by M. Mabie
I lightened the mood and clawed my way toward a miracle, I pulled out what I hoped were the big guns. “Betty, please?”
I heard her laugh a little and hiccup. Her fingers fumbled around with the lock. It rattled the door as she tried to get the mechanisms to unlatch. When she got all the way to the top, she huffed and kicked the door.
She was frustrated. I knew the feeling.
“Almost there, Lou,” she sang. When the last lock slid from that bally thing and met the face of the wooden door, I reached and turned the knob myself.
She swayed, stepping backward at the same time. The back of her knees hit the luggage stand and she stopped, flinging her arms out to her sides and carpet surfed the whole way back to her equilibrium.
“Are you okay?” I shut the door gently, not wanting to startle her when she was already having a difficult time standing.
Her flimsy hand washed past her face, narrowly missing her bright red nose. It was so cute. It had gotten like that when she was flushed from sex, but I didn't notice it when she was drinking. A sane person’s brain would say, “Oh, it probably does that when she's drunk.” But I wasn't sane at the moment. I was looking for any reason that I was doing the right thing. I stood there internally debating why the fucking perfectly pink nose glowed like Rudolph.
“I'm fine,” she said, pinching her lips together like a duck.
A conniving voice in my head said it was pink for another reason.
“Are you drunk?” I walked around her, straight to the couch. I wanted her to come to me. Sure, my intentions weren't the purest when I’d decided to come back to her hotel. But being there, I wasn't as interested in sex as much as I was about getting information out of that mind of hers.
And maybe some sex, too. Sex with her was dynamite. Who wouldn’t want more of that? But that wasn’t what this was about.
“Yes. I am. We should sleep together. At least I could blame this time on the booze.” She laughed at what she was trying to pass off as a joke, but it went flat.
I didn't think it was funny.
“Is that what last night was? Your drunk mistake?”
Again, she picked at her fucking nails and I fought the impulse to slap them away from her and make her look at me. “Come sit by me, Blake. I won’t bite.”
She looked at me and then her face flushed, coloring her grin.
Dirty girl, I'm on to you.
She relaxed a little and padded over to the couch, around the coffee table, and sat as far away from me as she could. She was still wearing the skirt from earlier, but since returning to her hotel room and her own personal bar, she'd taken her bra off and changed into a tank top. She folded a porcelain white leg under herself and leaned away from me onto the arm of the couch.
“I don't know why I did that last night,” she said as she stared off into the room, still avoiding me. “I had a little to drink, but I wasn't that drunk. I was a little mad at Grant, but I wasn’t trying to get back at him. You know?”
She finally looked at me, genuinely bothered by her admissions.
She added, “Even before you would talk to me, I knew what I wanted. I waited for you to talk to me. I thought about it,” her face grew serious as she paused to collect her thoughts, putting a stop to her rambling. She sucked in a lungful of air. “I made a decision to try...to try to be with you. I didn't think it would go that far, but I thought about that, too. I wanted last night. I wouldn't change a second of it.”
I smiled wide, I probably looked like a fucking dope, but I couldn't care less. Those words were the coolest words I'd ever heard. She was totally honest. Her nose returned to its creamy natural state and she continued, “That's the part I regret. You know?”
That's where she lost me. Didn't she just tell me she was into me? Stop there. Please, stop there. She saw the puzzle polluting my face.
“What part?” I pulled her hand to make her face me completely and I turned on the cushion to meet her halfway.
“I regret that I don't regret it at all. That's the part that's kicking my ass.” She blew out a silent whistle of air and it went right in my face. She'd drunk tequila. I think I smelled the worm.
“I don't know what to say,” I told her.
“Just say whatever your thinking. One. Two. Three. Say it.” She roughly pointed into my chest.
“Ouch. I think you're pretty and smart and cool. And I know about that feeling last night. I think I know what that's called.”
Like I’d witnessed her do before when I had her full attention, she leaned forward eager for more information.
“It's a hook and a fish,” I said.
Her laugh bellowed and she quickly shut it off, re-masking her face with rapt interest.
I said, “See a fish doesn't want a hook. They'd probably rather not meet one and they're a bitch to get rid of. You follow?”
She bobbed her head with rapt attention. “And a hook, well it's only a hunk of metal. It doesn't know anything. Right?”
“Yeah.”
“You have to add something special to these two to bring them together. Something that one can't shake and the other can't resist.” I wrapped my hands around her low on her hips so I could pull her to me. I wanted her closer. “It's the bait, Blake. The bait is this outside force that brings these two totally different, foreign, objects together. Neither the hook nor the fish have a choice. We have something like that. We have the bait.”
“The bait,” she repeated, almost in a daze. Her brow furrowed. “So am I the hook or the fish? Or am I the bait? Sorry, I'm a little drunk, remember?”
She was adorably lost and I chuckled at her confused expression. “You're the fish.”
“I'm the fish? I'm the fish.” I saw a little light pop on behind her eyes. “I couldn't resist you because of the bait,” she said slowly.
“Right. And I didn't have a choice in the whole fucking thing because I'm just scrap metal.” I wasn’t sure where it was coming from, but it was true. I had never felt the lesser in a relationship, but with Blake, I was simply the hook. Not in control, and certainly dependent on the bait, or whatever the fuck it was, to attract the alluring woman before me.
She laughed and for some reason, I felt better.
“Okay. I'll buy some of that, but the hook doesn't want the fish or the bait.”
“See that's where you’re wrong.” I pulled her even closer, placing them over mine, and she wrapped her arms around my shoulders, like we’d sat that way all the time. “The hook's sole purpose is to get the fish. That's what it was meant to do.”
“Okay. That's a little weak, but I'll let it slide because you're cute.” I liked drunk Blake.
“What were you doing up here all by yourself drinking?” In her honey-brown eyes, I saw the sweetness and playfulness I couldn't get enough of.
“I was just thinking. And drinking.” Her eyes darted away and something magical happened. Her nose flushed again, the tip blushing that same pink as it was when I came in.
“What were you thinking about?” She gave me a stubborn look that said ain't going to happen. “You can tell me. It doesn't matter anyway. You're leaving tomorrow and you'll forget all of this happened. So, spill it. What's got your nose all pink?”
“My nose is pink?” She quickly covered it with a small, cupped hand. “Mo mits mot.”
I couldn't fight the chuckle that came from deep within my gut. “Yeah it is and it looked like that last night, too.”
“Whem?” The palm of her hand muffled her embarrassed denial.
“It was a little rosy when I kissed you in the bar, and it was full on red after we—” I stopped as her eyes widened. I moved her hand away from her face. “Stop. Don’t ever hide yourself, it’s you”
“Oh.” Her eyes still eluded mine, until I swerved my head to meet up with them.
“What were you thinking?” I asked.
Her small, pebbled nipples pulled against her shirt as she drew in a lung full of air and released it.
“I think I was tired.”
Tired? Not quite, honeybee. “So you're tired now?”
She shrugged a weak yes. I moved her small body off mine and stood. “Stay right there.” Quickly, grabbing the trashcan on the way, I went to the balcony. Just as I had expected, mini Tequila, Whiskey, and Vodka bottles lined the rim of the small table. I threw them away and straightened up the seats. I returned the receptacle under the desk and headed for the fridge to get two waters and I brought the blanket from the bed back with me.
I planted my ass down on the end of the couch and pulled her down to rest on my lap, throwing the thick white comforter over her legs and bare feet. She lay on her back and gazed up at me.
“Is this what you came here for, Casey?” she asked in the sweetest voice.
“Yep.” And as I ran my fingers through her hair and watched her heavy eyelids battle to stay open, I realized I didn't have it in me to tell her goodbye.
I couldn't evade it. I didn't fully understand it. But it sucked.
“You wanted to come up to my room and talk to me while I am drunk and make fun of my nose and call me a fish.” She brought her hands back to her face, standing as a barrier between her eyes and mine. “You men are all the same.” She was funnier when she wasn't funny at all. She tried to joke again, pretending like she’d heard this song and dance. But this was a brand new song, and I didn’t think either of us had enough footing yet to dance to it.
“Uh-huh, this must happen to you all of the time,” I said sarcastically.
“It does. It's so unoriginal.” Finally, her smile crept across her face and I took one of her hands so she wouldn't eat it whole. I laced my fingers with hers and she placed our joined hands on her chest, right in between her perfect breasts.
Before I could filter my words, I asked, “Is that how what's-his-face got you?” I heard the bitterness and quickly growing jealousy, over someone who didn't even belong to me, saturate my voice.
“Yep. Well, everything but the pink nose thing. He wouldn't notice that.”
I thought about how I couldn't wait until she dumped that poor bastard. Then I realized that I wouldn't even know.
“So we're going to be friends then, honeybee?” The flame faded fast in her eyes as they took long blinks.
“Mmm. Hmm.”
I watched her fall fast asleep and I wished I had had a drink. I would sip it and savor every second of both the liquor and the view. Her hair was soft and I threaded my fingers through it, over and over. Combing them clean through without a knot to yield me.
After what seemed like minutes, and light years alike, my legs gently slid out from under her head and I moved silently away from her. Crouching down by the couch to get one last look at her, I tasted her lips one more time.
She must have settled into a dream, because heard a soft hum come from her. I pretended it was me she was dreaming about as I kissed her. She hummed again and I considered many things, like moving and kidnapping, but settled on missing.
As I shut the door to a room, where only the night before was full of panting and sweating, I wondered if I'd ever see her again.
And I missed her already.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
I MISSED HIM THE moment I realized he was gone.
My flight was on time and the afternoon plane ride was clear all the way north up the coast. I didn't feel like I was going home though. I couldn't shake the feeling that every step I took was wrong. The closer I got to the airport¸ the more it felt like leaving was the real mistake.
My conscience was probably just getting to me. The angel on my shoulder sat with her head draped forward, haloed head in her hands.
Hang-overs sucked.
Hang-overs and shoulder angels were real drags when you were flying home after a massive alcohol and tempting-man binge.
Casey.
He was gone when I woke up that morning. I remembered him covering me with the blanket. I had lain there fantasizing about him kissing me and making me forget how bad I was. But fantasizing in the face of opportunity only equaled disappointment. I fell asleep before ever getting my second chance.
My last chance.
At about thirty thousand feet up I decided I wasn't going to think about Casey Moore again. I wasn't going to scan my memory counting his different smiles. I wasn't going to remember his hands digging into my hips. And I definitely wasn't going to close my eyes and beg my conscious thoughts to replay every second I spent with him.
But that decision was wasted, because I did all of those things.
The plane landed uneventfully. I departed the recycled air and the only thing I wanted was the sanctuary of my bed. Alone.
Knowing I'd lost my luggage, Grant waited for me at the ramp leading to the bag conveyor. I returned his smile as brightly as I could, but it was forced.
Wasn't he everything I wanted? I must have left my love for him in my AWOL suitcase, because I wasn't feeling it.
He was so smart and ambitious. Kind and gentle. My family loved him, mostly. My brother Reggie never really paid him any attention, but Reggie was much different than the rest of us.
In the offspring hierarchy of my family, Reggie, Reagan Ashley Warren, was the middle. Shane was the eldest and I was the baby. He couldn't have been more opposite from our oldest brother, Shane. Reggie lived in a high-rise in Chicago, Shane currently lived with our parents again. Reggie was adventurous, flying to Europe on a whim, sending me pictures of himself in front of global landmarks. The pyramids. The Eiffel Tower. The Taj Mahal.
The most adventurous thing Shane ever did was run off to Vegas and marry Kari. Sharing his current address with our mom and dad said a lot about how that marriage was doing.
But everyone else thought that the sun rose and set in Grant's ass. Up until recently, I had too. I still did. I still wanted to anyway.
“Welcome home,” he said and placed a chaste kiss on my mouth. My thoughts went to Casey. I was wicked. I was wrong and I hated that I felt like my boyfriend was kissing away the last remnants of the stranger I'd just met.
“Thanks for picking me up.”
“No problem. How was your flight?”
How was my flight? Was I on a plane? My body was, but my mind was somewhere completely different. Somewhere with him.
“It was good. I'm really tired though. I think I'd like to go home. Can you just drop me off? I have work early in the morning. And honestly, I just want to take a shower and go to bed.”
I wasn't an idiot, I saw the confusion and disappointment on his face. In fact, I deserved it.
“Yeah, sure. Do you want to grab some food on the way or...?” His voice trailed off. I wasn't sure if I should or not. I didn't think I could be around him.
“No. I'm not that hungry. I'm really worn out.” He slipped the big bag off my shoulder and rested the strap on his, then grabbed my hand to walk me out of the airport.
“Did you have a good time then? I'm sure it was nice spending all that extra time with Micah, since I wasn't there cutting in on your girl time.” His face was hopeful and the attempt at making his absence a blessing, didn't go unnoticed.
“Yeah, it was great. I miss her.” I really did, too. I didn't get to spend nearly enough time with her. I'd wasted it. But that wasn't the right word. It wasn't wasted; it was just misgiven.
The drive to my place was quiet. Uncomfortably so. It wasn’t him; it was me. I was edgy. The seat in his truck didn't feel right. The temperature was all wrong. I hated the song that played. I felt locked up and caged.
I was never so happy to be home.
“Thanks for the ride, Grant. I'll call you later. Okay?” I said, before I leaned over and gave him a kiss with all the warmth of day-old dishwater.
“I'm glad you're home. I love you. Call if you need anything and get some rest.” He smiled weakly at me. I was behaving strangely.
Warily, I got out of the cab of his truck and walked to my apartment door. I set my bag on the ground to dig for my keys and pra
yed that I didn't slip them into my missing suitcase. I willed them to be there. And they were. Right inside the mug that said, “Lou Likes Trouble.”
Ain’t this a bitch?
I pulled the yellow coffee mug out of my bag and dumped the keys into my sweaty palm. I'd forgotten that I'd put it in there. As if I needed any more reminders.
After getting inside and picking my mail up off the floor, I went directly to my bathroom. I stripped my clothes off and walked over to the big soaker tub—the real reason I signed the lease on that place—and turned the water to just the right temperature. I walked naked back into the kitchen, grabbed my phone, a cold bottle of wine and the mug.
I climbed into the scalding hot water, sunk down low and tried to wash the memories off me. I needed to wipe all of it clean away and rid myself of my foolish behavior and silly thoughts of a guy, who I had no right to be thinking about.
None of that happened.
Instead, I soaked in the tub, drank two Lou mugs of wine. I begged myself not to call him and compromised, that if I didn't call his number it could remain in my phone. Knowing it was there was enough.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
As the days went by it got easier to not think about Casey. Although, he was always there at the back of my mind. I began working extra shifts at the restaurant and unintentionally avoiding Grant. I was avoiding everything but time. I needed time. Time to sort it all out. Time to get my head back into reality.
It was no surprise that Grant didn't propose right away after I returned from San Francisco. I was barely there at all. I was in a daze. I'd tell myself, Self, he isn't thinking about you. It was a fling. You have a real boyfriend here who loves and wants to marry you. Get your shit together.
But Self was a hussy with a damn good memory.
I dreamed of him. Almost nightly. I was even a little paranoid that if I slept in the same bed as Grant I would say his name in my sleep. So I avoided that, too. Every reason turned into an excuse, all the while, Grant was patient. It was a paradox. Grant’s patience and Casey’s insistence. And just like that, thoughts of him invaded my mind.