All He Wants

by Anna Cruise

  She pressed her lips together. “Exactly. There's no chase. Nothing to pursue because you've already given him everything.”

  “You want him, don't you?” I said, narrowing my eyes. “And you're pissed as hell because I'm here. And because he's sleeping with me.”

  Kristen laughed. “You have no idea what I want.”

  “You're right,” I said. “I don't. So tell me.”

  She picked up her wine glass, then remembered it was empty and set it back down. “There's more to this story than meets the eye, Ms. Sellers.” She dropped her napkin on the table and stood. “That's all you need to know.”

  TWENTY TWO

  I was alone at the dining room table in Marcus Filmore's house.

  And my wineglass was empty.

  The chef reappeared and started collecting the empty dinner plates. “Are you done eating, miss?” he asked, glancing at the mess of food still in front of me.

  “Yes.”

  “Was dinner not to your liking?” he asked.

  I sighed. “I'm sure it was fine. I just don't like fish. Or asparagus.”

  He smiled. He was probably as old as Marcus Filmore but actually looked his age. Thick eyebrows going gray with gray sideburns to match, and tired green eyes that looked at me sympathetically.

  “Why didn't you say something?” he said. He picked up my plate and stacked it on top of the others. “I can bring you something else. Pasta? A sandwich?”

  I shook my head. “No, it's fine.” I glanced at my empty glass. “Maybe just another glass of wine. Or two.”

  He chuckled. “I know the feeling. I'll be right back.” He disappeared into what I presumed was the kitchen and, a minute later, reappeared with a new bottle of merlot.

  He poured it into my glass and set the bottle down. “For you,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “You change your mind about food, let me know,” he told me. “I'll be in the kitchen for another hour.”

  I nodded and thanked him again and watched him leave. I picked up the glass of wine and gulped it down.

  I replayed my smart ass remarks to Marcus and my conversation after with Kristen. I knew I'd gone off the deep end and said too much and I felt a little twinge of guilt. Stuart hadn't looked upset but what if my comments caused problems? What if Marcus suddenly decided that he didn't want to fund an organization headed by a guy who slept with his volunteers?

  I drained the glass and refilled it. No, I decided. Stuart had said that his dad had been friends with Marcus. That they'd gone to med school together. He was bound by loyalty to help Stuart and my pithy comments weren't going to ruin that.

  My thoughts returned to Kristen and our quick exchange after the men had left the dining room. She'd managed to pass judgment on me and tell me I meant nothing to Stuart without telling me how she fit into the equation. Uncle Tom had said he expected them to announce their engagement but Stuart had been emphatic that it would never happen. Kristen acted like a jealous lover but Stuart had barely glanced in her direction the entire evening.

  What the hell was going on?

  I sighed and drained the glass again, refilling it a third time. The merlot went down easily and I looked at the label, wondering just how expensive the vintage was.

  “Alone and drinking?” Stuart's voice startled me and I turned around. He lounged in the doorway to the dining room, his arms folded across his chest. “Now that's just sad.”

  I lifted my glass in his direction. “Your fiancee left me alone.”

  The smile on his face disappeared. “She's not my fiancee.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. I swallowed another mouthful. I was starting to feel more than a little buzzed. “So you say.”

  He frowned. “We're not having this conversation again, are we?”

  “What conversation?”

  He grinned. “You're drunk.”

  “I am not drunk,” I told him. But the wine was doing funny things to me. I could hold my own when it came to liquor and beer but this stuff? My tongue felt heavy and my head felt light.

  “If you say so,” he said.

  “Are we done in this mausoleum?”

  “We can be,” he said. He pushed off the wall and walked toward the table. “Unless you want to stay for dessert. And more conversation. I didn't know if you wanted to go into detail about our sex life.”

  I bit my lip. “I'm sorry.”

  “No, you're not.”

  “You're right,” I said breezily. “I'm not. Fuck him. And her.” I stopped. “No. Don't fuck her. You know what I mean...”

  He sat down next to me and reached for my hand. “You're the only woman I want to fuck. Promise.”

  “Was Mr. Moneybags pissed?”

  “That I'm fucking you? He's married, Annika.”

  “No,” I said. “That you're not fucking his daughter instead.”

  “We need to stop talking about sex,” Stuart said. He rubbed my fingers with his thumb. “You're giving me a boner.”

  “Yeah?” My eyes lit up and I reached my hand down to feel his crotch. “Is that why they all call you Wood?”

  He squeezed his legs together. “Stop.”

  “What?” I asked innocently. “I was just checking to see if you were telling the truth.”

  He opened his legs wide and I could see the bulge in his shorts. “Proof enough?” he asked.

  I licked my lips. “Mmm. Yeah.”

  “Am I interrupting?” Kristen spoke from the doorway and we both turned to look at her.

  “Not at all,” Stuart said.

  “I was hoping you'd join us for coffee and dessert before you leave,” she said. But her tone was unenthusiastic and I knew her dad had been the one to make the suggestion. “We didn't get much of a chance to talk at dinner.”

  “All we did was talk,” I pointed out.

  Kristen narrowed her eyes at me and managed a smile. “Some of us did talk an awful lot,” she said pointedly. She focused her attention on Stuart. “But I know you're only in town for a short while. I was hoping we could visit for a little bit before you go.”

  I could sense Stuart's hesitation. “Of course,” he said finally. He stood up and held out his hand to me. “You coming?”

  I stood. The wine had worked its way to my bladder and I desperately needed to pee. But I also didn't want to leave the two of them alone.

  I followed them into the living room. There was a silver serving tray on a table, complete with creamer and sugar containers. Next to it, a three-tiered tray was loaded with bite-size desserts. Brownies and cheesecake pieces, petit fours and meringues. My mouth watered and my stomach growled, reminding me I'd basically had rice for dinner.

  I plucked a brownie from the tray and popped it in my mouth and looked around the room. Marcus was not there and I asked about him.

  “He had a few phone calls to make,” Kristen told me curtly. “Consultations.”

  “You can do plastic surgery consultations over the phone?” I asked. I polished off another dessert, a cheesecake this time, and perched on the edge of one of the couches. My bladder protested and I crossed my legs tightly. “He must be good.”

  She sat down on the couch across from me. “After care. He checks in with all of his patients after surgery. His personal touch.”

  I imagined that, for the amount of money people were clearing paying him to erase their wrinkles and tuck their tummies and tighten their vaginas, patients probably deserved a dozen phone calls. And house visits.

  Stuart sat down on the couch I was sitting on and a frown marred Kristen's face. But I couldn't take more than a second's worth of pleasure at her reaction to his choice of seating. The desserts must have taken a detour to my bladder because all I could think about was peeing. I fidgeted and recrossed my legs and clenched my pelvic muscles.

  “Are you alright?” Kristen asked, staring at me.

  “Fine,” I lied.

  “Are your hives bothering you?” She studied me. “Perhaps Daddy could ta
ke a look at them. Depending on where they are, of course...”

  “My hives are fine,” I told her. “They're almost gone.”

  “They sometimes scar,” Kristen said matter-of-factly. She studied her nails, then looked at me. “You still might want to see a dermatologist.”

  “I'll have Stuart take a look at them tonight,” I said, my voice sweet. “All of them. Right, Wood?” I nudged him with my leg and hiked the hem of my skirt an inch higher.

  He gave me a look. “Sure.” He crossed his leg loosely over the other. “So, Kris. What have you been up to?”

  She smiled, pleased to have his attention. “Oh, the usual, I guess. Mother has her charity work with special education and I've been helping with that.”

  I couldn't figure out how Stuart could stand a grown woman who referred to her parents as Mother and Daddy.

  “Do you, like, have your own job?” I asked.

  She plastered on the fake smile again. “Being a Filmore really is a job in itself. The demands and expectations on my family are tremendous and it takes all of us to keep up with them.”

  Which, I guess, explained the servants. But there was something in her voice, something that told me she really didn't think her life was all it was cracked up to be.

  “And Wood knows all about that,” Kristen said, cutting her eyes to him. “He's been helping us out for years at our events. He knows the kind of work that's involved.”

  Stuart gave a curt nod.

  I wanted to ask just how busy the life of a socialite could possibly be but my body couldn't take it any longer. My bladder was about to burst and I was going to have to leave the two of them alone for a few minutes if I didn't want to bust a vital organ. I stood up. “Is there a restroom I can use?”

  Kristen waved a hand toward the hall. “First door on the right, past the dining room.”

  I walked as fast as I could to the bathroom, intent on getting back there as quickly as possible. I lifted my dress and sat down on the toilet and breathed a sigh of relief as four glasses of wine emptied from my bladder.

  I washed my hands and did a quick inspection of my face, worried about Kristen's scar comment. The spots were fading but there were a few scabs and I wondered what I'd find underneath when they finally fell off.

  I hurried back down the hallway, anxious to get back to the living room. But I stopped short when I heard their voices as I approached. Stuart's voice was raised. Irritated.

  “What exactly are you saying?” he asked.

  I slowed my steps and edged closer to the wall. My arm brushed one of the paintings mounted on the wall and I gripped the frame, trying to steady it.

  “I'm not saying anything, Wood.”

  “Yeah, you are.” He paused. “Just say it.”

  “Look, all I'm trying to say is that you need to be careful.”

  “About what?” He enunciated each word.

  It was her turn to hesitate. I inched closer to the living room, my body practically hugging the wall. “About where your loyalties lie.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Stuart growled.

  “You know what it means.” Her voice was cool. “Daddy has invested a lot of money in your organization.”

  “I'm well aware.”

  “It would be a shame to see that...disappear.”

  “And just where would it go?” he asked. “And why? I'm sick of talking in circles with you, Kris.”

  “I'm not talking in circles,” she said. “But there are other organizations out there. Other people who do good work. He's made noises about looking in to other causes. Broadening his charitable horizons.”

  There was the sound of furniture scraping across the floor.

  “Where are you going?” Kristen asked, alarmed.

  “I'm done with this bullshit,” Stuart said. “Tell your dad he can keep his fucking money. I don't want it.”

  I took a step away from the wall just as Stuart stormed out of the living room. He took one look at me, his expression murderous. His face softened in recognition and he said, “Come on. We're leaving.”

  I didn't argue.

  TWENTY THREE

  “Want to tell me what that was all about?”

  Stuart said nothing, just pressed his foot harder on the accelerator.

  “Or maybe you just want to slow the fuck down,” I said. “So we don't die.”

  He lifted his foot off the gas and cast a glance in my direction. “Sorry.”

  “Don't apologize,” I told him. I tried stretching my legs out in front of me but the Mini wasn't the roomiest of cars. “I was just as glad to get out of there as you were.”

  “We shouldn't have gone.”

  “I agree. Dinner sucked. But the wine was good.”

  He cracked a small smile. “Not what I was talking about.”

  I shifted in my seat, tucking one of my legs underneath me. The seatbelt strained against my shoulder and chest and I tugged on the strap to loosen it. “Will he really cut you off?” I asked.

  “Marcus?”

  I nodded.

  “I don't know.”

  “What did you guys talk about after dinner?”

  Stuart reached out and adjusted the air conditioning. “We went over some financial stuff. He asked about other contributors. How our margins were looking.”

  “Margins? You make a profit off your organization?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not by a long shot. Margins as in what we've been able to cover in relation to our company goals.”

  “Oh.” I'd taken my fair share of business classes but non-profits were not my specialty. Especially not after downing a bottle of wine. “Was he happy with the margins?”

  “Honestly?” Stuart looked at me. “He doesn't really give a shit. He just pretends to care.”

  “Can I ask now?” I asked him. “Will you actually tell me more about this asshole who controls your organization?”

  “He doesn't control it.”

  “Sure he does,” I said. “He might not be running it but if his purse strings tighten or he cuts you off, you're sort of up shit creek. Right?”

  Stuart hesitated, then sighed. “Put that way? Yeah, I guess.”

  “So, tell me. You said he's funding you because of your dad. Because of their relationship. Why?”

  He didn't say anything and I wondered if he was just ignoring me. I shook my head. I was too tired and still a little too buzzed to push him for answers. I gazed out my window, at the lights glistening on the bay. I had no idea where we were but I knew we were headed north, back to San Bruno. And that we were driving home a different way than we'd come.

  “He's my godfather,” he finally said.

  I turned to look at him. “Okay.”

  “They were pretty tight. Med school buddies, but they'd done their undergrad work together, too. And my mom was best friends with Susan.”

  “Susan is Marcus's wife?”

  Stuart nodded.

  “Why wasn't she there tonight, lording over the dinner table with the other two?”

  “No idea,” he said. “She goes away a lot. Spas and yoga retreats. Always has.”

  “Probably to get away from the pompous asshole she married.” I snorted. “Anyway. Continue. Your mom was best friends with her...”

  “They were med school widows,” he said. I could see a small smile on his lips. “They lived in the same apartment complex. Were maid of honor and best man at each other's weddings. They did everything together. Including getting pregnant at the same time.”

  “Okay,” I repeated.

  “Kris and I are two weeks apart. So we really have known each other all our lives. When my parents died, there was some question as to who was going to take me. My dad's parents didn't want me. They were pissed that he'd gone to med school instead of to seminary. Pissed that he'd lived in sin with my mom before they got married. And pissed that he'd killed her.”

  “It was a car accident.”

  “He wa
s the one driving the car. And they'd been drinking.”

  I immediately flashed back to the first night in San Diego, when he'd flown to town and I'd picked him up from the airport. I'd gone to a bar after and then returned to his hotel and he'd lit into me about drinking and driving, even though I hadn't been the slightest bit buzzed.

  “So, anyway. Mom's parents were dead. Dad's parents didn't want me. Susan and Marcus were my godparents but they were struggling students. I mean, barely making ends meet while he went to school and Susan worked a part-time job and took care of Kris. Taking me on would have been like having twins. Tom and Barb stepped in and that was that. But Marcus wanted to do stuff for me, especially when he was more financially stable. There were always gifts for Christmas and my birthday but he started a college fund for me, too. And, when I decided that charity work was what I wanted to do, he offered the cash to get me started. And he's kept me afloat ever since.”

  I digested all of this. The Marcus he was describing was a far cry from the one I'd just sat down to dinner with. The man he described sounded kind, like he cared about Stuart and wanted to help him realize his dreams. A man who had lost his best friend and who was determined to honor a promise to protect and help a child.

  But the man I'd met seemed more concerned with letting any person in the room with him know he was the most powerful person there. He was devoid of politeness or emotion and filled with condescension. I wondered if that was because I was there and he'd put on a show for me since I was a newcomer or if he had somehow morphed into an asshole robot over the years.

  “So he keeps giving me money but it's out of a sense of obligation. Not because he cares.” He switched his blinker on and we exited the freeway.

  “He might care,” I said. “If not about the organization, at least about you.”

  Maybe,” he said, his voice noncommittal. “But I don't want to depend on him. And I don't need him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I have other donors,” he said. “Small ones. I think I can rally support, from them and from others. It's going to mean I spend less time in the field but if that's what I need to do, then that's what I'll do. Because I can't imagine doing anything else. You know?”