “Yes—yes, she is. Of course, as always.”
Harry nodded.
“Well then why don’t you take her out on the dance floor?” Harry gestured behind him, in the direction of a sharp tiled dance floor at the back of the banquet hall. “I must say, Son, it’s rather rude of you to sit here stuffing your face when you could be dancing with your lovely gal here.”
Following the direction of his gesture, I pursed my lips as I saw happy couples converging on the dance floor; joining hands and merging bodies as the atmosphere around them filled with the sounds of a string quartet that now struck up the music at the back of the floor.
Dining together was one thing; how was I going to step onto the dancefloor, a sharply tiled expanse with mirrored walls and a crystal chandelier overhead, with a man that I’d rather drag into the squared circle?
Nonetheless I smiled politely as Oliver offered me his arm; following him onto the floor as a beaming Harry looked after us with a wide smile.
“Let’s try to make this look good,” Oliver whispered, gathering me into a loose embrace as we finally hit the floor.
“Why should I?” I hissed on a whisper, pulling back to create distance between us as he swung around in a broad circle.
Oliver sighed.
“It’s for the sake of my job, and, since you work directly underneath me, your job as well,” he told me, his moves forced and mechanical as he swung me around the floor.
I snorted.
“Was that what I was doing that night we spent together?” I snapped. “Working underneath you?”
Oliver shook his head.
“Lily, you know better,” he insisted, pulling me just a bit closer as he spoke low into my ear. “What we did that night was a special, magnificent experience. Why can’t we just keep it as a treasured memory and go on doing what we’re supposed to be doing?”
I shrugged.
“I’m not even sure what that is anymore,” I admitted, resting my head lightly on his shoulder. “How can we just go on like nothing happened? How can we just forget something that, in my mind at least, was pretty darned unforgettable?”
Oliver stopped stock still at the center of the dance floor.
“I’m glad it happened, Lily,” he admitted finally, staring deep into my eyes. “It was beautiful, it was like nothing I have ever experienced. We weren’t just messing around, we were making love. It just can’t happen again. It complicates things too much.”
I shook my head.
“What you mean to say is that you felt something when we made love,” I insisted. “You felt something for me, as a person and a lover, not just as a friend and a trysting partner, and it scared you to death. And until you’re finally willing to admit that, I’m not sure if I can continue this little charade.”
I took in my breath as he swept me up in his arms, drawing me closer than close. Oliver shut his eyes tight and inhaled my scent; his hands scaling my back and stroking my hair as though he was memorizing my every trait and feature. For a moment I smiled as I sensed his closeness; sensing also an imminent confession of his true feelings for me.
My smile dissolved, and my heart broke, as he whispered in my ear, “My dad was watching us. He frowned like he sensed that something was wrong.”
Breaking our clench, I stepped away from my dance partner.
“Something is wrong,” I told him. “And while I have no wish to hurt Harry or to harm his company, I do need you to realize that you, Oliver, have hurt me.”
Oliver said nothing; only gathered me up in two strong arms and pulled me close to him once again, this time whispering in my ear, “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, Lily. You’re so special to me. I do care about you. It’s just that I’m confused right now, about so many things.” He paused here, giving my body an affectionate squeeze. “One thing I’m not confused about, however, is that I need to keep my job and my family together and in order to do that, I need you now more than ever. Could we keep on seeing each other just a little while longer, for Harry’s sake?”
“I don’t know, Oliver,” I snapped in immediate return, freezing in his arms. “At this point I feel like I’m being taking advantage of, even used. And it’s not as though I owe you any favors. If anything, Oliver, you owe me for all the pain you’ve caused…”
Oliver sighed.
“You owe me nothing, Lily,” he assured me. “As I said, though, this is for the sake of your job and, as I said, for the sake of my father. Will you do it for his sake?”
I thought for a moment, then nodded.
“I’ll do it for Harry,” I relented with a sigh, adding with arched eyebrows, “Does he look any happier now?”
Oliver chuckled.
“Apparently he’s no longer concerned,” he replied, adding with a laugh, “He’s sitting at his table, balancing his checkbook.”
Joining in his laughter, I continued to move and sway in his arms as our bodies relaxed; falling into an easy rhythm in time with the romantic, classically inspired music.
“This music is beautiful, I must admit,” I admitted with a shrug. “And as usual, Clark, you do know your way around a dance floor.”
Oliver shook his head.
“Only because I have the best partner this evening,” he whispered, pulling my body closer to his as I sank in his arms. “And for all evenings.”
Once again I rested my head on Oliver’s shoulder, and he tightened his hold around my waist. Oh make no mistake, I was still angry at him, but he did know how to cut a rug. I even smiled slightly as he pressed two tender lips against my cheek.
“You’re the best, Lil,” he whispered in my ear.
“Yeah, well don’t let it get around,” I shot him a smile as the song ended, and we broke our clench to applaud the band. “These guys are good.”
For the first time that evening, Oliver grinned.
“They are, and I’m very glad you’re having a good time finally,” he smiled, opening his arms to me. “Care for another dance?”
I nodded.
“Sure,” I assented, adding as I turned away, “Right after I make a requisite trip to the little girls’ room.”
Moments later I found myself standing at the center of a restroom generally only seen in those old classic movies. The soap dishes alone were so bloody peerless that I could see my reflection in them. The floors beneath me bore such a shiny sheen that I feared them freshly washed, meaning that I presently lived in fear of slipping and sliding in my inordinately high heels and collapsing face first on the inhumanly immaculate floor.
When I slipped into the spacious, upscale cubicle that contained the restroom’s more personal accommodations, I saw a beautiful piece of porcelain furniture that on first glance anyway, looked more like a freshly upholstered porcelain chair, you know, the kind in which debutantes park their surgically sculpted rears.