Shh...Mine (This. Is. Not. Over.)

by Dianne, Shannon

  “Somebody sitting here Caesar?” One of the blonds asks. Her friends laugh, loud cackling laughs, I smile, and shake my head no. “Are you Italian?” She points to my nose, my Roman nose, and laughs again. But her laugh doesn’t sound like Red’s. Red’s laugh is easy and runs out like oil. I do that often; compare every woman I meet to Danielle. Is this woman as pretty as Danielle? Does she look as intriguing as Danielle? Is she as well-read as Danielle? Does she smell as good as Danielle? Does she make me feel like Danielle? The answer is always no. Why is the answer always no?

  “No,” I grin, “I’m not.” I hope that’ll be the last question of the night. She flashes her lashes at me, signaling that it won’t be.

  “You summer here?” She sits and rounds her shoulders to show me her breasts. Unfortunately for her, I’m not a breast man. I’m more of a legs and ass man.

  “I do.”

  “Mmm…” She purrs it out like Eartha Kitt. Here we go with the purring again. You see, I summer here which means that I have money and that means she’s impressed, a turnoff for me, to say the least. I turn back to Danielle and the confused look on my face makes the bartender laugh to himself as he’s wiping off her counter space. She’s gone. In her place is a fifty. Shit. Blondie’s sitting in the corner with friends, beaming a smile straight at me. She doesn’t even want you cocksucker. I smile back. Not yet muthafucka. But soon.

  July 29th

  Danielle and Lola are having a tête-à-tête. Their heads are pushed together, their foreheads almost touching. Danielle is staring blindly into Lola’s eyes, barely blinking. Her red hair is blowing in the wind that the harbor uses to cool the island off. This isn’t the same woman I saw in Belgium. This isn’t the same woman Lola took a picture of months ago while they attended a Diana Krall concert. That woman was smiling, arms locked with Lola, head titled to the left. Her eyes were the main attraction on her face. They looked happy. The martini in her left hand was half drunk. She and Lola had been caught in the moment by a third party, I don’t know who. Third party…the lawyer in me uses business lingo everywhere I go. They weren’t looking at the camera, they were laughing among each other. They were in the moment. This Danielle, the one that’s sitting on a bench in Harbor Town is different. This one isn’t dancing to the sounds of Brown Eyed Girl that the solo guitarist is singing and playing. She isn’t singing along with everyone else whose hands are gripping clear plastic beer cups. She isn’t enjoying the breeze that’s cooling the land. She isn’t noticing the children’s melting ice cream cones. She isn’t seeing the horizon and the sun setting red. She doesn’t see it because she isn’t here. She’s lost somewhere within her thoughts and Lola is trying to bring her out. She’s trying to coax Danielle to come out of her trance, look around her and realize where she is. She’s on Hilton Head, it’s July, there’s live music, there’s beer, there’s ice cream. She doesn’t realize she should be happy.

  Be happy Danielle.

  “Malcolm.”

  “Yeah.” I look to my father who’s smoking one of his cigars. I know it’s an emblem of wealth, but I never cared for them. Wealth is fine, exuberance is okay, but pretentiousness? Now that’s poor taste. But this is former Ambassador Anthony Blair, he can do whatever the hell is wants. “We’re going to set off in five minutes.”

  “Lola isn’t here.” I nod to Lola and Danielle. My father narrows his eyes in on Danielle and blows smoke out of his mouth.

  “Who’s the black girl?”

  “Friend.” I look to Danielle and see a long awaited blink. “Danielle.”

  “Damn.” He smiles and looks at me. “Married?”

  “Divorcing.”

  “Ah…” My father slaps me on the back and walks away. “Five minutes!” He screams around to everyone.

  I watch as Lola stands and reaches for Danielle. Take her hand Danielle. Danielle looks towards the yacht and then back at Lola. Lola says something else. Danielle’s face is thinking…she’s thinking…she looks towards the yacht and then away…back again. And like a compass, destined to point North, our eyes bounce off of each other before they stick. She stares at me for a moment and I think I see humor in her eyes. Yeah, I’m a Blair. I grin and wink. She nods and then looks away. Lola looks behind her to see what that was all about but she doesn’t catch my eye. Red now knows that I know Lola but she’ll wonder who I am. She won’t assume that I knew she’d be coming and, though I have a stack of cases on my desk back in Boston, I came here this week because Lola convinced her to come along. Danielle doesn’t know anything about me but I know everything about her. I know that her mother is a dean at Rice and is on break this month and that her father has decided to work from here in order to accompany his family to the island. I also know that Danielle doesn’t want to be here. Come on Lola, get her on the yacht. Once again, like that night in Belgium, I find myself praying. Come over here. Again, I’m praying that Red will come to me. This time I’m ready. This time, I’m alone. I watch Danielle tuck her purse underneath her arm and then grab Lola’s hand before smiling, turning and walking away. Shit.

  June 30th

  “Double up!” I look over my shoulder and look for Nat. Give me some fucking help here!

  “Problem little brother?” Cadence smiles, pushes off of me, steals the ball and makes his way down the court with it before I even turn around. What the fuck! I lean over and try to breathe, hands on my knees. Shit…

  Red,

  I wanted to check in on you. I’ve just returned back from holiday and I’m now at Princeton. I don’t expect you to write back, which is why there isn’t a return address. But if you choose to, taped inside of this envelope is my contact information. Address. Numbers. If you ever decide to, I’m here for you to talk to. By the way, while in London, I passed a jeweler and seen pendants on display. I thought of you and the book one that you wear. If you haven’t already seen the small satchel in here, look in it. It’s a tiny gold pendant of the world. Topaz, bronze and emerald make up the land, mountains and seas. I hope you wear it…I hope you call.

  xxx

  Danielle…

  “Your Princeton days are over!” Cadence yells as he goes in for a layup, bouncing me back into the present.

  “Yeah, whatever.” Damn, I could barely get that out. I run at least three miles every day, why am I playing shitty today?

  Shirts versus skins, family and friends of family are my opponents and teammates. These games are a summer tradition here on Hilton Head. All of us gather at the Sea Pines Plantation for the annual Fourth of July week every year. I get a full week where I’m not worried about philandering senators and racketeering governors. I lift up and turn my head towards the sun as the winning team begins to shit talk. This isn’t the life I thought I’d have. I’m twenty-nine, by now I figured I’d be…well…happy. I didn’t figure I’d have had a broken engagement and living in a bachelor pad that Cadence enjoys his mistresses in. I figured I’d be married to, well, someone like Danielle. Pretty, smart, badass, earthy, traveled.

  “What?” Cadence says. He slaps me on my back. “What’s the problem?” I shake my head nothing. I love the guy but there’s no use attempting a serious conversation with him. He’s a damn jokester; all depth is lost on my brother. “You sure?” But he is a good brother.

  “Yeah.” I smile and pat his back. “I’m getting old!”

  “Oh shut the hell up.” He turns to the others. “Twenty-nine and he says he’s old!” Everyone has a laugh at my expense. Those who are in their thirties remember their glory days of two lovers, two at a time, twice a day. In other words, they remember a load of bullshit as we walk back to my parent’s house. But through all of the rubbish, I have to wonder, have I had glory days? No. I’ve had Princeton, I’ve had college ball, I’ve had frat brothers, I’ve had frat parties, I’ve had women, I’ve had Laura, I’ve had travels. Those should be glory days right? Damn it’s frustrating. It’s frustrating to have it all but it never be enough, never being satisfying. Never. Not when I w
as handed my degree from Princeton, not when I received my law degree from Yale, not when I met Laura and not when I asked her to marry me. All I have materialized of my boyhood dreams is that big office in Boston with the picture window. It’s there that senators, investors and CEO’s walk in and out of each and every day with one demand: Fix this shit. A gag order on a pregnant mistress, the payoff of a tattling call girl, the restraining order of a deserted lover, a suit against the help’s tell all book, finding the loop holes of a stone clad prenup. That’s what my law degree turned into. I fix shit. I back slap, shake hands, smile, narrow my eyes, nod, and say ‘don’t worry’. I guess I’m full of bullshit too. But then again, I always have been.

  Cadence heads to the family room, where the ladies are, intent on narrating his win with his usual Cadence grandeur. I and the other men head to the kitchen for Gatorade. Hey ladies, look at Cadence. He doesn’t need a drink. You know what that means? He didn’t do shit. While Nat, Jacob and the others start talking about The Hill, I grab a Gatorade from the frig and then head upstairs to shower. I hear enough about the damn Capitol fifty-one weeks a year. For one whole week, I don’t want to think about what I have to fix when I get back to Boston.

  “Dinner on the yacht at six, Lib!” Nat says to me. I chug down the orange energy and throw my hand up to him.

  “I’m not the one who can’t make it to shit on time.” I say, climbing the steps. It causes a frenzy of cosigning where Nat comes out to be ‘as bad as the women’. After Cadence overhears and brings the conversation to the attention of the women, a battle of the sexes pursues at a deafening level. And while I wanted these days filled with family and jokes and vacations, something’s missing. I want to be down in the thick of it all right now, like I usually am. I want to add to the banter but I just don’t have the energy right now. Something is missing.

  “Malcolm?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s wrong?” I can feel Lola opening the door, a rush of fresh cool air sweeps in. Lola, a surrogate mother to us all, a good wife to my brother but unfortunately one of his many women. Unfortunately for Lola, her sister Laura, was his latest conquest. Oh, and if you’re wondering, yes it’s the same Laura whom I was once engaged to.

  Lola and Laura are the daughters of Senator Rossi of Boston. Boston is our hometown and where we plan to sustain our empire. Boston is our hub. Or should I say my hub. I run Boston’s legal affairs; I’m the go to man for politicos and Boston’s Wall Streeters. Boston is the reason I moved back from London, it’s also the reason Cadence married Lola. And Lola takes her marriage to my brother very seriously. There’s a trail of mistresses in London that can attest to Lola’s flat burning, tire slashing tactics. Yeah, Lola’s a damn pistol, but then again, so is Laura.

  “Who said something’s wrong and why haven’t you made your cannoli yet? I’m a bachelor, you’re my sister-in-law. Do you see what I’m getting at here?” Act like everything’s alright before she talks to your mother and Laura’s name comes up again. I tilt my head forward and let the hot water rush over my face.

  “I talked to Danielle.” Now she has my attention. “She says she saw you last night on the yacht and thanked me for helping her take the next step and getting a lawyer. She didn’t think she would have actually done it.”

  “So she assumed that I’m here to help her with her divorce. I didn’t get you in trouble did I?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” Quiet. What’s going on Lola? “What’s going on baby?”

  “She said she doesn’t really know you all that well and that before yesterday, she couldn’t place the face with the name. She was surprised that she was sitting next to a Blair in Belgium and had no idea.” She smiles, Lola is proud of being a Blair. “She says that she remembers all of your names because you were all were popular. But, from what I’ve been told, you and Danielle have more history than she realizes.” I can hear the sarcasm in her voice. Cadence must have told her more that he should have. Yeah, Red and I used to dream together. Yes, I’ve sent her flowers, and birthday cards and notes…all while dating your sister.

  “Yeah, we do.”

  “She’s leaving.” Shit. I push the curtain back and Lola stands there unfazed. Why the hell is she leaving? I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist.

  “Why?”

  “She didn’t say. Malcolm, she’s just really turned upside down right now and I hate that bastard Jon. So, if there’s anything you can say to her to take her mind off of him, anything you can do…I mean, how hard is it? You’ve never been short on charm and Danielle’s a pretty girl…smart and quick. She surely makes Laura look like a dud. Speaking of Laura, she’s been calling me nonstop asking about where you are and I swear…”

  And then my mind drifts off. No, hell no. Red isn’t walking away again. I spent twelve years wondering about her, worrying about her. I know she’s a badass but she seems fragile. Sitting on the pier, swinging her legs. Sitting on a swing, pushing herself back and forth. Sitting in a theatre, eating popcorn and watching a film alone. Something about her seemed vulnerable. No, she can’t go back to Houston alone, hoping that son-of-a-bitch will come home. Hell no. That shit’s not happening. There’s no way I’m letting you get away again Red. You’re here for a reason.

  “Where is she?” I step out of the shower and head for the bathroom door. I hear Lola scream out Sea Pine’s Cathedral while I throw clothes on and bolt out of the bedroom door.

  Eighty miles per hour later, I’m at the side entrance door of the cathedral and Red’s comfortably sunken into a bench, her fingers mindlessly running the earth pendant across its gold chain. Her instincts must have told her someone was watching since it only took a few moments for our eyes to lock. She doesn’t look surprised, she just looks questioning. And it’s then that I have a feeling that she knew I’d come. She wanted me to come; she wants to know what I’m up to. She turns to face the front again and I watch her close her eyes. Praying? The all-girls choir sings up front, another haunting sound accompanied by a piano only. It reminds me of Belgium, she must like the ghost sounds of a choir. Well her family is from Louisiana so it makes sense. She must be one of those Catholic Creole brooders. That explains a lot, she was always the brooding type in high school. A beautiful brooder. A haunting woman. I can’t take my eyes off of her. Maybe it’s the pain in her face, her mysterious manners and the fact that it’s nine at night and most of the island is on the pier or on their yachts and she’s here alone. Again alone. She and I are the only people here besides the girls singing. So damn haunting. I walk towards her. Why am I chasing this woman around the world? Why have I come to convince her not to return to her husband? Why am I walking to her? My legs move though my mind is telling me to leave. You’ve tried this before and this time she’s married. You’ve just left your family without even saying goodbye. And here you are with this woman, this haunting woman. It’s as though her aura, her energy is pulling me to her. It felt like this in Belgium. The energy she has is intense. My eyes were pulled to her as she sat in the front row of the Belgium theatre, they were pulled to her as she ordered her coffee, they were pulled to her as she trailed the streets before her moonlit shadow landed on me.

  I stand to the side of her and I see her eyes open.

  “Why aren’t you on the yacht?” Her voice is soft but dead. It’s as weak as a ghost, as thin as sheer. I’m about to put my mouth into a grin but realize that her question warrants no charm. It warrants no smile. No games. I ease beside down beside her.

  “Are you alright?” I care but why do I care? I mean, I really care. This is not my normal bullshit care, this is real care. I drop my head. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I infatuated with this woman? She turns her head to look at me and her eyes rest on my mouth. She’s studying me but says nothing. Her eyes aren’t sad, they’re dead. She raises them to match mine. Instinctively (I can’t tell you why) I reach my hand up and brush it across her cheek. She blinks and then slowly turns her head. Shit,
what am I doing?

  “I never knew you, Malcolm Blair.” She tilts her head to the left as though she’s now studying the choir, concentrating on them. Come on, Red. My eyes run over her hands, her arm and then all the way up to her lashes. As though she feels me looking at them she turns her head to me and we stare at each other. And then my mind goes blank. Blank. What the hell is going on? “Why are you here?” I don’t know why. But I try to think of something. Anything. Any answer. But I can’t. Shit, I’m at a loss for words. Me, at a loss for words?

  “To make sure you’re alright.” I decide to go with the truth. “In Belgium, something was wrong. I could see something was wrong with you.” Damn, I can smell her so I take in a deeper breath. My thoughts are abandoning my brain with this woman. Why do I care? Why does it bother me that she was alone in Belgium? Why did I notice the way she closed her eyes as the choir in Belgium sang their last notes? Why did I notice that her eyes appeared filled with tears as she walked to the church stairs? Why had she entertained the questions of that little boy when she was hurting? Why had she asked if I was okay if she was feeling just as bad? Why had I been staying in the hotel across from her and seen her sitting in her lobby all night? Why did she look tortured? I couldn’t get her off of my mind and so, months later, when my brother sent me a picture of her and Lola (Hey Malcolm, look who I found. Not bad, huh?), I slid back in my office chair and held my phone in my hands. Good job Cadence, you finally did something right. Beautiful. Cadence’s ended his caption with that word. She is but stay the fuck away from this one Cadence. I’m not playing around with you on this one. I let that shit with Laura slide, but don’t touch this one. You have no idea what this one means to me. She’s the one who’s haunting my thoughts, she’s the one I wonder about, she’s the one who had been delivered to me.